The Name I Call Myself (32 page)

“I'm not having you get into trouble because I've had a shock. I've survived a lot of nights knowing Kane was looking for me. He isn't going to turn up at my door tonight.” I managed a wobbly smile. “Everything you said at the campsite is still true, Dylan. Perry was out of order, but it's the first time he's ever spoken to me like that. If you would be kind enough to drive me home, I'm going to try to get some sleep, then call my Family Liaison Officer first thing tomorrow. And then I'll tell Perry everything.”

He nodded. “Okay. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry. I'm glad you've got my back.”

“If anything happens, the slightest thing, promise you'll call the police first, then me?”

We drove home in silence, as I wondered what the evening's events would mean for our friendship. I let Dylan check the tiny back garden and the inside of the house.

“What is it?” I asked before he left.

He had paused by the front door, and I could see him debating whether to say something.

He shook his head. “It's not really the right time.”

“It's not really the right time to leave me wondering, either.”

It had been a weird night. One where boundaries had shifted and consequences taken a “time-out”.

Stepping onto the path, he squinted through the rain, glowing orange in the street light. “You freeze when he touches you? That's not good, Faith. Maybe you ought to talk to Zoe about it, or something.”

“Excuse me?” I scrabbled for an answer, trying to remember what I'd said when my brain was still in panic mode. “I said… no, um, I said I freeze when a man touches me. Not Perry. Well. Not just Perry. Man. Men. I'm working on it. We're working on it. It's fine.”

He nodded, a faint frown creasing his brow. Then, walking to the end of the path, he turned and said, “But that's not true. You don't freeze when all men touch you.”

No, but I did freeze then.

He watched me for a long second, the rain running down his face. “Take care of yourself, Faith.” Opening the truck door, he climbed inside and drove into the storm.

I didn't sleep that night. For lots of reasons. All of them scary ones.

I called Gwynne as soon as I deemed it a respectable hour. She listened, as always, said little, but I could hear by her tone of voice that the game had shifted. She promised to get back to me as soon as she had any news.

I didn't bother calling Perry, instead walking round with the intention of serving him a strong coffee with bacon and eggs to soak up his hangover while I talked.

To my surprise, he was already up and looked about to head out.

“I thought you'd be taking the morning off,” I said, stepping inside.

He had the decency to look sheepish. “Yeah. Things got a bit out of hand last night. I'm sorry I forgot about your thing. The guys have worked so hard I couldn't refuse their invitation to blow off some steam. It would have looked bad if the boss hadn't joined them for a couple of drinks.”

“A couple?”

He took hold of my hand, and kissed it. “I'm sorry. It's a bit vague but I'm guessing I said something stupid, quite possibly crude, and almost certainly disrespectful. It's one of the reasons I don't get drunk very often.”

I nodded my head to indicate my acceptance of his apology. “Can I talk to you?”

He glanced at his watch. “If you make it quick. The review meeting's in thirty.”

“Ah. This won't be quick. Can I make you dinner instead?”

“No. Let me do it. You can fill me in on what I missed last night.”

Or not…

He kissed me goodbye, and left, leaving me standing on the doorstep with all that energy I'd worked up and nowhere to vent it. My instinct was to march it out along the fields, but there was no way I would go tramping through the countryside like a deer waiting to be picked off by a bullet.

I did, however, know another great way to use up excess energy only a six-minute walk away.

“Faith.” Marilyn waved me inside. “Is it Thursday? I'm not fired up for Anton this morning. I thought today was yesterday.”

“It is yesterday. Well, Wednesday. I'm not here to babysit. I just wondered if you fancied a coffee.”

“Excellent! Polly's topping up the machine as we speak.”

I settled on the floor and built towers for Nancy and Pete to knock down while we talked.

“Is it working out okay, then? The place still looks tidy since the big clear up.”

“Polly is a godsend. I can't believe I ever managed without her.” Marilyn nudged Polly, sat beside her.

“You didn't manage,” I laughed. “This place was a disaster zone.”

“I was a disaster zone, you mean,” she said.

“You were a woman coping admirably in highly challenging circumstances.”

“And you've helped me out way more than I helped you,” Polly said. “Letting me stay has been the kindest thing anyone's ever done for me.”

“So you're going to stay, then?” Marilyn asked.

“No.” Polly picked a squirming Esme out of her bouncy chair. “I won't stay once James is back. You've had the best part of a year apart. I'm not going to be gooseberry for your three months together.”

“You won't be a gooseberry. You can babysit while we go out on hot dates. I love having you here, Poll. Please stay.”

