All My Secrets, Page 3

  Apart from during a couple of phone calls, which Gavin wanders away from me to take, we spend the rest of the day out and about, heading back to his flat only after eating an early dinner in what Gavin tells me was the Italian restaurant his family used to go to on special occasions. I turn on my phone as we reach Rose Street to see if there are any messages from Andrew or Janet.

  As the mobile powers on, I look up.

  To my horror Andrew is here, pacing up and down in front of Gavin’s apartment building.

  ‘Oh no, it’s my dad,’ I gasp.

  ‘Is that Andrew?’ Gavin’s eyes widen. ‘He looks . . . different from in the photos. It must be the hair, or lack of it.’

  As we draw closer, Andrew spots me. My guts twist and knot.

  ‘Oh, Evie.’ He rushes over, pulling me into a bear hug.

  I let him hold me, arms stiff at my sides.

  Andrew steps back, taking in Gavin, who instantly introduces himself.

  ‘Oh,’ Andrew says without smiling. ‘I see.’ He turns to me. ‘Mum and I have been so worried. We—’

  ‘D’you remember Irina talking about Uncle Gavin?’ I interrupt.

  ‘Er, yes.’ My dad still doesn’t smile. ‘I guess I do.’

  Irritated, I cross my arms. ‘Uncle Gavin’s been showing me round Edinburgh.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad he’s looked after you, but really, Evie, what do you think you’re playing at, running off like that? Mum and I have been out of our minds with—’

  ‘She’s not my mum though, is she?’ I say. ‘And frankly you don’t deserve to be my dad.’

  Andrew looks stunned. Behind him Gavin shuffles awkwardly.

  ‘Evie . . .’ Andrew begins.

  ‘No,’ I snap. ‘You both lied to me and then refused to tell me anything so, if I’m here, trying to find things out for myself, it’s your own fault.’

  Andrew stares at me. ‘Please, Evie, that one factor doesn’t—’

  ‘I’m not coming home,’ I say. ‘Gavin says it’s OK for me to stay with him and—’

  ‘This is none of your business.’ Andrew turns on Gavin, who takes a step back, hands raised in a conciliatory gesture. ‘You should have made Evie call us.’

  ‘Don’t blame him,’ I say. And then, before I can even think, the next words shoot like bullets out of my mouth. ‘I hate you, Dad. I’ll never forgive you for lying to me and keeping me apart from my family.’

  His lips tremble. I can feel my face flushing. Part of me feels bad for saying that. Yet a bigger part is relieved that I’ve finally, properly said how I feel. Andrew’s eyes fill with misery. I’m suddenly aware of the bustle of the dusty street around us, all sorts of people going about their business, unaware of who we are and what we’re saying and doing.

  Gavin clears his throat. ‘Look, I don’t want to get caught in the middle of this,’ he says. ‘I’m thrilled that Evie’s sought me out and I don’t want to lose touch with her again. But Evie darling, this is your father. It’s understandable he’s been worried about you, that he wants you home.’

  ‘Please, Evie.’ Andrew looks up and there are tears in his eyes.

  Perhaps I should feel sorry for him.

  But in my heart there’s only anger.

  I go back home with Andrew. After all, what choice do I really have? I don’t have any money of my own yet and, anyway, all my things are still there. But it’s not the same and it never will be. Andrew and Janet try to talk to me; Andrew even offers a bit more information about Irina. I discover that they met when he was a student at Edinburgh University and – as I’d more or less gathered anyway – only went on a few dates.

  ‘I was shocked when she said she was pregnant. To be honest, I didn’t cope with it very well,’ Andrew admits. ‘Irina and I never lived together, not before or after she got pregnant, but once you were born I saw you every few days and you stayed with me when she went back to dancing, and then, suddenly, the accident happened and she was dead and you needed someone to look after you.’

  ‘What happened?’ I ask.

  Andrew looks uncomfortable. ‘I told you,’ he says. ‘Hit-and-run, a lorry. The driver was never found.’

