Chapter Two
There were days when Gillian would sit alone on the farm and fantasize about giving it all up and running off into the sunset, to somewhere where no one could find her and make any more demands of her. Somewhere where there were no demonic memories in every room; flashes of being abused in the most horrific of ways. She longed for a home that had no ghosts lurking in each dark corner, haunting her every waking thought. No Eddie. No judgement. No heartache and no misery.
When her bones ached, or the skin on her tired fingers cracked and bled from overuse. When the heavens opened and the rain turned the ground around her into marshland as she fought to work around it. When she sat in her dilapidated Land Rover and cried because she felt redundant and invisible in her own home. The days of wondering if it was all worth it used to be few and far between but lately they were becoming a constant nagging thought at the back of her head. The thought had even occurred to her to torch the place and put in an insurance claim, but for the most part, that had been the cheap Burgundy talking. She was tired. Tired of doing everything on her own. Tired of being alone. Tired of seeing everyone around her find the happiness and love she so badly wanted yet never had the fortune to properly experience. It wasn't that life had exactly dealt her a bad hand of cards, but she had been a ruthless player who never could figure out when to stop upping the ante. Any misfortune she had experienced had been of her own doing. Her life was what it was all because of her own bad choices. When her father gave her sound advice, she'd usually do the opposite, not to spite him, but because she knew better. And hence her teenage years spiraled out of her control and led her to the sorry state she was in now. She would have loved to have blamed the last thirty-odd years all on a run of bad luck, but she didn't believe in such nonsense. Luck was hocus pocus, up there with karma, serendipity and soul-mates.
Sitting alone and in the deafening silence of her kitchen waiting on Caroline's arrival, she took one last sip from her coffee mug and threw it in the sink to deal with when she got back.
Bugger sitting in here. She grabbed her small backpack and handbag and locked the door behind her, just in time to see the shiny, black Jeep Cherokee pull into the drive.
"Perfect timing." She shouted loudly with her thumbs up to signal her pleasure. "My arse was making buttons waiting on you."
"Do you want a hand with you luggage?" Caroline stepped down from the car wearing what would be deemed casual for her. A pair of figure-hugging jeans, white blouse and a pair of trusty stilettos.
"How can you drive in those things!" Gillian shook her head as she slung her things on the back seat. "Don't need a hand, ta, this is all I'm bringing." She eyed the large suitcase in the back of the car and the smaller bags surrounding it. Her and Robbie hadn't taken that much luggage between them on their two-week honeymoon to Spain. She rolled her eyes like she was surprised at the sight, but really it's what she had expected.
"Travelling light? You do have clothes in there? This isn't some kind of weird, Buddhist, naturist thing you've booked, is it? Oh God, I knew this would be a disaster." Caroline ran her hands through her blonde hair like she was in deep despair.
"Chill out, you neurotic bitch. Everyone will be fully clothed where we're going, me included, I just don't have to travel like I'm Paris bloody Hilton." She buckled her seat belt and muttered under her breath. Like some.
"Okay," Caroline sighed, defeated. "Let's get this show on the road."
Six hours in a car driving down the M1 to Cornwall, with Gillian singing along to every song that came on Radio4 was Caroline's idea of hell. Japanese water torture would have been more favourable. Several times she had stealthily watched her from the corner of her eye, bopping about in her seat like she was one of Pan's People. The woman couldn't remember her own phone number yet, someone, by way of a small miracle, she could remember the lyrics to every song from the 70's.
"Right, Donna Summer, we're here. Thank God!" Caroline turned off the car engine, cutting off John Humphrys discussing the delights of Abba.
"Wow, look at this place, it's like a fairytale." Gillian gushed in awe at her surroundings and Caroline could not deny the place was beautiful. She nodded in agreement as they silently spilled out in to the car park to stare up at the night sky. It may have been just after midnight but the clifftop view was spectacular. The moon cast its glow onto the calm waters below and the crashing of the waves were almost meditatively melodic to their ears. "See, I told you i'd find somewhere nice.
