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Ben closes his eyes and the paleness in his face seems to stretch out to cover all of him. ‘It’s so unfair, Holly,’ he murmurs. ‘You shouldn’t have to go through this. Especially not now.’
‘Promise me you won’t tell anyone,’ I say, taking his hand and giving it a gentle shake to gain his full attention. ‘Promise, Ben.’
‘Okay. Okay. Of course,’ Ben says. ‘My lips are sealed.’
‘Thank you.’ I swallow.
‘But if there’s anything you need. Or if you want to talk…’ Ben shuffles his feet. ‘Or if you don’t want to talk. I don’t know. Just… Well, I’m here. I’m always here, Holly. And Nate,’ Ben says, dragging his eyes slowly away from me to find Nate who has walked away to stare out the window. ‘We can talk, man. If you’d like? I mean, like I said, I don’t know anything about Edwards’ syndrome, but I’d like to learn, if you’re feeling up to filling me in?’
Nate turns slowly around. ‘Yeah, sure. It’d be good to discuss it.’ Nate answers Ben, but his eyes are on me.
Nate’s usually bright-blue eyes are darker today and troubled like the sea after a winter storm. Heartbreak is scribbled into the delicate lines around his cherry lips, and I have to look away. If I don’t, I’ll crumple and cry. It’s hard to breathe. It’s as if air suddenly weighs so much and each inhale tumbles oxygen into my chest like a concrete brick attempting to smash up my insides. ‘Could you both do something for me?’ I ask, rubbing my hands up and down my folded arms, trying to jog some energy into my bones.
‘Sure,’ Ben says, sounding casual, but I can read him like a book, and I know he’s struggling to process everything he’s just been told.
Nate doesn’t reply, but his half-smile and his beautiful sad eyes burning into me tell me he would do anything for me. And I believe him.
‘There’s a painting. It’s Nana’s,’ I begin, feeling myself become happier just thinking about it. ‘It’s a watercolour painting of an orchard, Nate. A friend of Nana’s painted it years ago. He gave it to her when they were just twenty years old. It’s very special.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a painting of an orchard,’ Ben says.
‘I’ve never seen it either,’ I reassure. ‘It’s too special to just hang up on the wall like any old photo or picture.’
‘There are loads more cardboard boxes in the attic,’ Ben says. ‘We could search there, I suppose.’
I scrunch my nose. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think it’s in the attic. I think she’d keep it somewhere else. Somewhere important. But we really need to find it. Before it’s too late.’
‘Okay,’ Nate says, dragging himself away from the window to come stand next to me. ‘We’ll find it. Don’t worry.’
‘There’s not much time.’ I say, the words getting caught in the back of my throat.
‘I know. I know,’ Nate whispers; his arm sweeps around my waist, and he rubs the small of my back. ‘We’ll find it, Hols. I promise.’
THIRTEEN
ANNIE
I hear the rumble of Sketch’s car tyres as they roll slowly over the stony muck outside that masquerades as a driveway. I run my fingers through my hair and get most of the stubborn knots out. I wind my hair around itself, make a hole in the middle and pull the end through. It’s long enough to twist into a bun and hold without a hair tie. It’s slightly greasy on top, so it should hold without any stray bits flying away. I want to make a good impression on my first day at work on the farm.
The firm knock on the front door makes me jump, and I smile to myself as I realise my heart is racing with a combination of nerves and excitement. I slip my feet into my shoes that have dried out over the weekend, causing the leather to wrinkle and press uncomfortably against my toes.
‘You have her back here by five o’clock. Not a minute later, you hear?’ my father says, his deep voice carrying down the corridor to shake me.
‘Of course, sir,’ I hear Sketch agree. ‘Five o’clock on the dot.’
I hurry up the corridor and make sure I don’t seem giddy or excited when my father turns around to eye me up.
‘All my chores are done, Pa,’ I say. ‘I left an extra bucket of logs by the fire in case you run out.’
I turn around to the sound of my mother’s heels clip-clopping across the floor behind me. ‘You work hard today, Annie,’ she says. ‘Make sure Mr Talbot gets his money’s worth, won’t you?’
‘Of course, Ma.’ I smile brightly. ‘I won’t let anyone down.’
‘That’s a good girl now.’ My mother takes off her cardigan, shakes it out, and reaches across me to drape it over my shoulders. ‘To keep you warm,’ she says.
I can feel the heat of her body cling to the navy and teal wool, and I savour the warmth. I slide my arms into the sleeves and pull it around myself, wrapping one side over the other across my chest to keep it closed and compensate for the missing buttons. There’s a large hole under the left arm of my dress where the stitching has yielded to countless wears. The itchy wool finds its way into the hole to stroke my skin. I want to twist and shake and relieve the itch but everyone’s eyes are on me.
‘We’d best get going,’ Sketch says, smiling at me warmly. ‘Do you have everything you need?’
