The Winter Children

They all go together back to the east wing of the house. Dan has got the children up from their nap and dressed them, but they are groggy and grumpy, so he puts them into the double buggy and gives each one a beaker of milk. They sit, subdued, as they are pushed back the way they went that morning.

‘It’s a strange discovery,’ Mr Ellis says as they stride along the gravel paths. ‘Very unexpected. I’m not entirely sure what’s done in such cases but we’ll wait for the authorities to tell us.’

‘That’s about the size of it.’ Mr Ellis gives her an apologetic look. ‘I hope it won’t be a long delay.’ As he leads them into the old pool room, he says, ‘One of my men discovered this when he started pulling the tiles up off the floor of the pool. It was very close to the surface. Either it wasn’t buried deep, or it has floated up over the years. It’s all just in bits now, anyway.’ He turns to Dan. ‘Best leave the kids outside, I think. Rob here will keep an eye on them if they’re safe in their pushchair.’ He nods at one of the younger workmen loitering nearby.

They go inside the huge chamber, their steps echoing against the tiled surface. The hole in the ground is clearly a swimming pool now that all the debris from the bottom has been moved. The tiles on its base have been broken up and lifted in the centre, revealing a dirt hole, but it’s otherwise empty, tools abandoned on the grubby floor.

‘Over here,’ says Mr Ellis. ‘I’m afraid you’d better prepare yourselves for a bit of unpleasantness.’

He leads them to where there is a small pile of what looks like rubbish: some rotted bits of wood and remnants of fabric. Francesca peers down at the pile, trying to make out what she is seeing. Then she notices a coil of long brittle strings. ‘Hair?’ she says.

Dan is beside her, staring down. ‘Bones,’ he says in a wondering tone. ‘It’s a skeleton.’

At once Francesca sees what he is looking at. The bits of whitish stuff resolve into something recognisable and she realises that he is right – it’s a tiny skeleton, a skull, crushed on one side, among the remains of the bones. ‘A baby,’ she whispers.

‘I’m afraid so.’ Mr Ellis sighs. ‘Dead for some time. Decades, I’d say.’

Dan points at the skull. ‘Look – do you think it was murdered? The skull is broken at the side.’

‘Could be.’ Mr Ellis crouches down beside the debris. ‘But look at this. It’s been carefully buried. The wood seems to have been a coffin of some sort. Then there’s the hair. You don’t put all that kind of stuff in with a murdered baby; you try and get rid of it as simply as possible. No, I reckon it was hidden in here.’ He looks about. ‘It must be at least fifty years ago, if the style of this building is anything to go by. This was a girls’ school then, wasn’t it? No. It’s no murder. There’s a sad story here. Some poor kid’s had a child she loved, and put her hair in with it. God only knows how it came to be buried under the pool, or what happened to the girl. There’s a mystery there and the only thing we can know for sure is that it’s a sorry tale.’ He stands up. ‘I’ll have to call the police, though, Mrs Huxtable. I’m sure you understand that it’s unavoidable.’

Francesca hears him but it’s as though his voice is very far away, and she has gone somewhere removed from everything around her. All she is aware of is the little skeleton, surrounded by all the marks of a mother’s love and grief. A little child, lost at birth. The thought of it is filling her head with confusion and a kind of buzzing sound and a horrible realisation that she is full of a nameless sorrow, pushed down and repressed for years and years. Like the coffin under the pool, it’s coming to the surface, moving remorselessly upwards to break free from the carefully cemented layer of tiles that is holding it in.

‘Francesca?’ It’s Dan’s voice. His hand on her arm. ‘Are you all right? What is it?’

It’s all so muffled and strange. She closes her eyes to stop herself swaying, her breath coming in short hard pants, confusion roaring through her. If only they would be quiet and let her understand what is happening to her. A seismic feeling rumbles in her depths.

Dan’s voice sounds from far away. ‘Francesca, you’d better sit down. Come this way, let’s find you a seat.’

