Poison Heart (23 page)

I moved closer to her, grinning all the time with excessive sweetness. ‘He’s all yours now, and everyone will know you’re just a substitute … second best because I didn’t want him.’ Genevieve’s face was a picture as she struggled to control her feelings and I twisted the knife further. ‘He doesn’t seem so attractive, does he, Gen? Enjoy him while you can.’

For a minute I thought I’d really got to her, but she
gave a laugh that chilled me to the bone. ‘He was never yours … not even for a second. I allowed you time together because it suited me.’

‘As if I’d believe that.’

She sighed wistfully and looked up at the grey sky. ‘I could push you right now – just a small push, and everyone would think you’d tripped. Careless Kat, waiting by the stairs instead of taking the lift.’

I
was
careless to get myself cornered like this. I’d automatically come out of the main entrance instead of using the lift which went down to pavement level.

‘It would be a relief,’ she whispered.

‘You couldn’t even find a life of your own,’ I challenged, ‘so you had to steal mine. How pathetic is that?’

She made a swirling movement with her hand as if writing in the air. ‘All it took was a few brushstrokes and you were completely erased.’

Was she referring to the painting? She didn’t elaborate, and I hoped against hope that Merlin hadn’t let her see it. My foot edged forward and I gazed downwards, the sensation making me reel. I felt helpless, all the time aware of a weight in my hand and the coldness of glass and metal. I almost stumbled and reached out to clutch her jacket, which gave me the opportunity I’d been waiting for. The pendant was slipped into her pocket, and I straightened up, immediately feeling steadier.

‘Is that what happens to everyone who annoys you?’ I asked with renewed confidence.

Genevieve jutted out her chin. ‘Maybe you ought to be more wary.’

‘So sorry about your adoptive parents,’ I mocked. ‘I heard your sad story but … it seems everyone who gets close to you dies.’

She looked almost pleased with my words and her lips curved at the corners. ‘It’s a good job you realize that. Other people underestimate me, but not you. We understand each other.’

The bizarre thought occurred to me that at three thirty on a Monday afternoon I was hearing a murder confession. Her hand suddenly gripped my wrist and my head was filled with her horrible thoughts. I was back there at the cottage, seeing the flames licking the wood, hearing glass shatter and the awful screams of the people trapped inside. And she was glad. I could feel her pitiless satisfaction. If she really was capable of this, then I had to act.

‘Mum and I might be moving away,’ I said quickly. ‘To a new city for a fresh start.’

‘It’s too late for that, Katy.’

‘Too late?’ I said. ‘But you wanted me to go, to leave the way open for you.’

She wrinkled her nose with feigned regret. ‘Yes, I did, but now … it’s not enough. You’d always be out there … somewhere … and that wouldn’t work for me.’

‘So what should I do then? Die?’

‘It should be as if you were never born. That’s why we found each other.’

This was her usual riddle, but I had to ask. ‘How
did
you find me?’

Genevieve seemed to exhale slightly, and a gentle breeze caressed my face. One of her curls brushed my cheek. ‘You know the answer … you just haven’t realized it yet.’

I blinked and she was gone. Only Nat was beside me now, scolding me for not taking the lift.

I was so unsettled when I arrived home that I locked myself in my room. The thought that Genevieve could have seen the painting made me feel physically sick. I pulled my hair back from my face and gave a long low groan of dismay. When I caught sight of myself in my mirrored wardrobe it made me flinch – I looked so cruel and vindictive that I barely recognized myself. I exhaled several times and smoothed my hands across my forehead, cheeks and mouth, trying to get rid of this awful expression. It would have been nice to talk to Luke, but there was no point in telling him what had happened until he was home. Today felt like progress, but where did I go from here?

The train was already packed. My limp managed to buy me some sympathy and I was offered a window seat next to a middle-aged guy with a lunch box laid out on the table, munching egg sandwiches and drinking from a Thermos flask. Everyone else had probably avoided him, but I needed to think and couldn’t do that getting thrown around the compartment. The scenery changed as we left the city behind – tower blocks, factories and shopping centres gave way to fields full of cows and isolated farms with only the giant electricity pylons spoiling the view. My trip had been planned on impulse, a quick call to Gran and Grandad to announce my intention to visit, but now came the hard part – working out what to tell them. I had an hour to come up with a story. I leaned against the headrest to let my mind drift, but I was so tired that my eyes grew heavy and slowly began to close.

