Beneath the Surface Read online

  The air was thinning and she needed to grab onto the counter to steady herself as she moved to the sink. She couldn’t go through it all again as she had all those years ago: she didn’t have the strength. Scrubbing hard at a pan, Kathryn tried to shake off the thought that she was losing another piece of control, only this time she had no clue as to what to do about it.

  – Six –

  Dear Adam,

  There were things that happened, Adam. There were secrets in our family so tightly compressed into concealed packages that sometimes I forgot what the truth was. They taught me to lie, but I never wanted to do so with you. I never intended to, but still I did.

  For three years and ten months we were blissfully happy and I thought nothing was going to ruin that. We had married in a registry office in Scotland, a quiet ceremony with only your parents there. It was the happiest day of my life. I was so grateful you easily accepted that I didn’t want a big wedding even though I had a feeling you would have liked one. We spent lazy holidays in Greece and Italy, reading books and dozing in hammocks. Our weekends were taken up with long brunches, afternoons wandering around museums or seeing your friends. Life was pretty close to being perfect.

  But then one Saturday morning I woke to see you grinning at me like an excited little boy.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ you said. ‘Let’s try for a baby.’

  My heart stopped.

  ‘What?’ I sat up, pushing the pillows behind my back and stared at you. ‘What do you mean? We’ve never spoken about babies before.’

  ‘No, I know.’ You were still grinning. ‘But it’s obviously something I’ve always wanted. And I think, why not now? Everything’s going so well for us. Things couldn’t be better.’

  Yes, I wanted to say. Everything was going so well for us so why spoil it by talking about having babies? And was it that obvious you’d always wanted them? It certainly wasn’t to me.

  Your face was so full of hope and excitement. I knew if I told you I didn’t want children it would shatter you and I couldn’t do that. I had promised you I would do anything to make you happy, because that was all you had ever done for me. But this was not on my radar. The thought of trying for a baby left me cold. I kissed you on the forehead and told you I was going for a shower. ‘OK,’ you said as I got out of bed and walked to the door. ‘I love you, Abi. I’m so happy right now. I can’t believe we haven’t done anything about this before.’ I let the cold water wash over my body as I fought with the dilemma of staying true to myself or giving the man I loved what he wanted.

  *****

  One year later you were getting ready to go back to work after the Christmas break. It was January 7th, 2013, the day after your thirtieth birthday. You looked tired and I noticed for the first time lines appearing around your eyes. They weren’t sparkling with life as they usually were. ‘Didn’t you sleep well?’ I asked.

  ‘Not really.’ You shook your head. ‘I’ve been thinking we should go and see someone, a fertility doctor. A girl at work was talking about this guy, Dr Richards. She said he’s really good.’

  ‘Oh?’ I really didn’t want us to go down that route and so I tried to play down the idea.

  ‘You don’t sound keen,’ you said.

  ‘I think we should give it another couple of months,’ I said. ‘I don’t know if I like the thought of seeing a doctor yet.’

  You smiled in return and said, ‘OK,’ but I could tell you were getting impatient.

  Then three days later you came home from work and told me you had booked us an appointment. ‘I know you said not yet, but he’s the best guy around,’ you beamed. ‘We’re lucky to get in so quickly. He has a cancellation for next week and I said we’ll take it. I don’t see the point of waiting any longer, do you, Abs?’ Suddenly life had returned to your eyes.

  ‘I don’t understand how it’s so soon,’ I said. ‘Isn’t there a waiting list or something?’

  ‘What’s the point in not going private if you can afford it?’ you replied. You rarely used money as a solution but I hated it whenever you did.

  I felt my body tense with annoyance. ‘There’s plenty of other things we should be spending the money on,’ I said. ‘The car needs a service and we could do with a new dishwasher. That one barely gets the dishes clean anymore. I’m forever taking dirty bowls out, still caked in porridge.’

  You grinned and grabbed my arms, ‘Abi, I will buy you a new dishwasher if that’s what your heart desires. But we can afford this, too.’ You kissed me on the forehead, still grinning at me foolishly.