She feels him start to push her and it is the last straw. Her eyes fly open. ‘No!’ she screams. ‘No!’ She turns and gives him a mighty shove and he stumbles away from her with an expression of surprise on his face. ‘Don’t you dare touch me! Don’t you dare! After everything you’ve done!’ Her voice is shrill, a true scream. ‘Oh my God. I can’t bear it!’ She turns and starts to run out of the building, out onto the site. The workman she saw earlier is standing by Bea and Stan’s pushchair, chatting merrily to them and showing them a spirit level. He looks up as she dashes past but she has no thought to explain herself.

She runs blindly through the gardens, not knowing where she is going. The grief inside is almost too much for her and she is crying as she goes, great heart-wrenching sobs that burst from her. It is a relief to let it out. She wants to turn her face to the sky and scream with all her might, fall to her knees and beat the earth, because of all the bloody sadness that everyone must suffer.

She runs and runs, and when she stops, she is back at the cottage, in the garden, surrounded by all the normality of life there. Washing flaps in the breeze. Toys are scattered by the back door. Olivia’s gardening things lie on the path where she was weeding yesterday. This is the antidote to the sadness, isn’t it? The small pleasures of existence, the patterns of the garden, the seasons. Life going on despite the tragedies and the suffering, and people coming through it after all.

She kneels on the ground, crying, tears running down her face, streams of water and mucous all over. I’m not all right. I haven’t been all right for ages.

The knowledge bursts in on her like a firework exploding in her head. Suddenly she understands. It only makes the tears flow faster and a moaning sound spring from somewhere inside.

‘Francesca, what’s wrong?’ Dan is beside her, his arms around her. She collapses into him, letting him take the weight of her grief, and cries against him, allowing it to spill out at last.

They are inside, back at the kitchen table. She is calmer now. The workman pushed the twins back to the house and they are in front of the television, happy with their cartoons and building bricks.

Dan has made her a cup of tea, which cools in front of her. Actually she would like whiskey but there’s no point in that right now. It would only make things more confused, with the state she is in.

‘You remember, don’t you?’ she says to Dan, her voice flat. ‘I don’t mean the night of the ball. We both remember that. I mean the other thing. You know how we left the ball. You said we would be together.’

Dan sits across the table from her, gazing at the pale polka dots of the oilcloth. He seems to have come through some important process by means of Francesca’s grief. It appears that, at last, he is able to admit what happened between them all that time ago. He nods. ‘I know. I did say that.’ He looks up at her. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I knew it was a mistake. I didn’t really mean it. But your tears, the way you said you loved me . . . it all moved me. I thought, just for an instant, that we could make it work, because I did love you, in a way. Just not in the right way. I tried, though. I did try.’

The heady days that followed the ball come back to her. They passed in an ecstatic blur of being with Dan, but secretly. They agreed that no one must know of the great change that had taken place between them. So during the brief time before term ended and everyone went their separate ways, they hid away, in Dan’s room, or by riding out of town on bicycles to have lazy picnics in a shady meadow. They made love often.

But Francesca felt something was missing. There was a strange lack, as though Dan wasn’t entirely there. He was acting a part, somehow – doing it very well, but still playing a role. When they went to bed, it was intense and vigorous, but as if Dan had the teeth-clenched determination to see the act through. There was a sort of tenderness afterwards, when they lay with their fingers laced together and their limbs entwined, but she sensed he was rallying himself to do what was expected and his tenderness was partly born of relief that it was over. She was afraid that he was slipping away from her. She had this chance, this golden moment when she was living her dearest dream and he was her heart’s companion, and she could feel it disappearing no matter how hard she tried to hold on to it.

‘When will we tell the others?’ she asked. She tried to convince herself of a future where she and Dan and Jimmy and Claire were a pair of couples, venturing out into their lives beyond Cambridge together. They would all have fun and go travelling, then there would be marriage and children, and family holidays on windswept beaches, with kids running and playing on the sand while they laid out picnics and laughed. Why shouldn’t it happen?

