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Lovers
PROLOGUE Ana & Max She hated her daughter. Right now she would happily have killed her with her own bear hands. Irene Love’s red hair shook emphatically as she tried to get her daughter to see reason. "That’s not true – of course we love you." Irene’s eyes scoured the dashboard searching in vain for her reading glasses. Her concentration poorly split between her daughter and the road ahead. Finally, she abandoned her search for the glasses. Flattening the crumpled road map into her lap, Irene tried to find the connection to Salisbury where the village of Fyfield Down awaited them. It had been a spur of the moment decision made as she stood over St Michael’s Mount in Cornwall, watching unobserved, Ana and her Aunt so happy together. Irene had been overwhelmed by jealousy as she watched them. Why could she not have that connection with her daughter – every time she tried to talk to her it came out wrong. It had been fate of course, the sheets of newspaper had tumbled to the floor and, picking them up she had seen it. Holiday farmhouse in the village of Fyfield, an ancient rural retreat filled with winding streets, seventeenth century grey stone houses and half-timbered cottages. The location appealed to her sense of history and love of the outdoor and Fyfield was close to Stonehenge. A place she had since childhood wished to visit. Perhaps here she could have a second chance. The car veered to the left sending Irene into a wave of panic. "Shit!" Instantly she corrected the error, hitting her head distractedly with the back of her hand in penance. "If you loved me you wouldn’t be forcing this on me." Muttered Ana, cutting into her thoughts seemingly oblivious to the helter skelter nature of her car journey. Irene hunched over the wheel, tiny beads of sweat sliding down her neck, and already there were the tell tales signs of the dull beginnings of a migraine. "Is that what you think, that Max is being forced on you?" said Irene her eyes drawn once more to the road and then the map to check her bearings. Her head was spinning. So many things to concentrate on. She needed another pair of hands. Irene threw a look of desperate frustration at her husband. His sleeping form did not stir. Ana examined her thumb. "I didn’t ask for this, this was all yours and dad’s idea, you didn’t really ask me did you?" "We asked you and eventually you came round to our way of thinking." In exasperation Irene threw the map aside, it landed in her husband’s lap, the rustle of paper measuring the ebb and flow of his large stomach. Irene observed him for the briefest of moments. He was overweight. His stomach strained against the fabric of his crisp pale green shirt. It was a gift she had bought for his birthday some two weeks ago. His once thick brown hair was now thinning. She wanted him to shave his hair and be done with it. But Charlie insisted on clinging on to what hair he had left in the unspoken belief that less meant more. He combed it from one side in the vain attempt that he might conceal his baldness. Like a broken bird’s wing the hair now limped to one side. Shaking her head, Irene returned her gaze to the road ahead, every now and then glancing at her wayward daughter in the rearview mirror. She saw Ana throw her exercise book down and frowned. She knew her daughter hated homework, hated school. She loved being with her Aunt Rose, but didn’t like the tutors who had been hired to assist her with her homework. Fleetingly, Irene wondered what her great Aunt was doing. Her attention for the moment drifting away from Ana, she let her gaze touch lightly on the scenery. She saw farmhouses surrounded by verdant green, the grass carpeted with autumn shade leaves, the trees bare. They passed by fast, the countryside a flash of greens and golds. None could compare to the place they had just left behind. The ocean, the fresh crisp sea of Cornwall. She missed the briny scent, the roar of the waves, and she knew Ana missed it more than she. Ana’s sharp retort snapped her out of her musings. "But that’s just it mom. I never came round I was bullied to make a choice when there was none." Irene felt her car seat lurch forward as Ana kicked it hard. The car ever so slightly swerved to the right before Irene was able to correct it. "Oh Ana, now you’re making a fuss over nothing. You know that we did this with the best of intentions and think of all the love Max will receive. You would not want him stuck in some orphanage somewhere. This is a chance for him too." Irene felt Ana kick her seat again, glancing into the rearview mirror she saw the look of frustration cover her daughters face as she pulled at her seat belt, her hands nosily trying to unbuckle the safety catch. "Ana you cut that out and leave that seat belt alone!" "What?" Irene looked at her daughter. Seeing her deep blue eyes feigning surprise. "You know very well what. That seat belt is to keep you safe and kicking my chair is not going to help the situation." Irene could see her daughter was hot and uncomfortable but she wanted to drive on. She guessed they had at least another hour on the road before they reached Fyfield Down. Irene desperately wanted to be there before nightfall. * Getting her compact from her purse Ana examined her small straight nose, full generous lips and deep blue eyes, the color of corn fields. They stared back at her. But Ana saw none of this. Instead she saw a spotty overweight young girl. Her critical eyes noted the pimples around her lips that had caused so much embarrassment over the last few weeks finally beginning to fade but a slither of anguish coursed down her as she noted another string of spots beginning to appear across her brow. Desperately she pulled at her fringe hoping to conceal the blemish with her fine blonde hair but it was no use. Through the fine wisps of hair, the red spots glared out at her. She felt fat and ugly – She hated her life. "Remember we are doing this for you. Having a baby brother will instill within you the principles of