Hidden Truths
Author's notes: I watched this a while back and loved it. This idea has been niggling in the back of my head for ages and I thought I'd just get on and post it. A quick warning, I have well and truly gone into head!canon so I beg forgiveness in advance.
More importantly, enjoy!
"Over time, hidden truths morph in the dark soil of deceit into something much worse."
― Patti Callahan Henry
Disclaimer: I do not own 'Last Tango in Halifax.'
Summary: "I'm a mess. But you know that. Put your finger on it the moment you met me." Gillian-fic. Caroline included.
She turns the water as hot as she can stand and hunches her shoulders, letting the scalding drops pound against her back. It's almost painful and she exhales a long breath and stares down at the tiles beneath her feet. Steam billows around her, spilling out from the curtain and she raises her hands and presses the heel of her palms against her eyes, trying to stop the sobs that wrack through her body.
"Gillian?"
A soft voice brings her back to the present with a jolt and she looks to the side and sees Caroline peeking around the shower curtain. She reaches in, flinching as the searing water hits her skin, and turns off the taps. Long fingers curl around Gillian's wrist and pull her onto the bathmat.
(Water drips down her legs, pooling at her feet and she remembers the kitchen, her mother and her school diary.)
Caroline wraps a towel around her body and drapes another around her shoulders to catch the water dripping from her hair.
"Come on," she says softly.
Gently, she places her hands on Gillian's shoulders and steers her into her bedroom across the hall. Once there, she stands Gillian next to her bed and dries every last drop of water from her skin. With firm arms, she sits Gillian on the edge of her bed and drags the sheet up to her chest.
"Any clothes in particular?"
Gillian shrugs her shoulders and Caroline moves to the wardrobe and withdraws jeans, a couple of long-sleeve shirts and a grey hoodie that she throws on the bed.
"Do you want me to help you?" she asks.
Gillian shakes her head and Caroline pauses, unsure, before giving a small nod.
"I'll wait downstairs," she says gently.
"I'm sorry," Gillian whispers, so softly she can barely hear herself, hating how her voice hitches mid-sentence. "I'm so, so sorry."
Caroline puts a hand on her shoulder. Squeezes once.
I.
Gillian wrings her hands together and takes several deep breaths before speaking.
"Mum, I… it's…oh, god…"
Perhaps it's the hysterical tone in her voice that makes her mother look up from the sink. Her eyebrows rise as they take in Gillian's appearance. She's soaked from head-to-toe and water drips from her sodden clothing onto the spotless kitchen floor until there's a puddle around her boot-clad feet.
"Good Lord, Gillian, what on-?" her mother begins.
A wet lock of hair falls across Gillian's forehead and she brushes it away impatiently as she reaches into her jacket pocket and withdraws her school diary. Her mother wipes her hands on her apron before she takes it from her out-stretched hand.
"What am I looking for?" she asks softly.
Gillian doesn't speak, just flicks to the outline of the full year and points to the red circles that dot the page. "I'm late," she whispers. "Three weeks now. I've never been late before and…"
Her mother closes her eyes for a moment, hands her back the diary. "And you think you're…?"
Gillian nods.
"What do you want to do?" she says after a pause. "Keep it or-?"
Gillian's shoulders start to shake and she collapses onto one the dining chairs and leans her elbows against the table, holding her head in her hands. She wraps her hands in her hair, twining it through her fingers, and pulls it hard, refusing to let herself break down just yet.
"I can't keep it," she whispers. "I just… I just can't."
Her mother reaches out, as if to offer some form of comfort, but stops at the last second and lets her hand fall down to her side. Gillian pulls harder on her hair and sends pain shooting through her scalp.
-o-
She lies sprawled across her bed, holding a pillow close to her chest. Outside, in the hall, she listens as footsteps approach and isn't surprised when there's a soft knock at her bedroom door. She doesn't turn around and listens as the footsteps come closer and the mattress dips beneath her father's weight as he sits down at the foot of the bed.
"Gillian…" he starts softly, then pauses, unsure how to continue.
Gilian doesn't respond, just buries her face in the pillow.
"Your mum…" he begins again.
She props herself up on one elbow so she can glance over her shoulder. "You're disappointed," she says flatly. "I am more than aware of that."
