No Going Back (6 page)

I flashed him a glance to see if he was joking but he looked deadly serious.

“I can protect myself thanks very much,” I replied. “Okay, I admit that it's a bit strange he was in the churchyard but that doesn't mean he's a complete weirdo.”

Dad shook his head as if I was completely deluded. “You never can tell. People aren't always what they
seem, you know.”

“I know. I'm not stupid. What about ghosts?” I asked, in an attempt to jolt him out of overprotective mode. “Are they always what they seem to be?”

I peered at him, stifled a giggle, waited for his face to break into a smile, but it didn't happen. Obviously I had to try harder.

“Hang on a moment, maybe you're not my dad after all. Maybe you're an imposter in a ghostly dadlike disguise. Maybe I don't know you at all and you have some deep, dark secret buried deeply in your past.”

He looked shocked, upset even.

“You don't really think that?”

“No, of course I don't,” I laughed. “I'm only joking.”

“Phew!” he said, with a wobbly grin and an exaggerated sweep of his hand, but just for a second or two, for some reason, I'd definitely had him worried.

T
ENSION

L
iberty was busy for the next couple of days but to be honest I didn't mind. In fact, secretly I was quite pleased because I wanted to spend the time with Dad. And obviously he wanted to be with me, which was lovely, but there are times a girl needs a bit of privacy.

“Dad, I'm going to the toilet,” I hissed as he followed me into the cloakroom during our first day together. “You don't have to hold my hand any more. I'm not scared that a rat is going to appear from the U-bend or I'm going to fall down and be flushed away!”

I thought he'd got the message but then that night he stood by the bathroom door.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Just checking that you're all right,” he replied.

“I'm fine,” I said. “I'm going for a bath.”

“You won't nod off and slip under the water will
you?” he fretted.

“Uh no,” I said. “I've never done that before.” I waved my book at him. “This should keep me awake.”

Big mistake. I knew it as soon as he peered at the cover which had a boy and girl in a hot clinch.

“Laura!” He looked genuinely shocked. “I don't think that's suitable reading.”

He made a swift movement as if to grab the book from me. But I was quicker. I whisked it behind my back.

“It's perfectly all right,” I replied, making a wafting movement with my hands in order to get him to step back across the threshold.

“It doesn't look it.”

“No,” I said slowly, trying to be serious, “but appearances can be deceptive. All the girls keep their clothes on and the boys are perfect gentlemen.”

“Hmm,” he said in a disbelieving way.

He took a step back onto the landing and I thought for a moment that I'd placated him. “But what if you feel dizzy again?” he persisted. “You
might fall and knock your head and…”

Time to get tough.

“Dad,” I said firmly. “Stop worrying. I'll be fine.”

His shoulders slumped. “If you're sure?”

“I am. Go and… I don't know… do whatever ghosts do when they've got some spare time.”

I closed the door and slid the bolt across. It was actually nice to have a bit of space.

There was a light knock on the door.

“What now?”

“You will remember to brush your teeth?”

I smiled and shook my head.

“Yes, Dad, I'll remember. I've managed without you for the last ten years and my teeth haven't gone black and fallen out yet.”

“Point taken,” he murmured.

At last he was quiet.

The trouble was that Dad seemed to think I was still the same person he'd left behind all those years ago. He still thought of me as four years old and needing to be looked after. Some things were the same of course. I still hated drinking orange squash and eating cheese and onion crisps together because
it made me feel sick, and big, hairy spiders still made me shriek until I shook. But in other ways I was a totally different person. Sometimes I wondered what I would have been like if Dad had lived. Would that free-spirited little girl in the photographs have grown up differently? Would I have felt more confident, less worried that everything precious would be taken away from me if I wasn't good and didn't keep my room tidy and work hard at school? I wished I could be more like her, the four year old with the wispy blond hair and carefree smile.

“You want to lighten up a bit,” Gran used to say. “Plenty of time to be all orderly when you're old.”

“I'm fine as I am thanks,” I'd reply.

Except, deep down, I wasn't sure that was true. Part of me was missing. There had been this silent space in my life which made me unsure of who I really was. Now that Dad was back I had a chance to fill that gap and find the real me.

On my second afternoon with Dad, when Gran had gone for her rest, we lolled about in the
garden. Dad sat beside me on the swing seat and told me stories about things we'd done together when I was little. “Do you remember when we took a rowing boat out on that little boating lake in the park near home and your mother was rowing but she dropped an oar in the water?”

I shook my head.

“You must have been about three at the time. She told me to leave it, that we could manage with one, but I didn't take any notice, as usual. I leaned over and fell in.”

“I bet that was funny,” I giggled.