responsibility." At these last words Ana’s eyes prickled at their corners, urging her to cry. This was all his fault. Her so-called baby brother thought Ana, twisting her hair into thick knots as she glared out the car window, the beauty that surrounded her fading into insignificance next to the ruination of her life. She was fourteen. A grown-up, she told herself – practically, anyhow - and grown-ups did not cry. They got angry, made a lot of noise but they never cried, at least not in public. That at least was the case at home when her parents fought; loud outbursts punctuated by the smashing of crockery, as her mother destroyed yet another set of plates to express her anger and rage, and her father, the voice of calm and terrified reason, cowered in a corner until the rage was spent. And when they stepped beyond their well-presented front door they were the perfect couple. Married and loving it. Ana thought about her friends at school. She wondered what they were doing now and wished desperately she might put the clock back. She rubbed her eyes, she was so tired, the heat was making her sleepy and miserable and Max didn’t help. His constant crying and then that irritating wheezing sound he made when he slept. The smell of his sick still hung within the confines of the car. Babies were disgusting she concluded as she examined him with disdain. His skin was the color of milk and long black lashes still wet with past tears lay upon chubby cheeks, while the splash of colour came from a shocking lock of jet black hair that curled around his forehead. How anyone could find such a thing adorable she could not understand. She took off her jacket, kicking it to the floor of the car and self-consciously brushed her jeans for imagined dirt. They were brand new, a gift from Aunt Rose. A stab of sadness held her still for a moment before contentiousness returned. "You’re all thinking about yourselves and how it affects you. No one is thinking about me and my point of view. I may be fourteen but I have a voice and a brain but you all won’t listen. You just throw Max in my face thinking that because he’s this wet pudgy baby who burps and makes weird noises I’m gonna go ‘ ah how cute’. Why don’t you all admit it, you love Max more than me, more than you could ever love me!" There she had said it, it was out into the open but somehow it did not make Ana feel better even though she knew her words to be true. "You don’t see me anymore, all you see is Max!" She had watched them since his arrival. Seen how their gazes now adjusted to another horizon, one that held as its radius, Max. Ana argued inwardly that she did not resent him. She was not jealous of the childhood he had ripped from her by an adoption that suddenly made her the ‘big sister.’ Although she did acknowledge that she had lost her position as much-loved only child. Only as the days had turned into weeks and the adoption become more certain did the true flavor of her emotions begin to emerge. Ana curled her hand into a tight fist and began to hit the window in a staccato rhythm she knew was likely to annoy her mother. She closed her eyes in an effort to ignore Max’s presence, sitting in his car seat, safe and secure and oblivious to the pain he had brought with his birth. Ana watched her mother, her head twisting from the empty road back to the map and then the road. She was always so self-assured. Her long red hair curling around her neck, her tiny ears holding diamond studs that glinted in the fading light. She longed to be beautiful like her mother, longed to have that elegant grace rather than this awkwardness – and without Max in tow. But it was wanting to be so much like her mother and desperate to please her that made this present situation so unbearable. "What makes you think you are right, you can’t always be right you know?" "Now that’s enough of your lip madam." Irene pushed red gold strands of hair out of her eyes. "I’m just saying." "And I’m just telling." Irene shot back. * Guilt suddenly overwhelmed Irene. She loved Ana so much - even though she could be so impossible. "Oh Ana. I don’t mean to be short with you but we were placed in an impossible situation. Now I hear what you’re saying, really I do but we have to move on now, please honey, do try and understand." "Understand? How can I understand when you and dad won’t even try to see my way?" "Look, this is getting us no where. Let’s just drop it shall we." Irene Love, eyes all dried up with crying had turned from her car for a fraction of a moment to respond to her eldest daughter. Her sleeping husband oblivious and immune to the tension of the moment, snored softly. This was not how things should have worked out, she thought, the despair reinforcing her loneliness. Everything was so carefully planned throughout and now nothing but complaints from both Ana and Charlie, when before they had been all for it. Could they not understand the sacrifices she had made. Impatiently Irene flicked back her hair in desperate need of attention. She felt unattractive. All that energy spent trying to keep the family together had made her feel physically and mentally that she was slowly falling apart and they did not see it – they did not care to see. Trying to make her voice light and upbeat she smiled, looking at her beautiful daughter in the car mirror. "I tell you what, when we get to the farmhouse we will sit down and really talk, how about that?" Her gaze returned to the road as she waited for a response from her daughter but none came. She shrugged, imagining her daughter behind her, the same old sullen sulk as she burrowed herself into the passenger seat as far away from Max as she could get. Irene bit back her disappointment but it remained so tangible she could taste it. A disappointment at her life and more particularly with her husband. Gradually her despair was working its way to indignation. She stopped seeing the road and saw her plight, her circumstance. She had intended to return to nursing and study further but all that had been pushed to one side to make ‘them’ happy; and now here was her daughter, her flesh and blood, giving her grief over a decision that could restore her dignity and childhood, providing her with a playmate and a brother. Irene had always found it hard to show emotion. That was a Field family trait, more of a curse than a blessing, never able to say what was felt and demonstrate this with words, hugs, affection – but Irene did feel, did hurt and she was hurting by the simple fact that her family, by rejecting her decision, had implicitly rejected her. Pushing down hard on the accelerator, she shifted the car into fourth gear, But she knew things would not be all right. She had messed up her life -- perhaps all their lives. Adopting Max would push her further into the straightjacket of a marriage she suddenly realized she wanted to be free of. She shrugged in despair. Why was suddenly something that had apparently been so right from all angles, suddenly so wrong? " Sweetheart, this is for the best. Now lets just try and enjoy our holiday." She was desperate to end the bickering. Her nerves wound up; she could see the blue purple veins on her long slender fingers gripping the steering wheel far too tightly. She imagined those hands around her daughter’s throat; a fleeting image that was no sooner imagined than gone, but it took her aback with its vehemence and strength. Ashamed and afraid at such a hideous thought, and unwilling to examine the feelings behind it, she pushed the car further. Shifting gears smoothly they began to ascend the hilly terrain. The sky darkened as they sped southwards towards their destination. Light gold strands of hair floated past her line of vision. Looking in the car mirror she saw Ana brushing her hair. "Charlie wake up!" Why wouldn’t he wake up and help her? But that was him all over, wasn’t it? That was the lack of support that had got her to this point. "I know you’re not sleeping so quit pretending." No, this was yet another way to avoid confrontation. "You promise we’ll talk?" "Honey what’s that?" "That when we get to the farmhouse, we’ll talk." "Scouts honor. Your father and I will thrash this thing out once and for all." "Dad is scared of me now." "Honey whatever makes you think that?" "Because of Max. He looks really funny at me now, as if I’m dirt." "Ana it’s just your imagination, your father loves you as much as I do. He was just a bit taken aback by how you felt about Max. He had no idea you felt so strongly but he’s coming round." Irene lied. How could she tell Ana that Charlie had only that morning complained he could not feel the same way about Ana ever again. "Irene, she just isn’t my little girl anymore!" He had cried in desperation, pulling at what was left of his hair, his face contorted with rage. She wanted her daughter to trust that what she was doing was for the best. Uneasily Irene shifted her gaze to the still form of her husband, "Charlie damn it, will you wake up! Once I get to the next service station I’ll poke you in the ribs, so help me God, and you’ll drive the rest of the way." Her indignation grew as the car notched towards ninety. Emboldened by the emptiness of the road, she pushed the Chrysler to its limit. A shadow of a smile crossed her lips as she spied her newborn son in the rear-view mirror, Max -- all three months and eight pounds of him -- in her rear-view mirror sleeping peacefully. When she looked at him, his dimpled cheeks and long dark lashes, a part of her did understand and consider that the sacrifices she had made had indeed been worth it. She imagined him growing to maturity, and her smile flattened out to a proud grin as she pictured the heartbreaker he would become. Only as her gaze returned to the road did she see it. Oddly, it was the sheer beauty and elegance of the car that transfixed her at first. Long smooth lines in a bold blood red designed for pleasure rather than practicality. The sports car exuded luxury, grace, wealth and power. "Mom…Mom!" The warning came in the tone of Ana’s voice. "Mom the car. Stop the car!" Irene panicked, the fear climbing up her back as she realized the error was hers. " Quick, stop the car Mommy!" The long periods of solitary road had spoilt Irene to the fact that this was a two-way stretch, and then she smelt death. It wrapped its arms around her and she froze. * Charlie Love yawned stretching his long body as he began to wake up. Blinking he looked ahead of him and then to his side. Everything happened so slowly. Irene had tears in her eyes. She said something but only her lips moved, the sound of her voice lost in the screech of tires, Ana’s cries to stop the car and the baby’s wail. He felt suddenly sick, dizzy, as the car swerved over the road. He closed his eyes once more to try and switch the noise off. His neck muscles tensed, his stomach heaved, and with a spasm he brought up his breakfast and groaned in agony. His eyes widened the sound of chaos finally penetrating his fogged mind in a wave of confusion. "Help me!" Irene screamed and this time he truly heard. He looked helplessly from her to his soiled pants and then back at the road. "Oh God!" His shock perversely galvanized her into action as she tried to steer the car away from the approaching vehicle. "Don’t push the brake!" She screamed. "If you step on the brake, you’ll spin, Irene, Come on! You can do this. You can do this." Panic overwhelmed her when she heard Max’s wail. "My baby!" Irene cried. Her foot automatically bore down on the brake pedal. The car went into a skid, catapulting faster toward the approaching vehicle. "Mom! Stop the car!" "I’m trying." The sound of screeching tires filled the car, the other vehicle just inches away. Clouds of dust obscured her vision, turning the streamlined vehicle bearing down upon them into a ghostly image. She watched, every nerve in her body frozen, waiting for the inevitable. But it didn’t happen. Somehow, miraculously, her car veered away from the threat and the ghostly image of the other vehicle retreated to the opposite side of the road. * Irene stared at Ana as she began to cry, great heaving sobs, her young face full of shock and fear. Then her gaze turned to Charlie who continued to look straight ahead, his grey eyes wide and unblinking, his skin deathly pale. Irene wanted to reach out and touch him, say something, but she could not speak. