A Girl Named Anna, page 16
He is collecting himself. His face is too open to hide his thoughts; I’ve always joked he’d be a terrible poker player. He swallows, licks his lips. I can almost see his mind whirring, finding a way to answer. “In that she is a blonde white girl with brown eyes. Yes, I see that.”
His denial clenches around me. “William, it’s me!” I snatch the laptop from its cord and hold it up next to my face. “Look!” I shake it, forcing him to bear witness. “My eyes, my hair...my face. Why can’t you see?” Hurt cracks my voice. I turn my head, not wanting him to see the tears threatening to fall, and reach into my pocket to feel for the curl of woven thread, lay the bracelet on the bed, the white letters grinning at me like tiny teeth.
William’s mouth hangs open. “Where did you...?”
“The backyard.” I breathe the smell of his room’s air freshener so deep into my lungs that its synthetic brightness hits me right in the back of my ribs. “With another pendant—same as the one in Mamma’s photograph, same one that was sent to me. And a T-shirt, from Astroland. A child’s T-shirt. And this bracelet, Will. A bracelet with the name Emily on it.” I let the words settle, feeling his muted attention beside me. “There were cards. In Mamma’s room. From a man—Father Paul. He was there, just now, at the church. Waiting for me. He wants to use me to get to Mamma—I don’t know why. And I think... I think...”
He lets out a long, slow whistle. “Anna, are you saying...?” I can’t bear it. To speak the words out loud.
I run a finger over the smooth surface of the letter E. And I picture it, tied to my wrist. My hand outstretched, fingers curled around someone else’s, someone leading me through crowds, into the back seat of a car. And I picture myself straining forward, catching a glimpse of them in the rearview mirror. I work my way up a long, pale neck. A pointed chin. Round cheeks that rarely see color. Thin lips that have never seen more makeup than ChapStick.
Fair hair meticulously brushed. And then I place the final piece of the jigsaw puzzle. Those blue eyes. The ones that crease in the corners and can flit between warmth and anger in a breath.
And I see their face in full. Her face. My silence betrays me.
William sucks in his cheeks, mutters “Shit” under his breath. “You’re sure?” he asks again. But then he looks at the bracelet and shakes his head. He scoops it between his fingers. I hear the clack, clack, clack as he moves each letter in turn.
“Lord, Anna, we have to do something.” All of a sudden he’s a flurry of movement, setting the bracelet down and slamming the laptop shut. “We’ve got to go to the police. Now.”
“No!” I reach out for him, dragging him back down onto the bed.
“Are you kidding me?”
What will happen to Mamma? “I can’t go to the police, William. I don’t know why Mamma... There must be a reason. She’s never harmed me. She’s raised me like a daughter. But this man—there’s something wrong about him. I sensed it. What if he’s involved? What if he’s trying to hurt Mamma, or threaten her? I need to hear it from her.”
“You were abducted, Anna.” I flinch at the word, my fingers tensing against the tartan comforter, twisting it beneath my hands. “This isn’t a joke,” William says. “You have the evidence right here. You have to go to the police with it. I know how you feel about your mother, and I know that you would never intentionally want to hurt her, but you have to understand that she has done something very, very wrong. And besides, you don’t know who this Father Paul is, or how she knows him. He could be dangerous. They could both be dangerous. They could be in this together. They could—”
“I said no!” I spark. William’s mouth opens and closes, a grouper underwater. “I need just a little more time,” I say. I ball into myself, press my head into my hands. I feel exhausted, weighed down. “I need to work out what to do. I can’t think right now. It’s all too much. You have to respect me on this.” I uncurl enough to look at him, hard. William has always lived his life by right and wrong; he believes any problem can be solved by someone in authority. It’s who he is. But I’m only just beginning to learn who I am, and I’m starting to understand that life isn’t like that.
He swallows, but at last he holds his hands up in a gesture of submission. “I do. I do respect you. I just want to protect you.”