The campsite was nothing like Caroline had imagined it to be. It was less of the Hi-de-hi and hoi polloi she was dreading and instead was more of the haute monde she was accustomed to. Internally she scolded herself for being the toffy-nosed, "posh bitch" that Gillian often chided her about. She knew her tastes and needs were on the opulent side of extravagant but like every other one of her negative personality traits, it was her mother's fault.
"So, where are we staying?" Caroline eyed the palatial mini-cottages on the decent towards the tents in the near distance but didn't feel all too hopeful that that would be their abode for the next three days.
The walk took only a few minutes and with each passing one, Caroline's fears were answered. Past the cottages and the tents, beyond that caravan's and the yurts, stood their temporary dwelling.
"Gillian, you do know that's not a yurt; it's a teepee?" She whispered angrily, trying to keep her tone sotto voce, lest she wake anyone in the neighbouring "reservation".
"Aye, and? It's practically the same thing."
" I thought we were going to Cornwall, not New Mexico. If I had known, I'd have packed a couple of buffalo and some powwow drums."
"You're a funny bastard, aren't you?" Gillian backhanded her across the arm, painfully, judging by the squeal of protest. "If you remember, I booked at late notice, all of the yurts and chalet's were gone."
"I can see why, Pocahontas." She pulled back the flap of fabric across the doorway to have a peak in. Not that there was much to see with no light. "Does it have heating?" She asked, hopefully.
"It has a firepit, but we'll need to take it in turns through the night to keep it lit. Anyway, it's July, how much heating do you need?"
"Bloody marvellous." Caroline dumped her suitcase next to her as she took a tumble over what felt like a enough scatter cushions to kit out an Ikea showroom. "And am I to assume that there's also no lighting?"
"The Native American's used the stars to guide them." Ever the pragmatist, Gillian was already half-way out of her clothes and was rummaging around clumsily in her backpack for her night clothes. Her jeans were down round her ankles and her hoodie has discarded onto a pile on the floor. Next went the boots, which were tossed aside like trash.
"Okay then. Lets look on the bright side. At least I wont have to worry about anyone seeing me naked when I'm changing into my pyjama's." Primly, she began to follow Gillian's lead and started to unbutton her blouse.
"Only me. I can see really well in the dark. It comes from years of living in the country, with all the power outages we have. You learn really quickly to use your hands to get around." Gillian yanked at her jeans and hopped around on one foot as she pulled them from her legs with no ounce of grace.
"Just keep your hands to yourself, thank you." Caroline watched her friend dance around the room, with all the decorum of a little Yorkshire Leprechaun. But despite this and the not so attractive underwear she was prancing around in, Caroline couldn't help but stop what she was doing and stare in admiration. Gillian was a mere silhouette in the shadows, but there was no denying that she had a subtle beauty. Like Diana, goddess of all that was nature, who could charm the animals as she hunted by moonlight. Or was she more like Dionysus, god of wine, ecstasy and frivolity; a force to be reckoned with. A weird dichotomy of the masculine and feminine, she oozed a "je ne sais quoi" that defied her plain outer exterior and left all in her wake dazzled by her silent Siren's call.
"What?" Gillian's abrupt question broke Caroline from her reverie. "Why are you staring at me like that?" She furrowed her brow suspiciously.
"I'm not, I'm just dead on my feet. I'm in a trance of exhaustion. I'm sorry if you thought I was staring," She blushed from her toes to her cheeks and finally thanked the Native's for their lack of illumination.
She slid into her white cotton pyjama's and grabbed the sleeping bag that Gillian had roughly tossed her way, though quite what she was doing with it, she didn't know.
"Over here, Mr Magoo, there's futon's on the floor." Caroline followed the voice and tucked herself into the thin mattress.
"Japanese Futon's? It's authentic American Indian then?" She scoffed truculently in her discomfort.
