Bedful of Moonlight


‘Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast.’
~ William Shakespeare, Macbeth


One


“Sleep. How I loathe those little slices of death.”
~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (American poet, 1807 – 1882)


When people get hurt, they only have themselves to blame.
You don’t believe me; you think that’s the sort of thing only a cynic, or a ridiculously unforgiving person, would say.
It’s true, though. The extent to which people get hurt depends on how much they allow themselves to.
I should know.
The night after I told my mother I loved her, as we watched My Fair Lady for the millionth time over tacos, she packed up her bags and left. I only received a distilled explanation from my father the next morning.
And the second time I ever told someone else I loved him, the response I got was a vacant stare back up at me as he lay still on the slick grainy road, silent and gone.
So, you see, I know what I’m talking about. Loving someone is not only an investment; it also gives someone power over you. You would have to take out a piece of yourself and place that in someone else’s hands. If they leave – when they leave – you too will be left incomplete forever, irreparable. Like chipped marble.

*

In a way, moving to Wroughton (I still haven’t quite figured out how best to pronounce it) Estate was like hitting the Refresh button for me. The best way for the nightmares to stop, the best way to mend that hole at the base of my heart. The best way to shake off an old life and rebuild another.
No-one knew about the nightmares, especially not Dr Oliveiro; I only told her I couldn’t sleep.
After everything had happened, one of the things my father made me do was visit a psychiatrist. Dr Oliveiro and I spent the first session talking about the dreams I usually had before, and the dreams I had now. She gave me a notebook at the end of the session and made me promise to record down every single detail of my dreams faithfully.
I made up some crap for a couple of entries, just to see if she was a quack. She responded to the usual vague ones, like being chased and jumping off a cliff, like some wannabe-Freud. Her interpretations did not disappoint.
“Being chased,” she said thoughtfully, as though it was rocket science and she was the only one who could possibly know the answer. “What do you think that means, Kristen?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think it means that you are trying hard to cope with the situations in your waking life. And jumping off a cliff possibly means you’re feeling overwhelmed and unable to control what’s happening in your life.”
It was like she had swallowed Dream Interpretation for Dummies. After that, I never really bothered with my dream journal; I just wrote Dreamless for most nights.
But I was hoping the move would mean that I did not have to continue with my fruitless therapy sessions anymore. That was, however, wishful thinking, because dad clearly saw therapy as the only way to save his daughter, never mind that it had, so far, not appeared to help her one bit.
On the night before the move, I had it again, the same nightmare that had been plaguing me since everything started. Or ended, depending on how you saw it.
I stood at the same spot, leaning against my bicycle, staring at the glistening road and enjoying the cool needles of rain on my skin as I waited for Blake to get the cup of strawberry yoghurt I suddenly craved. Wet weather did not stop me from wanting something cold and sweet.
I heard the same song, Silence by Beethoven, blaring like a portentous bell from someone’s car, as Blake emerged from the 7 Eleven, a hand in his pocket, another holding my yoghurt. Raindrops settled upon his hair.
I saw the same smile Blake shot me as he walked towards me, stepping out onto the wet, grey road. Even on an atypically cold day, I could slip right into him as though nothing was out of the ordinary. That was what being together for a year and a half did for you. Nothing had to change; you saw routine as part of your life, and you didn’t see it as a bad thing.
“They ran out of strawberry,” he said from across the road. The air was so still from its weight that there was no need to raise his voice. “I got you mango instead.”
Disappointment must have registered on my face (didn’t he know my second favourite flavour was raspberry, then?) since Blake shrugged apologetically.
“Did you want the raspberry?” he said.
I nodded grudgingly.
I realise now how stupid it was to get so hung up over the flavour of yoghurt, but right then, my perspective was a little skewed.
“I just thought you would have known,” I grumbled.
He shrugged easily. “No problem. I’ll get you the raspberry.” He ruffled my hair, kissed me briefly and headed back.
I never got to have that raspberry yoghurt.
When Blake stepped out on to the road the second time, that was when I experienced, first-hand, the proverbial end of the world.
I was about to go after him, to tell him to forget it, that I’ll take the mango yoghurt, whatever. But I had never gotten a single word out of my mouth, because a horn had blasted through the cool air.
Blake would have laughed at me for ducking as though a plane had swooped overhead, if he had the time. But he only had time to push me out of the way before the screeching that followed.
In my dreams, it was as though my brain knew that was only the time it could intensify every sensation. Every screech of the wheels jolted me hard, and the sound of my scream raised even the hairs on my skin. The taste of bile never left my mouth, even when I woke up.
The image of Blake’s broken body making an arc through the air and landing with a gut-churning thump on the slippery ground was what made me first lose it. Everything else took place too quickly for me to register what was really happening.
I could only stare from where I laid, the side of the road, with water seeping through my jeans and a vague hurt stinging around my elbow.
When the van was thrown to a halt, it was already too late. The shatter between air and metal was deafening.
Blake was almost gone by the time I reached him.
I would have been gone that day, too. I should have gone that day. I would have been with him right now. It wasn’t fair that he had to leave while I got another shot at living. But to stay here and pretend all was normal was not much of a life, either.
Everything should have ended that day.
He had left me behind. And now there was no more routine I was familiar with.
Sometimes, I was able to blame my mother for what happened. Because if she hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have been in such a bad mood the next day and Blake wouldn’t have tried to lift my spirits by going on a bike ride with me and getting me yoghurt.
But it was only on a handful of days that I was able to blame someone else. Most days, the truth was unavoidable. Blake’s mother had good reasons to blame me. If I hadn’t been so spoilt, if I had never had that stupid craving for yoghurt, if I hadn’t sent him back for stupid raspberry-flavoured one, everything would have been different.
If.
I guess I will never know.
That was not the end of my dream, though. It didn’t just end at the accident. Afterwards, my mom would be standing at the other side of the road. I would watch as she picked up her bags, ignoring my sobs and cries for help, and left, not even sparing me a last word.
I would sometimes wake up from these nightmares, retching, my sweaty limbs tangled up in the sheets, my hair stringy with saliva, my throat burning and my eyes watering. There would hardly be enough time for me to hold on to something before everything came surging up from within. As if the memory of bile in my mouth was not enough.
It was only recently that I came to realise that these dreams were more of a recollection of that day than actual nightmares, because everything in my dreams happened exactly the way it had, only louder, brighter, more relentless, less forgiving.
Maybe a part of you never slept, never sought any reprieve. Maybe replaying an indelible memory was your subconscious’ way of punishing you, forcing you to face that moment alone over and over again for all eternity, for as long as you could stand. The punishment for loving.
So it was on the night before the move that I hid away all reminders of both my mother and Blake. I would start, I told myself, a new chapter where my battered, recycled heart would never falter in its new lifeless rhythm.

*

The first thought that came to my mind as we drove through Wroughton was that the place was entirely too bright. It was strange, but I thought it might be due to all that greenery that the quiet little estate sat upon.
“It’s only temporary,” dad said, as we pulled to a stop before a nondescript house that looked just like all the others we had driven past. The way he said it was as though he was promising a child this won’t hurt one bit before proceeding to yank out a tooth.
It somehow felt surreal that I was standing on someone’s front porch with my father, accompanied with all our worldly possessions. My old life with Blake and both my parents seemed like a whole world away now, in this strange new estate.
One month was how long it took for the change to set in, how long it took for us to switch to an entirely different life.
After my mother’s departure and Blake’s funeral, my father set about doing everything he could to keep us both afloat. While he packed all of my mother’s possessions and even all the pictures of her, into boxes, and pushed them out of sight, I did the same for Blake. Save for that one picture of us in his father’s car, every other trace of him I had hidden in the darkest part of my room. It was the only way I could pull through the rest of my life without him.
Phase two of the reconstruction of our lives entailed the selling of our old house and the renting of a new one in Wroughton. I was like my father in this way. For us, the best way to come to terms with loss was by burying it, not destroying it.
The last phase included sending me to therapy.
Dad figured there was something wrong with me. On the night of the funeral, I had woken up screaming, the fifth time in a row since the accident, reeling from the same old nightmare.
I wanted to tell him how talking to a stranger who reeked of lavender oil about my sleep patterns was doing the opposite of helping me get better. But he was trying so hard. Plus, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t just lost someone he loved too, for some reason I still didn’t quite understand. Complaining would not do anyone any good, anyway.
Here in Wroughton, it felt as though nightmares were barred from entering. Surely all of that couldn’t exist here, here in all this scary brightness. There were even birds chirping and butterflies flitting about among the well-maintained flowerbeds, for goodness’ sake.
Wroughton just basically made Blake’s death all the more official. Even my only way of reconnecting with him was unwelcome here.
“It’s only temporary,” dad said again. And I knew he felt the same way as I did.


Two


“Living the past is a dull and lonely business; looking back causes you to bump into people not going your way.”
~ Edna Ferber (American writer and playwright, 1887 – 1968)


How was it that I could feel trapped by sunlight? Because held in the vice-like grip of the sun, that was exactly how I felt. Exposed.
When the door opened – finally – I felt the grip loosen, just a little.
The girl who received us at the door couldn’t have been older than sixteen. She was wispy-looking in a pair of blue shorts and a white tank top, and she had an open face. Unassuming was the first word that came to my mind.
She stood there, staring at us and our bags for a while before collecting herself.
“Hi.” She smiled. “You must be the new tenants. I’m Jade. I live here.”
“Nice to meet you,” dad said, working on autopilot again. He initiated a handshake. “Just call me Daniel. This is my daughter, Kristen.”
We exchanged greetings before Jade invited us in.
The house was probably large enough for two families of four. Maybe it was due to the sparse furniture and lack of personal ornaments in the living room.
And, like everything else, it was too bright. I felt like I was trapped in a waking nightmare where everything was thrown into startling clarity, too bright, too cartoonish, too unreal to be really happening. Nothing quite fit anymore.
“Mom didn’t tell us when she’d be back,” Jade was saying as she trawled through a drawer under the TV. “But here are your keys. I’ll show you to your rooms.”
It became easier after we were shown to our rooms. I was able to sit on the bed, with bed sheets that smelt newly-washed, and let my mind catch up with everything that had changed in the course of one month.
Dad, however, saw the need to make sure I was properly settled in before he could leave my new room.
“Listen, Kristen,” he said in a low voice. Now that we weren’t living alone, the absence of privacy was something we both needed to get used to. “I know this is all a little fast for you, but trust me, you’ll get used to it really soon. You’ll love this place, I promise.”
Lately, everything my father said was a promise to me. I wondered if he realised that.
“We’ll be okay here,” he went on. “We will.”
I laid my hand on his. “Yeah,” I said quietly. Doubt was evident in my voice. I wanted to know if he gave mom our new address, but I didn’t dare ask him. There was never a right time to ask.
“I’m not trying to punish you by making you come here. I know you’ve been through a lot –”
“Dad, not now, please.”
He raised a hand. “Okay. I’m trying to make this work out for the both of us. But I’ll need you to help me, okay? I can’t do this on my own.”
“Yeah.” I squeezed his hand.
“And since it’s your holidays now, you might want to get a job.” He shrugged. “You know, occupy some spare time. Earn some keeps.”
He didn’t have to add occupy your mind too. That part was clear enough.
With an awkward hug, he finally left my room, and I was free to stew in my own thoughts again.
For some reason, through it all, I never cried, even if I wanted to, if only to make things easier. After that day, while Blake’s mother had cried so much and so hard I thought she would shrivel up, I couldn’t see the point of it. Sure, I was shocked at first. I just could not register the fact that he was no longer around. How could someone leave you so quickly, without warning, without explanation, after all? Nothing could prepare you for it.
But later, after days and days had passed where I saw no sign of him, everything flaked off. Nothing else made sense. Not logic. Not words. Not motion. Especially not the way everything smoothed out into its usual monotony, as though nothing had ever been upset.
Later, even Blake’s mother stopped crying. When we saw each other along the streets, I would merely nod at her, while she drifted away, barely taking in my presence even though people used to say I was practically her daughter given the way she regarded me. I suppose there just came a point when you finally realised crying was useless even though you felt better after doing it. Because there wasn’t any better anymore. Even crying lost its effect after a while.
So the only thing I knew to do was to pull out my cellphone from my pocket, and do the same thing I had been doing everyday for the past month.
It had almost become a sort of ritual. It was stupid, but I thought that if I stopped doing it, the possibility of her never coming back would become reality. Like I said, it was stupid, naïve and childish. But every time I felt the urge to hang up, I’d grip the phone tighter, letting it ring and ring until I heard mom telling me to hey, leave a message after this beep and I might get back to you if I feel like it. It was the closest I would ever get to hearing her voice again.
Mom never failed to disappoint every time. I tossed my cellphone onto the dressing table.
I had planned on occupying what was left of my day with some Emily Bronte, instead of exploring my new neighbourhood, like dad suggested, but I was barely halfway through a page before a knock came on my door.
Jade smiled. “Hey. Caleb’s buying dinner for us. Anything you’d like? I’d recommend the turkey ham sandwich or the chicken stew. They’re amazing.”
“Okay, guess I’ll have the sandwich then, thanks,” I said, not even sure I cared who Caleb was, as long as I could return to Wuthering Heights. The fact that I now only read books by authors Blake had never been too keen on was uncomfortably obvious.
“Seriously, who actually professes their love this way?” he used to say, wrinkling his nose when he saw me reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream or Jane Eyre for the hundredth time. “Imagine if I told you I were your spaniel. Hermia’s really smart, if she thought that would win over Demetrius.”
And I’d punch him for mocking Shakespeare.
But it was true. If either of us started quoting Shakespeare, we’d fall over ourselves laughing. Blake and I had been friends for six years before we got together. It just wasn’t the sort of thing you said to someone with whom you used to share a tent during family camping trips.
“I’m home!” someone called, and I jumped slightly. “With dinner!”
Caleb turned out to be Jade’s older brother who had received no notice that the sleeping arrangements had changed.
When I emerged from my room, he was ringing a bell – or, at least, what sounded slightly like a bell. It was a curt sound, and the chime did not ripple out like it was supposed to. It was more of a hard, metallic thwack that sounded like the bell was choking.
Jade walked with me downstairs and yelled, “Not that stupid bell again? I keep telling them,” she told me, “that old clanker needs to be replaced.”
“Unfortunately,” Caleb yelled back as we entered the dining room. His voice shrank to its normal volume as he went on, “This old clanker” – he shook the bell and it gave another cough – “happens to be the signature of the bookstore, so replacement is out of the question.”
I noticed the bell first. It was a large heavy-looking black thing the size of a cereal box that might have once looked grand, but now looked miserably cloaked in dust and algae. The tongue was wedged in an awkward angle.
“Yeah,” Caleb said, eyeing the bell with me, as though he knew what I was thinking.
My head snapped up, and I dropped my gaze to the bell again. Something in his eyes was too disconcertingly familiar. I didn’t know what it was, but I felt something squeeze my heart so hard that I almost had to lay my hand on my chest.
“I know it looks like crap,” he went on. This time, I kept my eyes fixed on the sad-looking bell. “But my grandparents were really proud of it – they’ve had it for so long, since the start of the business – so it’s not like my aunt can just throw it away just because it looks old and doesn’t work all that well.”
All I did was look at the bell and he thought I had taken a stand on Jade’s side. Also, he seemed to think I would understand whatever it was he was saying. Or that I would actually care.
I supposed I should have said something, but I had barely thought of how best to answer him before he cut me off.
Suddenly realising that a stranger was standing next to him in his house, he asked, “Who are you, by the way? The new tenant or Jade’s friend? You look too sensible to be her friend.”
“Kristen, meet my annoying brother, Caleb.” She turned to Caleb. “She and her dad just arrived about an hour or so ago. Her dad went out to explore the estate.”
Wroughton. She pronounced it like rotten, just that the o was dragged out.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Caleb said with a goofy wave. “Goodness knows we need someone else here apart from her.” He jabbed his thumb near Jade’s face, and she slapped it away.
I had no choice but to look at him. But I did so fleetingly, knowing that I probably looked rude. There was no way not to look at him when he was talking to me. There was just something in his face that reminded me of what I had just left – I had hoped – for good. I wasn’t ready to revisit it all.
“Yeah,” I mumbled.
“I got you your sandwich,” Caleb said and placed it on the plate before me. The filling was overflowing when I unwrapped it. “And your stew,” he added, placing Jade’s dinner before her. “You’re so addicted to this it’s probably unhealthy, but I don’t really care.”
“Oh, like you’re not addicted to their Philly cheese-steak sandwich.”
Caleb rolled his eyes at his sister, and then turned to me. “So how do you like Wroughton so far, Kristen?”
I pretended to pick the olives out of my sandwich. “Good,” I muttered.
“You haven’t even been around yet,” Jade said, wincing as she spat out a boiled tomato.
“You have the worst table manners on earth, you know that, Jade?” Caleb said. He turned to me again. This felt like punishment. Did they not know when people wanted to be left alone? “I could show you around if you want, after you’re done.” He nodded at my food.
“No, it’s okay. I still have some work to do,” I said, stuffing the rest of my dinner into my mouth and hurriedly crumpling up the wrapper.
“But our holidays just started,” Jade said, frowning.
“Here, I’ll get that,” Caleb said, standing up and taking my plate from me. I was aware of Jade staring at her brother in bemusement.
We ended up bumping into each other as we fought to take the plate to the dishwasher.
I had thought my senses had been dulled by time, that after almost a month, I was unable to respond to anything else but the hurt that now resided in me.
But when Caleb stood a mere inch away from me, a myriad of sensations imploded. The warmth of his body, his breath next to mine, the surety of his physique – I struggled to fight them off.
I must have gasped or something, because Caleb leapt away from me and held on to me at arm’s length. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I stuttered. “Lost my bearings for a moment.”
“Maybe you should sit down,” he said and gently pulled me towards a chair.
I yanked my arm away – perhaps a little too violently – and said, “No, I think I’ll just – go to my room. Thanks for dinner.”
Their surprise at my less-than-polite behaviour was palpable. I could feel their gazes burn into my back. So I was glad for the distraction the doorbell brought, even though I was not in the mood to meet anybody else.
Since I was nearest to the door, I had no choice but to open it.
In the dimming of the day, a tall, slender girl in a turquoise tank top, skinny jeans and flip-flops stood before me, amidst a jungle of bags that sat at her feet. Another guy stood behind her, panting slightly. Perspiration soaked through his grey t-shirt. They both looked slightly older than me, maybe just starting on their twenties.
“Are you sure this is the right place, Ri?” the guy said. They were both staring at me.
“I thought so,” the girl said slowly. “Hi, my name’s Reilly. I was supposed to move in here today…” Her expression changed all of a sudden before I could say hi back. She turned to the guy behind her. “I knew it,” she said hotly. “She couldn’t have been so kind to me. She just wanted me to haul all my bags here –”
“You mean, me to haul all your bags here –” He was still perspiring.
“And then have a laugh at my expense.” Her face was turning redder by the second, but she was pretty nonetheless. S had the kind of cheekbones my mother slathered tonnes of bronzer for.
“Reilly!” Jade yelled from behind me. She threw the door wide open and gave her a huge hug, causing the two of them to almost topple over the bags. Then she turned to the guy, grinning. “Hey, Tate!”
“Hey, kid,” Tate said, shooting her a lopsided grin.
I just stood there, watching the two girls hug and the guy stand there staring at me.
Finally, when Jade and Reilly broke apart, Reilly said to me, “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. I’m Jade and Caleb’s sister. And this is Tate,” she added, gesturing to the guy.
“Kristen,” I said with an awkward wave. “My dad and I just moved in here.”
“Oh,” Reilly said, frowning.
“Reilly, what are you…?” Jade peered around her, registering all the bags finally. “Are you moving in too, or something?”
Reilly sighed, more in resignation than impatience. “I guess I am.” She sounded as though she was stunned by her decision too. “You weren’t informed, huh?”
Jade huffed. “Does anyone tell me anything around here?”
“So,” Tate said, “Can we come in already?”
“Hey, Ri,” Caleb said, appearing next to me suddenly, joining us at the door.
Again, I jumped at the close proximity between us. This inexplicable sensation scared me. It really did. And I know how stupid that must seem.
Everyone turned to stare at me, probably wondering if Caleb had some kind of contagious disease that only I knew of. Caleb took a step away from me, not knowing whether to be offended or amused.
“Come in, then,” Caleb said. Rolling his eyes as Tate hauled the bags into house, he helped by carrying two in each hand.
“We got you dinner, by the way,” Reilly said as Caleb led them all up to her room.
“We already ate,” Caleb said.
“But if it’s Uncle Owen’s fish and chips, I can always make space for it,” Jade said.
I didn’t know what to do, so I took the dinner from her and lingered in the kitchen. When they came down, they were still talking, Jade dominating the conversation.
“So what’s the story?” she asked as they entered the kitchen.
“What story?”
“Why you’re moving in,” Jade said. She squealed, and I saw Caleb and Tate wince. “I can’t believe you’re moving in with us!”
Reilly took her time to answer her question, setting out her dinner – it was fish and chips – on a plate, and then setting out Tate’s.
“Reilly…” Jade said, pointedly drumming her fingers on the table.
Reilly shared a look with Caleb, and Caleb was the one who explained. “As you know, dad got into some trouble a while back.”
I noticed how controlled and light his tone was, and how he glanced over at me when he said that, so I pretended to take a sip of water.
Caleb went on. “Reilly was supposed to go off with him – while he got a job, she’d go off to university – but that plan got … waylaid, so since she’s got nowhere to live now, mom told her to come stay with us.”
“It’s just a temporary thing,” Reilly said quickly, as though she was preventing the idea of a promise before it set in.
I stared at the glass of water in my hand, remembering the look on my father’s face when he said the same thing just this afternoon. Temporary seemed to be the code word for don’t get your hopes up; it’ll all just end in tears. People used that word when they wanted to assure you whatever you were going through would get lost in the thick of time and things. What they always omitted was the fact that it wouldn’t.
“Waylaid,” Jade echoed. “You mean that time when he got….”
I looked up. Reilly and Caleb had silenced her with similar looks.
“Well, then, can’t you stay here forever?” Jade asked.
“Yeah,” Caleb seconded. “Seriously, we’d love having you here. She” – he nodded to Jade – “was just starting to drive me nuts.”
“You drive yourself nuts,” Jade retorted.
“Hey,” Tate said suddenly, his head popping up from his food. The crunching of fish in his mouth could be heard. He nudged Reilly. “You remember that one?”
They all seemed to. To me, it was just further proof of what a closed estate Wroughton was, a reminder of what a stranger – an intruder – I was in their world. You never realised how lonely you really were until you found yourself at the other side of the window, silently looking in.
Caleb suddenly remembered my presence. “We have this friend,” he explained, “who went a little crazy a while back. His granddad passed away and they were really close, so….”
“Oh,” I said, not really knowing what else to say. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Caleb said brightly. “He’s fine now.”
I waited for him to say more, but he left it at that.
“That period was intense,” Tate said, shaking his head as he speared a fry. “The kid was literally driving himself crazy, thinking about everything all at once, trying to right everything.”
“But it wasn’t as bad as the first time round, though,” Reilly said. “At least he had Raven this time.”
“That’s true,” Caleb said.
I kept staring at the water in my glass, knowing there was nothing I could contribute to the conversation.
“So what’s your story?” Caleb suddenly asked.
It took me a while to realise he was addressing me. I looked up, blinking. “What?”
“Why’d you move here?” His gaze casually found mine and sat comfortably there.
I blinked some more, looked away and said, “It’s a long story. I don’t really want to….” I shook my head and looked at the rest of them. Jade kept looking from me to her brother and back again. Her gaze narrowed every time it landed on me.
“You like it here so far?” Reilly asked, dumping all her tomato slices on Tate’s plate. I was beginning to notice the resemblances between Reilly and Jade.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Wroughton can get on your nerves sometimes,” Caleb said, running his hands through his hair somewhat self-consciously. “But it’s okay, in general. You might like it.”
“Maybe,” I said.
Tate’s head popped up again. “Not much of a conversationalist, are you.”
I shrugged. “I guess not.” Really, I wasn’t trying to be rude or standoffish, but talking to a bunch of people I only knew for a few hours was wearing me out.
“Is there anything else you say other than yeah and I guess?” Tate went on, forking his last fry. Despite all that he ate, he stayed as lean as Caleb was. Blake had a fiery metabolism too.
“You’re one to talk, Tate,” Reilly said, rolling her eyes at him.
“Yeah, you’re like the King of Monosyllabic Answers,” Caleb said. Jade laughed.
“That’s funny,” Tate said flatly. I never understood how people could do that, say that something was funny with a straight face even though they did seem to appreciate the joke. As he leaned back in his chair, he announced, “I need a drink. You want one?” he asked Reilly.
“If you’re going to get wasted again,” Reilly said, “I don’t want to be there to witness the car wreck. It’s embarrassing, Tate.”
“Who knew models were so uptight about everything,” Tate drawled.
“Bite me.”
The glass of water slipped from my hand, and water spilled mostly over me.
“Shoot,” I muttered and leapt up. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I kept saying, feeling ridiculous as tears started pooling in my eyes. And here I thought I was rid of those tears long ago.
“It’s no problem,” Caleb said, handing me a wad of paper napkins. His eyes widened when he saw my wet ones. “It happens to the best of us, right?”
“Yeah, don’t sweat it, kid,” Tate said, frowning as he stared at me.
Everyone present probably saw me as some kind of anti-social weirdo now. I suppose it was true.
After Tate left, Reilly and Jade retreated to Reilly’s room. They asked if I would like to join them, but I told them I was tired. I might have imagined it, but Jade seemed almost relieved that I chose not to impose my surly presence on them.
You had no-one else but yourself to blame when you were lonely. It all came back to you.


Three


“The past is not dead; it is living in us, and will be alive in the future which we are now helping to make.”
~ William Morris (British poet, 1834 – 1896)


The only good thing that came out of therapy was the pills. Sleeping pills, that is. Dr Oliveiro gave me a bunch of them on our second therapy session, after I told her about the sleepless nights and generic dreams.
The pills helped. They kept the dreams at bay, and on most nights when I took them, I was able to fall into undisturbed sleep until the next morning without any problem.
Although there were still some problematic nights.
Once, I don’t know how, but I woke up in the bathroom with the water running. I was only woken up, spluttering, when my father burst into the shower and shoved the shower head in my face.
Dad made me take my medication in front of him from that night on. But sometimes, he forgot. Those were the nights he locked himself in his room and I heard him working feverishly at his computer. The next morning, the floor would be strewn with papers, crushed or torn, filled with public relations jargon that I didn’t understand. It just reminded me, whenever I smoothened out a stack of crushed papers, how far apart I had become from him.
I told myself I would not go crazy with the pills tonight, that I would just take the prescribed amount and not a grain more. It would, after all, not help if I ended up doing something crazy in my new house. Caleb and Jade seemed nice, but a psycho tenant would still be unwelcome no matter how nice people were.
But as I stared at the extra pill sitting in the palm of my hand, a million excuses ran through my mind. No-one knew if things would go out of hand, right? I needed more than the prescribed amount tonight, that I knew for sure. Nothing would happen. It was just that one time that the pills messed up my head.
Besides, I thought as I popped the pill into my mouth, new estate, new house, right? Surely I needed something extra to get to sleep.
I almost dropped the glass of water again when a knock came at my door.
Jade stuck her head timidly in. “Hey.” A frown grew in her brows when she saw me start at her voice
“Hey,” I said, shoving the bottle of pills in my lap.
Her frown deepened.
“It’s to help me sleep,” I told her, waving the topic away.
She nodded. Taking a deep breath, she said, with a hint of reluctance, “I just wanted to make sure you’re settling in for your first night here.” She leant against the door frame and went on, “First night in a new place and all. Are you sure you’re okay? You were acting a little weird downstairs.”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling the familiar onset of calmness take over me. But I could still hear another pill calling out to me at the back of my mind. Should I give in? I forced myself to concentrate on the conversation. “I’m fine. Thanks for today, by the way.”
She stared at me for a while, before slowly backing out. “Okay,” she finally said. “If you need anything, I’ll be in my room.”
After she left, I realised I had already drawn another pill from the bottle. It stared up at me from my palm.

*

It was a different dream this time. I somehow knew it the moment it began. Somehow, I was anticipating it.
No-one was there. Not my mother, not Blake. I couldn’t even see myself. All I could register was the intense darkness all around. I could barely see anything, but I knew it was dark. I could feel no solid ground beneath my feet, like I was weightless, unanchored.
Suddenly, a flame was struck, a warm orange glow in the hollow blackness all around. It was entrancing, the shades of orange and yellow burning in the quiet nothingness.
Then I saw his fingers at the end of the match.
Blake had a nervous habit. He would light matches whenever he was antsy or worried. I know it sounds crazy – scary, even – but he even carried a box of matches everywhere he went. It was like an addiction, a natural reaction to sooth his frazzled nerves.
It used to scare the hell out of me whenever he did that. I was afraid he would burn the place down one day, wherever we were, or set himself on fire. He never did – he would let the flame creep closer and closer to his fingers before finally dropping the match. Sometimes, I would blow out the flame when it got too close to his fingers for comfort (the way he liked it), and that would annoy him.
This time, though, I let it burn, watching it eat up the stem, leaving behind blackened wood. It was the only way I could see his face. I feared the moment when the match would be dropped, when I would never see his face again.
The match was never dropped, the flame never extinguished. But Blake handed the lit one to me wordlessly and struck another.
I could not take my eyes off his face. In every one of my dreams, I feared it would be the last I ever saw of him, so I tried not to blink every time, hoping to commit his features – everything about him – to memory.
He struck another match, and I stared at the dancing flame in his eyes. He smiled and handed me a match to strike.
We stuck all the matches we had in the ground around us. They burned for what I hoped was eternity, as we kept striking more and more and placed them around us. We kept our eyes on each other the entire time we were doing that.
His gaze was sad, as though he knew the light would be extinguished soon and that would be the end of that.
The heat from the flames sat upon my skin, so real that it hardly felt like I was dreaming, but I ignored it. This felt scarily like my last chance to see Blake again, and I never wanted to wake up, if that was the case. I would go willingly into the good night from whence he came. Time was the ultimate force of nature, and I could either abide by its rules while living – or be free of it when I was not.
“Kristen,” he said, but his lips did not move. It was the only word he had spoken since the beginning of this very strange dream. And then it became more urgent: “Kristen.”
I could feel tears – as hot as the flames around us – on my face. Was I was going to see him leave again?
“I don’t want to wake up. Blake, please, don’t make me,” I kept saying.
He didn’t respond to what I was saying; he just kept saying my name, until finally he yelled, “Kristen! Wake up, dammit!”
“I don’t want to!” I screamed as I felt someone shake me – hard. “I don’t want to! Blake, please!”
He drifted further away from me, and his silhouette, now fuzzy, melted into the blackness.
A searing pain rippled through my arm, and I screamed again as the circle of flames collapsed inwards and flooded the ground. A pool of fire gathered around my feet, monstrous and alive, licking at my flesh.
And then I could see nothing else but the fire that had now risen to an astounding height. An ever-encroaching wall was erected and I could hardly breathe, much less try to look for Blake. There was the acrid smell of smoke and something else burning, and the heat hurt my eyes so much I couldn’t open them. How was I going to find Blake now?
“Let’s get out of here,” someone yelled.
And I felt myself dragged away, away from the wall of fire separating me from Blake. My sobs and screams were barely heard over the roar of heat chasing us, me and the voice.
“Get downstairs!” another voice bellowed.
Soon, I was forced to a refreshingly cool spot, but my arms hurt as I tried to tear away from the grip on them. The glow of orange and red was retreating, dying. It reminded me too much of how Blake slowly died on that road, slowly retreating every time in my dreams. I screamed and thrashed some more.
It was not until I felt myself trip over something and felt a burst of cool air on my skin that I began to recognise the voices around me.
“She says she doesn’t want to wake up,” Caleb said. I could almost imagine him rolling his eyes.
“The fire’s put out,” I heard my dad say.
That was when I opened my eyes.
“Thank goodness,” Reilly sighed. I didn’t know if she said that because the fire was put out or because I was awake.
“What is your problem?” Jade demanded, but she stared at me with what seemed like concern as she helped me sit up on the porch.
“I’ll get her a glass of water,” Caleb said, and he went into the house.
The smell of smoke was still strong, and my eyes watered.
Dad appeared in front of me, distraught but tired-looking. “Kristen,” he said. “Can you hear me? Kristen.”
“Yeah, dad,” I croaked. “I’m not in a coma.”
“Well, you were sleep-walking,” Reilly said. “That’s almost as bad.”
“Sleep-walking?” I echoed. So the dream was … real? Was that why Caleb was re-emerging from the house with a first-aid kit? Because my arm was – I checked – singed?
“Just like the previous time,” dad said, his gaze heavy, sombre.
A lump that had suddenly grown in my throat hurt. “So did I…?” I swallowed. “Did I just burn the house down or something?”
Caleb chuckled as he handed me the glass of water. “You only burned your room down. No harm done.”
How nice he was made me feel even more terrible. I had been so rude to him, but here he was treating my wound and handing me a glass of water. After I had almost burned down his house. There was a difference between being taciturn and being an outright bitch.
“Really, Kristen,” Caleb said, bending down slightly to look me in the eye. I froze, trapped in his gaze, but now found that there was nowhere else I wanted to look. “Don’t sweat it. It’s fine.”
“What exactly happened?” Jade asked, shaking her head.
Caleb stopped dabbing water on my arm. He frowned and stared at the wet towel in his hand. “She’d lit – I don’t know how many candles, but it was scary. They were all over the place, like a preparation for some kind of dark ritual or something.”
My dad made an involuntary noise.
Caleb looked at me again, and this time I didn’t look away. “You were still lighting up those candles when I got into your room. I smelt the smoke so I went up to check. The curtains had caught fire. I kept calling you and shaking you, telling you to wake up and get out of there, but you just kept saying you didn’t want to…” He shook his head. “And – you called me Blake.”
I let out a sharp gasp. No-one else had uttered that name in my presence since that day, since I avoided everyone and everything that might have reminded me of his absence.
My father’s gaze fell heavily on me; I could hardly breathe just feeling the weight of its sadness.
A sharp pain shocked me out of my reverie, however, and I gasped. Caleb cringed and apologised.
“Wait a minute,” Jade said. She stared at Caleb. “You mean you woke up in the middle of the night to find her lighting candles in her room?” She turned to stare at me, her eyes bright and reproachful in the night. I could not hold her gaze for very long.
“I’ve heard of sleepwalkers who do weirder things,” Reilly said, shrugging rather stiffly. “Raven told us about this one girl who woke up in the mi –”
“I think we should all go back to bed now,” dad said. Everyone flinched at his tone.
“You can sleep with me,” Jade said, but she looked uncertain, “since your room’s – well, you know.”
“I’m really – I’m really sorry,” I choked. My eyes were still watering because of the smoke.
The area around my room windows was blackened, an ugly reminder of what I had not been able to control.
Caleb wrapped up my arm silently. I kept looking at him, for some reason. Now that I had faced whatever it was that lay in those eyes, there was no incentive to draw my gaze anywhere else.
But he took extra care not to come any closer. He didn’t even look at me.
It was only later, when I lay in a makeshift bed in Jade’s room, listening to her gentle snoring, that I realised what it was about Caleb that I was so afraid of, but also involuntarily drawn to.
I had never really believed Blake had left me. Caleb was proof of it.


Four


“It’s easy to be brave from a safe distance.”
~ Aesop (Greek fabulist, 620BC – 560BC)


There was hardly anything to be thankful for when morning came, but I was. I was thankful I didn’t have to lie in that restless darkness, wakeful and worried, anymore.
When it was finally a decent enough time to wake up, I slid out of bed and washed up as quietly as I could, hoping to sneak out for a walk before another one of my useless therapy session.
There was no chance of that, however, because Caleb was already at the kitchen table, nursing a huge bowl of cereal over a book.
The night had withered, now shrivelling to let the light of dawn take its place. Morning was my favourite part of the day, if only because everything that had happened within the night died along with it.
The faint glow of sunlight reached in, mingled with morning mist. Caleb sat in a slowly growing pool of golden light, looking up when I approached.
He nodded once. “Morning.” And then he went back to his book.
“Morning.” I shuffled my feet, and sat myself beside him at the table. Waited.
There were only a handful of people I knew who could lose themselves entirely in a book. Blake and I could sometimes sit next to each other on the couch for hours, just reading. My mother would cry, aggrieved, “How can you two just sit there and read? When I was your age, reading was the last thing on my mind when I was snuggled on a couch with your father.” Blake and I would then be too grossed out to continue reading.
“You’re up early,” I ventured, shaking myself free of those thoughts. I had promised to sweep them under the carpet before I came here.
“So are you.”
I let it stop there. So did he. He was supposed to say something. I sat down and silently appraised him.
Only after what felt like ten minutes did Caleb stop crunching on his cereal as he read. He shut the book. It was a hard-cover, dark blue with gold letterings on the spine. For Whom the Bell Tolls, Ernest Hemingway.
“Kristen?” Caleb said, his brows creasing. I realised I was staring at the book with my face pinched.
“That’s a … book.”
He stared at me like I was insane. It was probably the stupidest thing I could ever say.
I tried again. “Hemingway.”
He frowned slightly and leaned forward on his elbows, staring at me. I flushed, painfully aware of the hyperactivity of my eyes.
And then, slowly, carefully, as though he expected me to leap up from my seat and start flinging knives at him, he said, “Yeah, well. Hemingway’s my favourite.”
So was Blake’s, I thought involuntarily. So many things I thought now came without me meaning to let it.
“Blake.”
My eyes flew to meet his. Had I said that out loud?
“What’s your favourite, then?” he asked
Right then, I was grateful for the diversion he offered. “I don’t really have a favourite.”
“That’s impossible,” he said, shaking his head but smiling a little, as though he didn’t want to indulge me. “You must have one whom you really love. Shakespeare? Austen? Bronte?”
“I’m not really a …” I let out a mirthless laugh.
Hadn’t Blake always teased me for being so smitten with Charlotte Bronte and Shakespeare? He had always said those were for diehard romantics like me. Oddly enough, they held no more appeal for me. I was now able to see what an idiot Jane Eyre was, for wasting all that time she had with Mr Rochester, for leaving him, for making them both so miserable. And now I could only see how simple it had been to make Lysander fall out of love with Hermia.
“You’re not really a what? A romantic?” Caleb said.
His eyes widened when I suddenly stood up and made to leave the table. How could two people who had never met each other be so similar?
Caleb held onto my wrist. “Wait – did I say something wrong?”
I stopped. It wasn’t his fault that he reminded me so much of Blake, especially when he didn’t even know him. I was being rude.
Still.
“I’m really sorry about –” The words clogged up my throat. “Well, about everything that’s happened since I came here.”
“Hey, we’ve had worse tenants,” Caleb said, shrugging. “Nothing that we haven’t seen before.”
“Did anyone else burn the house down?” I fiddled with my fingers, realising how close we had slowly shifted towards each other. The familiarity and strange ease I felt in such close proximity to him was unsettling, so I leaned back in my chair.
“Well, we had one who choked up the water pipe so badly that when I was in the bathroom and the pipe exploded, I almost drowned.”
It took me by such surprise that I laughed. He looked as shocked as I was when I did, staring at me with such wonder it was as if I had just brought Hemingway back to life.
“We had to tell him to find some place else. My mom was hysterical. I’d never seen her so mad before,” Caleb went on, smiling.
The tenderness in his eyes rattled the flimsy foundation I was perched upon, and I had to look away again.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Caleb began.
Here we go, I thought. The last thing I needed was some guy prying about my nightmares when I barely knew him.
“Why do you always avoid my gaze?” he asked.
I blinked and looked up at him. Curiosity made his eyes wide, as surprise must have made mine. Everything about him was heart-breaking, for reasons I couldn’t even explain.
“It can’t just be a self-esteem thing, right?” He shook his head. “I mean, I get that you’re shy and don’t like company all that much and everything, but it’s just … I don’t know, every time you look at me, you sort of seize up and look away. Almost like you’re afraid of something. I hope you don’t think I’m some kind of creep, because as far as first impressions go, I like to think I’m pretty normal.”
It was almost funny how worried he looked when he said that.
But contrary to what he said, I found myself now unable to tear my gaze away from him.
“But if you don’t want to share,” he hurried to add, “it’s fine. I mean, I understand secrets –”
“Do you?”
“I do,” he said, in a voice firm and low.
A brief silence passed between us.
“So what’s on your agenda today?” He crunched on another spoonful of milk-sodden cereal.
It made no sense, but the less he asked about me, the more I was willing to share. Which was why I told him about the useless therapy session I had later on that I had been going to since something terrible happened. Those were my exact words.
“So why do you still go, then?”
It was a question I had asked myself often enough, and I thought I already had the answer to it hammered into my head, but when I said it out loud, it sounded weak even to me.
“It’s what my dad wants me to do,” I said. “He said I should give it a shot … It makes him happy,” I added.
“But if it’s useless, then it doesn’t really help you get over what made you sad in the first place, does it? So it’d just be a vicious cycle, where you, being sad, go to therapy, which doesn’t help, so you become even sadder, which, ultimately, does no good for anyone.”
I shook my head. “What makes you think I was sad in the first place? Just because I’m in therapy?”
“You said something terrible happened. And it shows. It shows in everything you do.” He nodded like he was breaking a piece of bad news to me. “I mean it. Everything.”
“No, it doesn’t. You wouldn’t even know that if I hadn’t told you.”
“You think?”
He knew he was right. We both did.
So I let another bout of silence grow between us until it became so huge that there was no way to return to that topic.
There was so much to say, but it was too much for that morning. The weight of everything left unsaid that could have been said was smothering. But it left me with the notion of an unfinished conversation.
In the thick of all that was Wroughton, that left me something, at least, to look forward to.

