The Woman In The Lake: Can she escape the shadows of the past?. Nicola Cornick
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the door. It shocked her to be so careless. Vigilance was a habit with her. She fumbled for the links with fingers that shook and slid it into place.
The cold shower restored some of her calm. She knew she had changed since leaving Jake; she was much more wary, less open with people and, no matter how she tried, the lurking sense of unease was never far away. People spoke of starting a new life as though it were fresh and exciting. What they didn’t realise was that you could not shake off the past. It was in your head, sometimes, even in the marks on your body.
It was too hot to eat. She was meeting some colleagues from work in the wine bar on Wood Street at eight and knew she should at least have a salad or something small before she had anything to drink. Not that she was likely to say something she shouldn’t but there was always a chance she might forget which story she was telling today, who she was… She never talked about her real past, not with those people who had not known her before. She did not know any of them well enough to trust them and she didn’t want to talk about it anyway; why rake it all up, dissect it again, see the shock and pity in people’s eyes? It had been hard enough with family and friends at the time:
‘But we all thought Jake was so charming,’ they had wailed as a chorus and the look in their eyes had so often suggested that she must have been at fault and that it was her judgement that in some way was suspect…
As she tossed some basil, mozzarella, sliced tomatoes and avocado into a bowl and sloshed in some olive oil, Fen caught sight of the parcel, still sitting on the table, waiting. She realised she didn’t want to open it. She had no idea what her sister could have sent her since Sarah had cut Fen out of her will and left most of her money to charity. Pepper had been furious at having the burden of sorting through all of Sarah’s accumulated stuff – trash, she had called it – when she wasn’t even getting much of a legacy for her trouble.
‘It’s all right for you,’ Pepper had said crossly. ‘If Gran hadn’t moved nearer to us, I wouldn’t have got lumbered with all of this.’
‘Hunstanton isn’t near Lincoln,’ Fen said.
‘Mother thinks it is,’ Pepper said bitterly. ‘She told me I was the one who was closest and I should do the house clearance. And I can’t just throw it all away, Fen. You know what Gran was like. There might actually be something valuable in amongst all the rubbish.’
‘Well, God forbid you should miss that and give it to charity by accident,’ Fen had said and Pepper had put the phone down on her. Happy families, Fen thought. With a sigh, she put the salad bowl down carefully on the counter, wiped her hands down her jeans, and went through the arch into the living room.
She needed scissors to open the parcel. Pepper had sealed it up so thoroughly that there seemed no way in. She inserted the blade beneath the brown sticky tape and cut into the cardboard. She felt a whisper of something soft and light against the blade and stopped immediately, feeling a flash of some emotion that felt oddly like panic.
The lid of the box lifted away to reveal layers of tissue paper with a neat cut sliced through them. On top was a piece of thick, cream-colour writing paper, folded in half, covered with Sarah’s imperious handwriting. It felt very odd to see it now, her grandmother speaking to her from beyond the grave when she had barely spoken to her at all in the last twelve years of her life.
Fenella,
This is yours. Do with it what you think best but be aware of the danger.
The note was unsigned.
Fen’s heart started to race. She knew at once what ‘this’ was.
Carefully, and with hands that shook, she unfolded the rustling layers of tissue paper. A faint smell came from the box – lavender, conjuring up the memory of her grandmother’s garden in the summer, the sun on hot stone, and mothballs, a pungent smell she had always hated. Her fingers brushed something soft and smooth, silk, aged and pale yet still retaining the shimmer of gold.
A sensation shot through her, recognition and dread and a strange sort of excitement.
The golden gown came free of its wrappings with a whisper of sound that was like the past stirring. It felt as though it sighed, shivering in Fen’s hands. Unconsciously, she held it close to her heart in exactly the same way she had done in her bedroom fourteen years before.
She had had no idea that her grandmother had known about the golden gown. When she had left Swindon she had abandoned it in the bottom of her wardrobe underneath her sports kit and her hockey stick. It felt like something she had outgrown along with her childhood. She needed to leave it behind and move on.
She wondered if Sarah had found the gown when she had packed up to move back to her native Norfolk. It was odd that she had said nothing at the time, but then they had not really been on speaking terms.
Fen picked up her grandmother’s note again, frowning a little.
This is yours. Do with it what you think best but be aware of the danger.
What on earth had Sarah meant by that?
Fen knew all about danger. She had an intimate, atavistic relationship with it that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. The memory of terror stalked her. She only needed to close her eyes to see each episode unfurl like a film reel. She would be running, tripping in her haste to escape, her heart pounding. Then Jake would catch her. She could feel his grip on her arm, the wrench of her bones as he hauled her back against him and held her close.
‘I love you,’ he had kept repeating, as though that were a charm that warded off all evil. ‘I love you so much. I will always love you.’
She never wanted to hear those words again.
She gave a violent shudder and came back to the room and the bright sunshine and the golden gown. How could it be dangerous? It was just a piece of old silk and lace.
Pepper had not bothered to enclose a covering note so there was no explanation. Nor was there anything else from Sarah, no words of endearment, no mention of any regrets her grandmother might have had about their estrangement. The initial breach between them had never healed and when Fen had divorced Jake the year before, it had worsened.
‘You always were selfish,’ her grandmother had snapped. ‘That poor boy. After all he’s been through! He stood by you. He didn’t press charges when he could have done. How could you do this to him, Fenella?’
‘You don’t understand,’ Fen had said. ‘It wasn’t like that.’ She had repeated the words so often but no one was listening. No one wanted to hear. Sarah had always liked Jake. Everyone did.
‘Darling,’ Fen’s mother had said vaguely from a research conference in Tanzania, ‘you know what Sarah’s like. She’ll fall out with someone else in the family soon and you’ll be reinstated.’ But it had never happened. The estrangement had frozen into a permanent separation and now Sarah was dead and the only word from her was the gown and a warning. Fen felt the familiar mixture of misery and frustration possess her. She had loved Sarah. She had wanted them to be reconciled. This gesture only made her feel worse, and she wondered whether Sarah had done it deliberately to upset and challenge her.
Her phone rang and Fen reached automatically to answer it.
‘Hey.’ It was Jessie’s voice, warm, happy and all loved up. Fen felt a stirring of envy. Jessie and Dev were the proof that not all relationships were waking nightmares.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘How was Paris? Did you have a good time?’
‘Lovely,’ Jessie said. ‘Crêpes and croissants in Montmartre, silhouettes down by the Seine, theatres, museums…’ She sounded dreamy. ‘What about you? How did it go in London?’
‘We missed you,’ Fen said truthfully, ‘but it was a nice evening.’ And I met your brother on the train home. She felt a pang of regret mingled with awkwardness. She had already decided not to tell Jessie about her encounter with Hamish. ‘Least said, soonest mended’