Page 3

Powerful kindness

Nature was loud as I waited for my imaginary boyfriend. A deer bolted across the road, stopping to give me a curious look before bounding off, barely visible in the drizzle. The dark grew thicker, the noise of the rain on the windscreen my music, its gentle pitter patter beginning to match my shivers as the chill of evening set in. I pictured Sam pulling up in his Corsa, coming to whisk me away to his warm house and make me beans on toast – smug, like he was a Michelin Star chef. I wondered if he would’ve leant me his coat. I imagined the feel of the car heaters blazing. It was pathetic, but it was all I had.

After an hour, I realised the difficult truth; I couldn’t sleep here. The car would be the first thing they’d look for. It had felt good standing up to that man; like fighting for myself, even if I felt sort of guilty about it. I leant over, pulling open the glove box to find a map. The worn paper crinkled under my fingers as I shoved it into my holdall. The car battery had died about twenty minutes ago – my only option was to walk. The direction would have to just be ‘away’ for now, until I could find a road sign.

Hoping there might be a torch or something more useful than everything I’d packed, I walked out and around to the boot.

Bright yellow lights glowed once more – an exposing spotlight – as another car came humming around the bend. I winced at the glare, blinking away the white circles. When I lowered my arm, I saw it. A grey VW pulled up in front of the old Ford.

I swallowed, a fresh wave of fear rushing through my bloodstream. At least the adrenaline might stop me from freezing to death. My damp clothes were heavy and I could feel the cold tightening its grip on me.

“Are you okay?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Yes, thank you,”

I replied, trying to sound confident as pure panic took hold. Something about the voice’s soft tone felt more threatening than the yelling man.

A woman appeared, her features mostly invisible in the night, but I could make out a long camel coat as she pulled it more tightly around herself.

“Oh… sorry, I thought you might be lost. Are you local? Can I help you with directions?”

she asked, staring right at me, thick hair blowing in the wind.

I pulled the empty boot shut as the breeze whistled through the nearby trees. I could sense she saw right through my cheery fa?ade. “Um, I’m on my way to Hampshire, do you know where the station is, please?”

She tilted her head, as if considering her answer. Should I tell her the truth? Would she believe me? The last hour had been an uncomfortable reality check, and even though every cell in my brain was telling me that trusting her was a bad idea, I couldn’t help the seed of hope that took root. I had no phone or light to see the map. Who knew how many people had been sent after me this time. This woman… she was only a few years older than me. Surely she was safe?

The silence dragged before she tentatively spoke. “The station is too far to walk, maybe we could give you a lift?”

I looked back towards the blue Ford, covered in mud and lifeless, as if it were screaming its own fate. Her unquestioning kindness stung. I felt my throat dry – why would she help me?

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, but thank you. If you could just point me in the right direction—”

“I insist,”

she interrupted, remaining a respectful distance. “You look like you’ve had quite the day.”

“They’re, um, picking it up tomorrow. I just need to find a train, or a bus or something.”

Her shoulders hunched. “I can’t leave you here on your own. I’d never forgive myself.”

There was a commotion from the open door behind her.

“Mum, what are you doing? Can I get out?”

My heart sank. “I couldn’t bother you like that, but thank you.”

I hooked my bag back over my shoulder.

“Come on,”

the woman said, her tone tempting, inviting. “I’ll feel terrible if I drive away and leave you here walking all evening. Please? You can’t walk through the woods alone. Is there someone I can call for you? I can wait.”

I shook my head, trying not to hear the voice in my head saying, nobody, I’m totally alone.

I noticed her round eyes as she tentatively stepped closer, kind and curious. Then I noticed the darkness of the surrounding woodland, the expanse of black, of rustling trees. A thousand thoughts wrestled each other in my mind as she looked at me, willing me to step towards the comfort.

I glanced once more down the road; not even the bend of the tarmac was visible without the beam of a headlight.

It’s just to the station; just a lift.

Low on options and resistance, I allowed myself the small mercy of taking the chance, desperately hoping I wouldn’t regret it.

In the back of the car were a boy and a girl of primary school age, still wearing red school uniforms. The interior was warm and smelt like cookies, with wipes and trinkets tucked into every pocket.

“We’re going to stay in our cottage,”

the boy said.

“What’s wrong with your car?”

the girl asked.

“Kids, we’re just giving her a lift to the station and I’m sure she doesn’t want to answer a hundred questions before we get there.”

She shot me an apologetic glance. I noticed her neat, small hands and short, French tipped nails as they slid over the steering wheel.

