Ghost in the machine
Chapter One
I used to have the somewhat jaded belief that I had been born into the world blessed with the Midas touch. Lady luck had shone on the me from moment I came screaming from the birth canal and her golden aura hung around my shoulders like a protective bubble for the first 40 years of my life. Then one day, much to my surprise, that bubble popped spectacularly and my world momentarily stopped spinning on its axis.
There comes a moment in life when you are inextricably awoken to the truth. One morning you open your eyes and there it is: the realisation that it was all a lie. Everything you thought to be true was in fact nothing but bullshit. The happy childhood you had? Bullshit. The expensive private education? Bullshit. The enviable career? Bullshit. The loving marriage? Well, that took bullshit to a whole new level. Even the joy I once believed that my children would bring me was debatable. I loved them, undoubtedly and unconditionally, but I could not deny they were my epicentre, thus my life was often consumed by them. Selfishness was forced to be become selflessness.
Everything was about keeping everyone else happy. From early childhood, I was unintentionally conditioned to be a people pleaser. You see, you become obsequious when your parents take no measure to hide the contempt they feel for each other, and you compensate by trying (and failing) to delight them both. But caught in their own selfish mission to out hate one another, I was, for the most part, the child who was seen and not heard.
It was around the same time that I had taught myself to be stonily stoic in my outpouring of emotions. This was all thanks to my mother who, of course, had never been able to handle great displays of sentiment from anyone.
"Is that necessary, Caroline?" "Why are you being so dramatic?" "You get that from your father, you know." "Everything has to be bigger than it really is with you". "Have you thought about a career in the theatre?" She would fire out rhetorical questions like bullets from Tommy guns, in her whiny, passive aggressive tone, only to be passivated by my monosyllabic appeasements.
Somewhat ironically, now, as an adult, she scolds me for being cold and unemotional, like it's not her fault.
"Well, you could show a bit more compassion, Caroline. Did I give birth to a robot?" Is her favourite line when I don't respond accordingly to whatever nonsense has upset her at that particular moment. I think she's trying to incite guilt in me, but I don't let her see that she's having an effect. It would only please her, I'm sure. My father was no saint, but forty years living with my Mother was his karma.
The shrill noise of the telephone ringing in the distance pulled Caroline from the self-deprecating musings; musings that she found herself now partaking in daily. Sitting at her desk in her claustrophobia-inducing office, she found herself with much more time on her hands than she ever did at Sulgrave Heath. Her primary duty now was signing the suspension and exclusion letter's being sent out to parent's who would not care a jot about the delinquency of their delightful offspring.
"Caroline Mackenzie-Dawson?" She answered, her voice flat yet authoritative.
"Hey, Cazza, it's Gillian!" The broad Yorkshire accent bellowed down the receiver.
No shit, Sherlock.
Like it could have been anyone else. Her step-sister was the only person brave (or foolish) enough to give her the crass, council-estate nickname. She never corrected her on it, though, for deep down she secretly liked it. She had never been given a nickname before, well, not one she wished repeated. It was like being part of a secret club she had been excluded from in school, that as an adult she would quietly embrace. Even although she knew Gillian was doing it to annoy her.
"Gillian, what can I do for you?" She tapped her pen against the desk, listening to the wind whistling annoyingly down the phone, like natures tinnitus. Gillian must have been outside on the farm, tinkering with a tractor, or God forbid, one of her beloved sheep.
"I was just wondering if you fancied popping over after work? With Flora? I have Calamity here, Raff is leaving for work shortly and I'm on babysitting duty. She gets bored when it's just me here, so I thought, maybe, you could both come here and they could play together, you know, and we can have a drink. Well, obviously, you'll be driving, so it'll need to be coffee, but, erm, yeah…what do think?" She paced around on the same patch of grass nervously, wondering why the hell this woman could make her feel so on edge. As she listened to the awkward silence at the other end she almost wished she had listened to her gut instinct and hadn't bothered calling.
"Flora is with Gregg this week." Was all Caroline could muster in way of response. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, that's okay, it was just a thought anyway." Gillian shrugged, pretending to no one but herself that the rebuff didn't sting.