"Stop whinging, you'll appreciate the teepee in the morning when it's light. I won't start the fire tonight, primarily because I can't be arsed, so if you get too cold, scooch up and snuggle in. Ni' night." Gillian drawled sleepily as she turned to her side and drifted off into almost immediate slumber. Whilst Caroline lay frigid next to her in the dark, looking up to the conical ceiling. Snuggle in. She covered her eyes with her hands and let out an internal primal scream. The next few days would be torture if she couldn't keep her hormones in check. But resisting the Siren's call from the winged maiden beside her would prove to be her downfall.
The sound of thunder and the lashing of rain against the sewn together buffalo hides were the 8am alarm call neither of them asked for. They both groaned in perfect unison as the heavens battered down above them and the flash of lightening illuminated the single room.
"Urgh, piss off!" Gillian groaned as she stirred from what had been one of the most restful sleeps she had had in a long time. She rubbed her eyes and ignored the chirpy Good Morning Caroline wished her. "I can't believe it's bloody raining. The MET office said it would be the hottest week of the year, that's why I booked it! W...wankers. I've got a good mind to put in a compensation claim." Gillian got up and grabbed the hoodie she had been wearing yesterday and a freshly washed one from her bag. "Here," She threw it towards the Blonde. "I packed this for you. I knew you'd bring nothing remotely practical with you."
"Thank you," Caroline rolled her eyes as she slid it over her shoulders. It was a size too small but wore it regardless to keep the fresh morning chill from her bones. "You know, I don't care about the rain. I'm actually quite pleased that the weather's bad, in a way. It means we don't have to do anything, we can get to relax and recharge our batteries. God knows, I think we need it after the shit eighteen months we've both had."
"I don't think I know how to relax." Gillian paced up and down, unconsciously emphasising her point. "I can't remember the last time I sat on my arse and had someone wait on me hand and foot. Robbie tried to take the pressure off me but I'm too much of a control freak to have allowed it." She grabbed the matches by the fire and lit the kindling in the pit until the flames flickered in angry, warm bursts.
"You a control freak? Never." Caroline squealed in delight as one of the Peruvian cushions she had tripped over the night before battered her over the head via Gillian.
"You deserved that." Caroline nodded and held up her hands in defeat and felt the warmth bring her frozen, dead nerve endings back to life.
"Do you miss having Robbie around?" Caroline questioned as she drew herself closer to the flames.
"Nah. I thought I would, but it was never going to work, us two. I was stupidly holding onto the feeling of nostalgia I had from when we were fifteen year old kids, but thirty years have passed and I was kidding myself that nothing had changed in that time when everything had changed. We had changed. We weren't those innocent teenagers having a quick hormonal fumble in the park bandstand. We're adults. Well, he is. I don't think I'll ever grow up. And I don't know if I'll ever be capable of true love, either."
"My mum said something to me when I was about sixteen. She said, marry a man who loves you more than you love him. That way he'll never hurt you. I obviously never listened because I married John..." She lay back on the rugs to enjoy the heat from the fire in the middle of the room.
"But?" Gillian followed suit and lay across from her so they were facing each other.
"I hate saying this. I shouldn't..."
"Go ahead. It can't be any worse than what I've told you over the years." Caroline shot her a look that said there was obviously no closet or skeleton big enough to top her secrets.
"I adored Kate. I loved her, I really, truly did and I wanted us to spend the rest of our lives together. So, please don't misconstrue what I'm about to say." Gillian nodded in agreement that she wouldn't judge. "But, I don't think I loved her the way she loved me. I loved the idea of her – of us - but I don't think I was ever deeply in love with her. At least, not in the way she deserved." Gillian didn't look too surprised at the revelation, which astonished Caroline. "Why aren't you saying anything?"
"Because honestly, Caz, I'm not that shocked. I think, on some level, we could all see it, your mum, my dad, the boys...we just never said nowt. Listen, you were happy and that's all that really matters. You made Kate's last few months perfect. She had the wife she wanted, a beautiful house, good job and she was having the baby she always longed for. How much or how little you loved her makes no difference. Not now, at least."
"You talk sense sometimes, do you know that?"
