Shattered (16 page)

I close my eyes. Steph must have seen; she must know my eyes are really green. That the glasses mask who I am.

Who am I?
You don’t even know whose she is
.

Stella helps me up. ‘To bed with you now,’ she says. And we start across the room.

‘Wait,’ Steph says. ‘I fixed them. The lens just popped back in.’ She holds out my glasses and I reach for them, put them back on. Steph looks between Stella and me, a thoughtful look on her face.

Ellie scampers ahead and holds doors open. I want to shake Stella off and walk on my own, but my head is still fuzzy, and it does hurt. Did I really hit it when I fell? When I fainted.

Stella helps me to my bed; Ellie hovers next to us.

‘That’s fine, Ellie. You can go now,’ Stella says. Ellie looks uncertainly between us, leaves, shuts the door. It clicks to.

Stella looks at me with something like fear in her eyes.

‘You’re not my mother.’ I say it like a statement, not a question.

She breaks gaze, looks away. ‘What nonsense.’

‘Listen to me. I was cell tested by Lorders when I was Slated: I was under sixteen, and it was after my so-called sixteenth birthday that November.’

‘But tests can be wrong—’

‘You nearly flipped the other day when I said my birthday wasn’t in November. There are no early baby photos of me. And that day, my tenth birthday, when I heard you and Astrid—’

‘You remember
that
?’ she says, her eyes open wide.

‘Astrid said you don’t even know
whose
I am. I thought that just meant Dad wasn’t my father, but that’s only half of it, isn’t it? You’re not my mother either. Admit it!’

Colour has drained from her face. She looks back into my eyes with desperation. ‘I am in every way that counts. I’ve always loved you, Lucy.’

‘No! Not in one way that counts. Tell me the truth. Tell me now!’

‘You should rest. You might have concussion.’

‘I do not. Tell me where I come from! I have the right to know.’

Stella is shaking, her face crumbling. ‘I am your mother. I
am
.’ She’s choking back tears, and something else: the truth.

Part of me wants to comfort her, to put a hand on hers, but no. She has to face this. Is it something so buried she can’t even say it?

‘We can have nothing between us if we don’t have the truth,’ I say, and turn away from her, to the wall.

Time passes. Minutes, more? A hand touches my shoulder, then pulls away.

‘All right,’ she says, voice dull. ‘I’ll tell you. It’s a sad tale.’

I turn, sit up. ‘I’m listening.’

She doesn’t say anything at first, gathering herself, then nods. ‘Okay. Your dad and I wanted children. Desperately. But every time I got pregnant, I lost the baby. Sometimes a few months in, sometimes longer. I don’t know why; doctors didn’t know why. Then one last time it happened: I was pregnant again. But this time I didn’t tell anyone, even your dad. He went away a while: we weren’t getting along.’ She stops, bites her lip.

‘And?’

‘I was staying with my mother.’ The way she says the words, there is more to that, but I don’t interrupt. ‘My baby was born early: my darling, beautiful daughter. I had Lucy to adore for days, just a few days. And then, she died.’ Stella’s voice is choked, and I don’t know what to say.

She turns to me, takes my hand. ‘Then Mother, months later, brought you to me. You were perfect. And you were mine. I always loved you, Lucy: that is what makes you my daughter. Don’t you see?’

‘Wait a minute. Are you saying Astrid just came up with a baby to replace yours that died? Where from?’

‘I honestly don’t know. I guessed from an orphanage; as JCO she is in charge of those also. But I didn’t ask. I didn’t want her to take you away from me.

‘And this was months later that you got me? Didn’t anybody notice you had a baby, then didn’t, then did again? What about Dad?’

‘I told you. I was…away. At Mother’s. Your dad and I didn’t see each other for a long time. Then when he finally came back he saw you, and assumed you were ours: we got back together. I didn’t tell him the truth about you.’

I shake my head at her. ‘How could you lie to him like that?’

‘I had to. Mother threatened to take you away if I ever told. But then years later, she held it over me, and then one day you and Danny heard us talking about it—’

‘News out.’

‘Yes. He couldn’t handle it; he took off. It was a few days later when you went missing: Mother found out the AGT had you. That he’d given you to them. I know you don’t want to believe it. Mother tried again and again to get you back, but couldn’t find exactly where you were being held.’

