Traces of Her. Amanda Brittany
son?’ Jeannette cried.
‘Aha. That’s the one. Talk about scraping the barrel.’
‘Oh my God, no.’ Jeannette’s voice was high and tense. ‘She can’t go out with him. For goodness’ sake, that girl will be the death of me. Whatever is she thinking?’
Ava dived from her bed, and raced down the stairs in her pyjamas to where Jeannette and Gail sat in the lounge drinking coffee. They looked up.
‘I love him,’ Ava blurted from the doorway.
‘You have no idea what love is, Ava. You’re only seventeen,’ her mother cried, slamming down her mug. ‘And Ian Havers’ son of all people – sometimes I think you go out of your way to upset me.’ She sniffed, pulled a tissue from her sleeve, and dabbed her nose.
Ava stepped into the room and sat down on the chair, glaring at her mum and sister. She took a deep breath and blurted, ‘I’m pregnant.’
Jeannette gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.
‘Jesus, Ava,’ Gail said. ‘Just when I thought you couldn’t stoop any lower.’
‘You failed all your exams, you smoke, you drink …’ Jeannette released the slide clipping her fair hair back, as though it might relieve her tension. ‘And now you’re pregnant,’ she continued. ‘You’ll have an abortion. There’s no doubt about that. I’ll book you in privately. And don’t for goodness’ sake tell anyone.’
‘No!’ Ava yelled.
‘No?’
‘I’m keeping the baby. I know when I tell Justin he’ll be pleased, and we can move in together.’
‘Ava, for Christ’s sake stop being so naïve,’ Gail said. ‘He’s seventeen. And not only that, he’s a total loser. I saw him with one of the Bristow brothers the other day, and they’re a bad lot – into drugs and joyriding and—’
‘You’re lying,’ Ava cried.
‘No, Ava, I’m not lying. And a baby will ruin your life. Think of your future, you must have an abortion.’ She sounded almost kind. ‘Rory could get you a little job in admin where I work.’ She leaned forward and placed her hand on Ava’s. ‘Let me talk to him.’
‘No!’ Ava snatched her hand away. ‘I’m going to be a mum, and I’ll live with Justin. He’s not into drugs. He’s going to be a singer, and we’ll be rich one day.’
‘A singer?’ Jeannette laughed, a hard, fake laugh.
‘He’s got a great voice, Mum.’ He had. He’d even written a song for her.
Jeannette rubbed her face and with a deep sigh said, ‘You need to see a doctor, Ava. He could have given you something awful.’
‘Like a baby,’ Gail muttered.
Ava shook her head. ‘I’m his first, Mum.’
‘Oh for God’s sake, wake up, Ava,’ Gail snapped. ‘Please.’
Ava rose. ‘I’m keeping this baby,’ she said, holding her stomach, a feeling of nausea swirling. ‘Whether you like it or not.’ And with that, she turned and left the room, leaving Gail to comfort their mother who burst into tears.
Now
My phone rings as we pull onto the drive outside Darlington House. It’s Aaron.
‘Go ring the bell, sweetheart,’ I say to Becky, and she clambers from the passenger seat and hurtles towards the front door. I answer the call.
‘Just landed,’ Aaron says, as though he is a passenger on a flight, rather than the pilot. I admit it’s what hooked me in when I met him a year ago. Although I’m not sure if, at the time, I equated a pilot’s uniform with being alone so often. But when he is home he’s the best partner there is, so I mustn’t complain.
‘That’s great,’ I say. ‘I thought we might have a takeaway tonight. I’ve picked up wine.’
‘Sounds good. I should be home in a couple of hours.’
I will only see him for two days before he takes off again. I don’t like it, but I guess I’m getting used to it. I love him and the times we spend together mean everything. And there’s always the bonus that absence is a great aphrodisiac.
‘I’m at my dad’s at the moment,’ I say into the phone. ‘But I need to tell you something when I see you.’
‘What?’ He sounds alarmed. ‘You can’t leave me hanging. Nothing’s wrong, is it? Is Becky OK?’
‘She’s fine. Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that … well, Willow called.’
‘Willow? Is she OK?’ He’s met Willow several times, and they seem to get on well, although he does find her a bit flaky, and frankly I’m not surprised.
‘Yes. Yes, I think so. I’ll tell you everything when you get home.’
‘Did she say why she hasn’t been in contact?’
‘Of course.’ I don’t want to get into a conversation about it right now. ‘She’s staying in Cornwall, apparently. I’m going down there when school breaks up.’
‘What’s she doing in Cornwall?’
‘It’s a long story, Aaron.’ I bite down on my bottom lip. ‘Listen, can we talk at home? I’m at my dad’s,’ I repeat.
‘OK, yes, I’ll see you soon,’ he says.
He rings off, and I drop my phone into my bag.
As I climb from the car and stride towards Darlington House, I notice Eleanor’s jeep isn’t on the drive. Dad will be alone. The house is too big for two people, but Eleanor refuses to sell up and move somewhere smaller – she says her memories are here. She told me once she still hears Willow’s childhood laughter echoing around the walls.
Becky has left the front door ajar, and I step inside out of the bright day, and into the dimly lit hallway that feels cold, whatever the weather.
‘Hi,’ I call out, placing my bag on the antique cabinet by the door.
‘In here, Mum,’ Becky calls back, and I make my way into the lounge, where three sofas – that have been there since we moved in and are now a little worn – hug an open fireplace that hasn’t been lit since last winter. Sun pours in through the huge bay window, and I blink, my eyes adjusting to the sudden light. Becky and Dad sit in the middle of one of the sofas, her head on his shoulder.
He peers at me over his glasses, ‘Rose, darling. It’s lovely to see you. How’s the headship going?’ He’s so proud – part of the reason I accepted it. ‘I was telling the boys at the Fox and Hound how well you’re doing.’
‘Fine,’ I say, looking about me. It isn’t strictly true –I’m not sure I’m cut out to manage a school. ‘Where’s Eleanor?’
‘Shopping with the girls,’ he says, with a small laugh. ‘They call themselves “the girls” and yet they’re almost sixty.’
I want to say I know. That he tells me that every time I visit. I bend and kiss his silver-grey hair, his familiar aftershave tickling my nostrils, making me smile. ‘Shall I make some tea?’
‘Not for me, dear,’ he says, and Becky shakes her head, giving me a look as if to say tell him, tell him Willow called.
‘It’s such good news,’ Dad says once I’ve told him. His irises look