I pick up the bracelet. The letters leer at me. I stuff it back in my pocket.
“I don’t need protecting. I know what I’m doing, William. I know her. I know her quirks, her habits and her moods. She must have been driven to do what she’s done. I have to understand why before I do anything else. I at least owe her that. Do you trust me?” He stares wordlessly at the ceiling, but nods. “Take me home now, please?”
He squeezes his eyes tight, and nods.
* * *
The car has reached a reluctant halt at the top of my road. William remains in his seat, fiddling awkwardly with the keys in his hand. “I can’t just let you go like this.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “You have to trust me.”
“I do.” He blows air from his cheeks, a long, exaggerated breath, and then reaches into his pocket and holds an object out to me. “Take my cell.”
“What?” The black rectangle feels cool against my palm as he sets it down.
“I’ll tell Dad I broke it—I’ll find a way to get another one.” He wraps my fingers around it. “I want you to keep it on, and with you, at all times.”
“Okay...” The object weighs against me as I turn it over in my hands. I barely know how to use one, and yet I have to admit that having some sort of lifeline out of the house is a quietening thought.
“And I want you to call me on it, anytime, day or night.” His hands are back on mine, pressing them into the phone. “If you feel anything’s not right, or you think you’re in danger... Promise me, Anna?”
“I promise.”
“Because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if—”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me, William. I promise.”
“Well, okay then.” He sits, frozen, rubbing his keys distractedly on the side of his jeans.
“Thank you, for the lift.” I open the door and race round to unclip my bicycle from the rack, making the decision for both of us. He reluctantly clambers out of the car to help. “I’ll see you on Sunday?” I say, clutching the handlebars. “At church?”
He hangs his head. “Yes.”
“So...good night?”
“Good night.”
I turn to go.
“I still love you, Anna,” he murmurs at my back.
“I know,” I tell him.
But I don’t turn around.
I tense as my key turns in the lock, sure my new knowledge must be evident in my face, the way I hold myself, even without saying a word. I hear the thud of her footsteps as she flies from the kitchen. “Where have you been?”
Anger is etched into her face, but I can’t help myself scouring it for similarities. Some tiny signal to prove to me that I’m wrong, that there’s some unmistakable element that proves we’re related. I’ve never paused to question it before. Why would I? Our base features are similar enough that it wouldn’t have thrown me off guard: we’re both fair; we both get freckles on our noses when we spend too much time in the sun; we both have two eyes, a nose and a mouth. I have friends who are always being told they look “just like your mother.” Why did I never stop to think it was odd I wasn’t told the same?
I swallow. “I’m sorry, Mamma... Practice ran over.” The lie skitters out. “I should have called.” I turn my eyes to the ground, worried that just by looking at me, she’ll read Father Paul’s visit all over my face, and my visit to William’s. I think of William’s warning: How do I know I can trust her?
I can feel her assessing me. “How did you ride home without getting wet? It’s pouring rain out there.”
I dimly acknowledge the dusting of moisture over me, from the short walk from the car. “I got a ride home.” I am sure she can hear the beating of my heart.
“From who?” Mamma’s voice peaks, instantly on edge.
“Jessica Willis.” Surely she can read the lies written in the creases of my forehead. “You know, the preschool teacher who lives over in Jonesville? She was visiting her mother in High Springs, so she dropped me off en route.” I think this will put her at ease, but she remains where she stands, blocking my path into the house.
“I thought perhaps William...or someone else...?”
“No, Mamma. It was Jessica,” I say quickly.
“And how was William?”
“I barely spoke to him. It was a busy session.” I don’t know where these words are coming from. It’s as if another force is guiding me, speaking before I have a chance to think.
“You better not be lying to me, Anna.” With no warning, she grabs me by the wrist and marches me to the kitchen sink, where she turns the taps on full blast. “You know full well that lying is a sin—that liars will go to the lake that burns with fire and sulfur.” She stretches for the soap, rolls up my sleeves like I’m a child, lathering me right up to the elbows.