*

The lavender scent never failed to nauseate me.
Add to the equation a phoney psychiatrist who asked too many questions for too little results and I’d end up really sick by the end of each therapy session.
“Let’s take a look at your dream diary, shall we?” Dr Oliveiro now asked, happily opening the hardcover book and perching it on her lap.
The dream diary, if I didn’t know better, could cure Aids, feed the remaining two-thirds of the world that was still starving, discover a new planet and pay your bills. It even looked as phoney as her, the sort a wannabe astrologist would give as a gift, deep purple all over with stars and crescent moons floating about.
I felt a certain vindictive pleasure as she learnt of yet another week of dreamless nights.
“I guess the medication is working then,” Dr Oliveiro said, trying to sound upbeat but not concealing her disappointment very well. “That was four dreamless nights in a row, and the last three dreams were about animals.”
“I guess it is,” I said.
She frowned slightly and shut the book. “Kristen, how are you feeling today?”
“Fine.”
She rubbed her fingers together before trying again. “Kristen, I said before on our first session that I wish to be of help to you.”
There was no sense in interrupting her now. If she wished to kick me out of therapy, it was absolutely fine by me; I’d be more than happy to not see her again. It was stupid to hope – as stupid as it was to love – but right then I was thinking of the day I wouldn’t have to endure all the questions, the searching looks that yielded nothing, and the cloying scent of lavender anymore.
“Now, I want you to record down not just your dreams,” she said slowly, as though I were two, “but also your thoughts, your reactions, to everything that happens to you. It’s now a diary of sorts.”
“It is a diary,” I said.
“Right. So keep a diary. Not just a dream diary.”
It was, therefore, little wonder that I came back from therapy completely drained. If I had to face someone else who wanted to know what the hell I was thinking, I would throw myself in front of a truck.
On the way back, I unconsciously considered the book to buy Blake for his birthday. My mother had given me a list of what to buy a guy. She made a greater deal out of it, telling me to go with cologne or a sweater. Blake hardly wore either; all he needed was a good book, good company, and a sweaty good time. But mom said all men were the same.
The Old Belle bookstore could be described as quaint, if you were being polite. If you weren’t, you’d call it rundown. It was badly in need of a new coat of paint, and some sorting out of its books. The wooden – I didn’t know what type of wood it was – shelves and signboard were chipped, and the picture of the grand bell on the signboard swinging overhead was faded.
There was something sad about the Old Belle bookstore, almost as if it had no energy to keep up with time anymore. But I liked it nonetheless. Blake would too. We were both sick of brightly-lit, commercialised stores with plush carpeting and glossed racks of crisp new books that catered to mainstream tastes.
I was halfway into the bookstore before I realised what the hell I was doing. It was one thing to miss your dead boyfriend, and another entirely to buy birthday presents for him as though he would have any chance of receiving them.
But I couldn’t back out now, because the minute I opened the door, a shrill ring ripped through the store, unleashed with such a fury that it almost appeared like it was going to claw its way out.
Someone – a lady – screamed a frighteningly endless string of expletives, and I heard a baby crying somewhere on my right. Another voice – a young boy – was squealing with delight at the mayhem.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I spluttered to no-one in particular, and hurried to shut the door. It swung loose, and I slammed it close. It seemed the ringing only stopped when the door was firmly shut.
“We need that bell back, Caleb,” the swearing lady said. “We really do. Like, now. Seriously.”
“I’ll get it fixed soon, Aunt Belle,” Caleb promised.
They were perched atop their high chairs behind the counter, Caleb relaxing from his pose. He must have ducked a little before, because he now straightened up and looked around, his hair slightly messed up.
“Kristen?” he said. “That was you?”
“Do you know her?” Aunt Belle asked Caleb at the same time.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” Aunt Belle said.
I nodded and gave a little wave, for courtesy’s sake. “Kristen.”
“She just moved in with us,” Caleb explained.
Aunt Belle’s eyes widened with delight. She seemed to be in her mid- to late-twenties and had what mom would call an open face, the sort of face that makes you warm to her right away.
“Right! It’s nice to meet you, Kristen. Just call me Belle. I’d give you a hug, but my hands are a little full at the moment.”
They certainly were. On her left arm was a baby bundled in a light blue blanket, his face mottled from all the crying. He had quietened down, but was still choking on his sobs. Caleb and Belle were trying to balance a stack of books before them.
Now that the crisis seemed to be over, I was able to take in the Old Belle bookstore properly. It was, first and foremost, cosy. Two stories worth of cosiness, with an old spiral staircase that led upstairs. Apart from the carpeting – albeit sort of threadbare – there were also shelves and shelves of books reaching up to the ceiling, and wooden rolling ladders at the end of each one. Aretha Franklin was wailing softly about r-e-s-p-e-c-t in the background (I almost couldn’t catch it because of the baby’s crying). An antique clock hung over the counter, and in one corner, a circle of armchairs sat under pictures of famous writers and what they had to say about reading.
I was already in love with this place.
The phone rang, and Belle cursed again. I heard a renewed peal of laughter from a child somewhere.
“This,” she pronounced, rubbing her forehead, “is a disaster.”
“I’ll handle this. You go answer the call, Aunt Belle,” Caleb said.
“Can I help?” I said, feeling the overwhelming need to. I felt toppled just watching them, off-balance.
He thought for a while. As he split the stack of books into two stacks and set the other one on the floor, he said, “It’s not an easy task, but I guess you could help us find Oliver.”
“Oliver?”
“A four-year-old with the craziest amount of energy you have ever seen,” he said, rolling his eyes. “He’s in here somewhere. He gets excited easily, you see. So he can be quite a handful sometimes.”
“I’ll find him,” I said, despite the doubt that slowed my feet.
My mother always said it would be a disaster if Blake and I ever decided to have kids (she always said that in his presence, too, no less), because we would both just throw them in one corner with a pile of books to entertain themselves, “and insert food into their mouths when they said they were hungry”.
But that was provided they could actually stay in one corner. My mother had never encountered a kid like Oliver. He had the most manic amount of energy I had ever witnessed. He seemed to understand that I was searching for him. It was evident how much fun he was having, leading me on a wild goose chase all over the bookstore, throwing me only his impish laughter as clues to his whereabouts. This was like the most annoying game of Marco Polo I had ever played.
I raced along the Romance and History aisles, and up the slightly creaky wooden stairs, scouring amongst the Biographies aisles.
“Oliver!” I called. “Come out, please.” I was leaning against the banisters, hoping for another glimpse of Oliver or another peal of laughter from him, when I saw Belle emerge from the tiny office behind the counter.
“Thomas has got a load of books to sell again,” she told Caleb, rocking a little with the baby in her arm. “I need to run out and get those from him. Can I leave you in charge here for an hour?”
“We can’t keep buying books, Aunt Belle,” Caleb said, taking the baby from her. “Not with the situation we’re in now.”
“I know.” She sighed, leaving the shop anyway and triggering a fresh wave of chaos for us to handle on our own as the bell went off. I almost looked around for the fire.
“Kristen?”
Oliver laughed again. “I’m right here!” he shrieked. “You’ll never catch me!”
I like children in general, but this little tyke was really starting to get on my nerves.
“I’m up here,” I called back to Caleb, feeling like an idiot again for bolting off towards the storeroom where the voice came from.
Caleb joined me as I was trying to open the door of the room.
“He always does that,” Caleb muttered, jiggling the knob. “Wait here. Here, take Sawyer,” he said, handing me the freshly-sobbing baby, “I’ll go get the keys. Don’t move – you never know what he’s got planned.”
As I waited for Caleb to return, incredulity suddenly struck me. Who would have thought a month after everything ended that I would be standing in an old bookstore with another guy who liked Hemingway, trying to nail down a hyperactive four-year-old?
As Caleb came back up the stairs with the keys in his hand, Sawyer gave another quelled sob in the cradle of my arm. I stepped aside to let Caleb through.
“We’re not usually such a mess,” Caleb said. “It’s just that Grandpa’s had a little mishap in the house and can’t take care of the boys for a while. He’s the only one who can keep up with them, I swear.”
“Is he okay?”
He nodded. “It’s his arthritis. But it’s not that big a problem. Like I said, he’s the only one who can keep up with the boys, and that says a lot.”
The room was still, quiet, when we entered, almost as though it were holding its husky breath. Pinpricks of light entered through the single grimy window, and flakes of dust danced in the mid-afternoon glow.
“We know you’re in here, Oliver,” Caleb said sternly. To me, he said breezily, “Don’t worry, we won’t have to wait long. That kid can’t stay still in one place for more than ten seconds, literally. Here, let me carry him.” He held out his arms for Sawyer, and I transferred the mollified baby to him. Shifting a heavy-looking box next to him with his feet, he said, “How tragic is this place.”
“It’s not that bad,” I felt compelled to say.
“It’s been this way since my grandmother passed away and Aunt Belle took over. I mean, Aunt Belle’s amazing, really, but she needs to realise she isn’t Wonder Woman, know what I mean? She just –”
Oliver chose that moment to whip out of his hiding place – so quickly I couldn’t figure out where he came from – and past us.
Before I could reach out to grab him, he had snatched the bunch of keys from Caleb’s hand and sped out of the room. The door shut with a snap and I heard the heavy turn of the lock.
“Dammit!” Caleb spluttered.
“Dammit!” Oliver mimicked as he pounded down the stairs, jingling the keys gloatingly.
“This is … wonderful,” I said, staring at the door like it would open by command of my eyes. It was the old-fashioned, heavy wooden kind that couldn’t be unlocked from inside.
Caleb shook his head. “He gets me every time.” He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and texted single-handedly. “We can either wait here until Aunt Belle gets back, or jump out of the window.” He shrugged apologetically. “But seeing as how we have Sawyer with us, I don’t think that’s a completely safe option.”
“I’m sure I wasn’t such a handful when I was four years old,” I said, manoeuvring my way through the sea of boxes at my feet.
“I’m sure,” Caleb said, “that he needs medical attention. For hyperactivity, or something. This just isn’t normal. Aunt Belle’s too soft with him – I guess we all are – so for now, all we can do is threaten him with the doctor to keep him in check.”
“Most of them grow out of it, I’m sure,” I said. Pushing a box next to me, I asked, “What’s in all these boxes?”
“The million and one books Aunt Belle buys,” Caleb said, sitting down on a box next to me. “The Old Belle bookstore buys and rents – or sells, once in a blue moon – second-hand books. And Aunt Belle just can’t seem to turn down anyone who’s got books to sell, in spite of the fact that we can barely keep our heads above the water here.”
I shot him a puzzled look. “But the range of books here is so wide – surely there must be a large customer base to cater to.”
“You’d be surprised at how many people prefer buying brand-new books from the major stores with their glass windows and expensive wooden shelves,” Caleb said, smoothing Sawyer’s feathery hair back. “Plus, people don’t only want new books in a new place anymore. They want books that fit into proper categories, like romance, or fantasy. Sometimes, the books we sell just here don’t appeal to them. Personally, I reckon it’s just the yellowed pages.”
There was something raw about him then, as he said that while looking down at his baby cousin. I didn’t understand what it was, but that sharp hurt split me in a half again, the familiar blade of hurt carving out its usual space at the same spot.
“My grandparents opened this bookstore,” Caleb went on. “Grandpa named it after my grandma – her name was Belle. My mom’s Annabel, Aunt Belle’s Isabelle. It sounds kind of corny, but…” He shrugged, smiling when he looked up at me.
“Was?”
“Well, she passed away. I think I mentioned that before.”
“Oh. Right.”
“My mom wanted to sell this place after grandma died, but grandpa decided to hand it over to Aunt Belle.” Caleb grimaced slightly. “It’s not that she’s doing a bad job, but Aunt Belle just loves to take on more than she can handle sometimes, you know? She’s juggling two other temp jobs as well, and with the boys … I don’t know how she manages it.”
“She does seem pretty strung out,” I offered.
“I’m sorry about all this,” Caleb said, shrugging. “You know, you were probably just hoping to get a book or something, and you end up getting locked up in a room by a four-year-old.”
How was I supposed to reply to that? It’s fine, my pleasure?
He went on before I could think of what to say. “So what were you looking for?”
My face burned, but his countenance was so wide open that there was no reason not to fall into it. So I said, “I don’t know what book, exactly, but just something that … Blake … would like.”
A sick feeling parked itself on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. I could smell the rain on the tarred road all of a sudden.
“You said he likes Hemingway, right?”
“Liked,” I whispered, as though all the air had been knocked out of me.
“Sorry?” He leaned slightly forward.
“Liked,” I repeated, louder. “Not anymore.”
I dashed to the window before anything else could happen. The smell was too much for me to bear. Caleb was right behind me, helping me hoist open the window despite his bewilderment.
The sensation of hot bile blazing a path up my throat was not something I could see myself ever getting used to, despite the frequency at which it occurred these days. Just as the chill began to set in, something always had to come along to thaw your insides. It made you wonder if the alternate expansions and contractions would split you open eventually, a hairline crack growing into an irreparable rift.
I was aware of Caleb holding my hair away from my face as every inch of my body was set on fire. Blood rushed to my face, and the sounds I was making tore up my throat.
He offered me a mint after I was done.
It was that one gesture, that tiny seed of promise, sitting in the heart of his palm that quelled the remaining bile in my gut.
“Peppermints have volatile oil compounds that sooth the muscles along your digestive tracks,” he said. “So it’s best to have some when you’re feeling sick.”
“No kidding,” I said, feeling a whole lot better already.
It was strange that instead of plying me with questions about Blake, Caleb chose to indulge in that random little piece of information that seemed so inconsequential.
But right then, like before, I was grateful, grateful for him standing there next to me, gently smoothing my hair back, much like how he had done with Sawyer, standing in the right space – neither too close for comfort nor too far out of reach.


Five


“Nobody, who has not been in the interior of a family, can say what the difficulties of any individual of that family may be.”
~ Jane Austen (British writer, 1775 – 1817)


When Belle finally came back, the first thing she did was charge up to the storeroom, moaning at Oliver along the way. She sounded so woeful that I marvelled at how Oliver could stay so shamelessly guilt-free at what he had done.
“She’s just too soft with him,” Caleb said again, shaking his head but smiling.
“Caleb, Kristen, I am so sorry,” Belle breathed, looking so apologetic that I felt I should say sorry to her. “I’m so very sorry, really I am. You’re right, Caleb, this boy” – she tugged on Oliver’s hand and he grinned impishly – “needs to be put on a leash. How about this, Kristen? For what this little tyke has put you through, I’ll let you pick a book out of my collection. Consider it an apology gift.”
“That’s really not necessary,” I said. “It’s fine, Belle, really –”
She kept insisting, however, and caught me on my way out with Caleb for having not taken any book. So in the end, I had no choice but to let her shove The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens into my hands. It was what I’d always wanted to read.
“You know, Dickens was removed from school when he was twelve and sent to work in a boot-blacking factory,” Caleb said as we headed out into the sultry dusk. The air was still alive with the heady scent of flowers around. “He felt so cast out that his later works reflected his views on how the social system should be changed.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “He’s one of your favourites too?”
“I just think it’s amazing how he could have worked in those conditions and produced such great works. He’s a genius – like Beethoven.”
“I hate Beethoven,” I blurted automatically.
He looked at me like I was nuts. “I’ve never heard of anyone who hates him. The man’s a completely genius! Did you even hear –”
“Over-rated,” I snapped.
“If genius is over-rated, we might as well all stop living now. Just let our species die out and not strive to reach the next level of evolution,” Caleb declared, waving his arms a little.
“You’re annoying,” I said, but I could feel a smile fighting its way to my lips.
He grinned. “I guess it runs in the family, then, only Jade’s a whole lot worse. And you should hear my mom when she starts blubbering about something that nobody cares to know. It makes you wonder why you had to be cursed with ears.”
I laughed. The sound was foreign, too uninhibited. I actually looked around to see if someone else had laughed in my place.
“It’s nice to see you not behaving like such a grumpy old bag for a second,” Caleb said. “Jade was starting to wonder if you needed therapy – wait, actually, you do go to therapy.”
“Which is a complete waste of my time, every time,” I couldn’t help but say. We were turning into the row of neat-looking houses, each pretty but generally similar to one another.
“So you said.” His smile was lopsided with bemusement. “You know, I think Reilly might have a better therapist to recommend.”
The thought was horrifying. More people trying to break through my glass bubble? I’d take a whole week of Oliver any day. “Please, no. No more therapists. I’ve got one too many to handle.”
He laughed. I found myself smiling, and immediately beat the growing smile back where it belonged.
He stared at me for a while – not long enough to make me uncomfortable, but long enough for me to realise he was looking at me longer than was required.
“Home?” I asked, just as his gaze broke away.
“I’m actually going to visit my grandma, so – do you want to come along? You’d have a ride home, at the very least.”
All that was waiting for me at home was more shadowed time alone and awkward moments dripping by.
“What, on your bicycle?”
“Oh, I’m sure my bike can take one more passenger,” he said, thumping his two-wheel proudly.
“It’s not the bike I’m worried about.”
“It’s the physical contact, then? Do I make you nervous?”
I stared at him, only absently noticing we were walking, him wheeling his bicycle at his side. In Wroughton, everything was prettily done up, smooth grey pavements, squat rows of identical houses with red roofs and brightly-coloured plants everywhere, wild yet neat. We were walking along one of those never-ending pavements that snaked through the entire estate, the burning late afternoon sun right in our faces.
“You wish.”
He smirked. “Because I noticed you have a thing with that. Physical contact, that is,” Caleb went on, straddling his bicycle.
I hopped on defiantly behind him. “Just ride, okay?”

*

The cemetery was everything I had not expected.
For one thing, I had not expected to see one (especially in a secluded estate like Wroughton), since I thought we couldn’t afford the space a cemetery demanded, being a land-scarce island and all.
But what surprised me the most was how unthreatening it looked. The cemetery was not littered with moss-covered sad-eyed stone angels and tombstones. It actually looked restful, bathed in light.
The only time I encountered the dead was during the deepest hour of the night, where memories of the dead clung on just as tightly as I did to them. I hated that need, that dose of reassurance that told me Blake would always be a part of me. I didn’t want any dealings with the dead, but then again, it was the only way I could keep Blake alive. So naturally, the cemetery held a dreaded charm for me, one that I could hardly resist, but couldn’t stay away from either.
But this cemetery actually seemed inviting, the sort of place you would go to take refuge in, if only for a while.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Caleb said quietly beside me. “I wouldn’t mind being dead if it means I get to live here.”
“Me neither,” I said, nodding hard. “For all eternity.”
He made a face. “Well, maybe not for all eternity. Won’t you get bored of it?”
I did not offer him a reply.
We stood on the narrow lane that wound itself around the entire cemetery, flanked by expanses of green. Before me, the smooth orange-gold canvas of the sky peeked through the straggly fingers of a tree dotted with white flowers.
“One of the reasons why hardly anyone ever comes to Wroughton,” Caleb said, still in a low voice.
I understood his need to respect the restful silence, respect the dead. So I said, “What is?” in a voice just as quiet.
“This cemetery. If you follow this trail to the end, you’ll be out of Wroughton.” He smiled. “So in a way, we’re protected by this cemetery from the ugly business of the outside world.”
Protected by the dead. It was an idea that, strangely, I took comfort in.
“Even though I’ve been here countless times, I never fail to get lost,” Caleb said with a sheepish smile. “Right now, though, we’re looking for a frangipani tree. My grandma’s right next to it.”
“Frangipani tree. Right,” I said. “How does that look like?”
“It has bright yellow flowers,” he said simply. “You won’t miss it.” He smiled again, and I was aware of how alone we were, together but separate in the resting home for the dead. I had the urge to bottle up that smile.
Blake would love this place. It was these short-lived pleasures that he had lived for. My mother always said he was the type who would endure a week of misfortunes just to experience that second of glorious luck in the end.
I looked at Caleb now. He was wandering around, his back to me, cutting through the amber dust, muttering, “Frangipani, frangipani,” over and over like someone shaking a compass, hoping to find North.
The tree he was looking so hard for was obscured by a circle of gnarly trees looking sort of parched. The frangipani tree sat there amidst the carpet of grass, looking protective of what lied at its feet. The gravestone read In Memory of Bridget Lean, 1923 – 2005.
“I think it’s here, Caleb,” I called out.
He joined me shortly and placed the bunch of flowers at the foot of the gravestone. “Oh, grandma. Clearly, I didn’t inherit your sense of direction.”
“I thought guys were usually the ones with the good sense of direction.”
“Guess I’m not your typical guy.”
“Guess you’re not.” I stared at him. What was going on here?
He looked self-deprecating, as though he believed that was not a good thing. “Anyway, grandma, this is Kristen. She and her dad just moved in with us. Kristen, meet my grandma.”
“Hi, grandma,” I said, feeling slightly self-conscious, but kneeling down next to him before her grave too. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Did I tell you? The day after she died, Oliver was born,” Caleb said. “Grandpa was torn up like you wouldn’t believe – he didn’t have the heart to continue running the Old Belle – but Oliver took his mind off things slightly. He devoted his life to the boys thereafter. After that, his philosophy changed. He told me that every time someone lost something, he – or someone else – would have found something, gained something else.”
“Do you believe that?”
He shrugged. “It hasn’t really been proven so far, except in his case, but I’m open to that idea. I mean, he’s not the only who proposed it. Ralph Waldo Emerson did too.”
“So is it sort of like karma?”
He considered that. “It’s more like the universe’s way of maintaining the balance. Someone gains, someone loses. Someone loses something now, but earns something else the next moment.”
I was denied the moment to think about that, because Caleb’s cellphone rang suddenly. We cringed at the successive shrillness of each ring.
The phone call was short, and the speaker sounded curt from where I could hear. Despite all that, Caleb grew noticeably excited, like a boy going for his first fishing trip with his father. There was a silent anticipation that made his eyes gleam, the way my mother’s would when she completed another of her mobile art projects.
“My mom’s back,” he said as he stuffed his phone into his pocket. “Gabriel too.”
“That’s great,” I said, wondering what that meant. The house was crowded enough as it was. “Who’s Gabriel?”
There was a pause before he answered, “Her husband. My stepfather.”
“Is he nice?” It sounded inane, the way I posed that question, but there was something in his demeanour that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“He is.” Upon my insistent gaze, he said, “Really, he is. It’s not some sob story about an abusive stepfather, Kristen. Gabriel’s a decent guy, end of story.”
What I had to know, apparently, was that Caleb’s parents – okay, mom and stepfather – were relative big shots in Wroughton, and that it was not always that they came home after another one of their business trips. Caleb’s stepfather, Gabriel Burnstead, headed a consultant firm that had multinational dealings – hence the frequent travelling and long periods of absence each time.
“They’ll throw a party again,” Caleb was saying, as we made our way home, him wheeling the bike by his side. “They always do, within the week they’re home.”
The clean-cut white house (like all others) soon came into view, and Reilly, in a two-piece that matched her shades, was lounging on the beach chair out on the manicured lawn, catching the last of the rays.
“Reilly,” Caleb said, shaking her awake.
Reilly’s eyes popped open and she pulled her headphones out of her ears. “Hey, Cale. Nice to see you too. Excuse me if I don’t seem to reciprocate your enthusiasm.” Then she wound up her headphones and got up from the chair. The sun had set, after all, almost all the way.
Caleb ignored her. “Mom’s back, did you hear?”
She snapped to attention. “When?”
“Tonight,” he said with a grin. “They just landed.”
“Great,” Reilly said, snatching up her towel and barging into the house. “They couldn’t have given me more time to get out of here?”
Caleb frowned. “Get out of here?” His voice trailed Reilly into her room. He stood on the other side of the door while I made my way to my room. “But why?”
I stopped along the hallway as Reilly thrust open her door. “Because, Cale, I don’t want to see her. Or her husband.”
Caleb still looked puzzled. “But – well I know you and her don’t really get along –”
“That’s an understatement.”
He rolled his eyes. “Okay, I know that, but do you really have to leave the house whenever she’s in it? She gave you a proper place to live in, at the very least.”
Reilly’s face began to turn a mottled shade of red. “I don’t owe her anything. She was the one who tried to grab us and run after … after it happened. She betrayed dad, Caleb. She blew everything out of proportion. And when I said I didn’t want to follow her, she told me to leave, by all means. If dad didn’t … If he didn’t get into all that trouble, and I weren’t quite so desperate to get back to school, I wouldn’t even have come here, Caleb.”
Her gaze flicked to me suddenly, and I felt the profound shame of being somewhere I should not have been. So I scurried into my room and shut the door, hoping to forget what I had just heard.
Later, all I could hear was silence from Caleb.
“Look, I’m sorry I said that,” Reilly said, her voice diminished. I knew it was not just because of the distance between us now. “That didn’t come out the way I meant it. I just don’t want to see her, okay? I don’t want her to lord it over me, like I was grovelling for her help –”
The door slammed. “You guys!” I heard Jade yell. “Mom and Gabriel are back, did you hear?”
My father was not back yet. I felt like I had barely seen him at all these two days, but I didn’t mind that. Sometimes, looking at him made me miss mom so much I would start calling her cellphone again even though she obviously wanted nothing more to do with us.
What I had been wondering for the past month was how anybody could just drop her family and leave after so many years of being with them. How could she love us – love me – for seventeen odd years and then suddenly take flight and cut off all contact with us? She had to have been planning it. Maybe she just had enough of us.
I only heard the door open again when I heard Caleb and Jade burst out of wherever they were.
“Hi, mom! Hey, Gabriel.”
So I headed out of my room.
Jade had pounced onto her mother, who staggered slightly and almost immediately pulled her off, a tight smile stretching across her face.
“Hi, Mr and Mrs Burnstead,” I said, going down the stairs as Caleb hugged his mother a little more politely than I had expected. My father was with them. “Hey, dad.”
“We met your father along the way,” Mrs Burnstead said in a crisp tone clear of any accent whatsoever, but it still sounded stiff, too deliberate.
“And I hope all of you haven’t eaten yet, because we got you dinner,” Mr Burnstead said with a mild smile. It felt almost too polite.
“Reilly, get down here!” Jade screamed. I noticed the wavering of Mrs Burnstead’s frozen smile.
“Come down for dinner, at least,” Caleb called out. He turned back to us. “She’ll come.”
“Just this one?” Jade asked, looking around them for their luggage.
“We’re only on a short break home,” Mr Burnstead said.
Mrs Burnstead walked straight into the kitchen after relieving herself of her single Louis Vuitton tote. “We’ll be leaving in a week’s time, maybe earlier.”
“Oh.”
“I guess we couldn’t have expected anything more,” Reilly said.
Everyone turned to look at her. She had her arms crossed, staring at her mother. Mr Burnstead looked uncomfortable. He didn’t look like the type who could deal with difficult stepdaughters.
“I’m happy to see you settle well in here,” Mrs Burnstead said. “Maybe in a few days, you’d be better adjusted and keep that tone to yourself.”
“Unlikely,” Reilly said, and then strode into the kitchen.
We took her lead and sat down at the dining table. Dad rubbed my arms briefly.
The kitchen, like the rest of the house, followed a minimalist concept, so it was sparse and scarily neat. But it felt cluttered, right then, with all the things nobody was saying. I could practically feel the words elbowing between me and Caleb, who sat on my other side.
“We wouldn’t have to keep coming and going, really, if you’d all just consider living in Cali –”
“No, Gabriel,” Mrs Burnstead said, in a tone so sharp everyone almost straightened their backs in unison. Softening, she muttered, “We’ve talked about this before.”
“It’s great that you guys are back,” Caleb said quickly. “How was Vancouver?”
“Cold,” Mr Burnstead said, unwrapping his dinner of dory fish and fries. “But it was brilliant. The director took to us instantly and after going through our company’s track record, he was sure we were the ones for the job. So you can say we nailed it on the spot.”
Reilly yawned silently and poked at her fries with a plastic fork. Mr Burnstead’s gaze flicked towards her, understanding that as the cue to shut up.
“How’s your work, Reilly?” Mrs Burnstead inquired. Inquired sounded like the most accurate word because of the politeness in her voice.
“It’s going great.” The tightness in her voice dared anyone to challenge that fact. “I love my job.”
Caleb snorted a little, but quickly started choking on his food upon the look Reilly shot him.
“That’s good to know,” Mrs Burnstead said, primly crunching on a long bean. A brief silence passed before she said, “I told you before, you don’t have to work –”
“Yes, and I told you before, I want to. It’s the only way I can get into university.” She sipped on her water, her eyes fixed on the glass cabinet behind me.
Mr Burnstead cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I’d like to propose a toast” – he raised his glass of water – “to welcome Daniel and Kristen. I hope you’ll grow to love this estate and this house.”
We all toasted and dad and I thanked them, all in the pleasantly polite way that reminded me of separate people in separate cubicles, toasting the air.
“Yeah, I hope you guys enjoy living with the most screwed up family ever,” Reilly quipped.
Mrs Burnstead dropped her fork with a clatter, and I saw Jade flinch. “And I hope, Reilly, you will see what I’m doing for you and your ungrateful mouth.”
“Here’s to hoping,” someone muttered.


Six


“Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again.”
~ Saint Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (French writer, 1900 – 1944)


There was hardly room to slip past each other, so everyone figured it would be best to stay in our respective rooms – me in Jade’s, that is.
My father and I had quickly slipped back into our routine before we moved. We mainly stayed in the circle we had drawn around ourselves, him in his work and me in my own head. Maybe it was better that way, easier.
But I dared not sleep tonight. Reading reminded me of too much of what I was trying to leave behind, the Internet had never held much attraction for me, sleeping had now become the most dangerous things I could do, and Jade and I were carefully ignoring each other. Where were the piles and piles of schoolwork when you needed them?
I had never heard of anyone fearing sleep before.
But as I lay in bed that night, I realised that sleep was something I had grown to fear. Who knew if what happened last night wouldn’t happen again? I was too afraid of falling into something so potent, so capable of stealing me away to where the edges of reality blurred so easily with the one in my head.
Night was peaceful when you were awake and your mind was preoccupied. It was the only time anyone could hope to escape from the tiring pretence of normalcy.
I considered sneaking out, maybe exploring Wroughton. Since I was awake, right? I would only sleep when I was dog-tired and unable to dream.
So when I was certain that everyone was asleep, I stole out of bed and pulled on a sweater over my tank-top-and- sweatpants combo.
The minute I opened the door, however, it croaked open, dragging out the excruciating moment where I was sure the entire household would be awakened.
There was only silence as I waited for someone to ask me what I was doing up, and then I decided that I was allowed to go downstairs for a glass of water if I wanted to, and headed downstairs.
Shadows were comforting. Shadows meant that there was light, but not enough of it to illuminate the ugliness.
I hadn’t planned on where to go, or how to even start, by borrowing Caleb or Jade’s bike or by walking. I didn’t even bring my cellphone in case I got lost.
But all that questioning was for nothing, because of what I saw when I opened the front door.
The hunched figured sitting on the darkened porch gave a yelp as he fell backwards. He scrambled to his feet, almost knocking over the mug next to him.
“Caleb! What are you doing up?”
“You do realise I could ask you the same question?”
“I was – up for a glass of water.”
“You won’t find it where you are now.”
I struggled for another excuse for a while, before crossing my arms. “I asked you first.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he said and sat back down on the porch.
I shut the door and sat down beside him. “Yeah? I get that too sometimes.”
There was just something about sitting beside Caleb in the quiet night that made me feel up to talking. And it was a relief, somehow – cathartic, even though we weren’t even addressing the issue, whatever it was – because it had been a long time since I felt up to talking to anybody.
He looked at me. “You’re an insomniac too?”
“Is that what you are?”
“I have to be,” he said. “I’ve been unable to properly sleep since … since three years ago.”
“Three years? Why three years?”
“Because that was when everything started … or ended, depending on how you see it.”
“How so?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Family problems, everyone’s got them, right?”
I could not look at him. “My mom left us a month ago.” I had no idea why the hell I was telling him that. The only other person who knew was Blake. So I admitted, “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”
“That’s okay. We can talk about something else. Where were you planning to go, anyway?”
I had the sense of having skirted something before it became bigger than I could handle. And for that diversion he offered, I was grateful. Again.
“I don’t know, explore this neighbourhood?”
“On your own?”
“I was told it’s safe,” I said, shrugging. I looked around, and up at the shadow of night. The stars were watchful. “It sure is quiet here.”
“You’ll get used to it. I did.”
“You weren’t from here originally?”
“We moved here about a couple of years ago, when mom married Gabriel – that was when Reilly decided to leave us, and mom … So, yeah, we’ve been here since. My aunt’s the one who’s been living here with my grandparents since forever.”
“Oh.”
“Do you really intend to walk around Wroughton alone? Why can’t you sleep, anyway?”
“Well, I….”
He noted the shift in my expression. “Ah, I get it.” A smirk grew in his lips. “Don’t wish to burn down another room, huh?”
I hoped the cover of darkness was able to hide the flush in my face. “Are your parents mad about that? I’m really sorry, I promise I –”
He held up a hand, and I shut up immediately. “Like I said, no harm done. No electrical wirings were busted; all you did was set the curtains on fire. Gabriel’s going to get someone to fix everything back up. So just set your mind at ease already, jeez.”
The funny thing was, now that I had the choice of sitting beside Caleb, talking about everything and nothing, I didn’t feel like going anywhere anymore.
“So was that you being unable to sleep last night, when you rescued me from the fire?”
“Like always.”
“Don’t you feel tired?”
“I take naps during the day.” When I raised my brows, he went on, “There’s just something about the night that calms me down. It’s when you can finally be away from the hassle of being around people and their problems and needs. Makes you not want to miss it.” He peered at me. “Do you know what I’m saying?”
Slowly, I shook my head. I did get it, in a way, but I was not sure.
“It’s like, there’s something that night-time gives you, a chance to be truly alone, that –”
“Alone?”
He nodded.
“Why would you want to be alone?”
Laughter bubbled from him. “This coming from someone so guarded and caught up in her own head all the time.”
I said nothing.
“There’s nothing wrong with being alone.”
A chilly breath of wind blew by. Caleb crossed his arms and stared out into the quiet lane lying outside the gates.
“Not if you never used to be.” My voice was soft, robbed by the wind.
His eyes sat upon mine again, heavy in all seriousness. “Is that why you always talk to yourself?”
“Do I?”
He just stared at me, letting the silence affirm it.
I guess everyone was weird in their own ways, and I told him just that.
“Yeah, because everyone goes around talking to some imaginary person.”
“Okay, Mr Completely Sane, point taken.”
He laughed. “Not quite. People can’t stand it when I keep asking hypothetical questions.”
“Those,” I said, “are a lot easier to answer.”
“Exactly. That’s what I always say. Detached, unrelated, hypothetical. Takes the pressure off yourself.” He offered me his mug of tea. When I declined, he shrugged and took a sip. “For example, if I asked you what the worst thing that can follow you home is, it wouldn’t be the same as asking what you were afraid of.”
“Then you’re just being metaphorical, not hypothetical.”
“Must you be so technical about this?”
I shrugged. “Just saying it like it is.”
“Anyway, I always thought it’s a sneaky way of knowing a person without seeming like you’re prying. You can,” he said, “know a lot about a person from the way they answer a question.”
“Right now, the only question you should be asking,” I said, “is what on earth are you rambling on about?”
“It’s the lack of sleep,” he said, laughing again. “It drives us all a bit nuts. You’ll see. Pretty soon, you’ll join me at the dark side.”
I shook my head. “So what do you do when you can’t sleep? Sit around on the porch?”
He chuckled. “Sometimes, I explore Wroughton.”
It was right then that I realised how easy it was to like Caleb. He had an easy air about him that made everyone want to be his friend, to talk to him the way we were talking now. I didn’t exactly see a Them and Us divide between me and the rest of the world. But here in Wroughton, Caleb was my ally. At least, I felt that way.
“So are you up for it now?”
“Maybe tomorrow night,” I said, leaning back on my elbows.
He shrugged. “I guess it’s a date, then.”
I liked the sound of that. It was a routine I could see myself falling into, meeting Caleb in the middle of the night to tour Wroughton.
At the very least, it could kill those lonely hours in the dead of the night.


Seven


“To dare is to lose one's footing momentarily. Not to dare is to lose oneself.”
~ Soren Kierkegaard (Danish philosopher and theologian, 1813 – 1855)


It was not morning yet.
The air was still cool, and the sky was still a boundless darkness, the edges of night melted into the world. I wondered briefly why it was so much chillier tonight.
“Did I wake you?” It was a low voice, smooth as the night sky.
I sat up, rubbing my eyes.
“You fell asleep,” Caleb said, smiling.
I yawned, feeling distinctly nestled in warmth. “Did I.”
“I knew you wouldn’t last long,” he said, still smiling.
There was a profound peace in the quietness surrounding us, the stillness within which the oft-missed elements stirred.
I only realised that I was leaning against Caleb, my head against his chest, after I snuggled slightly closer. His hand rested lightly on my arm.
“I’m sorry,” I blustered, hurrying to put some distance between us.
“It’s fine.”
“What time is it?” It bought me an opportunity to check if I had drooled all over myself.
“Five-ten.”
“Sorry, guess I’m not much company after all.”
“I’ve been up all alone almost every night for the past three years, Kristen,” he said, like it was obvious how silly an apology would be.
“What plans do you have for today?” I asked, just so we could move on from my embarrassment.
“I usually go for my run at five-thirty, and then I’ll go to The Old Belle –”
“Do you work there or something?”
“I help out whenever I can and I get paid, if that’s what you mean. Aunt Belle just insists upon it. She’d mail my paycheque here if I rejected it face-to-face.” He shook his head. “She can’t afford to pay anybody else; she’s barely surviving as it is.”
“So it’s just you and her holding up the bookstore?” When he nodded, I went on, “What about Oliver and Sawyer?”
“Grandpa’s more than happy to take that load of Aunt Belle. It keeps his mind off grandma.” Shrugging, he said, “It’s not like we get a lot of business, anyway. In fact, we get the opposite of it. We have, like, two regulars and some lost people and that’s about it.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. It sounded sad, but it felt rude to point that out.
“It’s a tragedy, I know.” He glanced sideways at me, as though telling me he knew what I was thinking. “Grandpa says it’s alright if Aunt Belle wants to give up the bookstore and pursue something else. But she knows how much it means to him; to shut it down for good…” He shook his head. “It’s kind of an inconceivable notion.”
“She doesn’t have to close down the bookstore,” I said.
“But she’s barely able to breathe. With her two other temp jobs at the ticketing booth and fitness centre, she barely has time for the boys.” When I made to protest, he said, raising his hands before him, “I’m not saying give up the bookstore, just…” He exhaled. “I don’t know.”
We were silent for a while as we both sank back into our own thoughts. During then, the sky cleared up into a lighter shade of grey-blue and a weak glow lit up the trees from behind.
“Well, we can handle the publicity works for her, then,” I said finally, watching the leaves turn colour slowly.
He shot me a strange look. “Publicity,” he repeated.
“Yes,” I said firmly. “All you need is just some publicity to get the business rolling in. In this little neighbourhood, it’s hard to get a lot of business, right? So we can work on that. Then she’ll be able to concentrate on all –”
“Wait a second.” His brow crinkled as he frowned over what I had just said. “We?”
A burn spread across my cheeks. “I meant – you, of course, just you. I didn’t mean –”
“No, what I meant was,” he said, with a slight smile, “You want to help?”
“Can’t I?”
His grin assured me. “How? Publicity needs money, everything does.”
I hesitated. “We could … ask for some funding from your mom? Surely she’d want to see her father’s business flourish again, right?”
He shook his head. “Mom and Gabriel would never help unless they get majority shareholding of the business. They’ve always wanted to make the Old Belle into some sort of franchise, but grandpa would never let them.”
There was not much that I knew of Caleb’s parents, but from what I had seen of them so far, funding only if they held majority of the stakes sounded like them. I knew better than to say that to Caleb, of course.
“We can always start by telling people about it,” I said instead. “Word of mouth is often the most effective publicity medium. And then, we can work on the rest as it all plays out.” I cracked him a slight smile. It felt stiff, like how someone who had not been talking for over a year would sound hoarse.
He stared at me, then, his gaze never flickering. His eyes were a deep shade of brown that were smiling, as though seeing me for the first time.
“What are you looking at?” I said, fingering the hem of my sweater.
It was strange, but I was never really any good at eye contact. Even with Blake, if he stared too much, I would quickly break the gaze. He’d say I was too afraid of what people may see, and that was how truly beautiful I was. I would then call him the corniest guy in the world, and we would leave it at that, him accepting the title like he accepted everything else.
He smiled, finally. “Look at you. I never would have pegged you for a businesswoman, Miss Perennially Unhappy.”
“Morning, Cale!” a lean Indian boy called out.
I blinked and turned to look at him, annoyed at but grateful for the distraction.
Caleb waved in response, as the boy slipped today’s papers through the gates. “Thanks, Jay. Later.”
I could only stare as Jay the paperboy rode away on his bike. There were moments when you made what you wanted to believe the reality of your life. That was when people would call you crazy, but in my book, crazy was when you did not even notice when you blended truth with hope.

