Secrets of the Tides (28 page)

Violet’s suitcase lay open at one end of the bed, a colourful array of clothes spilling out across the floor. Cassie plucked at a few of the garments. Violet’s taste was tight and bright and Cassie winced at each in turn as she held them up to her body in the mirror – not her style. She replaced each item carefully where she had found it and then moved across to the dressing table. Violet was not a tidy woman. The surface was strewn with bottles and jars, compacts of pressed powder, lipsticks and eye shadow, jewellery and scarves. She reached for a bottle of perfume and sniffed at the nozzle; a pungent floral scent raced up her nostrils. She put the bottle back and reached instead for an expensive-looking moisturiser. She gave it a suspicious sniff before smothering a dollop onto her face, then seized a ruby red lipstick and smeared it over her lips. She finished the look with a heavy ring of black kohl around each eye and stood back to assess her reflection in the mirror. She looked like one of Dora’s old Sindy dolls after a particularly frenzied attack with the felt-tip pens. Beneath the make-up Cassie saw violet bags the colour of four-day-old bruises; she hadn’t been sleeping well recently. She wiped the lipstick off with a tissue and scrubbed at her ringed eyes.

Bored with the oddments on the dressing table Cassie turned to survey the rest of the room. There was a splayed paperback lying on the bedside table that, according to the quote splashed across the front, promised a ‘raunchy and irresistible’ read. Violet’s scarlet lace nightdress peeked out from underneath one pillow, and several pairs of impossibly high heels stood lined up on the floor underneath the window ledge, but other than that the room held little of interest. Cassie slipped out into the hallway and wandered downstairs in search of other forbidden treasures.

Her mother’s office was the next obvious place to try. Since Alfie, Helen had taken to spending even more time cloistered behind its door, her head bent over some book or other. Cassie sometimes wondered if she even remembered she had two daughters who were still very much alive, the amount of attention she paid them some days. Still, there were certainly benefits to being ignored. She got away with things most of her friends would have been grounded for weeks for.

The room was dark as she entered and she could smell a heady mix of paper, leather and Helen’s familiar lemony scent hanging on the air. Cassie flicked on the overhead light and moved to the desk. She sat herself in the leather writer’s chair and swivelled round and round for a few moments, until she felt dizzy and had to stop. The surface of the desk was covered in papers. She plucked at a few and scanned the text, before placing them back on the surface. More boring work stuff. She rummaged through the desk drawers, discarding a packet of extra strong mints, some of her mother’s personalised stationery, elastic bands and paper clips, old biros and post-it notes. She was about to give up when her fingers grazed the edges of something stuffed right at the back of the drawer. Curiously, she grabbed at the object and pulled it out.

Cassie’s heart skipped a beat when she saw what she held: a bundle of Alfie’s baby photos. They were worn and tatty, as if aged by a thousand caresses and stained by a flood of tears. Cassie stared at them for a moment, taking in her brother’s wide toothy smile and brilliant blue eyes. In one he sported a large scab across his forehead: Cassie could still remember the awful sound of his head connecting with the coffee table and the piercing wail that had followed. In another he sat on a swing, his chubby little legs flailing wildly as he went higher and higher into the blue sky. And in another he peered up at the camera from beneath a voluminous, floppy straw hat with flowers decorating its brim; one of their grandmother’s, she supposed. As she sifted through the images an uncomfortable lump formed at the back of her throat. She shoved them back into the drawer and slid it shut with a bang. That would teach her for snooping.

She was just double-checking for telltale signs of her spying and planning her exit when the telephone rang. Without thinking, Cassie reached for the handset.

‘Hello?’

‘Helen, is that you? Don’t hang up.’

Cassie swallowed. She didn’t recognise the man’s voice, but there was a desperation in his words that made her pause.

‘Helen?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘Helen, just listen to me. Please. I’m going out of my mind here. I need to see you. I know you’ve said you can’t have anything to do with me, but I can’t let you go. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I certainly can’t paint. God knows, I’ve tried, but nothing feels right without you. I love you. It’s as simple as that. Don’t you feel the same way? Don’t you think of me at all?’

Cassie was frozen to the spot, paralysed by the words spilling from the telephone.

‘Helen, say something, please!’ the man urged. ‘I beg you.’

At a loss for what else to do, Cassie placed the receiver gently back on the hook and ran quickly from her mother’s study, her face burning with shock and anger.