“Your mother didn't think so. She said the whole boat nearly capsized but the lake wasn't deep so I could have scooped you up and carried you to the shore. Not that Mum saw it like that. She wouldn't talk to me for the rest of the day, called me ‘irresponsible'.”

I pulled a face.

“She didn't like me taking you near water after that. I had a real job to persuade her to let me take you back to feed the ducks. ‘Promise me you won't take her in a boat,' she used to say, every single time.”

At the base of my spine, something tingled and
in my head a distant memory twisted out of the recesses.

“I remember us going to see the ducklings,” I said. “I remember you holding my hand. I had red woolly gloves because it was still cold and afterwards we sat and ate pancakes at a little café.”

“Yes,” he said, clapping his hands, making the molecules twist and dance up in the air. “Yes, that's right. You always had that chocolate spread and I had maple syrup. Fancy you remembering that.”

I felt so pleased with myself and Dad was obviously thrilled too. He was jigging about and rocking the swing seat backwards and forwards.

“And I remember sitting on your shoulders as we walked home,” I said and I turned towards him, my eyes widening. “And I remember just how I felt, how much I loved being up there. I felt so special, as if I was the King of the Castle with my own special view of the world. You clutched at the front of my legs and I curled my fingers around your hair. You used to cut across the grass instead of taking the path across the park and you had to keep ducking to avoid the low branches of the
trees bashing me on the head.”

“Yes, that's right,” Dad said. “What about the fair? Do you remember going to that?”

I frowned and tried my best. There was fairground music filling my ears and bright lights and swirling colours soaking my senses but this time there was no Dad in the picture.

“You loved the teacups,” he said. “We would whizz around so fast and Mum would close her eyes and tell the man to stop spinning. But you and I would say, ‘More, more.'”

“Urgh!” I said. “I hate those teacups now. I was sick in one once. Now just looking at them makes me feel queasy.”

“That's right,” Dad replied. “You
were
sick, all over Mum's new jeans. I'd forgotten that. Goodness me, she was cross. You know what she's like about her clothes.”

We both laughed out loud just as Mum walked into the garden to get the washing off the line.

“Someone sounds happy,” she called over.

I glanced at Dad, put my finger to my lips.

“It's just something I was reading,” I replied,
thankful that she couldn't see the book on my lap wasn't actually open.

“Maybe I can borrow it after you've finished,” Mum said, folding the clothes neatly into the wicker basket. “I could do with a bit of light relief.”

T
EAMWORK

G
ran was being difficult with Mum. Whatever she did it wasn't quite right and Mum's face had taken on the flat expression of someone who is biting back home truths. Aunt Jane wasn't helping. She kept dropping by and every time it felt as if she was checking up on us or even trying to stir up trouble.

“Are you all right, Mother?” she asked Gran, in a voice overloaded with sympathy.

“Yes, why wouldn't I be?” Gran replied.

I almost liked Gran for that response. I'd expected her to complain as usual.

“Well, you know,” Aunt Jane said, with a conspiratorial smile, “is Liz looking after you properly?”

Gran's eyes narrowed. She fingered the small gold cross that she always wore around her neck.
“Of course she is. I'm being looked after very well, thank you, dear.”

Why did I think that Aunt Jane was hoping she would say something different?

“Oh, good,” she replied in an unconvincing way.

You'd think my aunt would have been happy that we were there at last, taking some of the pressure off her, but she couldn't resist making out that we weren't quite doing things as well as she would have done.

“Mother likes the marmalade put in the Wedgwood pot instead of left in the jar,” she'd say. Or, “Mother likes a flat sheet on the bed, not a fitted one, and don't forget to do proper hospital corners. You do know how to do those, don't you, Liz?”

On our third night Aunt Jane popped in just as supper was being served.

“Mother won't like you serving the vegetables straight from the pan, Liz,” Aunt Jane whispered in Mum's ear, “and she likes the table to be set properly.”

Mum nearly boiled over alongside the peas at that point. I saw her cheeks flush and her pupils dilate. She clattered a saucepan lid down on the work surface and splatted some mashed potato straight onto the plate.

“Like yours, you mean?” she snapped. “I mean your table could be photographed for a magazine, couldn't it, Jane?”

I stifled a smile.

“What's the matter?” Gran asked, putting her crossword book down on the table. “Are you two arguing?”

“No,” Mum replied. “It's nothing.”

Gran looked pale, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to stop the pen rolling onto the floor. “I don't want any upset. Not because of me.”

Dad was sitting in the corner and raised his eyebrows. I frowned at him.

“Don't worry, Gran,” I said, taking the pen and wedging it next to the fruit bowl in the middle of the table. “Everything's fine.”

She pulled her cardigan closer, looked up at me as if seeking reassurance. For a brief moment I almost felt sorry for her.