"Yeah…"
"Unless, you want to come and save me from boredom…you could come play with me." The second the words left her mouth, her heart sank into her stomach and she slapped her hand against her forehead a few times, potentially in the hope she'd give herself a lobotomy. Fucking idiot! You just can't stop yourself from looking like a twat! "Sorry, that sounded so wrong. I didn't' mean that to sound quite so suggestive. I know you think I'm a slapper but I draw the line at family…"
Caroline couldn't help the smile that formed on her lips. She wasn't being cruel, but on some level she thought it was sweet, that somehow Gillian would always manage to fluster herself during a conversation. Talking wasn't the small brunette's strong point.
"For Christ sake, say something Caroline, tell me I'm a twat, whatever, but just say something…"
"Don't get your knickers in a twist. I'll come over when I finish up here. I'll try to leave before four to beat the traffic."
"You will? Oh, okay." Gillian couldn't hide the surprise in her voice.
"What? Don't you want me to come over now? I wish you'd make your mind up Gillian."
"No, shit, yes…I mean, yes, come over, I'm just amazed you agreed. That's all" Gillian ran her hand through her hair. She was messing this up.
"Why wouldn't I agree?" Caroline furrowed her brow, perplexed at this grey area Gillian was creating. She liked things in black or white.
"No reason in particular, I guess, It's just it's Friday night and I assumed you're too busy to come and listen to me get pissed and whittle on like an idiot."
"You're not an idiot." Caroline answered quickly, a seriousness to her tone. She hated how easily Gillian could belittle herself. Self-esteem wasn't one of her strong points either.
"No?" They both fell silent. "I feel like one sometimes." She whispered, sadly.
"Well, you're not." Caroline answered affectionately. "You're a pain in the arse, and you drive me and everyone else up the bloody wall, frequently, but you're not stupid. You're just…." She paused to find the perfect word. "Flaky. You're a little bit erratic and flighty, but it's actually quite endearing. Sometimes." She mused as she thought about all the times Gillian had managed to bring her to the point of exasperation. No one could make her internally roll her eyes like Gillian could, except perhaps John, but there was nothing endearing about him. At least Gillian had an almost childlike innocence about her that Caroline couldn't help but embrace. More than once over the years, she had wanted to bundle the small farmer up in her arms and make everything better for her, but good old cold-hearted Caroline couldn't quite muster the guts to throw herself over that emotional precipice.
"I'm going to try to take that as a compliment, albeit an extremely backhanded one, and I'll see you when you get here." Gillian tried not to let the coquettish smile on her lips extend to her voice. There was something electrifying to her about the back and forth banter that often oozed with subtle shades of what she read as sexual tension. She shook her head to clear her head of the illicit thoughts that were beginning to creep in and terminated the call. For as much as they thrilled her, they scared in equal measure. Women…especially Caroline-shaped women, were way out of her comfort zone. Men she could lure in to the palm of her hand. She could handle men and play them like a fine fiddle. But the female of the species; that was territory she did not think she could manage. She wouldn't be dipping her toe in the Sapphic pool any time soon, and most definitely not with her step-sister!
When Caroline pulled onto the mucky gravel driveway of the farm, the sun had begun to cool across the Yorkshire Dales behind her. It was a beautiful summer evening; one that you could only truly appreciate out in the country, with its silent, all-consuming beauty.
She had always considered hersef a big city girl. With the bright lights, rumbustious noises and sensory overloads that satisfied her need to feel like she was living. The country had none of the culture that kept the blood pumping in her veins. Yet, the more time she spent at Gillian's farm, the more she came to appreciate the silence and the feeling that nothing had to be done in a hurry.
Tip-toeing in her expensive stiletto's through the hardened mud to the front door, Caroline fumbled with her car keys, and tried to keep the several bags on her shoulder from slipping off. If her vocation of teaching didn't work out, juggling would have been a fabulous profession for her. Her life was already a circus and she was most definitely not the ring-leader keeping it all together.
"Gillian, I'm here," She gave the ajar door a quick chap and let herself in with a cacophonous announcement.
"Shhh, Calamity's having a nap." Gillian pressed her index finger to her mouth. "She got bored waiting on her Auntie Caz."
"Sorry, sorry...traffic was horrible on the way out of Harrogate. It's Friday night, everyone wants home early and I don't blame them." She dropped her bags on the tiled floor and sighed with relief at being unburdened with their hefty weight.
