Beneath the Surface (5 page)

‘I didn’t realise it was stuff you wanted to keep from me. Anyway, I’m glad I read it, seeing that it heavily involves me anyway.’

‘Yeah, well. I was going to say something. I just wanted to do some digging first, see what I could find.’

‘Mum’s going to hit the roof when she knows what you’re up to, Hannah.’

‘Mum is the reason I’m doing this in secret,’ Hannah snapped back. ‘If she could be more honest with us then I wouldn’t feel the need to go behind her back.’

‘But looking for our dad? It just seems too massive. And you know what Mum says about him. He didn’t want anything to do with us when we were young.’

‘Maybe. But that’s all she has said. We don’t really know what happened. Aren’t you a little bit curious about why he left?’

‘No, as far as I can see, he didn’t want to know us and so I don’t want to know him.’

‘That’s so short-sighted.’ Hannah was annoyed her sister couldn’t see her point, and even more frustrated she didn’t share her passion for finding their father. She wanted to know what he looked like, what features she’d inherited, if they shared a sense of humour and all the little things they might have in common, like preferring warm milk on Weetabix. There were so many things Hannah didn’t know about her past, and the only person who could tell her was reluctant to do so.

‘I imagine him having dark hair like me,’ Hannah tried. ‘What do you reckon?’

Lauren sighed. ‘I don’t know and I don’t care. He’s probably bald. And he’s probably living with a young woman and their three snotty-nosed kids. And then Mum would be devastated.’

Hannah sighed. She knew when to stop: Lauren was definitely more sensitive to their mother’s needs than she was, and she didn’t want to hurt her sister.

‘Lauren, have you put any sun cream on?’ Hannah touched Lauren’s shoulder, changing the subject. ‘You’re already burning.’

‘Damn it! I did put some on earlier, Factor 30 as well.’

Hannah silently handed Lauren her T-shirt and went into the beach hut to grab a towel. She wouldn’t mention their dad again, at least not until she had something concrete to tell her. Hopefully then Lauren would be intrigued enough to help her find him.

Kathryn had been planning a little treat for the girls. It was to be a surprise, something to keep them occupied for a bit over the summer. It was all in her head still, she hadn’t thought through the details, but she was thinking the three of them could go away to a little B&B, maybe somewhere up the coast, just to get away. She had intended to mention it over dinner the other night but then Hannah had started her persistent questioning about Peter and the whole thing had gone right out of her mind. Now she came to think of it, she could no longer see what the attraction had been in the first place: far better to stay in the Bay, where she knew where everything was, and besides, the thought of packing always seemed so stressful.

Kathryn was sitting at the kitchen table filing her short nails even shorter and wondering what she should get her mother for her birthday when the sound of the letterbox clanging with the post made her jump. She glanced at her watch: it was already past ten. Why so late that morning? Pushing back her chair so she could see through the kitchen window, Kathryn could just make out the boy, must be a new lad, pulling at the gate, trying to get the latch to click. And then when he couldn’t get it to catch, he just left it swinging. Turning on his heel he was about to walk away with her gate left wide open.

Kathryn raced to open the front door and called out in a sing-song voice which suggested she was jollier than she felt: ‘You just need to pull it up first then it will catch. It’s a bit fiddly but I would appreciate it if you could always close it behind you.’

The boy looked up at her but didn’t speak.

‘Here, let me show you,’ she started, walking down the path, her slippers scuffing along the paved stones.

‘No need, I’ve done it,’ he said gruffly as he lifted the gate, closed it and mounted his bicycle that lay on the side of the road in front of the house.

‘Thank you,’ Kathryn called out as he cycled down the lane, waving his hand in response.