Her father exhales a long breath but doesn't respond. There's no need.
-o-
She goes back to school a fortnight after the abortion and leans her forehead against the cool window of the bus. They're there far too soon and she finally looks up when the bus jolts to a halt, sending her several inches forward. She throws her hands out to stop herself colliding with the seat in front and that's when she sees Robbie standing at the school gate.
He's bobbing up-and-down on the balls of his feet, craning his neck to look above the other students pushing past him as the school bell tolls. She's refused to speak to him - face-to-face or even by phone – for over a fortnight now and knows that he's hurt. Worried. Far more than she deserves.
He catches sight of her framed in the window and his face breaks into a grin. Gillian turns away and calls to the bus driver.
"You have to go back into the centre of town, right?"
The driver nods, unsure where this conversation is leading.
"Can you take me in?"
He shakes his head and she opens her school bag and digs around in her purse. "I've got money in here somewhere," she mutters, leafing through coupons and receipts. "I swear I do."
The driver rolls his eyes and turns back around. "Just this once," he calls over his shoulder. "Are we clear on that?"
She nods and settles back into the seat. "Sure, sure. Just this once."
II.
The small mechanic shop is well-lit and she reads the small sign in the window.
Wanted. Clerk. Full-time.
She pauses, debating with herself of the pros and cons (school seems silly now) before taking a deep breath and stepping inside. The bell jangles loudly as she enters and the owner of the shop – Bill according to his name badge - looks up from the desk and raises his eyebrows.
"Shouldn't you be at school?" he says sternly.
"Is that reception job still going?" she asks, choosing not to answer.
Bill frowns as he looks over his glasses. "Any experience?"
She clenches her teeth together. "It can't be that difficult, can it?" she snaps. "Answer the phone, make tea and write out bills." She closes her eyes, mortified at herself but – to her surprise – the man bursts out laughing.
(It reminds her of her dad, before all the unpleasantness.)
"Well, the job is still open and you're…" He gestures towards her - worn shirt, jeans, muddy boots and all - clearly not sure how to continue.
"A rude twat?" she finishes for him.
Bill laughs again. "Exactly."
-o-
"You've done what?" her father asks.
There's an underlying thread of disapproval that she recognises all-too-well running through his voice and she juts her jaw forward, determined not to get upset.
"Quit school," she repeats. "There was no point continuing. I'd missed the exams already and well, I've got a job so I can bring money in. I'll pay my own way. I won't be a burden."
Her father gives a humourless laugh and mutters under his breath as she heads down the hallway.
She chooses not to listen.
-o-
(She arrives at the shop the next day in one of her mother's skirts and a white blouse, nervous and determined not to show it.)
III.
Six months pass quickly, her 16th birthday comes and goes without fanfare and – eventually – Robbie stops coming around and stops calling. Her parents accept the money she places on the dining room table without comment every week and she puts the rest into a savings account where it accrues slowly but surely. She still can't stand the looks of disappointment back home and so stays back longer and longer after work until – one night – she goes out the back where one of the mechanics is bent over the engine of a sedan.
"Can you teach me how to do that?" she asks.
The mechanic – Andy - starts at her voice and hits his head on the edge of the hood. "Jesus!" he spits, holding his palm to the bump rising at his temple.
"Sorry," she says, trying not to smile.
"You want to learn how to do this?" he says, sounding incredulous.
"Yeah."
He holds her gaze for a few seconds before giving a slow nod. "Grab a pair of overalls," he says. "Otherwise you'll get filthy."
-o-
She takes to engines easily, to Andy's delight. One evening, he nods toward a beaten-up old ute in the corner. On the bonnet is the usual box of tools and across that the grease-smeared pair of overalls that Bill bought her once he found out she was helping with engines.
"I'm not helping you with it," he explains at her confused expression. "You get it going and it's yours. You don't and…"
"It's not," she finishes.
"Exactly."
She laughs and turns towards him, reaching out to give him a hug and then pausing. He closes the few inches between them and wraps his arms around her, squeezing tightly. He doesn't let go of her waist as she pulls back and looks up. She freezes and watches as his gaze flicks down to her parted lips, the line of her neck, her collarbone, back again. He presses his lips against hers as he trails his hand down to her hips and pushes up the fabric of her shirt. Every part of her is screaming at her to stop but then his hand splays over her stomach and she lets herself relax. Because an evening, even an hour of carnal pleasures seems a small price to pay to push away the empty feeling battering away at her ribcage.