“It’s okay. My car has a broken battery,”

I explained as we pulled away. Guilt for abandoning the Ford struck me, amongst a cascade of other emotions. The simple joy of the children’s questions was a welcome distraction. “Lucky you, going on holiday. What are your names?”

“I’m Sophie and this is Isac. I am seven and Isac is ten. Uncle Ben is coming tomorrow. I made him promise on my birthday last week. Where do you live? Why is your makeup so messy?”

“Sophie!”

the woman exclaimed.

“It’s alright,”

I assured her, laughing softly. Glancing over, I admired the glints of well-placed silver jewellery. No wedding ring. “Sorry, what was your name?”

“Lucy,”

she answered, with a gentle smile. “There are some wipes in the side of the door if you’d like one. Not that I’m agreeing, you know, each to their own.”

I nodded and gratefully reached for a packet. “Thank you. I’m Chantelle, Elle, for short.”

Lucy drove on for about fifteen minutes as I chatted with the kids in an attempt to keep my mind busy. Seeing the station sign, I tensed, realising I’d let my body relax into the soft seat. For some reason, the sight of my destination made my stomach twist. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt such simple warmth and kindness.

When the VW pulled up into the tiny, empty car park, Lucy looked at me as she had in the lay-by, like she was thinking deeply.

She opened her mouth and the words fell out. “You could stay with us, for the night. The cottage is split into two, we have room. It doesn’t look like the trains are even running and your clothes are damp. It makes more sense to try tomorrow, with a good night’s rest. I mean, if this isn’t just sounding horribly rude and imposing.”

The confusion must have been written all over my face because she kept babbling.

“It’s two sublets, so completely separate. You can have a warm shower and get some rest. Ben isn’t coming back until tomorrow afternoon. I can drive you back here in the morning.”

“I… that’s… Lucy, that’s such a kind offer, really. Like, you don’t know how kind. But I can’t. It’d be really unfair of me—”

“I’m offering, you’re not asking. In fact, I’m insisting – so no, it wouldn’t be unfair. Just one night, honestly, we’ll be back here tomorrow morning, first thing.”

I swallowed, only just realising how narrow my throat had become. “Why… why would you offer that?”

“Stay, Elle!”

Sophie chanted. “Please!”

Lucy pressed her lip between her knuckle and thumb, pausing before carefully replying. “I’m a nurse. I… I know the signs of someone who might be… getting away from a difficult situation.”

My gaze flew down to my knees as I pulled my sleeves over my hands, tugging on the coat material. The shame ached. It was suffocating.

I reached for the door handle.

Lucy gently rested her hand on my damp knee.

“I’m sorry. You don’t need to tell me, I just… let me help. One night. Please.”

I knew I had to decline.

But the wrong words came out.

We pulled up to a beautiful, secluded country cottage with roses clinging to the bricks, grey against the evening sky. I could smell the sweet blooms in the wrap-around garden as the kids poured out of the car. Sophie grabbed my hand, dragging me to the white wooden door.

“This is our cottage. It’s called Rose Cottage after our gran. She planted the roses. Grandad used to take Mum fishing in the river at the end of the garden when she was little. Once they found a crayfish, which is like a lobster, but me and Isac have never seen one.”

I could see her better in the light emanating from the house. She had curly hair, like her mum, tumbling out of a loose ponytail, pink-framed glasses sitting on a dainty nose; big, shiny eyes full of excitement.

“Mum, make sure you order enough pizza,”

yelled Isac. “I want pineapple still.”

“I hate pineapple on pizza!”

Sophie whined.

“It’s not all about you, Sophie!”

he bit back.

Isac had darker hair than his sister. His red jumper was smeared with what looked like glue, his eyes not as bright.

“What about broccoli pizza, that’s the best, isn’t it?”

I teased. “You grate carrots for the sauce and, instead of cheese, you sprinkle on tuna, and then, of course, add the brussels sprouts.”

They both giggled, making gagging noises and sticking out their tongues.

“Alright, go unpack your bags. I’ll order lots of pizza,”

Lucy assured them, smiling.

Something about her was like melted butter on warm toast – easy, comfortable, harmless.

I squeezed her hand as we crossed the threshold. “Thank you. I’ll be no trouble, I swear; this is so incredibly kind. I’ll be gone as soon as I get up. I can walk to the station.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll drive you, it’s fine. If you head around that little path to the right there’s a door key under the third pot. You can sleep in there, have the place to yourself. There’s an adjoining door that’s locked, but you can knock if you need anything. Ben, my brother, stayed last night, but he’s away at a conference. There are fresh sheets and towels in the wardrobe. If you don’t mind, though,”

she winked, “we’ll stick with standard pizzas tonight.”