  I shiver, remembering my own near miss with that car in Edinburgh, and ask what Irina was like as a person and why Andrew had such an issue with my grandparents. But at this Andrew clams up again and my fury surges back. In the end, I’m barely talking to either him or Janet. I don’t want to see my friends and I can’t be bothered to play with the twins. I spend all my time in my room, watching Irina’s Giselle DVD over and over again, holding her ballet shoes for comfort as I fall asleep every night.

  Gavin calls me every day to see how I am. We chat about Irina’s childhood mostly. I love hearing his stories about her. And he repeats his offer to have me stay again, once my money comes through.

  And so a week passes. I refuse to come down for the family meals that Janet insists on every evening. After all, I point out, we’re not really family. I know that’s cruel, but she was cruel first, letting me think she was my one and only mother all this time.

  Janet pleads, then she shouts. So does Andrew. But I refuse to leave my room, going to the kitchen in my own time and living mostly off toast.

  Another week passes and the end of June arrives. Still two whole months until I inherit my money. I take to planning what I’m going to spend it on: a flat in Edinburgh definitely, though if I’m honest the idea of living there alone is more than a little daunting. Perhaps I’ll travel. I still haven’t told any of my friends about either the money or Irina. The money is so big a thing it doesn’t even feel real. And, anyway, it’s just that Andrew and Janet lied to me all those years.

  On the last day of June, Andrew knocks on my bedroom door to say that he’s asked Gavin to visit. I’m shocked – I’ve gathered since leaving Edinburgh that neither Andrew nor Janet have a very high opinion of him.

  ‘Bit of a waste of space, Irina thought,’ Andrew says with an apologetic smile that makes me want to scream. ‘And I’m pretty certain he’s into some very dodgy dealings.’

  ‘From what your dad told me . . . he looks and acts like a shark,’ Janet adds.

  I roll my eyes. What gives them the right to pass judgement? They don’t even know Gavin.

  My uncle turns up that evening. He looks different in our house than he did in Edinburgh – smarter and younger. He’s wearing a designer suit and his hair is carefully gelled and slicked back. He might be around my dad’s age, but he comes across as much more youthful.

  I rush downstairs to greet him and he gives me a big hug.

  ‘Are you all right, darling?’ he breathes in my ear. ‘Your dad’s been terrifying me to death, saying that you’re hardly speaking, refusing to come out of your room.’

  I shrug, throwing Andrew an angry glance.

  ‘Anyway, I’m here now, darling,’ Gavin goes on. ‘I’m always here for you.’

  Beside us, Andrew stiffens. It’s a tiny gesture, but I know he’s irritated. Which he has absolutely no right to be.

  ‘Your uncle has a suggestion for you,’ Andrew says, tight-lipped.

  Uncle Gavin smiles, revealing a set of very small, even, white teeth. I remember what Janet said earlier about him looking like a shark. Then I push the thought out of my head. Janet was just being mean.

  ‘What suggestion?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s a place for you to go, Evie darling,’ Uncle Gavin says. ‘A place to sort your head out after all the . . . the revelations.’

  I frown. ‘What do you mean? What sort of place?’

  Andrew and Gavin exchange a glance. My throat suddenly feels dry. The last thing I expected was to see the two of them in cahoots over anything.

  It doesn’t just feel strange.

  It feels wrong.

  ‘Tell me,’ I insist.

  Andrew plucks his laptop out of his bag and places it on the kitchen table. ‘Sit down, Evie,’ he says with a sigh. ‘We’ve got something to show you.’
>
  What was coming now?

  Andrew opens the computer. I glance at Gavin, but he is looking at the screen. I slide into a chair as Andrew turns the laptop to face me.

  ‘What is this?’ I lean forward, trying to make sense of the picture of an island sparkling in sunshine.

  Andrew clears his throat. ‘It’s the brochure for the Lightsea Young Adult Development Programme.’

  ‘The what?’ I peer more closely. Underneath the main photo of the island is a row of smaller close-ups. One picture shows an ugly grey stone house, with the sea beyond. Another a cluster of trees. A third an expanse of uneven rocks leading down to the shore. I scroll down to the page of text below the pictures.