“No. Your house is lovely. It's been a home when I needed one most. I love being part of your family. But one dream has kept me going these past few years. That I'll get a house, and paint the kitchen cabinets yellow. I'll sew green and white striped curtains and put up shelves for ornaments I've found in gift shops and car boot sales. I'll be able to walk around in my tatty old dressing gown eating ice-cream out the tub, leaving dirty mugs on the table, and watching MTV shows about teenage pregnancy and celebrity gossip.”

“What? You can do all those things here. I'd love a yellow kitchen.” Marilyn looked at her, eyes round with intent.

“I know that. But this is your house. And James might not appreciate it as much as you do.”

“I understand,” I said. Boy, did I understand. “You need to make yourself a haven, a nest. A place that's yours, where you can be Polly and feel beholden to no one.”

She sighed, her eyes dreamy. “I never, ever thought that could be possible. It sounds like heaven.”

“You could have my place.”

Um, excuse me? What? Whose place? Did somebody just open their mouth and offer Polly their house?

Marilyn and Polly both gaped at me.

“What?” Polly's eyes widened. I could see the tiniest flicker of hope spark amongst the blue-grey flecks.

“I'm moving out in August. The landlady's lovely; she'll be pleased I've found someone to take over the lease. And she's fine about decorating, as long as you aren't too radical.”

I told her what I paid in rent.

“I can manage that. Once my maternity leave is up I'm working three days a week. With tax credits and everything, I think I can afford that. It'll be perfect. Faith, I can't believe this! You're giving me your house?”

“You might want to look at it first. It is tiny. And the bathroom is an homage to the eighties.” I cleared my throat. “You also might want to think about moving further away, depending on what happens with Tony.”

“Maybe once he's out of prison. But right now I want to be near my friends, if I can. And my new family. My job is here. And I wouldn't miss the next round of the competition for anything.”

We agreed she'd call in that afternoon to have a look round. I had something else I needed to do first. After a nervous ten minutes waiting for the bus to Brooksby, I scurried the quarter of a mile to Rowan's house.

She lived in one of the old coalminers' homes. A generous size for the average family. For the four generations who currently lived there, including Rowan's grandfather, her parents, three older sisters, Callie, and two huge dogs, it felt distinctly overcrowded.

“Come into the back.” She led me through a front room, furnished with a sofa bed, a chipped white chest of drawers, and a giant television, into a decent-sized kitchen. “Right. We've got just under an hour before Mum brings Callie back from nursery, and Grandad'll want his lunch. What are we doing?”

I took a deep breath, and told Rowan what I wanted doing. She stuck one hand on her jutting hip and wagged her chin at me.

“Are you nuts? No offence, but that idea is rank. You'd look so bad. They probably wouldn't let me start my training if college got wind of it.”

“Nobody will know it was you.”

She shook her head. “Nah. Can't do it. Why on earth would you want to anyway? You're getting married in a couple of months. You'd look like a troll on your wedding day.”

“You're probably right. But I'm looking for a complete change. What would you suggest?”

“I'd suggest keeping your amazing hair and buying a new top.”

“I need to change my hair. Please. I know you can think of something that will look bearable.”

Rowan studied me for a few moments, her gaze assessing more than simply my hairstyle.

“Okay. We'd best get started.”

When I opened my front door to Polly that afternoon, she looked at me in confusion until I said hello.

“Faith! I thought it must be your sister or something. You look like a different person.”

Excellent. Mission accomplished.

“Oh, you know. I fancied a change. One of those flippant moments when you do something crazy. I figured it's hair. It'll grow back. Better than getting an impulse tattoo and being stuck with it.”

We smiled and rolled our eyes. Leona had returned from a girls' weekend in Blackpool with a five-inch portrait of Benedict Cumberbatch on her upper chest. Her husband was not happy at confronting a scowling Sherlock every time he got near her.

“Well. It looks great. Kind of surreal. But it's nice. You seem… not older exactly, but more sophisticated. Perry will love it.”

I showed Polly round, pointing out the foibles that never fail to accompany an old house. She nodded and smiled, and asked questions about what I would take with me to Perry's, and what would stay, her brain whirring with plans and ideas.

I called the landlady to seal the deal, and after a breathless hug of thanks she rushed back to Esme, who would be getting ready for a feed.

I ignored the feeling of dread in my guts at the prospect of giving up my house. My safe place. My independence. Perry's house had a fancy lock system, burglar alarm, security lights, and Perry. Time
to let go of the “needing my own house” issue. Even if I did have to prise it off with a crowbar.