I laughed in response, holding tight to my duffle bag as I made my way around to the other entrance.

It wasn’t until I was alone in the quaint, characterful cottage by the main house that I felt an unwelcome rush of reality. The feeling forced its way through my body, taking hold and turning my muscles to steel.

“One night,”

I chanted to a fox-shaped draught excluder. “One night, what’s the harm? It was cold and dark, and even the deer gave me side-eye.” I raised my eyes to the vaulted ceiling. “Oh god.”

Shaking myself out of my frozen panic, I looked around the space. The cottage was filled with sturdy wooden furniture; the main room an open area with chunky stone floors and a metal staircase leading to a mezzanine with a big, inviting bed. Removing my sodden trainers and socks, I plodded up, wincing at the loud clang of metal, until I reached the carpet at the top. The dense pile felt luxurious against my aching feet.

There was a lingering scent of an expensive aftershave, and what I assumed must be Ben’s black suitcase open by the wardrobe. I dropped my bag and leant over the wooden banister, looking down onto the kitchen. On the wall was a large canvas print of a pebbled beach, the moonlight through the window mottled by rose branches.

I walked through the bedroom tentatively. There was a small dresser with a mirror, where I caught a glance of my sorry, exhausted state. I rubbed at the black smudges around my eyes, feeling the brittle shell of the mud encasing my hair as I tucked it back behind my ears. I hated bruises. They were a cruel reminder of pain that you had to wear for days, sometimes weeks.

I swiftly turned towards the shower, before the reality of the choices I’d made could sink in any further.

The adjoining, main cottage was bigger, but still homely. Sophie proudly showed me a collection of beach stones she had painted whilst we all ate around the solid oak table. The siblings couldn’t be more different from one another. Sophie was pretty, spirited, but sensitive, and Isac wasn’t a typical boisterous boy; he was quiet and studious, and asked great questions.

“Why aren’t you in your house?”

Sophie asked, delaying brushing her teeth.

“I…”

Voices shouted crude responses in my mind. “I decided to move away. I’m looking for a new place to live, but I need to speak to some people in Hampshire first, so I’m going to visit them.” The words tasted bitter, stinging my tongue in protest.

“Do you have a dog?”

“Um, I’ve had dogs before. I was always closest to the horses, though.”

“Woah! You have horses? How many? Can you ride? Do you jump?”

she exclaimed, twitching in her seat.

I laughed, folding the pizza boxes shut as I helped Lucy to clear up. “I can jump and ride, but my favourite part was caring for them, actually. The more you look after your horse, the more you bond as a team. I used to love hacking in the morning with Ebony; he was a gorgeous black stallion with a white smudge on the end of his nose.”

I felt awful for leaving the animals, abandoning them in that place. “Do you ride?” I asked, trying to distract myself.

“Not yet, but Ben’s bought me a lesson. I want to go down to the local stables. The lesson lady told me sometimes you can scoop the poo and they let you ride, but I was too little. Which was rubbish, because it’s only poo, and anyone could have done it,”

Sophie rattled on, licking tomato sauce from her fingers.

“Well, maybe one day I can help you learn? To repay you all for letting me have a sleepover.”

I smiled at Lucy.

“Yes please, oh, please! Lisa, in my class, told everyone that the stable said I was too rubbish. Mum said she was jealous, but—”

“Come on, Sophie,”

Lucy urged, gathering the plates and heading for the dishwasher. “I’m sure Elle doesn’t want to hear about all of that. Maybe we can take her up on her offer once she’s settled.”

“Will you read us a story, Elle?”

Sophie asked with a toothy grin.

“We don’t have books here, dummy,”

Isac cut in. “Unless you want her to read you Gran’s cookbook and dream about vegetables.”

I bit my lip, stifling a smile. He was a boy of few words, but when he offered them, his comebacks were always quick-witted.

“Well…”

I hesitated. “I don’t mind making one up, as long as it’s okay with your mum?”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind, really, as long as you don’t?”

She smiled at me and waved her hands towards the stairs in approval.

Once the kids were asleep, I found Lucy holding two glasses of wine, sitting in one of the comfy-looking tweed armchairs. She’d changed into an oversized cream turtleneck and tartan pyjama bottoms. There was a small heater wafting dry warmth and an orange glow through the homely room. A Persian rug broke up the cool stone floor, offering comfort to my aching feet.