“I do hope so, Laura,” she murmured. “I really do.”

It wasn't fine though. There was this atmosphere whenever Aunt Jane was around and Dad wasn't helping either. On the third night after he'd made his appearance, when everyone was asleep, Dad took his and Mum's wedding photograph out of the desk drawer and placed it on Gran's bedside table, right next to her bed.

It must have been the first thing she saw when she woke up. She shouted so loudly I'm surprised that she didn't wake the whole village.

“Liz, Liz, come here quickly!”

I checked my clock: 4.27 a.m. Dad was curled up in his usual place. Why did I get the impression that he was only pretending to be asleep?

“What on earth is that row?” he asked, stretching and yawning.

“It's Gran,” I replied.

“What's got into the old bat now?”

“I don't know but I do wish you wouldn't talk about her like that.”

I flew downstairs to see an ashen-faced
Mum flinging open the door to Gran's room.

“What is it? What's the matter?”

“This!” Gran pointed at the photograph. “Who put that there?”

Mum raked her hair back from her face, clasped her hand to her chest.

“I don't know. Is that it? Is that what all the commotion was about?” Mum was shaking. “I thought something awful had happened.”

Even my heart was hammering but then I spotted Dad in the hall, grinning from ear to ear.

“What have you been up to?” I mouthed. “Was that you?”

He slapped a hand over his mouth but it didn't stop him looking guilty. That was the first time I felt really cross with him, disappointed too that he thought it was funny to scare an old woman half to death. But it didn't last long. I forgave him in a matter of seconds. After all, Gran had never liked him and she hadn't exactly welcomed him into the family from what Dad said. If he wanted to get his own back in a small way it was understandable. Even when Gran laid into
me
a few seconds later I couldn't really hold
a grudge against him.

“It was you, wasn't it?” she accused, her eyes glassy with tears. “It's your silly idea of a joke, putting that man's photograph next to my bed.”

“No,” I protested but I could see that she didn't believe me. Neither did Mum.

“Well who was it then?” Gran said, spitting the words out. “It has to be you.”

“Laura?” Mum was glaring at me.

I threw my hands up in despair. I mean Gran had a point. If I'd been in her position I'd probably have come to the same conclusion. The truth was just too unbelievable.

“That wasn't funny,” I said to Dad later that day as we walked down to the village shop for a couple of lemons. Gran had to have a slice of lemon for her gin and tonic or the world would come to an end. “She could have had a heart attack.”

“Not her,” Dad said, “she's as strong as an ox. Anyway it was just a photo. I haven't actually metamorphosed right in front of her so that she can see me or anything like that.”

I looked at him in horror. “I thought you said
that you weren't sure you could do that?”

He shrugged. “I'm not but I could give it a go. Even with people like your Gran, who don't believe in ghosts, it might work. It would be an interesting experiment.”

“No!” I held up my hand. He stopped walking. “You mustn't do it. You've had your bit of fun but leave her alone now or you'll get us both into trouble.”

He shrugged. “If you like.”

But he looked a bit sulky and I felt bad that he'd only been here for a couple of days and already I was telling him off.

“Dad,” I asked later as we took the long way through the fields back to the farm, “why
does
Gran dislike you so much?”

I threw the lemon into the air and ran forwards to catch it.

“No idea,” Dad replied.

He shifted his eyes to the side momentarily and obviously caught sight of my dubious expression.

“I haven't. Cross my heart and hope to die. Well obviously I am dead – but you know what I mean.”

I threw the lemon higher and higher. Some cows
looked up curiously.

“You must have some idea.”

The lemon slipped straight through my fingers and fell to the ground. It landed with a splat right in the middle of a brand new steaming cowpat.

“Urgh! Now look what you've done,” Dad said, almost seeming relieved at an opportunity to change the subject. “You can't pick that up. It's disgusting!”

We both stood staring at the gunk-splattered lemon. “It was the last one in the shop. I can't go back without it,” I groaned.

“Just say there weren't any lemons left.”

I shook my head. “She always seems to know if I'm lying. Besides, Mum will probably insist on driving all the way into town to get one for her and then she'll be ratty and…” I shrugged. “You get the picture.”

I tried not to grimace at the thought of my fingers trying to lift up the lemon.

“It's just poo,” I said.

“But you could contract some deadly disease,” Dad said, stepping in front of me.

I gazed up at him. “You know what? This is one of those times when I could really do with a hug.”

He held out his arms.

“Not a virtual hug, a proper hug, actual contact.”

“I can't. I might hurt you. It's too risky.”

“So is going back without this lemon,” I murmured.

“What we really need is practical thinking here, Laura,” Dad said.

“Well I could wrap some grass around it,” I said, bending down to tear up the green stuff.