When my arms touch the water, I yelp—its heat scalds my skin and I try to pull them free. “Ow, Mamma, you’re hurting me!” I cry out, shrinking away from her.
“You’ve been riding around on that bike all day, Anna. Stop acting like a child. You need to wash your hands.” She holds me firm as I try to wriggle away from her. “The Lord wants you to remain righteous, and pure, and I’m the only one who can make sure of that. It’s the only way.” She scrubs so hard her nails scrape into my skin. “Only then will He see fit to show you His mercy and His grace. Do you understand? Righteous, and pure.” Scrub, scrub. The water splashes up from the sink and lacerates my cheeks. “That’s why I have to protect you. Why can’t you see, Anna? I’m saying this for your own good.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong, Mamma,” I insist. “Practice ran over—I got a ride with Jessica!” Lies, lies.
“I have to protect you, Anna, to keep you safe. If you’re pure, if you’re good, nothing—no one—can take you away.”
“I am good, Mamma! I am!” I moan, praying for it to stop.
As quickly as she grabbed me, she releases me. I grip hold of the sideboard to steady myself.
“I know you are,” she says.
I examine my hands, my water-bloated fingers. My skin is pink and shiny, as a newborn’s.
“I’m sorry, Anna.” There’s a huskiness to her voice, and she turns away from me to close the taps, almost as if she’s embarrassed to show me her face. “I don’t mean to hurt you. I just need you to understand. Everything I’ve ever done has been to keep you safe. If I didn’t have you...if you ever left me, I...” She bites her lip, silences herself. Whatever she was about to say evaporates into the walls. When she looks back at me, there’s a softness in her eyes, pleading with me. “I had a call from that Ms. Abrams at work today. She told me that there’s a school dance on Friday.”
I blink up at her, trying to keep up with her fickle rhythm. “Oh?”
“She said that she was worried about you.” Mamma takes a kitchen towel from the drawer and pats gently at my arms, nursing them, as if she weren’t the cause of their initial injury. “She thinks you’re working too hard, and that the stress of finals might have been what made you unwell. She said that she strongly believes the dance would be good for you. That you’d be missing out if you don’t go.” She sighs deeply, and in the silence between us I can feel her weighing up whatever she is about to say next. “So,” she eventually says, carefully, an eyebrow cocked as if she’s about to regret it. “What do you think? Would you like to go?”
Does she see this as some kind of peace offering?
She moves toward me, and I can’t help my natural reflexes, my muscles flinching at the potential hurt she might inflict. Instead, she strokes my cheek, brings a finger under my chin so my face is tilted in her direction. “I want you to be happy, Anna. I know sometimes it may not seem like it, but everything I do, I do for you. If this would make you happy, I want you to go.”
“Mamma... I...” My thoughts tumble together like a ball of twine. It’s just like her, to throw kindness and meanness at me in equal measure, so I’m never sure whether I’m coming or going. How can I possibly think of going to a dance, with Father Paul waiting for me, for us, around every corner? When I don’t know what harm, if any, Mamma might bring me.
But if I say no, if I reject the gift she’s so keenly handing out, who knows what questions will start to arise.
If I am in danger, I should get out now. Slip out of the house in the dead of night and run to William; run away from it all. But if Mamma is in danger, how can I leave her to face it alone? And how can I leave without knowing what happened to me; and why? I have to press on until I get those answers.
“Yes,” I say quietly, pulling my injured hands into myself.
“Then it’s settled.” She looks relieved, almost pleased. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Murray. She has a grandson of about your age. Jonah, I think he’s called.” I realize a beat too late that she won’t expect me to go with William. I know Jonah, why Mamma picked him: she knows there’s no danger of him whisking me away anywhere.
Even still, I thank her, quickly.