“I didn’t know whether you drank,”

Lucy commented, looking tired all of a sudden, “but then I figured it was an excuse for me to have two if you didn’t. Win win.”

“Thanks,”

I replied, taking the glass from her hand and curling up on the red two-seater. I had a complicated relationship with alcohol, but it had been a complicated kind of day. “Sorry to disappoint.”

She smiled, raising her drink.

The red wine felt soothing as it lined my throat.

Lucy swirled her glass. “So, what happened that left you stranded?”

Something about her easy tone made me want to tell her everything. I knew I couldn’t, though; I hadn’t even wholly acknowledged it myself.

“A few different things, I guess. I’m travelling to Hampshire to find some people. The car ran out of fuel on the way; I should’ve stopped but I was just… in a rush.”

My jaw tightened.

She raised an eyebrow. “And your family couldn’t come and get you?”

“Well, it’s not like that. I don’t—”

She looked at me as I hesitated, willing me to continue.

I took a breath. “It’s a long story. My parents weren’t supportive of me leaving.”

“You ran away?”

“I suppose.”

“I’m sure they’ll be worried, whatever it was you fought about. If you need to borrow a phone or something, just let me know.”

If only.

“Thank you, but I need to do this on my own.”

“Why?”

she asked boldly.

I flinched, but her gaze didn’t falter.

“It was getting hard to stay on the site, lots of different problems over the years. Lots of fights.”

“The ‘site’?”

“Yeah, Henworth. It’s a big caravan park.”

“So, you just drove into the night on your own?”

She looked into my eyes again with that searching gaze, drawing mine up. I winced. It did sound pretty stupid.

“None of it was ideal. I don’t want to burden you with it, but I think they’ll be looking for me, so I need to get straight out of here tomorrow.”

“Surely your parents realise you’re, what, in your early twenties? What is it, some sort of cult?”

she joked, swinging one leg over the top of the other and relaxing back.

I rolled my shoulders awkwardly.

Her eyes widened. “Oh shit. Is it a cult?”

“No… no, it’s not like that. They’re an old-school community. They live by their own rules, on their own land.”

I’d said too much; the words hung in the air.

“Where?”

“About an hour away, towards Bristol.”

There was a pause, and I was unsure what she might ask next. Unsure whether I should answer.

Taking another sip, she looped a curl around her finger. “What made you leave so suddenly?”

I bit my tongue hard, feeling the sharpness of my teeth in the soft muscle. The pain was a circuit break from the tempting spiral, from opening the doors to the storm; the storm of pain I was fighting so hard to deny. I couldn’t fall apart here; I couldn’t open that door fully. What if it wouldn’t shut? What if I cried and cried and couldn’t stop?

“Sorry to be so blunt,”

Lucy said, interrupting my mental frenzy. “I don’t mean to pry.”

She swept the hair from her face with her fingers. Almost immediately, two strands flopped back across her rosy cheeks. I still couldn’t find any words.

“I needed the break, coming here,”

she continued, glancing around the room. “I got divorced from the kids’ father, Steven, four years ago, and his shiny new family are a fucking nightmare. I left him because he didn’t want to take any responsibility for anything: for the marriage, the kids, the house, his temper. Then he goes and finds a family of teenagers!”

I kept quiet, happy to listen and not talk myself into any more of a hole. Maybe this is why we were drawn to each other? Maybe we both needed an evening where we could talk to a stranger? This was certainly healthier than shouting at trees. After all, I’d be on a train tomorrow, what did it matter?

“That sounds… man-like,”

I offered, circling my finger around the rim of my glass.

“I love my kids, but it’s been an adjustment doing it all on my own. My colleagues at the hospital pushed and pushed me to leave him, but when I did, they didn’t want to flex-up shifts. They moan every time I finish earlier than them on a Thursday to do the school run.”

She grimaced. “Isac, he’s just not been himself lately. He was sad, sure, then he seemed better. But it’s like this new family Steven has… it’s just made him close himself off. I used to think I was a good mum – well, an okay mum – but now I just can’t seem to connect with him at all.”

We both processed the words, sipping wine.

I adjusted on the sofa; the cushions were worn and bouncy, so I tucked both my legs up, pulling at my jeans. “You were brave to get a divorce, your family is beautiful. Isac is bright, I can tell.”

I pushed my damp hair behind my ear. “Not many people would’ve stopped their car.”