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. Slowly, she came out of shock and anger filled her. "Is that the best you could do?" She shouted at her husband. "What the hell else could I do?" Charlie protested, his body visibly shaking with aftershock. "You were driving the car!" The animosity hovered between them. She had screamed for help and he had done what? With deep disdain she looked down at his pants before turning to her son and daughter again. "Ana. Are you alright sweetheart?" Ana nodded. "Good girl." Irene patted her daughters trembling hand. "Sweetheart will you make sure your brother’s alright." Ana looked ill but for once she did as she was told, wiping Max’s wet cheeks that were soaked with tears. Turning to look out of the window, she watched as the driver frantically banged on his door waving, shouting through the jagged edges of broken glass. "Charlie, that guy’s trapped, we’d better go help him." Even to her own ears, her voice sounded weedy and unnatural. The man stuck an arm out of the broken window and pointed up the road. A tanker appeared on the horizon. It threw up clouds of dust as it sped toward them. She froze. The longer she stared at the monstrous vehicle coming toward them, the faster it seemed to go. Ana ‘s scream penetrated from somewhere far away. "Mom! Get out of the way! Mommy!" Irene moaned, her mind incapable of planning a second escape. Desperately she tried to start the car. Tears welled and rolled down her cheeks. They blurred her vision. She shook her head, causing her hair to flop down over her forehead, stinging her eyes as it stuck to her soaked cheeks. The car moved, staggered between the two lanes. She didn’t know what to do and took her foot off the accelerator. "I can’t do this," she muttered. Half-heartedly, she put the car in reverse and stepped on the gas pedal. The car groaned, the tires spun, but it came to life. She felt faint as relief flooded her. Carefully, she reversed. "We’re almost there. Just a little more," she muttered. "Why the hell didn’t I invest in an automatic? This is your fault!" She spat at her husband. Don’t lose control now, she thought, trying desperately to still her shaking hands. Her teeth chattered. Terror entered her heart, overtook all semblance of sanity as she tried again to give more gas. The tanker sounded its horn. Its sound tore at her nerves. Somewhere in the distance she heard the baby cry, Ana’s desperate screams. The car stalled. "God, no! Please …no! Please …" As if in answer to her desperate prayer, the car roared back to life and it picked up momentum. The tires screeched in protest, hardly registering, mingling with the cries of her children. She uttered a sigh of satisfaction in the knowledge she’d moved the car safely. "Mom! Look!" "We’re okay now." A shadow of a smile crossed her lips as she spied her newborn son, Max – all three months and eight pounds of him in her rear-view mirror. Only as her eyes returned to the road did she realize her mistake – and then it was too late. * CHAPTER 1 Rose looked at the faint mirror image that reflected back through the living room cabinet. Once her hair had been jet black, her green eyes piercing and bright with mischief. She toyed with the idea of cutting her hair and buying some make-up to hide the tiredness around her eyes. To even consider such a change a few weeks ago would have been unthinkable so what had changed? She looked down at her hands, wrinkled through long hours of domestic work and lack of care. Everything had changed. Rose flinched slightly as the phone pierced the silence, intruding into her thoughts "Is that Miss Rose Field?" "Yes, who is this?" Said Rose, fixing her gaze on the kitchen table, her fingers beginning to tremble ever so slightly. "I’m Staff Nurse William at Southampton East Hospital. I’m very sorry but there has been an accident." The voice hesitated for a moment. Perhaps she was waiting for Rose to speak, to cry out some kind of lament but Rose was struck numb – her worst nightmare slowly crawling from beneath the shadows to confront her. "It’s your niece and her husband, Irene and Charlie Love." Rose closed her eyes and tried to calm herself but it was no use. "Oh my God – What’s happened?" The question came out as a moan from Rose’s lips, soft and filled with despair. "How?" "If you would like we can send a Police car for you." Rose shook her head from side to side, feeling the first cold sting of tears. The tablecloth blurred and fell from focus. "No, that won’t be necessary." She said trying to pull herself together. "I will make my own way there but how did this happen?" "I’m afraid everything is still a bit patchy. Are you sure you wouldn’t like us to send a car?" Rose’s felt her legs tremble and then give way. She stumbled and sat hard on the cold chair. She covered her eyes, her mouth felt suddenly as dry as sand paper. She looked at her hand. It trembled as she put the phone down and got unsteadily to her feet. She struggled to light a match, and then painstakingly filled the large iron kettle with more water than she needed. The kettle slipped from her fingers landing on the stove with a clatter but Rose did not hear it. She was miles away scurrying from her own shadow as she reached for a cup. Perhaps coffee would perk her up she thought ignoring the fact that she disliked coffee and had only bought it for guests. With more eagerness than she felt she opened the biscuit tin and then gasping came to a halt. What was she doing? Irene and Charlie were lying in a hospital ward and here she was making coffee! And what about Max and Ana – What had happened to them? "Pray God they’re all, alright." * "Miss Field, Irene and Charlie are in the operating theatre. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee while you wait." "No I couldn’t possibly keep anything like that down right now, they are going to be all right aren’t they?" The young nurse, her complexion the colour of honey smiled warmly. "We’ll let you know more as soon as they’re out of theatre." "But you haven’t answered my question. They can’t die, they can’t leave me, I could never cope." Rose’s eyes fixed on her name badge. This, she realised, was the woman she had spoken to. This was Staff Nurse William. Rose’s voice shook with emotion. "I simply could not cope." "There, there, now you sit down here." The nurse walked to the machine returning with a brimming cup encircled by steam. "And try and get this down you. Silently Rose accepted the hot drink. She took a hesitant sip and made a face. It tasted bitter. Rose stared down at the liquid, her thoughts a tangled web of fear and confusion. They had to be all right. What would she, could she do if they were not. The nurse sat down by her side and put a gentle hand on her arm. The pressure was comforting. Rose had an overwhelming need to tell someone a part of the secret that now bored into her soul but she had sworn. Sworn she never would. She bit her lip and looked up into the keen lively eyes of the young nurse desperate to tell say something. Surely this would be important. "Now you try and calm down, those kids are going to need your love and care when they come out of surgery." All thought scurried into darkness as Rose grasped these words. "What do you mean?" "Your niece and her husband will need quite a lot of care when they come out of theatre. You will be the only family little Ana and Max have until their parents are better." Rose placed the hot coffee onto a stained plastic table and stood up, straightening her skirt in an attempt to hide her dread. "Can I see them?" The nurse smiled, her eyes seemed to hold a well of sadness that scared Rose. Did she know something that she dared not tell? "Not yet, but soon." * Rose pulled her grey black hair into a knot at the nape of her neck and opened her bag, rummaging within for her pills. She had been waiting for over two hours and still, there was no word. She found the pills and carefully opened the seal. They had been prescribed some months ago for a weak heart. These days it seemed she ate them like candy. With relief she popped one into her mouth and chewed desperately. Rose prayed Irene, Charlie and the children would be all right so that she could return to her safe and comfortable world of Somertown. But Somertown suddenly seemed another lifetime away. Unable to keep still Rose stood up and paced the waiting room. Her sensible shoes squeaking with every step. Where was everyone? Was she the only one who waited and hoped? Rose wanted to be gone from the hospital. It reminded her too much of her father’s death. Slow and filled with pain in this very hospital he had faded away to nothing, eaten away by Cancer. She loathed the smell of disinfectant, felt it now clawing over her and getting under her nails and into her hair. Rose shivered suddenly feeling cold despite the relative warmth of her surroundings as old memories of a powerless childhood returned. * She looked far too young to be a Doctor. It was only as she drew closer that Rose realised her face was far older than her years. Already, faint worry lines were etched around the woman’s lips and at the corner of her eyes. Rose felt this was a command rather than a request and obediently she sat, sensing the news to be ominous. "I am afraid we lost your niece and her husband some moments ago. We did all we could for them but ultimately the injuries they received at the scene of the accident resulted in far too much trauma." Rose was struck by the resignation in the woman’s eyes. As if long ago expectations of recovery had been lost to the inevitably of death. The Doctor’s words seemed automatic and staged to Rose’s ears, and therefore she was at first reluctant to acknowledge them. "There was very little we could do by the time they arrived here. I am sorry. We have a family room if you’d like to sit there for a while. A nurse can bring you some tea." Still stunned, the words and actions were automatic as Rose gathered her coat and scarf and began to prepare to leave. "Well thank you for telling me, I’d better get home after all there is nothing more I can do here is there." The Doctor clearly confused, shook her head. "But there is your niece and nephew. They are alive and should make a full recovery in time." "I see." "No you don’t see. How can you. That boy is nothing to do with me. With my family. I don’t know what possessed them to go and adopt the child but I didn’t sign up for him. Get a Social Worker or whoever it is that deals with this kind of thing down here now so they can take him away. He needs to be found another home because I can’t have him. I’ve no room in my cottage and I’m quite ill you know." She cast here eyes around. They were looking at her so strangely. The Doctor and the nurse. She could see it in their eyes. Contempt. But they did not understand. How could they. And then the full weight of what lay before Rose finally hit her, clamping her to the spot in a stubborn stranglehold. "Are there any other family members that can be contacted Miss Field?" Asked Doctor Sutton. Rose felt herself blushing. She lowered her gaze to the floor examining her small shiny shoes. She insisted on polishing them every night before she went to bed. "No, I am all there is." In that instant Rose Field wanted to run as far and as fast as her arthritic legs would take her. * "Ana and Max are doing very well, it was a small miracle that they survived but that was down to their child seat belts. Otherwise things could have been very grim. She and Max will need each other in the months to come -- And you Miss Field." Rose noted how animated the Doctor’s voice had become, clearly relieved to talk about the living rather than the dead – Rose outburst of a few minutes ago clearly forgotten. Perhaps the Doctor was used to such behaviour from bereaved relatives. Perhaps