The end of term split them up. He went home to his parents and then off on a holiday to Greece with his family, and she went down to London to work for a contact her supervisor had given her, to earn money before she started at law school in September. She thought she might look for a flat for her and Dan to live in. He would come to London too, in due course, he said. He’d get some temporary work while he looked for his proper job.

When he returned from his holiday, he phoned her. She had sent letters to his home to await his return, full of chat and the expectation that they would soon be together, telling him her new address and all the ways he could reach her. She had missed him so much. Time had dragged without him, with only her dreams and fantasies to fill the void of his absence. By now, she was already familiar with the rush-hour tides, the heat of the Underground and the slapping of her sandalled feet on the pavement of Tottenham Court Road as she trudged to her job.

‘That’s good.’ She sat in the hallway of the flat she was staying in, another favour from a contact of her tutor who was away in America. ‘I want to see you too. I’ve missed you.’

An infinitesimal pause. ‘I’ve missed you too. I’m coming to London tomorrow. Shall I meet you after work?’

‘Yes, please!’ She was excited at the thought, hungry for the sight of him, the feel of his body and the taste of his mouth. ‘You can stay here.’

The next day passed in a fever of anticipation. At lunchtime she went out and spent some money on a new top that she hoped he would like. When the day was over at last, she hurried to the ladies to put on make-up and smarten her hair. In the mirror her reflection was anxious despite her smile, and she wondered what she was afraid of. He was waiting downstairs, handsome as ever in shorts, a T-shirt and some flip-flops, and she felt overdressed in her work clothes and the new smart top. He was cheerful but muted and she overcompensated, chattering away as she held his hand. She felt proud as they walked along the streets together, obviously girlfriend and boyfriend. Other girls eyed Dan as they went by, and she felt the thrill of possession.

They found a restaurant, took a table and looked at the menus. When their orders were taken and glasses of wine sat in front of them, she looked across at Dan and her heart turned over. She loved him so much, every inch of him. He made her happy. And yet the expression in his dark blue eyes was chilling her to the core.

‘Cheska,’ he said softly, the same way he had after they first had sex in the garden that night. ‘I’ve got to talk to you.’

She tried to divert him, babbling away about her work, but he wouldn’t be distracted.

She was still. ‘No, Dan,’ she said, her voice quavering. ‘Don’t, please don’t say it. Please. Not tonight. Let’s have dinner and go back to my place. You can say it tomorrow.’

He shook his head slowly and sadly. ‘I’m not staying tonight. I’m going back to Jimmy’s.’

‘Please,’ she whispered, something sinking inside her, pulling her down towards a dark pit she couldn’t bear to look at. Let me stay in the light just a little longer. ‘Don’t say it.’

‘I’ve got to.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Cheska, you’ll always be my friend, you’ll always be dear to me but—’

Her eyes were afloat in hot tears. Her breath jerked into her lungs in little painful hops. ‘Stop it,’ she whispered. ‘No.’

‘Don’t cry, Cheska.’ His eyes were full of pity. She didn’t want pity, or favours. She just wanted to be loved, naturally and truthfully, and if she lost Dan, what else did she have? ‘Please don’t cry.’

‘I do love you, in my own way. But we can only be friends.’ His hand closed over hers. She couldn’t open her eyes. ‘Can we be friends, please?’ There was a pause and he said in a lighter tone, ‘Look, I’m not good enough for you. You’ll find someone else, I promise. You’ll be glad in the end. One day you’ll come to me and tell me I did you a favour.’

She was crying now, not able to bear the humiliation of it. People on the neighbouring tables were nudging and looking over, sympathetic and amused in equal measure. ‘Look at the poor girl, he’s dumping her.’ She couldn’t see them but she knew. And his pity was too much to take.

She scrambled to her feet, reaching for her bag, and stumbled out of the restaurant onto the hot pavement. All she wanted now was to get away. Behind her, Dan called her name, dropped a fiver on the table for their drinks and came after her. She ran down the road, and he ran too, reaching her at the corner where she had to stop.

