Set Me Free Read online

  44

  The ocean is too wide to swim (2)

  Torcuil

  I thought nobody ever could live up to Izzy. Even after my feelings for her turned into the love I’d feel for a sister, nobody could live up to her.

  Until Margherita arrived.

  I tried not to fall for her. And I failed.

  How foolish I was, to take such a risk and love again.

  I had made a little nest in my heart for happiness, and dared to hope it would be filled. I let her into my life and into my soul, and her children too. Lara, this wonderful, unique girl, and little Leo.

  And now I have a hole in my heart.

  I wish I’d never loved.

  I wish I’d never hoped.

  I wish I’d never met her.

  And I’m to pay for the mistake I made, this terrible, terrible mistake I made.

  My doorstep is covered in fuchsia flowers.

  And only ghosts remain.

  45

  Every silence has an end

  Margherita

  I sat on my bed, looking around me at all the things I would have to pack. Ash had taken Leo for a walk in the village.

  This life, this temporary life I’d materialised like a red handkerchief out of a magician’s hat, had to be folded back into itself and taken away, taken back where it belonged. Or disappear altogether.

  With my mind’s eye, I saw how the little cottage would look after we went. I saw it empty, the fairy lights unplugged, the beds unmade and covered so they wouldn’t get damp, the curtains drawn.

  Our little cottage, our home for the summer, would be hollow again – without Lara’s blossoming soul, without Leo’s sunniness, without me.

  And I thought of our house in London. I tried to picture myself unpacking there, taking ownership of the place again, spilling my energy and my belongings into it once more. I tried to imagine Lara in her room with the flower stickers, and Leo on the wooden floor in the conservatory, playing with the fire engine he’d bought in Peggy’s shop. It would be warm at this time of year. We’d be digging our summer clothes out, the proper ones, not the Scottish summer clothes. There would be no wind; the sky would be blue.

  I tried to picture all that, and I couldn’t. My mind went blank, and all I could see were the hills outside my window, silent and eternal under a cloudy sky.

  I stood and walked to the mantelpiece, where the white pebble Torcuil had given me lay on top of the business cards Lara had made for me. I slipped the pebble into my pocket. I never wanted to part from it.

  And then I looked at the cards again, their white and blue promise:

  Margherita Ward

  Catering and Cakes

  Italian Recipes and More

  c/o La Piazza

  Glen Avich

  All of a sudden, angry voices reached me from the courtyard. Lara. Mum. I ran out, alarmed.

  “I’m staying. If you want me, I’m staying!” she was screaming.

  My mum was distraught. “Tesoro, please calm down—”

  “Do you not want me, Nonna? You don’t want me with you?” She was crying.

  “Of course I do, but your mum—”

  “I don’t care! I’m not going back to those stupid people and that stupid school!”

  “Lara . . .” An abyss opened in my heart. How could Leo and I ever be away from her? How could the three of us be separated?

  “What is going on here?” Ash had walked through the French doors.

  “Lara! Don’t cry!” Leo held on to her legs.

  Lara looked at him with a tear-strewn face. “I’m not coming with you! This is what’s going on!”

  And then Ash came to our rescue. He saved us all. Lara, me, Torcuil.

  He sorted things out for us.

  He spoke to Lara.

  He said something that made it all clear for me.

  “For God’s sake, Lara! Since we adopted you you’ve given us nothing but grief!”

  The second the words came out of his mouth, he paled.

  The thing with real life is, you can’t rewind. You can’t delete. When words are out, they are out, and they can never been taken back.

  I watched in horror as Lara’s face fell, and I felt hatred.

  Something I never thought I could feel for anyone, let alone my husband. But I did, I felt pure hatred because he hurt my daughter, my sweet, vulnerable, fragile Lara, who was fighting a battle harder than he or I would ever have to fight. She ran inside the cottage, and I wanted to run to her, but first I had to finish something.

  Silence fell upon me as I turned towards Ash, and everything broke into a million little pieces – the earth and the sky and my heart.

  What was said couldn’t be unsaid.

  Ash’s white skin was even whiter as he stood in front of me. It looked like he was about to cry.

  “I want you to go,” I said simply.

  “Look, I’m sorry I said that—”

  “I want you to go.”

  There was nothing more eloquent I could say.

  From repentant, his face turned wrathful once more. His mouth was in a thin, tight line, his hands in fists at his sides. His voice was icy. “You’re coming with me.”

  And there he was, my husband – no, not my husband. This was the man he’d turned into in the last few years. The same Ash who’d driven us away. The edge to his voice, the coldness in his eyes.

  How strange that a memory of starting our life together should come back to me now, after I hadn’t thought about it for years. A trip to Lake Garda, right after we got together. A bench in the sunshine, in front of the shimmering waters – my head on his lap – his hands resting on my body comfortably, one on my hair, the other on my stomach, like they just belonged there – the orange light behind my eyes.

  His voice vibrating through his body and through mine, before it even got to my ears, my love for him, absolute, complete, beyond all differences, beyond our families’ bewilderment at our respective choices, beyond any obstacle we might ever face. What happened to that man and that woman entwined together in the sunshine, convinced it would last forever? Who would have ever thought that twelve years later we would stand in front of each other in the middle of a Scottish village, on a drizzly summer afternoon, and the sun would be nowhere to be seen?

