I am stunned and numb; I have no words. They have taken from me the last opportunity I had to honour my family. They are not only dead, they are now gone. Forever. It is over.
‘We wanted to wait, wanted you to be there, but it was touch and go. We thought we had lost you too. They told us to go ahead, to prepare for the worst.’ Now tears well in my father’s eyes, threatening escape. They mirror my own. ‘But I promise we can reconsider a visit to your house in a month or so. Once you’re up to it. Come on now, Chloe,’ he says as he reaches for my hands. ‘Say something, won’t you? Try to understand.’
Instead I stand up, walk from the table. The burning wood snaps at my heels as if it too wants to snare me back in. Shadows flicker up the walls. I walk towards the front door, open it without a sound, slip into the thick mist that has descended upon the house since the earlier rains passed.
I push through the fog, my scarred right leg burning with every step, winding along the driveway until I reach the edge of the graveyard that backs onto the front of our property. The soft grass is wet under my feet, leaving a residue on my trainers. Tombstones rise up ahead of me, grey lumps of rock shrouded in ivy, tinged black in places by the blush of moisture from the evening air. Are they buried here? Will I be able to find them? How is it possible that I missed my own son’s funeral? But as I go to search for their names, I come up against the perimeter fence. In my desperation to leave, I had forgotten that I am enclosed on all sides.
I hear the boom of my father’s voice coming from behind me, the rush of feet along the driveway. I inch away, staggering further into the mist as I weave in and out of a border of giant oak trees, desperate to avoid the two torch beams as they skip across the ground.
‘Chloe!’ I hear him call.
‘Chloe!’ my mother repeats. ‘Where are you?’
I crouch behind a tree, wait for them to pass, their forms grey shadows in the distance. I am cold and shivering, the skin on my arms goose-pimpled and wet. I know I will have to go back to the house, but how can I when they have told such lies? How can I remain a part of their lives when they buried my son without my knowledge? When they took away my chance to say goodbye.
I turn when I hear something behind me, some movement through the wet grass coming from the direction of the church. At first I take it for a rabbit, or a fox, snuffling along the ground. But then I hear it again, footsteps too heavy and slow for a light-footed animal. It is a person, but it isn’t my mother or father. The sound is coming from the other side of the fence, and I can see the faint glow of my parents’ torches still a distance away.
‘Chloe?’ A male voice. Somebody who knows me. I stand up, back away against the nearest tree. Fear grips me, makes my stomach turn. I look left and right but see nobody there, only the wispy tips of the churchyard willows dangling through the mist.
‘Who’s there?’ I whisper. Could it be Ben? He wanted to speak to me this morning, didn’t he? The trees answer first, their branches shivering against each other, rocked by a light wind. I feel raindrops misting my face. Then I hear the voice again, soft and cautious.
‘I have to talk to you, Chloe.’ I cling to the tree, the bark rough against my skin. ‘Please don’t be frightened.’
But it’s too late for that. ‘I can’t see you. Who are you?’ I move towards the fence, and as I do, I see a hand stretch out and a figure steps forward, closing the gap between us, his face still in shadow. But then torchlight flares left and right, following the sound of my voice, and the stranger pulls back, disappearing into the mist.
The sound of urgent footsteps comes quick against the gravel as my parents rush up the driveway. Seconds later I feel my father’s slippery grip taking hold of my arm. My mother is only a couple of steps behind.
‘Oh God, Chloe. Look at you.’ He grabs my face, his fingers investigating my head wound, turning my chin left and right. ‘Who were you talking to? Are you hurt?’ He whips off his jacket, draping it about my shoulders. My head feels set to explode.
In the distance I hear a car engine rev into life, the scuff of tyres on the road. I push past my father just in time to see the faint blur of two red lights, like smudges of watercolour paint. But my parents hold me firm as the car pulls away.
Who was that? What did he want?
‘Get her inside,’ my mother says, her voice close to panic. ‘Quickly, Thomas.’
‘Somebody was here,’ I tell them, looking over my shoulder as they hurry me back towards the house, ushering me like a prisoner.
We erupt into the hallway and my father slams the door shut behind us, setting the security chain in place. Rain strikes the window. Upstairs, Jess’s music is playing. I catch sight of my face in the mirror, my lips tinged blue, my hair stuck in damp clumps to my cheeks. My sodden hat drips from my mother’s clasped hand. They push me to sit on the bottom step of the stairs as a crack of thunder splits the sky.
