Shared Skies (2 page)

Despite her good intentions, she was chewing
the sides of her nails at the memory of that awful, endless,
torturous day. She had spent most of it, sick to her stomach with
horror, sitting on her bed, watching the shining tendrils inch
their way down around her. She’d been terrified it was never going
to stop, making her even more of a freak. It finally stopped
growing by early evening, and her hair hung to the tops of her
thighs.

Her father’s reaction, when he finally
appeared, was, “hasn't it always been like that?”

Anyway, he thought it looked so beautiful
and so like her mother’s that he plunged into another bout of
depression and stayed closeted in his studio for the next two
weeks. She rubbed her hand across the chopped spikiness, already
beginning to soften with length.

Why on earth didn’t I just
say I’d had extensions. That would have been so much easier.
Because I panicked, that’s why and just wanted it gone. Then, of
course, the new look kept people at bay. Which is the safest thing
for me, isn’t it?
She sighed and dug her
hands deeper into her pockets. Her scowling reflection kept pace
with her as she passed the shining windows of well-kept
houses.

Her reverie was broken by a clipboard being
waved in her face and a loud voice close behind it.

“’
Ello, darlin’. We're
doing a survey for No Limit Broadband, just need a minute of
your-”

Gaiah gave the man a curt, “No thank you,
not now.”

His cheesy grin faded. “Come on sweetheart,
just a few questions.” His hand reached for her arm.

Gaiah barely broke her
stride, just looked in his direction and met his gaze.
'I must run.'
The words
seemed to leap from her head to his.

He ran. With a small smile, Gaiah watched
his pages scattering and his shirt tails flying. She'd feel guilty
later, but for now it felt good.

Pushing open the heavy, creaking front door,
Gaiah listened out for music from her father’s studio. If it was
Dylan, the Beatles, or any soft rock, she knew he was in the
contemplative stage of work and to leave him alone. If it was the
Stones or Zeppelin he was hewing and carving, and equally wanted to
be left alone. Either way–left alone.

Gaiah shrugged and headed through the large,
paneled door to her right, into the kitchen. As always, the room
smelled of fresh coffee, her father’s eternally brewing pot stood,
still steaming, on one side of the hob. Sunlight streamed through
the huge multi-paned window, warming patches on the terracotta
floor.

She flung herself into one of the small,
soft armchairs at either side of a dark green Aga. This was the
most comfortable room in the house, but it was here Gaiah always
felt most alone. It should be alive with conversation and laughter,
but instead, it just seemed way too big and very empty.

On the few occasions they ate together,
Gaiah and her father were more inclined to read than talk. This was
easier for Gaiah. What could she say? “Hey, today I made the maths
teacher give the whole class their homework off.” Or, “today I
tried to join the chess club, but no one would pair up with me.” It
was easier to tell a few lies about her life and read her book. She
picked it up.

Two pieces of hot,
buttered toast, a cup of tea and three chapters later, Gaiah felt a
bit better. Tomorrow could be dealt with. The music was finished.
That meant work was paused.
Maybe I can
have a chat, a cheerful, casual chat with him. Maybe today’s a day
when he’ll tell me something more about my mother.

She ran up the curved staircase, past the
huge stained glass windows, now exhibiting their abstract designs
on the pale walls. Her father’s studio was never out of bounds.
However, if he was involved in a piece, he would look up, distant
and bewildered, and, no matter what the issue was, ask, “Don’t we
have a housekeeper for this sort of thing?”

Gaiah pushed open the heavy door. Her father
was on his knees in front of a tree stump he was carving, his head
in his hands. He looked up as Gaiah came into the room, and she
could see his red rimmed eyes.

“
Dad, can we
talk?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Gaiah… I just
can’t… I don’t know what’s happening. Ten years on and I can still
feel her near me. More so, these last few months...I can’t think
straight. Every so often I feel I am creating something that will
have her spirit in it, but...” he trailed off.

Gaiah put her arms around his broad
shoulders as he stared into space. She knew there would be no
answers today.