‘You say you always loved me as your daughter. Why would it be any different for Dad? Okay, he had a shock to get over, but I was still
me
. Still the daughter he’d always known.’ I shake my head.

‘Maybe you are right. Maybe he didn’t have anything to do with what happened to you.’ She says the words like they are difficult to say out loud, and the interplay is there on her face. For her to accept he was blameless would be hard after all the blaming she has done over the years. Then to accept how he died. ‘Does it matter now?’

‘It does to me.’ But then I’m shaking my head, my eyes are welling up.

‘It is too much to take in all at once. I’m sorry you didn’t know. I—’

‘It’s not just that. I think I remember what happened that day. The day I disappeared.’

She stays very still, quiet.

‘There was this note from Dad under my pillow to meet him at Castlerigg. I went there at lunchtime, but he wasn’t there. Somebody else was – from the AGT – he said Dad sent them to get me. But when we got where they took me, he wasn’t there. I didn’t see him for two years, when he tried to rescue me.’

Her face goes hard, angry.

‘No, wait,’ I say. ‘It doesn’t mean he wrote the note. Maybe they faked it.’

‘But how would they get a note under your pillow, or know that Castlerigg was the place you and Dad always went, if he didn’t tell them?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t know. I don’t want to believe it; I can’t believe it.’

Stella struggles to pull away from her anger. ‘Listen to me. Whatever happened, he still tried to save you, didn’t he?’

‘So he died.’

‘He died
trying
to be a hero.’ Behind her words is an unsaid echo, one she can’t forgive him for even if he wasn’t involved in my disappearance in the first place. He failed.

We talk a bit longer, but I feign sleepiness, and she leaves. I stare at the wall in the dark.

So I’m back to this: as if I’ve been Slated all over again. To not knowing who I am. No parents, no place I come from. There is not even a name that is really mine.
Lucy Howarth
or
Lucy Connor
: either way, it is the name of a dead baby.

I’m numb.

Nothing.

CHAPTER TWENTY

‘Take a seat,’ Mrs Medway says, and I sit opposite her desk. She closes the door.

‘Riley, have you enjoyed your week at our school?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ I say, trying to be in the here and now for her, even though I failed at it most of the day.

She sighs. ‘I don’t quite know what to make of you, my dear. Our art department is screaming for you to be one of our next apprentices: you’ve made quite an impression there. That is fantastic, but the other days haven’t been quite as positive. The thing is, if we take you as an apprentice, you have to spend a year working in every year and class in the school.’

‘I’m sorry. I haven’t been myself these last few days.’ How could I be, when I don’t know who that is?

‘I understand you must be upset about your friend Madison. Is there something else?’

I’m startled she mentions Madison again; it isn’t the done thing – admitting to feelings about someone taken by Lorders. And her face is full of genuine interest, concern. There is nothing that threatens here. But how honest can I be?

I hesitate. ‘Confidentially?’

‘Of course.’

‘I found out recently that I’m adopted. It’s been a shock.’ I’ve never said anything more true.

‘Oh, I see.’

‘I was wondering if there are any teaching jobs at orphanages?’

‘There used to be.’ She half frowns, shakes her head. ‘The nearest is the Cumbrian Care Facility; we used to supply teachers there on rotation. But a few years ago, they hired their own. Shut us out completely. I could ask.’ She hesitates. ‘I’m not sure what is going on there. It might not be a good place for you.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s isolated: stuck out in a valley with nothing but a few farms miles away, and people who work there never come to town.’ She frowns. ‘Let’s just leave it at that, shall we? Now, what shall we do with you?’ She opens a netbook, stares at the screen for a moment, then touches it and looks up again. ‘Right. I’ve recommended you for an apprenticeship here. If you decide to select us as your top choice, that should clinch it. But don’t decide until you’ve had the rest of your trials.’

I stare back at her, eyes wide with surprise. ‘Thank you.’

‘Riley, I’m taking a gamble on you here. I take our responsibility to every child in our care, every child we teach, very, very seriously. There are no off days allowed, however good the reason, when every child counts.’

‘I understand.’

‘Now, go. Whatever you decide, I wish you all the best.’