-o-
More months pass, she finishes the ute and drives it home illegally from work. She parks it in front of the house and goes inside, closing the door behind her as softly as possible.
"Gillian, is that you?"
She goes into the living room where both her parents are watching television. The news is blaring and her father turns the volume down as she comes around to stand in front of them.
"Hi," she says, and she's embarrassed at the thread of happiness she can hear so clearly in her voice. Because she's proud of the ute, the first thing she's been proud of for a long time now, and that's not something anyone can take away.
"You're back late," her father says, sounding almost concerned. Her mother gives her a small smile; they're building some semblance of a relationship again. They can spend more than five minutes alone together in any case.
"I was finishing something at work," she responds. "All done now, though." She still sounds overly-cheery and nods towards the hallway. "Anyway, best get to bed. Work tomorrow."
Her parents exchange confused looks but don't stop her as she heads out the living room and up the stairs.
-o-
She jangles the keys in her hand as she walks down early the following morning. The kettle is already boiled and she makes herself a cup of tea and lets it cool as she faffs about making toast.
"You're in a good mood," her father says from the doorway.
"Don't tell me that's not allowed anymore," she says coolly, hard and sarcastic. She's being deliberately harsh and knows it but part of her wants him to feel at least some of what she has.
"Gillian, I know it's been difficult between us since-"
She laughs humourlessly and turns to lean against the bench, arms folded across her chest. "You act as if you're disgusted by me, dad. Disgusted. Do you any idea how that feels? Your own father, disgusted by you?" She shakes her head, tsks beneath her breath. "Anyway, I've nearly got enough money to move out. Then I won't be any more bother."
Her father's shoulders slump. "I'm not disgusted by you, Gillian…"
"Sure feels like it."
"Well, I'm not!" he snaps. She flinches and he takes a deep breath before continuing in a softer voice. "And there's no need for you to move out. I'd like it if you stayed."
She pauses, unsure of herself and hating it. "Really?" she asks hesitantly.
He smiles and reaches for her hand, squeezing it gently. "Please do."
IV.
"We had a crash and well… it's beyond our capabilities."
Gillian stops in her tracks as she listens to the voices coming from reception. Andy, Robbie and a voice she doesn't know. She closes her eyes, steeling herself, before coming into the front and three pairs of eyes turn toward her in unison. Robbie's eyes widen and she recognises hurt and confusion rush through them before being replaced by something very hard. (She knows him too well, though, and recognises the underlying hurt and confusion behind his hard expression.) The man next to him who could only be his brother gives a grin in her direction.
"Hey, how are you-?" he begins.
"Gillian," Robbie inserts softly. "Gillian, this is Eddie."
Eddie's lips part as he gives an 'ah' of comprehension. "The Gillian. I see."
Gillian glares at Robbie who looks back and doesn't say a word. (Briefly, she remembers the cricket pavilion, him whispering 'love you, love you' into the base of her throat.) "What's he told you?" she asks, banishing the image away.
Eddie winks. "Nothing too bad, don't worry."
He grins and – despite herself – Gillian grins back.
-o-
Andy finishes the bikes in a couple of days and Eddie arrives with a four-wheel-drive and trailer to pick them up. He smiles as he walks through the door and leans over the counter.
"Hello, you," he greets. "My bikes are ready apparently."
Gillian nods and gestures behind her at the workshop. "Yep, if you drive around to the back you can load them up more easily."
"Right. And then what?" Eddie asks.
She frowns, confused. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you and I are going out tonight," he explains as if its obvious.
She shakes her head and holds her hands up. "No way, not with what's happened with me and Robbie…"
He reaches out and places his hand over her mouth. "Bugger Robbie," he says.
Gillian laughs and pushes the roller chair back so his hand falls down. "Yeah, why not."
V.
Eddie grins from across the small creek he's just waded through. The wind is freezing but he doesn't seem to feel the cold and holds his hands out in front of him.
"It's a rush," he laughs. "And really, it's not that bad."
She shakes her head. "Eddie, get back-!"
"Coward!"