I changed into one of the designer dresses Perry had bought me, attempted to cover up the haunted look on my face with dabs of make-up, slipped on a pair of obscenely expensive shoes, and braced myself to look in the mirror.

Yikes.

I closed my eyes, took a few fortifying breaths – out with the stress, in with the calm, Hester style – and took another peek.

It was only a haircut. But Polly was right. My hair had been such a defining part of me, without it I felt more vulnerable, not less. Like a turtle without its shell. I probably weighed a lot less, too. Instead of my usual mane a razor-sharp chocolate bob swung an inch above my jawline. It brought out the green in my eyes, contrasting dramatically with my creamy complexion.

“Come on, Faith. You can pull this off.”

I straightened my spine and pulled my shoulders back. Tipped my chin up a couple of millimetres. Remembered the timid little girl with her cloud of red curls, cowering as she tried to make herself invisible. The reflection in the mirror scowled. This woman had poise. She looked striking. Anything but invisible. This woman commanded a second look.

A perfect disguise.

I marched round to Perry's in my high heels, swishing my hair and tossing cool glances at the young men lingering outside the shop who whistled through their teeth at me. I did need to duck behind a tree a couple of times to tug my dress back down, as the silky material kept riding up. I also skidded on a patch of slippery wet pavement, tumbling into a wall and laddering my tights. The wind played havoc with my hair, too short to tuck safely behind my ears, and the tiny handbag I'd brought instead of my rucksack kept sliding off my shoulder, so I had to hitch it back up every few steps. I had a way to go in perfecting my new persona, but nevertheless I could stride through the streets with
some confidence, sure Kane would see nothing of Rachel if he happened to see this new Faith.

Perry looked surprised when he saw me, but quickly regained composure. Encouraging, as it was nothing compared to the shock he would feel once I started talking. He beckoned me into the living room, giving me a chance to steel my nerves while he fetched me a drink.

He handed it to me with a kiss. “You look gorgeous. I'll miss those curls, but it's kind of sexy having you look so different. Like a whole new you.”

“I hope there wasn't too much wrong with the old me.”

“There could be nothing wrong with any version of you. Red hair, brown hair, scruffy jeans, or a ballgown. That's just the wrapping. It's the you underneath I love.”

I took a deep breath. “What if the person underneath isn't what you think?”

He tugged on a strand of my hair. “Half the time I don't know what I think. You are a mystery to me, Faith. An enigma. It's part of your appeal: the challenge to find out what lies beneath. Discover what makes you tick.”

If this was true, he'd done a brilliant job of hiding it.

“I said this morning I need to talk to you, and part of that might help explain. I want to tell you about my family.”

“Great. You can tell everyone. I'm sure they'll be dying to know. And don't worry, nobody's expecting to hear you're actually twenty-fourth in line to the throne, or have an ancestral home hidden away somewhere. It doesn't matter how humble your beginnings, we Uppertons are a welcoming lot.”

“What?”

“No, really. One of Mother's grandparents worked as a housemaid, and nobody thinks any the less of her.”

“Perry, slow down a minute, please. This isn't about my social status.”

The doorbell rang. Perry stood up. “That'll be them. Fantastic. You can regale us over dinner.”

A minute later he ushered “them” in. Larissa and Milton, of course. Aunt Eleanor to make things even better.

“My goodness.” Larissa pecked the air to the side of my face. “You look almost like one of us.” She scrutinized my head. “Not a bad job either. Is this the girl you've booked for the wedding?”

“Yes.”

“Hmph. Milton, will you remind me to let the stylist know we don't need him for Faith? It'll give him more time for the others.” She turned back to me. “Is she doing the bridesmaids?”

“Yes. You knew this. We talked about it ages ago.”

“Well, seeing is believing and all that. She might not have been quite
Nottinghamshire Life
standard.”

No point, Faith. Say nothing. Keep blowin' it out.

Perry, ever the perfect host, made more drinks and settled everyone down before throwing me to the wolves.

“Faith was just going to tell me some more about her family. Isn't that marvellous?”

I choked on my orange juice.

Aunt Eleanor raised one eyebrow. “Well. That would depend on what she tells us.”

I tucked a strand of my new bob behind my ear. Looked at these people I would soon be a part of. I felt tired and scared and utterly fed up with these ridiculous games. There were parts of my past I would never share as they belonged right there, in the past. But I already fell below Upperton standards. That was their problem, not mine.

“I didn't used to be called Faith Harp. My name was Rachel.”

And I told them – the short version – of how my mother had lived, how she died, and why I changed my name.