“I shouldn’t have, let’s be real! I mean, if I was on my own, maybe, but not with the kids. You could’ve been a serial killer – I mean, no one would have had sympathy for me in that Netflix documentary.”

“I can go, I can get a taxi or something.”

“No, no, you’re here now, and I’ve enjoyed your company. It’s quite nice talking to a stranger about all this. It feels easier.”

I felt myself smile and lifted my glass to her. “To strangers.”

She tilted hers back.

“This place is stunning, even in the dark,”

I murmured, looking around the room, noticing even more details: photo albums, cross stitched cushions, chipped skirting boards. “Do your parents ever come here with the kids?”

“They died,”

she answered quickly. “When me and Ben were young.”

My eyes darted to hers. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, it was a long time ago. I wish they’d met the children… they would’ve hated Steve though. My mum could always see through people.”

“Some people are good at putting on a show.”

The words felt a bit harsh as they came out, aimed too much at my own situation. My resentment had built up over the years I’d spent in that pokey caravan, following my parents’ rules only to end up bruised and alone, time after time. It always felt like I was the one who lost something, like my happiness was always expendable, but then they would draw me back in, convince me I was better off with them. I’d always hated myself for it.

“Totally. I loved Steve too easily. He was handsome, fun, but he was good at making promises and charming people, and not much else. Ben’s always been there for me, but when Steve wanted to be my everything, it was too tempting. I think I was always conscious my family was small, so I jumped at the chance of growing it. Which is ridiculous, because now I feel more alone than ever.”

Lucy reached for the bottle of wine on the coffee table, pouring us both another glass. She didn’t look up.

“It’s not ridiculous. You seem like you have it together despite him.”

She smiled ingenuously at me, placing the bottle back down. “Thanks. I guess I thought he would fight me on it; it was like an extra stab in the gut when he seemed pleased. He was so weak that he needed to drive me to it, rather than pluck up the courage himself.”

I took a deep breath and tucked my legs in tighter. “Sounds like you’re better off without him, however hard it is.”

I hoped they were wrong, Frank and Ruby. All of them. I hoped I was better without them.

“I miss him sometimes, despite everything. It makes me so angry.”

“I’m sure that’s how most people would feel in your situation.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “I just wish I could hate him.”

“I get that. I miss Sam, and I really shouldn’t.”

“Sam?”

I swallowed. I couldn’t tell her.

Except… I wanted to.

I stared at my glass, checking how much I’d had to drink – not enough to blame for the words collecting on my tongue.

“We were together, but he left me. Then I found out my dad had paid him to leave.”

Lucy swept her hair back again, trying to politely hide her confusion. “Why?”

I sighed and took another sip, before attempting to carefully colour the picture just enough to relieve the weight on my chest, but not so much as to be… well… too much.

“We were talking about moving out. I made a comment about it. They didn’t want change; they never liked me going off the site for a reason that didn’t suit them. A few other things happened and I just snapped. I know it was reckless. That this”

– I gestured around the room – “is reckless, but I had to get out. I knew they were controlling; I tolerated it because they were my parents. I never thought they would do something like that – it felt so extreme, what happened with Sam. I realised I needed space to think. “ I looked up. “You must think that all sounds so stupid.”

“No, it sounds like a good reason to leave. They have no right to control your life like that. Did you speak to them about how you feel, before you left?”

“There isn’t any talking to them. It rarely ends well. If they don’t like something, they deal with it their way. I just can’t believe Sam took their money.”

“Men are such idiots. I’m sorry, Elle, that sounds awful.”

She smiled comfortingly at me before a frown creased her forehead. “Haven’t they been calling you? Aren’t they worried?”

I thought about it for a second. They won’t be worried, they’ll be mad. Really, really mad. “We didn’t really have a relationship like that, and I left my phone, on purpose.”

I pressed my lips shut, painfully aware that this was the most candid conversation I’d had with anyone in years; even filled with so many half-truths. Telling Lucy part of the story… it felt liberating, especially as she was yet to jump from her seat and chase me out of the door.

“Well, I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

The rest of the evening passed far more easily than it should have. Lucy continued talking about Steven, and her kids, and I happily listened. It was as if we both knew we could get a certain amount out before we had to swap emotional wounds, taking it in turns to talk. When the wine bottle was empty, we hugged, and somehow, she felt like a friend. It was as jarring as it was soothing – how had this stranger made me feel comfort, made me feel heard?

Realising how it actually felt to be listened to and not demeaned, or belittled, made my chest ache.

My life suddenly seemed utterly hopeless.