She glares across the creek and Eddie smirks as she throws her jacket off and throws it on the grass. (He knows that calling her a 'coward' is an easy way to make her do anything – she'll be damned if anyone calls her that.) She stomps forward further and pauses briefly at the creek bank, then steps into the rushing water. The cold hits her with the force of a truck and she lets out a scream that doesn't leave her mouth.
(She hadn't taken into account that she's a good foot-shorter than Eddie, making this idiocy that bit more difficult.)
Eddie finally seems to realise she's struggling and strides forward, picking her clean off the ground and depositing her back on the ground. She shivers and clings the front of his shirt, trying to get close to the warm.
To her surprise, he begins to strip off his clothes and – once his shirt is on the ground – starts on hers.
"Eddie, what the hell-?" she begins.
"Skin-to-skin warms you up better," he explains, yanking her jumper over her head.
She's too cold to protest and he pulls her close to him, wrapping his arms around her body and placing his chin atop her head. She's not remotely surprised when he lays her down and curls his hand behind her back, arching her spine towards him.
"You have to admit, though," he whispers, his other hand running down her stomach. "That was one heck of a rush."
(Later, Gillian will think that should have been a sign for her to run as far far away as fast as possible. Instead, she lets her head fall back.)
VI.
The expression of her father's face is almost comical and he opens and shuts his mouther several times before speaking. "You're getting married," he says finally.
"Yep!"
"Do you not think you're maybe a bit…" His sentence trails into nothing as he searches for words.
(Again, that tone of disapproval is all-too-easy to recognise.)
Gillian looks at her father across the kitchen bench and folds her arms across her chest. "A bit what?" she asks coolly.
Her father hesitates. "Young?" he says eventually.
"You and mum were 18!" she reminds him.
"Your mother and I weren't you and Eddie."
Gillian's eyes narrow. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she snaps.
Her father shrugs. "I don't know, Gillian," he responds. "But maybe think about it a bit longer?"
She rolls her eyes and stalks out of the house, grabbing her jacket from the hook and slams the front door behind her as hard as she can.
-o-
The wedding is awkward.
Her father clings to her arm as they reach the end of aisle. Robbie stands beside Eddie and won't look at her. Her mother cries that bit too hard.
Gillian doesn't care. She has Eddie.
(Eddie changes.)
VII.
Gillian's standing in the kitchen, washing up, when Eddie barges through the front door blind-drunk and angry. He storms in and sees her at the sink, plate in hand, up to her elbows in bubbles.
"Haven't you finished that yet?" he spits.
A sense of foreboding floods through her veins as she takes in his full appearance. Mud-covered jeans, ripped shirt and bloody knuckles (no doubt the result of yet another fight down at the pub.) She lets the plate fall into the water and turns towards him as he crosses the room in three long strides.
"Eddie," she begins softly. "I'm sorry-"
She doesn't have time to finish her sentence as he draws his hand back and smacks her hard across the face. She staggers back at the force of the blow and falls to ground onto her hands and knees. Instinct tells her to keep her head down and she watches blood drip onto the floor as Eddie continues to storm about, smashing plates and cups before finally leaving the room and going upstairs. The bedroom door slams with a 'bang' and she shifts until she's leaning against the cabinet and draws her knees to her chest.
Blood oozes down her chin, soaking into her shirt, and she pulls herself to her feet. She staggers unsteadily to the freezer and withdraws a packet of frozen peas that she presses against her cheek, making a soft sigh of relief as some of the pain ebbs away. Slowly, she makes her way into the bathroom where she looks in the mirror and almost flinches back at her appearance. The swelling has already started, an angry welt rising over one side of her face, deep shades of red and purple.
She barely recognises herself.
-o-
She wakes to Eddie with his arms around her, holding her close her to his chest with his chin on her shoulder whispering 'sorry, sorry, sorry' into the crook of her neck.
She even believes him for a second.
VIII.
"Gillian, you'd tell me if anything was… wrong, wouldn't you?"
She looks up sharply and barely hides a wince as the sudden movement sends pain shooting through her body.
(Eddie was particularly vicious that morning, a spanner to her torso, she thinks maybe he broke a rib.)
"I don't know what you mean," she says.