“Good girl.” For a second I think she might kiss my cheek, but then she straightens. Her features close up, and I know any momentary softness was just that—a moment. “You see, Anna, I’m your mother. I know what is best for you. Now, why don’t you go to your room and read over your Scriptures? You’ll find Ephesians 6 particularly elucidating this evening.” She folds up the kitchen towel, places it delicately on the dirty laundry pile. Like me, another object she has neatly put away.
Ephesians 6. I know without looking why she’s picked that chapter.
Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.
ROSIE
The party wraps up by early evening: most guests tore into the champagne from the start, and are complaining of burgeoning hangovers by the time they leave. Dad’s speech was such a success that it brought a number of the guests to tears, so that we’ve had to work hard to rally the mood before it descends into melancholy.
I let it lie for a week. Let the dust settle. Hoping, partly, that something will come of the party, or that perhaps enough distance has passed from the interview that someone will uncover something of note. But the world remains inert, which means I have to act. I ask Keira over on Saturday night. In the morning, we ring the Chesterfield Bugle.
It’s surprisingly easy, it turns out, to find a journalist’s home address.
“Hi there,” I say pathetically when the receptionist’s chirp answers the phone. “I was wondering if you can help me. I’m calling from Il Salvatore, and I believe that a Mr. Michael Davis, who is a journalist for your paper, left his credit card with us when dining here last night.”
“Right?” she answers.
“Well, I was wondering if you can give me his address, so we can give it back to him?”
She sighs. “Sorry, unfortunately I am unable to give out personal information for staff. If you’ve got a pen, I can give you our address, and you can send it back here.”
“Oh no...” I force a slight wobble into my voice. “Please, is there any way you can find it out for me? You see, it’s my fault that he left his card in the first place. I forgot to give it back.”
“Look, I’m only the weekend receptionist, so there’s no one around to confirm this. I’m just supposed to cover the phones.”
“Oh, please,” I say. “I know it’s a Sunday. That’s why I need his home address. My manager’s going to fire me if I don’t get it back today. He says Mr. Davis is a very important journalist from London, and I need to personally hand-deliver the card to him today, otherwise I’ll lose my job.”
Keira holds a pillow over her mouth to stop herself from laughing as I lisp into the phone. I can imagine the girl thinking it over in her head. Then eventually she groans into the receiver. “Oh, all right. I wouldn’t want you to lose your job. But if he asks you how you got the address, don’t say you got it here. Otherwise it’ll be my job instead of yours. Did you say you had a pen?”
The train to Chesterfield leaves from St. Pancras. It takes over two and a half hours, and there’s one at half ten, which means we’ll be there just after one. I check the balance of my savings account: birthday checks, the hoard from my summer job last year at the coffee shop down the road. Even with rail cards, the tickets are fifty quid each. Keira sees me wince and offers to pay her way, but I shake my head. “It’ll be worth it.”
In the kitchen, Mum’s making a pot of coffee, plunging the top of the cafetière, a pan of milk warming on the stove. “Hi, Mum.” I walk over and kiss her on the cheek.
“Hi, darling. Hi, Keira, did you sleep well? Coffee?”
I search her face, seeing the bags under her eyes, the telltale signs that she hasn’t slept. “Actually, Mum,” I say, “we think we’re going to head out.”
“Head out? But it’s barely past ten o’clock.”
“I know, but Keira’s going to study in Regent’s Park. I thought I’d go with her, seeing as it’s such a nice day.” Now I’m doing the Well-Behaved Child bit.
Mum folds her arms, observes us. “So conscientious. To think, I remember feeding you chicken nuggets and chips and having to bargain with you both to eat your peas. All right, I’ll see you later, then. Keira, you’re welcome to stay for dinner, if you fancy?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Archer,” says Keira. “I’ll probably head home though.”
“Of course.” Mum pulls at my arm just before we duck out the door. “Have fun, darling, and, you know...”