*

Jade, as I grew to learn, was a fan of planning.
“I thought about it last night,” she was now saying to Reilly over breakfast. “This will be good for all of us. As a family. So run with me on this, okay?” Jade stared at her sister, her eyes wide and pleading.
Dad had left for work; I only received a brief, “Be good,” before he escaped, crunching on a piece of toast on his way out. After Caleb had gotten back from his run, the four of us were left sitting at the kitchen table, breakfast spread out before out. But right then, I would rather have hitched an awkward car ride someplace else with my father than be there.
Reilly dropped her fork onto her plate on purpose. Breakfast was a huge affair for someone as slim as her; every inch of her plate had been covered by eggs, toast, oatmeal, Coco Crunch and two bananas.
“You cannot be serious.”
Caleb shot me a look, but I resolved to stay out of this.
“Think about it, Ri,” Jade said. “It’ll be a rare chance for us to get to really know each other better, properly –”
“Okay,” Reilly said, picking up her fork again. “First of all, note the word rare. Second, I don’t need to know either of you” – she pointed at Caleb and Jade – “better because there’s nothing else I should know that I don’t. The only other people you can possibly be talking about are … let me think.” She placed a finger on her chin and pulled a thoughtful look. “Those two sleeping upstairs. No offence to you, Kristen, it’s just – we’re on the subject of family and…” She waved. “You know.”
I nodded and went back to my cutting up my banana. Caleb’s bemusement at my food was not missed by me.
“Ri, come on, she’s your mother to,” Jade said. “Just try it. You’ve got nothing on today, so why not?”
“Because nothing you do is ever going to make me and her bond.” She rolled her eyes at the last word.
Jade pouted.
Caleb suddenly spoke up, his tone harsher than it had been yesterday. “You should really just get over your damn pride already. I mean, mom was kind enough to let you stay here even though you decided your loyalties lied with dad all those years ago –”
“You do not want to go there, Caleb,” Reilly said, flicking her gaze to him like a pebble flung into the water.
He leaned back in his seat. “You’re not even trying, is all I’m saying. She’s your mother, Ri.”
“She has never acted like one, nor will she ever be one to me. Why should I try when she has never tried all these years? I’m sorry, if making amends is what she’s trying to do now – by buying me over with a place to stay – it’s about two decades too late.”
And then she went back to her Coco Crunch.
When Mr and Mrs Burnstead came down for breakfast, we were still not talking – me because there was nothing appropriate that I could say, and the rest because they were all too busy being angry at each other, or maybe Reilly was just concentrating on her breakfast.
“Good morning. How is everyone today?”
Mr Burnstead’s perpetual politeness was beginning to creep me out.
“Let’s do something fun today,” Jade exulted, reaching for another piece of toast. “I thought about it last night. Let’s spend the day at the beach. We can head there after breakfast.”
Reilly sighed. It was a loud one that even I, sitting the furthest away from her, did not miss.
“That,” Mrs Burnstead said as she stirred her yoghurt, “is a delightful idea.” Her mild expression did nothing to support that proclamation. “We might be a little busy, though. Can it wait till –”
Over at the other end of the table, Reilly snorted.
Mrs Burnstead stopped her stirring and stared at her. “What’s that again?”
“I should have told you not to get your hopes up on that one, Jade,” Reilly said, ignoring her mother. “I forgot how busy she can be. I didn’t even have to dissuade you.”
I snuck a peek at Mrs Burnstead and her husband, feeling caught somewhere I was not supposed to be. Caleb was watching them too, except that he was not as surreptitious as I was.
Mrs Burnstead stretched her lips across her face. “I said it would be a delightful idea, and we’d love to spend the day with all of you.” She turned to me and I froze. “And of course, that means you too, Kristina.”
I was too busy wishing she would rescind the offer to correct her on my name.
Looking at Caleb and Jade, Mrs Burnstead went on, “Gabriel and I will meet you all at the beach later on, after we have finished sorting out some loose business.”
Mr Burnstead nodded once. “We’ll see you there.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” I heard Reilly mutter.
Caleb heard nothing, so I wondered if his mom did. Maybe they had all decided to tune Reilly out.

*

I had no idea we were that close to the beach. Nor did I know that Reilly and Tate were married, or at least involved, that he had become family too.
But Reilly caught my surprised expression as Tate’s grey minivan rumbled around the corner up to our house, and hastened to clarity. “I only told him to come along just in case things get boring. I mean, seeing as how you’re not family and you got asked to come along” – she rolled her eyes – “I didn’t see why I couldn’t bring a friend along too.”
“She tells him to tag along everywhere. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you only wanted a free ride,” Jade said as Tate pumped the horn lightly.
Reilly grabbed her beach bag. “What if you knew better?”
“The answer’s obvious,” was all Jade said with a smile as she climbed into the van. “Thanks for joining us, Tate.”
Tate snorted in reply. He was, as I came to learn, averse to social niceties.
“Tate, jeez!” Reilly cried as she buckled up. “You’re drunk already? It’s only ten in the morning!”
Rolling his eyes, Tate said, “For your information, I spilled a can in your seat last night. I am as sober as you are this morning. Would you quit mother-henning, Catwalk?”
Tate had the radio on, and I never would have pegged him as an oldies guy, but apparently he was. Kansas was one of Blake’s favourite bands from the seventies, which was how I recognised the song.
It was ironic how many reminders of Blake I had encountered ever since I entered Wroughton, when the intention of moving here was to get over him.
“Don’t you cry no more,” Caleb and Jade belted out, and Caleb proceeded to air-drum. Jade followed suit and air-guitared.
“You guys are excited,” Tate remarked, grinning lazily through the rear-view mirror.
“Way to go, Sherlock,” Reilly said.
She was about to say something else, but Tate turned up the volume and yelled, “Live in the moment, Catwalk,” over the racket of screaming electric guitar and drums.
The beach was relatively deserted when we got there, save for a handful of joggers.
I was content to sit on the mat while the rest of them frolicked around with the volleyball Jade had brought along, but Caleb bumped my shoulder with his and said, smirking, “You’re not really just going to sit there, are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“For someone who doesn’t like to be alone, you sure impose isolation on yourself a lot.”
He gave me a lopsided smile when I stared at him.
I had always looked at those beautiful and toned golden bodies at beaches with a sort of indifferent envy, like something you wished you had – the sense of not being caring about anything else but how much fun you were capable of having then – but, oh well, didn’t.
So it surprised me how I readily I was able to immerse myself in that mid-morning moment, screaming and laughing when I collided into Caleb as the two of us tried to get at the ball, and when Reilly, Jade and I buried the guys in wet sand.
It was not me, the girl who had forgotten how she had cost her boyfriend his life, how she had made her mother leave, the girl who had allowed herself to lose – within just two days – all that she had come to love.
The girl that day was able to shake herself loose of her transgressions like how she shook off the blackish-green string of seaweed from her foot.
It was not me, just someone I wished I could be.


Eight


Know how to listen, and you will profit even from those who talk badly.”
~ Plutarch (Greek writer, AD 46 – AD 119)


Reilly was right on one account that day. It was a no-show from Mr and Mrs Burnstead.
We had been lounging for two hours at the beach – after all that physical activity had worn us out – before slowly coming to realise that.
“We’ve been here for more than three hours. I can only take so much of the sun before I damage my skin,” Reilly said as she flipped over to lie on her stomach. “Much as I hate to say this –”
“Then don’t say it,” Jade snapped.
Tate made a low noise. “Touchy, touchy,” he said to no-one in particular, and then went back to fiddling with the music player.
Jade pushed her shades down to the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. It’s just that – they said they’ll join us in a bit, right, after they’re done with their work? So they will – join us, that is.” And then she pushed her shades back up.
Tate finally settled on a song that had a lot of screaming and drums and guitar in it.
“Tate,” Reilly said, wincing. “Not Zeppelin again?”
“It’s actually AC/DC,” he said with his lazy grin. It was this grin that made him seem drunk all the time, I realised.
Reilly shook her head. “I hope you guys enjoy your wait, then,” she said to Jade and Caleb, “because I’m going to put the rest of my day to better use. Why wait for rain when there are no clouds, right?”
Despite Tate’s protests of having just settled down, the two of them left.
“Sometimes, I really wish I could kill her,” Jade said. She turned to Caleb. “Are you leaving too?”
Caleb sighed. “I think I will. We’re running low on milk. I’ll just head down to the store and get some.” He looked at me, his eyes extending the offer.
I gathered my belongings.

*

“I’m sure your mom and Mr Burnstead had a lot of work to settle,” I felt compelled to say. Even after I had said it, it sounded vaguely sarcastic.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m used to it.”
His tone stopped me from commenting further on the issue.
Jade had opted to keep waiting, and she gave me the feeling of having somehow betrayed her for leaving with Caleb. My leaving with him had definitely not done anything to lessen her dislike of me, but I had had enough of the sun and sand.
Caleb and I were making our way down to the only supermarket in Wroughton. He shook the sand off his flip-flops, not saying anything more. I decided to follow his cue and keep my mouth shut; I understood the need for silent company.
“You should brace yourself,” he said finally.
“Why?”
“Because the supermarket is where everything about everyone is spilled, especially if you’re new here.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Well, what happened that night,” he began, shooting me a look, and I knew immediately what he was referring to, “everyone must have heard it by now. We’re a small neighbourhood, Kristen. Nothing is a secret here. People would have sussed out you and your dad’s background – or at least made some of their own conjectures about it.” He glanced at me to gauge my reaction before continuing.
“And?”
“And – well, you’ve got to admit – what you did that night was, well, not something people normally do.” He swung his bag onto his shoulders.
“So I’m abnormal?”
“I’m just saying, be prepared.” His voice returned to its normal tone of casualness. “You don’t even have to talk to them if you don’t want to. Some of them have the biggest mouths ever.”
So it was with something I would go so far as to call trepidation that I entered the supermarket with Caleb, him walking slightly ahead of me as though to fend off anything that might be coming my way.
“Hello, Caleb!” a portly lady with a flushed face said. A grin spread across her face, wide like a sleeping crescent moon. Clinging to her left thigh was a little boy with bright eyes.
“Hi, Magenta,” Caleb said. Then he grinned at the little boy, who had now attached himself to his leg. “Hey, Daniel.”
Before Caleb could make the introductions, Magenta swooped in and extended her arms as though expecting me to fall into them. “I’m Magenta, and that’s my son Daniel. You must be Kristen, the newcomer, right?”
I nodded, giving her the tight smile that I always reserved for meeting new people. “Hi.”
Magenta seemed puzzled for a moment. Clearly she was not used to people who did not hug on their first encounter with her. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, dear. I’ve been hearing such awful stories about you.”
I tensed. Caleb’s gaze flicked quickly to me and back again.
“But now that I’ve met you, you don’t seem half as bad I what I’ve heard!” She laughed, as though it was perfectly fine to tell someone how bad her reputation already was.
Magenta was still prattling on about Wroughton, and how she hoped I would like it here.
“Well, we were here for some milk,” Caleb said, interrupting her. “Guess we’d better go grab them before they turn sour.”
Magenta actually laughed, but she did seem like the sort who would appreciate a corny joke. “But you must take care of her, Caleb,” she said, as though I wasn’t just standing right there listening. “She’s going through a hard time, and the mind can push you to do funny things when the heart is hurt.”
Maybe she thought she was being wise or even just helpful, but she didn’t know shit about anything; so who was she to comment on anything?
I was about to say that, before realising that it was pointless. It would just make everyone upset and me even more tired.
“She doesn’t mean any harm, really,” Caleb said to me once we had slipped into the Dairy section. “People here –”
“I know.”
He looked at me for a while, before grabbing two cartons of milk and a tub of blueberry yoghurt.
“You know what, I need a nap,” he said, as we walked towards the counter.
And I, too, realised how tired I was. Besides, I would need to catch up on sleep if I were to stay up again tonight.

*

I was wrong to think that nightmares only appeared at night, when nothing could be thrown into stark clarity like that provided by daytime.
It was only when I heard his voice that I realised how long I had actually gone without missing him, thinking of him, the way I should have.
In a way, I welcomed the nightmares, because it made me feel less accountable for having spent time at the beach, having spent last night with Caleb. At least I was dreaming about him, right? I wondered if I would feel the sting of my betrayal as keenly every subsequent time.
We were back at the road. I knew that because of the wetness creeping through my jeans and the weight I held in my hands.
This time, he was crying. Already gone – I was always a step too late by the time I got to him – and eyes already shut, but tears kept sliding down the side of his face.
I kept mopping them away, wiping the moisture against my jeans, telling myself there was a chance he was still alive if he was crying. But the tears kept coming and he never woke.
And then someone was shaking my shoulder.
“Kristen,” Jade was saying. I muttered something back. “Kristen, it’s time for dinner. You’ve been out at least five hours.”
When I opened my eyes, it was dusk outside. The sun had almost completely gone down, and a deep blue was settling itself upon the world.
“Are you okay?” Jade asked. “You were crying in your sleep.”
I reached up and swiped the moisture away from my face. “I’m fine.”
She looked at me for a moment before deciding I wasn’t worth fretting over. “I just came to tell you Tate and Reilly bought dinner.”
“Where’re your parents?”
She paused for a beat. “Mom and Gabriel are out – somewhere.” Taking a step back, she said, “I’ll go check if Caleb’s awake.”
I went downstairs after a quick wash of my face. The demons that I had initially thought only came out at night were still dancing in my head. It showed. My eyes were embarrassingly puffy.
Tate and Reilly were the only ones at home. I tried calling dad to check if he had had his dinner, but he rejected my call, so I left him a message and headed into the kitchen.
“That’s got to sting,” Tate was saying as unwrapped his tortillas. “I mean, watching someone you love die – painful, right?”
“Maybe that’s why she’s so sullen all the time,” Reilly said, setting a plate in front of him.
“Sullen? Try messed up. The girl’s a wreck. You said so yourself. You’re lucky she didn’t burn down this house with you in it.”
She ignored his comment. “But really, maybe those people were just making stuff up as usual. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“But some of those rumours about Connell the other time turned out to be correct,” Tate said. “How would you know?”
“Exactly. We don’t –”
“And that stuff about her mom … maybe she and her dad are running from her. Maybe they don’t want her to find them, so they came here. She could be some psycho ex-wife, like they said.”
Reilly turned on the tap to wash her hands. “I didn’t know you had it in you to be like one of those gossip-mongers, Tate. Look, if she wants us to know, she will tell us. In the meantime, we should keep our mouths sh – Oh, hi Kristen.”
I jumped when our eyes met, but Caleb and Jade were coming down the stairs behind me. I knew Reilly knew that I had overheard them, but Caleb had warned me people were going to talk. I just didn’t expect Reilly and Tate to be part of them.
“We had a new makeup artist today,” Reilly said. “And she was wicked.”
“Ri’s a runway model,” Caleb explained for my benefit. “She doesn’t have to do it, but she’s trying to hold up her pride.”
“She told the wildest stories and did contouring so well,” Reilly went on. “Kept feeding me her life story, though. It was kind of weird, but she was nice.”
I began tuning her out and found myself observing Caleb. It was only then that I realised that it was not just Blake who appeared in my dream. Caleb had been standing on the other side of the road, watching us. For some reason, he was holding my cup of raspberry yoghurt.


Nine


‘How can you prove whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream; or … awake, and talking to one another in the waking state?’
~ Plato (Greek philosopher, 428 BC – 348 BC)


I felt briefly anxious that he might not be there tonight. But he was.
Tonight, I paid attention to the details, just so I could retrieve it all as one collective experience once I was gone from Wroughton. You see, I realised that my stay here was temporary; it would probably be over in a few months, maybe.
And I was fine with that. Impermanence prevented roots from growing too deep.
He had on a snug navy blue t-shirt and dark grey sweatpants tonight, and in his hands was a steaming mug. He was staring patiently out at the red sky, as though waiting for something to happen – waiting for me?
“Why does the sky turn red at night when it’s about to rain?” I asked. I tried to keep my voice low so that I wouldn’t scare him.
He had placed another mug of tea beside him. I took it in my hands wordlessly, as though by some unspoken understanding that it was for me. I imagined him making a second cup of tea, walking out to the porch with the two mugs and laying one next to him. There was a quiet expectancy in what he did, and I found I liked the idea of that.
“I didn’t know if you liked cocoa – I personally hate it – so I got you Earl Grey,” he said, smiling as I settled down beside him.
“Earl Grey’s my favourite.” And it was.
“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning,” he said, and turned to me. “Dry air that stirs dust particles in the air makes the sky look red. When it’s about to rain, it means the high-pressure system with dry air has moved past and we’re about to experience a low-pressure system that carries moisture.”
“Interesting.”
He made a noise of assent.
“I’d like to go around Wroughton tonight,” I said.
“Even though it might very well rain on us?”
“Why not?”
If I had to be honest, I wanted to do that not because it sounded like a fun thing to do, but because I was afraid our conversation might worm into the things I felt uncomfortable to talk about.
He shrugged and took a last gulp of tea. “Are we walking or do you want to take the bikes?”
I stood up. “Let’s walk.”
It was a good thing the gates were well-oiled. Outside, the lane was a dark ochre track that narrowed as it sped down along the line of trees on either side of it.
“There’s something beautiful about all this loneliness, knowing you’re the only one out here in this slumbering world,” Caleb said.
“You only say that because you have company now.”
He shook his head, smiling almost indulgently, as though I was a child who hadn’t quite grasped what he was saying.
We had started walking, both of us having randomly decided to turn left once we were out of the gates.
“I had a dream about you,” he said mildly.
I was vaguely aware of myself walking faster, my stride matching the pounding in my chest.
He was able to keep apace easily. “You were alone in the Old Belle, reading Hemingway. And then Oliver comes in and you said, Don’t lock me in again, please.”
There was then silence. I waited for more.
Glancing at me sideways, he said, “That was it.”
I did not know if I felt more disappointed or surprised.
“The thing is,” he began, “I always saw you as someone trapped. I don’t mean to make you out to be some kind of damsel in distress, and I’m probably not the best person to give any sort of assessment of you, seeing as how we’ve only just known each other for three days. But –”
“This literally feels like judgement day.” I shrugged. “Night.”
He grinned and slung an arm casually around me, but he did not pull me in closer and I did not move in too. “I just think you get so caught up in your own head that –”
“I have a feeling something corny is coming my way.”
“Will you let me finish?” he demanded, and I smiled slightly. “You don’t seem crazy – at least, I’m pretty sure you’re not crazy – but I think you’re bordering on being a PTSD case.”
“What makes you think I went through a trauma?”
He stared at me like it was obvious. “Blake?”
Without meaning to, I gasped like he had punched me in the gut.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to upset you,” he said, dropping his arm.
“It’s fine.” But the image of the tears sliding down Blake’s face in my nightmare was already taking centre stage in my mind.
“I was just trying –”
“Why do you keep going on about how I have a problem?” It sounded like I had just snapped at him, but I did not feel the need to apologise.
“Okay, you don’t. Jeez, no need to bite my head off.”
We walked for a while in silence, hoping that would refresh the mood. We were out of the lane where the identical houses sat, and there were only shuttered shops around us.
“Sometimes, the harder you try to fight it – to change things – the easier it becomes for you to step over to the other side.”
It was so unlike his normal way of talking that I stopped walking. It was growing chillier; the winds were coming in stronger.
“I know.” The words were almost taken away by the incoming winds. A rushing filled my ears.
Caleb turned back and stared at me for a while. “Come on, we should start looking for shelter. A storm’s coming.”
It was. The sky was boiling over with red clouds, fierce shades of rage. Trees littered all over were swaying, dark shadows dancing to the howling of winds.
“It doesn’t change a thing, whatever you do.” I looked at him. “When people decide to leave, that’s just it. Nothing you do can ever bring them back to you.”
“Kristen, come on,” Caleb said, walking back to me. He tugged on my arm. The first drop of rain landed on my arm, soaking through my sweater. “Let’s get to somewhere dry first.”
“There’s no point in doing that, Blake.” It could be the pressure of the cold winds all around that was forcing an upwelling within me, a bubbling of all the excess hurt I was able to fight down ever since I came to Wroughton. “You’re not coming back. Mom’s not, either, no matter how much I want to believe otherwise.”
“Kristen,” he said, his finger below my right eye, collecting the moisture that had leaked out. Thunder rolled over our heads. “The storm is coming.”
And then it did. It arrived with a roar that flooded the world, and flashing lights lit up the angry red sky. Soon, we were drenched through, rivulets of raindrops snaking down us, carving their own tracks in our skin.
I rather enjoyed being battered by the storm, standing in the middle of all the natural chaos. Somehow, it helped to make more sense of the natural order of things.
“My mother was never for settling down and staying put. I guess it bored her, the routine of married life and having a kid.” Water entered my mouth, and I drank it up.
He stood there, his hand still on my arm, watching me, listening, waiting.
“I guess it was only natural that she got sick of us and left,” I said. Warm tears teetered over the ridge and spilled over, joining the rainwater in their race down my face.
“You know that’s not true,” he said.
“And you would?”
He pursed his lips.
“Dad never really got into the details, but I could see the signs. Mom never seemed quite satisfied, even if she did seem happy.”
I was starting to get used to the cold, and the rain falling under the orange glow of the streetlights.
“Your mom leaving wasn’t your fault, Kristen,” he said, almost fiercely, as though it was important I got that into my head. He had laid both his hands on my shoulders.
“Maybe it wasn’t, but your death was, Blake. It was, and you know it.”
He did not say anything for a while. And when he finally did, his voice was low. “I don’t.”
I shifted closer and he inched forward slightly. I could feel the fluttering of his breath, rough and uneven, as we leaned closer. The heat he exhaled burned through the cold air between us, burned through my skin, and I felt a part – and then every inch – of me stir, as though rousing in response to what now stood before me.
“I’ve missed you so much, Blake,” I heard myself say. It didn’t sound like me; I never whispered in a voice so desperate and hoarse.
But it was. It was me. I knew from the fact that he froze almost immediately after I said it. I froze too.
Our breaths hung between us, tenuous as a thread, as we both waited. Rain poured between us, a watery chasm too vast to cross.
I did not dare to open my eyes.
But when I felt the frigid space widen between us, I had no choice but to look at the mess I had created. In a way, I almost felt relieved. Maybe he did too.
Caleb had his eyes closed and his head bent, as though apologising for what happened, as though rebuking himself – although for what I did not know.
“Caleb,” I ventured. My voice was so soft I wondered if he heard me.
When you lost a moment, you lost a piece of yourself you never knew you possessed. At that moment, something was lost, along with something I never knew that sat within me.
I shivered.
“Come on, Kristen. Let’s get you someplace warmer.”
This time, I let him. He slipped one arm around me and I leaned closer to him, our cold bodies touching. I did not flinch.
He led me into a gazebo of sorts. It was dark all around, and through the flashes of lightning, I could vaguely make out an open space behind the gazebo, littered with headstones. The cemetery, then, was where we were. Were we trespassing?
The gazebo was a plain one, unadorned, with only a small tube of fluorescent light overhead and a wooden bench running along its four sides. The ground was of dusty grey cement, and the pillars were made of wood.
Caleb sat me down on the bench, peered down at me for a while – I stared back, all the while aware of the water running down my back – and then stared out at the rain.
The sky was as red as before, and flashes of light in the distance were still followed by echoed growling. Water crept up the steps to the gazebo.
“Let’s just wait this one out here,” he said, half of his face in the shadows. “Wroughton’s the lowest-lying area of this island. Once, we got so flooded we had to wade around in water up to our knees for two days.”
“Do you think this rain might lead to a repeat of that?” I was still shivering and I felt a sneeze coming.
He shrugged and turned to look at me. “It might. If this thunderstorm doesn’t up let, we might even be stranded here till morning.”
I let the sneeze out. “My first night outing with you.” I tried to shoot him a smile, but a sneeze got in the way again.
He came over and sat next to me. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t dare to put his arm around me again.
“It’s not your fault, why are you apologising?”
But he didn’t hear me, for the wind was a ferocious vacuum. It was even worse here in the gazebo, where the rain pounded on the roof and made it sound like sand being rattled in a huge bottle. So I reasserted my assurance.
“It’s just – I imagined our first night tour of Wroughton a lot … drier than this,” he said wryly.
“It’s not your fault we’re stuck in a thunderstorm in the middle of the night. If anything, I shouldn’t have decided to ask you for the tour tonight when it was so obvious it was going to rain.”
A flash of lightning split through the night and Caleb’s face glowed momentarily, revealing the bemused smile of his that I was growing used to. “Right,” he said, “as long as we’re not rushing to claim the blame or anything.”
Somewhere to our left, thunder cracked and bellowed. Caleb and I flinched slightly.
“The truth is…” I chuckled, uncomfortably aware of what I was about to say.
“What?”
“The truth is, I can’t think of anywhere else I would rather be tonight. With all the cards dealt the way they have been, being here might just be the highlight of my stay here.”
“Wait, your stay?”
I looked at him.
“You mean you’re going to leave?”
“I didn’t think you’d miss me that much, buddy,” I said, smiling slightly when a blush came upon the pallor of his face in the greyness of the crashing night. “But yeah, I don’t believe we’ll be staying long here.”
“How do you know that?”
“Dad doesn’t seem very settled here. He seems able to take off any minute with me in his wake. I don’t think he really believes mom’s left us for good.” A sigh I did not know I had been holding back escaped.
“And you do?”
I nodded. Of course I did. My mother took flight easily, and never looked back. I was stupid to hope my father and I would be able to hold on to her.
“The only other time I’ve seen my dad so strung out was when my mom fled to Amsterdam for two weeks after they had a fight. He couldn’t do anything without breaking something or exploding in frustration.”
He frowned.
“I know how that may sound, but that is just how my mom’s like, okay?” I noticed how defensive I sounded.
He raised his arms in defence. “Frankly, that’s a way healthier relationship to have.”
“Excuse me?”
“Letting it all out, putting your emotions out there so that both parties can wade their way through it and settle it once and for all.”
I shook my head. “You say that because you’ve never had to live with two screaming adults who’d do anything to show how pissed off they are. As if that would do anything to help. And as for the wading and settling, it isn’t so easily achieved, not without a whole lot of mediation from the middle person – namely, the daughter.”
He laughed, and I caught myself smiling at the unexpected realness in that sound. “Let’s trade, then,” he said.
The smile slipped; I felt the muscles slacken, and tried to hold it back up for his sake, but could not. “I don’t want to.”
“I didn’t mean for real, Kristen,” he said gently. “I love my mom. What I’d love more is for her to spend more time with us. For us to be what I’ve heard a family is like. She and Gabriel, they travel somewhere for months and months and come home for a few days. And before, with my dad…” He looked ahead and drew his knees up. “Every other kid I know would think Jade and I are crazy, but – well, I can’t say for her – but I’d give up anything I have to have more time with my parents.”
In an attempt to lighten the mood back up, I offered, “Would you give up Philly cheese-steak sandwiches and Uncle Owen’s fish and chips?”
He turned back to me and smiled, his grin sliding higher up one side. “Man,” he said, pulling a thoughtful look, “that’s a tough one. I would say … no.” He grinned again. “You can’t make me give those up.”
“For all your sentimentality a while ago, you sure switch preferences quickly.”
He laughed again, and I let the smile grow upon my face this time.
Before I could ask about his biological father, he asked, “What about you? What do you wish for?”
I had to bite the inside of my mouth to stop myself from trembling. I imagined a holding up a gate to prevent the water from gushing out, consuming everything in its path. “Blake to be alive, mom to be contented with just us,” I finally said.
Maybe something registered on my face that made Caleb look away that moment. But he showed no signs of being caught in an awkward moment when he asked, “Okay, so what would you trade for that?”
“My soul,” I said.
He laughed, and I looked at him. “Melodrama becomes you, Kristen.”
“Does it.”
“But think about it, if – dramatics aside – you traded your soul to have all that, you wouldn’t be able to enjoy that, so what’s the point?”
“Why do you have to be so logical about it?”
“So you’re saying it’s a figure of speech?”
“I’m saying, you’re not making much sense at the moment.”
“Look who’s talking,” he muttered, and I punched his arm. The next moment, thunder snapped at us for laughing too loudly.
I don’t know how long we sat there, just talking, trading responses back and forth in rapid-fire manner.
“Burned to death, or frozen?”
“A morbid and clichéd question.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Okay. Frozen, I guess.”
“Fight or flight?”
“Flight.”
“Of course,” he said.
I rolled my eyes.
By the time we realised the rain finally let up, it was already five in the morning. The sky had finally cleared to a light grey mass that gasped in the cool aftermath of the storm.
So it seemed we didn’t have to wade through knee-high waters.
“I love this moment when the rain stops,” Caleb told me as we got up and made our way back home. “Everything feels like it’s been renewed, cleansed, purged somehow of its ugliness.”
“Of its deaths and diseases and jealousy and greed,” I agreed.
“You know what I mean,” he said, looking surprised.
I did know what he meant. Every time the rain stopped, it was as though everything was back to the way it should be, and we all were back to being a part of this new world, base and reborn.


Ten


“Maybe love is like luck. You have to go all the way to find it."
~ Robert Mitchum (American writer and actor, 1917 – 1997)


I didn’t know why we were sneaking around like we had done something wrong – surely we could go for a night-time stroll if we wanted, as friends if nothing else – but like Caleb, I felt the need to keep our night-time activities a secret.
There was, however, no chance of that.
“What are you –?”
Our reactions, if they could produce a sound, would have made a resonating snap throughout the house.
Jade’s gaze ticked back and forth between Caleb and me. It then travelled to the door Caleb was holding open for me, and our drowned-rat getups.
Nobody said anything for a while.
And then, calm as a falling leaf on a windless day, Caleb said, “Morning, Jade.”
“Look what the cat dragged in,” she said, still bug-eyed as she slowly descended the stairs.
“Aren’t you Little Miss Sunshine,” Caleb said drolly.
“Yeah, well, none of that this morning,” she said, pointing out the window.
The rain seemed to have only taken a respite. It was now pouring again with a renewed vigour.
“Where did you guys run off to, anyway?”
I exchanged a look with Caleb.
“Nowhere in particular. Why don’t you go wash up? I’ll make waffles,” Caleb said, pushing his sister back up the stairs towards the bathroom. After getting rid of Jade by shutting her in the bathroom, he said to me, “Why don’t you take a shower while I make Jade those waffles? And then we’ll go for breakfast and head down to the Old Belle. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

*

His name was Hyde, he was twenty-eight years old, had a tattoo of a sun on his left arm, and he was waiting for us at the diner called Miss Macy’s Bed ‘N’ Breakfast.
“Hyde? As in Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde?” I asked as our orders arrived.
“Oh, like I’ve never heard that one before,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“I wasn’t trying to be rude,” I said.
Caleb shot him a look as he squeezed a slice of lemon on his pancakes. “Don’t mind him. He’s just inherently this touchy, especially before his second cup of coffee.”
Hyde grunted. “So I heard you’re messed up,” he said to me, watching me over his coffee. Steam veiled his face partially.
I stared at him.
“I also heard I’m a murderer, and have been arrested several times for unwarranted assault,” he went on. He paused mid-drink. “None of them are true. Do you believe everything you hear?”
It sounded like a rhetorical question, so I shrugged.
“But you did almost set a house on fire,” he said, peering at me again. The seat felt sweaty under my thighs. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. “So I really can’t make you out.”
“Quit creeping her out, Hyde,” Caleb said.
“Quit being an overprotective idiot,” Hyde said. “Eat up quick, you two. Belle must be starving. We should get her breakfast.”
Caleb snickered and shook his head.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I forgot to mention. Hyde here,” he told me, clapping Hyde’s muscular shoulders, “has been in love with Aunt Belle ever since he learned how to talk.”
Hyde shook Caleb’s hand off. “Have not.”
Caleb shrugged. “You know best, I suppose. Anyway, Kristen and I were talking last night.”
Now Hyde snickered. “I bet.”
Caleb ignored him. “She said we need to bring some publicity for the Old Belle if we want to rope in more customers.”
“And?” He looked up at me. “How are we supposed to go about doing that?”
“We can raise funds, organise book fairs, storytelling festivals and readings,” I said. “Haul out the older books and sell them at a steal.”
“We’ll make a loss,” he pointed out, stuffing pancake into his mouth.
“That’s not the main concern yet. Once we organise those events, people will take notice. They’ll keep a lookout for subsequent fairs or other activities, they’ll know what kind of books we sell, even those really rare ones that are already out of print. I saw some the other day.” I looked at Caleb, who nodded. “And once we have the customer base, we won’t have to worry about not having business anymore.”
“Just one second,” Hyde said, waving his fork. “Where did all this we business come from?”
“Hey, be thankful we have someone like her willing to help us out,” Caleb said. “She seems to know what she’s doing.”
“I’m not saying you can’t help, of course,” Hyde said.
“My dad’s a publicity agent,” I explained for Hyde’s benefit. “I just picked up some stuff along the way.”
“He’s Gabriel’s agent,” Caleb told me.
That I did not know. Then I guess it was not luck that we managed to find another place to stay on such short notice.
“Belle’s too busy,” Hyde said, scraping his plate clean and drinking up the egg yolks. “We shouldn’t stress her out any further. Speaking of whom, you should go get her breakfast. Banana oat pancakes. And don’t forget the maple syrup and ketchup. You know how she loves those on her pancakes,” Hyde said to Caleb.
“I’m sure you do,” Caleb said, sliding out of his seat.
“So,” Hyde said once Caleb had been gotten rid of. He leaned forward on his elbows.
I could only stare at him.
“Let me just make this clear. Caleb’s a good kid. He’s obviously trying to – help you, or something.” His brows folded into each other. “I just hope what he’s doing is worth it, you know what I’m saying?”
I had no idea what he was trying to say, much less what to say to that, so I just nodded.
He leaned back, clearly more at ease with me now that he had settled whatever he felt needed settling. “I guess Caleb’s told you about the Old Belle.” Upon my nod, he went on, “We’ve been doing all we can these past few years to revive the bookstore, but Caleb’s grandma was the one who managed it. It’s not to say Belle has poor management skills, of course,” he added hastily.
“Of course not,” I said.
“It’s just that,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “it was a really bad time, you know? I mean, Belle had Oliver, and she was struggling with her temp jobs and now she has to take over the bookstore … She loves the bookstore as much as her parents, and will never complain or anything. But it’s like, how can someone work that hard and not go crazy, you know?” He sighed. “Sometimes, I wish I can help out more.”
I was about to say something in response to that, but he didn’t let me. He seemed to realise what he was doing and said quickly, “So I heard the Burnsteads are back, huh?”
“They are.”
“I guess the party will take place soon.”
“Maybe,” I said. “They seem very busy.”
“I bet they do,” Hyde muttered and downed the last of his coffee.
It was evident he meant to say something more, but Caleb had returned with Belle’s pancakes. Hyde smacked his lips noisily and thumped the table as he got up. “Alright, then. Let’s move.”

*

Hyde drove us all to the Old Belle in his beaten-up Toyota, in which I sat before a glove compartment that hung open like a wide-lipped trashcan, over-spilling with crumpled soda cans, faded receipts, broken flashlights, old watches and other miscellaneous items that Caleb took the liberty to call junk the minute we got in.
“Hey, these junk have sentimental value, okay,” Hyde said as he revved up the moaning engine. “Most of the stuff here has been through more than you, so show some respect.”
“I’ll show respect after you’ve cleaned out this car. I’m sitting in a sea of food wrappers and mouldy fries!”
“Oh, there’s Belle,” Hyde announced. The delight in his voice was hard to miss. No coffee in the world could elicit that.
Belle looked about to snap into two. She was on the phone, her face red and her eyes almost watery. Several tufts of hair had come loose from her ponytail.
I felt sorry to have to open the door, because she did looked so close to tears when she finally got off the phone and the provisional electric bell screamed our arrival.
“Holy –!” Hyde bellowed, ducking. We all did, covering our ears, except for Belle, who was trying to open a drawer behind the counter.
As we all straightened up, Hyde said, “Well, it’s a good thing this is fixed.” He held up the heavy-looking bell. He had given it a good scrub and it was now a shiny-looking bronze thing. Hyde gave it a ring, and it chimed loudly.
Belle looked up from her futile efforts to open the drawer, tear tracks running down her face. “Oh, thank you so much, Hyde!”
“What’s wrong?” Hyde asked, walking over to the counter and placing the bell on it.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Belle said, wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweater. “I can’t seem to find Oliver – he just ran off the minute we got here – and the door to this drawer is jammed and I can’t get my car keys, and the hospital just called to inform me that Sawyer’s fever is worsening….”
“Sawyer had a fever?” Caleb asked.
“Last night.” Belle’s lower lip quivered slightly. “It got so bad – he was heating up and crying non-stop.”
“Okay, okay,” Hyde said, placing his hands on her shoulders. “First things first, sit down. We got you some breakfast.” Belle made to protest, but Hyde went on, “No arguments, Belle. I want you to eat something first before you do anything else. I’ll help you with that drawer and drive you down to the hospital after you’re done. Caleb and Kristen will be here to look after the shop and find Oliver.”
The effect Hyde had on Belle was astonishing. Before, she was frazzled and all over the place, pulled in every direction. After Hyde had charted their course of actions, Belle sank into the chair and wolfed down her pancakes and the chamomile tea Caleb had thought to get her.
Meanwhile, as Hyde tried to jerk the drawer open, his biceps bulging under his snug-fitting t-shirt, Caleb and I split up to look for Oliver.
Again.
We started with the aisles: Caleb scoured the lower floor, while I went upstairs, feeling a sense of déjà vu along the way.
“Oliver, wherever you are, you have to come out now,” I called out. “Because your mommy’s very upset with you. Will you come out? Please?”
As I heard Belle telling Caleb to tend the store before she left with Hyde, I saw him through the window.
Oliver was stuck in a tree. At least, he seemed to be stuck.
“Caleb!”
He came pounding up the stairs. “What?”
I pointed.
“Let’s go,” he said. And we headed out into the backyard.
At ground level, the tree appeared much taller. I had to give it to Oliver, the only four-year-old I knew who had so much determination as to scale the highest branches.
“Well, I think this takes his hyperactivity to a whole new level,” Caleb said, looking up at Oliver, who was still trying to get a leg up on the next branch. Caleb glanced sideways at me. “No pun intended.”
“How are we going to get him down?” My heart somersaulted as Oliver’s foot slipped and he hung by the branch.
“Can you climb?” His voice was rough with panic.
“Yeah.”
“Alright, here’s what we’ll do, then,” he said, walking to the foot of the tree. I followed suit. “You go up from that side, I’ll go up from here. Be careful not to surprise him.” As he swung his leg up the lowest branch, he called out, “We’re coming to get you, Oliver. Just stay where you are.”
Even I knew that was impossible.
I was not a tree-climber before this, despite what I told Caleb. But I had to this time. Oliver had better be grateful for what we were doing to get him down.
It was right then that I saw a figure flitting behind a bush. The figure was adult-sized, and I caught a glimpse of a muscled back as it slid into its hiding place. There was the slight snap of a twig, and then a rustle of leaves. I stared around, wondering if I had imagined it.
“Are you doing okay?” Caleb called out to me, his voice coming from slightly above. There was a pause in the rustling of leaves from his side.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I said quickly. Deciding to forget what I had seen, I laid another tenuous grip on the branch above me.
“Stop at one branch below me after I’ve gotten Oliver, okay? Just in case,” he said, and the rustling resumed.
As I crawled onto the next branch, there was a squeal and I heard Caleb say, “Gotcha!”
Oliver giggled, and there was a flurry of rustling.
“You got him?” I asked, staring up at the dense foliage.
“Yeah, I –”
And then I heard a crack – which was never a good sign.
Before I could find out what had happened, however, something collided into me and I found myself out of control, in motion. I was not the only one screaming.
There was silence when we all, after snapping countless branches and dodging some more along the way, finally crashed into a heap onto the ground. All I can say is, thank goodness for grass and moist soil.
“Oliver,” Caleb panted, his voice muffled.
I lifted my head and tried to regain my bearings. Aching all over, at least I was lying on something firm and warm.
“Yeah?” came a tiny voice next to me as I quickly rolled off Caleb.
“The next time you pull that kind of stunt again, I swear I’m sending you to a doctor.” He ran a hand through his leaf-strewn hair. He turned to me as I rolled off him. “Are you alright? Anything broken?”
I tested every inch of my body. A few aches, but nothing else apart from that. “No, I’m okay,” I said.
He nodded, and then pulled an oh-crap face as a plaintive cry came from Oliver.
“I don’t want to go to a dotter, Caleb,” he sobbed. “I don’t want –”
“Are you hurt?” Caleb asked, pulling Oliver upright and checking him for bruises and broken bones.
“No, but I don’t want to –”
“Okay, okay,” Caleb said. “No doctor, fine. But you promise you’ll behave?” He picked Oliver up and carried him back into the Old Belle.
Oliver nodded, laying his head on Caleb’s shoulder.
“He needs to be properly diagnosed, is what I always say,” a female voice said, her shadow looming from behind us.
We all turned. She had on a crisp light-blue long-sleeved shirt, a dark grey pencil skirt and dangerous-looking black heels. Her steely gaze was locked on the sniffling Oliver on Caleb’s shoulder.
“Mom?” Caleb said. “What are you doing here?”
“A little visit,” she replied crisply, still fixing what could almost be described as a glare on Oliver. “I see he’s still as untameable as ever.”
Oliver whimpered slightly, looking quailed. I almost wanted to throw my arms in front of him just so he wouldn’t have to look at his aunt. No kid should be intimidated at that age.
Mrs Burnstead looked around, surveying the bookstore. “This place is on the brink of falling apart.”
“It’s not so bad,” Caleb said, echoing my intended words, even though he always called it a tragedy too.
“Really,” Mrs Burnstead said. “And how is it sustaining itself? By the stories told by the million and one antique books here? Isabelle should have just let me have it. I might have done a better job.”
“It’s not so bad,” Caleb said again, but it was a half-hearted mutter. Then, realising he was still carrying Oliver, he set him down. Oliver did not dare move an inch; he just stared up at Mrs Burnstead, blinking every so often.
“Perhaps one day she’ll come around,” Mrs Burnstead said. “I came to inform you of the fete. It will take place on Saturday, and you’ll be in charge of the guest-list. Two days should be enough to get that settled. Let me know of every cancellation, if there is any.”
She left after that, nothing else said. So it was all business.
Caleb stared as the grey Volvo curved around a bend and disappeared, as though waiting for it to come back. And then he blinked and that look on his face was gone, replaced by the one he always wore.
Caleb had switched back to his default mode, hefting a stack of paperbacks onto the counter. I looked at him, then at Oliver, who had finally ventured some form of motion, and wondered if having someone could sometimes be just as bad as losing someone.


Eleven


“For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson (American poet, 1803 – 1882)


Kristy? It’s mom. I know you probably hate me right now, but – oh shit, what am I even doing? You probably don’t want to hear my voice, much less talk to me. I’m sorry. That’s all I can say. And I went back to our house today – what happened to it? You and daddy weren’t there; someone else’s kid was lying in this inflatable pool in the yard. Where are you? I know. I could have just picked up your calls if I wanted to know, but … Never mind, I’ll stop now.
She made it just in time for the beep.
I stared at my cellphone, and replayed the message again, hardly daring to believe it. After so many days of trying to reach her, holding my breath, hoping she’d just for once pick up her phone, I had missed her call?
The number was withheld, naturally. My mother was never one to report her whereabouts and she hated the idea of others being able to reach her when she least expected or welcomed it. “I don’t live for other people’s emergencies,” she used to say. Which might sound selfish, but really, it was just how she was.
I was halfway through the message for the third time, when Caleb came down the stairs, a hand around Oliver’s shoulders so that he wouldn’t run loose again. “All done,” he said. “Now we can go home and sleep. Yet another day with no proper customers, apart from that idiot who bought that old horror magazine after using our washroom … Kristen?”
“Yeah?” I snapped my phone close.
Something must have registered on my face, because Caleb asked, “Is everything okay?’
“I’m fine,” I said, my customary answer to most things these days. My mother always had a way of pulling out the carpet from under me.

