The Things You Didn't See(15)
Oh, Mum, look at you: pale face, half-covered by a mask, black hair matted with dried blood. You don’t move, only your eyelids flicker.
‘How can I leave her?’
‘It’s okay,’ he says. ‘I promise it will all work out just fine.’
7
Cassandra
Back home, in our semi in a cul-de-sac on the edge of Greater Kenley, I wonder how everything can seem so perfect. Cream carpets, white walls, everything neat and in its place. How can the fact that you’re fighting for your life in hospital mean nothing here?
Daniel and I moved here when Victoria was a baby, just as a stepping stone. The longer-term plan has always been to open a health spa, so Daniel can help even more people. A dream you shared, and were helping to make a reality, at least until yesterday evening.
But if the house looks the same, the people within it are changed. Dad hasn’t spoken once since we left the hospital. He barely seems to know where he is. He sinks heavily into an armchair, his face as grey as his hair, his eyes half-closed with fatigue. He’s never seemed old before, as if his sixty-odd years have suddenly caught up with him in a matter of hours, showing in the lines on his jowls, the shadows under his eyes. Even after the stroke he didn’t look like this, it was only his right side that was affected, and I notice how he cups his right hand protectively to his chest as though the injury were new.
‘Oh, Dad . . .’ Unable to stand the tension any longer, I reach out to hug him, because that seems the right thing to do – it’s what they’d do in films – but he holds up his left hand to stop me.
‘That’s enough, Cassandra.’
He never could bear signs of affection – any love in his gnarly heart he reserved for you. He’s a man of few words and even fewer touches, but still I ache with longing for comfort. He won’t give any and he certainly doesn’t want mine. I don’t realise I’m crying until I feel the tears on my cheeks.
‘Come here, love.’ Daniel reaches for me, just as moments ago I reached for Dad, and I fall into his embrace. I catch the scent of another woman on his skin, but that’s not unusual. He works closely with women, their perfume is often on his clothes, but I trust him. Daniel works intimately with his clients. In the past, the boundaries got blurred. Like that Olympian cyclist, who he healed so she could go on and win triple gold? She became his lover. They were going through a messy separation when he started working with me. I too was his client and then his lover. So sometimes I wonder about whoever he’s curing now, whether he’s attracted to them, even though he assures me I’m being silly. Jealousy is one of my demons. I’ve fought hard to master it, but sometimes I relapse.
‘Hector, you’re welcome to stay on the futon in the spare room,’ Daniel says, ‘just until the police finish their investigation at the farm.’
Dad doesn’t even thank him, but the spare room is where Daniel meditates every day. It’s where he keeps his folk art from India, propped against a wall, waiting until the Spa is open and he can put it on display. Where his golden Buddha lives, waiting serenely for its rightful home. The sanguine room is a small indication of what the Spa will look like, and I know it’s a sacrifice for him to give it up, even for a few nights. But Dad must stay with us, no one’s allowed at the farm while the police check that nothing suspicious took place.
Then I realise I don’t know where the dog is. In my feeble state, I can’t even remember his name. ‘Where’s the spaniel?’
‘Jet’s fine, love. Ash went to the farm a while ago to check on everything, and there’s a policeman watching the house. He told Ash a neighbour had taken Jet.’
Dad looks up. ‘What neighbour?’
‘Philip Godwin,’ Daniel says, and they exchange a look. Godwin is the head teacher at the local school, has been since I attended it. He’s also leading the campaign against the development plans, and he was at the farm yesterday, but they’re not friends. It would be hard to be friends with a man like Philip Godwin.
‘Well, if he knows, so will the whole village,’ says Dad. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t call the press.’
Daniel pulls a disgusted face. ‘He probably has Alfie Avon on speed dial. If he gets the notion that Maya’s suicide attempt is anything to do with the farm, he’ll use it for Save Our Countryside. No scruples, that man.’
Dad bristles. ‘It’s my campaign too, Dan. That’s why I’m working with Godwin. To protect the land.’
‘Which I always said was a bad idea.’ Daniel says it softly, but there’s steel behind each word. The farm’s future is important to him, we’ve got a stake in what happens – or at least we thought we did. ‘My radio show has a growing following, people need healing and the samphire is a miracle. The Spa is the key to saving our land: that’s the future.’
‘That land has been farmed on since the Iceni and you want to turn it into a spa! I’m working with Godwin, trying to get the Port Authority to see reason. Godwin invited Dave Feakes to a shoot yesterday, to show him what would be lost if Innocence Lane becomes a lorry park.’
Daniel is irritated. I can see the rising rhythm of his breathing, but he controls it well.
‘For God’s sake, Hector, the Port Authority want the farm because it’s a convenient location. You can’t change their minds with a few hot toddies and some dead birds! And Godwin doesn’t care about what’s right for you. I’ve told you before, Samphire Health Spa would attract a new clientele, and the publicity from the healing programmes would force the council to protect our land and the samphire growing there . . .’