Later, as she chased sleep, she thought
about her father and how he had never really dealt with his wife’s
death. There was a girl in her class whose mother died four years
ago and her father was already married again. Gaiah’s father always
seemed as if he was recently bereaved. She’d looked up depression
on the internet, his wasn’t the worst in the world, but it was
difficult to share a house with. Although she loved him dearly and
knew he loved her, she wished her father was more…normal.

Him, normal?
The thought suddenly struck her as absurd.
What’s so normal about me? I’m some kind of freak
of nature and he’s helpless and depressed, God knows what
Mum would have been like!

A longing for her mother squeezed her heart
hard enough to make her gasp. She curled up tight, closed her eyes
and, as so often before, tried to dredge her mind for any forgotten
detail. Above all, she could remember the lemony smell of her
mother’s shampoo, the soft feel of her cheek, but then her face
seemed to blur with that of Gaiah’s grandmother, and she was never
exactly sure who she was remembering.

She swung out from under the quilt and
padded in a few cold footsteps to her dressing table and pulled
open the top drawer. She didn't need a light to find what she was
looking for. It was where it always was, in the faded floral box
that her grandmother had given her. She slid the photo from its
plastic covering and held it by its edge. Faded and creased, it
showed a tall, slim woman whose curly hair hung well below her
waist, laughing up at a giant bear of a man whose arms were wrapped
around her as if he would never let her go.

Back in bed, she lay with
the photo of her parents close to her face, trying to lose herself
in it, and will herself back to when they lived on a wooded
hillside in Inverness. She turned over, thumped the pillow, pulled
the duvet snug under her chin and set about designing the perfect
person to talk to.
Someone who understands
what is happening to me and can explain it. Someone, who’ll talk
about ideas rather than discos. Fun, tall, handsome, interested in
art, music, maybe only the music I like? No, I won’t be
closed-minded about music…Maybe very handsome? Someone interested
in wildlife? Hmm, maybe.

The photo slipped from her fingers and she
fell asleep before she could decide.

During their silent
breakfast next morning, Gaiah kept an eye on the clock. She was
determined to finish this business with Bryant before it got any
worse. While she was getting dressed, the shrill of the doorbell
made her jump.
What? Oh no! It’s only nine
thirty. What the hell?

To her horror, she heard her father, who was
still finishing breakfast in the kitchen, shamble out to answer
it.

The front door groaned open.

“
Mr. Andrew Hansfort?” The
voice of Officer Bryant carried clearly up the stairs. “I’m from
the School Liaison Department of the local police. Thanks for
meeting me. I’d like a word with you about Gaiah, if I may come in
for a minute?”

“
Of course, come in, I’ll
call Gaiah.” He sounded bemused,

“
No, if you don't mind,
Mr. Hansfort, it would be better if the two of us could have a few
moments alone, first.”

The drawing room door swung closed behind
them.

Chapter Two

Crap. How could this have
happened?
Her last chance to ‘suggest at'
Bryant was gone. Gaiah still had to finish her hair and get
dressed. It only took a few minutes, but it felt endless. She ran
downstairs and burst into the spacious, sparsely furnished
room.

Bright sun through the wide bay window made
silhouettes of the two seated figures.

“
You said ten o’clock,”
she accused the policewoman.

Officer Bryant nodded, “Well, it seems your
father knew nothing of this appointment anyway.” Her face suggested
she wasn’t a bit surprised.

Andrew, sitting at the opposite end of a
large sofa from the policewoman, seemed even more haggard and lost
than ever. “I don’t understand this, Gaiah. What’s going on?
You…attacking people? It’s not possible. This woman says you appear
to be friendless. That the pupils and teachers all avoid you. I
can’t believe it. What about all the friends and parties you tell
me about, the shopping trips, the drama club…the chess…?”

A cold paralysis of shock and guilt held
Gaiah in place, staring at father.