*

I knew something was wrong the moment we entered the house. An addition was made, and the pair of turquoise pumps lying at the doorway confirmed my conjecture.
Jade was visibly awkward. She kept looking around for something to say or do, as though trying to gain inspiration from the coffee table or television. When she saw us, she actually heaved a huge sigh of relief. “Here they are.”
And the lady sitting beside her with a mug in her hand turned.
My initial reaction was to step back. It just couldn’t be that easy, to have her back after such a long period of missing her, wishing she were back, wondering why she left.
“Kristy,” she said, standing up. Behind her, Jade was mouthing, Her mom, to Caleb.
Caleb nodded beside me, and said, “Hi, I’m Caleb. You must be Kristen’s mother.”
My mother nodded, still looking at me. I wasn’t sure what she was about to pull, but she stuck out her hand and shook Caleb’s. “Just call me Rachel.”
“Well, I need to catch up on some sleep,” Caleb said, and shot a meaningful look at Jade. They headed upstairs quickly.
With them gone, the air in the living room closed in on us. It was one of those days where it was neither rainy nor sunny, and the clouds just sat there waiting, so it was grey out in the early evening.
“How did you find us here?”
“I called so many people, you wouldn’t believe,” she said. “After I left that message on your phone, I called up everyone you and daddy had ever known, and I was finally led here.”
My mother was never good with giving concrete details.
“So what do you want?” I said, not moving an inch.
Her face crumpled. “You’re mad at me.”
“Well, what did you expect, mom? You left us – one day you were there with me, watching old Audrey Hepburn films, and the next you’d packed up your bags and left. I’d always known you were a free spirit – at least that’s what I prefer to think – but I didn’t know you were that flighty!”
She stared at me with a pinched look on her face, like she was about to cry. She was always effusive, and her moods were extreme. She either bawled her head off at the theatre, or laughed hysterically at my father’s corny jokes. I realised how quiet and calm – boring – it had been ever since she left.
“Oh, honey,” she said, sinking back into the couch. “You don’t understand.”
“Then make me, mom,” I snapped. “You don’t just leave your family behind without an explanation, and then come back a month later acting the martyr.”
A moment of silence passed between us. I could hear myself breathing hard.
“Well, now that’s a side of you I’ve never seen,” she said quietly. “You never were this angry.”
“Things change.” And she had no idea how much.
“Call it a midlife crisis, if you will, Kristen. I’ve become a woman who has raised a family, now grown – and you have no idea how proud I am of you – but … I’ve lost something, you know? All these years, as you grew older, I felt like we were sinking into a routine. There was nothing in store for me. I felt empty, like someone had deserted me, like the purpose of life had abandoned me –”
“So it was all you.” I walked to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. Her light footsteps trailed after me. “Never mind how your family is left hanging in the air, waiting for you to maybe – just maybe – come back. Why do we always have to shape our lives around your whims?”
“It’s not a whim, honey.”
“Then what is it? What was it that we couldn’t give you? Dad and I love you, you have a job – do you need spiritual enlightenment to finally be happy? Or do you just need us to be out of the picture?”
She shook her head, and a tear fell off, cruised down her face. “I realise that absolute happiness is just an illusion. Being with my family is the happiest I can ever get. It happens, sweetheart.”
“So you’re back.”
She nodded eagerly, glad to agree with me on something. “I am. I’m back because I love you both. I never want to leave again. I want to start over.”
I stared at her, empty glass in my hand. At that moment, I hated her pleading, tearful, repentant face. Sometimes, it was just too late for second chances. Time would have chewed away at the only thing that held you both together, and the space left behind would just grow bigger and bigger. Until one day, you gave up holding on to what you had so desperately clung on to.
“I should’ve taped that speech down for the next time you decide to leave us again.”
As I lied in bed and pretended to sleep, Jade watching me with eyes burning with curiosity, I heard my mother let herself out of the door quietly.

*

That night, I slipped out of the back door.
I knew Caleb must have heard what had passed between me and my mother, and I was just not in the mood for questions.
I saw him sitting at the porch, silently waiting with a mug in his hand and another beside him. It made me sad, somehow, to think that he would be waiting there the whole night while I knew that I would not show up.
But it didn’t make me sad enough to want to be completely alone.
So, as quietly as I could manage, I slowly twisted the knob crept out into the backyard in my t-shirt and sweatpants. The night was relatively balmy, so there was no need for a sweater.
I did not know where to go. Wroughton was a world on its own, and without the clarity offered by daylight, I could end up anywhere.
But then I saw the tree. Its flowers were darkened by night, but it was standing there, lone and protective. I remembered what Caleb said about the dead protecting us, like how the cemetery protected us from the outside world. It had not protected me from my mother, from the hurt she could potentially inflict on us again.
I sat down on the cool, moist earth, imagining the dead all staring at me while I could see none of them. I wondered if Blake was here, if he could see me, and what he would do or say if he could.
“Blake!” I called out. “Are you there? Can you see me? Hear me? Blake!”
It didn’t seem like such a stupid thing to be doing, even though I was basically calling out for a dead person in the middle of the night in a cemetery. I briefly wondered what Dr Oliveiro would make of that.
I got up. “Blake!” I called louder, suddenly certain of his presence. Didn’t people always say a gust of chilly wind would pass whenever a spirit was near? Well, it had turned gusty.
A figure broke through the darkness before me. A male figure, walking towards me. “Blake!” I screamed, and rushed forward, desperate to close the gap between us.
“What the hell –?”
My eyes were burned by the beam of light swung in my direction.
“Kristen?”
“Blake?” I said, even though the voice sounded nothing like his. I had heard it before, though.
“I didn’t think you’d forget, for that recycled joke you made of my name,” he said. “It’s Hyde, actually.”
“Hyde,” I said, taking a step back. “Of course.” I frowned. “What are you doing here?”
He laughed monosyllabically. “I could ask you the same. I’m the caretaker here. I was half asleep, until some idiot decided to scream at the top of her lungs….”
“Wait. You’re a cemetery caretaker?” It was hard to imagine Hyde, with all his tattoos and muscles, as something so … sedentary.
“I’m on the night shift. It’s the only place that would hire me,” he said, shrugging, as though offering his body as explanation. He then fixed his gaze on me. “Now. What are you doing here at this time of the night?”
“Nothing.”
He crossed his arms and waited.
“Couldn’t sleep.” I shrugged. “So I came out for a walk.”
“Don’t you do that with Caleb?”
“I needed to be alone tonight.” He continued watching me, so I asked, “So how’s Sawyer doing?”
“He’s fine. A bit of dehydration, but he can be discharged soon. Belle can put her mind at ease.”
“You sure seem to care a lot about her,” I remarked.
He glanced sideways at me. “So this book fair business,” he said. “Are you sure you know how to go about doing it?”
“I’m no publicity pro, but we can begin after the fete on Saturday,” I said. “Step one will be to haul out the really old books and separate them from the out-of-print ones.”
“Great, we’ll do that. I told Belle to let us handle the whole PR business,” Hyde said. He peered closer at me and said, “Come on, let’s get you home.”
“It’s okay, I’ll get back myself,” I said, backing out. He narrowed his eyes at me. “Really, I promise I’ll go back right now.”
“Alright,” he said. “Take it easy, kid.”
He stood there watching me, a lone figure illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights, until I made my way around the bend.

*

“I didn’t know if you’d show up,” he said, “but I made you a cup anyway.”
I took the cup of now-lukewarm tea from him and took my usual seat next to him.
“Weren’t you afraid of getting lost?”
“I ended up at the cemetery,” I said. “Hyde was there.”
“I bet you woke him up. He always sleeps on the job. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s trying to get himself fired so Aunt Belle would hire him out of pity.”
“He’s probably not as scheming as you are,” I said.
He laughed.
Just for the need to explain myself, I said, “I just needed to be alone for a while.”
He raised his hand as a placatory gesture. “I get it. You were upset about your mom’s sudden appearance here.”
The buzzing air hovered over us like an expectant cloud.
“I think,” Caleb said slowly, as though he was picking tiptoeing through a mine of words, “you should talk to her again.”
I looked at him.
“No, really. I mean, I know it’s none of my business, but you should give her another chance. It wasn’t like she ditched you and never looked back, right? She still wants to be with you guys –”
“You’re right.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. It is none of your business.”
He shrugged as a form of apology. But he did not look it. Apologetic, that is. “Look, at least your mom’s trying. You’ve got to give her some credit for that – or at least, the benefit of the doubt.”
“Why the hell do you care so much about my mother, anyway? Don’t talk like you know her so well that you have the right to exonerate her actions.” I turned back to staring at my tea. “You really have to get over this whole my mom is worse than your mom thing.”
“Is that what you think this is about? How I’m trying to show you my mom’s a poorer parent that yours?”
It was a tone unfamiliar to me, snappish and defiant. I looked at him.
He shook his head. “Where do you get off, talking about them like that? I see the way you look at my mom and Gabriel, and you must be thinking, Oh, what horrible people they are, the way they talk to their kids. The fact is, I’m a whole lot less messed up than you are, even though you think your parents are such saints.”
An awful silence jostled between us after that. I could only stare at him. It was one of those disorientating moments when you forgot who you were and why you were there. Right then, Caleb was just a stranger sitting next to me, wielding words to defend himself, hurting others so that he could be protected.
So I did the only thing I was capable of doing then. As I shut the door behind me, he was still sitting at the silvered porch, a faceless figure hunched over his lukewarm mug of tea, alone with his words.


Twelve


“What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story … for all life is a dream, and dreams … are only dreams”
~ Pedro Calderon de la Barca (Spanish playwright and poet, 1600 – 1681)


“I’m telling you, she just invited herself. There’s nothing we can do about it.”
It surprised me to realise that I’d fallen asleep. A slant of sunlight had slipped in through the curtains, and I opened my eyes.
“Well, then un-invite her,” Caleb said. “Didn’t you see how Kristen was affected by her visit yesterday?”
“You didn’t seem so against her yesterday,” Jade said. I could hear a slice of shrewdness in her voice.
“All I’m saying,” Caleb said, “is that we should let them meet in a more private setting, not where the whole estate would be there to scrutinise them.”
I sat up in my bed.
“Well there’s no way we can un-invite someone,” Jade said. I got dressed hurriedly. “And it’s not like we can put a restraining order on her. She’ll be there if she wants to, Caleb.”
She was right. There was no stopping my mother when she wanted something. She would break a limb just to get it.
Which explains why I went out of my way to avoid her when we were at the marquee, where the fete was held. It was a large field with a huge white tent in the middle of it, so it was not such an easy thing to do.
When we got there, Jade went straight off in search of Reilly and her friends, so it left only me and Caleb standing before the field, neither of us venturing a look at each other.
I rubbed my arms and took in my surroundings, just so I had something to do.
“Last night was out of line,” he finally said, “on my part.” He turned to look at me. There was no trace of his usual knowing smirk or conspiratorial grin on his face. “I shouldn’t have said all that. It was stupid and downright rude, and I’m sorry for that.”
“Well, I’m sorry for losing my temper, and leaving you there. That was rude,” I offered.
“Guess I deserved that,” he said, shrugging. Then he laid a hand on my shoulder and whispered conspiratorially, “If you see anyone you don’t want to, you can take cover. I’ll fend them off.”
“Thanks, but I’m not going to drop everything and run at the sight of my mother,” I said, shooting him a slight smile and hoping he understood how much I appreciated his offer.
“Cale,” Jade said, coming over back to us.
We dropped our gazes, my face burning up as though I had been caught doing something wrong, which was ridiculous, because I hadn’t.
“Mom says we have to stay here and man the guest-list. See if anyone was unable to make it after all.”
“Why’s that important?” I asked.
Jade shrugged. “It is to her, I guess.”
Working – because that was how it felt like, sitting there at the table and ticking off the names of those who came – at the reception table was not exactly very exciting, so the three of us started shooting rapid-fire questions at each other, much like the how Caleb and I had two nights ago.
“Okay, Caleb,” Jade said. “A wart on your nose or a mole on your forehead?”
“Do we have to start out like this?”
“Either-or, Caleb,” Jade reminded. “Give any other answer and you lose, but I’ll waive it this once as a gesture of goodwill.”
Caleb snorted. “Okay, a wart, I guess.” And then, once Jade was satisfied with his answer, he turned to me. “Okay, Kristen, cereal or bagel?”
“That is so unfair,” Jade said, frowning. “You’re coddling her.”
“I’m genuinely curious. Now, Kristen, cereal or bagel?”
“Cereal.” I turned to Jade. “Reilly or Caleb?”
“Personal attack,” Caleb called out, just as Jade said, “Reilly. No question.”
“Really,” Caleb said, looking at me. “Was that necessary?”
I shrugged. “I was genuinely curious.”
Jade grinned conspiratorially at me before saying, “My turn. Kristen, raspberry or grapes?”
“Isn’t that a form of coddling as well?” Caleb said.
But it wasn’t. “Grapes,” I blurted immediately.
Caleb raised his brows at my reaction. “Seems like you harbour a passionate hatred for raspberries.”
“They just taste like vomit to me,” I said.
Because they did.

*

Despite what I told Caleb, I did end up taking cover, eventually.
My mother was talking to that portly lady called Magenta, the one Caleb and I met at the supermarket the other day. What was she even trying to do? Prove how settled she could be, with us, in this little corner of the world?
I wondered briefly if dad knew about her return, and then reflected briefly on how long I had gone without catching a glimpse of him even though we were living in the same house. But I was more focused on – let’s face it – hiding from my mother.
The truth was, so much had happened since she left. There was a huge part of my life that she did not know about, much less was a part of. I just didn’t know if I could accept her back in like the last month had never happened.
I told them I had to use the washroom and left before either of them could say anything. Starting off in the direction of the Ladies, I turned left away from the fete, and kept walking. Behind me, there was still the buzz of small talk and laughter, but slowly, they grew softer until they faded into silence.
When I finally stopped and looked up, I had no idea where I was. Perhaps on the edge of the marquee. But there were considerably less people here, which was a good thing because the noise and laughter all around were starting to get on my nerves.
Maybe that was why the sound made me scream out loud and duck for cover.
It felt like another of those nightmares I had until I made myself stop sleeping – the same scream of tires against wet asphalt, the same tension biting the air. But unlike my nightmares, it was balmy, not chilly, and colours were more vivid all around.
It was happening again, and I would be witnessing it all over again.
“Blake!”
While before I felt my entire weight pinning my feet to the ground, I now found myself pitched forth towards him. He was staring at me with confusion on his face, as the van careened in his direction after swerving around the bend.
There was no doubt it was Blake, just as there was no doubt I would not see him dying in front of me again.
I hurled myself towards him, feeling the heat of our bodies as they collided and rolled onto the grass patch next to the road. That, right there, was solid proof of Blake. He had never been dead. Maybe all those nightmares had only been premonitions, not memories.
He was panting hard – so hard that I could feel the stillness of my breath next to his – as we lied there on the grass patch, hearing the rumble of tires an inch away from our ears.
“Kristen,” he murmured, pushing the hair away from my face.
I got up, only absently aware of my trembling hands clinging onto his shirt. My breath was choppy as it tore through my lips.
“Blake.” I brought my hands to his face, his chest, and finally resting in his hands. I half expected him to disappear. Didn’t mirages disappear the minute you touched them? Illusions were smoke and mirrors, after all. But this was as real as it could get.
My vision blurred as warm tears blinded me. Had it only been a month? It felt like forever that I had not seen him. Why had he left? Did he even ever leave?
I was vaguely aware of myself blubbering and gabbling, and the tears burning tracks in my cheeks.
He shushed me gently and lifted me to my feet, his arms firmly around me. “Come on, let’s get you somewhere else.”
I trailed along after him, my tears in a ceaseless stream down my face.
We slipped through a small wrought-iron gate framed with vines. The passage that led to a narrow opening was dark. There were no seats in the small clearing, so Blake sat me down on the ground, under a tree. Leaves pricked me, but I hardly cared. He was here, back here, in front of me, though peering into my face with a peculiar expression on his face.
“Are you okay?” Both his hands were on my shoulders as he held me at arms length.
“Okay?” I laughed. It sounded like an uncontrolled bark. “I’ve never been better.”
He frowned slightly. “Maybe we should get you back home.”
“I don’t want to go home, Blake. I just want to be here, with you.”
He dropped his arms. “We should get you home.”
“Why do you keep telling me to go home? Blake.” I laughed again and dived into his arms. “I’ve missed you so much. I know it was all my fault. I shouldn’t have made you go back for the stupid yoghurt. I’ll have mango-flavoured ones forever, I don’t care. I’m just so glad you’re here –”
“What are you talking about?”
He didn’t know? Maybe all that hadn’t happened, then. I was just being stupid, delusional.
“Never mind. Let’s just –”
“Kristen? Caleb?”
I turned around. My mother was standing at the stone steps at the gate, slightly out of breath. Vines crept above her head.
“What are you two doing here?”
“Rachel,” Blake said.
If Blake hadn’t died, then maybe mom leaving us was all part of that weird nightmare too. Maybe she had never left us. This was enough, really, to make me swear off sleeping forever. See how it messes up your perception of reality?
“It’s okay,” Blake said. “She just got a little hysterical –”
“A little? I could hear her screaming right across the road. And when I get here, she’s all shaken up and crying her heart out….”
I frowned. “Mom. Stop yelling at Blake. It’s not his fault.”
Mom made to say something, but she caught a look Blake shot her that made her shut up.
Blake placed an arm loosely around me. “She said she doesn’t want to go home and rest.”
“Well, she definitely can’t go back to the marquee in this state,” mom said. After more frowning at me, she said to Blake, “I’d like to have a word with you.”
Blake looked at me. “Excuse us for a while.”
I nodded, grinning like an idiot up at him.
They walked a few metres away from me and all I could hear was the low hum of their murmurs. The conversation was visibly fraught with tension, and obviously about me. Even shaken up, as mom put it, I did not miss the tight lines her lips were set in, and the frequent glances at me. After a few unanimous nods, mom pulled out her cellphone. Her fingers were almost a blur over the keypad.
Finally, they walked back to me, mom hovering a little behind Blake, still on the phone.
“What did you guys talk about?” I grabbed his hand eagerly.
Blake turned to look at mom. She urged him on with a nod. I could not make out what she was saying on the phone, but I didn’t care very much.
“Kristen, there is someone I want you to meet. His name is Jason.”
His atypical tone of seriousness made me struggle to beat down a smirk and focus on what he was saying. “Okay, who is he?”
“He’s – a friend of mine who wishes to speak with you.”
Mom snapped her phone shut. “Jason would like to meet you now, if that’s possible.”
“How come you know him too?”
“Honey, it just so happens that we both know the same person.” She stroked my hair. “Anyway, are you up to speaking with him now?”
I was, but that didn’t mean I wanted to. Blake rubbed my back reassuringly, and I laced my fingers with his. He stared at me uncertainly, and I was aware of how he had stiffened when I touched him.
“Okay, fine. I’ll talk to him.”

*

He was annoying. He behaved just like how Dr Oliveiro – how did I even know her? – did, only in a less ingratiating manner. Still, his endless probing made me feel like I was back in that heavily-scented room with a stranger demanding to know what the hell was going on in my head.
“How do you like Wroughton so far?”
A grunt came out of my mouth.
“I was told you had quite a scare just a while ago,” he pressed on. I hate people who can’t take a hint. “Care to tell me how you feel about that?”
“I was told you’re Blake’s friend.”
His gaze sat squarely on mine. It was disconcerting, to say the least. “Is Blake someone I should know?”
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. Blake was waiting for me, and I was wasting my time here. “He said you’re his friend, and that you wanted to talk to me, which is why I’m here.”
“If you don’t mind me asking,” he said, cocking his head slightly, “who is Blake to you?”
“He’s my boyfriend, Jason,” I said, feeling tired all of a sudden, for some reason. I took a sip of punch for want of something to do.
“I guess that’s why you’re so shaken up,” Jason went on. He smiled benignly at me, and I could see some wrinkles bunch up at the corner of his eyes. “It must be pretty scary watching someone almost –”
“I need to get back.” I down the rest of my punch, and looked around for Blake.
“Sure. Of course. I won’t take up any of your time now, but it was nice meeting you, Kristen.” He extended his hand.
I shook it and wandered off.
When I finally found Blake, he was with my mother. I still had some misgiving about her; I just couldn’t remember if she had left us, or if that was just something I had literally dreamed up. That almost-collision must have thrown my brain out of whack. But it was the most curious sensation ever, like a full-blown déjà vu, or something.
“I think it’s getting worse,” he was telling her.
“What is?” I asked.
He flinched slightly when I slipped my arm around his. “This fete. I swear, every year, it gets worse.”
Blake had always been a lousy liar.
“Come on, what is it?”
He reached for some biscotti. Since when did he like pastry? “How was Jason?”
“I thought he asked a little too many questions. He said he didn’t know you.”
“Well, he wouldn’t know Blake,” mom muttered, “but he would know Caleb.”
“Who’s –?” It suddenly occurred to me that I did know a Caleb. But who exactly he was, I could not remember. My brain was on a frizz.
“Does her father know about this?” mom asked.
This was starting to make my head pound. It was like being unable to push the thread through the eye of a needle. Nothing fit at all, and all you got was frustration and restlessness.
“I think so,” Blake said. “After that fire.”
Fire. Random images of a curtained window, moonlight illuminating a spot in a room, and amber hues dancing, consuming the thin fabric, shot through my mind.
Mom nodded, as though she knew what he was talking about. The edges of her lips were hard. “We have a problem. A big one.”
“What problem? Would you two quit talking in riddles already?” A crippling pain was settling around my head.
“It’s no use playing along with her, Caleb,” mom said. “It’s not going to help.”
“I’m telling you,” Blake said, “it won’t work. She’s sleepwalked twice, and both occasions were potentially life-threatening. By telling her the truth, you’ll just throw her more out of whack –”
“Oh, and I should listen to you because you’re such an expert on this?”
Blake sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. They both fell silent.
“It was about time you both shut up,” I said, wincing as another throb of pain pumped through my temples.
Mom turned to me and laid a hand on my cheek. “Kristen, honey. You have to wake up.” Her voice was almost a whisper.
It annoyed me how sad her eyes were, how sympathetic. “Wake up from what?”
Behind her, Blake sighed again and ruffled his hair violently.
“Sweetheart,” mom said, “There is no Blake anymore. I know you don’t want to believe that, but you can’t –”
As I ran away, my feet pounding on the sidewalk like lead buckets fastened to my soles, I could feel the weight of her palm – too hot, too moist – fall away. Like noise, like stares. Like everything else.


Thirteen


“He who cannot forgive breaks the bridge over which he himself must pass.”
~ George Herbert (American philosopher, 1863 – 1931)


It is disorientating – to say the least – to wake up and not know where you are or what time it is.
At least the sheets smelt somewhat familiar. The sky outside was a dull ochre with tinges of pink, so it had to be around dusk, right?
As I padded downstairs, my mom and dad, Caleb and a man I knew I had seen somewhere, but was not quite sure where, looked up from the couch. Light glared at me from all directions, and the rustle of movements rang out clearly. Daytime naps always made me feel as though I had strolled into another world when I woke up.
“Kristen?” mom said, coming towards me, dad behind her. Caleb and the man both stood up. “Are you feeling better?”
I stepped slightly away from her. “I’m fine, mom.” And then a growl erupted from my stomach, and I cringed.
Caleb grinned. “I think that calls for some dinner. Lasagne and minestrone soup, anyone?”
Dinner. Caleb and food. That was something that did not seem utterly foreign, at least. “What, no Philly cheese-steak sandwiches tonight?”
He shot me a lopsided smirk. “Hey, no-one can eat the same thing every night, no matter how good it is.”
I did not miss the glance he exchanged with the man. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“No, I don’t suppose so,” the man said. He had a buzz cut that made him look younger than he probably was. “My name’s Jason. It’s nice to meet you, Kristen.” He stretched out his hand. When I hesitated, he explained, “I’m a friend of Caleb – and your parents.”
There was something I had missed – that much was obvious. But I also knew it was something best not brought up, at least not with so many people around.
Jason left before dinner, and Jade and the rest were not home yet, so I felt bad for Caleb, stuck at the table with us. It was not his family drama to get sucked into, after all.
“So where do we stand now?” Nonchalance was the key. I took a bite of my lasagne and glanced at mom and dad coolly.
Dad squirmed a lot, and cleared his throat as though he was about to respond. Mom bit her lip and looked out the window.
“Are we going back? Is everything back to the way it was before?”
I couldn’t imagine how that would be, how that could be. Too much had happened since mom left. There was no way things could be all Audrey Hepburn and tacos anymore.
“You went through a lot today, honey,” mom finally said. “You should rest. Finish your dinner and go for a walk with Caleb, maybe. Alright?”
Caleb and I shared a look. He grinned, and I had to look away in case my smile gave anything away.

*

He was, for some reason, excited that night.
“Hyde and I have talked about it. We’ll start tomorrow, and then we’ll visit Sawyer and Grandpa in the evening.”
I blinked. “Start what?”
“Stage one of the book fair, of course. It was your idea, remember?”
“Right. Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
He peered closely at me. “Well, I don’t know what you’re aware of these days.” Before I could ask what the plan was for tomorrow, he went on, “So Aunt Belle said we have to be open for business tomorrow, in spite of grandpa’s arthritis problem and Sawyer’s condition, or they’ll all be left starving in the streets.” He glanced at me with an amused smile. “Hyde’s offered to pay the utilities bills – of course.”
“But?”
He shook his head. “Aunt Belle doesn’t allow him to. We’ll have to start tomorrow – the sooner the better.”
His sudden enthusiasm probably stemmed from his desperation to keep the Old Belle afloat, but his frequent glances at me implied another reason.
All through till the next morning, every time I tried to ask Caleb what exactly happened yesterday, he would blurt a random comment or question just in time to avoid answering my persistent questions. Either that, or he would nurse his mug of tea, lost in his thoughts. He seemed relieved to go for his run at five-thirty.
Finally, when I saw the first hint of sunlight creep softly upon the crowns of the trees, he jogged up to the porch, sweaty and panting, and said, “Let’s go inside.”
“Caleb.”
He stopped at the door, his back facing me.
“Are you ever going to tell me what exactly happened yesterday, or are you just going to keep this up?”
“Keep what up?”
“You know what.” I walked to his side. “I’m not denying I have a problem, Caleb, and I know you’ve exchanged information with my parents. Hell, this whole estate probably knows everything by now.”
He shrugged sheepishly.
“I just want you to be honest with me. Tell me everything like it was.”
He laughed monosyllabically.
“What?”
“Be honest with you? The whole time you were here, you were so eager to hide that part of your life from me, and now you want me to be honest with you regarding this?”
I stared at him. “Well, I’m sorry I prefer not to go around telling everyone about my sob story, Caleb.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m being an ass, aren’t I?”
I stared at him with what I hoped was a frosty look.
“Come on, then. I’ll fill you in on the way to Miss Macy’s. Hyde’s meeting us there.”
I got dressed hurriedly, careful not to wake Jade, who was sleeping with her mouth slightly open. What did she think of me, a sleepwalking arsonist, sharing a room with her? It was obvious how she avoided me the way people avoided those who talked to themselves along the streets.
“So,” I said after I had slipped outside with Caleb holding the door open. We got on our bikes. “Yesterday.”
“You really don’t remember anything?”
“Just flashes of it. I remember a wrought-iron gate lined with vines, and the smell of grass and exhaust … and that’s about it.”
He sighed, and grudgingly started talking. “You went, well, nuts again.” With a sideways glance to make sure I had not taken offence (I put on what I hoped was an indifferent expression), he went on, “I was stepping out onto the road, and there was this van coming towards me. You freaked out, ran over to me, and knocked me down onto the grass patch.”
The smell of grass and exhaust.
“And then you started crying and calling me Blake and laughing like a crazy person, going on about how sorry you were about the yoghurt….”
I stopped pedalling. Caleb followed suit, looking like he regretted telling me anything.
“Look.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. You had a scare yesterday. You’re alright now, it –”
“And my mom was there, wasn’t she?”
He shot me a mirthless smile. “Yeah, and she was plenty pissed at me for what happened to you.”
“But it’s not your fault.”
He shrugged. “Kristen, it doesn’t matter. We’ve arranged an informal session with Jason – well, Dr Tang – and later, you’ll have a chat with him over lunch –”
“Wait, you did what?”
“You remember Dr Tang, don’t you? The guy whom you spoke to yesterday?”
Anger rose in me. “So he’s what, a psychiatrist? You and my parents are making go to another one of those quack doctors who force me to –”
“Dr Tang isn’t a quack. He’s certified and good, I promise.”
I meant to say more, or at least put up some form of resistance, but found that I had no energy to.
“We’re just trying to help, Kristen.”
It was funny how accustomed I had grown to the weight of his gaze. While it threw me off balance every time I looked at him when I got here initially, it now anchored me to where it promised not to let me drift away again.
“I’m hungry,” I said and started pedalling.

*

“Before you say anything, Hyde, can we please place our orders first? You’ve got two starving insomniacs here in need of fuel.”
Hyde raised his hands in defence. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” But straight after we had all placed our orders, he said, leaning forward with a smirk, “I’m sorry I missed your dramatic breakdown yesterday.”
“I’m sorry I missed it too.”
He sat back, still smirking. “Maybe I should wait till you’re done with your first cup of coffee.”
“Good idea, but I don’t drink coffee.”
“How’s Aunt Belle?” Caleb asked.
His face softened at the mention of her. “Better. Sawyer’s fever’s gone now, and he can be discharged today. I told her to take the day off with him for today. She’ll take the boys over to her dad’s and spend the day with them. She hasn’t changed one bit since the day I knew her.”
Caleb and I shared a look.
“Shut up,” Hyde grunted.
The waitress bearing our food shot him a glare, thinking he was talking to her. Hyde took no notice of her. Offending people unwittingly probably occurred on a daily basis for him.
“So why do you want to help us anyway?” he asked once she had left sulkily. “I mean, no offence, but this isn’t really part of your business.”
“I just….” It didn’t make any sense why I should explain to him how Blake and I used to trawl around the island looking for good second-hand bookstores, and how Blake would probably love the Old Belle as much as I did, for its quaintness and impressive supply of out-of-print books. Hyde would probably make another of his characteristically flippant remark about me and my dead boyfriend.
“Did I hit a sore point?”
I blinked back to where I was to find Hyde staring at me, slowly chewing his sausages.
“I think that would be a safe deduction,” Caleb said, glowering at his friend.
“No, it’s fine,” I said.
And then, without even thinking about what I was doing, I told them everything. About how Blake would show up at some random time of the day with an armful of second-hand paperbacks that he knew I would like; how he first pegged me for an Austen-lover; and how I initially thought he was just some typical muscled idiot who didn’t know Poe from Wilde until he surprised me one day by telling me what a pity it was that Wilde only wrote one proper novel in his life because gay or not, he was good.
Caleb was silent when I was through, but Hyde plunged straight into his comments. I was slowly learning that his mind was always cluttered with thoughts that he could only disentangle by articulating them.
He shook his head. “Man, you guys need a life.”
Caleb made a noise, and Hyde shrugged.
Sometimes, it was easier to just get away from everyone. Avoid the stares, the sympathetic smiles, the awkward moments when someone said something wrong.
“So that night at the cemetery,” Hyde went on. “You thought you saw your boyfriend’s ghost, is that it?”
“Hyde.” Caleb’s eyes flashed dangerously.
“Kid, it’s no good trying to protect her from her memories.” He slurped on his banana smoothie. “You’re not helping her at all.”
“And talking about it the way you are now will?”
“Hey, it’s a lot healthier, at the very least.”
“Guys,” I sighed.
I was tired of everything being about my problem, my memories, my past. I was tired of people around me trying to dissect my issues so that they could find a way to resolve them all, tired of people telling me there was nothing I could have done and that Blake would have wanted me to be happy. Just who the hell did they think they were, Blake’s spokespeople?
“You of all people should know escaping the past does no one any good.”
That got my attention. “What?”
Caleb was silenced. He stared at the ceaseless stream of people entering the diner looking for morning perk-me-ups, his jaw clenched.
At that moment, I knew better than to ask. I understood the wish to keep the past where it was. It was a hell lot easier than letting it catch up with you and mess with your head.
The rest of our breakfast was smothered by all the words unsaid. As I watched Caleb on our way to the Old Belle – him resolutely ignoring me – I thought of how scary a concept it was that every one of us had a part of our lives that we wanted to hide from, to go back to, that we could not face, and that made us who we were now.


Fourteen


“A book is like a garden carried in the pocket.”
~ Chinese Proverb


“So this Kerr … Kerrrrr … Care … I give up,” Hyde said, picking up another book and wiping it with his wet cloth.
Caleb glanced over at the cover. “Kerouac?”
Hyde nodded. “That’s what I said. So him. Do we throw him out as well?”
Caleb shot an exasperated look at me. I smiled. “You don’t just throw out Kerouac, Hyde.”
It was strangely therapeutic to be sitting amidst dusty piles of old books with the two of them, deciding which deserved to be sold to the public and which to keep.
“I’m just saying,” Hyde said, “that if you guys had cleared out half of the stuff here, you’d be able to rent out the second level for some extra keeps.”
The amount of old books to clear seemed never-ending. We were barely a quarter through and it was already one in the afternoon. Ever since Miss Macy’s, there had been a heavy air of secrets and lies that settled along with the dust around us, so we kept things strictly business by only talking about just books. Books and business.
“You’re sure this is going to work, Kristen?” Hyde asked.
I shrugged. “It’s worth a try.”
And that was what Caleb threw back at me later on as he dragged me to where I was supposed to meet Dr Tang for lunch. We went on foot since, well, since Wroughton was such a pretty place it made everyone feel like walking everywhere.
“Caleb, I really don’t know about this,” I said, stopping.
He made a double take and took my hand. “Come on, Kristen. Like you said, it’s worth a try, isn’t it? Besides, it’s just lunch. You can always leave and let him foot the bill if it gets uncomfortable.”
I grudgingly smile and resumed walking. After a while, I couldn’t help but ask, “That remark Hyde made back at Miss Macy’s … Did it mean anything?”
“No.” He let go of my hand.
It was then that I realised how much he knew about my past, and how little I really knew about his. And that was just enough to make me press on.
“I just thought it was a pretty odd thing to say.” I snuck a glance at him. He was looking straight ahead, as though navigating his way to our lunch venue required all his attention. “I mean, I wouldn’t know what’s odd and what isn’t, of course, but seeing as how little I know about you, I was just wondering –”
“There’s nothing to wonder about. Hyde passes stupid little comments like this all the time. Most of them don’t make any sense.”
“But did it involve your dad?”
He stopped. When I followed suit, I found myself panting slightly. I was not aware of us walking so briskly.
“I would have thought you of all people should know when to keep your questions to yourself and mind your own business.”
I stared at him, feeling something start to rumble in my chest. “You don’t think I know what this is about, do you?”
He said nothing, but looked away, sighing as he ran his fingers through his hair.
“Your fixation to make things back to the way it was between me and my mom, it’s all just so we can focus on my problems, and leave yours alone.”
“Well, it’s not my fault your psychotic behaviour gave everything away. I wouldn’t have learnt about your boyfriend’s death if you’d just kept your antics to yourself.”
Blood rushed to my face as I heard a heavy thudding in my ears. “So that’s what you think I was doing?” My voice was shaky. “Displaying my antics?”
He rubbed his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. His ears were red as well. “Kristen, let’s not do this.”
“Let’s not talk about that, then.” People were starting to watch; they just paused whatever they were doing – mounting their bikes or munching on their bagels – and stood there comfortably as though a movie was unravelling before them. This was probably not the best place to do this, but I went on nonetheless, “You think I’m not being fair by not telling you about myself, but what, really, have you told me about yours? You don’t demand to know about people within the first week of knowing them; they tell you when they begin to trust you.”
“Okay, so I suck at this whole making friends thing. Now can we just go? People are staring.” He tugged on my elbow, and when I did not move, he pulled me along more forcefully.
After a long while of walking, the ground burning beneath my feet, we arrived at somewhere quieter.
Caleb took me by my shoulders. “What is your problem, Kristen?”
“I don’t have one.”
He snorted. “I’m sure you don’t. That’s probably why you just picked a fight with me in the middle of the street back there.”
“I just don’t want anyone else digging around for my back story. So I’m messed up. Does that make me everyone’s problem? I just think it’s funny how you’re so concerned about me forgiving my mother, while you shed nothing about your father. This whole ‘Gabriel is a decent guy’ thing? You didn’t think I bought that for one moment, did you?”
“How is that any of your problem?”
“How is Blake’s death any of yours?”
His jaw clenched. “Just stay out of my business, and I’ll keep clear of yours.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Neither of us said anything after that.
Maybe we both needed that. Maybe we both needed to get it all out of our system. Like Caleb said, it was way healthier than letting it stew inside, right?
“Take a left after the 7 Eleven,” he said finally, his voice low. “Head straight and then turn right. You’ll see the post office. The restaurant’s just directly across the street. I’ve got to get back.”
After he left, the stirring silence in that sunny street swelled around me until it became so oppressive I started walking.

*

My anger made the world seem dizzying and all too bright. Wroughton, like I had first thought the moment I entered, was entirely a world of its own. Nothing seemed real, especially not when you were so upset you couldn’t even see straight.
The truth was, I did not even know why I brought up his father. I did not even know why I had expected him to tell me about something as personal as his family. It was his dogged interference in my problems that pissed me off, I suppose. The way he kept telling me to give my mother another chance when he hardly knew her and so had no business saying anything about anything. He made it seem like such a huge deal just so I wouldn’t notice the absence of his father and the way no one ever spoke about him.
But then it all came back to why I thought I had the right to know anything about him and give him my two cents worth.
When I finally managed to push all the confusion to the back of my mind, I stopped walking and stared around me.
What was it that I was supposed to have passed by? There were no shops around, just the last few houses at the end of an unfamiliar-sounding Highmont Lane. If I walked any further, I’d be even more lost than I already was. It was only a narrow road and more trees ahead, and in the distance there was the sound of waves rushing to shore.
The thing about Wroughton was that everything here looked the same. The identical houses sat in a row along a narrow road lined with trees and bright flowers.
Also, it did not help that so far, the only places I had been to were the Old Belle, the house, and the cemetery.
I didn’t trust the residents here well enough to start knocking on their doors, so I pulled out my cellphone. To hell with pride, I was calling Caleb for help.
He picked up at the first ring. “What?”
“I think I’m lost.”
I could hear him trying not to laugh. “Okay. Describe your surroundings. Is there a street name?”
“I’m at the end of Highmont Lane. It’s near the sea.”
There was a brief pause, and then he said, “Wait there, don’t move. I’m on my way.” It was the hint of urgency in his voice that made me frown as I hung up.
Rather than sit there and let my brain fester with my thoughts, I tried to look for a way out myself. At least I wouldn’t be that lost when Caleb found me if I managed to get out of this lane.
There was the distant sound of footsteps behind me. When I turned around, there was a rustle, and then the bushes shook violently. It was vaguely like something from a bad spy movie.
I walked over to the bush. “Look, whoever you are, I’m not in the mood for your little spy game, alright?”
“Are you lost?”
The man who had just appeared out of nowhere seemed highly amused by my scream. His eyes also kept darting to the row of houses as though he was afraid of what they might see.
“Who are you? Did you just come out of there?” I pointed to the bushes.
He stared at me as though I was crazy. “No.”
Could it be that I had imagined all that? I have been told I was borderline crazy, after all.
“Are you lost?” he repeated.
He was old enough to be my dad, but even though his clothes were clean enough not to qualify him as a vagrant, his unshaven face looked slightly worse for wear. Or maybe he was just going for the scruffy Josh Holloway look.
“I – yes, I think so.” I turned to look at the row of houses, since he kept glancing nervously in that direction. “Who are you?”
“Never mind that,” he said. “For now, I’m your saviour. I’ll walk you to Ruth’s Garden – that’s the nursery – and you’ll find your way from there. But we should just” – he started steering me towards the path further away from the houses.
The smell of sea salt hit me before I stepped away from him. “I don’t think so.” He did not seem to expect that answer. “I mean, I don’t even know who you are. And leading me here is not exactly making me trust you more.”
He nodded. “Fair point. Look, I’m just trying to help –”
“I have called for help. He’s on the way.”
The man smiled knowingly. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll go back to –”
“Kristen?”
Both of us turned. I practically ran to him.
“Thought I told you to stay where –” He tensed briefly when he saw who was with me.
I gestured briefly at the man. “I ran into him. He offered to help me get out of here.”
Caleb looked at the man. “Thank you, sir,” he said stiffly, “but that wasn’t necessary.”
“That’s alright,” the man said with a placid smile. “I was just passing by. Thought I’d lend a hand.”
Caleb took my hand. “We’ll get going now.”
“If you need any rescuing again,” the man said pleasantly, “you know where to find me.”
I felt a firm tug on my hand. “Let’s go, Kristen.” As we turned and walked away, he flung a glare over his shoulders.
“I thought Wroughton was supposed to be safe,” I said, once we were well beyond his earshot. “Doesn’t that include being safe from creepy old pervs like him?”
Caleb just stared stonily ahead.
“He didn’t do anything to me, Caleb. It’s fine.”
“He’d better not have.”
“Have you seen him around before? He doesn’t live here, does he?”
He shrugged stiffly, and I took the hint.
We walked for a while with my hand resting comfortably, absently, in his. Soon, we were out of Highmont Lane and the nursery called Ruth’s Garden was in sight.
“Caleb, about just now….”
I meant to tell him I was sorry about just now, but he beat me to it. “If you’re going to apologise, don’t. Because we know we both acted a little crazy back there. Right now, we just need some fuel so we don’t go for each other’s throats again.”
He was right. So I kept my mouth shut and my hand in his as we made our way through the winding streets of Wroughton.