‘Go away!’ she screamed, furious with the pain. ‘Go away and leave me alone!’

The lights changed and she ran across the road. He stood and watched her go, then turned and walked off in the other direction.

That summer is acute in her memory because of the pain. It ambushed her all the time: on the Underground; at the desk in her office; at lunch; and, worst of all, alone in her flat at night. Tears would appear unbidden on her face. Sometimes she sat crying for an hour before she realised it was happening. The grief was a physical burden that bent her under its weight and felt as if it would crush her. She longed for him but she knew it was over. He was gone. He’d never wanted her the way she did him. Even though she’d offered herself to him without reservation and even though he’d tried to love her, he couldn’t.

When September came and term began, she started at law school and moved to a new flat with some other law students. By then she knew.

Dan had moved to London, sharing Jimmy’s flat, so it was easy enough to write him a letter.

Dear Dan

You should know that I’m pregnant. I think it was probably the night of the ball, when we didn’t use anything, because all the other times we did. I can’t have a baby on my own, not with my law course to do. So I’ve arranged an appointment at a clinic to have an abortion. I’m going to be outside an hour beforehand and I’ll wait for you. The address and time are on the appointment card with this letter.

Perhaps I’ll see you there.

All my love,

Cheska x

On the appointed day, she waited, walking back and forth in front of the railings outside the clinic, looking for him. Occasionally she put a protective hand on her stomach, as though wanting to shield the tiny thing within from harm. But he never came, and when it was time, she went inside as she had planned.

She tried to be brave and strong, and manage alone. She tried to forget it and not to care. What more was the baby, after all, than a little bundle of cells, a small pale tadpole built on a tiny spine, with a miniature pulsing heart and the start of a brain? It was not a person, not really. But it had been hers, and Dan’s, and she had killed it. Where was it now? Sluiced away down the drain? Tossed in a rubbish bin with all the other unwanted waste?

She tried to cope, but the guilt and pain were too much. She couldn’t tell anyone what she was suffering. Her law work was impossible to complete: words swam in front of her eyes, blurry in the constant tears she angrily tried to brush away. Facts couldn’t stick in a brain that pounded with thoughts of rage and despair. She started to fail and there was nothing she could do about it.

The school warned her. She was told to pull her socks up. But she lay on her bed in her shared flat, away from the other girls, night after night in the dark, tormented by her grief. Then she did them all a favour and left without being formally asked to go. She got a job as a temporary secretary in a big corporation and then, her bosses impressed by her ability to spell words like ‘satellite’ and ‘supersede’, she was made a permanent PA to one of the executives.

A few months later she met Walt, and he began, slowly, to heal her. She put all the pain behind her. She erased the memory. Or so she thought. And when she came back into Dan’s orbit, she let him pretend nothing had happened. She never mentioned the letter or that awful hour in the clinic, when they’d sucked out the little living symbol of Dan’s fleeting love.

She let him go on lying and pretending, and treating her as though she had never really mattered.

Francesca looks at Dan across the table. ‘Why didn’t you come to the clinic that day, when I had the abortion?’ she asks.

That’s the pain. I understand now. She thinks of the little skeleton with its tokens of love, and the careful burial, even if it was under a swimming pool. What happened to my baby? No funeral, no acknowledgement. Thrown away, ignored and forgotten.

‘You got my letter, didn’t you?’ A flame of hope sparks to life – that he never got the letter, and it was a misunderstanding. Then, perhaps, she could forgive him.

‘Yes.’ He says it slowly, his voice heavy with regret as he stares at the tabletop. ‘I got it. I was a coward. I didn’t come to you.’ He looks up at her again. ‘I let you go through with it, and I let you allow me to forget it. Because you never once reproached me for it. You never said a word. You stayed true and loved me just the same.’

‘I loved you,’ she says, her voice wobbly again. ‘But I couldn’t forget it, even though I tried.’