  “You’re coming with me!” he repeated.

  For the first time in the twelve years I’d known him, I realised where I’d seen that coldness before: in his mother’s face. I’d always thought he’d been a victim of his mother, and in a way he was, but now, all of a sudden, I could see how similar they were.

  He strode towards me, heat and anger seeping out of his body. We were so close, and he looked enraged – he towered over me. But I wasn’t intimidated, I wasn’t afraid.

  “We are not going anywhere with you,” I said calmly.

  At last. At last I knew my own mind. At last I could see clearly what was best for all of us – my children and myself.

  “She said she wants you to go.” It was Michael, and my mum was behind him with her mobile in her hands. I realised she’d texted him and he’d run down from La Piazza as fast as he could. “And I want you out of my house too.”

  “Just go, Ash,” my mum said. “You’ve hurt them enough. My daughter, and your daughter.”

  Lara walked out of the cottage and came beside me, our bodies moulding against each other like the unit we were, our arms around each other. I could smell her fear, her upset – an acrid, pungent scent like a small injured animal. My heart bled, wondering how I could heal the words Ash had said to her, wondering why I’d let him hurt her again. Why I had grown so confused, so torn, when what was right for all of us was now laid in front of me, so clear, so obvious.

  “I won’t go without my family,” Ash declared, gazing at each of us in turn, making a big show of his statement. But his voice was shaking. I could see his conviction ebbing away as he sensed us closing ranks.

  As he sensed that a shift had happened insi
de me, inside Lara.

  That things could never be the same again, not this time.

  “I am not your family,” I said, and I saw the words cutting him, and they cut me too.

  And then it happened.

  A torrent of threats and insults, pouring out of his mouth into the peace of my mother’s house; Michael raising his voice; Lara and I huddled into each other; my mum silent and white-faced while our husbands shouted at each other.

  My heart cried for lost love and the broken pieces of a family.

  Softly, gently, I untangled myself from Lara. The air was dense with aggression, but I felt removed from it all, like Michael’s and Ash’s voices were coming from far, far away. In my mind there was silence as I walked into my mother’s house, careful not to brush against Ash as I passed him. My eyes met my husband’s, and suddenly he was silent. He turned as if led by an invisible force. His eyes never left mine as he followed me and then stepped out onto the street.

  We both knew it was the end.

  Lara and I were in her room, both drained, both shaken. She stood in front of the window, her arms crossed, her body tense. When she turned around I could see that her eyes were red-rimmed, but dry. She wasn’t crying any more.

  “I’m sorry, Lara. I’m so sorry for what he said to you . . . He’s gone now.”

  “I don’t want to go back to London, with or without Dad.”

  “No. We are not going. We are not going anywhere, I promise you.”

  “I want to stay here.”

  “I know. I know . . .”

  “So we are staying?”

  “Yes. Yes, we are. Please, don’t worry. There’s no need to worry any more.”

  An imperceptible sigh left her lips. I could feel her relaxing; I could feel it on my skin and in my heart.

  “Mum, what he said—”

  “Just forget about it, forget everything he ever said—”

  “How can I forget? He’s my dad!”

  I took my face in her hands and locked my eyes on hers. “Since you came into my life you have brought me nothing but joy, Lara. Not grief. Joy. This is the truth. Not what Ash said . . .” I couldn’t bear to say your dad. “That was just a lie. He had no idea what he was talking about.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  She came into my arms like the little girl she used to be, without any more words. As I hugged her, I noticed that there was something dark pink in her hair. A fuchsia flower. I knew where it came from.

  I held her closer, and I prayed, I prayed I could make everything all right again.

  46

  Voices

  Margherita

  Ash was gone, with vague threats of lawyers and of making me pay. His words had no weight for me; they were like echoes of what was important once, but now meant nothing. I had my children, a home, and a profession I could go back to. I was unafraid.

  It was two in the morning and I couldn’t sleep. I looked outside at the cold, black hills, and I longed to just step out and walk, walk, walk all the way to Ramsay Hall, all the way to Torcuil. I was so afraid to tell him we were staying. So afraid that he would not forgive me, that he would send me away even if I’d decided to stay in Glen Avich.

  Maybe I deserved it.

  The pull of my husband, the emotional blackmail about keeping the family together and doing my duty and sticking to my vows, had been too strong to resist.

  But I’d come to my senses. Surely I deserved a second chance?

  Or did I, after the way I’d hurt him?

  I tiptoed into the bathroom – the only place where my phone worked – to text him, maybe even to whisper a phone call to him. But I changed my mind. I was too frightened of his reply.

  I threw a cardigan over my shoulders and walked across to my mum’s house to make myself a cup of coffee. Oh, how I would have just loved to go to him, in my nightie and slippers, to say I was sorry, to say I knew what to do now.

  To say I would never go away again.

  But how could I?

  I sat at the kitchen table in the darkness, thoughts whirling in my mind so hard it hurt. Finally, I was so exhausted that I dragged myself back to bed and fell asleep. I woke up with a jolt again an hour later – six in the morning.