Fifteen


“No one can lie, no one can hide anything, when he looks directly into someone's eyes.”
~ Paulo Coelho (Brazilian writer, 1947 – present)


We were fifteen minutes late when we arrived at the restaurant called Ristrot’s. Plus, someone else was there.
“Dad?”
The two men turned. My father was looking more pinched than ever. “Hey, Kristen.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Joining you for lunch.” He reached over to pat my arm.
“Sorry we’re late. Kristen took an accidental detour along the way,” Caleb said, raising his brows at me.
Dr Tang stood up and said, “Better late than never.” He stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you again, Kristen.”
“There’s no need for informalities, Jason,” dad said. As the waiter handed me and Caleb our menus, dad said, “Jason was just telling me how the oyster linguine here is a must-try.”
I bet that was all they were talking about.
“If it’s inconvenient, I’ll leave,” Caleb said. “I mean, I don’t want to intrude –”
Dad shook his head. “Nonsense. You’re in this as much as I am, Caleb. You’ve taken care of my daughter so much this past week I don’t even know how to thank you. You’re staying for lunch with us. My treat.”
I was feeling too antsy to concentrate on lunch or the ambience here, so we hurriedly made our orders. Dr Tang apparently felt the same way too, for he got straight to the point.
“This is an informal session, Kristen. There’s no need to be so nervous. Why don’t you tell me what it is you’re worried about?”
A long while passed as I stared at him. He watched me back patiently, as though he had all the time in the world to let me sort out my thoughts. Absently, I decided that he was how I imagined those pleasant-sounding phone operators looked like.
“Kristen?” dad said, eyeing me. The muscles on his forearms were tensed.
“I just –” I muttered, aware of all the eyes on me.
Dr Tang took a sip of water. “Take your time, it’s no trouble.”
Caleb placed his napkin in front of me. He had folded it into what looked like a half-peeled banana. When I looked at him, he smiled.
“I just prefer sitting inside, that’s all,” I said, noticing my twiddling fingers. I placed my arms on the table and forced them to be still.
“Why would you prefer that?” Dr Tang leant back against his seat. “I thought a bit of fresh air and people-watching would make us all a bit more at ease.”
A bright orange sports car roared past with thumping hip-hop music blaring from it. I almost dropped my glass of water in fright.
“Loud noises affect me.” I shrugged.
“I see.” He sounded as though I just told him I preferred salmon to grouper. “I personally can’t stand loud noises either. They remind me of my childhood, when all my dad did was drill all day. He was a carpenter, you see.”
Caleb snorted. “Try living with a younger sister who wouldn’t shut up.”
I laughed. It sounded more like a bark. The noise was really getting to me. In a quiet estate like Wroughton where there weren’t many vehicles on the road (there weren’t even buses that came in here), every rumble and roar of an engine was amplified tenfold.
“So how do all of you enjoy your living arrangements so far?”
Caleb nodded with a shrug. “It’s cool.”
Dad agreed with a solemn nod. “It’s a good change.”
“Good change from what?” I demanded. “Our lives before?”
“Our lives after,” he said, “your mother left and Blake….” He regarded Dr Tang, “Being in a quiet estate like this is just what we need – what Kristen needs – after that horrible event.”
I stopped fiddling with the banana napkin. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t even remember how you were like after Blake died, do you,” dad said. “I don’t think distraught even covered what you were then; you were in another world.”
Our food arrived then. After we all got over the chore of tucking in, I tried to sneak a glance at Dr Tang and Caleb, but found that I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my father.
He was not looking at me; he stared into his glass of water, lost in his own thoughts. “See, you’ve always been a recluse, unlike your mother. You tend to keep things to yourself, content to lead some kind of lone existence with only a handful of people in your life. We were alright with that, your mother and I, but we always worried about what might happen if any of us left – Blake, your mother, or me.”
I stiffened and pretended to pick the olives out of my ciabatta sandwich.
“You fall into a routine easily. And when that routine is broken, you fall apart too. Blake was your routine.” He looked up at me finally.
It surprised me how well my dad actually knew me. And all along I thought he was the most oblivious one around.
It might have been the lighting the diner, but right then I could see how worn my dad was. Stretched, like there wasn’t enough of him to go around, and it was only a matter of time before he really wore out and disappeared.
“You were afraid to leave the house, you called me repeatedly throughout the day to make sure I wasn’t run over by a truck or choking on a hotdog –”
“That’s not funny.”
He nodded sadly. “It isn’t. Remember that first night you had the nightmare? You woke up screaming and your door was locked, and all I could hear on the other side was you screaming, ‘No, no, no,’ over and over. I had to break the door down, and when I got to you, you were shaking all over, sweaty and cold, almost delirious.”
Caleb and Dr Tang were clinging on to every word of his. There was really no reason to go on and on. “Dad, let’s not talk about this.”
“All I’m saying, Kristen,” he said, reaching over to take my hand, “is that you have to accept that Blake’s never coming back. You’ll have to learn to restructure your life, your new life that doesn’t include him. And we’re all here to help you. You have to help us help you.”
I looked at Caleb, who was staring at me intently, and then at Dr Tang, who said, “I think your dad pretty much said it all. Listen, Kristen. I’m not here to bombard you with the Kubler-Ross grief cycle or tell you what your nightmares mean.”
I raised my brows.
“Your mother showed me your dream diary from therapy session. Not very fruitful, I must say.”
“Wait. She went through my stuff?”
“My point is,” he said calmly, “I’m not some quack shrink treating you as a textbook stereotype of grief. Personally, I don’t believe in dream journals. I heard from Caleb that you are working on a restoration project for the bookstore. Now, that has potential.”
“Potential for what?”
“Clearing your mind, at the very least.”
“You mean clearing out the memories?”
He did not miss a beat. “Clearing out the pain standing in your way.”
I mulled over that over my sandwich. Even with the tumult of uncertainties roiling in my mind, I had to proclaim, “This sandwich is amazing.”
“Ristrot’s the only reason why people come into Wroughton at all,” Caleb said.
“And that is the truth,” Dr Tang said, grinning.
Caleb speared a fry. “They call it the Celebration Restaurant, because everyone who wants to dine here has to have a reason to. It’s how they keep it exclusive.”
“Except that now, people come up with all sorts of outlandish reasons just so they can dine here.” Dr Tang chuckled.
“What reason did you give, then?”
“Welcoming the newcomers to the estate, of course.”
Caleb snickered. “I remember Jade once gave saving her pants from drowning as a reason. They let us in. I think these guys get a kick from hearing our excuses.”
I laughed along with them, but something still did not sit right.
“What are you going to do about mom?”
It was, I suppose, out of the blue. Drowning pants and flighty mothers were as related as ducks and cereal.
Dad looked up. I felt guilty for bringing the topic up when I saw his grin slip.
“We’ll work things out, Kristen. Don’t worry too much about that.”
Now was as good a time as ever to lay everything out before us. If dad was going to probe into my business, I was going to have a share in the adult business too. Besides, it was my mother we were talking about. “Do you really believe she’s here to stay – for good? It’ll seem premature to take her word for it. We both know what she’s like.”
“I think,” dad said, wiping his mouth with his napkin, “that you’re being prematurely judgemental at the moment. I talked with the Burnsteads. They’re fine with your mother living with us until everything is resolved.”
Caleb nodded. “We have plenty of room, anyway, and more once mom and Gabriel take off to wherever they’re taking off to soon.”
Nobody said anything after that.
So it seemed, for the time being, that all we could do was wait on whatever wind that would sweep us into another mess of promises, tears and lies.

*

“So how’d it go?”
“Swimmingly, mom,” Caleb said as we waded through the piles of books to get to him. “We had a lovely lunch and played nice just like we were told to.”
Hyde simpered. “Bite me.”
My hands flew out to steady a precarious stack I had knocked into.
“So what was all that screaming about just now?”
“Screaming? What screaming?” Caleb said. I chose to busy myself with wiping some books in front of me.
Hyde snickered. “Come on, everyone’s heard about it – even those who weren’t present. I could hear you guys from up here. I never knew you both had such melodramatic streaks. You two definitely have some issues you need to sort through. We don’t want anything to distract us from the task at hand, after all.” He waved the book he was wiping. Cat’s Eye, by Margaret Atwood. One of my personal favourites.
Caleb leaned against a stack next to him, surveying the dusty, messy storeroom for some other topic. “How’re things here?”
Hyde nodded in grim satisfaction, as though he had rid the area of adversarial pests. “I’ve thrown out a few boxes of old books – they’re over by the store cupboard.” He waved a stack of papers at us. “And I’m checking the list now, see which ones haven’t been rented or touched within the past year.”
“What about all these then?”
“Oh, these? I’m still deciding what to do with them.”
“Wait, wait, stop.” I edged past another pile of hard-covers to reach him. “You can’t just throw out old books, or books that people hardly read. There’s a reason why these books can’t be sold. People aren’t interested in them.”
Hyde frowned while Caleb said, “We’re listening.”
“So we can’t offer them just old or unpopular books. We’d have to throw in some new ones, or some bestsellers, so people won’t think the bookfair’s just some clearance sale for the junk we have.”
“Good point.” Caleb straightened up, headed over to the boxes Hyde had packed and undid all his work.
Hyde’s outraged spluttering was cut short by a phone call, though he did shoot me a dark look and he pulled his cellphone out.
Over by the store cupboard, Caleb rolled his eyes. “He gave her a personalised ring-tone?”
“Belle, is everything okay?”
And I knew from the cloud over his eyes that everything was far from okay.
“Have you called an ambulance?”
An ambulance? I exchanged a worried look with Caleb.
“Okay, just stay calm, Belle. We’ll be right over … Are you sure? Okay, see you there then.”
Caleb was with us by the time Hyde had hung up. “What’s wrong?”
“Your grandfather’s had a heart attack. The ambulance is on its way. Belle’s got the boys. She’ll meet us at the hospital.”
We dropped whatever books we were holding and bolted for Hyde’s Toyota. With a swift flick of his fingers, Hyde turned off the radio, which had been blaring Highway to Hell. I looked over at Caleb, who was staring out the window.
“He’s going to be okay, Caleb,” Hyde said. His voice was flat, and entirely too loud in the car.
It was not until Hyde pulled to a stop that it hit me where I actually was.
The ambulance was already there, and the paramedics were wheeling the stretcher into the hospital. On it laid an old man whom I supposed was Caleb’s grandfather.
Hyde burst out of the car and rushed over to Belle’s side. Her eyes were unfocused and red-rimmed, and she was staring wildly around. When Hyde got to her, she collapsed into his arms, taking deep breaths to stop herself from crying. She had Sawyer in one hand, wailing, and Oliver’s hand in another. Oliver was, for once, not restlessly squirming out of his mother’s grip.
I walked over to him. “Hey, Oliver.”
He stared up at me, eyes wide and lost, and I knelt down in front of him. Although what could I possibly say? Everything was going to be okay?
“You’ll see your grandpa soon.” I patted his head.
He jutted out his lips as though ready to cry. “Was it my fault?”
“What? No.” He looked so miserable I had to give him a hug. “No, Oliver. It wasn’t your fault, okay? You must never think that.”
Belle was trying to relate what happened to Hyde, but I could hardly make head or tail of what she was saying.
“Come on, let’s get in there,” Hyde said, and guided her with an arm around her.
And then I understood why this all seemed so familiar to me. I recognised the stammering, the sudden inability to say anything, the need to be led somewhere, to be told what to do. All around me, people were talking, yelling, moving, and lights were flashing. Nothing made any sense. The world had come to a standstill, so why hadn’t they all?
The building was a higher one the other time, and there were more windows. I remember wondering briefly why the glass had to be tinted. I remember knowing, before he was wheeled inside, that everything was over. He hadn’t been breathing anymore by the time help came; there was nothing they could do.
I had stood there alone, watching as the paramedics reported into their walkie-talkies and ran inside, until someone took me by my shoulders and led me in.
The hallway was long. It seemed like I would never reach the end, or wherever it was that they had taken Blake to. The place smelt horrible, an amalgamation of medicine and antiseptics, rubber gloves and stainless steel equipments. There was the constant buzz of voices, and the sound made by pattering feet, but all I could hear was the screaming of the tyres and the shattering of glass.
And suddenly there was the tightness in my chest, just like the one I had felt as I ran down that hallway a month ago. It just felt like everything was closing in on me, squeezing tears out of my eyes, squeezing air out of my lungs, out of my head.
“Kristen. Kristen.”
I blinked, only to find that I was panting.
Caleb had his arms around me, and I was on the floor. “Are you okay?”
I got up quickly. This was the most inconvenient time to indulge in myself. “I’m fine. Let’s get inside.”


Sixteen


“Repetition does not transform a lie into a truth.”
~ Franklin D. Roosevelt (1882 – 1945),


“Are you sure you’re okay? You were a little woozy back there.”
“I’m fine, Caleb. Really.”
“I’ll go get you something to drink.”
Before I could say anything, he had gone off to ask Belle the same thing.
“Ah, just leave him be, kid,” Hyde said, coming over to me. “He needs to keep himself busy or he’ll go nuts.”
“I can’t stand this waiting,” Belle said, staring up at the In Operation light.
Oliver was uncharacteristically quiet. He sat on the orange plastic chairs, unmoving, staring stonily ahead. I always thought it always scary when kids sat alone with their own thoughts, even though I’d been one such kid myself.
So I sat down next to him. “Why do you think it’s your fault, Oliver?” For someone who had been through enough therapy sessions, I knew what a relief it was when people just cut straight to the chase.
He stared down, and his cheeks puffed up the way only kids’ could. “Because Aunty Annabel used to say I was so naughty someday people would get hurt because of me.”
I stared. “Aunty Annabel said that?”
He nodded, looking miserable again.
“Well, Aunty Annabel’s wrong.” I hoped he could hear the insistence in my voice. “It’s not because you’re naughty that your grandpa’s hurt.”
I felt a tap on my shoulder, and looked up to see a cup of tea proffered.
Belle gratefully held the cup with both hands. “Caleb, have you called your mother?”
He nodded. “But she’s not picking up. Neither is Gabriel. I keep getting directed to voicemail. I left her messages. Jade and Ri are on their way.”
Belle pursed her lips and took a sip from her cup. “I just think,” she said, licking her lips, “that something like that would at least pique her concern.”
“She’s probably busy at the moment,” Caleb said.
“Too busy to see her father when he’s in the ER, apparently.” She glanced up at the In Operation sign again, her lips back into a tightly-sewn thread.

*

Finally, when the light in the In Operation sign went off and the doctor came out, all of us leapt out of our respective positions for what he had to say.
Caleb’s granddad was in a stabilised condition, but had to stay in the hospital for a week for observation. Since he was still unconscious and needed to rest, Belle told Caleb to close up the bookstore for the day.
“I’ll give you a hand,” I told Caleb.
Jade narrowed her eyes at me again, as Reilly said, taking her aunt’s hand, “Are you sure you don’t need us here, Aunt Belle?”
“No, it’s fine. He needs to rest. I’ll be leaving soon after, anyway. I suppose Oliver wants some time with his grandpa.” She stroked Oliver’s hair as she looked down at him. The boy’s eyes were glassy and far-off.
“I’ll give you kids a ride, then,” Hyde said. Turning to Belle, he added, “I’ll come back soon to take you all home.” His softened eyes hardly matched his beefy, tattooed body.
“Thank you for all this, Hyde,” Belle said, resolutely keeping her hands to herself even though it was obvious she wanted to clasp his.
Hyde cleared his throat, and glanced at Caleb and me watching. “Yeah. Later.” He patted her shoulder once.
Oliver was still quiet. He did not respond when Caleb put his arm around him and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy.”
“He thinks this is all his fault,” I told Caleb as we climbed into the junk-filled Toyota. For some reason, though, I figured it would be better if I left out the part about Aunty Annabel.
Caleb nodded. “He’s been through a lot today. But he’ll be okay. He’ll be fine. He just needs a day or two. Then everything will be back to normal. He’ll be just fine.”
In the driver’s seat, Hyde said, “So, no damage. That’s good news, right?” He reached forth and turned on the radio. Soon, Lynyrd Skynyrd was extolling the beauties of Sweet Home Alabama.
Reilly flicked a wisp of hair out of her face. In the distance, the setting sun offered its last rays for the day. “I cannot believe she didn’t even show up,” she proclaimed over the twang of guitars.
We all knew straight away whom she was referring to.
“She was probably busy, Ri,” Jade said, frowning. She reached forward and fiddled with the A/C. “Does this thing work?”
Reilly rolled her eyes. “And how many times have we all used that line.”
“By the way,” Caleb said lowly, leaning towards me slightly, “I’m sorry about all that.”
I turned to look at him. “All what? What do you have to be sorry for?”
“I’m sorry you had to be at the hospital with us this afternoon.”
The glance that Hyde snuck into the rear-view mirror was not missed by me.
“You know, you obviously have an issue with hospitals. So,” Caleb said, over my noise of protest, “to put you through all that was thoughtless of me.”
“It wasn’t a big deal for me.”
He cast a sidelong glance at me. “Are you kidding? You were almost hyperventilating back there. Wasn’t she, Hyde?”
Hyde froze, caught in the act of eavesdropping. “Well –”
“Just drive.” I glared at Caleb. “I said I’m fine. It’s the smell that makes me woozy.”
Jade gave up on the A/C. “Does she even know grandpa’s in hospital? Maybe she didn’t, and you’d have accused her of ignorance, which isn’t even her fault.”
But it turned out that Mrs Burnstead did know. It also turned out that she had erased all the voice and text messages she received. When we got home, my parents were on the couch, watching TV, while the Burnsteads had just gotten home.
“I just don’t understand why you would do that,” Reilly said, tossing her keys on the coffee table.
“What happened?” mom asked.
“Caleb’s grandfather had a heart attack. Hospitalised, but he’s okay for now,” I muttered.
“I was busy, Reilly,” Mrs Burnstead said as she came serenely down the stairs. “We were both in the middle of a meeting. We couldn’t possibly just leave.”
Reilly stared at her mother. “Sure you can.”
“Besides, he’s fine, Reilly,” Mr Burnstead said with what he probably supposed was a placating shrug, an arm on the back of the couch where his wife sat. “No harm done.”
“This conversation does not include you,” Reilly snapped.
“That’s enough, Reilly.”
But apparently, Reilly had had enough too. Grabbing her keys again, she flounced out of the house, making it a point to slam the door on the way out.
My mother winced, but Mrs Burnstead just continued down the stairs and went into the kitchen.
So it was more of a relief than usual when it was just Caleb and me on the moonlight porch with our steaming mugs of Earl Grey. My room was still not repaired, despite what Mr Burnstead promised, but it wasn’t like I spent a lot of time in it, anyway.
Tonight, the moon was full and bright, the sky clear. As usual, he was there earlier than I was, my mug in my place next to him.
“Welcome to family drama,” was the first thing he said to me when I sat down next to him.
“It’s okay for me. I’ve got some of my own too. I just don’t want to be present when yours unravels.”
“I know, awkward, isn’t it?” He chuckled. “Reilly, always so melodramatic. I think Jade might take after her.”
“But aren’t you mad at all that your mom couldn’t even make it to the hospital today?” I only realised how much I had overstepped the boundaries after I had uttered that. “I mean –”
“She hasn’t been in contact with her family since before I can remember, so why would she start now?”
“She hasn’t? Why?” It was too late to stop asking now.
He took a long sip, and then glanced at me.
“Okay, that was one too many prying questions, I guess,” I said.
“I always suspected some kind of jealousy going on.”
“You mean between your mom and Belle?”
He nodded. “Sibling rivalry and all that. Mom never got over the fact that grandpa left the Old Belle in Aunt Belle’s hands … among other things.”
“So….”
“So that day when she came over to the Old Belle was the closest contact she had with Aunt Belle. You notice she didn’t even invite her or grandpa to the fete.”
It was a balmy night and the crickets were chirping, as restless as we were. So we made a random decision to visit Hyde at the cemetery. As we began walking, Caleb asked, “So what really went on with you at the hospital today?”
I figured since he had been pretty open about his family to me, the least I could do was give him back an honest response. So I vomited everything sensation I experienced today, the bitter aftertaste that the hospital left, the tense exchange of foreign lingo over the indifferent beeps of cold live-saving machines, the realisation of what was lost.
I had never understood the effect of catharsis, but this, I was sure, was certainly what it felt like.
“See? Don’t you feel better already?” He shot me a grin. “You see, we all want to get it out, even though we think we don’t. We just need someone to give a little nudge, and everything will pour out.”
I nodded, smiling, and then not. “I miss him.”
“I can’t pretend to know what it feels like to lose someone like that. But right now, time is what you have. And time is all you can count on to ease the hurt. Besides,” he added, bumping me with his shoulder, “I’m here if you want to trade some truths and secrets.”
“Trade? So this is how we do it now, is it?”
He shrugged. “Sounds fair to me.”
“You’ve really got some issue with sharing information about yourself, don’t you?
He snorted. “You’re one to talk.”
It was, I suppose, true.
He stuck out a hand. “Do you promise to trade fairly?”
“But you already know everything about me.” He raised his brows. “Okay, practically everything.”
“Maybe so, but – whoa!”
I had tripped over an uneven slab of granite and would have fallen flat on my face had Caleb not reached out and grabbed me.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, no damage.” I straightened, and he let go of me.
“So in addition to having the worst sense of direction, you’re also klutsy.” He grinned and shook his head. “Amazing.”
“I may’ve had a better sense of direction if you’d been a better tour guide.”
“Sure, blame me.”
We entered the cemetery by the side gate, which was never locked, but was almost entirely hidden by out-of-control vines and weeds so hardly anyone spotted it, anyway.
It was different tonight at the cemetery. Maybe because it was a full moon tonight, or that the silence around us seemed restless, or maybe because Caleb was here with me. Either way, I was not mistaking – wildly, stupidly hoping – any dark figure to reveal himself to be my dead boyfriend this time.
“Won’t he be asleep?” I whispered to Caleb as we navigated our way to the guardhouse with the help of the moonlight and the flashlight Caleb thought to bring.
“Then we’ll just be making sure he does his job by waking him up. You’ll be surprised at the number of grave desecrations and midnight explorations that take place here. Kids.” He shook his head, and then patted my back. “Come on. It’s just up ahead.”
The guardhouse was a spot of light in the distance. When we approached it, however, Hyde was not in it.
“Probably patrolling the place, then,” Caleb said.
We were on our way to Caleb’s grandmother’s grave (actually, we were looking for it more than anything else) when we heard a voice, small and muffled by the smothering coat of night.
It is not who you think it is, it is not who you want it to be. I kept flipping that over and over in my mind, ready to quell any ripple of hope that dared to take shape.
And it wasn’t him, of course. For the second time in a week, a cemetery caretaker appeared where I wanted Blake to. This time, though, he was on the phone.
Hyde motioned for us to stay where we were, as he said, “I’ve found two more people who can help. Caleb and Kristen are coming along.”
Caleb and I exchanged a look.
“Stay focused, Belle. Consider all possibilities. He’s going to be okay. Call me when – yeah, okay.” He snapped his cellphone shut and wasted not a second.
“Oliver’s missing.”


Seventeen


“A man's most open actions have a secret side to them.”
~ Joseph Conrad (English writer, 1857 – 1924)


“He’s only four years old. Where can he possibly run off to? He’d barely have developed a sense of direction.”
I glanced at Caleb, only to see him looking at me too.
“Okay,” Hyde went on, “you two go along the beach, I’ll go comb the marketplace.”
The marketplace, I had learned, was the centralised region where Ristrot’s and most of all the other shops were located.
I tried to think like a four-year-old. Where would a hyperactive, guilt-ridden one go?
“She doesn’t let him go anywhere on his own – obviously, seeing as how he’s only four – so there’s no particular hangout or anything.”
The yellow glare of the Toyota’s headlights was the only thing that helped us find our way through the dark dirt path through the trees to the beach. Soon, Hyde stopped the car since there was no way the car could drive any further without flipping over a tree root.
“Call us if you find him,” he said as Caleb and I got out of the car. We fell back into darkness after he had driven off.
“Okay, you go that way, and I’ll comb this side … Kristen?” He leant down slightly so he was at eye level with me. “What’s the matter?”
The sea was calm tonight, the tide low. Lights winked in the distance. “I just wish I’d been able to talk him out of that crazy idea that it was his fault.”
“Hey.”
I looked at him.
“This is no-one’s fault, not Oliver’s, not yours. If Oliver’s beating himself up over grandpa, I don’t want you doing the same thing just because you couldn’t snap him out of it. Okay?”
When I nodded, he said, “Alright, now let’s go look for him. Be careful.”
He squeezed my arm before heading off towards more trees, the moonlight casting a pale silver glow upon him.
“Oliver? Oliver!”
Already, our efforts felt futile. How on earth were we going to find him?
Being unable to do anything else, that was what I did. I called his name over and over as I walked along the stretch of beach. Initially, there were a few tents and campfires where I was.
“Hey,” one of the campers called out. “Are you lost?”
“No, someone else is.” They were all staring at me, their features only dimly illuminated by the fire they were sitting around.
“You’re welcome to join us.” He gestured to a spot next to him.
“No, thanks. It’s fine,” I said, and blindly headed off.
After a while, however, I was aware of how I was walking further away from the light and warmth, and towards the wall of darkened trees.
There were private holiday shacks scattered about, some rundown and some grand and smelling of expensive wood. I figured there was no harm checking them. If a child got lost, he would look for a house, wouldn’t he?
The first one I came to sat in a large clearing. It had an impenetrable fence and a doorknob too high for a four-year-old to reach, so I moved on to the next, calling out for Oliver all the while.
It wasn’t until I reached the last one until I heard voices. A conversation. I had no idea how deep I had gone, so I might as well ask them if they had seen Oliver and how I could get out of there.
There was no fence this time, and the front door was left open. The shack, unlike the others, was just a one storey-high unpainted one with loose floorboards that creaked. I cringed as a groan dragged itself out, and then stayed still.
I was about to call for Oliver, until I heard footsteps pounding away from where I was standing.
“Dad!” the voice hissed. “Dad, I need your help.”
“Well, nice to see you too, stranger.” The second person spoke at a normal decibel. It felt like déjà vu, and then not. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, and I had the feeling of encountering that person before, but there was no-one I could put my finger on.
A pause, and then, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
That voice was uncannily familiar.
“It means, my dear son, that I’ve hardly seen you at all this past week – well, except for yesterday, that is, at Highmont Lane. You’re not too busy with your new girlfriend to bother about your old dad here now, are you?”
“If you could just shift your attention from yourself for one moment” – it sounded like he was gritting his teeth – “Oliver’s missing.”
Wait. Oliver?
I took another step forward, slowly easing the pressure off the creaky floorboard, and shifted so the entire living room was into view. It was only lit up by a fluorescent table lamp in the middle of the coffee table. On the coffee table were crossword and Sudoku puzzles and a couple of pencils.
A transistor radio was playing softly next to the lamp, and a hand reached out to turn it off.
Caleb.
What was he doing here? And who could it be that he was speaking to? Not Gabriel, obviously. For one thing, it did not sound like him – and what would he be doing here, anyway? And for another, Caleb never called Gabriel dad. And what was that about Highmont Lane again?
“Oliver’s missing,” Caleb said again.
If it weren’t for his father’s response, they probably might have heard my gasp, for he had turned around to look at Caleb. I whipped back against the wall I had been hiding behind, both my hands clamped onto my mouth.
It wasn’t déjà vu, just like I suspected, because I had met him before. Now that I thought about it, the truth was obvious. Caleb had not been worried for me yesterday at Highmont Lane. It was his father he had been worried for. This, this was the reason for his disinclination to dwell on the subject of their acquaintance.
As I inched out to peek at them again, Caleb’s father demanded, “When did you know of that? Where was he the last time you saw him?”
What I did not understand, however, was why he was so concerned about Oliver. If he had chosen to leave them all, why did he care whether Oliver was found? Did he even know who Oliver was?
“Aunt Belle called in the middle of the night. Said she went to check on him on the way to the washroom. And he wasn’t in bed, or anywhere in the house.”
“Jeez.” He got up from his chair, and I saw a bowl of Fruit Loops on the table. “Is it so difficult to keep an eye on a child? She has to be the worst mother I have ever seen.” After shovelling a spoonful of Fruit Loops into his mouth, he said, Come on, let’s go find him, then.”
I could tell Caleb wanted to say something, but hesitated before settling for, “You can’t blame her. Grandpa was hospitalised today. Everyone’s a little frazzled.”
“Still, there’s no reason why you can’t keep your kid in his bed.”
“She’s handling three jobs.” I could hear the frown in his voice even though it didn’t show on his face.
Caleb’s father shrugged. “So is he okay?”
“Who, Oliver? Obviously, he isn’t. He’s missing.”
“I meant your grandfather.”
“Oh. He’s fine, still needs some time in the hospital for observation, but otherwise fine.”
“Mm.”
They started walking towards where I was. It was a wonder how while panicking, I still remembered which floorboards were the creaky ones, and scuttled out before I could be spotted.
As they strode out through the trees, it struck me how similar they looked – the way the walked and their firm, tall physiques could have made them brothers if I didn’t know any better.
Caleb suddenly turned to his father with annoyance in his eyes. “And what the hell was that you played this afternoon?”
“Played what?”
“You know what. That rescuing thing with Kristen.”
I froze.
“Were you out of your mind?”
“Oh, that.” He chuckled, but received a frosty silence in response. “Oh, come on. I was bored out of my skull in this broken down shack. I mean, you stow me inside here for a month and expect me to stay in there all day, doing crossword puzzles?”
There was a gloomy pause.
“Besides, I didn’t hurt your girlfriend. All I wanted to do was chat with her a little. Have a little human contact with someone other than you. Not that you’re such a poor companion, of course. It’s just –”
“You were standing in front of an entire row of houses, dad. In full view. Which part of the word risky do you not understand? Do you want to go back to jail – is that it? You’re sick of running from the law and now you’re just –”
“Hey, don’t take that tone with me, Caleb –” His eyes snapped to attention, like a deer suddenly aware of a predator nearby.
I tried not to move, which was a feat seeing as how I had just slipped on some wet leaves and stubbed my toe against a tree root.
“I’m just saying,” Caleb went on, more calmly, “that you were the one who chose this life. You have to be careful, or it’s back to jail for you. It’s just too bad you’re bored. You should have thought of that before you burgled that house and stole that car. I can’t do anything if you’re wanted by the police.”
“Alright, enough with the lecturing already. I don’t need my son telling me what to do.”
I silently thanked Caleb for not having heard me.
“By the way, I don’t know if you noticed, but that girl.…”
Having steeled myself for something along the lines of she’s crazy or how weird is she, I was taken aback when he said, “She couldn’t take her eyes off you the whole time you were with her.”
My face was aflame in the dark; I almost expected it to give off a reddish glow and betray my presence.
“That’s because she was grateful for my showing up while you were scaring her with your unshaven face and request to let you take her back to civilisation,” Caleb said, not missing a beat.
“My shaver’s rusty. I can’t possibly use it anymore.”
Caleb sighed. I barely missed tripping on another root. “Fine. I’ll get you a new one tomorrow.”
“So why did Oliver run away, anyway?”
“He feels it’s his fault that grandpa is in the hospital. I don’t know where he got that idea from, but he was really quiet today and –”
A snap cracked the muffled air, and I slowly lifted my foot to see a twig – now in two – underneath.
“Who’s there?” Caleb’s dad called out.
There was a pause, where I waited, holding my breath still.
“Someone’s here,” he said, and turned around. I could hear the grim determination to find me in his voice.
“Maybe it was an animal, dad,” Caleb said, sounding exasperated. “Or a stray camper.”
“We have to make sure.”
That was when I turn tailed and ran, not caring if a hundred twigs snapped under my feet.

*

The campers were still there, huddled around their pitiable little fire, beer cans littered around them.
“Hey.” He waved. “You found who you lost yet?”
Not even close. “Not yet.”
“Well, good luck.” He raised his beer can at me.
“Thanks.”
Roughly an hour passed before I finally found Oliver at a playground near the bicycle rental shop. He was perched on one end of the see-saw, kicking sand at his feet.
“Oliver,” I sighed, thanking the world that he was okay, and broke into a jog towards him. “Oliver,” I said again as I knelt down next to him. “Hey. You had trouble sleeping?”
“Is grandpa going to be okay?”
“He is okay, Oliver. You don’t have to worry, he wouldn’t want you too.”
“But Aunty Annabel told me –”
“Aunty Annabel is bullshitting.” She had no right to say that to him, considering that she knew nothing about her family because she chose to disconnect herself from it.
“You swore.”
“What?”
A grin crept onto his face. “You said bullsh –”
“Yeah, I know,” I said quickly. After a brief moment, I asked him if he was ready to go home. “You made us all really worried by running off like that.”
“I didn’t know where to go, though. The playground’s no fun at this time of the day.” He looked up at the sky. “Night.”
“That’s because everyone’s in bed like they should be,” I said, waiting for Caleb to pick up his phone.
“Why aren’t you in bed, then?”
“Because I –” Unknowingly, Caleb saved me by answering the call at that moment.
“Kristen?”
“Caleb, I found him.”
I heard a brief muffled conversation, where Caleb probably had his hand over the speaker. He was still with his father, then.
We hung up after I described our location.
I sat on the other end of the see-saw. “Oliver? What else did Aunty Annabel say to you?”
He scrunched up his face. “It was a long time ago. But she doesn’t seem to like me very much. Or mommy. Mommy tells me to just leave her alone and not make her angry whenever she comes back. Aunty Annabel pretends not to see us when sometimes. I know she sees us.”
“Did your grandpa ever talk about her?”
“We don’t talk about her a lot.” He bounced a few times on the see-saw, clearly bored with this topic. Then he hopped off and climbed up the slide. It was amazing how much energy that little pint-sized thing could have in him, even at night. But at least he was not beating himself up anymore.
When Caleb, Hyde and Belle arrived, Oliver was still going at it, scaling the net to what looked like a turret. Belle and Hyde rushed to him, Belle in tears but trying to look angry.
I tried to glance around subtly, wondering where Caleb’s father was hiding.
“Who else are we waiting for?”
“Huh?” I snapped back to attention.
Caleb was staring around like I was. “Are we expecting anyone else?”
I stopped looking and fixed my gaze on him. “No. No-one else.”


Eighteen


The only way to get the best of an argument is to avoid it.”
~ Dale Carnegie (American lecturer and writer, 1888 – 1955)


It was bright when I woke up.
For a moment, nothing made sense. There was an unfamiliar sense of restfulness in me that I had not experienced in ages. Looking around, I realised I had actually fallen asleep. Dreamlessly.
And then I remembered how Caleb and I had both felt strangely tired after having found Oliver last night, that we had gathered our mugs of cold tea from the porch step and collapsed into our beds the minute we came back. Or at least, I had.
“Morning,” Jade said, breezing in and pulling her hair into a ponytail in front of the dressing table. “This must be the first time since you came here that you wake up later than me.” She threw a sidelong glance at me. “That is, if you even sleep at all.”
I gave her a polite smile.
“You don’t, do you.”
“What time is it?”
“Ten-fifteen.” She stopped brushing her ponytail and hopped onto my bed. “So what do you and my brother do at night? Grave-digging?”
My eyes widened. “You know about Caleb’s insomnia?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course I do. He scared the pants off me the first time I went down for a glass of water and saw him at the kitchen table.”
“Oh.”
Her gaze narrowed as she pursed her lips. “So … I don’t mean to pry. I mean, I know it’s none of my business, but – are you and my brother…?” She raised her brows suggestively.
“What? No. No, we’re not.” That was not enough to satisfy her, so I clarified further, “It’s just, we both have difficulty sleeping, so we thought we might as well have some company.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“He said his sleeping problems started about three years ago,” I said, “when everything started – or ended, depending on how I see it. What does that mean?”
Taking a deep breath, she said, fiddling with my bed-sheets, “He’s probably going to kill me for blabbing, but personally, I think it’s unhealthy to sweep everything under the carpet.”
“Of course.”
She fixed me with an appraising look before saying, “My parents – my real parents, that is – had some problems. Well, a lot of problems. Dad had some trouble at work – and there was something else too, but I don’t know what – and pretty soon, my parents stopped talking to one another. It was almost a year-long ongoing cold war. And then dad went to jail, and mom married Gabriel and moved us all here –”
“What was your dad in jail for?”
She stopped and stared, as though suddenly realising whom she was telling all this to and how much she had said. “Please,” she said, her eyes wide and begging, “don’t tell Caleb – or anyone – I told you this. I swear, sometimes my mouth is so huge I should really put a needle and thread to it.”
It was, I supposed, too late to ask any further questions, so I mimed zipping my lips.
“Kristen,” Jade went on. “Don’t get me wrong. I mean, you seem nice and all, but in this estate, people talk, and I don’t know what to think. My brother is obviously crazy about you.” Surprise must have registered on my face, because she said, “Yes, he is. I’m sure of it. I mean, it’s obvious, how he seems to want to hang out with you so much and help you out with your mother and all, even with his, you know, disinclination to be around people.”
“Oh, no, actually we –”
“But I also heard what those people said about you mistaking him for your” – her voice dropped to a whisper, as she looked around in case, say, a spirit may be lurking nearby – “boyfriend at the fete the other day.”
I waited for her bottom line.
“My brother may be a huge pain, but I’m sure even he doesn’t deserve being stuck in the frame of your old boyfriend that you keep trying to squeeze him into.”
My mouth hung open. “I don’t –”
She shrugged. “I’m just saying.” Bouncing off my bed, she added, “Get dressed, Kristen. We’re going to visit grandpa. You know Caleb will ask you to come along too.”
Caleb was just back from his run when I went downstairs. We met at the end of the stairway, as he pulled out his earphones.
“Imagine that.”
“What?”
“We both actually fell asleep. At night. Like normal people.” He grinned.
“Maybe Oliver sucks the life out of people around him so he’s always full of energy.”
“That has always been my theory,” he deadpanned.
“So, last night….”
He waited.
“Was so unexpected, wasn’t it?”
“I guess it was.”
I nodded, waiting for him to go on.
Giving me a strange look, he said, “Oliver doesn’t usually pull vanishing acts like this. Never had, in fact.”
He was not taking the bait. And why should he? He had no reason to think I knew about his secret. Was it even a secret? Maybe Hyde and the rest knew about it, and just weren’t talking about it.
But if he was not going to share anything, then there was no sense letting him know what I knew. What good would that do, after all?
I did not know what good it would do, but it certainly brought a lot of inconvenience. Keeping secrets from everyone – including the person whose secret you were keeping – was a chore I had never been forced to bear.
It was even worse when you had to look your unofficial psychiatrist in the eye and tell him there was nothing you were hiding from him.
After visiting Caleb’s granddad (who, though still tired out, was able to keep up with everyone present), Dr Tang gave me a call and asked for a private lunch, just the two of us. It was not at Ristrot’s this time, but a quiet little café near his office.
“I thought I’d like to hear your side of the story, without anyone else here to judge or interrupt,” he said, adding half a packet of sugar to his tea.
“My side?” Was there even a side to any of this? Death was a universally-understood concept.
He shrugged. “Well, you must have something to say about all that has happened.”
Where do I start, I thought wryly.
“You could begin,” he said, keeping a shrewd eye on me as he sipped his tea, “from anywhere you choose. We don’t even have to talk about anything before you came here. How’s living with a bunch of strangers been?”
“Good.” I forked a piece of salmon into my mouth. “Good.”
“Hey, you should really try this,” he suddenly said, chomping down on his Philly cheese-steak sandwich. “It’s really good. I never get tired of it.” He cut out a bite-sized portion of it and laid it on my plate.
I looked down at it. “Is this laced with truth-telling powder so your job would be easier?”
He laughed. “I wish I had some of that, sometimes. But that wouldn’t be right, somehow. Now try it.” He nodded at my plate.
I was surprised to find myself smiling as I thought of how addicted Caleb was to the Philly cheese-steak sandwich from here too.
Dr Tang smiled. “What’s the joke?”
Shrugging, I said, “It’s just – Caleb loves the Philly cheese-steak sandwich from here as well. It’s like he lives just for it.”
He smiled mildly. “Really.”
“Did you know,” I went on, not understanding why I was about to tell him this, seeing as how he hadn’t even asked (could this be the reverse psychology that everyone kept talking about?), “when I first got here, I couldn’t look Caleb properly in the eye.”
“Why’s that?”
I looked down at my salmon. “There was just something in his face that reminded me of … you know.”
“Ah.”
I looked up.
“I see. But you must have gotten over that. You seemed fine in his presence last week over lunch. More at ease, I would even venture to say.”
“And it’s not just that. He likes Hemingway too, and …” I struggled to shrink everything into a sentence, and then wondered why the hell I was even bothering to do so, when Dr Tang was not even probing. “He just reminds me of everything I thought I’d left behind for good.”
“Left behind for good? Do you think that’s possible?”
What was that Hyde had said that day at Miss Macy’s? Escaping the past does no one any good?
“If Caleb can do it, I don’t see why I can’t.”
“Caleb? How did this become about him too?”
Maybe it was high time for me to shut my mouth.
“Kristen?”
“Just something I heard. It’s not important.”
“Well, of course, we’re here to talk about you, not Caleb. But I trust you’re referring to that incident a while back involving his father.”
Gasping, I looked up at him. But of course, he would know. There were no secrets in Wroughton.
“What exactly happened?”
He levelled an appraising look at me before saying, “Like I said, we’re here to talk about you….”
“Yes, but this is important.”
“But you just said it isn’t,” he said. “What made you change your mind?”
This was possibly the most frustrating conversation I had ever had. “I’m just curious, alright? Caleb never talks about his dad, and I think his overwhelming desire to solve my family problems may be due to whatever it is he’s unwilling to share.”
“Maybe it would be better if you reconsidered what this is really about. Your trying to make this about Caleb is evident of how avoidant you are of your unresolved issues –”
“I’m not the avoidant one. It’s Caleb who –”
“You had two people you dearly loved leave you in a short period of time,” he said in that infuriatingly calm tone. “I understand if you wish to delay talking about it, but you don’t have to be ashamed of your feelings.”
“Why don’t you ask him what he’s ashamed about?”
“Because, Kristen, he isn’t the one who had witnessed a horrible death of someone he loved, nor is he the one whose parent left him. Plus,” he said, over my protests, “he doesn’t sleepwalk or hallucinate and cause accidents while doing so.”
“But his father left him before.” My face burned – with heat or shame, I did not know – and the words tumbled out of my mouth. “And now he’s back, and Caleb’s at his beck and call, even though the man doesn’t seem to care about him at all. Isn’t there something wrong with that?”
In the silence that followed, his brows were raised, and then he frowned, either unsure what to make of what I had blabbed, or just plain confused.
“I’m done. We should get going,” I said, and wiped my mouth with my napkin.
He was still staring at me strangely. “You do know that anything we talk about stays strictly between us, don’t you?”
I nodded, starting to sweat.
“You can tell me anything, if you want to.”
I nodded again.
“Well,” he said, calling for the bill. “This has been pleasant. You have my number, Kristen. Call me for meeting if you feel like a chat.”
I felt drained after we had parted ways. Therapy session with Dr Oliveiro was a walk in the park compared to this.
“Hello, Kristen.”
As I turned around, gasping after my scream, I saw his amused expression.
“You – how did –”
“I don’t think I’ve formally introduced myself to you.” He smiled. It was a tight one that involved only the stretching of his lips. “I’m Gareth, Caleb’s father.”
“I –”
“Oh, there’s no need to look so frightened. I’m not going to kidnap you or anything.” He glanced around and took my arm. “I do need to take this elsewhere, though.”
How did he find me? Could he have bumped into me again? That was unlikely, seeing as how he was not even supposed to come out of the shack at all. But then, he didn’t care about that, did he?
“If you make me take another step further, I’ll scream.” We had already rounded a corner into a relatively empty street.
“You won’t,” he said with an easy confidence. “If you wanted to expose me, you would have just told the shrink about me just now.”
He was right. I was not planning on really screaming at all. So I settled for asking, “You were eavesdropping?”
“I wouldn’t call it that, really. I was just in the vicinity, and I heard two people talking about my son – and eventually, me – so I thought I should listen in on the conversation.”
“That’s eavesdropping.”
What exactly did he want? He had obviously come looking for me.
“I know it was you last night, Kristen.”
I felt my breath catch. He knew. How could he have? Maybe he was just guessing.
“Last night?”
He shook his head, as though indulging an unrepentant child. “Let’s skip the bullshit, shall we? I know it was you last night at the shack. You followed Caleb there. And you know about us, don’t you?”
“I – I only know you’re his father.”
“Come now, Kristen.” He chuckled, but my heart still thudded heavily. “I’m not going to do anything to you to keep your mouth shut. You’ll do so on your own, anyway –”
“What makes you so sure?”
His eyes widened. It seemed I had gotten him properly worried. He bent down slightly and said in a voice so low it was almost a growl, “Listen, little girl. You have no business getting involved here. This concerns only me and my son, you understand me?”
“By involved, do you mean getting him in trouble?”
“No,” another voice said from behind me. I whirled around. “By involved, he means helping because he’s my father.” Caleb shifted the stack of magazines he was carrying to another arm, staring levelly at me.
“Caleb, I….” Why was everyone sneaking up on everyone now?
“There, see?” Gareth said, clapping his hands once, as though everything was settled.
“Isn’t he wanted by the police?” Since they both already knew it was me outside the shack last night, might as well get everything out in the open.
“Why do you think he’s got me holed up in that shack?” Gareth said, jerking his thumb at Caleb as he rolled his eyes. “Bored out of my skull, too, might I add?”
“He can’t hide you forever!”
“Will you two stop talking about me as if I’m not here?”
I turned to Caleb. “So you’re just going to keep hiding him there and bring him food everyday?”
“And crossword puzzles,” Gareth muttered.
“What if he gets caught one day?”
“No, he won’t,” Caleb said.
“Because we’re all going to make damn sure that’s not going to happen,” Gareth added. “And that, now, includes you as well.”
“Does it?”
Gareth shot an irate look at Caleb. I turned to look at Caleb too, and waited for what he had to say.
Under the pressure of our gazes, he ran his fingers through his hair and said, “Look, just give me some time to figure this out, okay?”
“Caleb, what is there to figure out?” Gareth asked, laughing as though the idea was absurd. “I’m your father, you help me not go back to jail – simple as that. What does she” – he pointed at me – “have to do with anything?”
Caleb said nothing. I waited, watching him.
“This is ridiculous,” Gareth muttered.
And then suddenly, something hard struck me on the back of my head.
I felt myself collapsing like a card-house. Caleb gave a shout of surprise and leapt forward.
That was when darkness claimed me.