She was shivering on the patio, puffing on an illicit Marlboro Light when Violet came upon her.

‘It’s OK,’ Violet said as she leapt in alarm, ‘I won’t tell. Got a spare one?’

Cassie breathed a sigh of relief and handed over the packet. She watched as Violet, clutching a cocktail glass in one hand, struggled to free a cigarette from the packet, her bracelets jangling wildly with her endeavours. She eventually managed, stuck one between her red lips and leaned in to accept Cassie’s offer of a light. For just a second the flare of the match lit up Violet’s round face, before they were both plunged into darkness again. They stood side by side, clutching themselves for warmth, and puffed on the cigarettes companionably.

‘You wouldn’t believe it was almost summer, would you?’ laughed Violet. ‘It’s bloomin’ freezing out!’

‘No,’ agreed Cassie. She thought she’d try a little small talk. ‘So, how was the market?’

‘Oh, muddier than Glastonbury and full of hippies selling over-priced organic honey and hemp clothes. Not really my scene, to be honest.’

Cassie smiled in the darkness.

‘There was a beautiful flower stall, though, with some gorgeous hand-tied bouquets. I enjoyed that.’

Cassie knew Violet ran her own florist’s and nodded politely. ‘You enjoy your work, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said Violet. ‘I do. I’m lucky. I couldn’t stand to spend my days doing something I hated, like so many poor people end up doing. I love flowers. Oh, I know lots of people think they’re frivolous and unnecessary, but imagine the birth of a baby without a celebratory bouquet, or a bride walking down the aisle without an arrangement of beautiful flowers in her hands; a sick person in hospital with nothing pretty to look at to cheer their spirits, or a grave without a floral tribute?’

Cassie winced at the last example but Violet was lost in her monologue and didn’t seem to notice.

‘My work marks the passing of time, just like the very seasons the plants themselves grow from. It celebrates all those important moments in life, and follows us from beginning to end.’ Violet shook her head in wonder. ‘A florist’s work is actually quite wonderful when you think about it.’

Cassie nodded. She’d never thought of it like that before.

‘And how are you, Cassie dear? How is life treating you?’

‘Oh, you know.’ Cassie scuffed at the moss on a paving slab with the toe of her trainer. ‘It’s OK.’

‘I remember my A-level year. Pure torture. All I wanted to do was hang out with my friends and party.’

Cassie nodded in agreement.

‘So, any nice boys on the scene I should know about? Don’t worry,’ she added hastily, ‘I won’t tell your mother.’

Cassie shook her head. ‘Not really.’

‘You surprise me, a pretty girl like you. I’d have thought you’d have boys beating down the door.’

Cassie eyed Violet evenly in the darkness. For a split second she wondered about telling her, but then she changed her mind. Violet was cool, but she didn’t really know if she could trust her.

‘What about Dora?’ Violet continued. ‘Has she got a boyfriend?’

Cassie shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. We don’t talk about stuff like that. We sort of keep to ourselves these days.’

Violet took another drag on her cigarette and exhaled smoke upwards into the night sky. ‘It’s been tough for you girls, hasn’t it? How do you think your folks are holding up?’

Cassie shrugged again. ‘They’re miserable. We all are.’

Violet gave a little nod. ‘Yes, it’s going to take time. You must be looking forward to university though? A fresh start?’

Cassie swallowed and gave a little nod. ‘Did you go to university?’

‘Me?’ Violet let out a little laugh. ‘Oh no. I wasn’t clever enough for that. Left that to your mother, didn’t I? I was very easily distracted back then.’ She let out a little giggle. ‘Yes, far too easily distracted . . . and between you and me, the thought of three more years of study horrified me. I couldn’t wait to get into the real world . . . get a job, earn some money, start being really independent.’

Cassie looked up at her with interest. ‘So you don’t regret not going?’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that. Looking back now I don’t know why I was in such a rush to join the real world. Another three years of larking about wouldn’t have hurt – and it might have helped with the old love life too. Apparently almost twenty per cent of people meet their future spouse at university. Did you know that, Cass?’ Violet took another long drag on her cigarette. ‘Twenty per cent! Just think, your Mr Right is probably out there, waiting for you right now.’

‘Hmmm . . . perhaps,’ said Cassie with a small smile. ‘I’m sure
your
Mr Right is still out there too, somewhere.’