The set of three carved mirrors was directly in front of me. Genevieve and I were positioned side by side on a
cushioned stool, our movements perfectly synchronized, like some kind of strange charade. An antique silver brush and comb sat on the dressing table. As I lifted the brush to my hair she mimicked my movements as closely as if she was my reflection. I speeded up, wanting her to stop, but her timing was perfect and I couldn’t shake her off. I moved faster, hoping that she’d slip up, but gradually she overtook me in the game and I realized that I was following her and had no control over my actions. She could make my hands jerk about and my head shake uncontrollably. I became confused and exhausted but still she went on, pulling at my strings as though I was her puppet. And then she clutched her head and screamed. But it was actually me who was screaming, yet I had no voice – it was a silent cry of agony and impotence.

I looked around the carriage in panic, convinced I must have made some kind of gruesome noise, but no one was looking my way. Genevieve was even invading my daydreams now. The train was about to pull into the station. I picked up my bag and composed my face to appear bright and upbeat.

‘Katy!’

I was enveloped in a plump pair of arms and breathed in Gran’s perfume, which always smelled of lemons. I turned slightly and my cheek came into contact with rough whiskers.

‘You’ve been in the wars,’ Grandad’s gruff voice joked.

‘It’s nothing, only my ankle. I was on crutches a few days ago and couldn’t put any weight on it at all, but it’s getting better.’

‘Too much dancing?’ Gran smiled, dimples appearing in both cheeks.

Grandad insisted on fastening my seat belt for me before we drove to their village. Gran took my arm as soon as we got out of the car.

‘Now come into the kitchen and I’ll make some tea. There’re fresh scones and chocolate cake and those biscuits you used to like. I hope you still have a healthy appetite. I’ve no time for teenage girls starving themselves and looking like skeletons. It doesn’t do at all.’

The kitchen was unchanged, with an old-fashioned pantry, an ancient fridge-freezer, a big enamel sink and a marble-topped circular table where we always sat.

Nerves always gave me an appetite. I devoured one misshapen scone and then started on the chocolate cake before Gran plucked up the courage to ask, ‘Your mum … Rebecca … is she … I mean, is everything all right?’

‘She’s fine,’ I replied, my mouth still full and crumbs flying from it. ‘She’s getting out more and starting some … therapy, even talking of going back to work.’

Gran’s face brightened. ‘That’s wonderful. I should call her and we could drive down one day. We always mean to, but … sometimes … it isn’t that easy.’

She coughed self-consciously and began buttering herself a scone with extra care to cover her discomfort.
There was no need to explain. I knew why they didn’t come to see me more often – Mum always made so many excuses.

Grandad slipped back into the room. ‘Does Rebecca know you’re here?’

I shook my head and he murmured, ‘Ah,’ as if this was significant.

I swallowed several times because it felt as if my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth. ‘I … wanted to ask you something.’

‘What sort of thing?’ they asked in unison.

‘About when I was a baby.’

There was an awkward silence before Gran spoke. ‘You’re growing up fast … we thought you might start to ask questions.’

‘Is it about your father?’ Grandad asked gently.

‘Mmm … not really. It’s just that … I found my birth certificate and wanted to know about the place where I was born.’

Worried looks were exchanged. ‘I’m not sure we should discuss this without Rebecca’s knowledge,’ Gran said. ‘It’s her you need to ask.’

‘But … she doesn’t want to talk about it,’ I cried in frustration. ‘I know she doesn’t. She never even told me I was born in another city, and if I hassle her … she’ll get ill …’

Grandad got up from his chair and muttered something about ‘checking on his plants’, even though it was raining.

‘I’ll tell you what I know,’ Gran said at last, ‘but it isn’t
very much.’ She refilled her cup full of strong orange tea and settled back in her chair. ‘Rebecca was only twenty-one when you were born. She was studying music in York and we didn’t know she was pregnant. The first we heard was a phone call to announce your birth.’

‘Mum didn’t tell you?’ I asked in surprise. ‘Did she think you’d be angry?’

There was a small sigh. ‘We were a little … conventional, but we would have supported our daughter – any mother and father surely would. Rebecca was very independent and headstrong and I think she wanted to cope on her own.’