Nineteen


“Having nothing, nothing can he lose.”
~ William Shakespeare (English playwright and poet, 1564 – 1616)


“I still can’t believe you just knocked her out cold like that.”
“Oh, don’t worry. It was just a tiny knock. Your girlfriend’s going to be fine.”
“Dad. Enough already.”
“We can’t risk her exposing us like that, Caleb. You heard what she said. She was threatening us.”
“The only person who’s going to risk exposing us is you.”
Splinters were stuck in my head. At least, it sure felt that way. I couldn’t even move an inch because it would feel like ice shards were stabbing my head viciously, so I made a noise to signal for some attention.
“Kristen?” Caleb said, a towel in one hand and a glass of water in another. He helped me sit up on the couch, placing a hand gently on the back of my head. “I’m really sorry about that. Here, drink up.” He handed me the glass of water.
I took the glass gratefully, as he pressed the wet towel lightly against the back of my head.
“Better?”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
He shook his head and turned to glare at his dad.
Gareth shrugged. “Told you she’d be fine.”
“Where are we?” I asked, looking around. The place looked vaguely familiar.
“The shack,” Caleb sighed. He turned to glower meaningfully at his dad, gesturing at me.
“Oh, alright,” Gareth grumbled, and then turned to stare glumly at me from where he sat, on a chair at the dining table. “Sorry for knocking you out like that, Kristen. Although if you’d just cooperated and made things less difficult for us, I wouldn’t have had to do that.”
“That,” Caleb said from my side, “is the worst apology I have ever heard.”
“Take it or leave it.” Gareth turned to me. “Hey, don’t look at me like I’m the bad guy, girl. Things aren’t as simple and clear-cut as they seem, and this is the only way for now.”
“Are you referring to your assaulting me, or this having you son conspiring to –”
“Whoa, whoa. Conspiring? You really have to get off your moral high horse, you know –”
“Enough.”
We both turned, out next words quelled.
Caleb sighed and turned to his dad. “Can you give us five minutes alone? Whip up something for us, or whatever.”
Gareth looked indignant at first, but got up grudgingly and headed for the kitchen. “Fine. You work your mojo on her. Fruit loops okay?” he added, rolling his eyes before disappearing out of sight.
“I know this seems like a bad idea,” Caleb began.
“Probably because it is,” I said. “Does anyone else know about it? Your mom? Reilly?”
“Only Aunt Belle. And now, you. No-one else needs to know. Aunt Belle only ever saw him once, and that was it.”
“Are you ever going to tell your mom, then?”
He shook his head. “This isn’t anyone else’s problem. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“So you’re just going to keep hiding him and hope nobody finds out?”
“If you have a better plan, I’d be happy to hear it.”
“Caleb, he has you running around, making sure he doesn’t get into trouble, going out of your way to hide him.” I was aware of how my voice was growing louder by the second. “And all he cares about is being fed and entertained. He doesn’t do anything else or help you ease your load in any way.”
“Watch it, girl,” Gareth called from the kitchen. “I can hear you from here, you know.”
Caleb ignored his father. His eyes glinted, hard, at me. “You don’t know anything, Kristen, so don’t even act like you have any right to say anything about this.”
“I have the right to make an observation,” I hissed. “And the fact you’re so disinclined to see is that that man is making use of you, living off you. That is not what a father who loves his son does –”
“And I suppose you have so much authority to say that because your mother left you so she could get more satisfaction out of life.”
My next words were caught in my throat for a while before I eked out, “It’s not the same, and you know it.”
We were silent for a while, looking off in different directions.
“And going back to you,” I said, “do you even know how long this is going to last? When is he ever going to stop hiding? Besides, it’s not that serious, is it? It’s just a few petty crimes. It won’t be the death sentence.”
“He’s bankrupt, Kristen,” he said quietly. “And those petty crimes can still land him in jail.” He sighed. “You know, I don’t have to stand here and answer your questions. It’s clear that you despise my dad, the life we lead, and you disapprove the decision I’ve made to help him –”
“I don’t, Caleb. It’s just, I think you can’t see where all this is leading to –”
“And you can?”
I pressed my lips tightly against each other.
“Look,” Caleb said. “Remember that talk about boundaries? We should keep our heads to our plates and leave each other’s problems alone.”
“I can’t stand by and watch you let be run by this man who cares nothing for you.”
“It’s none of your business! What are you going to do, turn us in?”
There was a pause, where we stared at each other. Caleb had paled visibly.
“You won’t, will you?”
I had never intended to, but in that space where I hesitated, caught off guard by his question, his raw fear, he had already formed ideas in his head.
“You wouldn’t.” He stared, and I still could not get my mouth working. “Would you? Would you really turn us in?”
“No.” I let the word sink in, blend irreversibly into the air between us. “No, I won’t. I promise.”
It was funny how I managed to say that, managed to utter that word, since every encounter I had with it ended exactly the way I feared it would.
“I’m sorry for the things I just said,” he said after a moment’s worth of silence. “Bringing in your mom was a low blow.”
It seemed we apologised to each other for the stuff we said a lot.
When I didn’t reply, he went on, “I know you don’t like my dad. I have to admit, he’s hard to like sometimes. But he’s still my father, Kristen, the one who taught me how to make my own bow-and-arrow and tie my shoelaces when I was young.”
“So what happened?”
“What?”
“What happened,” I said, “three years ago? Something made him leave, didn’t it?”
He assessed me. “I want an even trade.”
“What do you want to know?” I asked slowly.
“Was … was Blake your first boyfriend?”
My eyes widened. That was unexpected.
Caleb looked like he regretted opening his mouth now, but before he could take anything back, I said, “Yes. Yes, he was. Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “Just curious.”
It felt like such a long time ago that I had lost Blake, that I had even heard his name uttered or thought about him. And, like always, I felt guilty. Sorry that he had to leave alone, sorry that he was the one to leave when nothing was even his fault, sorry that I was not thinking about him as much as I should, sorry that I had gotten so involved in Caleb’s problem that I had come this close to forgetting him.
How many times could you say sorry until it became just a word to you, uttered on autopilot as an offering to your conscience?
“So … what happened three years ago?”
“He did something to Aunt Belle. It’s why my mom isn’t speaking to her – come on,” Caleb said suddenly, taking the empty glass from my hand. “If you’re feeling better, we’ll eat something before going to the Old Belle. Hyde called to tell us about some brainwave he’s had for the book fair.”
We left after having wolfed down the Fruit Loops with milk Gareth made for us.
“Leaving so soon?” he said snarkily at the door.

*

Hyde’s eyes widened briefly when we arrived at the Old Belle, Caleb’s arm slung protectively around me. We didn’t talk the entire way here. I let Caleb put his arm around me, but kept my thoughts doggedly to Blake.
“So what’s the great idea?” Caleb said. He took his arm away as we entered the bookstore. The bell rang loudly in the quiet store. As usual, it was empty, save for a white-haired lady in an armchair at the corner.
“The great idea, my friends,” Hyde said smugly, “is a book recycling fair.” Without waiting for us to pose any questions, he plunged on. “Basically, the idea is that people bring their old books and trade for other people’s old books. And during or after the exchange fair, we’ll tell them of the book fair.”
“Right, and what are you going to do about the cost?” Caleb asked.
“Well, I haven’t gone around to that yet,” Hyde said, his smirk slipping. “But money, shmoney, right? We’ll work it out.” Surprisingly, he turned to me. “So what do you say?”
I considered his proposal. It was a good idea, apart from the expenditure problem. In fact, it might even be a better idea than just plunging into the book fair straightaway, because it wouldn’t be such a gamble. Organising a book fair cost more than a book recycling fair, after all.
“It’s good idea,” I said, “apart from the little kinks we’ll have to work out. But it’s a really good idea.”
Hyde grinned self-satisfactorily. “That’s great.” He made for the stairs. “I’ll print the leaflet out now, then. Just need to do some touch-ups. Five minutes!”
Caleb rolled his eyes. “Which means he knew we’d agree to it.” And then, thinking for a while, he said, “You know, the cost might not be such a big problem. We could always hold a fund-raising fair. Aunt Belle’s making these art-and-crafty stuff with some of her friends since university. But with all her jobs and the boys now, she hardly has the time to pursue that. We could bring out her old stuff, though. They’ve got a whole room stuffed full with their works.”
I propped my elbows on the counter. “What do they make?”
“Bamboo bags, painted ceramic bowls, beaded shoes, miniature flower pots, you name it. It was like an addiction. Her room used to be in the basement, because that was where she worked. My grandmother taught her all that, see, got her interested in it. But it never caught on with my mom. She said she never understood the point of art and craft.”
“Hey, kids.”
We both turned. Gareth had come in through the front door. He cringed slightly when the bell chimed.
“Dad,” Caleb sighed. “What are you doing here?”
“Relax, son. I’m not here for you. Is Belle around?”
“Why,” he demanded, “are you here. Hyde’s upstairs; you could get caught!”
Gareth smirked. “So that little prick’s still hanging around, eh? Still pining away for Belle?”
“Aunt Belle’s not here, so you should leave before anyone sees you.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say Gareth enjoyed putting Caleb in a state. But what sense would that make?
Gareth was walking out of the counter and scouring the aisles for Belle when Caleb said again, “Dad. Please. Leave. Unless you want Hyde to see you and call the police. And if that happens, there’s nothing I can do.”
Gareth spun around and jabbed a finger in Caleb’s chest. “Hey, you don’t threaten your father like that, you hear me?” Then, throwing a dirty look at me, he said, “I’m leaving. Happy?”
I watched as he strode out through the backdoor. Caleb carried a pile of thick hard-covered books to the New Arrivals rack, his jaw clenched and his eyes flinty.
Hyde bounded back down the stairs, waving a piece of paper. With a flourish, he shoved it under our noses. On it was a huge coloured picture of the Old Belle from the front, where the wooden sign dangled above the sidewalk. Beneath the picture were the details of the book exchange.
“Nice,” Caleb said. “Aunt Belle would love you for doing this. Love you.”
“Shut up.” Setting the leaflet on the counter, he asked casually, “So who was that just now? I heard the bell ring. A customer?”
“He left. Nothing here interested him,” he said, not missing a beat. “So anyway,” he went on, “we were thinking, to fund the book fair, we could ask Aunt Belle to sell some of her crafts. You know, a craft fair.”
“Hey, that’s a good idea,” Hyde said. “They’ve got so many they really need to sell some, anyway.”
As they discussed about the fair, I marvelled at how well Caleb was able to conceal everything right under our noses for so long, even longer under Hyde’s, whom he faced everyday. Maybe it was even easier to hide the truth this way, because often, our minds are our eyes, and they tell us what to see.

*

That night, I fell asleep again.
It wasn’t Blake. Or my mom. She had stopped showing up ever since she appeared in Wroughton.
Caleb had his face bent down to meet mine. For some reason, I was on the ground.
“It’s what I have to do,” he was saying, placing a hand behind my head. “Try to understand, Kristen.”
Except, what was I supposed to understand?
It was only when he dropped his hand and straightened up that I realised what it was he meant to do. It was happening all over again.
Caleb gave me a sad smile and turned resolutely away.
“Well done, son,” Gareth said, and clapped him once on the back.
And finally, I saw Blake. He was holding onto my feet as I thrashed about, watching Caleb leave. The pair of mugs we drank from every night on the porch smashed to pieces at my feet and I realised I had kicked them.
“Kristen,” Blake said, his open face closed tightly with hurt. He pushed the hair out of my face.
I was sobbing. I was hurting him. I had killed him, and now I was killing us both.
He took my hand. A jolt of panic ran through me when I felt how cold it was, and I gripped it tight.
Where was I supposed to go? Where did I want to?
Before I could give an answer to either of the questions, I felt the pressure on my feet ease off. Blake was gone, as sure as Caleb was too.
“Didn’t you promise?” someone – it sounded like mom – asked. “Didn’t you promise you’d start over?”
I had. And I had fallen into the same trap again. Blake had left. Mom would leave again. And then Caleb.
I woke up to find my pillow wet. The dream made no sense. Caleb was not going anywhere. And even if he did, what did it matter to me? How could I be this terrified of having people leaving me?
There was no point in dwelling over this. Too much had happened ever since I came to Wroughton. Of course my dreams were so disjointed and absurd.
Tomorrow, I’d ask Dr Oliveiro for more sleeping pills during therapy session. No more sleeping. I gave it up for a reason, didn’t I?
I plodded down the stairs. Shadows were flung boldly across the walls, so I knew the moon was still bright tonight.
He was not there.
The empty porch was lit dimly by the light of the moon. I wrapped my arms around myself and stared out into the quiet lane. The mugs sat where we would have sat, and I involuntarily thought of the ones I had smashed in my dream.
There wasn’t any smoke rising from our tea anymore, so I knew where he had gone, long before I came out to look for him. But I waited, even though the cold hours before daybreak stretched long and thin.


Twenty


“Falsehood is easy, truth so difficult.”
~ George Eliot (English writer, 1819 – 1880)


“You’re hiding something from me.”
“I’m not.”
He narrowed his eyes and stared for a long while. I tried to blink a few times.
“There’s something that kid isn’t telling me, I’m sure of it. And you’re in on it, aren’t you?”
“You’re just being paranoid, Hyde,” I said, rolling my eyes. I tried disappearing into the storeroom to get a box for the bamboo handbags.
Caleb did not return until after his run, by which time I had already headed back into the house. I didn’t know why he left me there the entire night – I didn’t even know if I had the right to demand an explanation – and I didn’t ask. When he offered to explain, I told him we had run out of cereal.
Now, I was trying to stay away from him, as well as dodge Hyde’s persistent probing.
“Kristen,” Hyde was saying. I turned around and he seemed to be considering something. “He didn’t get into trouble, did he?”
Not yet, maybe. “No, Hyde. Relax, would you?” And I realised how I sounded like Gareth when I said that, so I hurried to add something else. “I’m sure if he’s in any sort of trouble, he’ll tell you.”
Aunt Belle pushed impatiently through the door, and the bell chimed noisily. She was hauling another box of her crafts, looking excited but slightly frazzled like she usually did. Behind her trailed two other women around her age, in jeans and tank tops.
“You know, Hyde. Much as I love this idea, I’m not sure it’ll work,” Belle said as Hyde took over the boxes from them.
Hyde said introduced me to the women, Marilyn and Jess, who were Belle’s university friends. “Don’t worry about it, Belle. It’ll be a hit. I mean, look at all this stuff you guys have made!” He flung his arm in a dangerously wide arc. “We’ll have this place restored in no time. Let us handle this. Now, aren’t you a bit late for your shift at the ticketing booth?”
“Shoot,” Belle muttered and, thanking me with a tight hug and Hyde with a rather awkward one, she left with Marilyn and Jess.
“There’s no more space in the storeroom,” Caleb said, coming out of it. I turned back to the bamboo handbags and rearranged them in the box. “How can anyone make so much of those?”
“Well, technically, she didn’t make all of them. Marilyn and Jess did too,” Hyde said.
“Hey, Kristen.”
I had no choice but to look at him.
He was staring at me with a puzzled look. “Do you want to have lunch together? We could go for some –”
“No,” I said, a fraction of a second too soon. Hyde raised his brows, and Caleb withdrew slightly. “I mean, thanks, but I have to go for my therapy session soon.” Backing out of the counter and pushing open the door, I said, “I’ll be back later.”
And then I left without waiting for a response.
“Don’t be too late,” Hyde called out behind me. “We need you to help give out those flyers!” As the door swung shut and the bell chimed merrily, I heard him say, “What did you do to her? She couldn’t wait to get away from you.”

*

This was possibly the most annoying therapy session I had ever been to. I was already regretting writing in that stupid journal last night. It had seemed like a good idea while waiting for Caleb. Took up some time, at least.
Dr Oliveiro was so pleased to find a three-page entry that she immediately crossed her legs like a little girl and started reading. I stared at the photographs on her coffee table while waiting. There were at least four of her and her daughter, and I wondered what kind of mother she was, how she brought up her daughter, and what her daughter thought of her.
“Tell me more about this Caleb character,” she said once she was done reading, her head perched on her hands. “I’ve never heard you mention him before.”
That was because I never saw the need to tell her about him before. Or anything else, for that matter. Catharsis just felt too good last night to stop.
“My dad and I moved into his house. His parents’ house, I mean. I mean, his mom and stepfather’s house. And now my mother’s back, so it’s not just me and my dad.”
Okay, Kristen, shut up now.
“You certainly spend a lot of time with him,” Dr Oliveiro remarked. “You must know a lot about him.”
“Actually,” I said, realising this was true, “I don’t. Not at all.”
“Does he know what you’re going through?”
“I’m not … I’m not going through anything.”
Dr Oliveiro threw her head up. “Oh, here we go again. The classic denial.”
I was about to tell her to shut up – what did she know about denial? Nothing was classic about anything, especially when she didn’t know Blake or Caleb or my parents – but she went on, “I’m curious about this Caleb character. You seem to avoid sharing anything about him. Any idea why that might be so, Kristen?”
“Because I was expecting you to sink your teeth into that the way you are now.”
I’ll admit that was rude of me. But Caleb and I were not tabloid fodder. Or psychiatrist fodder.
“I just think it’s wonderful how much progress you’re making with his help. Even though you seem to think he’ll let you down.” She leaned forward and touched my knee. “Not everyone you love is going to leave you, Kristen.”
“They could,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Well, your mother’s back, isn’t she?”
“Blake isn’t.”
“Death is irreversible, regrettably. It’s normal to feel cheated by it, but –”
“If you’re going to start telling me Blake wouldn’t want me to feel sad, please just save it. You don’t know what Blake would want.”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t. But can I make a suggestion?”
I nodded grudgingly.
“That dream doesn’t only make you fearful, it also adds to your confusion.” She let the words sink in with a pause. “You think you’re betraying Blake by letting yourself give in to your emotions for Caleb.”
“And I think your alternative career option should be a scriptwriter for a soap opera.”
“So you’re saying it’s not true? You don’t feel guilty to Blake, or indebted to Caleb?”
The silence I allowed to settle in betrayed me.
Dr Oliveiro was watching me with a shrewd, knowing look. For some reason, I imagined wringing her neck and telling her to stop analysing everything I said or did.
“I thought so,” she simply said.
“But it doesn’t matter how I feel,” I said. It was, somehow, important that I made her understand.
She tilted her head in question. “Of course it matters, Kristen.”
“It doesn’t. Because Blake’s not coming back, and Caleb will leave with his dad – his parents – in the end. I don’t think he’s ever stopped trying to restore his family. So even if I felt indebted to him, so what?”
“Are you sure that’s all you feel towards him? You’re pretty riled up by all this. I’ve never seen you so passionate about something before.”
“What are you, a relationship expert now?”
“I wasn’t suggesting that you were attracted to him.”
I wanted to tear the smirk off her face.
“Are there any other feelings that you might feel towards him?” she went on blithely. She was enjoying it. “Anger? Frustration? Or maybe pity? Or comradeship, because you both had a parent who left you before?”
“You know, for once, just stop trying to classify my feelings and my problems, okay? And this Caleb character is none of your business. None of mine too.”
She nodded solemnly. “I’d say anger is definitely on the list. Frustration too, maybe.”
The only frustration and anger I felt at the moment was towards her. And I was about to let her understand that.
I got up from the cream-coloured couch, grabbed my bag, and stormed out of the puke-scented room. She watched me calmly, still in her cross-legged position like some New Age meditation guru, as though she had seen it all before.
“Great session, Kristen. We’ll continue this next week,” her voice trailed after me.

*

It wasn’t because she was right.
Of course not. She didn’t know what she was talking about. She knew nothing but she thought she did; she thought she was being really smart by making all those suggestions and filing them under the categories she had studied.
On the way back to Wroughton, to the Old Belle, I had simmered in my thoughts so that I wouldn’t think about them when I was back.
“Okay, so you’ll take this stack” – Hyde handed me a thick stack of flyers – “and Caleb you’ll take this. Now get to work. They must all get it by seven p.m., every household, every shop. Got it?”
Caleb rolled his eyes, and then took my arm and turned to leave.
“I think we should split up,” I said to Hyde. “It’ll be faster that way.”
I could feel Caleb’s gaze on me, but I looked resolutely at Hyde.
Hyde raised his brows. “Okay. Whatever. But you have to go out that door together, right?” He shot Caleb a look.
Once out the door, I turned left and tried to disappear round the corner into a street with red-roofed houses, but he managed to catch up with me.
“Can you please tell me why you’re so mad at me?”
“I’m not.” I stuffed a flyer into a blue tin mailbox painted with bright yellow flowers.
“Yes, you are. And if it’s about last night, I can totally explain –”
“You don’t need to offer me an explanation, Caleb.”
He ignored that. “I didn’t mean to leave you at the porch alone the entire night. I know you think I went to my dad’s, and I did, but it’s not –”
“Can we please not talk about this?”
He stopped me, holding onto my shoulder.
“Really,” I said, glancing down at it. He dropped his hand. “I’d rather not talk about it. Please.”
It felt like the right thing to do, not moping about whatever it was that I did not even understand myself. So why did it hurt so much when I saw the look in his eyes?
Yes, if I had to admit it, it hurt.
Like I said, it was easier not to get to close to anyone. It gave them all the power to hurt you. Being alone, removed, was just a form of protection, to survive in this uncertain world, when any minute someone might just pull the carpet out from under you. It’s just easier not to get on board in the first place.
“Alright,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”
Then he turned and disappeared round the corner.


Twenty-one


“Being in love shows a person who he should be.”
~ Anton Chekhov (Russian writer and playwright, 1860 – 1904)


I had never been to craft fairs before, much less been personally involved in one.
Hyde had certainly wasted no time. “If we’re going to save the Old Belle, we’re going to do it now,” he had said. So the day after the flyers were handed out, he rounded up a few tents and tables, and took charge of running the craft fair.
Belle had her misgivings, but there was – as was usually the case with her – no time for that, because she was too preoccupied with Oliver and Sawyer.
It was up to me and Caleb, therefore, to baby-sit them while Belle and her friends manned the stalls. Because they had made such an incredible amount of stuff, we had to find a space large enough to display everything.
Eventually, we settled on the marquee. It was, after all, big enough for the whole of Wroughton.
We were there at seven in the morning.
“This is the day, everyone,” Hyde was saying, flailing his arms about passionately. I stared riveted at his sun tattoo. “It’s the dawn of the old glory of the Old Belle bookstore. Look alive, people,” he added to a couple of his friends he had ordered to help out.
There was still a hesitant distance between me and Caleb. Neither of us was willing to close that gap, so we waited.
“Caleb, we should start moving the tables in,” Hyde said.
“Okay,” Caleb said, a tad too quickly, and left.
“Is everything okay between you and Caleb?” Belle asked, watching the two guys make their way towards the van. She seemed visibly calmer without Oliver and Sawyer around. She had figured there was no point waking them so early, so she planned on bringing them over a little later.
I offered my default answer. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”
But, as always, no-one believed me. “It’s just, I was watching you two just now and something just felt wrong. And Hyde told me what happened yesterday.”
I didn’t know he had such a big mouth. I guess that was how secrets and rumours fly in Wroughton.
In an attempt to direct some attention away from myself, I asked, “Belle, why don’t you give Hyde a chance? I mean, we can all see that he’s mad about you. He goes to the Old Belle everyday even though he doesn’t even work there; he even helped you with this whole Save the Old Belle plan. Et cetera,” I added.
Belle sighed wistfully. “I know. I can see how much he’s done for me, and I really can’t thank him enough for it.”
“That’s it? You’re only grateful to him? Nothing else?” Hyde would be heartbroken if he knew.
“No.” Belle blushed. “I have considered the possibility before. He loves the boys, gets along with my father – which is more than I can say for my other boyfriends.”
“So what’s holding you back?”
Suddenly I was, for some reason, interested to know why anyone decided someone wasn’t worth it, worth all the trouble and heartache, perhaps.
“Oh, Kristen,” Belle sighed. Her sad eyes were heavy. “I’m just so tired of trying to make things work, getting used by men, being abandoned, winding up alone. It’s just easier not to get into it at all.”
It was all I could do to not agree with her right then. I knew if I did, she would ask me what happened that would make me feel this way, and I was not ready to share that yet. I was not ready for her sympathetic looks and encouraging pats on the arm.
“Do you want to know why?” she offered, and I felt bad for holding back when she was taking me into confidence.
I nodded.
“I’m an idiot, plain and simple. My first … I don’t think I can even call him my boyfriend … left me with a son even though he was married, and then he went to jail. I stupidly thought he loved me but of course he didn’t. You’d think I’d have learnt my lesson the first time round, but I didn’t. And now I’m the mother of two boys whose fathers have left us, and my sister hates me for what I did.”
The morning was hushed, and a cool mist drifted by.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking what a slut I am, to be sleeping around like that, unprotected.”
This was getting uncomfortable.
“I’d thought they loved me, though,” she said in a small voice. “I can’t tell the difference, probably still can’t.” She stared off wistfully for a while before continuing, “So, in answer to your question, it’s not that I don’t appreciate Hyde’s feelings for me. I just don’t know if I have the strength for the ride anymore. Or the brains.”
“Hyde isn’t a bad person. He won’t use you that way, I’m sure.”
“I know he isn’t,” she said, nodding. “Still.”
We stood there watching as the guys looked for a good spot to set down the tables.
“But don’t listen to a cynic like me, Kristen,” Belle went on. “Corny as it may sound, the only way to be truly happy is to listen to what your heart is trying to say. Block out the noise and just listen closely.”
She was getting too close for comfort again.
“When you said your first … partner left you with your son, do you mean Gareth?”
She glanced sideways at me. “Yes. I know you know about him. And he’s Oliver’s father. Why do you think my sister never talks to me anymore?”
I didn’t say anything.
“I know, it’s really messed up. And I’m really sorry for what I did.” She did look entirely miserable. “Gareth does whatever he pleases, and I wish I’d never gotten involved with him. But I’m not sorry for having Oliver. Or Sawyer. I’m just sorry I had to get involved with those guys to have them.”
“But Hyde isn’t like them,” I said, looking at him, him with his sun tattoo and hulking biceps.
“I know. We’ll see, though.” She smiled. “We’ll see.” Then she tilted her head thoughtfully. “You know, you aren’t so different from Caleb.”
I turned to her. “How so?”
As far as I was concerned, I was nothing like Caleb. I did not try to keep my family a secret, and I did not have to come up with twisted reasons for committing a crime for them.
“Both of you … you’re just so distant; you don’t give anyone a chance into your head.”
“We just don’t like to air our problems and bitch about it to everyone we meet,” I said, shrugging.
“And you are both stubbornly unreceptive to anyone who tries to help.”
“We like our personal problems to stay the way it should.”
Where did all this we business come from? I thought we were completely different in every aspect.
“And there’s also the fact that you have both lost someone you love, more than once.” She scrutinised me for a while. “I don’t mean to be rude, but that was just an observation.”
“Caleb’s lost someone more than once?”
“His grandmother,” she said, nodding. “My mother. Caleb’s really close to his grandparents, since Annabel and Gareth didn’t really have much time for him. They were too preoccupied with their issues to think about anything else. I try to be there for him too, asking him to work at the Old Belle whenever he can. Reilly works all the time and Jade is quite the social butterfly, but Caleb doesn’t like parties and crowds and a whole bunch of boys bringing beer and inviting girls over. It’s just not his style.”
I nodded. Very much like Blake.
“So when my mom died and my dad got a little sick, Caleb was just holding out … for what, I don’t know. Deep down, I think he’s trying to get back to the way it was before his scumbag father left them, back to when both his grandparents were around.”
“But that’s not possible,” I said. “Nothing can ever go back to the way it was, when his grandmother’s…”
It was then that I realised another similarity between me and Caleb. Weren’t we two people who wanted what we could never get back, who could not see what lay ahead because there was no point in that?
Belle was staring at me with a knowing look in her eyes.
“Alright, I think we’re done,” Hyde called out to us.
“Marilyn and Jess need two stalls each,” Belle said to him. As she said that, a car rumbled up the lane and Marilyn and Jess got out, hauling more boxes.
Caleb came over to me. “Look, just let me explain, okay? Humour me.”
I waited.
“Last night, I was worried my dad would go looking for Aunt Belle. I told you that ever since she found out I was hiding him, she had only met him once. I didn’t know what he wanted with her – it probably isn’t something good – so I thought I’d stop him, make sure he didn’t go looking for her. She doesn’t have to be more involved than she already is.”
I opened a box and hung the bamboo bags and canvas handbags on a metal rack. “Why doesn’t she, you know, report him to the police? She can do so without implicating you.”
Caleb stared at me for a long while before saying, “I don’t know. She doesn’t want trouble, I guess.”
“She told me about Gareth and your grandparents.”
He sighed.
“Is that why you’re hiding him, so that you can get your family back again? But how is that supposed to work, really? Your mom doesn’t even know –”
“And she never will.”
“What exactly happened? Why was Gareth in jail?”
He started walking away. “It doesn’t matter. Come on, we should start setting up. I told Aunt Belle we’ll go fetch the boys after we’ve set up the stalls.”
By the time we went to pick up Oliver and Sawyer, Oliver had just woken up. As I watched Caleb pour milk into a bowl of cornflakes, I couldn’t stop thinking about how Caleb was Oliver’s half-brother, not just his cousin.
“I dreamt that grandpa came back,” Oliver was saying, seated at the kitchen table. “He was riding on a dragon. But the dragon was so big it couldn’t get through the door, so grandpa had to get down its back and let it go and play in the bookstore. Only it was too big and it knocked over all the books…”
“You can never hope for him to stop talking,” Caleb said to me. “Kids at his age love the sound of their voices.”
Oliver was still going at it. “And then, just as they were picking up the books, Uncle Gareth comes in and –”
“Uncle Gareth?” Caleb repeated, in a tone so sharp Oliver shrank back slightly. “I’m sorry. I mean, who’s Uncle Gareth?”
“It’s the man who came by the other day. He gave me a piggyback ride and helped me climb a tree.” Oliver grinned through his milk moustache.
“Dammit,” Caleb muttered.
“Dammit,” Oliver echoed. Then he looked up from his cereal with a grin. “You swore.”
“So did you,” I said.
He grinned more broadly. “I did.”
Caleb wasn’t grinning.
“Doesn’t he know of his father?” I asked.
He shushed me and then shook his head. “They’ve never met – until now, apparently. I swear, the next time he risks exposing himself again, I’m just going to stand back and watch.”
All I thought was, No, you won’t.

*

It is unbelievable how many people can wake up especially early just for a craft fair.
Granted, the stuff on sale was really pretty, and sold for prices that were, as everybody said, too low for such exquisite items. Still, there was no need for the rush.
My mom was one of them at the pottery booth. She held up a miniature painted pot with a fake miniature tree stuck in it when I arrived by her side, as though expecting me all along. “Isn’t this just so precious? And it’s only two dollars for one of these! What a steal. I just have to get more.”
“Mom, you’re not even into gardening,” I said.
“These are for aesthetic purposes, aren’t they? So as long as they’re pretty enough for decoration, I’m buying them. I’ll get one for you too. And one for daddy.”
“Dad won’t appreciate it.”
“It goes with his study.”
“What study? The house is gone. And it doesn’t go with his room now, too.”
Mom stopped reaching for another pot. She withdrew her hand and looked at me properly. “You really hate me now, don’t you?”
“No, mom, I don’t.” This was wearing me out already.
“What do I have to do to make you believe I won’t leave you both again? I know I left you at a bad time, honey, but I didn’t know. And I never would’ve left you if I’d know –”
“That Blake would die the next day?” It sort of surprised me how I was able to string that sentence now without wincing. It terrified me how used to the idea I had gotten.
“Kristy…”
“Never mind. Just do what you want. Buy all the pots there are. Maybe they’ll make you feel better.”
Then I turned to look for Caleb. I passed by the shoes booth, where at least twenty ladies were gushing over the sequinned sandals or beaded flats and trying them on; I passed by the soap and candles stall, where Marilyn watched anxiously, ready to catch anything that might fall, as people proclaimed how cute the jars were.
“How many quilts does one person need?” Caleb said, staring as two elderly ladies grabbed an entire stack of folded patchwork quilts and tossed them into their already-overflowing basket of craft items.
We started walking towards the back of the photo frames booth, where there were less people. People, it seemed, needed photo frames less than they did quilts or shoes.
“A great many, apparently,” I said.
“One for each day of the week.”
“For every day of the month.”
He grinned. “I got something for you.” He handed me a box wrapped in light blue paper. “Got it from the ceramics stall. Open it.”
It was a mug.
“Not just any mug, mind you,” he said the minute I took it out of the cardboard box, as though I had already made a dismissive comment. “Read what it says.”
“I traded my bed for the moonlight,” I read. It was printed on the navy blue mug, the words written with stardust on the canvas of the night. The handle was a crescent moon, with the man sitting at its bottom end. I raised my brows. “How very apt.”
“Jess made this when she was pregnant, I think,” Caleb said. “She said her son kept her up almost every night, so she thought of making this.”
“I’d have kept it if I were her,” I said. “It’s too pretty for sale.”
“Ah, then we wouldn’t have the pleasure of drinking our Earl Grey from it.”
“True.”
Somehow, while we were talking, we had leant so close to each other I could feel his breath on my cheeks. I knew what this might lead to, but I did not pull back. For once, I did not, just to see how things might end up.
When he kissed me, it was slow, gentle and tentative. I could sense he was the one holding back, unsure if I would start crying for Blake again. But I held his face in my hand, the other one cradling the mug, and he did the same.
The kiss held promise, and a quiet patience, but already I could feel time slipping between my fingers. Any moment now, he would break away and tell me he didn’t mean any of this, that this was not what he wanted at all. And I would be left hanging there, bereft again.
And then I thought of the way Blake had looked at me as he held on to my feet, how I didn’t know which way to go, in my dream. What was I doing? We all knew how this would play out. Didn’t I make a promise to myself? Didn’t I swear never to put myself in that position again, where I had given all the power over myself to someone else? Hadn’t I seen enough proof that no-one could promise you forever?
It was not me who broke away, but I realised I had stopped kissing him.
“Kristen?”
I opened my eyes, and a warm tear slid down my cheek.
“Oh, crap,” Caleb said, taking one look at my face. “I swear, if I’d known you didn’t want it, I wouldn’t have done that.” He gently swiped a finger below my eyes. “Sorry, I don’t have a tissue or anything.”
“That’s fine,” I said, leaning back and wiping my eyes vehemently. Talk about spoiling the moment.
“Come on, let’s find somewhere to sit,” he said, taking my hand.
“I’m sorry,” I said, just feeling the need to explain, “it’s not that I didn’t like that, it’s just … I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled. “Let’s sit down first.”
We came to a wrought-iron bench under a tree a few feet away from the fair. The day was growing warmer, and dappled sunlight edged through the tree leaves.
“I’m sorry,” we both said the minute we sat down. He chuckled. “Okay, now that that’s out of the way, would you mind telling me why you’re crying?”
I laughed a little. “It’s not you –”
“It’s me,” he finished. “Uh-huh.”
I stared at him.
“Sorry. I’m being rude,” he said with a smile. “But I actually enjoyed that. I like you, Kristen, and I’m not going to drag my feet about this. I know you were probably thinking about Blake the whole time, but –”
“That’s the problem. I wasn’t. It was you I saw.”
His face scrunched up slightly. “And that’s … bad.” He raised his brows.
“No,” I said, placing my hand on his. “No, Caleb, it’s not. I just think that I should have been thinking about him, but I didn’t, and that’s not fair to him – or you to hear this. And I don’t want to be in a situation where I’m going to lose someone I love again, and now I’m rambling and I just basically said I love you and I don’t know why I can’t seem to stop talking.”
There was a beat of silence as he watched me gather my breath.
“There,” he said. “See? You’ve stopped.”
I laughed again, as another tear rolled down my face. What a wreck I was.
He held up my face and looked me straight in the eye. “First off, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being afraid to lose someone. But you shouldn’t shut yourself off from everyone just because you’re afraid of getting hurt. Do you trust me?”
I could only stare at him, unwilling to tell the truth.
“Do you trust me?” he repeated.
“I don’t know.”
“I know.” An apology sat on the tip of my tongue, but he went on, “But there’s nothing to be sorry for. And I won’t hurt you.”
“You might. You might leave, just like everyone else. I don’t expect you to understand. It’s just easier not to compromise at all, sometimes. Call me a cynic, I don’t care.”
We watched as a little boy about six, and his sister, chased each other around the tents. How would either of them feel if one of them was not around anymore? Wouldn’t it have been easier not to have known each other?
“That,” Caleb said, when I told him that, “is just such a messed-up thought.”
“What, you don’t think so?”
“Not at all. I mean, if that’s what you think, then we should all just live our lives avoiding everyone so that we’d be able to protect ourselves, is that it?”
I nodded, but my confidence wavered under the distilled version of my plan.
He stared at me. “Seriously?”
“Okay, maybe not that drastic.”
He leaned back, one arm placed casually behind me, and watched the children playing for a while.
“Tell me about Blake,” he suddenly said, in a voice so pleasant he might have been talking about Philly cheese-steak sandwiches for all anyone knew.
“Seriously?” I volleyed back at him.
He nodded.
“I don’t know how else to say this other than he’s a lot like you. He loves to run, he loves Hemingway, he is unbelievably optimistic … He’s not an insomniac, though, and when he’s nervous or worried, he lights matches.”
“Matches?”
I nodded. “Yeah, it calms him down. He’d let the fire burn till almost the entire match is spent before extinguishing it. It used to freak me out, but I later learnt I could just blow it out. He’d get annoyed by it.”
Caleb was listening, really listening. I had never been able to talk about Blake to anyone since that day, and even if I did, I was sure no-one would be interested to hear what I had to say. After all, I had no right to – I was the one who killed him.
“Did you drive the van into him?” Caleb asked when I told him so.
“Well, no, but I didn’t have to be such a brat and send him back for –”
“Okay, you know what.” He turned his body so that he was completely facing me. “Pretend I’m Blake for five minutes.”
“What?”
“Humour me. Pretend I’m Blake. Tell me whatever it is you want to tell him.”
I considered this absurd proposal. “Anything?”
“Anything.”
“Okay.” The truth was, when it came down to this, everything was stuck in my throat. I felt it swell and throb, and the tears came running again.
“Say, I’d like to tell you, Blake…”
“I’d like to tell you, Blake,” I repeated, “that first and foremost, I love you. I always will.”
It felt strange telling Caleb that, but he simply nodded and waited for more.
“And I’d eat mango yoghurt everyday if that would bring you back. It’s my fault that you left, and you never deserved such a spoilt girlfriend like me. I wish you were here to rub my hands when I get difficult, or tell me how the week’s almost over even though it might only be Monday, or count cattle with me at night over the phone when either of us can’t sleep.”
“Cattle?”
“He thought sheep were creepy.”
It had gotten easier towards the end. Caleb did not give any other response apart than that.
“That’s all,” I said. “I’m done.”
Caleb only stared. “You’re deifying him. He can’t possibly have no annoying habits that you can’t stand. Bring them all out. Everything you love and hate about him.”
“Well, okay, I can’t stand the fact that you are so unbelievably patient with me all the time,” I said. Then I looked at Caleb, frowning. “Actually, that’s what I can’t stand about you, too.”
“Who, me? What’s wrong with being patient?”
“Nothing,” I said. We sat in silence for a while, and then: “I just miss him so much.”
Caleb nodded. “When my grandmother died, I could tell a piece of grandpa died with her too. He just wasn’t the same anymore. The Old Belle became meaningless to him, so he handed it over to Aunt Belle.”
“What about you?”
He said nothing, and I knew how it was like for him.
“But they’re always there,” he said, with a smile. “At least, that’s what I prefer to believe. It’s one of the reasons why I love the cemetery so much. I like the idea of them being around, the people we once knew, even though we can’t see them anymore.”
“I like that idea, too.”
And with that, I was sobbing my heart out like I never had in the past month. In this too-bright estate with its fresh greenery and neat little rows of white houses and clean lanes, I found myself back to where I was, where I had been so eager to run away from.
Caleb waited, like always, until I was ready. He held my head to his chest, and I could hear the gentle thudding of his heart. When I was done and pulled away, he smoothed the hair out of my face.
“And, you know,” he said after a while, picking up the conversation from where it got cut off by my mortifying bawling, “I don’t know about Blake, but my grandma used to tell me how it’s always the people we meet that determine the value of our lives.”
I nodded. “Blake would subscribe to that.”
“And Blake had met you,” he said, rubbing my arm. “You must have given it value just as he had given yours … just as you’ve given mine. All that value has to be worth not hiding out in your own solitary world.”
There was nothing I knew to say to that, but he looked away quickly, his ears slightly red, so I simply said, “Thank you.” I wanted to say more than that, but some things did not have to be laid out in the open to be heard.
Reilly, Jade and Tate had arrived. They were at the knitwear stall, and as I watched them squeeze through the crowd (Tate not so much), I saw Reilly nudge Jade as she suddenly looked up and spotted us.
Smirking, she made her way towards us. Jade followed suit, unable to close her slack jaw. Behind them, Tate stumbled slightly on a yellow shawl that caught his feet. When he saw us as well, he raised his brows but then got exasperated with the shawl. He foot-wrestled with it and it fell to the ground, almost taking the entire rack down with it. A girl threw him a dirty look as she forestalled the disaster.
I knew how we must have looked, sitting there together, leaning towards each other, his arm almost around me.
Once they reached us, Jade said, “Whoa,” She looked at me, then at Caleb. “What did you do to her?”
Caleb and I exchanged a look, and burst out laughing. For some reason, I couldn’t stop, and neither could he.
The three of them exchanged a look.
There was nothing else to be said, nothing else to clarify or explain. In the end, words were the things that could take you to the edge of the world and reel you back again.
At that moment, it was release I felt within me, even if it was only for a little while. I imagined a space, bright and airy, now taking over the dark place choked up with raw hurt.
And the funny thing was, it all started with a mug.