‘Do you think?’ asked Violet. ‘Well, that would be nice. One can but hope.’

They stood side by side in silence, smoking and shivering until Cassie steeled her nerves enough to direct the conversation to where her thoughts had been all afternoon.

‘Do you think Dad is Mum’s Mr Right?’

Violet’s head swung up in surprise. ‘Yes, of course; why, don’t you?’

Cassie shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Your parents are made for each other, Cassie.’

‘Mmmm . . .’ Cassie thought again about the insistent voice at the end of the telephone:
I love you . . . don’t you think of me at all?
Who was he?

‘Trust me, Cassie,’ continued Violet, swigging at her cocktail, ‘what those two have been through is enough to damage the strongest of relationships. But they’ll be fine. It’s just going to take a little time to heal.’

Cassie looked up into the darkness. The heavy cloud had cleared finally and she could see a smattering of silver stars dancing in the night sky.
A little time to heal
. Was that really all they needed?

‘Yes,’ said Violet quietly, ‘it’s just going to take you all a bit of time.’ She cleared her throat suddenly. ‘And in the meantime, roll on September . . . heading off to carve out your own future . . . it will do you good, Cassie. I bet you can’t wait, can you?’

Cassie nodded again, but stayed silent, hoping the effects of the alcohol would encourage Violet to keep talking, but she suddenly seemed to have clammed up.

‘Gosh, it’s really cold out here,’ she said finally. ‘We should go inside, Cass, before they all start to wonder where we’ve got to.’

Cassie nodded, disappointed not to have uncovered even the slightest hint at whom the strange man at the end of the telephone might have been.

‘Oh, and not a word about the ciggies, OK?’

‘Sure,’ agreed Cassie, following a tottering Violet through the back door and into the warmth of the kitchen.

It surprised no one more than Cassie that she passed her exams; she opened the envelope and stared down at the white slip of paper, feeling disbelief and a cold, creeping dread as she read through her results.

‘Well?’ asked Helen nervously from the other side of the breakfast table.

She nodded. ‘I passed.’

‘All of them?’

‘Yes.’

The relief seemed to temporarily jolt her parents out of their grief-stricken stupor. Richard even opened a bottle of champagne over one of Helen’s less disastrous dinners that night and they toasted her with Daphne and Alfred’s best crystal glasses.

‘Well done, Cassie, you’ve made us very proud.’

Cassie knew she didn’t deserve their pride but she threw back the champagne anyway. It was sour and fizzy in her mouth.

‘So I guess that means Edinburgh this September,’ added Helen, a little sadly.

Cassie noticed Dora’s head sink a little lower over her plate. She didn’t envy her sister, stuck in Dorset, rattling around their ghost house for another two years.

‘We’ll have to go shopping,’ said Richard. ‘Go and buy you a few things for your new room. It will be fun taking you up there. I haven’t been to Edinburgh in years.’

Cassie decided it was as good a time as any to broach the subject. ‘Actually, Dad,’ she started, ‘I was wondering if I could take the train up to Edinburgh – by myself? I think I’d like to do the first bit on my own, you know, get settled into halls, meet a few people.’ She saw her mother and father exchange a glance but she carried on anyway. ‘You could all come and visit me after a few weeks, see how I’m getting on. I’ll be able to show you around properly by then, and I’ll be ready to see a few friendly faces from home. You could come too, Dora.’ Her well-rehearsed spiel petered out and she waited with bated breath for their response.

Helen reached for her glass of water. Richard placed his cutlery down on his plate and folded his fingers together carefully, a sure sign that a ‘discussion’ was about to take place.

‘You want to go up there on your own?’ he asked. ‘Take the train?’

Cassie nodded and cut into the last piece of chicken on her plate, refusing to meet his eye.

‘But how will you manage all of your things?’

‘I won’t be taking that much, not at first. Just a few clothes, some books, a bit of bedding. I can buy most things up there anyway, right?’ She looked around at them all again and smiled encouragingly. ‘I just like the idea of striking off on my own, carving out my own future.’ She deliberately chose the same words Violet had used. They sounded good, like something her parents would approve of. ‘You understand, don’t you . . . after everything that’s happened?’ She held her breath. This was the closest she had come to mentioning Alfie since the funeral last year. She didn’t know if she’d overstepped the mark or not.