Her father nods slowly, clearly not believing her, but knowing not to push further. Eddie comes through the door and into the kitchen. He grins at Alan as he wraps his arm around Gillian and pulls her towards him to kiss her on the cheek. His hand presses hard against her ribs, fingertips digging in.
She wants to cry out from the pain.
-o-
Later, Eddie lunges for Raff. Gillian throws herself in the way and he throws her against the ground and kicks her in the stomach, knocking the air from her lungs. She can barely breathe and looks up as Eddie stands above her and withdraws his lighter and a cigarette from his pocket.
"You know, I've always wondered what would happen with this," he says matter-of-factly as he drops down, pinning her to the ground. He lights the cigarette and trails it an inch away from her skin, above her neck, her collarbone, her jawline, back again, clearly enjoying the tears falling down her cheeks.
"Eddie, please…"
He laughs cruelly as he presses the tip against her neck and holds it there. She bites her lip to stop herself screaming.
Eddie grins.
IX.
Maybe it's Eddie going for Raff but when Gillian sees the opportunity, she takes it.
She hadn't counted on the blood.
Rivers stream from beneath his body from the mess that was once his skull, soaking into his clothes, into hers, into the dirt ground. She freezes, unsure what the hell she's going to do now and forces herself to breathe.
In-and-out. In-and-out.
She goes inside and calls the police, struggling to find the right words (what can you say, really, after murdering your husband?) and informs them of a 'fatal farm accident.'
"What do you mean 'fatal farm accident'?" the desk sergeant asks.
"What else would I mean?" Gillian snaps. "My husband is dead!"
He tells her to wait outside the barn for them to arrive and she sits on the dry stone wall and crosses her feet at the ankles. It's exceptionally quiet and she listens to the sound her breathing, focusing on that noise alone, keeping herself from breaking down completely. The sound of a car brings her to the present and she rises to her feet, expecting the police.
Instead, it's her father and he slams on the brakes and runs out the car and towards her when he sees her blood-stained clothes.
"Gillian! What-?" he gasps.
"Eddie's dead," she interrupts, pointing behind her into the barn.
"Dead?" he echoes. "How-?"
"Log-splitter."
He looks down, expressive grave. "An accident?" he asks softly.
She nods, not looking him in the eye. "In a manner of speaking."
The shrill sound of police sirens interrupt their conversation and he places a hand on her shoulder and nods toward the flashing lights.
"Let's deal with them first," he says softly.
Gillian doesn't respond.
-o-
The police bundle her into the back of the police car and take her to the hospital. Once there, she's taken into a small room and told to strip.
"I'm sorry, what?" she asks. "I'm not doing that…"
"It's just procedure, Mrs Greenwood," the young constable interrupts softly.
"But-"
"The doctor will be here in a moment. Just place your clothes aside. There's a gown on the end of the bed. We've asked your father to bring a bag of clothes for you that you can wear home when you're released."
There's obviously no further point arguing and Gillian waits until the constable has left before taking off her jacket and shirt. She reaches behind her to unclasp her bra and whips around as she hears the curtain open. The sharp movement jars her rib and she doubles forward, keeping herself from crying out.
"You've been in the wars, haven't you?" the doctor says flatly.
She's middle-aged, short hair and her eyes roam over Gillian's bare torso taking in the old and new bruises that colour her skin.
"I own a farm, these things happen," Gillian says with a shrug.
The doctor nods, clearly not believing her, but says nothing further as she moves forward and moves Gillian's hand away from her side. She leans down and peers closely, reaching out to push gently on either side of the almost-black bruise.
"Broken," she comments softly. "However, there's not much that can be done except rest and I'll prescribe some pain relief."
Gillian nods and the doctor steps back and gestures toward the adjoining room. "Get the rest of your clothes off, have a shower and then I imagine you'll be taken into the police station."
She turns and leaves the room and Gillian nearly collapses to the ground as the sheer gravity of what has happened finally hits her.
Eddie.
Log-splitter.
Murder.
She goes into the shower and turns on the tap, scrubbing hard at her skin. Dirt, grime and blood wash down the drain.
She wonders if the guilt she feels can ever wash away.
Part 2 will be up soon. I added a little bit and edited as I saw a heap of typos I had missed. Caroline will be included a lot more in the next chapter.
Please review! :D