‘Thank you,’ I say again, my throat feeling choked. She doesn’t even know who or what I am, but she is willing to give me a chance. I hesitate at the door.

She looks up. ‘Is there anything else?’

I long to tell her that I’m her missing student, Lucy, the one she couldn’t account for all those years ago. Does it still haunt her? But I’m not really her, anyhow.

‘No, that’s it. Thanks again.’ And I bolt out the door.

I stop by the Moot Hall, where Madison and I met with Finley and went on the walk up Catbells. I’d noticed they had maps up in glass cases on the side of the building, and study them closely.

‘There’s more maps inside,’ a voice says. I jump. Finley is standing in the doorway.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Apparently, my mind isn’t on my job enough to do anything fun, so I’m on duty here.’ He pauses, glances about. ‘Any news?’

I shake my head. ‘I’ve got word out, but I’m waiting for contact still to get her put on MIA. It should be soon. But don’t get your hopes up,’ I say, gently.

‘So, what are you doing – planning a weekend walk?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Can I come?’

‘Maybe. Don’t ask why, but I want to go past the Cumbrian Care Facility. Do you know where it is?’

‘No, but I can find out.’ He gets me to follow him inside, hunts through indices and finds the right map. ‘I haven’t been this way before; it isn’t on a main walking route. But it’ll be good to get out and away from everything and everybody, and up high.’

‘I know. For me, too. Can we keep where we are going between us?’

He looks at me curiously. ‘Of course.’

We work out the way: we’ll have to drive out of Keswick to a point where we can pick up a trail, but Finley says he can borrow a car. He reckons from there it’ll take about three hours each way. We arrange to meet in the morning.

As I head back to the house, I wonder: what am I doing? Really. What possible good could it do to go look at an orphanage I may or may not have come from, something like seventeen years ago? Stella only
guessed
I came from an orphanage, and even if I did, there is no guarantee it is that one.

I shrug. I don’t know. Something inside wants to go there, to see it.

That night Stella knocks on my door, peeks in. ‘May I?’ she asks, hesitant. I nod.

‘I’ve brought something to show you.’

In her hands is a small album. It doesn’t match the others in the wardrobe. She opens it, and inside are page after page of a small baby, much tinier than that four-week-old one I saw yesterday. With loads of dark hair, eyes that don’t quite open. Even in the photos she seems very still.

‘This is Lucy.’

‘Why did you give me the same name?’

She shrugs, uncomfortable. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe I shouldn’t have.’ She sighs. ‘I’ll always regret that she died, but I still loved you – and I still do – for who you are. That doesn’t change because of any of this.’

‘But the name Lucy must always remind you what you lost.’ I stare back at her, and some inkling of understanding creeps in. She was so afraid of losing me, like she lost the baby in these photos. All the other babies, too. Then, years later, when I disappeared, all her fears came true. I feel like I’m starting to understand her, just a little.

Doesn’t mean I always like her.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

‘There is something about being up here, that no matter how life sucks, I feel better.’ I’m looking through my camera at the lonely fells sweeping around us, valleys below. The climb ahead.

Finley is silent, and I lower the camera. ‘Sorry,’ I say, looking at him sideways.

‘It’s okay. I haven’t got the worldwide monopoly on misery; you can have some of it, too. So why is your life sucking?’

I shrug. ‘Mostly I can’t say.’ I hesitate. ‘But there is something I can. Between us. Somebody I care for got hauled off by Lorders not long ago, too.’

‘Somebody?’

‘Okay. A guy.’
Ben
.

‘And you loved him.’

‘Correction: I love him. Past tense not allowed.’

‘Deal on that one.’

We continue on, mostly silent after that, stopping to check the map a few times when paths branch off, steadily climbing all the way. We reach a ridge: high on a desolate path, wind bitingly cold sweeping across it. No snow up here: blown away? The sky is almost clear, but it seems thin, as if even the oxygen has been stolen by the howling wind. We’re walking fast to stay warm.

‘Nice day you picked,’ Finley says, but I can tell he doesn’t care, any more than I do, about being battered by the weather. But when we dip down again it is still a relief to get out of the wind.

‘Nearly there now; the orphanage is in that valley.’ He points it out; we have a traverse down this hill. ‘Are you going to tell me why we’re going there?’