She didn’t like change; it made her wary. She hoped the usual postman would be back and thought she might even call in at the post office later to ask where he was. Things rarely changed in Mull Bay, so it was difficult when they did. The previous year the café on the high street announced they were selling up and for weeks Kathryn was on edge, wondering what might take its place. Every time she passed the ‘For Sale’ board she felt herself tensing up. Was it the not knowing, she wondered. Meanwhile there was plenty of talk about who might take it and what they would do with the café. Mostly the residents spoke of two young men from London who wanted to turn it into a wine bar, a thought that sent a cold shiver down her spine. She was surprised when some people said they were open to the idea, saying it would bring more money to the Bay. But for Kathryn all it represented was more youngsters to lead her daughters astray with their late-night drinking. Thankfully the café owners had a change of heart and didn’t sell. On the day Kathryn heard the news she opened a bottle of wine and drank the lot in one evening. The sense of relief was amazing.

Turning back to the envelopes in her hand she flicked through until she saw one with a familiar scrawl across the front. Dropping the rest of the post onto the shelf, her hands trembled slightly as she held it. There was nothing to fear, of course. He hadn’t let her down yet. But every time she knew there was the chance he might not have enclosed the cheque. Or worse, he had written to her, wanting to see her again; and that she really didn’t think she would be able to face.

Kathryn looked up at the mirror hanging in the hallway and leaned forward as she began to peel the envelope open. ‘You’re beginning to look like an old woman,’ she told her reflection. ‘You look more like Mother every day.’

In reality she didn’t look her fifty-six years. Kathryn actually looked very good for her age, but there were definitely signs of ageing that hadn’t been there a year ago. Dark shadows beneath her eyes made her skin look thinner and her eyelids were more hooded as if she hadn’t managed a good night’s sleep in a while. Flecks of grey were springing up at the edges of her hairline. People always commented they couldn’t believe she didn’t colour her hair. Good genes, she told them, her mother didn’t go grey until she was in her sixties. Kathryn ran a hand through her hair. It was cut short, almost cropped, but she hadn’t had it trimmed for a few months and the ends were hanging over her ears. The sea air of the Bay had served her well over the years, but lately she was definitely looking older.

Turning back to the envelope, Kathryn pulled out the cheque, read the amount and silently thanked Peter. He had proven himself over time and in turn she had come to trust him, but she still hated relying so heavily on her exhusband.

She peered inside the envelope but this time there was nothing else. Occasionally he included a short note. The last cheque, the one just before Christmas, had had one attached. It was written on a piece of lined paper ripped out from a pad and on it he told her he was now living in Liverpool, was doing extremely well for himself, and that he hoped she and the girls were well. The notes lacked substance and she would prefer he didn’t send one at all. Kathryn wasn’t bothered by his lack of emotion or interest – it was easier if there was none at all.

For years she had worried that Peter might turn up on her doorstep. Before he moved to Liverpool he was living in a town just a two-hour drive from the Bay. Mother always sighed whenever Kathryn voiced her concerns, almost rolling her eyes before telling Kathryn he had no interest in unsettling her life. Eleanor always seemed so sure about that and she told Kathryn it was pathetic to keep worrying over him. But she was worried: what if one day he announced that he wanted to see them again?

Kathryn had told Lauren and Hannah she had no contact with their father. In one heated discussion she had even said she thought he was living in Australia, although afterwards she couldn’t remember exactly what she’d told them and berated herself for not remembering because Hannah was likely to pull her up on something. Lately her daughter was questioning her a lot about her father, and how she wished the questions would stop.

Thankfully Peter had never turned up, and eventually Kathryn stopped imagining he might. Now she was grateful he continued sending the money, as promised, and appeared to want nothing in return. Right now she needed the money more than ever as it was the only source of income she had. The hefty fees for the care home were rapidly draining her mother’s funds, which meant Kathryn’s whole future and existence in the Bay were completely dependent on Peter. They hadn’t realised until after her father’s death that despite his apparent wealth, he had accrued a lot of debt. Morrie often hinted she should reconsider the care home Eleanor was in, but Kathryn couldn’t bring herself to do so. Her mother would hate to be anywhere else and she didn’t have the guts to think about it, even though, as he had carefully pointed out, Eleanor wasn’t in much of a mind to argue.

Soon she would need to do something about money but for now she could continue putting it off. Besides, other things concerned her. The girls, particularly Hannah, were putting more strain on her. They were growing up and demanding more independence. One day they would grow their wings and fly away and then what would she do?