Twenty-two


“A promise made is a debt unpaid.”
~ Robert Service (English poet and writer, 1874 – 1958)


“It’s written all over your face, so don’t even try to deny it anymore.”
I tried distracting her with a knitted cushion cover. “I like the colour for this one.”
She yanked it out of my hand and bought it. “I knew it, I knew it! And you blatantly told me nothing was going on!”
“I don’t get why it’s such a big deal. I’ll try not to break your brother’s heart, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She laughed. “Hardly,” she said. “It’s scandalous. That’s why it’s a big deal. You guys live in the same house.” After a while, she added, “You know, I didn’t really like you when you first came here.”
“I know.” A middle-aged lady elbowed me out of her way to reach for a cardigan.
“You do?” She shrugged and rubbed her neck. “I’m sorry if I was ever rude to you. I mean, I shouldn’t have listened to what those people said about you. People in Wroughton…”
“That’s okay,” I said.
But then I saw something that made me freeze in my tracks. Okay wasn’t quite the word to use right then, not at all.
Belle was behind the photo frame booth, running her hands through her hair in her usual frazzled manner – except that she was exceptionally so this time.
And I could see why.
Gareth was here. He was here, right in the middle of the marquee, where everyone who knew who he was and was civic-minded enough would pick up the phone and call the police to arrest his unapologetic ass.
“Kristen?”
“What?”
Jade was staring at me, her face half-buried behind a teetering pile of craft fair paraphernalia. “Wow, you sure zone out easily.”
“Sorry. Hey, you know, I’m going to go look for Hyde and Belle. Can you manage?”
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll just call Ri.” She tried unsuccessfully to fish out her cellphone. “Give me a hand with this for a sec?”
After getting rid of Jade, I headed over to the photo frame booth, wondering if I should call Caleb or Hyde. But Caleb was with Oliver in the washroom, and Hyde was busy with the crowd at the candles booth. There was no need to alert anyone – yet.
“Belle, come on,” Gareth was saying when I got there. I slid behind a rack a couple of metres away from them. “Just see it as doing me a favour.”
“And why would I want to do that, Gareth?” Despite looking like she was ready to fall apart any minute, Belle’s voice could cut glass.
“You won’t let me work in the bookstore, you won’t even see me, and now you won’t even spare a starving man a dollar?”
“If I remember correctly, you asked for three thousand – in cash. Where do you expect me to get that kind of money? And you know exactly why I don’t want to have anything else to do with you. You should just be glad I’m not handing you over to the police.”
Gareth grinned. “You wouldn’t. Of course you wouldn’t do that, Belle, because that would implicate Caleb. And you’re just not the handing you over to the police sort. I know you.”
“Things have changed, Gareth. I just might.” She made to leave, and I slid back behind the rack. “Now, you should leave.”
“Belle.” When I peered out again, he was gripping onto her hand. His eyes pinned her to where she was.
She levelled her gaze at him. “Let me go. Now.”
“I don’t regret anything I did with you.” His voice had turned soft. “We could go back to the way we were. You don’t have to turn me away like that.”
For a fraction of a second, I could see Belle hesitating, but she said instead, “If there’s one place I don’t ever want to be again, it’s where we were. Anna still isn’t talking to me, and you’ve never been much of a father to Oliver, if you think about it. Hyde has done –”
He glared at her. “Oh, Hyde’s saved me the trouble, is that what you’re saying? Maybe I can’t be there for Oliver because you keep him away from me, and –”
“No, Gareth. You can’t be there for Oliver because for one thing, you were in jail,” she snapped, squirming out of his grip. “And for another, you’re on the run for all the stupid things you did once you got out. You don’t have a single responsible bone in you, never had.”
Gareth tightened his grip on Belle’s arm, and she winced, though she kept her lips pursed.
Okay, maybe it was time to call someone now.
“You can’t hold Caleb as some sort of leverage,” Belle said, trying to wrench her arm out of his steely grip. “Anna doesn’t know yet. Maybe she will now if you don’t let go of me right now.”
He smirked. “And how are you going to tell her when she doesn’t even want to see you? Besides, she’s probably too busy with her new husband’s business to bother about all this petty dealings.” Shaking his head, he said, “Why do you always have to complicate things like that? Just give me the money and I’ll leave quietly. No fuss, no drama. It’s only three thousand bucks, Belle.”
“It’s three thousand dollars that I can use to give the Old Belle a revamp.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” a voice boomed behind me.
I jumped and lost my footing with the rack. The rack fell with a crash, and I tumbled along with it.
When I looked up, Hyde was reaching down to help me up, but he kept his eyes pinned on Gareth. Gareth and Belle reminded me of a pair of lemurs I saw in the zoo once, glassy-eyed with caution and fear.
And then Gareth dropped Belle’s arm and fled.
There was a shout, and Hyde started to give chase.
“Hyde, don’t!” Belle cried as the two men raced around on the field. It was a good thing we were far away from the general crowd, but a couple of old people at the photo frames booth witnessed the action.
“Ooh, here’s a photo frame! Knock him out with it!” a skinny old lady with an explosion of white hair on her head said, brandishing a photo frame adorned with seashells.
“Carla,” the old man next to her warned. “Stay out of this.”
Where was Caleb, anyway?
Just as I pulled out my cellphone, Belle turned to me, begging me with her eyes not to tell him. “Not now. This doesn’t have to be blown out of proportion.”
I stared at her. “In case you haven’t noticed, Belle, it has already been blown out of proportion.”
Hyde had caught up with Gareth. As he reached out and grabbed his shirt collar, Gareth tried to wrench out of his grasp and the two of them went tumbling against another rack on which some photo frames were hung.
“Stop it, you guys, please!” Belle cried.
But of course, there was nothing she could do.
“Take it somewhere else, at least,” the old man suggested.
Gareth got to his feet sooner, and before Hyde could right himself, he had bolted off towards the trees at the edge of the marquee.
There weren’t many people watching, save for the elderly couple and a few of them at the now-wrecked photo frames booth. They were pointing, a couple of them wide-eyed with shock, and I feared they might recognise Gareth.
Hyde was still chasing Gareth. They disappeared into the trees, and I decided to follow. If Hyde really killed Gareth, I would call Caleb straightaway.
But when I finally caught up with Hyde, Gareth was nowhere in sight.
“Where is he?” I panted.
He whirled around and glared at me. “You knew. You knew all about this, didn’t you? You knew he’s Caleb’s father and that he’s been hiding here all this while!”
His voice was so loud nothing dared to make a sound. I took a step back.
“Does Caleb know?”
I considered the option of lying to him.
“Kristen,” he said. The word cut the air between us. “Tell me the truth. Does Caleb know?”
I sighed. “Caleb’s the one who’s been hiding Gareth, ever since he came back here and committed all those stupid little crimes. I only just found out a few days ago.”
What Hyde did next frightened me. He let out a roar of fury and threw his fist into the trunk of a tree next to him.
“I’m sorry,” I said, but the word was not strong enough to get carried across.
“That kid,” Hyde said, his fist still on the tree trunk. “What does he think he’s going to do? He can’t house that …” – he glanced at me – “that person forever.”
“That’s what I told him, but for now, what is there to do, really?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “We could hand him over to the police. Anonymous tip-off. Everyone wins.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Kristen,” he said, his gaze flat. “I know that guy. He’ll never change. Do you even know why he was in jail? He hit his wife, that’s why. After they got into a huge fight. Because he cheated on her. She wasn’t too badly beat up, but she reported him first thing the next day. He makes mistakes after mistakes and never owns up to them.”
It was all starting to make sense to me: why Mrs Burnstead never mentioned her sister – didn’t even wish to talk to her or see her – what Belle told me about Gareth being Oliver’s father.
“Reilly said Mrs Burnstead blew it all out of proportion,” I said.
He shook his head. “Reilly’s always been her daddy’s girl, of course she’d take his side. But I know Gareth. I’ve known him since we were in school. He’s never really cared about anything other than what makes him happy. Caleb’s trying so hard to mend things, but that’s never going to work. Nothing will change, him least of all.”
“But we don’t have to report him,” I said, deciding that it was ironic how I was proposing this.
“Caleb will get over it. He’ll thank you if you report Gareth.”
“I seriously doubt that.” And then I understood something. “You’re not angry because Caleb hid his dad without telling you. At least, that’s not the main reason. You’re angry because Belle was in on it too.”
“Shut up, Kristen,” he said, making his way back to the marquee. “Don’t change the subject.”
The marquee was abuzz by the time we got back. It was probably a matter of time before someone reported Gareth to the police. Hyde did not have to worry about a thing.
“Hyde, I’m sorry,” Belle said, while trying to sooth a bawling Sawyer in her arms. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. It’s just…”
Hyde waited for her to continue, but she could offer nothing.
“Hey, what’s the sudden excitement all about? Did someone sew a quilt out of thin air?” Caleb grinned, holding onto Oliver’s hand. Oliver kept flicking his head around, as though about to break into a run anytime soon. I briefly remembered what Belle said about noises getting him all keyed up.
Caleb’s smile slipped after I shot him what I supposed was a grave look. “Okay, somebody give me some answers, please.”
“Gareth was here,” Hyde all but growled.
Caleb’s hand tightened visibly and Oliver protested. “Go play with Reilly and Jade, Oliver,” Caleb said, and Oliver whizzed off gleefully.
For a moment, no-one said anything. There was only the amplified noises from the fair and Sawyer crying, as we stood there assessing each other.
But Hyde soon burst out, “Were you ever going to tell anyone?”
“He said he’ll try to look for a job after the police write off his case,” Caleb said. “You know, when his case runs cold – whenever that might be – and then he’ll come back for us again.”
Hyde stared back and forth at Belle and Caleb, his eyes almost wild. “What is wrong with you people? Why are you all risking everything just to protect him? What happens if the police found out you had played a part in hiding him, Belle? You’re going to leave the boys alone in the bookstore?”
“Which is why we’ll try to keep this under wraps as much as possible,” Belle said, pulling Sawyer closer to her. “At least, until things die down.”
“Nothing will die down where he’s concerned. If he’s asking money from you now, he’ll ask it from you again and again –”
“He was asking money from her?” Caleb said.
“You didn’t really think some food and a house were enough to keep him satisfied, did you?” Hyde said dryly. “There was a reason why he committed burglary and car theft. He’ll never stop looking for trouble.”
“I get that you don’t like my dad, Hyde, but he’s not the person you make him out to be. He’s not all that bad.”
“Yeah, and you’ll be climbing mountains for him next.” He turned to Belle, and, seeing her face, looked almost guilty about yelling at her. “You’re a smart girl, Belle. How can you be so fooled by him again and again?”
She stared at him, her eyes glistening. I felt terrible for her, but it was not my place to say or do anything. Belle left soon after, rocking Sawyer and shushing him as she sank into the chair behind the booth.
“You didn’t have to raise your voice at her, Hyde,” Caleb said.
Hyde sighed. “Whatever.” And he, too, left.
Caleb and I stared at each other.
“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he said. “It’ll be fine. Things will work out.” He reached for me. “Now let’s go rope in more sales.”
I thought of how much had already taken shape. We lived as domino pieces, after all. When pushed, we would tip forward and collapse into a rattling track that came back at the rear. So far, since I had been pitched forth here, the only thing to do was to wait until I came back to where everything started. At least, this time, I did not have to wait alone.


Twenty-three


“Don't speak unless you can improve on the silence.”
~ Spanish Proverb


For the rest of the day, Hyde ignored us, so we figured it would be better if we stayed out of his way. The closest he ever came to communicating with us was to hand us the flyers for the book-fair so we could give them out.
But what with giving out flyers and manning stalls and keeping an eye on Oliver and Sawyer (and also making sure that Gareth doesn’t come back), we hardly had time to dwell over that at all.
It was ten at night when the last customer left and Belle and her friends started counting the money they had raked in for today. What was left on the tables were only a handful of photo frames and some candle containers. The bamboo and canvas bags, sequined shoes, quilts and beaded necklaces were a hit, so none were left at all.
Caleb and I were helping to dismantle the tents. Hyde was at the other end with a friend of his who had offered to help.
I watched Hyde nervously. “He’s really mad at us, isn’t he?”
“Not at you, I’m sure,” Caleb said, but he didn’t sound certain. “He’ll speak to us in his own time.”
“Has he ever been this mad at you?”
He made no response.
“And you think all this is worth it,” I said.
Looking up, he said, “I do.” He meant to say some more, but seemed to think better of it and handed me a tent stake wordlessly.
We worked quietly for a while, before the silence started prickling everywhere.
“Your mom bought a whole lot of stuff today,” he finally said. “I don’t know why she’d need five wine racks, but hey” – he shrugged – “if it makes her happy.”
Here we were, back to talking about me again.
“Are you going to see Gareth tonight?”
“And quilts,” he said, shaking his head and giving a little chuckle. “She bought a whole stack of them. I’m sure those old ladies at the Beaming Rose Elderly Home are cursing her for depriving them of some patchwork comfort.”
“If you’re going, I’m going as well.”
I waited for him to argue, tell me it was none of my business, and that I should just stay in bed tonight. But all he said was, “Give me a hand with this, will you?” as he handed me a corner of the massive white billowing tent to fold up.

*

Of course, there was only one mug that night, one that either of us could claim. It was still steaming – Caleb had just left. I left it sitting there, its contents reflecting the moonlight, and slipped out of the gate.
I did not know what I was going to do when I got there, what I could do, and what would be taking place. But I made my way there nonetheless, taking the detour so as to avoid the cemetery. Even if he was not talking to us at the moment, Hyde would undoubtedly tail me if he saw me wandering alone at night, now that he knew of Gareth’s presence.
The shack was lit up – a dim glow peered through the gloom of trees – as though it was sitting in wait. There were voices, raised voices. I crept closer, hoping they would not notice my shadow flitting about. The window was opened, and the night breeze teased the gauzy curtain.
“If you’d taken a speck of caution, you wouldn’t have done something as stupid as that, and Hyde wouldn’t have seen you!”
Gareth flung a hand across Caleb’s face. Caleb staggered.
I stifled a cry, biting hard on my knuckles.
“And if you’d showed a speck of respect to your father, I wouldn’t have to hit you like that.”
Caleb held a hand to the spot where Gareth had struck him. “Kristen’s right. I don’t even know why I’m helping you when you obviously want to get hauled back to jail again.”
“Oh, Kristen’s right, now, is she?” Gareth reached forward and grabbed Caleb by the neck of his t-shirt. “How’d you know it’s not her who ratted us out to that prick today, huh? Don’t you know what he’s going to do now? He’ll call the police for damn sure.”
“You should’ve thought of that when you harassed Aunt Belle today. What exactly do you want, dad? When you first came here, you wanted to get back together with mom again. That was what you said, and it was why I decided to help you. But now, you’re just lounging and about asking money from Aunt Belle –”
Gareth let go of him. “Well, I can’t exactly drop by your mom’s office for a chat now, can I? I just need some more time. Wait till this dies down.”
“Well, you just stirred up more attention to yourself today. If you keep doing that, when is anything ever going to die down? When the hell are you going to start behaving like a real dad again?”
“I’m a good father, I raised you well.” He jabbed a finger in his chest. “Bite the hand that feeds you, why don’t you?” His voice dying down to a growl, he said, “You screwed up, Caleb. Like always. All I asked was for you to keep me safe somewhere for the time being, and you couldn’t even do it.”
This time, when he threw out his fist, Caleb stuck out his arm, ready to fend off the blow. He pressed his arm against Gareth’s collarbone and tried to back him against a wall, but Gareth kneed him hard in the gut. Caleb grunted and fell back onto the couch.
“So this is what we’ve come to, eh?” Gareth said.
Caleb stared up at his father. The shaft of moonlight gave him a ghostly pallor. And then he picked himself up and left through the front door.
I did not wait around any longer. With any luck, I would be home before Caleb and he wouldn’t know I had been at the shack too.
But he saw me just as I tried to slip back into the shadows. His was long, stretched out before him across the deserted lane.
“I know you’re here, Kristen. You might as well come out now.” He sighed. “You,” he said, when I stepped sheepishly into sight, “make a terribly spy. Too much noise. And didn’t anyone tell you not to make quick movements? It’s more noticeable that way.”
“That’s because I don’t spy on people often,” I said.
“Which is a good thing.” He started walking again. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
“Talk about what?” I widened my eyes. Upon the look he shot me, I said, “We can talk about me. Isn’t that what you always do – direct attention away from yourself?”
“Are we really going to open this can of worms now?”
Our footsteps were loud; my flip flops made a squishy sound with every step. “Thank you.”
He looked at me. “That, I must say, is a nice change of topic.”
“For today. The whole Blake thing.” I shrugged. “It doesn’t change anything, but it just made me feel better.”
He stopped, so I did too. And then, in a manner and moment more unexpected than this morning, he leaned over and kissed me. It was as gentle as before.
“It doesn’t mean that you’re forgetting him or letting him down just because you’re starting to live again,” he said, once we broke apart. He took my hand and continued walking. “Although you’re quite far from having moved on, it wasn’t as bad as before. At least you’re not burning rooms down now. Speaking of which, Gabriel sure is taking a long time to repair your room. I’ll remind him tomorrow.”
“That’s okay,” I said. After a pause: “You didn’t see the look he gave me in my dream.”
He stared. “You do realise that sounds…”
“Stupid? Yeah, I do.” And before I could think twice about it, I had told him how my nightmare had played out, with him leaving with Gareth, and Blake holding on to me with a betrayed look.
He laughed when I was done. “I’m sorry,” he said, when I shot him a look. “It’s just – your dreams are vividly amusing. Well, not the part about Blake, of course, just the fact that my dad would pat me on the back and commend me for leaving you.”
“But that’s not that far-fetched an idea, if you come to think of it. There is a possibility of it happening.”
“The only possibility of him ever telling me I did a good job is when I do what he wants me to.”
I waited. He had to realise it.
“He doesn’t … Getting me to leave you isn’t what he wants, Kristen. I highly doubt he cares if I do – which I won’t, as long as you want me around and can differentiate between me and … you know, Blake.”
“Why did he – you know, why did he say you failed him, like always?”
He shrugged, and kicked a stone out of the way. We were walking down the lane to our house now. It was strange how accustomed to that idea I was now, when Wroughton seemed so alien to me just about a couple of weeks ago.
“Nothing ever seems to satisfy him,” he said. His voice, in that confession, rang out loudly in the lonely night. “With mom, he wanted Aunt Belle. With me, he wanted Oliver. With his office job, he wanted more money.” He glanced sideways at me. “You know how it is.”
“Do you think we’re all just searching?”
“Searching for what?”
“Something to fill us up. We grow up having such high hopes, such big dreams, for the world, for our lives, that by the time we actually learn that there isn’t anything much to look forward to, we’ve become too used to searching, too used to wanting, and we can’t stop.”
I had expected him to roll his eyes or let them glaze over. But he listened closely and nodded. “Could be. Or it could also be that we just don’t know where to look.”
“What if there isn’t anywhere we know to look anymore?”
We did not seem to be talking about that anymore. I didn’t know what we were talking about, but I was insistent in getting my point across – whatever that might be.
“Then we’ll help each other look.” He smiled and squeezed my hand. “I’m not going to let you drown in pessimism again.”
The mug was sitting on the porch step, the tea lukewarm by now. It had been a long day, and an even longer night, so, wordlessly, we kept the mug and went to bed.
It was only after I was in bed that I realised what was niggling at my mind. We had, by choice, just skirted some form of disaster by not talking about what happened tonight. If Gareth could do it tonight, he could always do it again.
And when that happened, could I do what was right? How did you know when to step in, and how much space to give someone? I could either stop Gareth from hurting – and using – Caleb again, or make Caleb hate me for thwarting his plan to restore his family.
But his family was no longer what it was. Maybe it never was the way he saw it. Who was I to say?
“Hey, Jade?” I waited. “Are you awake?”
“Mm?”
“Do you ever miss your dad?”
There was a rustle, and then: “It’s four in the morning, Kristen.”
“Sorry.”
“Never mind.” A pause settled itself so comfortably I thought she had gone back to sleep. But she went on, “I don’t miss my dad, haven’t for a long time. You can’t miss what you never had, after all. I was never really all that close to him.”
“Was Caleb really close to him?”
She flipped over to face me. Her eyes were shut. “He looked up to him, just like Ri. The only difference is that Ri officially hates mom now, for marrying Gabriel and handing dad over to the police for beating her up. But Caleb is…” She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s ever going to work out again, between mom and dad. He can’t accept that.”
When I spoke again, I was hoping she would be asleep, but she was not.
“This is going to sound weird, but … have you ever been afraid to love someone?”
She cracked open an eye, but it quickly fell shut again. “Are you talking about my brother?”
“I’m talking in the hypothetical sense.”
“Okay. Hypothetically, I wouldn’t be afraid unless I’ve been hurt before. Right?” She paused. “This is about your ex-boyfriend, isn’t it? I saw that picture of you both under your pillow.”
I sat up in my bed. “What were you doing under my pillow?”
It was probably my tone that made her open her eyes. “Changing the cases, I swear.”
Sliding back into bed, I apologised.
“It’s okay,” Jade said. “That was a nice photo. Candid ones are always better. Do you still think about him often?”
“Everyday.”
“I guess it’s not something you can get over after a while, is it?”
I made no response. Awhile later, I heard her steady breathing, and watched her form rise and fall under the sheets.
That photo was the only thing I had allowed myself to keep. There was another stack of them somewhere in our old house that I had made myself hide in a floorboard under my bed. I wondered if it was still there, if some things, like memories, just got lost over time.


Twenty-four


“The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves.”
~ Sophocles (Greek playwright, BC 496 – BC 406)


On Saturday morning, the estate celebrated the thirtieth anniversary of the Beaming Rose Home for the Elderly. Apparently, the Rose – as everyone called it – was a rehabilitation home for elderly people who needed some time off from the world, or just some company.
“Or, you know, because they don’t want to do their own laundry and make their own meals,” Jade said, before we went down for breakfast.
“Really.”
“So what was all that you were blabbering on about last night? I was half awake then, but I distinctly remember you saying you were afraid to love someone? Why would you be afraid to – oh, right. Sorry.”
And there it was again – the elephant in the room. For the first few weeks after Blake left, everywhere I went people either gave me sympathetic looks or hugs, or scrambled around for something to say as a detour to the invisible topic.
“Anyway,” Jade said, pulling her hair into a loose ponytail, “did you hear about yesterday?”
“What about yesterday?”
“My dad. Some people are saying they saw him.”
“Where was he before? You know, after he came back and left again?”
She dropped her hands. “For someone who keeps telling me not to air family laundry, Caleb sure tells you a lot of stuff. I mean, no offence, but –”
I nodded.
“Well, you know, after he got out from jail, he came back looking for us. But mom had moved on, and so had we. Or at least, I had. I don’t know about Caleb, and Reilly sure hasn’t. Later, I saw him in the papers as a suspect for burglary and car theft, but he never got caught. Mom told us he’d left the country, so when I heard yesterday…” She widened her eyes meaningfully.
“It’s probably just a rumour,” I said. “You know, this estate has a penchant for that.”
“Probably.” She shrugged.
“Do you want him to come back?”
“Frankly,” she said, with a long pause. “No.”
We left it at that and headed down for breakfast. I knew something was wrong when I saw the Burnsteads at the breakfast table early. My parents were trying hard to make conversation, and Mr Burnstead was trying just as hard to seem as though nothing was wrong, but Mrs Burnstead had a pinched look on her face and her movements were jerky as she reached for toast and milk for her coffee.
Caleb had just emerged from his room, his hair still wet from the shower.
“Caleb,” Mrs Burnstead said, her voice so brittle it chipped the word. “Sit. We have much to talk about.”
We shared a look. Behind us, Reilly slammed her door shut in her customary way and joined us at the stairway.
“You guys, we have to be at the marquee earlier. Aunt Mimi is on the planning committee this year, and I promised her I’d be there early to help.” She stared from us to the breakfast table and back again. “Maybe I should leave now.”
“You will join us, Reilly,” Mrs Burnstead said, her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you know something about the matter too.”
For once, Reilly did not protest. Instead, she asked, “Did I miss something?”
“We have heard some disturbing news,” Mrs Burnstead said, “about something that happened yesterday. I don’t know whether to believe it, but it can’t hurt to ask if any of you know anything about it.”
“Know anything about what, exactly?” Reilly asked, crunching blithely on toast.
I concentrated on gulping down my orange juice.
“Your father was rumoured to be at the craft fair held at the marquee yesterday.”
Reilly stopped chewing. “Dad? He’s here?”
“I was hoping you might know the answer to that.” Mrs Burnstead turned to Caleb and Jade. “Do either of you know?” I noticed how she kept stirring her coffee, careful not to clink the spoon against the glass.
Jade shook her head, and a second later, Caleb did so too, slowly. But it was too late. I saw the flicker in Mrs Burnstead’s eyes as they rested on her son.
“He doesn’t belong here with us. Not anymore.”
No-one said anything.
“Things have changed,” Mrs Burnstead muttered, rapidly stirring her coffee. “He doesn’t belong here with us anymore.”

*

We were the first few to arrive at the marquee. My parents held hands in the car, and I did not know how I felt about that. Part of me – a bigger part, I suppose – was happy, but then I was afraid she would get out of the car any minute. How could you ever be sure, after all, that you won’t get left behind again?
The first thing I heard when we got out of the car was a twangy Elvis song. Jailhouse Rock. Mom always swung to it. She did so now, too, nudging my hip with hers and she raised her arms and kicked her legs.
“Annabel. Gabriel.” a lady with coiffed hair approached the Burnsteads and extended her hand. “That was a wonderful fete you held last Saturday. I had hoped to see you at the craft fair yesterday to tell you both about Jimmy’s new project, but I didn’t see you there. Now, he came up with the proposal last night, and…”
They left, the pair listening to the lady yammer on about Jimmy’s ground-breaking proposal, as usual, while we were left there helping ourselves to refreshments.
“This is such a lovely place,” mom said, scanning the crowd. “Daddy and I were talking about moving here.”
I stared at them. “You were? So you’re really coming back for good?”
She smiled. “I said I won’t leave this family again, Kristen, and I will keep to that promise. You’ll see.”
My father was beaming brightly, like a child. It reminded me of what Caleb said, about how every time someone found something, another person would have lost something of theirs. It was all about balance, after all, and gaining and losing was the easiest way to maintain that. He had found mom again.
American Pie came up next, and my mother tugged on my father’s hand excitedly. He got up obligingly and joined the crowd that was swinging merrily.
“It’s working out, Kristen,” Caleb said, bumping my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”
“This music’s driving me nuts,” Tate said, as he and Reilly joined us.
“That’s because you have such a parochial taste in music,” Reilly said.
Jade glanced over at her parents, now speaking alone. Or at least, Mrs Burnstead was speaking. Gabriel was just nodding accommodatingly. “Doesn’t this remind you of their wedding day? At the end of the day, mom said the most satisfying thing was having gathered more contacts than they had expected. Contacts. for work.”
“That was why I saw no point in attending,” Reilly said.
The Burnsteads approached us, staring stone-faced at Caleb, Jade and Reilly. “We need to speak to you three.”
Hyde came at that moment, looking mildly annoyed to see Mrs Burnstead. “I need to talk to you both.” He pointed at me and Caleb. “About the book fair.”
“I’m sure that can wait,” Mrs Burnstead said. “We have something more important to discuss.”
Hyde ignored her. Turning to me with a roll of his eyes, he said, “You first, then.”
“So you’re finally speaking to us?” I asked, smiling.
“This is strictly business,” he said grudgingly. “We’ll be ready for the book fair on Monday. I’ve sorted out the books with Belle, and you two just have to make sales. We’ve earned a fair bit from the craft sale, but it’s only enough for the revamp.”
I looked past him at Caleb. His face was unreadable and he was not moving an inch. Meanwhile, Jade’s face was as scarlet as Reilly’s, as both of them yelled something at the Burnsteads that I could not hear.
“That’s … great, Hyde. I’ll let Caleb know.”
Hyde watched me for a while, and I turned back to him.
“Look, we’re sorry we didn’t tell you. We just wanted to keep this as low-key as possible. Caleb didn’t tell me either. I found out myself.”
“What’s his plan for now?” He crossed his arms.
“I don’t know.” I wondered if I should tell him about Gareth hitting Caleb, but that, I was sure Caleb would say, would be making a mountain out of a molehill. If there was one thing I had learnt about him, it was that he didn’t like people fussing over him.
“Kristen?”
Hyde was still watching me. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what he’s going to do, but Mrs Burnstead and Gabriel suspect something, and…” I shook my head. “Will you report Gareth?”
“Not if it gets Caleb and Belle in trouble,” Hyde said. “I’m still trying to work that out. But if that person makes another move, I’m going to the police, and that’s for damn sure.”
If Gareth went back to jail, what would happen to all of us? Somehow, our lives were all interrelated now. Invest too much of yourself into the people around you, and soon you find yourself trapped in a one-lane street, with everyone else behind you. Anything they did would bring about a chain reaction that, no matter what, would make us careen forward, tail-spinning.
“I’m sure Gareth isn’t completely a bad person,” I said.
“No, but he’s a bad father. I don’t know what he fed Reilly and Caleb to make them such great fans of his.” He glanced at Belle, and then said, “Listen, I’m going to go talk to Belle. If anything crops up” – he shot me a meaningful look – “let me know straightaway.”
By the time Jade and Caleb had come back to us, Hyde had reached Belle’s side. Don McLean was done singing and the Beatles took over. Reilly, for some reason, had stormed over to where Tate was, with a bunch of his friends.
“What happened? Reilly looks ready to murder Tate,” I said.
“Oh, she’s ready to murder someone, alright,” Jade said, watching her go as she sat down next to me. “But it isn’t Tate.”
“What happened?”
“Mom and Gabriel are talking about moving,” Caleb said. His eyes were dark as he stared ahead at the stage, where the skinny old lady from the craft fair was strutting about, giving orders.
Meanwhile, I realised that I was shaking. “Moving?” I waited until he turned to face me. “Moving … where? For how long?”
“We don’t know,” Jade said. She was actually huffing. “They’re the ones making the plans. It’s just so unfair. They didn’t even discuss it with us. Everything and everyone is here! They can’t just uproot us like that just because they don’t want dad to find us.”
“Is that why she wants to leave? So your dad won’t be able to find you?”
Caleb just stared at me, his face still and unfathomable. His gaze flicked to my shaking hand as I ran it through my hair.
“I may be on mom’s side, like I always have been,” Jade proclaimed, “But I say he has the right to see us. If he wants to, that is.”
The words came out unconsciously. “I’m sure he does.”
Caleb shot me a look.
“So when will you leave?” The key was to keep my tone light. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t even know if I want to leave with them,” Caleb said. “But … Monday. That’s when we’re scheduled to leave for California. Gabriel’s based there, and he’s been persuading us to migrate since… since we moved here, I guess.” He shrugged.
“They’d already bought the tickets!” Jade screamed. Her cheeks were flushed. “That is just so typical of them. No room for questions or negotiations. We buy the tickets and you pack your bags.”
“To be fair, they said they were giving us a choice,” Caleb said. “We don’t have to leave if we don’t want to.”
“Choice. Sure. You know they’re going to do whatever they had in mind all along in the end. So all this choice business is just …” She grunted.
“Monday.” I watched as my parents paused for breath, laughing. Everything was going on nonetheless, like it always had. “So soon.”
“I know, right?” Jade shook her head and crossed her arms. “They’re being so paranoid I’d laugh if I weren’t so mad at them.”
We sat silently, watching the celebration play on.
“So what happens now?”
It was strange how, whenever that question was laid out in the open, no-one ever had an answer to it.
“What did Hyde talk to you about?”
“The book fair.” I relayed to him what Hyde said about it. “So. Big day, Monday.”
He didn’t look at me. “Yeah. Big day.”
I was not sure what exactly he was referring to.


Twenty-five


“Lying is done with words and also with silence.”
~ Adrienne Rich (American poet and essayist, 1929 – present)


It had been a long time since we had sat together like that, watching the last of the pink dusk blend into an expanse of indigo. I wasn’t even sure it had really happened before, or if it was just a myth, a fantasy I had grown too used to clinging on to.
“It’s lovely here,” mom said, taking an appreciative breath.
“It is,” I said. “I thought it was too bright when I first came here.”
“Ah, but this time of the day,” mom said, smiling at me sideways. “Not too bad, right?”
“It’s even better after a thunderstorm.”
“For someone who used to cry endlessly when she heard thunder, you’ve sure grown to embrace it.” She swung her arms in that gangly way when you didn’t know what to do with them. “How’ve you been holding up? I’ve barely gotten a chance to talk with you since I came here.”
I shrugged.
“You know.” She waited until I looked at her properly before continuing, “When I went back to our house last week, the new owner handed me a bunch of stuff. She said she found them under the floorboards in your room.”
I fixed my gaze on the group of children in their cycling gear across the road. There was a heavy thudding in my chest that I tried to tame by controlling my breathing.
“Did you forget to take them, or did you leave them there intentionally?”
“Must have forgotten.”
“Kristen.” She inched closer.
My first instinct was to move away – everything she did now felt like some sort of overcompensation – but I made myself stay still and see what she would do.
She reached over and tucked my hair behind my ears, rubbing my earlobes the way she used to every night before she turned out the lights. “I should have been there for you.” She looked ready to cry. “He was everything to you.”
“Mom, please. I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Okay. Let’s talk about the present, then. What have you been up to since you came here?”
“Trying to restore the Old Belle. It’s the bookstore Caleb’s grandparents opened. His aunt runs it now, and it’s … well, it’s falling apart, hardly any business. We’re trying to save it, bring in more business.”
“Yeah? How’s it coming along so far? I hope you’re getting paid.”
I looked at her.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m kidding. So what’s the progress like?”
“We’ve earned enough from the craft sale yesterday to give the shop a makeover, but we still need some more funds to pay for the promotion and to repair some old books.”
“Do you accept donations?”
“Mom, please. Don’t.” It made me feel worse that she made this offer, not because she was being too nice, but because she was doing what a generous stranger would do to support a good cause.
“But I want to help.”
“Not this way.”
She patted my hand. “Okay.”
“So.”
She smiled. “Take your time.”
“I didn’t go to his funeral.” I had no idea why I was suddenly telling her this. “I didn’t talk to any of his friends or family after it happened. His mom wouldn’t see me.”
“She was a still mess when I saw her at the bakery the other day. I don’t think she even saw me, much less recognised me. I don’t think she saw anything.”
“He used to be so worried about her, with her high blood pressure and all.”
She nodded. “And he’d light those matches in the car. Until I told him to take it out of the window.” She put an arm around me, and I let her pull me closer to her. “But he took care of you. He always made an effort.”
I nodded, realising I was wetting the front of her blouse with my tears. Ever since that day at the craft fair with Caleb, all this crying business was becoming more frequent.
“But you know, I think Caleb does too,” mom said, smoothing my hair back. “No-one’s asking you to forget about Blake, honey. It’s just … you have to let new people in, and keep the old ones nonetheless. There’s always space for that.”
I looked up at her. “So should I see you as a new person or an old one?” She flashed me a grin, and I quickly added, “And no bad jokes, please.”
She laughed. How long it had been since I heard that sound. “I’m still your same old mother with a new heart.” She grimaced. “How’s that for an answer?”
I scrunched up my nose. “Better than ageist jokes, I guess.”

*

That night, I tried to distract myself by listening to an RnB channel in bed. While I was anxious to head downstairs and hear what Caleb’s decision was (assuming he had already come to one), something would almost immediately slow my chugging thoughts in its tracks.
When one a.m. came, I pushed the covers away and slipped out of bed.
Only to hear the bedside lamp click on, and find Jade and Reilly standing before me.
I gasped and pulled the covers up to my neck.
“A little bird told us that you and Caleb were present when our dad was seen.” Even in a tank top and pink pyjamas, Reilly managed to intimidate me.
“Is this true?” Jade said, staring wide-eyed at me. She was still sitting on her bed. That was when I realised they had been laying in wait for me.
“I … I don’t know.”
“Kristen, if you do, please just tell us. He’s our father,” Reilly said, softening slightly as she sat down on the foot of my bed. There were shadows under where her eyelids sank, and I thought she looked hurt, or disappointed, but that was probably just my imagination.
“Maybe Caleb knows.”
“Yeah, makes sense that he would know, I guess,” Reilly said softly.
“So you didn’t see our dad at all?”
I kept staring at Reilly, whose eyes were downcast.
“Kristen. Did you see our dad at all?” Jade asked again.
“Maybe Caleb knows,” I said again, sighing.
“Okay.” Jade stood up and placed her hands on her hips. “Let’s go ask him, then.”
She had my attention. “What? Now? Why?”
“Because,” she said, “I’m convinced mom’s just being paranoid, and so I’m not going to leave everything behind here and migrate to California. I don’t care how beautiful their beaches are. Just – no. This is our only way of knowing for sure and convincing her otherwise. Now, come on.” She opened the door.
We filed out after her. There was too much shuffling tonight. I was convinced someone would hear us, but we managed to get to the porch without being noticed.
For the second night in a row, he was not there. I was getting tired of seeing that mug there, steaming alone, sitting on the uppermost step and watching out for the return of a familiar figure.
“He’s not here,” Jade said, like perhaps we weren’t able to see that.
“Where’d he go?”
“Maybe he went for a walk.” I picked up the mug. “You can ask him when he gets back. Now let’s get back to bed.”
“No, no, no.” Jade held on to my arm. “You know where he’s gone. Now, we will wait here until he gets back, or you will tell us where he is.”
“Or better yet, bring us to him,” Reilly added. “You think you’re hard to read? Hardly. You know something, and you’re hiding it, Kristen.”
I considered how I would feel if someone else had known where my mother was when she left us. It would be my right to know where she was. I would, dramatic as it sounded, stop at nothing to worm that information out of the one who knew.
“I’ll take you to him.”

*

I wondered if I had done the right thing, leading them to the shack. I knew it was what I should do, but who could say that for sure? It was not up to me to say what should happen, or that what I was doing – or had done – was right.
“You mean to say you two have been hiding him, and you never once thought of telling us about it?” Reilly said, stepping gracefully over a tree root while Jade and I stumbled yet again. She swung her flashlight in my face.
“I’m sorry,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut.
“That secret doesn’t belong to you,” she said. I had the distinct idea she was not quite so partial towards me anymore now that she had learnt of the truth.
“But why didn’t you tell us?” Jade slipped on a spot of wet mud and I reached out to steady her. “Why didn’t Caleb tell us? He’s our dad, too.”
“He figured you’d go telling your mom.”
Jade shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Well, maybe I’d consider that possibility, but –”
“You don’t consider,” Reilly said. Which was a fact. Jade never considered anything until it happened.
“But I’d realise eventually,” Jade said sharply, “that that would send mom into a paranoid fit much like the one she’s in now. And then I wouldn’t tell.”
“There are only a handful of people who know anyway, and I wasn’t supposed to, only I did.”
“Who else knows?” Jade demanded.
“Your aunt. And Hyde, since the craft fair.”
“Aunt Belle?” they both said. “Wait,” Jade said, frowning. “So it was true? The fight and everything?”
“Well, I’m sure it’s probably not as dramatic as everyone described it.”
“Anyway,” I said. The house was in sight now. The grimy windows were open, and a dim fluorescent glow lit up a portion of the living room. “You know now.”
I stopped, and they followed suit.
“What is it?”
“Will you leave? All of you?”
“No,” Reilly said flatly. “She can’t make me, anyway; I’m almost twenty-three. Now I’d just have to look for somewhere else to crash. It’s just so like her to change plans all of a sudden on a whim.”
I turned to Jade.
She rolled her eyes. “I suppose. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” When she saw that my response hadn’t quite satisfied her, she added, “I don’t know about Caleb. Who knows what goes on in that head of his? He’s always been protective of mom, but he’s also loyal to dad, so who knows?”
This was not exactly an answer. I sighed and strode towards the shack, expecting Gareth and Caleb to be in another argument, probably. I only realised, then, how I had never really seen them as a loving father-and-son duo.
There was no-one there.
“Hello?” I called out to the empty kitchen, half-expecting Gareth to pop out from behind the counter with a bowl of Fruit Loops and the sour face he usually reserved for me.
There was, however, an empty bowl with a spot of milk curdled at its base, a spoon stuck in it.
“Dad?” Reilly called out. “Caleb?”
“Maybe they left,” I said, checking the pantry. There was nothing left in it. While before it was chock-full of cup noodles, tubes of sour cream-flavoured Pringles and, of course, Fruit Loops, it was now empty.
“Do you know where they might have gone to?”
I shrugged, and went on to check the fridge. It wasn’t entirely swept clean: a few battered apples sat in there.
They had to have been here. At least, Gareth must have. Maybe I was wrong, and Caleb had gone looking for Hyde’s after all, or to make sure his dad did not go looking for Belle.
But then he burst in through the kitchen door right then.
“He’s gone,” he said, in a voice so even it was as though he was expecting it to happen.
“What?”
“He’s gone. Upped and left.”


