I’m startled, because it’s the same word I’ve always used. ‘Most people don’t realise, but that’s exactly it.’
Both of us are silent for a moment. Then she turns to look at me. ‘And how about you? How are you?’
‘OK.’ I shrug. ‘Getting used to my new normal. Accepting I’ve been betrayed and cheated on. But life goes on.’ Bleak words belying how hard I’m finding this. ‘The police have picked up Matt’s phone. I’m hoping that will mean more answers.’ I turn to stare at her. ‘Whatever else has happened, that’s the worst of it, Sonia. All I have is what other people have said, when I need Matt’s version of what he did, and why he treated me so badly.’ I pause, because that’s what lies at the heart of my turmoil. ‘Until he’s found, I can’t move on.’
1996
Even when you followed them, he didn’t know how you felt. Laughing, he nudged Kimberley, who turned around and told you both to go home. But it was like the wood nymphs had got to you, or the elder witches. There was a gleam in your eyes as they carried on walking. Then when they next looked around, you’d gone.
It wasn’t enough for you to harvest lemon balm, mint, rose petals; make forget-me-not memories. Back at Gran’s, with the place to yourself, you had a new agenda; freedom to open the curious locked door, behind which Gran distilled nature’s magic.
On a dusty shelf, you found the rows of tiny bottles with faded labels, filled with the elixir of life. Next, you sought the small black book, the wisdom on its pages headed love, luck, providence, prosperity. The love spell that was on the first page, of pink, red and white rose petals, the essence of rosemary and hazel; about sage and lotus flowers for wisdom and purity. The essence of digitalis and belladonna that was darkness, the words scrawled in Gran’s spidery handwriting; the bottle, waiting for you to find it, out of sight.
Kimberley told him about Gran’s fury as she snatched the book from you. Her face white with rage, her hands shaking. How dare you … Don’t you know you can’t steal a gift that doesn’t belong to you?
But you can’t return a gift that’s been carved into your mind. One that would stay with you always. But there was more you didn’t know. About the alchemist’s curse, about the significance that lay not just in essence, but in intent. Meant to heal, to soothe, with only the best of intention. Not arrogantly, misguidedly, selfishly, tipping alchemic scales, that would go on swinging until one day, what you’d done would be redressed.
Amy
Chapter Fifteen
It’s another cold morning when the air barely moves, the sun silvery behind a thin layer of cloud, as I stand in limbo amongst frozen banks of chamomile and creeping thyme. The silence broken when my phone buzzes with a call from Jess.
‘Mum, I’m worried about you. I can’t stop thinking about what’s happened.’ Jess sounds flustered. ‘Nothing makes sense. I’m coming back at the weekend. I need to talk to you.’
The sense of urgency in her voice fills me with alarm. ‘Jess, there’s no need. You’ve only just gone back to uni. And I’m fine. The police are still investigating, and it’s time for me to start moving on.’
‘It isn’t just that.’ She hesitates. ‘We’ve been studying a book about a psychopath. He pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes – like his wife, the police, his whole family … Mum, I know you won’t like this, but in so many ways, he reminds me of Matt.’
I’m stunned, then horrified. ‘I know you mean well, Jess, but this isn’t helpful. Cath’s Oliver … maybe. But whatever Matt’s done, he’s no psychopath. If he was, I’d have noticed.’
She’s silent for a moment. ‘I’m not so sure. Don’t draw any conclusions. Not until we’ve talked. I’ll bring the book.’ Her voice is small as she adds, ‘Be careful, Mum.’
Her words take me by surprise. ‘Of course I will. You too, honey.’
Her call unsettles me, then as I look around the kitchen, a memory blazes into my mind, of when Matt first moved in. The walls had been ochre, the floor covered in green carpet. After ripping them up, he’d wanted to repaint the walls in neutral colours, insisting on his choice of rug for the newly sanded floorboards, replacing them in the kitchen with dark slate. He had clear ideas about furniture, too, changing the sofas Jess and I had had for years, for expensive new ones. I’d been slightly shocked at how emphatic he was, how easily he spent money, but I’d told myself change was good. I’d got too used to it being just me and Jess. Now, it was his home too.
But no matter how I try to rationalise things, Jess’s words play on repeat in my mind. Matt pulled the wool over my eyes, there’s no question. And she’s trying to help, I know that, but being a liar doesn’t make him a psychopath.
Looking across the garden, taking in the leaves scattered on the ground, I get my coat. Since Matt disappeared, my usual motivation has been absent and my garden has been somewhat neglected. Going outside, after raking them up, I fetch the wheelbarrow, loading it up from the mountain of recently delivered compost.
By the time I wheel it to the new flowerbeds, my hands are cold from the frost on its handles, that’s melted and re-frozen, sticking my gloves to them. But I go on. Digging is hard work, but I force myself to the point it hurts, only the fading light stopping me, when I’m too exhausted to go on.
*
That evening, while I’m heating up my supper, Jess calls again.
Picking up my phone, I force an air of brightness. ‘Hi, Jess. Is everything OK?’ It’s unusual to hear from her twice in one day.
‘It isn’t me I