“
Dad... I…” There was
nothing to say. She forced her legs to move and walked hesitantly
across the room and sank to her knees beside him, at the edge of
the sofa. Tentatively, she touched his arm, her eyes reddening with
tears. Andrew leant forward and buried his face in his huge
sculptor’s hands, kneading and massaging his forehead and temples,
as if trying to force understanding of the situation into his
head.

Gaiah knew all the lies, all the stories she
had told him, were now revealed. She’d told him she was getting on
with her life. She knew he just wanted to hear all was well, that
she was sociable and normal in the outside world. The world he was
incapable of dealing with. Until this moment, Gaiah had maintained
the image, but now the truth was clear. She was as lost as he. She
had never seen her father look so broken.

He sighed, “Oh sweetheart” and opened his
arms to her.

Bryant coughed gently. Gaiah glared up at
her, furious at this woman for tearing down the façade of her life.
Bryant’s face had softened as she watched these unguarded family
dynamics, the sympathy in her eyes obvious but Gaiah knew she’d
been cornered by her own loneliness and lies.

The officer stood. “Look, I’ve been in touch
with the Stack family and they say there’s a history of trouble
with you, but they won’t press charges as long as you don’t return
to school.”

Gaiah, searching in her pocket for a tissue,
gave up and dragged her sleeve across her eyes. “That’s okay with
me. I’m old enough to leave school, and I really can’t bear that
place.”

Bryant shook her head. “Abandoning your
education at this stage is not really a solution, is it? You're far
too clever to give up and waste all the work you've put in. I'm
sure your father wouldn't want that either?” She glanced at Andrew
for confirmation.

He nodded. “Gaiah, I know you don't want to
drop out of school. I've seen the prospectus for university in the
kitchen. Surely, there’s some solution? Maybe if she apologizes to
the girls?” He looked up, hopefully, at the policewoman.

Bryant’s hair fell forward as she shook her
head. “I think it’s gone beyond that. The Stacks really will press
charges if she goes back there, and even if it is only
circumstantial evidence, there is enough here–,” she indicated the
file she was holding, “to call for an investigation, which would be
very unpleasant. The school, even if they never took action, took
copious notes, which have now been sent to my department and while
there is nothing major here, there is a long history of problematic
behavior.”

Bryant sat in one of the two large armchairs
facing the couch and leant forward.“I know you are eighteen, but
the fact these assault complaints came to my desk and you are still
at school means that I get to keep an eye on you. I'm not here to
cause trouble, Gaiah. I'm here to help you if I can.”

Gaiah sighed and moved up
onto the couch, sitting as close as possible to her father.
How could things have fallen apart so
quickly?
The sound of passing traffic
seemed to belong to a different world.

Andrew ran his hands through his disheveled,
sandy hair. The lines on his long face seemed deeper than ever.
Bryant broke the silence. “What can you tell me about your
grandparents? Could they help? It says here that you lived near
them in Scotland?”

“
Well, until I was six, as
they didn't stick around long after mum died.” Gaiah could still
almost see the visibly diminished figures of her beloved
grandparents, as they told her that they needed to grieve on their
own for a while.

Andrew took Gaiah's hand. “They just seemed
to disappear. I know I wasn't functioning well, but I couldn't even
find their house.”

Gaiah's cold hand tightened on his, as she
remembered her father, in a fog of grief, driving around and around
familiar areas without once finding the haven that had been her
grandparents' house.

“
Perhaps if you give me
any phone number you have, I may be able to trace them?”

“
It's disconnected.” Gaiah
said. She knew, because they had tried and tried. For a week or two
it had just rung out. Then there was only an automated voice saying
the number didn't exist.

“
Do you even have their
last address?” Bryant asked Andrew, who shrugged
helplessly.

“
I do,” Gaiah said. She
crossed over to the mahogany desk that filled the bay window. She
didn't need to look up the address, she remembered it perfectly.
The address in Craigphadraig, Inverness where she had sent a card
every Christmas for years, before giving up when the seventh one
was returned with ‘address unknown’ stamped across it.