Talk about awkward. Larissa and Aunt Eleanor stared at each
other across the table, sending silent posh messages regarding what they thought about
that
revelation.

Milton folded and unfolded his napkin a few times. He muttered, “Change of name. That explains why Google drew a blank.”

But Perry, he looked straight at me. He took hold of my hand. Cleared his throat.

“I wish you'd told me.”

I shrugged, glancing at his family. “I think you can understand why I didn't.”

“So.” Larissa took a large swig of wine. “You lived in Chester. Did you ever go to the racecourse?”

“No.”

Perry sighed. “Of course she didn't, Mother. She left age six.”

“No.” She pulled a tight smile. “I suppose even if you had you wouldn't remember.”

“I never went.”

“We were last there… remind me, Milton. Seven years ago? No. It must have been eight, as Hugh hadn't graduated yet.”

“No, Larissa.” Eleanor shook her head. “It couldn't have been more than six. It was before my operation.”

My phone rang. I looked at the screen. Sam. Calling from his own phone, not the hospital line.

“Excuse me.” I stood up, interrupting the discussion about which horse had won what race. “I need to take this.”

Perry frowned at me. “Sam?”

I nodded, hurrying out of the room. Moving into the kitchen, I answered the call. “Sam?”

“Hi. Yes, it's me!”

“What's going on?”

“I'm home.”

“
What?
” I sat down, hard, on one of the chairs.

“I know! I can't believe it. But I'm doing really well. Feeling great.” He sounded it, too.

“How did you get home? Why didn't you call me?”

“April came. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

I rested my head in my hands, tried to keep my voice positive. “Well, you managed it. I'm surprised.”

I left Perry's as soon as I could without seeming rude. I knew the story about my family remained half told. If anything, I'd left the most important bits out. But trying to keep up the pretence of happiness at Sam's return exhausted me. A hurricane raged through my aching brain. All I could do was hope and pray the police found Kane before he found us.

I spent the following week on red alert, scurrying round to visit Sam, quaking my way through a few work shifts, and overseeing the final preparations for the weekend's Grand Grace Gala. I didn't tell Sam that Kane had been to the chapel to look for me. Or that he'd phoned the office there. I didn't tell him that when I left choir practice, a bashed-up green car parked across the street pulled out behind Marilyn and me, keeping right behind us until we lost it at a level crossing.

I marvelled at his latest painting, listened to his future plans, politely declined his invitations to go walking with him and April, and kept on hoping, praying, begging that somehow this would all end without destroying us both.

I pestered Gwynne almost daily. Kane had been at work all week, she reassured me. It would have been nearly impossible for him to have been in Nottinghamshire on Wednesday afternoon to follow me home.

“What about Saturday?” I asked. “Does he work weekends?”

“Lock your doors, keep your phone charged, don't do anything stupid, and try not to worry. We're keeping an eye on him.”

I spent Saturday at HCC, supervising the layout of the ballroom, hanging up fairy lights, decorating tables with tiny black musical notes, and filling glass centrepieces with flowers wrapped in cones of
sheet music, only pausing for one last brutal rehearsal with Hester.

The tight coil of tension in my guts never quite left, but the Grand Grace Gala, those lively, hilarious, excited choir members, and a whole day doing what I did best went some way towards providing a distraction.

At seven, the first guests began to arrive. All spruced up in our choir dresses, we welcomed them in, trying not to feel too daunted by the flash of diamonds, the glint of gold watches, and the swish of dresses that cost more than we were trying to raise for the whole trip. Perry and Marilyn had come up trumps in working their HCC connections. Each choir member had been allowed to bring one guest at a discount price, while the other eighty tickets had been sold for a preposterous amount. We had better make it worth their while.

Thirty minutes in, Mags took the microphone to welcome everybody and invite us to take our seats.

“Who's your guest, Marilyn?” Leona asked, as we all sat down.

“I haven't got one.” Marilyn shrugged. “My sister's babysitting. I wanted to ask Anton so he could sit next to Polly but she wouldn't let me. And most of the other people I know have paid full price to come here.”

“Poor you,” said Kim, half sitting in Scotty's lap. “It's rubbish James couldn't be here.”

Marilyn shrugged. “He'll be back in a week. I'm expecting Faith to dance with me instead, seeing as Perry is over persuading the rich boys to get their wallets out. I'm more interested in Hester. Did anyone manage to find out who her plus one is?”

We all looked at Hester, still deep in conversation with the Mayoress on the other side of the room. There had been much speculation about Hester's guest. Rowan had even tried to start a sweepstake before someone pointed out that might not be an appropriate way for a church choir to treat its director.