Twenty-six


“Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live; it is asking others to live as one wishes to live.”
~ Oscar Wilde (Irish playwright, poet and writer, 1854 – 1900)


“I can’t believe you knew all along and you never told us,” Reilly said. “I mean, really, would you never have told us if it weren’t for that incident at the craft fair?”
“Reilly,” Caleb said, still in that scarily flat tone. “Calm down.”
He had barely uttered a word since we left the shack, and his eyes were as flat as his voice. Something was gone in them, but something else was working underneath. I wanted to ask him what he was planning, but I was afraid to know his answer.
“You told her,” Jade said, pointing a finger at me, “But not us.”
“It was purely by accident that I found out,” I said, yet again. “So now what?” I asked Caleb. “Now that he’s gone? Where do you think he might be? Should we go check the cemetery, or Belle’s house?”
He did not reply me for a long while. Jade and Reilly were silent too, waiting for his answer.
Finally, we reached the road, and he clicked the flashlight off. “No. We’re not going to look for him.”
Reilly stopped walking. “What? Why not?”
“We should at least talk to him, Reilly and I,” Jade said.
“About what.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Everything you talked about with him,” Reilly said. “How long have you been hiding him, anyway? Why couldn’t he have come to us? To me, at least, since I wasn’t even living with our mother until two weeks ago?”
“I don’t know, Ri. Okay? I don’t know. Maybe you were busy that day he decided to look to us for help.” I had never seen him so harried before, so agitated.
“What are we going to do, now that he’s gone?”
“Nothing. We go on living our lives like we should.”
Reilly turned to him. “I can’t believe you’d say that. He’s our father. Don’t you remember everything he’s done for you, done with you?”
Caleb shook his head. “He’s not as heroic as you make him out to be, Reilly. Yes, he was a good dad. But he made mistakes, too –”
“Who doesn’t?” Reilly almost screamed. I shushed her gently, but she shot me a look. Caleb put his hand on the small of my back.
“He’s made one too many. There’s no way we can go back to before.”
It reminded me of my dogged resolve when my mother asked for another shot at being a family. While all those nights ago I thought I would never forgive my mother for leaving us – and offering such a paltry explanation for her actions – here I was hoping Caleb would continue holding out for … what? With Gareth gone, there was nothing left to hold out for. With Gareth gone, the last link was burnt.
Suddenly, Caleb said, in a voice so soft I was sure it must have come from my mind, “I wish he’d never come back.”

*

I did not dare to get out of bed until I saw the first ray slice its way through the curtains. Hyde had sent a text message at six a.m., demanding our presence at the Old Belle, so I assumed he was going to put the Gareth situation on hold until at least after the book fair.
Except, there was no more Gareth situation, was there?
It was difficult to be alone with Caleb at breakfast, since I knew neither Jade nor Reilly had gone to sleep since we got home last night. The four of us were at the breakfast table at six-thirty, silently sipping our OJ or buttering our toasts.
“We should go to the Old Belle now,” I said to Caleb from where I was, clearing my breakfast things.
“Okay.”
Once out the door and earshot of his sisters, Caleb, as he held the gate open for me, said, “I have something to tell you.”
“Let me guess.” It had rained last night, after we got home. I heard the rattling on the roof, the windows, and had to resist the urge to head out into the thick of it all. Right now, Caleb reached out to prevent me from stepping into a huge puddle in front of the gate. “You actually know where your dad is,” I said.
He shook his head and tugged on my hand to start walking. “I’m leaving.”
There was a second when I felt my breath desert me, like that time I fell off the monkey bar and landed on my back. I scrambled for something to clutch on to. Unfortunately, it was his arm. “But you said you weren’t sure if you wanted to leave.” The crack in my voice made me wince.
“I know.”
I could barely hear him. Look at me! I wanted to scream. But he offered nothing else. Not even an explanation.
“You were given a choice,” I said. “Right?”
“And I’ve decided to leave.”
Suddenly, it felt like the gap between us had inflated. A wall of stony faces and lies threw me on the other side of where I had, over these past couple of weeks, come into place. The other side of here.
“Why?”
The word hovered above us, lending its weight to the air. It was a question easy to answer – there was a reason for everything, right? – but he only remained silent. We both knew sometimes reason was not enough to justify what we did, not enough to justify whatever happened, whether we liked it or not.
But this time, silence wasn’t good enough for me. It was time for concrete answers.
“Why, Caleb?”
“I just need a change from all this, that’s all. I mean, why not?” He gave a bark of laughter. “Gabriel has been bugging us to move there for ages. Maybe it’ll be good for us all. Hell, if it’ll make mom less neurotic, I’m all for it.”
“I thought it was her job that drove her … you know, that stressed her out.”
“Nah, she was nuts all along.” He grinned. There was something wrong with that picture, something too unnatural and forced I had to look away.
“You think I don’t know what this is about?”
He raised his brows. “And you do, as usual?”
“You’ve failed. You couldn’t manage to help your father, and you’re afraid you’ll lose your mom too, so you’re leaving with her just so you can still hold on to a shred of the family you once knew, the one you once had.”
Shaking his head, he chuckled but looked away. “I don’t know where you get these ideas from –”
“You’re saying I’m wrong? There isn’t any truth to all that at all?”
He just kept shaking his head, running his hands through his hair.
“Look, I don’t know how to fix this, how I can help –”
“Why, thank you for your good intentions, but there isn’t anything you can do, because there’s nothing – no-one – here that needs your help. My dad is gone and my mom wants to move, so I’m going. End of story.”
“No, it’s not. You’re just running away from the problem, just like your dad, who has never –”
“Shut up, Kristen.” And then, softening: “Please. Let’s not end it this way.”
“End what?”
“Nothing.”
I took a deep breath, deciding I had just about had it with this conversation. “Keep avoiding the truth, Caleb. Sooner or later, you’ll just realise nothing’s changed, and you’d have just made another futile attempt at repairing something that’s already broken.”
I was ready to take the remaining few steps towards the Old Belle, when he spoke again, “I’ve thought it through. It’s done, Kristen. I’m done, done helping him, done keeping secrets, done trying so damn hard to get my parents back together again. He doesn’t care. Maybe he never has.”
“That’s not true.”
“How would you know for sure?”
I didn’t. “So you’re leaving. Tomorrow.”
He silently caught up with me and we both stood there before the bookstore, looking at each other.
“What about the book fair?”
“I’ll still be helping out,” he said. “Today.”
“Today.”
“Yeah.” He squeezed my arm, flashing a slight smile. Today.”
He must have realised what was standing between us then, must have known it was what we both refused to acknowledge.
“That’s … good for you. I hope you enjoy yourself there.” I stretched my lips to flash him a smile.
He stared at me, parted his lips a little. I could almost see the words spinning about in his head as he struggled to get the right ones out. It was a long while before he actually spoke. “Thank you. I hope you enjoy … the house. Maybe your parents can take over once we’re gone.”
Goodbyes were for people who were unable to hold themselves up on their own and had therefore come to rely so much on someone else. If you were prepared to let go of your heart, you should also be prepared to get go of whatever – whoever – it was that took it in the first place.
What a fool I had been. Again. It got me every time, that sense of loss, of being cheated somehow. I imagined this was how Caleb felt whenever he stepped into another of Oliver’s traps. Like he should have known better.
I should have known better.
“I’m sorry,” he offered, and waited for me to say it was okay, it was what he should do, as long as it was what he wanted. But I couldn’t.
So I pushed the door open, taking in the dust floating in the sunlight. Hyde was there, on the phone at the counter as he pushed aside heavy-looking boxes with his feet.
“I don’t know why you’re even bothering to help, if you’re leaving tomorrow,” I muttered.
“Don’t be like this, Kristen.”
“How long will you be gone for?”
“She wants me to finish my education there. After that, I can probably come back here if I want.”
There was no use hoping. He didn’t see it the way I did. What I saw were two people who had been hurt by something that they played no part in, needing each other to hold ourselves up. But he had chosen to walk away.
“Okay,” Hyde said to us, snapping his phone shut. “It’s a good thing they didn’t bring down the tent at the marquee. We can use it for another day or two, so that’s one problem down. Now, we should come up with a list of all the books for sale so we can keep track of what we’ve sold…” He stared at Caleb, frowning, then at me, and back again.
“We’re listening, Hyde,” Caleb said. “Go on.”
“Okay, so as I was saying.…”
I zoned out afterwards, my mind spinning with thoughts of causes and consequences. Only when Hyde snapped his fingers in my face did I start paying attention again.
By then, I already knew what I had to do.

*

“I just thought you should know everything that’s gone on so far,” I said, “regarding the Gareth issue.”
Hyde eyed me suspiciously. “Go on.”
“There isn’t an issue anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I said, leaning against the stack of books he was wiping yet again, “that he took off. Last night, we went to the shack, and he wasn’t –”
“The shack?”
“The place he’s living in. Was living in. Everything was gone. And Caleb’s decided to leave with his mom and Gabriel.”
“What? Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”
“Well, to be fair,” I sighed, “he did only make that decision last night, after we found Gareth gone.”
“So she’s just going to haul her kids away so her ex-husband won’t be a threat to them anymore.” He shook his head. “Typical Annabel.”
I frowned, immediately looking around to see if Caleb heard that, but he was still in the storeroom downstairs packing the books into boxes. “Why do you say that?”
“Because that’s how she’s always been, since the day I knew her. She runs at the first sign of trouble, willing to sink into a comfy little humdrum life just so she won’t have to stand near the edge of the water. Belle, on the other hand…” He smiled, shaking his head again, before shrugging, “So, yeah, that’s how Annabel is like. Always a quitter, though she doesn’t look like one.”
“You guys go way back.”
“Not always a good thing,” Hyde said, wincing. “So when’s the kid leaving? All of them? Reilly and Jade too?”
“Not Reilly. She wants to stay here. But the rest are leaving tomorrow.” He had brought me back to the point of this whole conversation. “And there’s something else you should know. I saw Gareth hit Caleb the other day.” I described the motions as well as I could.
He reacted like I knew he would.
“He hit him? Hit him?” he roared, and I shushed him.
Over the banisters, I saw Caleb stick his head out of the storeroom, and shrugged upon the questioning look he shot me.
When I turned back, Hyde confronted me with a terrifying rage. “I’m reporting him. You’re taking me to that shack and I’m reporting him.”
I had not quite expected the intensity of his fury. “But he’s not there anymore.”
“Then we’ll find him. We’ll get the police to find him. What kind of person beats up his son?”
“He didn’t really beat him up –”
“Like hell he didn’t just beat him up. You’re taking me there now, to the shack.”
“No, wait.” Granted, I had wanted Hyde to seethe with indignation; I had wanted him to do something that would waylay their plans for leaving. But he was not thinking straight now. He couldn’t report Gareth for hitting Caleb, or bring the police to the shack. Caleb would be implicated, didn’t he see that? He needed to calm down and think of another plan. A better plan. One that would punish Gareth for all the trouble and hurt he caused, but that would also keep Caleb uninvolved.
But Hyde did not see that, despite what I said. “This ends now,” he growled, like a character from a movie, “the way it should, this time. If you really want to help Caleb, you have to do the right thing, Kristen. Gareth is going to keep going back to them – to Caleb, to Belle, and maybe to Reilly and Jade next time – and they’re just going to keep risking falling on the wrong side of the law just to help him. He won’t change, Kristen,” he added, enunciating each word emphatically.
I was still unsure about that. Was it really up to me – up to us – to change things for them, when they had already decided on their course of action?
Because deep down, if I had to be honest, all I wanted was for Caleb to stay, so that I wouldn’t feel like a broken doll tossed behind without another look again, the way I had felt when I lost two people I loved most. All I wanted was to do something about it this time.
If I had to be honest, I was being selfish for keeping him here, perhaps against his will.
But then I looked at Caleb downstairs, as he carried yet another box of books and counted them. For some reason, it broke my heart to look at him, always so well-intentioned, always trying so hard to be the person he thought everyone wanted him to be, but never getting what he deserved.
Caleb looked up and gave me a smile. I saw something sad beneath it. Maybe it had always been there; maybe I had just been so absorbed with myself that I never noticed it. I wondered how I could have missed what was so blatantly obvious, how he could have fooled everyone so well.
“So?” Hyde prompted.
I turned slowly to look at him.
“If you don’t show me where Gareth is, I’ll go look for him anyway.”
And I realised that Hyde was just like me, someone desperately looking for ways to protect the person he loved.
“No,” I said. “I’ll take you there.”


Twenty-seven


“Sometimes you have to get to know someone really well to realise you’re really strangers.”
~ Mary Tyler Moore (American actress and writer, 1936 – present)


It was a sense of déjà vu we all experienced that evening at dinner. Maybe it was just me, but something else sat there with us, some invisible force that repelled each of us away from everyone.
“Pass the chilli, Reilly,” Mrs Burnstead said.
Reilly looked up from her food and handed her the saucer of chilli. I did not know what the plan was for her; I hadn’t gotten around to asking yet. But judging from her atypical civility towards her mother, it was obvious she had made her own decision.
Mrs Burnstead received it without thanks, but stared at her daughter for a moment before going back to her food. Reilly was unaware, having gone back to attacking her dinner with vigour. I thought about how it would feel to lose someone again, the second time around, and had to push that notion out of my mind.
So we all sat like that, captured by our thoughts, too preoccupied to even think about the silence that had settled upon us.
“Well, I must say,” mom said, as she fed herself some sushi, “all of you have been very warm in your welcome. It’s quite a surprise you’re all leaving so abruptly.”
I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic.
“But it’s been very nice knowing all of you,” dad continued. “Good luck in California.”
“I trust you’ll enjoy the house, Daniel,” Mr Burnstead said. When we stuck our heads up in surprise like those alligator heads at the carnival, the ones you had to whack as hard as you could for higher scores, he said to me alone, “You will be living here after we leave. The house is yours now.”
It was strange how, while we had each retreated into our cramped little world, such transactions, so formal and business-like, were being made. As though whom the house belonged to was more important.
“The contract is valid for four years, under which your parents are now recognised as the owners,” Mrs Burnstead said, trapping me in a flat gaze. “If we do not return by then, they will renew the contract.”
Mom smiled at me. I nodded, but something in my throat made it hard to swallow my food.
When the doorbell rang, Jade leapt up and said, “I’ll get it.” I had just come to learn that visitors were mostly welcome in this huge, hollow house.
“Can I help you?”
“Who is it?” Reilly said, helping herself to some cream of corn. “Please, don’t let it be Tate. I told him to pick me up at eight. Jeez, doesn’t he ever listen?”
As we finally realised who it really was, everyone fell silent, staring up at them with our dinner sitting before us. Everything rushed forward to this moment. I heard a whooshing in my ear as Jade invited the two policemen in.
One of them began speaking. “It has come to our attention that Gareth Wane has been taking up residence in an unregistered shack near Highmont Lane. We would like your assistance in our investigation of his offences.”
The rest of what was said after that became white noise to me. I could only feel the weight of gazes, of words, of the slow burning realisation of the truth, as they came together in a blur, leaden, pulling me down.


Twenty-eight


“A lie told often enough becomes the truth.”
~ Vladimir Illyich Lenin (Russian politician, 1870 – 1924)


The irony did not escape me. Despite all my efforts to turn things around this time, nothing had changed. I guess it was stupid of me to think that telling Hyde about Gareth was the ultimate solution.
It had been three days since they were all hauled in for questioning. The Burnsteads were released on Tuesday morning, while Jade and Reilly had only just returned. I could hear them complaining about how tired they were and how Reilly just wanted to crawl into a bath.
Needless to say, they were not going anywhere for the time being; all their immediate plans had to be put on hold until Caleb was free.
After they left on Sunday evening, my parents and I sat silently at the dinner table for a while before dad spoke up, “Well, it’s just a few questions. They’ll be done by next morning.”
But by then, everyone in Wroughton had caught wind of what happened at the craft fair, and had their own speculations on Gareth’s return. My parents, as politely detached as they were from rumours, must have heard something.
“It’s my fault. This happened because of me.”
They exchanged a fleeting glance before mom said, “It wasn’t your fault, honey. It’s no-one’s fault. They’re his family, that’s why they were needed for questioning.”
“No, you don’t get it. It is my fault.” And then I told them the whole sordid tale, about how selfish I was in trying to make them stay, about how I went behind Caleb’s back and blabbed to Hyde.
They kept telling me you did what you had to, honey, you did what you had to. They didn’t see that it was not what I had to do. What I had to do was let them go to California and cut off every last thread that tied them to Gareth.
“Would Caleb have been happy if you did that?” Dr Tang asked the day after, when he came over for lunch. My mother called him the minute we ended our conversation at the dinner table. “Would you have been happy?”
“I was selfish. I’d only thought of what I’d have to go through again if they left.”
“That’s understandable.”
How I hated that word. It was as though by using it, you could be exonerated from your misdeeds. As though everything was forgiven, as though everything was out of our control and therefore we were not to blame. It was a crutch we all fell back on to.
At night, I found myself unable to sleep. It was like my body clock had grown too used to sleepless nights just after two weeks. The room was quiet, too still, without Jade’s gentle snoring next to me, without the rustle of sheets as she kicked them off. What I laid in was a gaping dark hole illuminated just slightly by the slice of moonlight through the curtains. It felt too lonely, and reminded me too much of the days after Blake was gone, so I went downstairs.
The pair of I traded my bed for the moonlight mugs were there in the cupboard, but it felt wrong to be using it now, too late somehow.
It was just too quiet. All that sudden silence was too much to bear, so I turned on the radio the whole night, and tried to read. Words just floated across my eyes.
The next morning, I did not go for the book fair. I didn’t even know if it would still be on. Maybe Hyde was as torn up with guilt as I was.
But no. I received so many text messages, missed calls and voice messages from six o’clock onwards on Monday morning that I had to turn my phone off by nine. To him, even if Caleb was mad at him, he had done what he had to so as to protect him and Belle. If only things were as simple as doing what was right.
Hyde came banging on the door that night, demanding to know what the hell was going on, and why I didn’t reply his messages or calls. I thought mom was about to have a heart attack, to find a brawny man with a sun tattoo on his arm roaring at their door just as she was about to go to bed. She had the phone in her hand, as though about to call the police any minute.
After barging in, he whirled around and raised a finger at me. “First of all, the book fair was your idea.”
“I know, but –”
“We spent so much time and effort into it, and in the end, you don’t even show up?”
“Let me just –”
“And then I call. And leave messages. And voice mails. But do you even reply? No. I can’t seem to reach you the whole day, and I was too busy to even step away for a second. Without Caleb, we’re one staff short. And you don’t even –”
“Hyde.”
He shut up.
“Caleb’s been taken in for questioning. Last night. Along with the rest of them.”
The muscles on his arm slackened, and the flush in his face gradually faded. “Oh.”
“I don’t think we should have called the police, Hyde.” Despite the faintness of my voice, I could have yelled it out for how loud it sounded in the living room. “I don’t think it was up to us to make the decision for them.”
Dr Oliveiro said my intentions were normal, that my behaviour was ‘track-able’. Not traceable, no. She had to come up with a word of her own.
“Track-able?”
Like I was a species she was assigned to study.
“I mean,” she said, in her shrill, tight voice, “if we track your behaviour over the past month, it’s not all that unusual for you to out Caleb.”
“I didn’t out Caleb,” I said. “I just thought that it was time he deserved to have a proper father, the one whom he looked up to until recently.”
“And you think by sending him to the police, Caleb will have a proper father again?” Her eyes were bug-like as she stared up at me.
“Well, I…”
She smiled. “Let’s face it, Kristen. You wanted him to stay, and that was the only way you knew how you. I’m not saying it’s wrong, or right – I’m not here to judge – but you have to admit: that was your intention, wasn’t it?”
“Okay.” I glared at her. “It was. Okay?”
She leaned back in her seat, satisfied. “Well, then. What are you going to do about it?”
What could I do? It would be easier if they were at least willing to speak to me. But when they got back, none of them wanted to. Not Jade, not Reilly, not Mrs Burnstead, not even Gabriel. Everyone seemed to have figured out I was somehow behind this. They either kept their distance or waited for me to leave before entering a room.
The only time Jade spoke to me was when she saw me stealing out in the middle of the night. “Why do you even bother, Kristen?”
I stopped at the doorway. “I can’t sleep.”
“He won’t be there.”
“I know.”
“Thanks to you.” Even in the muffled darkness, I could feel the ripple of resentment she sent my way. “He’s being detained. Detained. Until further notice.”
It felt chilly suddenly. “What does that mean?”
“It means they might arrest him for hiding dad, if they ever find him. Or they might just leave him in there until they find dad, and who the hell knows when that might be?” She pulled the sheets back over her and turned away from me. “Thanks a lot, Kristen. I hope you’re happy.”
That was it. She didn’t even ask for an explanation. Maybe there was no need for one. The damage was already done.
But that did not mean there was nothing else I couldn’t do.
Which was why I found myself in the visitor centre of Parrean Detention Centre, where Hyde found out where Caleb was held until further developments in Gareth’s case.
I was sure Caleb wouldn’t want to see me, much less talk to me. But Hyde said he had spoken to him, and said it would be a good time for me to.
“What do you want?”
Clearly, Hyde was wrong.
I had tried hard not to focus on how depressing the place was, but with Caleb walking into the room, the magnitude of what I had done struck me hard in the gut.
“I’m sorry.” It was the first thing that came to mind, but the words sounded empty in the stale, dismal room, as though it had been uttered too many times in here before.
Caleb just stared at me, his eyes unnaturally dark under the dim lighting. His arms were folded and he slouched back in his metal chair, waiting for my bottom-line.
“I told Hyde.” As though that wasn’t obvious enough. “I’m sorry.”
He waited a while more, and when I offered nothing else, he said, getting up, “If that’s all you’re here to say, I think we’re done.”
“Wait.” I seized his hand, and the security officer stepped forward. Letting go, I said, “Please. We were just trying to help.”
He sat back down and folded his arms. “How many times do I have to tell you there’s no-one who’s in need of help here?”
“I can’t believe you’re still denying it.”
“Denying what?”
“Denying the fact that you’re trying to get your family back to the way it used to – and failing.”
He shook his head and laughed. It was an angry bark of laughter I was unfamiliar with. “Still trying to get into my head, are you?”
I said nothing.
“You’re using the strangest methods of handling your unresolved issues, you know that?” Without waiting for an answer, he barrelled on, “What is it that you’re afraid of exactly, Kristen? Having people leave you, is that what it is? Well, you have a pretty messed up way of keeping them.”
“This isn’t about me, Caleb.”
He snorted. “Sure it isn’t. It’s about me, how I’m trying so hard to –”
“Didn’t Hyde come and speak with you?”
“So?”
“Didn’t he tell you why he did it?”
“Oh, you mean because you told him my dad hit me?” He rolled his eyes. “Kristen. It was just a slap. Why do you have to blow everything up like that? Because, really, we all know this is an excuse. Deep down, you’re afraid of being alone again, being left behind with your parents, whom you feel awkward around for some strange reason. It’s not about protecting me, or however Hyde put it. It’s about stopping us from leaving.”
He was, we both knew, right. I did not trust myself to say anything else, so I could only stare at him, my heart pounding as though I had just completed a run. All the while, as I thought myself a master at reading Caleb, he had sussed me out just as well.
After a while, he said again, “You’re not over Blake. You never will be. That’s okay. It’s okay to remember him for as long as you live, Kristen.”
“Don’t.”
“But don’t you see?” He leant forward, and I had to look away. “You have to find some way to move on.”
“I have moved on.”
“One crying session is hardly the solution.”
“What do you know, Caleb? What does this have to do with anything?”
Smirking, he said, “What does this have to do with anything? Well, let’s see. Because of your boyfriend’s death, you’re now struggling to hold on to everyone around you so you won’t have to go through the whole process of losing them again. Isolating yourself didn’t work, so that’s what you’re doing now. And I don’t mean to flatter myself, but because of that irrational fear, you came up with the worst possible way of keeping us here. You knew reporting my dad would hinder all of us from leaving. That’s ultimately why you did it, isn’t it?”
“Just shut the hell up, Caleb.” I could feel the heat in my face, the throbbing beneath my skin.
“I can shut the hell up,” he said, nodding. “But the truth is, well, out there. It’s sitting right between us, but you just don’t want to see it. Keep on pretending, just like you told me to. Only I don’t have anything to pre –”
Despite myself, I snorted.
He threw his arms up and let them dangle back. “Okay, you know what? I screwed up, alright?”
I was not sure I heard him right. “What?”
“Yeah. You’re right. I was trying to get my parents back together, and I did believe that was what my dad wanted as well. But I failed to. Dad never meant for that. And now all I want to do is start over, in a family without my father.” He spread his arms apart. “There. I said it. What about you?”
Part of me was glad he had finally come to realise that, but another part felt he was not supposed to have said all that. Because that would mean I was the one who was still running away from what I was supposed to see. But I wasn’t ready to. Not yet. These things take time. Wasn’t that what everyone said?
Sensing I was not going to come up with an answer today, he stood up. “If you ever decide to face what you left behind head-on, let me know.”


Twenty-nine


“Every great mistake has a halfway moment, a split second when it can be recalled and perhaps remedied.”
~ Pearl S. Buck (American writer, 1892 – 1973)


I would show him head-on.
At least, that was what I thought before I found myself here. Here was the last place I ever wanted to be. It had been so long since I last saw her. Maybe they had moved out, just like we had. Maybe she would not even recognise me; maybe she would stare out at me through those opaque eyes of hers, not seeing anything anymore.
My mother rubbed my arm. “Just go ahead, honey. Since we’re already here, we might as well just do it.”
I was glad she was here with me. It didn’t feel so awkward anymore. She was my mother, after all. And when I could not find the strength to press the doorbell, she did so for me, twice, firmly.
Katherine looked almost the same as when I last saw her, with her face blank and her hair tied up in a messy ponytail. Seeing her felt like time had stopped. I wondered if she would ever wake up again.
“Katherine,” I said, for she didn’t seem to be seeing us. “It’s me, Kristen. This is my mom.”
“What do you want?”
Given the way it was being asked, it sounded almost like a rhetorical question, but I said nonetheless, “I know you miss him. I do too. Everyday –”
“What do you know about missing him? You didn’t lose your son.” She made to shut the door.
I thrust out a hand. “No, please. Wait. All I’m asking is a small favour from you.”
“You have no right to ask favours from me, considering what you did to him.”
Her words were served cold, and the icy shards slowed my heart. I couldn’t find a reply for that.
“I don’t know what Blake ever saw in you. You’re just a selfish girl who thinks the entire world revolves around you. And now you’re here to ask a favour from me. Can’t you just leave me alone? I don’t ever wish to see you again.”
“I know you think I’m responsible for what happened, and I don’t blame you. Sometimes, I do think it’s my f –”
“Wait just a minute,” mom said sharply. “We’re not here to point fingers. Blame-shifting will get us nowhere, and won’t bring him back. But just for the record, I’d like to say I was the factor that precipitated Blake’s … passing. We’re sorry – I’m sorry – but I won’t let you stand there and accuse my daughter of something she didn’t do. Don’t you think she’s been as torn up as you are about what happened?”
“Mom. Stop it.”
“All we’re asking is to know where Blake’s grave is. We just want to see him. Kristen hasn’t been able to face him all this while –”
“Of course she wouldn’t have.” She stared at me with her glassy eyes. “All you had to do was move to somewhere else and start over. Leave this all behind and pretend it never happened so you wouldn’t have to think about it or live with it. It’s so much easier for you.”
It was worse than when Caleb said that to me. Now I knew it was not just him who saw me for the selfish fraud of a girlfriend that I was. All I was doing was protecting myself. I was not keeping Blake’s memory alive – I was burying it. Just so I would not get hurt.
“So what is this? Closure? You think by visiting his grave, you can officially tell yourself you’re over him, that you’re moving on?”
I would have crumbled in front of her right there, but my mother laid a hand on my back, as though to prop me back up. “No, by visiting his grave, Kristen just wants to acknowledge all that she has done and been through and felt for Blake.”
“It’s not closure,” I murmured, not caring if they could hear me. “There never will be closure.”
Because it was true. You never truly got over a person you loved just because they were dead. They would always be inside you, as you carved new spaces to let other people in.
Katherine must have seen something in me, or my mother, because finally, she said, “It’s in a private estate called Wroughton. There’s a cemetery there…”
“Wroughton?” My mother and I exchanged a look.
“It’s a private estate just a little after Balmone Road.” She gave us the address – which we already knew – and the exact location of Blake’s grave. “And please,” she said, when we thanked her, “don’t come back.”

*

I used to think that grief was a phase you went through in life, like wearing jumpers, or wanting to paint your room pink just so Celeste would want to come over to your house after school.
It was not until today when I realised it had been almost two months after my mother and Blake had left me that I understood that grief was not something you grew out of. It stayed with you, like a taint, indelible. It became a part of you, settled into you. If you could say that you had grown out of it, you would have lost a piece of yourself.
Sadness grew like weeds. They only multiplied if you did not get rid of them in time.
I couldn’t get past the fact that he was there all along, right where I was, when all I had been trying to do was push everything that had happened back where I left it.
The cemetery in the day, just after a brief late morning shower, was every bit as restful as I remembered. I was glad Blake was here, not just because he was closer to me than I had expected, but also because if there was one place I would want to be when I was dead, it would be in the Wroughton cemetery.
His grave was well-maintained, as were many others here, but it sat next to a jasmine tree with dark green leaves and white clumps of flowers. I did not have to read what was on the gravestone. The dates that he was born and died were already embedded in my mind.
“Well, what do you know,” mom said, as though she had stumbled upon this discovery herself.
I placed the flowers at the foot of the gravestone, and suddenly found that I did not have the strength to get up. My mother knelt down next to me and pulled me to her.
I did not mean to cry. Really, I didn’t, because I was past that. But I guess I was wrong.
We knelt there on the grass, crying and holding on to each other for a long time. Somewhere in the middle of that, my mother went back to the car and came back with the box that I had hidden under the floorboards in the old house.
“I was going to ask you if you wanted to give all this to Katherine,” she said, “so I brought them just in case. But I didn’t want you to make that choice. Besides, it’s rightfully yours.”
We did not plan it, but for the rest of the day, we sat next to Blake’s grave and under the jasmine tree, amidst a field of fallen white flowers, and went through all the photos and paraphernalia that Blake and I shared. We commented on the snapshots, laughed at some, rolled our eyes at others, and spoke to Blake as though he was there right next to us, invisible but listening in.
In the end, as the gasping heat of the day died down to a chill, we found ourselves crying again, for all that we had lost – all the lost time, all the lost moments we could have squeezed in between to say the things we wanted to, and all the time we had wasted on hurting each other, taking each other for granted.
If there was one thing I had come to learn, it was that there was no such thing as absolute loss. It was true what Caleb said: when something is lost, something else is gained. The reverse is true.
Just like how mom eventually came back to us, Blake had too. And during that period of time where I thought I had lost Blake forever, I had found Caleb. It was the universe’s way of maintaining the balance, after all.
Blake was never gone. I had just been too swept away in the crests of time that I had missed out on the wave that was rolling in. In the span of a month, that loss had seemed like forever. But I suppose we just had to hold out for the return; we just had to wait for whatever it was that we had lost to come back to us, in its own time, in its own way.


Thirty


“Life is something that happens when you can't get to sleep.”
~ Fran Lebowitz (American writer, 1950 – present)


“About time you showed up. “We could use some extra help.”
Hyde stood in front of the Old Belle, his arms crossed as he grinned at me. There was the distinct sound of drilling somewhere, and I caught a faint whiff of paint.
I took a step forward. The Old Belle was un-characteristically busy. There were, I counted, more than fifteen people in there, browsing, and a handful at the counter. Belle looked radiant as she handed over some change. The counter looked varnished and gleaming, and the armchairs were not the threadbare ones I had grown used to seeing.
“What’s going on?”
Hyde glanced back and beamed at Belle, who, having caught his eye, smiled back. “It’s doing well, huh? We wanted the contractors to come and refurbish the floorboards this morning, but the customers always come first, as they say.”
“Wow.” For a moment, I could not say anything. “Wow. That was fast. Business sure has picked up.”
“All that PR paid off,” Hyde said. “We’re seeing more people from all around the island, not just Wroughton. The Old Belle was in the papers yesterday. They called us a quaint but quietly majestic bookshop with a wide range of books for all ages. Not very original, but at least more people will know of our existence now.”
I nodded. “That definitely doesn’t hurt.”
He pointed at me. “Damn straight. Now, come in. We need all the help we can get.” As he pushed the door open, the bell chiming merrily as usual, he asked, “So did you go talk to Caleb?”
“Yeah. We got into a fight.”
“Oh, he just needs some time. He’ll come to thank us. They’re all better off without that no-good father of his.”
I was spared the trouble of replying him, as the rest of the day saw us as busy as we were in the morning. At least Oliver and Sawyer were not around, so Belle could focus on her work. Caleb’s grandfather had been discharged and couldn’t wait to look after the boys like before.
When the crowd finally thinned around six or so, I was serving a family of four that wanted to know where would be a good place to celebrate their having found a Sue Grafton novel they had been looking everywhere for.
“Definitely Ristrot’s,” I said. “They call it the Celebration Restaurant here. You have to have something to celebrate before they’ll let you in.”
“Well, now, isn’t that interesting,” the mother said, balancing her baby girl on her hip.
After the family left, there were only less than ten customers around. That was when the phone rang.
I could tell by the look on Belle’s face that she was not expecting the call, or the caller.
“Anna?” She pressed the receiver closer against her ear as a smile broke upon her face. “That’s wonderful! Thank you for letting me know. I really appreciate it. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Anna?” I said, once she hung up.
“My sister,” Belle said, beaming away, looking as though she had just found gold. “Yes. Can you believe it? She called to tell me Caleb just got released.”
“Wait, what?”
She nodded again. “Hyde!” she called. “Caleb’s out. Anna just called to tell me he’s out. They’re on the way home now.”
Hyde emerged from the storeroom. He had just been out in the backyard talking to the contractors who were here to fix up the café they were setting up. “Anna? As in, your sister Anna? Caleb’s mother, Anna? I thought she didn’t want anything to do with you.”
“Oh,” she sighed, looking sheepish. “I meant to tell you. Gareth came looking for me yesterday. But before you get mad at me,” she said quickly, “I want you to know that I brought Gareth to Anna’s and we all behaved like proper adults. Caleb is their son, after all. They have to make that decision together.”
“What decision?”
“Gareth apparently held true to his word and turned himself in.”
The Old Belle was quiet as that sank in. It felt as if the few customers remaining were listening in on our conversation too. But everyone was minding their own business. We were speaking too softly for anyone to hear, in any case.
“He did?” I said.
“I don’t believe it,” Hyde declared.
“Well, believe it or not,” Belle said, “he did. And that’s why Caleb’s released now. Gareth promised to clear him of all the blame. He’s going to say he never had any contact with any of us” – she glanced at me – “all this while.”
“What about the witnesses?” I asked. “That old lady at the craft fair?”
“They’re not going to take her statement,” Belle said. “She’s lives in the Beaming Rose Home.”
The therapy home for, well, people who had gone round the bend.
“But … but,” Hyde spluttered. “He’s Gareth. He wouldn’t do such a thing. He’s way too selfish for that.”
“Maybe he isn’t as selfish as you think he is,” Belle said quietly. “He’s his father, after all.”
Hyde snorted. “If he’s his father, he wouldn’t have put his son through all that in the first place.”
“The point is, he did it. He did what he promised, and now Anna even called me. Isn’t that wonderful?” She sighed happily, and her shoulders rose and fell. “I mean, I know it’s just a phone call, but it’s a start, right?”
I paid no further attention to their conversation after that. It was good news, I kept telling myself, that he was out. Of course it was. I couldn’t bear the thought of him in that miserable place any longer.
But that would also mean he was leaving. There was just no getting around that.
My help no longer needed now that there were only so few customers left, I headed home on foot, needing some time to wrap my head around that notion, that image of them repacking their bags and leaving through the front door. Maybe they wouldn’t even have unpacked; maybe they were just waiting for the soonest possible moment – upon Caleb’s release – to leave.
I was not ready to go home just yet, which was why I found myself in front of Blake’s gravestone. Caleb would probably not want to see me, anyway, after that fight in the visiting room the other day. And after all those things we had said to each other ever since I came here. He probably couldn’t wait to get away from me.
You just had to get used to that cycle, I suppose, that cycle of having and losing. Wasn’t that what life was about, after all? Everything was fleeting, impermanent. Nothing was forever.
“See, when you have that look on your face, it means you’re probably too deep in that messed up jungle of your thoughts to get out.”
Somewhere in the middle of his rambling, I had jumped and scrambled to my feet.
“Caleb!”
He grinned and stuck out his hand. “Nice to see you too.”
Seeing him – and that familiar look on his face – replaced the cold-water pep talk I had given myself earlier to soften the blow of his imminent departure. I flung myself at him, laughing, but found my face wet.
He stumbled slightly but wrapped his arms tightly around me. “I missed you.”
“You were mad at me,” I reminded him.
“Well, yeah, that too.”
“I heard Gareth … well, he…”
He nodded grimly. “Who would’ve thought, huh?” But he said nothing more.
Now came the hard part. “So what time’s your flight?” I hated the waver in my voice.
He gave me a slow smile. “We’re not leaving.”
I tilted my head warningly at him. If he thought that was a joke, he was telling it to the wrong person.
“We’re not. I swear. When mom came to visit me yesterday, we…” He shrugged. “We had a long chat. A proper one in a long time.”
I waited for him to continue.
“So anyway, she talked to Gabriel, and they worked out a system. The simplest one yet – delegation. I mean, what is the point of operating such a big company with so many competent staff when you’re just going to do everything yourself, go to every meeting all over the world yourself?”
“Good call.”
“They’re easing into it – they’ve never been good at delegating, as far as I know – but for now, we’re moving back in. So we’re the tenants this time. I hope you haven’t knocked down the walls or anything.”
There was no need for a reply. I pulled him to me again and squeezed tight. He kissed my hair, and then kissed me properly on the lips for a long while.
It had gotten dark, that time of the day I had grown so familiar with. The sky was now a deep purplish blue, but there were still some tinges of pink and gold somewhere beyond the trees.
Caleb looked around, as though he had just realised where we were. “What were you doing here, anyway?”
“I could ask you the same.”
“Visiting my grandma, of course. I was just about fifty metres away from here, and I saw you looking like this.” He pulled a face, looking as though he was sucking on a lemon.
I swatted his chest. “I don’t look like that.”
He laughed. “Trust me, you do when you’re thinking hard. So, what were you doing here?”
I glanced at Blake’s grave in response to his question. A brief thought flashed through my head, and I wondered if I should have been kissing Caleb where we were. But, I knew, given the way he was, had always been, that my dream so many nights ago was not real. Blake had never wanted anything more than for me to be happy, corny as that might sound. He had, after all, once made me promise to be happy, even if it might not involve him. And those were his exact words.
“He’d been here all this while?” Caleb said, reading the words on the gravestone.
I nodded. “Who would’ve thought, huh?”
Then I slipped my hand firmly into his and we made our way home in the receding light of day.

*

It was strange. I thought I would be able to sleep tonight. After all, I had never felt so rested and at peace.
But as I lied there, wide awake in the darkness, I realised why I had woken up. A storm, just another June thundershower, was coming, rolling and gathering speed and force. Everything was quiet, holding its bated breath. Outside, the air was heavy and chilly, tight. There was, as with every thunderstorm, the sense of something heading our way. And my body would react to it naturally, which was probably why I had woken up suddenly.
He was already there, as usual.
“You just don’t sleep, do you?”
Turning around, he smiled and said, “Guess not.” He handed me my mug. The man on the moon at its handle gave me a vacant smile.
Caleb nodded at the moon. It was a strange thing tonight. There were large rings around it, like a halo of light protecting a silver orb.
“That’s a lunar corona,” he said. “Happens when the moon’s light is refracted by droplets of water. Happens when a storm’s coming.”
“There does seem to be something in the air tonight.”
We sat in silence for a while, before I realised he was staring at me, a slight smile playing on the corners of his lips.
“What?” I wiped my mouth.
He extended a hand. “Now that all that nasty business is done with, I’d like to officially welcome you to Wroughton.”
“Nasty business?”
He raised his brows. “That’s not the word you’d use?”
I shook my head.
He didn’t see it the way I did. For all those nights we had spent lonely and angry, at ourselves and at each other, nasty was not the word I would choose to describe it. Wearying, yes. Surreal, yes – for me, at least.
Because those were the nights we slept badly, that the demons reared their ugly heads and probing snouts.
Those were the nights that we could only hope to ride out on our trembling anxiety and recycled tears.
Those were the nights that we replayed words, hard looks and tentative touches, over and over, until they weaved a story of their own.
Those were the nights we longed for sleep, but stayed stubbornly awake.
But those were also the nights we sat beside each other with our mugs in our hands, alone but together in the wakeful silence, while our beds collected the moon’s brilliant light.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 28.09.2009

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