  I couldn’t wait any more.

  I threw on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and my fleece, and I ran through to my mum’s house. She was in the kitchen already, making coffee.

  “You’re up early,” she said as she saw me. “Are you okay?” She lifted a hand to touch my face.

  “Yes. I’m okay. Only . . . do you mind if I go for a walk? Leo and Lara are still asleep.”

  If she was thrown, if she suspected something, she didn’t say. “Of course. You go, I’ll be here when the children wake up.”

  I ran all the way. As I passed the bridge, the soft drizzle falling from the sky turned into a downpour and soaked me to the bone, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to make things right.

  Torcuil’s eyes were heavy with sleep as he opened the door.

  “Hello,” I said, and nothing else came out. All the words were frozen in my throat. I just stood there, soaked, gaping, my hair dripping on his doorstep.

  “Come in, come out of the rain. You are drenched . . .” he said, and his eyes weren’t hard any more, not like yesterday. Just very sad. “Have you forgotten something?”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “What?”

  “Ash is gone. I’m staying. We are staying.”

  He said nothing.

  “I can’t go back to him. And Lara doesn’t want to leave here. And I don’t want to leave here, and I’m so sorry, so sorry . . .”

  Torcuil didn’t let me say any more. He just wrapped me in his arms, holding me tight.

  He wasn’t sending me away.

  Relief swept through me, and I held on to him with all my strength. Right at that moment, I felt a stir above me, and a warm breeze wrapped itself around me for a moment, tugging at my clothes, playing with my hair.

  But we were indoors.

  “Torcuil?”

  “Mmmm?” he said into my hair.

  “What was that?”

  “A draught.”

  “It wasn’t a draught.”

  “No, okay, it wasn’t.”

  “So what was it?”

  “I’ll tell you after.”

  “After what?”

  “After this.”

  He took my hand, and led me to his room.

  We lay entwined in the morning light, my hair spread across his chest, our breaths in unison. My world had ended and a new one had begun. But I had questions that were still unanswered, and they were tugging at me.

  “How did you know?” I whispered. He knew at once what I was talking about.

  “I feel things sometimes,” he said, and stroked my hair slowly. “I’ve been like this since I can remember. It runs in the family.”

  “You feel them? Like a . . . a psychic?” I couldn’t quite believe I was even saying those words. I’d never believed in anything supernatural. Never.

  But I recalled all that had happened in the house. Things disappearing, changing place. And the warm breeze embracing me in the kitchen, when we’d reconciled. And, of course, the way he knew about Lara.

  “Not really. I see spirits. And they tell me things.”

  “So when you said there are ghosts in this house—”

  “I meant it,” he said, and glanced at me warily, waiting for my reaction.

  Okay. That was a lot to take in. I sat up, holding the sheet around my body.

  “For real?”

  “Yes. We call it the Sight.”

  “You see spirits?”

  He nodded. “Look, I know it’s a lot to wrap your head around—”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean why? Why I see them? I don’t know why. It’s a family thing.”

  “A family thing? So your parents, and Angus . . . and Inary! What about Inary?”
/>   “No, my parents and my brother and sister don’t have the Sight.”

  I studied his face. “But Inary . . .”

  “It’s up to her to tell you.”

  “She does! She does!”

  I took a few moments to digest everything. “You think Lara was right. You think it really was Malcolm Far— Farquhar she saw? Not his grandson, or something.” I struggled with the Scottish name.

  “Yes. Yes I do.”

  “Why?”

  “Another why?” He laughed feebly. But I wasn’t laughing. “Why did she see him? I don’t know. Maybe she has it in her. Or maybe she was calling to someone and Mal answered. Who knows?”

  “Oh my God. This is crazy!”

  “Look. How else did I know about Lara being in trouble? And that she was on Ailsa?”

  “Torcuil . . .”

  “Margherita.” He took my face in his hands, and he was deadly serious. “I’m only going to say this once. And I want you to look into my eyes while I do. I’m telling you the truth. I see ghosts, and they speak to me. Lara did see Malcolm Farquhar. I believe her. And you have to believe me.”

  His eyes looked so clear. So honest.

  But what he’d said made no sense. It just was impossible.

  And still, I believed him.

  Yes. I believed him.

  “So, what do you say?”

  “I say you are crazy, and so am I because I think you’re telling the truth,” I heard myself saying.

  He took a sigh of relief and held me tight. His skin against my skin was warm and infinitely soft. “I was so worried about telling you.”

  “And Inary is the same? She has the . . . Sight too?”

  “Yes. Have you read her first book?”

  “The Choice? Yes.”

  “Well, she didn’t make that story up. Mary told her.”

  “Mary, the protagonist, who’d died long before we were born.”

  “Right.”

  “Oh, God. Does anyone else know about your Sight? I mean, apart from Inary and me.”

  “My mother, my siblings, and one more person.”

  “Isabel?”

  “No. Lara,” he said decisively.

  “Lara? As in, my daughter Lara?”

  “Yes. I told her yesterday when she came to me after you’d told her you were going back to London.”