  Lightsea House offers guidance and development opportunities for troubled teenagers. Our discreet team of highly trained staff know exactly how to get the best out of each adolescent in our care. We take a highly individual approach to every member of the group and keep staff-to-student ratios high: we take a maximum of six teens on every self-development course and emphasise the need for discipline and responsibility.

  ‘What do you think?’ Andrew asks.

  I frown, my stomach twisting into an uneasy knot. ‘Why are you showing me this?’

  ‘Read to the end,’ Uncle Gavin urges.

  I turn back to the screen.

  Personal possessions are limited and there is no internet access or signal network on the island. Attendees are only allowed a small number of clothes and other items for personal use. We encourage each teenager in our charge to explore the issues that trouble them in a supportive environment, enabling them to confront their past and take responsibility for their future.

  ‘This sounds like a boot camp,’ I say.

  Andrew glances at Uncle Gavin, who sits down beside me.

  ‘We think it sounds like exactly what you need, darling,’ he says.

  ‘What?’ I’m as shocked as I’m horrified.

  ‘Seriously, Evie, I know you’ve been unhappy since . . . since you found out about your mum . . .’

  ‘Birth mum,’ Andrew interjects.

  ‘I – we both – think you should give Lightsea a chance,’ Gavin goes on. ‘It might help you heal from all the trauma of your recent discoveries.’

  I can’t believe it. I’m not surprised by my dad’s desire to punish me for following my heart. Uncle Gavin wanting to send me to some hellhole for teenagers is quite another matter.

  ‘But . . . but . . .’ I can’t even find the words.

  ‘I don’t know how to explain what Lightsea offers in a way that will make it appealing to you,’ Uncle Gavin says. ‘But the man who runs the place – David Lomax – is the son of some old family friends.’

  ‘Our family?’ I ask. ‘Yours and mine?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gavin says. ‘David Lomax’s parents knew mine and Irina’s – your grandparents. They knew us too, when we were children.’

  ‘Oh.’ I’m thrown. ‘What about David Lomax?’ I ask. ‘Did you spend any time together when you were a kid? Did Irina?’

  ‘I don’t remember meeting him, but he’s a few years older so he may well remember better.’ Gavin smiles. ‘It’s not just that connection. He’s the real deal, Evie. I’ve followed his career. He used to be a therapist, then he spent ten years on an ashram in India. Now he’s running his own residential development courses. He’s a good guy. And he specialises in helping . . . er, young people. You’ve had a lot to process recently and I really think this might help.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I’m torn. On the one hand, I’m intrigued by the sound of this man with his family connection to Irina. On the other, it’s still basically just a jumped-up boot camp.

  ‘Evie.’ Andrew runs his hand over his head. ‘I don’t want to force you, but your mother and I are at our wits’ end. We don’t know how to help you and Gavin has come up with this idea and he’s generously offering to split the costs . . .’

  I stare at him, then at Uncle Gavin who looks away. ‘Where is this Lightsea place?’ I demand.

  ‘It’s off the west coast of Scotland. I spoke to David Lomax earlier. He’s very happy for you to come for the August course.’

  ‘The whole of August?’ Is he serious?

  ‘At the end of which time you’ll come into your inheritance and you’ll be free to make future decisions for yourself,’ Gavin says with a smile. ‘Lightsea isn’t like any other institution for teens. It’s supposed to be a great place.’ He pauses. ‘I think it’s what Irina would have wanted for you.’

  ‘Really?’ I gaze up at him.

  ‘Definitely, darling.’

  I doubt very much if Lightsea will help me feel any better about Andrew and Janet lying to me all my life, but it’s a connection to my real mother and, because of that, I want to find out more.

  ‘OK.’ I turn to Andrew. ‘OK,’ I say. ‘I’ll go.’

  Lightsea

  Five

  It’s a long journey to Lightsea from Hertfordshire and Andrew hates being late for anything so is furious when our car breaks down on the motorway. As a result, we miss the boat sent to pick everybody up from the mainland and take us to the island. David Lomax, the head of the Lightsea YA Development Programme, organises a local fisherman to bring us over. The man, whose name I don’t catch, settles himself at the back of the little motorboat, his gnarled hand on the tiller. He looks like a walking cliché of a salty seadog with white hair and weather-beaten skin. Andrew tries to talk to him when we set off, but the guy just grunts so Andrew gives up and the two of us sit at the front in total silence, the spray misting in our faces.