“No! Wait!” Dad said. “Before you do that I've got a better idea. I've got wind power.”

I took a step back. “You're not going to fart, are you? The cow dung is bad enough without…”

He put his hands on his hips and tried to look shocked but I could tell he didn't mean it.

“No, Laura, I am not going to do such a thing. I am going to blow this lemon across the field like this.”

He pursed his lips, puffed out his cheeks and a stream of air
bumpity bumped
the lemon along the grass in front of us. By time we reached the five-bar gate, a lot of the dung had been wiped off and I managed to wrap the lemon in a dock leaf so I
wouldn't even touch it for the rest of the journey home. Dad and I did a sort of non-contact high five and congratulated ourselves on our teamwork when we reached the farm. It was weird but dropping that lemon had made me feel closer to him than ever.

“You haven't seen Liberty much,” Mum said as we sat down to supper later that evening.

I watched and tried not to grimace as Gran drained the last of the gin and tonic, the lemon touching her lips.

Dad was there, propping his feet up on the end of the table, looking vaguely amused. Gran concentrated hard on her food, chewing slowly and thoroughly. She was unusually quiet.

“No,” I replied. “I've texted a couple of times but she's been busy.”

“I expect she'll find time in her hectic schedule to come around tomorrow morning,” Gran muttered.

“Why's that?” Mum asked.

Gran made a strange sort of
harrumphing
sound and sawed into a sausage. “She just seems to have
made a habit of dropping in on a Tuesday,” she said.

“That's nice,” Mum said.

“Where did you get these sausages from, Liz? They're not the ones I usually have, are they?”

Mum looked at me out of the corner of her eye. Dad swept his feet from the table, narrowly avoiding the salt cellar, and leaned forwards to do an imitation of Gran.

“They're not the ones I usually have, are they?” he mimicked.

I piled my fork with mashed potato and onion and concentrated hard to stop myself smiling. He could be so childish but at the same time he did make me laugh. Gran finished chewing and wiped her mouth.

“Do you know they're rather good,” Gran said. “I think they're better than the sausages I usually buy. You can get those again, Liz.”

I think Mum and I nearly fell off our chairs in surprise. Dad actually did. There was a
whoosh
and then a
thud
as he hit the floor.

“What on earth was that?” Mum gasped.

“Dunno,” I said, desperately trying to cover for him, “maybe it was my feet banging against the
table leg.”

“Oh, Laura,” Mum said, “I do wish you wouldn't do that. Why can't you keep your legs still? You made me jump.” She shivered. “I must be overtired. It suddenly feels very cold in here.”

Gran was giving me one of her piercing gazes. I got up to clear the plates away and I didn't dare look at Dad, who was picking himself up and dusting himself down, because Gran was following my every move. It was as if she could see right inside my head.

Later that evening, I left Dad reading a book in my bedroom and sauntered into the kitchen to get a fresh glass of water to put by my bed. I was wearing a strappy nightdress which had shrunk slightly in the wash. I have to admit that it was pretty short.

“You'd better not flit around like that tomorrow morning,” a voice resonated from the chair in the corner. Gran was sitting in the dark and I just about jumped out of my skin at the sound of her voice. Her skin was drained of colour as the moonlight flowed in through the window behind her.

“Gran, what are you doing?” I asked, my heart doing the quickstep inside my chest. “You scared me. I thought that you'd be in bed.”

She was silent but still watching me.

“Can I put the light on?”

“If you like,” she replied.

I flicked the switch on the Tiffany-style lamp that stood on the dresser and walked barefoot across the kitchen.

“Don't you have a dressing gown?” she asked.

“It's too hot for the summer, even in this house.”

“Well Sam will be here at nine o'clock. He won't want to see you parading around in your nightwear.”

Fine, I thought. I must remember to rummage in the attic during the night and hunt out some item of Victorian clothing that buttons up to the neck and sweeps down to the floor.

By some minor miracle I managed to keep the sarcasm to myself, sploshed some ice-cold water into my glass and took a gulp. The water tasted so fresh and clean up here – much nicer than in London.

“Who's Sam?”

“The gardener. I can't do it all on my own since
I did this.” She slapped the side of her hip in disgust.

“I can help you if you like.”

Whoa! I don't know where the words came from. I wasn't planning to say them. They just spurted out into the room before I could stop them. We both seemed equally stunned. In the half-light her eyes seemed to be glistening. I couldn't back out now.

“I could help you plant up the pots around the old well. I miss those colourful flowers.”

There was a long pause. I wondered if she wasn't going to bother answering me or if she just didn't want my help.

“Thank you, Laura,” she said, after what seemed like too long. “I'd like that.”

She leaned heavily on the table as she tried to stand up. I put down my glass and went to help her.