"Planning on staying the weekend?" Gillian nodded at the dumped pile next to the dining table.
"What? No. That's just the crap I need to carry with me every day in order to do my job. Why I can't just have a bloody stationary computer and a bookshelf, I don't know. Everything must be portable these days, or god forbid, the world will combust. "Hotdesking" is what they call it. It's bollocks. Is that bottle of red wine open?" She didn't pause for breath as she took the cork from the bottle and poured herself a generous amount, which she glugged half way down the glass before she sat and took a deep inhalation of oxygen and relief.
"Better?"
"Much! But I might need to take you up on that offer of sleeping on the couch, after all. And a holiday in the Maldives wouldn't go amiss, either."
"It's funny you should mention that," Gillian nervously pulled up a dining chair next to her step-sister and fiddled with her messy ponytail.
"Is it?"
"Well, yes, that's one of the things I wanted to have a word with you about tonight." She twiddled a strand of hair around the index finger of her right hand and with the left she scrapped off a bit of unwanted breakfast off of the table. "Dad and Celia have booked that Med cruise for the summer, and Raff and Ellie are taking Calam up to Blackpool for a week, and well, I'm at a loose end."
"Yes?" Caroline squinted her eyes, trying to make head or tail of where this was headed. In typical Gillian style she had to go around the houses to make her point obvious.
"Yes, well, I hate being in this bloody house on my own, with just me and crazy Gillian who lives in my head, talks shite and leads me, for the most part, down a very drunken and debaucherous path."
"So?"
"So, I was thinking about taking a small trip somewhere and wondered if you would maybe like to come. I know you have eight weeks off and Greg has Flora. But you don't have to. Don't feel obligated just because I'm a sad, pathetic singleton who can't keep a man." Gillian rambled, avoiding eye contact with Caroline whose intense gaze would overwhelm her further.
"To the Maldives?" Caroline's eyes widened in pleasant surprise.
"No, well, I was thinking more along the lines of camping in Cornwall."
"No, forget it. Sorry. Camping isn't my thing. The Caribbean I can do, but Pontin's, no. Sorry."
"Glamping then? I'll book one of those fancy yurts or a gypsy caravan." Gillian countered, trying to make the holiday sound more palatable, but failed miserably. If anything she was making it worse.
"Glamping is a made up word to attract the brainless, starbucks-drinking, beard-growing hipsters living in London. I tick none of those boxes. So unless the yurt has a plug for my coffee machine and my hair dryer, then you're on your own, I'm afraid."
"Fine," Gillian puffed out her cheeks like a petulant child. "I was just a suggestion. I thought you might enjoy it. Your Mum mentioned the other week that you were in the Girl Guides."
"Yes, I was, actually, but whilst they were sitting around a dirty campfire singing Kumbaya and toasting marshmallows, I was tucked up warmly at home studying for my 11+ exams. The other girl's now work behind a bar or are behind bars in prison. You can draw your own conclusions from that, if you will." Gillian laughed scornfully at the utter arrogance she was hearing.
"You're fff...unbelievable. That poker is so far lodged up your arse that you'll need a Tonsillectomy to remove it! Getting back to nature might drag you kicking and screaming in to the real world...you know that working-class world the rest of us are forced to live in." With her face beginning to flush in annoyance, Gillian bit down on her fingers nails to take out her frustration. "I would have killed to be a Girl Guide, you selfish mare, but my parents couldn't afford it! Christ, we could hardly afford sweets. They were a luxury. And the Maldives? Unobtainable!" Gillian was off and up from her chair, pacing as she preached.
"Okay, okay, okay! Point well and truly received, you can stop with the pontificating. If me making an arse of myself in a polyester igloo is what will make you happy and shut you up, i'll go. But under the conditions that it's not Butlins, that it's for no more than a long weekend, if it turns in to Carry On Camping, i'm going home early and I will not be subjected to partake in karaoke or sit through tribute acts. Am I understood?" While Caroline remained stony-faced, Gillian beamed like a Cheshire cat.
"Loud and clear! Oh, Caroline, thank you. You won't regret it. I promise you'll love it. I'll make it worth your while."