she would put it down to the delayed reaction of shock. Rose followed the young woman ashamed of herself but a prisoner to a promise she could not break. * Rose stood by Ana’s bedside. A small cot had been placed alongside were the boy slept. Trying to ignore the cot, Rose focused her thoughts and attentions on her niece. She looked so broken lying there in the bed, like a rag doll whose pieces could never be put back together. Rose resisted the urge to touch her balling her hands into two tight fists as she turned to the Doctor. "Perhaps I should go. I had no idea she was sleeping. Are you sure she’ll be alright?" "They will be just fine, nothing that lots of rest and loving care won’t remedy although I must warn you. Because of Ana’s head injury we had to cut her hair quite short and she has facial injuries that look worse than they really are. In time these will heal." Rose twisted her burgundy purse in her hands, the soft leather stretched under such ardent pressure. "I’ll be honest with you Doctor. I don’t know if I can cope." A new horror dawned on Rose. "What am I going to tell Ana?" She covered her mouth as her lips trembled. "I’m sorry, I really must pull myself together." "Don’t worry about it, this is quite an adjustment you will have to make to your life and a shock to the system, it’s understandable you should feel like this now but give it time. Time is always the great healer." Rose smiled sadly. This Doctor did not have a clue but then how could she? Rose stroked Ana’s cheeks tenderly. Even in the short space of a week, Ana had changed. Her blonde hair was now razor-short, her face had lost the baby fat of childhood, expressing the shadows of the woman she would become, and Rose acknowledged that she had missed her – but was terrified of having her back. * "Ana, my name is Mary, how are you feeling today?" Ana opened her eyes. The slightest movement and her head hurt. And when she closed her eyes, the world spun. "There was an accident and you’re now in hospital. Ana do you understand? If you can nod your head." A beautiful angel sat on her bed, long flowing hair. She wore a blue dress with diamond ear studs that twinkled blue-white stars. Ana frowned, diamond studs. A memory fine as smoke emerged and then vanished. Ana nodded. "Good girl." The angel came closer, her smile warm and kind. "Ana, you were in a car accident." * * * Mary Wolf, fresh out of university blushed deeply recognising that no amount of books could help her cope with the simple truth of informing an individual of another’s death, especially one so young. * Ana wanted to feel something - grief, shock – even shame that she have survived while those who had loved her had not. But there was nothing but a blank open page that might be written on but would not reveal its secrets. Then, involuntarily the question came. She looked up into the angel’s face. "And Max?" The angel who called herself Mary said, "Max is just fine. Look." Ana followed Mary’s gaze to where her brother slept in the cot. "You’re both going to be just fine and your aunt will be in later this afternoon to see you." The voice was reassuring. Calm. Ana felt safe listening to that voice and already, part of her mind was beginning to wander into sleep. Settling under the blanket she frowned as her eyes fluttered closed. A fleeting image recaptured -- A vague recollection of a ghost by her bedside. "Aunt, what aunt?" * Rose had an overwhelming urge to put her arms around her niece and comfort her, but something about the girl’s manner prevented her. "Are you sure you’re all right Ana?" "Yes, I’m fine, really," Ana said but her voice seemed to hold a coldness that Rose found daunting. The young girl she had known and loved had vanished, in her place was a stranger who gaze at her with cold indifferent eyes. "Do you remember who I am?" Asked Rose, her heart beating as she held her breath. Doctor Sutton had said that Ana’s memory would return eventually but it would take time and a lot of support. "Ana has suffered an enormous amount of turmoil," Doctor Sutton had patiently explained. "It may be weeks or months before she remembers, or perhaps days. Then again the worst scenario it could be years." "So it’s possible that she might never regain her memory?" Rose had asked. She had watched carefully while the Doctor had considered this before finally responding. "Yes, it is a possibility, but an unlikely one." * "Yes I know you, you’re Aunt Rose" said Ana, her bottom lip quivering with tension. "That’s fine. I just want to make sure you are really well before I take you home. Head injuries are serious things and the Doctor says you must be very careful in the next few months. Take things easy." "You sound like you don’t want me and Max to come and live with you." "Oh of course I want you. I am looking forward to getting you home." "And Max?" Rose hesitated, eyeing her niece with careful trepidation. Was this some kind of test, did she remember more than she was letting on. "What does that mean Ana?" Rose was aware her voice had become hard, her tone clipped but she couldn’t help herself. Sometimes she felt so close to the edge that she was sure the secret must be inscribed on her forehead for all to see. Ana frowned, "nothing, just that he’s my baby brother and we have to make sure he’s ok as well don’t we?" "Why yes, yes of course we do." Said Rose, trying to relax and smile but it came out as a grimace, her eyes watchful and full of fear. Rose sat on the bed willing her voice not to tremble as she asked as casually as she could the next question. She had to be certain Ana really knew nothing of the trip to Cornwall, of what she and her parents had done. "Do you remember anything, Ana, anything at all before the accident?" She watched as Ana screwed up her face trying hard to remember. She looked just like Irene. A stab of pain entered Rose’s heart and she swallowed trying to hold in the grief. "We were on holiday. Mom and Dad had just adopted Max." Ana’s eyes wandered to the cot. "Yes, we had just picked him up and were