The Stepdaughter. Debbie Howells

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      4

      Elise

      I could have offered to run Andrew into work, or to arrange for someone to come here and fit new tires, so as to save him the trouble, but I don’t, nor do I give in to his demands. In a marriage based on lies, on infidelity, there is no kindness. Instead, I wait upstairs until I hear a taxi arrive to take him to the medical practice, then change into running clothes.

      It’s another chilly February morning as I set off down the drive, pausing beside clumps of pinprick green shoots pushing up through the grass. They’re the first snowdrops, their subtle green and white a prelude to the soft yellow of the wild daffodils that have colonized under the oldest trees. A desire to fill the house with flowers grips me. I want beauty, color, fragrance to neutralize the odor of my marriage. Breaking into a jog, I think of Stephanie Hampton’s small florist shop in the next village.

      As my body loosens up, I run harder, heading through the village along the narrow strip of pavement, which is all that’s left where the grass verge has encroached, passing the first of the footpaths to the church, before turning up Furze Lane. Half a mile along, I take a path that leads into an area of woodland and for several minutes I run hard, my feet cushioned by fallen leaves. Then I take the rough steps hewn into the earth leading downhill, before the path slopes uphill again, opening out on the farthest side of the churchyard.

      At this time of day, I rarely see anyone, but this morning, as I slow down, I see a slight figure leaning against one of the tallest oaks. It’s Hollie. If it’s possible for her to look any smaller or more fragile, when she sees me looking at her, she seems to shrink.

      “Hey.” I come to a stop in front of her. “Are you OK?” Agitated, she’s standing amongst the oldest gravestones, clutching her hands, white knuckles protruding from bunched-up, too-long sleeves.

      At first, she doesn’t speak, just continues to stare at her hands.

      I feel myself frown. “Shouldn’t you be at school, Hollie?”

      “Does it matter?” Her eyes darting around, she doesn’t look at me. “I mean, actually... does it?”

      “Well, yes.” I’m trying to sound reasonable. “You have exams to think about. You don’t want to miss too many lessons.” Then I frown, wondering why she’s irritated with me.

      “I can’t think about school,” she mumbles. “Not now. There’s too much going on.”

      The look on her face makes my blood run cold. “Such as what?”

      This time, she stares right at me, tears blurring her eyes. “I can hardly tell you.” She turns away. “Anyway, you’d be like everyone else. No one believes anything I tell them.”

      “I’m sure that’s not true.” Knowing she’s prone to overdramatizing things, I try to sound conciliatory. “James—I mean your dad... you have a good relationship, don’t you?” But as I mention his name, a stricken look washes across her face.

      She shakes her head. “Please don’t... Please. I mean it. It won’t do any good.”

      Frowning, I take a step closer. “Has something happened, Hollie? If it has, if you want to talk to—”

      But she interrupts me. “Go away.” Her eyes blaze but her voice is desperate. “You have no idea. You can’t help me. No one can.”

      It isn’t my place to interfere. But I’m not prepared for her to speak to me like this. “Fine. It’s your life. You need to think about it, Hollie. You can’t just take time out from school.” It comes out more sharply than I intended.

      “You can’t stop me.”

      I frown at her. It’s as though she’s challenging me, pushing me, as if she wants something from me. “No.” I pause. “I can’t. But this isn’t about me.”

      Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Ida Jones appear from under the trees. As she walks toward us, a look of panic crosses Hollie’s face. “Don’t tell her. Please...”

      I don’t have time to ask what I’m not supposed to tell her, before I hear Ida’s gentle voice. “How are you, my dears?” Then turning to Hollie, she adds, “I didn’t know it was the holidays.”

      “No.” I’m acutely aware of Hollie’s eyes on me. “Hollie wasn’t feeling so well this morning. We just happened to bump into each other.” The lie slips out. I’ve no idea where the need to justify why we’re here together comes from.

      “Oh dear...” Ida scrutinizes Hollie’s face. “You do look pale, dear. Are you feeling poorly?”

      “How’s your granddaughter, Ida?” Glancing at Hollie, I change the subject.

      “She’s very well.” A wistful smile spreads across her face, then as her phone buzzes, she fumbles in one of her pockets. “I’m so sorry, but it’s my daughter. Would you excuse me?”

      As she turns СКАЧАТЬ