My mother pulls off my wet muddy shoes and runs to the living room, returning a moment later with a thick tartan blanket. My father pulls his wet jacket from my shoulders, showering me with ice-cold droplets. ‘There was somebody in the graveyard,’ I tell him again. ‘A man, he knew my name. He knew me.’
‘Don’t worry about that now,’ he says, shaking his head, his wet shirt stuck to his skin. He rubs at my arms, still surveying me for injury. ‘It’s just the churchyard. It’s given you the creeps, that’s all. There was nobody there.’ But despite his insistence, I know that isn’t true.
My mother sits down next to me and pulls me close, wrapping the blanket tight around my shoulders. She hands me a tot of something strong and I knock it back. Brandy, I think, as the heat chases down like fire to my stomach. She rocks me, tries to calm my nerves. And the way she holds me, the way I can feel the movement of her chest as she breathes; it’s like being a child again. In that instant I remember falling down the stairs, breaking my ankle. I can even see the spot where I landed, the small break in the balustrade that was a result of the impact. On that day she cradled me in her arms just like she is doing now while we waited for my father to come home. The accident wasn’t her fault, but still it happened in her care, and she accepted the guilt of responsibility, bore the weight of my father’s judgement.
As I look at her face now, I realise there is something about the person who nurses you, who changes your diaper, who sings you lullabies before you are even old enough to know you’re making memories. They imprint themselves on you, make their spirit part of your existence. Sometimes it is only a mother who can make things better. But with that knowledge comes an overwhelming regret: not only was I unable to save my own child, there is still, according to my father, a chance that I am the one who chose to end his life.
I turn to her, certain in this moment of maternal connection that she will listen, that she will believe me and understand. ‘There was a man out there, Mum. He spoke to me.’ But she just pulls my head into her body, holds me tighter still. ‘He knew me,’ I say, more to myself than anybody else.
‘Hallucinations, Chloe,’ my father says. Then: ‘Why did you run off like that?’ I feel his clumsy fingers needling at my shoulders, the left one still sore from the crash. ‘We can help you through this, but only if you trust us. Isn’t that right, Evelyn?’
‘Yes, of course.’ My mother tops up my brandy and I drink it down. ‘It’ll do her good,’ she urges when my father tuts disapprovingly. Then she takes the glass and pours another shot, knocks it back herself.
‘We’ll talk more about this tomorrow,’ my father says. ‘Here, this will make you feel better, help you relax.’ He hands me a tablet, and in my confusion I swallow it unquestioningly, with yet another glug of the brandy.
‘But the car,’ I tell them. ‘I saw a car.’ I look to my mother again, certain she will help after her display at the dinner table. She wanted me to know the truth, didn’t she? Surely she wouldn’t lie now. Not again. ‘Didn’t you see a car pulling away?’
‘What car?’ my father interrupts. ‘There was no car. Tell her, Evelyn.’
My mother’s left eye twitches, crow’s feet extending towards her cheeks. She strokes my face, offers me a smile. My head is already feeling light. What was the tablet he gave me? ‘No, Chloe,’ she says, as calm as she can be. ‘I didn’t see any car.’
You always said your parents were liars, that if they had been truthful with each other it would have been easier from the start. It was as if you thought they were to blame for what you had become, as if there was some flaw that ran through you, created by them, all the way down to a rotten, decaying core.
But I disagree, Chloe, because without them you might have become something else. Something I would have loved less. I like your flaws, your needs, your weaknesses. They complement my own. You smiled when I told you that, but I came to realise that behind your smile, you were hiding how you really felt. You pitied me, didn’t you? You thought me weak because I had accepted my own flaws. You wanted to fight against yours, run away from who you really were. You always hoped it would be different for you.
But I never tried to hide anything. I told you over and over how I felt inside. For me you had become something palpable, a mass growing inside me like a tumour. No, that’s wrong. Like an organ, something necessary in order to keep going. Something I never knew I needed yet couldn’t live without. I could feel you in every heartbeat, every shiver of my skin. You became my life. My reason for being.
Without you I was empty.
I’m sorry that I said I wouldn’t rest until I had ruined your life. I didn’t mean it. It was just nonsense, I promise. I’m desperate, that’s all, desperate for you. Doesn’t love make you feel like that? Please try to forget that I told you I’d take everything you have. I didn’t mean that either. Let’s put all this nonsense behind us, start again. I’ll forgive you too. I only want you to be happy. You told me you loved me once, and I know you still do. All we need is to be together. As long as you tell me that you are mine for ever, everything will be just fine.