going on a holiday. Mom had rented this big old farmhouse from an advertisement in the paper. We were going to go there for a few days. Then a car came from nowhere and spun across the road towards us and --" Ana gripped the edge of her bed, as she began to shake. "I was trying to take my seat belt off but mom wouldn’t let me, said she wanted me to be safe. But that’s all I remember. There’s nothing before. I can’t remember." "Alright dear." Rose tried to hide the wave of relief that overwhelmed her. Rose closed her eyes inwardly shuddering as she imagined the pain Irene and Charlie must have suffered before death met them. "Is that all you remember?" she asked. "I don’t want to remember what happened, it was horrible, one minute we were driving along the highroad the next second we were spinning across the road and now they’re dead." Ana shifted in the bed, her eyes suddenly intense. "Why did you do it?" Rose nearly let out a cry of disbelief. How could Ana know about it. She covered her mouth fearful a cry might escape before finally asking, "do what dear?" "Burn Mom and Dad?" Rose sighed inwardly in relief. "Ana I don’t understand what you mean." She said, buying some time. "I never got to say goodbye. How could you do that Aunt Rose? I will never see them again and you burnt them." "The cremation? But Ana those were your parents last wishes." "How do you know." Ana challenged the tears falling unabated now. "Because your mother told me, she said she would not want to be buried but preferred to be cremated." * Rose recalled the conversation, it had been a throwaway remark that came out of nowhere that she had held in her memory. "No Aunt Rose, when I go I want it to be over and done with. The thought of maggots eating away at my flesh and burrowing away into my eyeballs does not appeal. Cremation and spread the ashes somewhere fine and warm. Rose swallowed hard. " Believe me Ana, it’s what your parents wanted. "But you shouldn’t have done it without me, you have no right." She, Ana. "They were my mom and dad, mine!" * Ana’s head throbbed. Memories of her parents remained fragmentary things. All she had now was Max. In an ideal world she would have loved to walk out of the hospital with her adopted brother and leave her aunt behind. Rose remained a virtual stranger who she was wary of; and underneath this, Ana knew there was more, but it was buried too deep and kept on shifting when she thought she might capture it and hold it long enough to remember. Ana touched her head, feeling the beginnings of new skin healing over raw flesh. "Don’t worry, your hair will grow back Ana." Said Rose. "And I’ have bought you some your favourite biscuits." Ana tried to clear her mind and visualise her parents. "And as soon as you’re well enough we can sit down and decide on when you can go back to school. I am sure you don’t want to get behind now do you. Perhaps I’ll ask that Social Worker, if she can help us with a tutor or something until you’re well enough to start back." * Ana had stopped listening. Gripped by a sudden coldness ringed in black, and an eagerness to flee to a place where there was no past or future. Nervously she looked over to the cot and was relieved to see Max there, sleeping soundly, before reluctantly her gaze returned to her aunt, wary and watchful. "I think you will like Somertown." * Rose walked to the glass cabinet. Here she kept her most prized possessions and there on the top shelf found it. Carefully she took the photo album down and placed it on the kitchen table. There they all were. She smiled. Happy times. Ana and herself, looking back at the camera, their eyes bright with happiness as they smiled out from the glossy photograph that overlooked Cornwall’s Morgan Porth. Low tide on the distant horizon beckoning a deep russet gold. The years had fallen from Rose’s shoulders that summer as she and Ana stood side by side in an embrace. They could easily have been mistaken for sisters for they had the same startlingly blue eyes, high cheekbones, full shapely lips and dimples. She examined the image. Her once jet-black hair was now fading to a tangle knot of white. She had stubbornly refused to colour it, concluding that such vanities were now in the past. She reflected that only a few weeks ago she had actually been toying with the idea of a complete makeover. Four weeks now seemed a long time ago. Rose shook her head with regret. She smiled again at the photo, recalling the day in detail. After hours of study she had finally allowed Ana out, together they had explored the Cornish coastline, its beauty and wonders. Taking the car they had visited the wild bird sanctuary at St Clement’s Isle, then returning inland they had ventured to the Egyptian House in Chapel street. Rose had bought Ana a pair of jeans. Then they travelled to St Agnes where they sat among the plain of flat fields and wild flowers. Finally they had returned to their starting point as late afternoon had slipped into early evening. Sitting atop St Michael’s Mount with the bay behind them. It had taken her three attempts before the timer on the camera had functioned correctly. Prior to that, various angles of her back and behind had been captured, to Ana’s delight, but Rose had persevered and this had been the result. Her features darkened as she remembered. It was then Irene had appeared with Charlie and Max and said it was time for Ana to leave. Rose’s eyes fell to the next photo. One taken by Ana. Rose’s younger self sat on a bench, her mouth half open in protest as Ana took the picture – the backdrop, the cliffs at St Just above rocks and a roaring sea. She turned over the page and there was Ana in a field of daffodils, her pose dramatic, as she looked away from the camera in a living swoon of contrived despair. That had been taken later on, some four weeks before Ana’s eventual departure with her parents to the ill-fated holiday that now had no end. The album was all she had -- all she truly cherished and with this knowledge came despair. An entire lifetime had been crafted around avoiding