I thought of Mum lying in bed day after day, the exact opposite of independent and headstrong, and I wondered again what had made her this way.

‘What happened when you got to the hospital?’

‘Well, that’s the thing, Katy. Rebecca had already discharged herself, so we went to her flat instead.’

My heart sank into my boots. ‘You didn’t see me in the hospital?’

Gran’s face creased as she tried to remember. ‘No … we didn’t see you until you were five days old.’

‘And what was Mum like? I mean, was she OK being on her own with a tiny baby?’

‘She was like a duck to water, looking after you,’ was the delighted reply.

‘And … was anyone else there? Did you see any of Mum’s friends?’

‘No. By the time we arrived she was upset and kept
saying she just wanted to leave, to come home. She’d finished her final exams and had her bags packed. We helped her of course.’

‘Nothing seemed strange?’

Gran rocked backwards and forwards in her chair laughing. ‘Only the fact that my only daughter now had her own daughter and I wasn’t at all prepared.’

‘How did she keep it from you?’

Gran made a sucking noise with her teeth. ‘That Easter she hadn’t come home – she said she had to revise. And in the early stages she hid it well with plenty of baggy clothes, and we just put the weight gain down to all the unhealthy student food. And remember how tiny you were at birth.’

Then why does a photo of a bouncing chubby baby have my name on it?
, I wanted to yell, but somehow this was one step too far and it didn’t feel fair to burden Gran with my worries. I knew instinctively that she wouldn’t have the answer to this. My grandparents were never even at the hospital and the only baby they ever saw was the one my mum presented them with.

‘What are you looking for, Katy?’ Gran asked kindly.

‘Don’t know,’ I answered honestly. ‘Just a reason why Mum wouldn’t tell me about my birth. I thought there had to be some kind of secret.’

Gran picked up the teapot to pour herself another cup and somehow managed to scald her hand. She held it under the cold tap while I hovered in concern.

‘It’s all right, I’m not hurt,’ she tried to reassure me, but
she seemed pale and anxious. I felt enormously guilty for coming here like this and worrying her. Tears sprang from nowhere and I hastily blinked them away. It wasn’t just the strain of Genevieve, but seeing my grandparents again and realizing how much I missed them. Gran must have noticed and motioned me to sit down again. She rested one of her wrinkled hands over mine.

‘There
was
something else,’ she began. She looked at me for a minute as if she was having second thoughts but continued hesitantly. ‘The flat Rebecca was living in was … rundown and not in a nice area. Some of the tenants had problems … drugs, I think.’

‘Mum wasn’t …?’

‘Good grief, no. But … there was an incident.’

‘What sort of incident?’

Gran cleared her throat, fiddled with her rings and folded her arms in the same way Mum always did when she was nervous. ‘One of the women living there … she took an overdose … and … unfortunately … she didn’t survive.’

‘Did Mum know her?’

Gran nodded. ‘Rebecca was terribly shaken. It took her ages to get over it, and we were worried about her for a while.’

This could be the key to why Mum had always been so fragile. I was almost too scared to ask. ‘Why? What did she do?’

Gran looked out of the window and her face was etched
with sorrow. ‘She was almost locked in her own world … so unlike the bright cheerful girl who went away. We knew she was hurting but were powerless to help.’

‘But … Mum left you and found her own place. She must have been feeling stronger?’

Gran nodded. ‘After a time the garden seemed to heal her. She spent so long outside tending the flowers, and her favourite place was under the weeping willow. She even named it after you, Katy.’

An enormous feeling of sadness welled up inside me. ‘And … Mum never went back to the flat?’

‘Never. She didn’t want to talk about her time there and we never brought it up.’

‘What about enemies? Did she have any?’

Gran laughed. ‘Rebecca never had an enemy in the world – she brought sunshine to everyone.’

I smiled wanly. ‘Can I see one of your first photographs of me?’

Gran was more than happy to get out the family album. I noted that all her photos were exactly the same as I’d always seen at Mum’s, and none of them looked like the one from the attic. I had to sit for a whole hour looking at everyone in my extended family until my eyes glazed over. I made an excuse not to stay for tea by hinting that Mum needed me home. As I kissed Gran goodbye there was one question I had yet to ask.