Dan stands up. ‘It was wrong to let you donate your eggs. I see that now. In a weird way, when you made your offer, I felt as though I was making it up to you somehow. Letting you have the chance to meet the baby we never had. But as soon as Olivia was pregnant, I knew it was a mistake. I hadn’t thought it through. I should have let her choose an anonymous donor like she wanted. I suppose you let me get away with things, Cheska. I thought I could get away with this too.’

He looks at her, his gaze candid. For a moment, he is her Dan again – the one from the garden, the one who made love to her for a few heady weeks one summer, and then broke her heart. He says, ‘I’m sorry. For all the pain I caused you. I never wanted to hurt you but somehow I did. I’m sorry about the baby and how callous I was. I never spoke about it to you and I should have. I let you marry Walt without ever telling you that I was sad about the baby too.’

‘Really?’ She is amazed. It never occurred to her that he might have mourned the child as well.

Dan nods his head. ‘Yes. I mean it.’ He smiles weakly. ‘I did care about you, Cheska. I just couldn’t love you in the way you wanted.’

She gives a little half-laugh. ‘What a mess.’ She shakes her head. ‘And now we have two actual children together. What are we going to do about that?’

Dan walks over to her, pulls her up from her seat and takes her in his arms. She sighs as he wraps her in his embrace, and rests her head against him. Not so long ago, she yearned for this kind of contact with Dan. Now it feels like a resolution. The truth is out. He has acknowledged everything. She feels validated.

Dan presses his mouth down towards her ear and says softly, ‘You won’t tell Olivia, will you? It will stay our secret. Won’t it?’

She pulls away from him, looking up into his face, and sees the look there that she knows so well. It’s complacency. Complete belief in his power over her.

His expression changes. First it’s incredulous, then panic sets into his eyes. ‘What? I can’t tell her, you know that.’

‘You have to tell her everything. She needs to know what happened between us, and about the baby. And about the eggs. You can’t let her go on believing a lie.’

This is his test, she knows that. It’s all very well to say the right things, to acknowledge the past and apologise, but it’s worth nothing if it’s merely a ruse to keep everything just the way it was.

Dan pulls away from her, outrage on his face. ‘What are you talking about, Cheska? You know I can’t do that! Are you fucking crazy? You know very well she’ll never forgive me. I did a terrible thing, I know that, and I should never have done it. It was idiotic. It was stupid. In all sorts of ways. But I can’t tell her. It’s bad enough that I never told her we were lovers. But it’s a thousand times worse than that. You know it would destroy her.’

‘Not knowing the truth could destroy her too. Don’t you know how easy it is to ruin a life when someone loves you? Look what you did to me. And it nearly happened to me all over again with the twins.’ She shakes her head. She’s sorry for him, but it’s clear what the right thing is. ‘You can’t let lies poison your life. If you tell her, explain why you did it, she might forgive you. It will be much worse if she finds out from someone else.’

Dan’s expression changes again. Now it’s hard, the blue eyes icy, the mouth twisted. He stares at her with menace. ‘And who might tell her? Who else knows?’ He takes a step towards her. ‘Only you, Cheska. You’re the only one. Would you tell her?’

She sees that he has clenched his fists. ‘Are you threatening me, Dan?’ she asks, wonder in her voice. She has always suspected he is capable of more than she ever wanted to acknowledge. Is he about to show her exactly what? ‘You can’t get away with it, you must know that. I’m not your underling, to be ordered about or punished.’

‘Just tell me.’ His knuckles are white, his teeth clenched. ‘Because if that’s what you intend to do, I’m going to fucking stop you, understand?’

A rush of courage goes through her. So it’s come to this. He’s tried every other form of manipulation and now he is going to resort to threats or worse. She stares at him with scorn. ‘What did I ever see in you? Why did I waste my life dreaming about you? I must have been a fool. I’m sorry, Dan, but you can’t change facts, even by force. Olivia needs to know that I donated those eggs. She needs to know that those children are ours – yours and mine – and if you don’t tell her, I will.’

The back door swings open suddenly and standing there is Olivia, her face a picture of pain and fury.

Chapter Thirty-Two