her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says again. ‘Take care, darling.’
And the car pulls away as she stands there with Jay, watching us go. I can’t see the house, it’s too dark, and I’m relieved. I realise I’m glad to be getting out of there.
There’s a silence, broken only by the ticking of Mike’s indicator as he waits to turn into the main road.
‘Is your mother OK?’ Octavia asks, smoothing her skirt over her knees.
‘What do you mean?’ I say. ‘She’s been acting strangely all day, even for her.’
I don’t like her tone and I’m not in the mood for Octavia and her ‘my family grievances’ corner. ‘It was her mother’s funeral today,’ I say. ‘I think that’s reason enough.’ And then I add, unwisely, ‘We’re not all robots, you know.’
‘Are you talking about me?’ Octavia says. She is facing forward, doesn’t look at me. ‘Do you mean my family?’
Oh, dear. I am too tired and my head’s whirring with too many thoughts to keep a hold of what I say.
‘We’re all family,’ I tell her. ‘I just mean it’s hard for her today, that’s all. We should cut her some slack.’
At this Octavia turns to me, her long nose twitching. It is dark on the quiet country road, and her face is marbled with moonlight, giving her a ghoulish appearance. I remember suddenly, I don’t know why, that she played a witch in her school play when she was twelve. Jay and I found it hilarious.
‘We’re not family,’ she says. ‘Er –’ I say. ‘We are, Octavia. Sorry about that.’
She smiles. ‘You have such weird ideas, Natasha. We may be related – our mothers are cousins, that’s all. We spend the occasional holiday together. We’re not proper family, I’m thankful to say.’
I stare at her. ‘If you’re not proper family,’ I say, ‘how come your mother’s been bossing everyone around and drafting in people to value the house before Granny’s even in the ground? If you’re not family how come she dragged you down here every year to have a lovely holiday? I don’t remember you complaining about it!’ I am laughing. She’s so stupid.
Octavia purses up her lips and sighs, but her eyes are glittering and I know, somehow, I know I’ve walked into a trap.
‘Like I say,’ she says slowly, as if I’m an idiot. ‘We are not family, Natasha. My mother is very fond of – was very fond of her aunt. She—’ She pauses. ‘She loved her. She felt Franty needed someone to look out for her, to take care of her after Cecily died. After all, no one else was. Your family certainly wasn’t.’
‘They were –’ I begin, but she holds up a hand. ‘You’re living in a dreamworld, Natasha,’ Octavia says, icily calm. ‘Your grandfather lives in his own head. He doesn’t notice half the stuff that goes on right under his nose. Your uncle pretends everything’s a big joke and waits to see what his sister tells him to do, and as for her, as for your mother . . . Well. Your mother’s the last person she’d ask for help.’
I think of Mum’s sad face, pressed up against the glass, of her defeated expression during our conversation about Oli, and I feel protective of her. It’s so easy to paint her as difficult, as a flake, and it’s not fine any more, especially not today. ‘Look, Octavia,’ I say, as patiently as I can. ‘I know my mother’s not like your mother—’
‘You’re telling me!’ she says, with a cruel shout of mirth. ‘Just because she’s different, doesn’t mean she’s – she’s evil.’
Evil. Where have I heard that word recently? Octavia is still smiling with that patronising look on her face and suddenly I get angry. I’m sick of her and her ‘family’, with their smug we’re-so-perfect ways, her boring bored father, her interfering uncle and her eager-beaver mother Louisa, sticking her nose in, trying to show us all up . . . ‘Just because Mum didn’t move to Tunbridge Wells,’ I say, as if it’s the most disgusting place in the world. ‘Just because she hasn’t worked in the same office her whole life, just because she doesn’t have a stupid special compartment in her sewing box for name tags, OK? It doesn’t mean she’s a bad person, Octavia.’
I’m shaking, I’m so angry. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ she says. ‘I didn’t realise, you have absolutely no idea about your mother. No idea at all!’ She stares at me, faux concern on her face. ‘Oh, Natasha.’
‘What do you mean?’ I say. ‘You all right in the back there?’ Mike calls to us.
We freeze. ‘Oh, yes!’ Octavia says quickly, smilingly, and then she turns to me, lowers her voice, and hisses, ‘Do you really not know the truth about her?’
Her face is right next to mine. I shake my head, trying to look unconcerned.
‘Whatever, Octavia. I’m not interested.’
Octavia’s face is pale, so close to mine. I can see her open pores, the down of hair on her cheek, smell her warm breath on my skin. Her voice is sing-songy. She says softly, ‘She killed her sister, Natasha. That summer.’
At first I think I’ve misunderstood what she’s saying, and I listen to the words again in my head. ‘No,’ I say, after a few moments. ‘That’s not true.’
Moonlight flickers into the car through the branches of the trees, as if a light is being turned on and off. I blink.
‘Think about it,’ Octavia says. ‘Haven’t you always known something strange happened?’ And then she’s silent, watching me, as I furiously shake my head. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she says, after a pause, as though she knows she’s gone too far. ‘I didn’t mean to—’
‘I knew you were talking rubbish anyway,’ I say, thinking she’s apologising, that she’s made it up to hurt me, but she says, ‘I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I thought you must know by now.’
This family’s poisoned. The diary’s in my pocket. ‘I don’t think she planned it out,’ Octavia says. ‘It’s not like she poisoned her or anything.’ Her voice is almost pleading, as though she wants me to be OK, as though she feels bad. ‘But – you know, they had a row about something – I don’t know what it was. I don’t think Mum knows. They had a blazing row and Miranda pushed Cecily, and she slipped on the path and broke her neck. That’s what happened. Archie saw them. Ask – ask Guy,’ Octavia says suddenly, wiping her nose with her hand, very unlike her. ‘He knows it all. Your mother tried to seduce him. She tried to seduce my father, too.’
‘Look, this is just so stupid –’ I say. She ignores me. ‘Well, he saw straight through her, they both did. That’s why no one likes her.’ She gets out a tissue and blows her nose. ‘That’s what the row was about.’ She sniffs loudly. ‘Everyone knows what your mother did, but they didn’t want to upset your grandmother. They weren’t even allowed to mention Cecily in front of her, were they?’ I nod. We weren’t – it was the only rule at Summercove. ‘But now Great-Aunt Frances is dead, well – things have changed, haven’t they?’
The bubble is burst. It’s cold in the cab and I squeeze my arms to my side. ‘I – I just don’t believe you.’