commitment and emotional entanglement. Then -- for a moment that spanned little over a year Ana had come into her life and changed it forever. Her trembling fingers touched the photograph that had so captured Ana’s beauty and vitality. She longed to love; but not like this, not on these terms. Her fingers touched the final picture, Ana, wide eyes and innocent looking at the camera, behind her, a valley. Rose removed the envelope attached to the photography knowing that something should be preserved. Quickly she walked back into the cottage taking an envelope from the Victorian Writing Table that stood proud by the fireplace. In her bold careful script she wrote an address on it and then rummaged in the table for a stamp. She eyed her handiwork when she was finished noting the address. The walk to the post box was a determined act of penance. As she heard the gentle thud of the envelope she prayed that perhaps one day one of them would find their way to this truth. * Release came as she fed the flames. Her time alone with Ana had been a vintage year. Certainly one to remember within her heart. She watched the photographs curl and blacken. Despite the heat from the flames Rose was chilled to the bone. Her mind plagued with the ever-constant thought. Was she doing the right thing? She was aware that the wheel had begun to turn and that soon it would be beyond her control. Suddenly exhausted, she walked back to the still cottage and as early morning stretched into late evening her mood became a blanket around her. She felt the whole world on her weak shoulders. Panic began to shift and stir within her as she sensed the rising beat of her weak heart. Rose pushed into the darkened kitchen, hands in panic searching for her tablets, she blindly threw a random number into her mouth and awaited the easing of her pain. Finally the tight belt that encircled her heart slackened but there was no cure for a broken heart. She opened the kitchen blinds to allow in the last of the ebbing summer light. The bonfire now smouldering red gold light before finally it dwindled. Tomorrow she would meet Mary Wolf, the hospital Social Worker. She blushed in shame. If only she could tell Mary the truth. She was sure the young woman would understand. But she had sworn this secret to the grave. It would be the hardest thing she had ever done, but if she was to be true to her promise and more importantly to Ana, she had to do it. Nervously she fingered the edges of the tablecloth, her mind a whirlwind of conflict. She must remember, Rose told herself, whenever the doubt began to return, she must tell herself that she was doing the right thing for Ana and Ana was all that mattered. Rapping a large woollen cardigan around her shoulders, Rose ventured into the garden once more, a long stick held aloft she began to prod the dying embers that had taken her memories. She pushed to one side the voice of the doctor. Dr Sutton had called her in a few days ago to inform her of a discover they had made when examining Ana. Rose shuddered pulling the woollen cardigan tighter around her shaking body. Of course she had denied all knowledge and insisted that the matter remain private. It was certainly not something to which Mary Wolf needed to be made aware of. "But this is very significant." Dr. Sutton had insisted. "No it’s not. Whatever happened, it’s clearly in the past, not something that needs to be dragged up now. Can’t you see, the child has suffered enough. Tell Social Services and the poor Ana will never hear the end of it, they will have her under psychiatric counselling and assessments for the rest of her life. Is that what you want doctor?" There had been a struggle within the woman’s eyes before she had backed down. "Very well, but if it ever comes to light, I will have to state clearly that next of kin were informed. You know of course that this cannot be hidden forever. Ana will find out eventually. It’s just a matter of time before she goes for full medical …" "Who said anything about hiding. No, this is simply a tactful omission." * He adored her and suffered with her. All her pain became his pain. "You need to leave it be, Mary." "You don’t understand Derrick. Those children need me." "Mary, they need their family." "There is no family." "The Aunt is there. Don’t twist the truth to suit yourself. You cannot adopt them." "Why not?" He looked at her, the unspoken hung between them. Was she willing to give up everything she had worked so long and hard for. "We’ve been through this Mary." "But what if the only family member is a risk?" Derrick stood up and walked to the farthest corner of the bedroom. He hated this. This bringing work home, particularly this kind. Sometimes he longed for an uncomplicated unchallenging evening when all they talked about was TV, where they would go on holiday and what they would buy in the supermarkets but Mary was just not that kind of woman. She always had to not only hold a challenge but wrestle with it. It left little room for him. "And is their proof of this risk?" "I don’t need proof as you dam well know. I have instinct!" "Oh, and would this be the infamous maternal instinct?" Derrick shut his eyes and swore under this breath, "Christ, I’m sorry Mary, Mary love I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, I wasn’t thinking." She had paled. A ghostly sick white. "Think nothing of it, I’m used to you putting me in my place, reminding me of what I can’t have." "Mary please. I am sorry." She walked up to him, her eyes burning. "I think those children are in danger but I haven’t one shred of evidence. Am I supposed to let them go?" Derrick sighed and pulled his wife to him. "No my love. Follow you’re heart. Your convictions. In the end that’s all any of us have." "I know what you’re afraid of. That my yearning to have a child is getting blurred with my desire to adopt Max and Ana but it’s not like that." Derrick remained silent but his hold on her became that much stronger. He wanted her simply to let go. *
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