Chapter Ten

The holiday cottage my parents had rented was slightly bigger than mine, with two bedrooms. It also had a view out to the sea. They arrived midafternoon, two days before Christmas. I arranged to have them come around for dinner that evening.

As soon as I opened the door to them, I could tell that they were there to whip me into shape. My mother’s spine was stiffened into a painful-looking angle, and her expression could only be described as stony.

Sometimes I really do think she loves me—that’s why she has to work herself up to chastise me.

My father looked the same as ever. His views on how to live a good life had been formed long before I was born. A little thing like loving his daughter wasn’t going to change how he felt.

I greeted them both with an air-kiss and ushered them into my little sitting room, then busied myself getting them wine and nibbles.

I asked about their lives, how their friends were, how their recent holiday to France was, and generally anything I could think of to keep the conversation off me.

I called them into the kitchen when dinner was ready: a lovely beef Wellington with dauphinoise potatoes and roasted root vegetables. Yes, I was going all-out to impress them and minimize their negative reactions.

We managed to make it to the end of the meal before the conversation turned to me. I’d been hoping I might make it until the next day at least. Really, that had been a pipe dream.

“So how’s the business going?” Dad asked. He’d taken a few derogatory looks around my small home already; he likes large houses that act as status symbols.

I was immediately tempted to keep my lie going, but I had promised myself no more.

“Um,” I took a sip of wine. “I don’t actually do accountancy anymore, Dad. I’ve been saying I do because I know you won’t like the truth.”

He wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin and placed it beside his plate. I knew I was in for a bollocking.

“Kelsey, you can’t honestly think whatever it is you do for a living is right or you wouldn’t lie to us.” He wasn’t angry. His voice wasn’t raised, he was just patronizing. He radiated disapproval from his every pore.

“Actually, I do think what I do is worthwhile—that’s why I do it. I just didn’t think you’d agree, and it was easier to lie than tell the truth.”

“And what is the truth?”

God, it was like being in front of my headmaster.

“I’m a photographer.” I smiled.

I saw Dad’s eyes flash with anger. It scared me. I’d forgotten how he could be. He’d never hit me, and that expression didn’t used to scare me, but after Darren it was just too familiar. I collected the plates up to give me something to do until my heart rate returned to normal.

“I hope you mean an event photographer.”

“No, I’m an artist. Would you like to see some of my work?” I put the plates on the side and got the wine out of the fridge, where it had been chilling.

“I’ve seen it,” he said, his voice stern.

“You’ve seen the landscape pictures on my e-store, not my new collections.”

“Don’t argue with your father, Kelsey,” Mum interjected.

“Why?” I asked her.

“Because you’re behaving like a child.” Dad answered for her.

“Dad, this is my life. Honestly, I’ve never been happier.”

Dad scoffed. “So childish! Real work isn’t about playing all day, it’s about responsibilities and making something of yourself. Making a name for yourself!”

“That’s what I am trying to do, but as an artist, not an accountant.”

“Why can’t you accept that we know what’s best for you?”

“Because you don’t know what’s best for me. You hardly even know me!” I could feel my blood pressure rising.

“Love,” my mother cut in once more. “We know you were grieving after what happened to Darren, and we’ve given you as much leeway as we possibly can—”

“Leeway? I’m not a child you can ground, Mum!”

“Nevertheless, you need to grow up! I know that losing Darren was a terrible shock, but you have to pick yourself up and move on.”

“I am!” I insisted.

God, would they never hear me?

“You should never have given up work.” My father shook his head. “I knew that would be a fatal move for your career.”

“I hated accountancy! Anyway, I didn’t choose to give up work. Darren made me.”

My mother scoffed this time and shook her head as she looked away from me.

“You’re a grown woman,” my father explained. “It’s time you stopped blaming others and took responsibility for your decisions.”

“I take full responsibility for my decision to become an artist.”

“I was talking about giving up work.”

“I know, and I was talking about my life now!”

“Darren was so good to you,” Mum lamented.

“You’ll never find another one like him,” Dad added. “What would he think if he could see you now?”

Just the thought brought a smile to my face. “He’d be spinning in his grave, spitting chips I hope!”

“It’s no laughing matter!” Dad actually raised his voice. I could count on one hand the number of times that had happened, so I realized that I was winning and it was frustrating him immensely.

“How could you say such a thing?” Mum asked reproachfully.

My smile faded as I looked into her eyes.

“Because that man made my life a living hell.”

“So melodramatic,” my Dad muttered softly, though he intended me to hear.

I got up and fetched my file from the other room. I set it before Dad.

“Is this melodramatic?” I asked.

Dad huffed but opened the file. I watched as the blood drained from his face as he flicked through the first few.

“What is it? What are they?” Mum couldn’t see the images, but watching my father suddenly turn ashen made her aware it contained something serious.

