Page 90 of The Family Friend
‘I’ve been thinking,’ I say, eyeing her carefully, not sure that she’ll agree. ‘It doesn’t feel right that Dorothea just left this house to me. It was your mum who died too. I want us to split it.’
Alison almost spills her wine. ‘What? No! You can’t do that.’
‘I want to. It’s too much for me. I’ve already told Josh I’ll sign over my half of the flat to him. We can’t sell the villa for a year …’
Alison frowns. ‘Oh yes, that’s a weird stipulation. I wonder why Dorothea did that?’
‘I reckon it’s because she wanted there to be enough time for me to find the sculpture. But anyway, you’re welcome to come and live here. You, Gareth and Lila. The place is big enough that we all get our own space. I know it means you’d have to get new jobs and find anew school for Lila. But the schools in Bath are great. Think about it, yeah? Talk it over with Gareth.’
Alison glances out of the window to the large garden only just visible in the gloaming. I can tell she’s imagining Lila playing on the lawn.
My feelings towards Dorothea will always be conflicted. I’m so grateful to her in so many ways, but I’m also angry that she never told me the truth before, about what happened to Mum. I realize that Annette had a hold over her, but it still burns.
Yet that summer had been so perfect. The memory of it is what keeps me going and I feel sad for Alison that she never experienced it. But then I remind myself she has her own memories of our childhood, before I was born, before the drinking and the abuse.
‘This house deserves to be filled with love. Like it was that summer …’ I sip my wine to hide a sudden burst of sadness.
Alison reaches out and lightly touches my arm.
‘I agree,’ she says. ‘That’s what Dorothea would have wanted.’
61
Dorothy
Fifty Years Before
Dorothy wasn’t supposed to go to the meeting. She hadn’t even known it was happening, but when she saw the flier attached to a tree she found herself heading for the town hall.
She was so deeply unhappy with Bobby. Her prince had quickly turned into a monster not long into their marriage and she was at her wits’ end. She just wanted to hear the talk on women’s rights, that was all. To feel empowered, even for just a moment. To take back some control. She wasn’t planning on saying anything about her own situation. Bobby would never need to know.
The hall was already crowded when she arrived, full of women in their warm coats and woolly hats, stamping their feet together against the cold and blowing on their gloved hands. The talk was already underway and Dorothy slipped in next to a woman around her own age wearing a smart tweed jacket. The woman turned tolook at Dorothy with kind eyes, her gaze roaming over Dorothy’s face and the fading bruise on her cheekbone. Their eyes met in mutual recognition, and for once in Dorothy’s life she felt that she was being seen. Really seen.
‘Hi,’ said the woman, smiling kindly and offering a gloved hand to Dorothy. ‘I’m Annette.’
‘Dorothy,’ she replied, taking the woman’s hand in her own. And she felt a spark, like they were kindred spirits. She felt instantly that this woman understood her and that she would help her. She could tell that Annette had been through something similar.
And so, after the talk, when Annette asked Dorothy if she’d like to grab a drink, Dorothy had said yes.
Since marrying Bobby, she had lost most of her friends, but with Annette, it was like having a sister. A soulmate. During the day when Bobby was at work she would arrange to meet Annette and they would talk, really talk, about everything. Sometimes in cafés with Annette’s toddler on her lap, other times in Annette’s beautiful kitchen overlooking the river. Slowly, as the weeks wore on, they became more comfortable with one another.
‘You know, Dot,’ she’d often say. ‘You’re the first person I’ve met that I feel I can truly say anything to. I know you won’t judge me.’
And Dorothy felt the same.
Then, one evening while Bobby was away for the night with work, Dorothy had gone to stay with Annette. Over copious amounts of wine in Annette’s kitchen, with herson asleep upstairs, they opened up to one another. Annette leaned into Dorothy, so close that she could smell the booze on her friend’s breath, and admitted the truth about her husband. She had set him up for fraud. He was serving a prison sentence because of her. ‘It’s something to think about with Bobby,’ she said with a wink. ‘Sometimes it’s the only way to get revenge. By the end I hated him, Dot. I hated him and I wanted him out of my life, and this was the only way. You know what the police are like. They wouldn’t have done anything. He was clever. He hid his abuse behind respectability. But our wealth came from my side of the family. Not his.’
‘I don’t know if I could do that to Bobby. What if he gets out of prison and comes looking for you? He must know that you set him up?’ Dorothy was genuinely worried for her friend.
‘He won’t come looking for me. I made sure of that too.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I know people who know people.’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘He won’t be getting out of prison. That’s all I’ll say.’
Two weeks later, Dorothy heard that Annette’s husband had hanged himself in his cell.
‘Was it …?’ she’d dared to ask.
‘What do you think, Dot?’
Dorothy hadn’t known whether to be terrified or impressed. One thing she did know was that she respected Annette. She was taking back her power. She was aninspiration. And Dorothy felt, for the first time ever, that she could change the course of her life. That there might, somehow, eventually, be a way out.
Yes, she was supposed to meet Annette on that cold winter’s night. It was fate, and for the first time in a long time she felt hopeful for the future.
Annette was going to save her.
THE END