  I should have said no to you there and then but I couldn’t. Your face was lit up like it was Christmas morning. You thought Dr Richards would be the answer to our problems. So I went along with your plan until the morning of our appointment, when I tried to cancel it. I was at work and hadn’t concentrated on anything for two hours. Lucy asked me if I was ill but I couldn’t tell her I was sick to the stomach with nerves. She would want to know why, and no one knew that.

  Instead I called Dr Richards’ office and spoke to the receptionist – I was going to tell you they had cancelled us. ‘I’m afraid I can’t do anything without speaking to Adam Lewis,’ she told me. ‘He’s the one who’s booked and paid for the appointment,’ she added. ‘Plus he said it was urgent when he called last week and I’ve done everything I can to squeeze you in. If you really need to cancel I won’t be able to refund your money.’

  I hung up. You’d told me they had a cancellation. You’d lied to me but I couldn’t say anything because then you’d wonder how I knew the truth. I had no option but to show up as planned.

  I didn’t eat anything all day and felt empty and nauseous in the waiting room. I saw you glance at me when I refused a cappuccino out of their posh machine, but you didn’t say anything. When Dr Richards appeared at the door of his room and called our names I froze. ‘Don’t be nervous,’ he smiled, flashing his bright white teeth at me. He was older than I expected. The flecks of grey in his hair and the creases on his face were oddly comforting.

  He stood aside and gestured us into his office, where a real oak desk and cream leather sofas dominated the room. Oil paintings hung on the French-grey walls and a fireplace was stacked with logs on the far side. It all spoke money and I flashed you a look to let you know I wasn’t happy.

  ‘So, what’s brought you here?’ he asked, looking at me. I wanted to say, what do you think has brought us here? I would have thought that was obvious, us being in a fertility clinic. But I didn’t say anything; I couldn’t articulate myself. And when the silence was too much you jumped in.

  ‘We wanted to talk to you about the fact we’ve been trying for a baby, but it hasn’t happened for us,’ you explained clearly. ‘We’re worried that something’s wrong and if it is, we want to know what that might be so we can do something about it.’

  Dr Richards nodded and continued to smile but he kept looking at me, like he assumed I was the one who wanted this appointment. He leaned forward in his chair and placed his elbows on the desk, resting his chin on his thumbs. ‘And how long have you been trying?’ he asked me. When still I didn’t answer I watched him slowly move his gaze to you.

  ‘Just over a year,’ you told him.

  He nodded again and asked more questions, about our general health, pressures at work, and whether either of us considered ourselves to be stressed, even how often we had sex. I swam in and out of the conversation. He asked more and more questions and each one you answered succinctly. Occasionally he glanced at me, probably to check I was still alive. I still hadn’t spoken and it crossed my mind to get up and walk out of the room – leave the adults to discuss why we hadn’t yet managed to conceive a child.

  At one point everything became blurred and I thought I might faint. I’ve never fainted in my life and don’t know why I thought I might have done so then, but the room was spinning and I was suddenly unbearably hot and dizzy. That’s when I noticed you both looking at me. I was busy fanning myself with a le
aflet I had taken from his desk and hadn’t heard what had last been said, but you were obviously waiting for me to answer.

  ‘I was just asking how you feel about all this?’ Dr Richards prompted, still smiling. ‘We haven’t heard from you yet.’ His eyebrows furrowed and he looked at me seriously. ‘Can I get you a glass of water?’

  I shook my head and still you waited.

  ‘I don’t know,’ was all I could think of saying. ‘How I feel about it, I mean.’

  If you were annoyed with me you didn’t show it.

  His bright, wide smile was slowly fading. We have a strange one here, he must have thought. He’d probably seen nothing like it before: a woman who had no idea what she thought about not getting pregnant.

  I knew he wanted more and I wanted to say something that would satisfy you both so the attention would be taken off me. I could feel the heat of you sitting next to me. You were shuffling in your chair and I didn’t want to let you down any more than I already was. ‘I guess I feel the same as Adam,’ I spluttered, hoping this would suffice, but of course it didn’t.