Dad made no move to hand her any of the photographs but his grip on them was so loose that she was able to swipe one from the back.

It took her a moment, but as soon as she realized the picture was of me with two black eyes and a swollen lip, she gasped and covered her mouth.

“Darren did this?” She sounded incredulous.

“He did,” I confirmed. “The man you thought could do no wrong did all this.” I gestured to the others.

“Well, we’re not mind readers! Why didn’t you tell us?” Mum demanded.

I heaved a weary sigh. “Because in the beginning, whenever Darren and I had a fight, I’d come to you, needing someone to tell me that I was right and that I wasn’t crazy. But all you ever wanted to know was what I must have done to upset him. And then you’d tell me to make things right with him because ‘men like him don’t come along every day’ and you told me I would ‘never find someone better.’”

“But why didn’t you leave?” she asked.

“Because you both told me that he was the best I could ever do! I believed you, and I started to feel like I deserved it.”

“How can you say that to your mother?”

“Because it’s true, Dad.” I faced him. “And you’re not so innocent either. Darren didn’t like me visiting you. He hated it in fact, but every Christmas you’d kick up a fuss when I called you with some excuse. In the end, you’d demand to speak to Darren because my reasons weren’t satisfying enough. He’d turn on the charm, say exactly the same thing I had said, and you’d accept it! What you were too blind to realize was that every time you did that, he became furious and he took that anger out on me!” I pointed to the scar over my eyebrow. “Christmas 2005.” I pointed to my left wrist. “Your fortieth birthday. Darren was furious that we had to go, but you wouldn’t leave it.” I parted my hair so they could see my bald patch. “December 2009, when you had the gall to call Darren at work because you didn’t believe my reasons for not coming. He cracked my rib that day, and I had bruises until New Year’s.”

I was getting angry, so I paused and took a gulp of wine.

“You thought he was so wonderful, but he hated you both! Told me that it was no wonder I was so stupid and useless—I’d been raised by idiots! He was only ever charming to your face to ensure that you wouldn’t believe me and so I’d have no one to go to if I ever tried to leave!”

My mother put a hand over her mouth to hold in a sob. I was beyond caring. It might have been painful for her to hear my experiences, but I had lived them.

“We didn’t know,” my father repeated. “We couldn’t have.”

“You’re my parents. You’re supposed to love me more than anyone else in the world, but you cared more about having a surgeon in the family than my happiness. You need to understand that neither of you has any right to any opinion about how I live my life from now on!”

Both my mum and dad just stared at me, like they did whenever I got a B in school. Such disappointment in their gaze. They would usually just stare until I broke down and promised to do better. Well, not this time!

“I want you in my life. You’re my parents, so of course I do. But I don’t need you in my life, and I can live without you. I know you love me, but I would love to know that you like and trust me as well.”

They continued to stare, completely stunned that I was standing up for myself.

“And while we’re telling the truth, I never wanted to be an accountant. I only studied it at university because you bullied me into it. I will never do any accounts but my own again! I’m an artist and I love it. I may not get rich, but I have honestly never been happier. I am sick and tired of you demeaning the thing I love!”

My parents just sat there for a while, looking through the pictures, probably trying to process the whole ordeal.

“Look, I know this is a lot to take in. I’m not expecting . . . well, anything really. But I think that maybe you should leave now. We can meet tomorrow for lunch and talk more then.”

I needed them gone. I was keeping my hands clenched behind my back because I wouldn’t let my parents see them shake.

They agreed without argument, which was a surprise. I showed them out and gave them each a quick hug and air-kiss good night. Although they reciprocated, they seemed to be acting on autopilot.

As I went back inside, I was sorry that they were so shell-shocked and hurt, but I simply couldn’t let them go on believing that Darren had been anything but a monster. They had not only been blind to his real nature, but were willfully blind to mine as well. I felt bad for dragging all that ugliness up, but the truth is better out than in.

I texted Tom when they’d gone, as he’d asked me to. I was surprised when there was a tap on my door a few minutes later. It was him, of course.

“How’d it go?”

I took a deep breath and began to tear up.

“That good, huh?” he asked as he enveloped me in a warm embrace. He walked me backward and kicked the door closed behind him.

He held me until I pulled away, then guided me to the sofa. He listened as I gave him a brief rundown of the evening.

“And how do you feel now?” he asked.

I shrugged. “A little bit raw and exposed, I suppose, but mostly just numb. I don’t think I’ll know how I feel until my parents decide how they feel.”

“I can understand that.” He moved toward me.

For a second, I thought that he was going to kiss me. My heart began to hammer in my chest, both with excitement and fear.

He just pressed a kiss to my forehead. “You stay here. I’ll get you a nightcap.”

I watched him walk away and wondered if and when he’d get tired of my neediness. Not tonight, evidently. I allowed him to look after me and tried to remember that it’s okay to take comfort from a friend.