  My chest tightens as we draw closer to Lightsea Island. All the other teenagers will have met each other by now. I’ll be the one coming in late . . . last . . . an outsider. This was such a bad idea. Why on earth did I ever agree to come here? I close my eyes, trying to focus on the fact that David Lomax must have met Irina when they were children, that he may have memories, stories to share with me. And Gavin thought I would like being here . . . that it might help me come to terms with finding out about my real mother – and the fact that it was kept a secret from me.

  ‘OK, Evie?’ Andrew asks.

  Ignoring him, I lean back against the rough wooden hull and take out my mobile. Now that we’ve left the mainland there’s no signal at all.

  No phone and no internet for a month. I can’t imagine what that’s going to be like. The prospect of no contact with friends or family bothers me far less. Right now, I’ve got nothing to say to anyone. Except Gavin of course.

  We power along for another few minutes. I keep my eyes on the murky water ahead. At last, the island comes into view. The pictures in the Lightsea brochure must have been taken when the sun was shining and the sea sparkling. On this grey day, everything looks stark and barren – a load of old rocks.

  ‘I guess the trees we saw in the pictures must be further along the coast,’ Andrew muses.

  I shrug. Who cares where the trees are? The whole place sucks.

  It drizzles for a minute or two as we draw close to the island, making everything even duller and greyer than before. We’re at the south-east tip of Lightsea, Andrew explains, where the island is at its narrowest. All I can see is an endless stone beach and the edge of a wooden jetty.

  ‘There’s a boathouse along the rocks, I think,’ Andrew drones on.

  ‘Wow,’ I say. ‘Fascinating.’

  Andrew sighs. For a second, my throat pinches with guilt at being mean, then I shake myself. Andrew has lied and lied to me all my life. Even now, he has only given me the minimum possible information about Irina. He doesn’t understand me at all. Goodness knows what she ever saw in him.

  The motorboat slows as we reach the empty jetty. The drizzle stops completely as the fisherman moors us to a wooden rail.

  ‘l’ll be leaving again in five minutes,’ he mutters, his accent so thick I can barely make out what he’s saying.

  ‘Thank you,’ Andrew says.

  We walk ont
o the jetty, carrying my big rucksack between us. A woman appears out of the trees. She strides towards us, about Andrew and Janet’s age, and slim and muscular with neatly bobbed hair. She’s wearing dark green, soldier-style combat trousers. There’s a big smile on her face, but she looks seriously tough.

  ‘Ah, here’s someone,’ Andrew says approvingly, setting down my rucksack.

  I say nothing, but my legs suddenly feel like jelly. The woman reaches us.

  ‘Evie Brown?’ she asks. The smile is still there, but her eyes pierce through me. At least she has an entirely understandable northern accent.

  I nod. Not for the first time I imagine what it would be like to have my mother’s name: Galloway. Brown is Andrew’s name, of course, though he and Irina weren’t married. It’s solid and conventional, just like him.

  ‘I’m very sorry we’re late; the car broke down as I explained when I called. I’m sorry if we’ve inconvenienced you,’ Andrew says.

  ‘It’s fine. I’m Miss Bunnock.’ The woman purses her lips, her eyes lingering on my hair. It’s loose, right down my back. The Lightsea regulations – as Janet reminded me ten times before we left the house – insist that long hair must be tied back at all times. I bite my lip, expecting Miss Bunnock to make some comment, but instead she turns to Andrew.

  ‘I would offer to show you around, Mr Brown, but your boat won’t wait and I’m sure you’re keen to get home.’ It isn’t a question. Andrew nods. He looks at me.

  ‘You’ll be OK here, Evie.’

  That isn’t a question either.

  I press my lips tightly together. For some stupid reason, I feel like crying. For a second, I actually want to throw my arms around Andrew and beg him to take me home. But the bigger part of me is too proud to show him I care.