  Dr Richards’ smile had disappeared by then. You grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze in a show of solidarity. Did you think this is just Abi being Abi? Whenever you took me to your office Christmas dinners I would stand in front of the latest person to be introduced to me, trying to figure out something amusing or intelligent to say. By the time I had thought of it the topic had moved on. You would then sling an arm over my shoulder and say, ‘Did you know Abi works for an ad agency? Joan, isn’t that the same as your husband?’ And then Joan or whoever was left to make conversation with me would turn and ask me something I could happily answer. You always had a knack for filling my silences.

  Dr Richards had seen more than nerves, though. At the end of our allotted time he said, ‘Abi, I’d like you to come and visit me on your own, if you would be happy to?’ The smile had sprung back. ‘Maybe next week?’

  ‘Is that necessary?’ you asked, shuffling forward so you were a barrier between him and me. You knew it would be the last thing I’d want to do.

  ‘Not if Abi doesn’t want to, but I’d like to have the chance to chat with her on her own,’ he said. ‘If that’s OK, Abi?’

  I nodded because more than anything I couldn’t find the right way to say no.

  *****

  ‘Adam put Dr Richards on a pedestal,’ I later told Maggie. And you did, didn’t you? You were buzzing when we left his clinic that day. ‘It’s going to happen,’ you kept saying to me. ‘I can feel it, I really think he can do something for us.’ You leaned over and squeezed my arm. ‘Sharon at work was saying that as soon as she and her husband saw him he started them on this treatment and it took just three months before she fell pregnant.’

  You were so wrapped up in the bubble of prospective parenthood you couldn’t see what was going on right in front of your eyes.

  – Seven –

  Hannah sat on the back seat of her mother’s car idly drumming her fingertips against the window. She could sense Lauren staring at her and knew she was irritating her sister, but she was bored and irritated herself. She wanted her mother to hurry up so they could get the day over with as quickly as possible.

  ‘Will you stop doing that?’ Lauren hissed. ‘It’s so annoying!’

  Hannah tapped again, louder this time before stopping and turning to face her. ‘What’s that you’re reading anyway?’ she asked, nodding at the book Lauren held in her lap.

  Lauren turned it over to show Hannah the cover. ‘It’s about a boy who’s deformed.’

  ‘Sounds uplifting.’

  Lauren rolled her eyes. ‘It is actually, you should read more.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Hannah asked, looking past her sister and towards the house. ‘Why’s she taking so long to get out when she told us to be ready ten minutes ago?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, probably stressing about forgetting something.’

  ‘We’re only going for the day, it’s not like it matters if she does,’ Hannah sighed.

  ‘Well, you know that doesn’t make any difference,’ Lauren said, turning back to her book.

  ‘At last,’ Hannah muttered when Kathryn appeared in the doorway. She clicked her seat belt into place. ‘And can you imagine how slowly she’s going to drive with that bloody cake on the front seat? It’ll take us a lifetime to get there.’

  Lauren stifled a giggle as their mother opened her door to the car and peered at her daughters in the back. ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked. ‘And have you both got everything? I don’t want to turn back at the end of the street because one of you needs to go home for something.’

  ‘Mum,’ Lauren interrupted, ‘we have everything. Please, let’s just go.’

  Kathryn slid into the driver’s seat and looked at them in the rear-view mirror. ‘And have you got your presents for Grandma?’

  ‘Oh yes, indeed we do,’ Hannah smiled back, shaking the box of Quality Street she’d grabbed at the store that morning. The hint of sarcasm was lost on Kathryn, who had by then turned her attention to checking the lid of the cake box.

  ‘Maybe one of you should come and sit upfront and hold this instead,’ she suggested, fiddling with its catches. ‘If I brake suddenly the whole thing will go flying into the windscreen and be ruined.’

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ Lauren sighed. ‘Put the seat belt round it if you’re concerned.’

  ‘No, you’re right,’ Kathryn sighed, turning the ignition and jamming the gearstick into first gear. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

  Hannah shook her head at her sister and mouthed, ‘Oh, my God!’

  Lauren smiled, turning back to her book. It was going to be a long day.