"Yeah, well, I'm sober. So don't get your hopes up for anything philosophical after wine o'clock. Psychobabble will turn to, well, just babble really." Gillian yawned and closed her eyes to rest them. Any thoughts of dozing off again were dashed when a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Caroline annoying resumed the conversation.
"Can I just ask, while I remember, because I've always wondered. Where did you come up with a name like Raphael? I'm not judging, before you bite my head off, it just doesn't seem your style. It's more Hebbden Bridge than Rippendon - no offence." Caroline screwed up her face knowing the disclaimer wouldn't make the comment more palatable to the brunette who took offence to most things she said.
"Well I wasn't a fan of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, if that's what you're getting at, snooty mare." The both laughed before Gillian grew worryingly solemn again. "No, a few days after I had the, you know, the abortion, well, the school art department had an excursion to the National Portrait Gallery in London. I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay home and wallow in my own self-pity but my Mum insisted it would be good for me." She snorted with derision. "Like a few dusty drawings were going to mend my broken heart." A single tear formed in the duct of her eye, threatening to cascade down her cheek, but she didn't bother to brush it away. Caroline had seen her cry more times than she could count and once more wouldn't make a blind bit of difference.
"The abortion wasn't your choice then?" Caroline asked, softly, aware that she could very well be picking at an old scab that had never quite healed itself.
"I pretend to myself for a long time that it was my choice; that it was what I wanted in the grand scheme of things, but now i don't know so much. I was terrified, how could I not be, I had only just turned fifteen. But if I had felt a bit more supported, I'd have kept it...maybe. My mum was adamant that wasn't happening. She wanted me to excel in life and better myself. Look how that turned out!" Gillian shook her head mournfully. She had had so many hopes and dreams growing up, all of which had been dashed, one after the other. "Anyway, at the gallery, there was this painting, The Madonna of the Pinks, it was called. I could have stopped time to stare at it forever, it was so beautiful." A vacant smile spread across her cheeks as she reminisced. "It was a portrait of the Virgin Mary and Son, I think. She looked so cherubic; baby-faced; so young...much younger than I was, and she was apparently allowed to keep her child, and I wasn't."Her last words were punctured with anger. "C'est la fucking vie." She shrugged her shoulder's like she didn't have a care in the world but her pained face told the truth. "It was painted by Raphael and I told myself at that moment that if I was lucky enough to have another baby, that's what I would call him. Stupid, I know."
"No. That's very sweet. I like his name even better now that I know the meaning behind it. It's absolutely perfect."
"Eddie wanted him to be named Edward Junior, after himself. Egotistical bastard." She spat out in temper. If that walls hadn't been made of fabric, she would have rammed her fist into it. When ever she had to utter her ex-husbands name, a deep burning hatred grew in her that she didn't know she was capable of. The same hatred she felt the night she finally snapped and rid them both of their misery. "When I got back from registering the birth, I got a broken eye socket and a couple of fractured ribs for defying him. He was incensed. His eye's...they scared me because I could see in them that he meant business. He had already shown signs of being aggressive, but that day, he was worse than I had ever seen him. In fact, his temper escalated. It had always been in him, bubbling away, but once he broke the seal on his anger, there was no going back, I guess. But his intimidation worked. I never defied him again." She grimaced sadly as Caroline softly stroked her hand. The soothing touch was like a balsam to her soul and she could feel her anger slowly dissipate. As the temper quelled, a warmth rose in its place. Their eyes locked together and something fleeting passed between them; an understanding that needed no words. It was a moment that forever bonded them in their united grief.
Caroline sat up abruptly, breaking the silence and straightened herself out. "This is getting too heavy. Let's go to the pub and have some lunch and some fun. We're on holiday!"
"I thought we agreed that were staying sober, in case I made a show of us in one of my drunken states." Gillian jibbed playfully. She knew Caroline wasn't ever enamoured with her when she was away with the vino fairies and blabbering on her shoulder like the village idiot.
"I'll take the risk. But if you pee or vomit in you sleeping bag tonight, I'm not sharing my futon with you." Even as she said it, Caroline knew every word was a lie. For Gillian she would have shared every single possession she owned; including her bed.