And then there was her mother. Of course Kathryn could see it, she wasn’t stupid: as much as they tried to tell her Mother was doing fine, she knew she wasn’t. Eleanor was her world. The only person who had always been there for her, and Kathryn was scared, because losing her mother was like losing her own mind.

*****

Tucking the cheque into her purse Kathryn slipped on a pair of shoes and headed straight for the bank. She had a number of errands in the high street that she needed to do and one was to find something special for her mother’s birthday. When it came to buying her mother a present Kathryn was still panic-stricken even though, as Hannah once said, it really didn’t matter anymore. She had shouted at Hannah when she said that but her daughter was right, and though Kathryn would never say it aloud, it gave her a little relief that her mother could no longer judge what she gave her.

It had started on a school trip when Kathryn was nine and she had bought her mother’s birthday gift with her own money. Carefully choosing a brightly painted ceramic pot, Kathryn had been thrilled with what she had done for her mum. But when Eleanor unwrapped it, she had screwed up her eyes and said, ‘This is a little garish, isn’t it?’ and the pot was cast to one side. Kathryn could still remember the sinking feeling, the utter dismay that as always, she had got it so wrong.

She wasn’t looking forward to seeing her mother at the home that weekend, not that she would ever say as much to the girls. The journey was long and she tried to avoid driving far as much as she could, but since Eleanor couldn’t get to Mull Bay, the journey was a necessity.

It was obvious Hannah didn’t enjoy the visits although she had never said as much. Whenever they saw Eleanor, she was snappier than usual and barely spoke to anyone while they were at the home. Kathryn had given up prodding her daughter to speak to her grandmother in the residents’ lounge. It was tiring enough trying to be jolly herself without having to encourage Hannah to do the same. In the end she ignored Hannah’s bad moods and instead counted her blessings her other daughter was chattier. Lauren was always positive, telling Eleanor what they were doing, even though she got nothing in return.

At first she tried not to blame Hannah. Kathryn was well aware the trips were anything but fun, if they could ever have been called that. Whatever anyone thought, Kathryn wasn’t blind to her mother’s ways, but she still loved her. No one else had held her together when she was falling apart and she needed her. But over time Kathryn began to feel annoyed when she watched how Hannah behaved with Eleanor, rolling her eyes at Lauren and shaking her hands dramatically to the gods when she didn’t think Kathryn could see her. It made her angry, and it reminded her of the way Abigail had been.

Kathryn shook such thoughts out of her head and focused instead on what Mull Bay’s gift shop had to offer. Browsing the shelves she recited the shopping list to herself. It was a neat little trick that concentrated her mind on what it could manage: birthday present, groceries, watch battery.
There was something else
, she thought, muttering through the list again.
That was it, a joint of pork
. After she had found a gift, Kathryn would go straight to the butcher’s. A habit inherited from her mother, they always had a roast on a Wednesday. When she was a child, Wednesday was the night her father, Charles, invited business associates and their wives for dinner. Eleanor was right in thinking that ordering their cook to roast a joint mid-week impressed the guests. The wives often murmured comments like, ‘This is really so splendid, Eleanor. I don’t know how you manage it all. Bringing up a child as well.’

Kathryn had liked it when they said things like that because Eleanor always made a show of how easy her daughter was to ‘bring up’. As if she actually enjoyed having a daughter, which as Kathryn knew, wasn’t remotely close to the truth.

Whilst Kathryn didn’t match cook’s culinary skills, she still thought it right to impress such little things upon the girls. Sharing dinner together as a family every Wednesday was one of them.

That night she served the pork with roasted vegetables. It was a simple dish but Kathryn knew the girls loved it. She had intended to make an apple crumble that afternoon too, one of her mother’s recipes. She knew exactly which one she wanted to recreate and that morning had told Lauren she was making it. But when the time came she could no longer remember how. Two hours were wasted that afternoon trying to recall the recipe. She just had to hope that Lauren had forgotten.

In the end none of it mattered. The evening was ruined when Hannah started on at her again, although this time it wasn’t about Peter.