  Hannah always dreaded visiting her grandmother. Even when they were young, staying with their grandparents had not been the treasured experience it should have. As soon as her mum mentioned spending the school holidays at Grandma’s large, rambling house in Yorkshire, Hannah felt sick. She hated Lordavale House, where the days dragged and the nights lasted forever.

  Lordavale was the type of place where you might expect to bump into the Famous Five: long corridors and hidden passageways, a multitude of rooms behind closed doors. It all gave the impression of being the perfect spot for childhood adventures, with lots of places to hide and things to explore. If anyone other than Charles and Eleanor had lived there, Hannah and Lauren would have loved it.

  The house was a former boarding school, a notion that always seemed so apt to Hannah. She often wondered if they had left Grandma behind when it closed down. Eleanor perfectly fitted the bill for an old school mistress, pounding her cane on the stone floor for attention, sending the girls to bed without their supper if they spoke out of turn. Instead of being exciting, the house felt eerie. Many a night the sisters had huddled together in one of the single beds, imagining they could hear the voices of small children calling out to them from the eaves.

  There were no toys at Lordavale except for an old doll’s house. Three storeys high with nine rooms, each one was as meticulously furnished as the next. ‘This was mine when I was a little girl,’ their mum once told them, as she peered into one of the miniature bedrooms, brushing trembling fingers gently over a tiny bed. At that moment Hannah had thrust Barbie onto the roof and Kathryn let out a yelp, pulling it away.

  ‘No, just be careful, this isn’t a—’

  Hannah could still remember how her mother had stopped herself from finishing the sentence.

  ‘Isn’t a what, Mummy?’ Lauren asked repeatedly. ‘Isn’t a what?’

  ‘Isn’t a toy,’ Kathryn murmured, staring at the house. Then, when their grandma’s voice boomed that lunch was served, she had ushered them out of the room, closing the door behind them. They never saw the doll’s house again.

  Lordavale boasted a drawing room. Eleanor took great pride in declaring they would have tea in the draaawing room whenever guests appeared, elongating the word to sound more impressive. It always made them giggle.
Once the guests had seen them and admired their pretty dresses, the girls were shooed to another part of the house and they would run off laughing and whispering draaawing room to one another.

  In hindsight Hannah could appreciate the room’s beauty. Mahogany panelled walls surrounded a wide open fireplace, big enough for Hannah and Lauren to hide inside when they were younger. It had a stone wall at the back and all the trimmings you would expect to see: the iron guard and pokers sticking out of a pot to the side. Leaded windows hung almost floor to ceiling, overlooking the large Koi pond in the garden. But the room was spoiled. When Hannah closed her eyes she could still see the oversized oil painting of Eleanor sat regally in a deep blue velvet chair, hanging above the fireplace. From that painting Eleanor’s eyes watched her, burning into her, her gaze following her every move; ready to pounce if she did something wrong. As a child the painting had freaked her out and she couldn’t understand why no one else seemed as bothered by it as she was.

  But Eleanor didn’t only dominate the drawing room: paintings and photographs of her adorned many of the walls and side tables around the house. They were mostly portraits of a younger Eleanor in the days before she had that hideous scar running down her left cheek, which must have been before the girls were born because they always remembered it, her face so layered in powder trying to conceal it.

  ‘She needs to be able to see everything we do,’ Hannah once whispered to Lauren as they edged past her pictures and up the staircase. ‘Like she’s omnipotent.’

  ‘Omnipresent,’ Lauren had murmured back. ‘Omnipotent means she is all-powerful.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Hannah sighed. ‘That’s exactly what she thinks she is.’

  Eleanor certainly seemed to exert a power over their mum. Hannah could remember clearly how, during their visits to Lordavale, Kathryn seemed to become someone else, almost as if she wasn’t their mother at all. Even to a child the difference was apparent. When they were on the beach and it was just the three of them, Kathryn would laugh and hug them and play games. She only told them off if they went out of her sight, telling them never to go where she couldn’t see them. But at Lordavale she was different: she didn’t smile, she didn’t laugh, she just drifted around the house like a ghost. It always used to take her a couple of days to settle once they had returned to the Bay, and then she was back to her normal self again. Or at least as normal as Kathryn ever was, Hannah thought now.