Page 40 of The Perfect Guests
“Lara.” There was an apology in his smile. “I really like you, but if we’re going to do this, we have to take it slowly. I’m four years older than you. You’ve been through a tough few years, a lot of trauma. I don’t want to...”
She tried to kiss him then, but he held her back gently.
“Seriously,” he said. “I mean it. Slowly.”
“But I’m eighteen.”
“I just...” He searched her gaze. “I feel like there are things you’re not telling me.”
Her heart lurched. He knew. She didn’t try to deny it. In fact, she almost blurted it all out, then and there: that her name wasn’t really Lara; that the home she’d lost was Raven Hall.
“There is something I haven’t told you... ,” she began.
But he drew her into his arms, as if she were some injured creature he’d found by the shore of the lake. “It’s okay. There’s no rush. I won’t ask you any more questions. Let’s just get to know each other, until you’re ready, okay?” He’d stroked her hair softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
While he cooked them dinner that evening, she pottered around his flat and cleared away all evidence of the former girlfriend. Hair bands, magazines, a silver earring, an alarming pair of black lacy knickers, and—worst of all—a photo of Markus and Kat together, sitting in the garden at Raven Hall. She collected it all into a carrier bag, and, when Markus wasn’t looking, she stuffed the whole lot into the kitchen bin.
That was two months ago, and she’s spent almost every weekend with Markus since. And he’s been true to his word—he hasn’t asked her any more questions. But as she cuts across the field now in the baking afternoon sun, she smiles to herself. She’s going to tell him everything next weekend. She trusts him completely; she knows he’ll understand why she lied.
She was planning to do it this weekend, but he rang her a couple of days ago, full of apologies. His mum’s health is deteriorating, so he’s gone to visit his parents instead. She doesn’t mind. She completely understands, but the prospect of an empty weekend unsettled her, so she decided to pay one last visit to Raven Hall. Mostly, she wants to say a final good-bye to her beloved home. But it’s true; she wouldn’t mind catching a glimpse of the girl in the orange crop top looking just a little bit miserable.
She jumps across a ditch and pushes through a hedgerow, and she’s back on the road, just beyond the village. It’s still a fair old walk to Raven Hall from here, and she glances over her shoulder at the sprawling yellow-brick house at the tail end of the village. It’s the local B and B, and she remembers that the owner used to spruce up old bicycles, ready for guestswho wanted to explore the flat Fenland countryside, or just to cycle to the pub. She’ll save herself a lot of time if she can borrow one, and she’ll return it within a few hours—they’ll never need to know.
She creeps up the B and B’s drive, eyeing the collection of battered bikes in the open-fronted bike shed, and she spots one that looks ideal. But as she’s easing it out from between its neighbors, she hears the creak of a door, and she swings around to see a young woman with a baby on her hip standing at the side door of the house, clutching a basket and staring at her.
Her heart thumps as she searches her memory. This must be Stephanie Blake—she remembers her vaguely from school. She was a couple of years older, and always seemed a kind, quiet sort.
Stephanie raises her eyebrows as if waiting for an explanation.
“Is it okay if I borrow it?” She tries to smile. “I’ll bring it straight back. I promise.”
Stephanie nods slowly, and then she tilts an ear to the open door.
From indoors, a man shouts, “Steph? Bring some raspberries in too, will you?”
“Okay, Dad.” Stephanie gives her one last, assessing look, before hurrying away around the back of the house.
The bike squeaks a little, but it’s a lot better than nothing, and Stephanie’s kindness stays with her as she pedals away. Is it possible, she wonders, that for every bad person in the world, there’s a good person? For every cruel, greedy man like the Backstabber, there’s a thoughtful, generous woman like Stephanie? For every spoiled, careless girlfriend like Kat, there’s a warmhearted, patient man like Markus? Is there some kind of moral balance in the universe?
She pedals harder, the rubber handlebar grips clammy under her palms. She wants to be a good person too. But frequently, she feels so furious about everything that’s been taken from her: her mother, her father, the house that was meant to be her birthright. She knows a good person would accept this fate and walk away, but here she is, sneaking back yet again to spy onher former home, wishing ill on its new owners, and knowing she’d seize any chance to get her house back, no matter what the consequences.
She knows this makes her a bad person. But maybe when she confesses it all to Markus next weekend, he will help her to change, to improve, to become more like him.
Meanwhile, she wants just one last look at Raven Hall. It won’t alter anything, and she’s so close now, she can feel it calling to her. Just one last look, that’s all she wants, and then she’ll try her best to put it all behind her.
Beth
December 1989
It was the day before New Year’s Eve. Nina, Leonora, and I were in the dining room, eating croissants and admiring the patterns of frost on the windows, when Markus came charging up from the lake, waving his arms and shouting.
“It’s ready!” he declared as he burst through the door. “The ice is thick enough. Come on, sleepyheads.” He beamed at the three of us, still sitting there in our dressing gowns and staring at him. “Get your skates on!”
We scrambled upstairs to get dressed, and then Nina and I went out to the stable block to rummage through a huge box of skates. Most were of a similar design: leather lace-up boots with long metal blades underneath that jutted out front and back. As we pulled them out, searching for a good fit, I held up a pair that looked quite different: simple wooden-base sections with straps and blades attached.
“Those are Fen runners,” Nina said. “They were my grandparents’ and great-grandparents’. They used to have big skating parties here, when it froze like this—races with prizes. And people came from not just the village, but from miles around, and they had big feasts in the evening. I wish...” She gazed out toward the lake. “I wish I could have seen it.”
“It sounds amazing.” I ducked my head as an unexpected sadness washed over me. Not about the bygone era of skating parties on Avermere, but about the sensitive subjects I wasn’t supposed to ask Nina about—the mysteries and secrets at Raven Hall I’d learned not to query. I wanted to ask:Which grandparents—the Meyers or the Averells? Why are people from the village no longer invited to events here? Why aren’t you allowed to show your face at the rare parties your parents do hold?But instead, I frowned down into the box and pulled out another pair of skates.
