Chapter Four | Building on the Ruins

She wouldn't jump, of course she wouldn't. She was far too cowardly for that.

Sometimes she thought about it, though, she thought about what would happen if she wasn't here any more. She tried to imagine a police officer announcing it to her loved ones; she could see their faces if she closed her eyes, hear their voices as they responded to the news that she'd been found dead.

'Loved ones' was a funny term; she wasn't sure who her loved ones were. Her father and Caroline, she supposed. Caroline was definitely a loved one to Kate, but was Kate loved by Caroline? She thought that Caroline had affection for her, definitely, that she enjoyed spending time with her, that she didn't want to hurt her, but did she love her? It was difficult to tell with Caroline. You thought you knew her, but there was always another hurdle.

Yesterday she'd gone to see her father and he'd mistaken her for one of the nurses. She knew you were just supposed to go along with whatever they wanted to believe, but she couldn't, she couldn't let him throw away all the years they'd had together, when he'd taken her to the park and watched her perform in school concerts and done all of the things a dad should do for a child.

"I'm your daughter." "You're not my daughter. My daughter's called Kate." "I know, Dad, that's me, I'm Kate."

She'd taken his hand, shook it a little bit, just to try to make him understand, and he'd lashed out. It had happened quickly, gracefully, like a choreographed stunt in a police drama, he'd pushed her hand backwards and it had flown into her face with his strength (he may have been senile, but he was still strong) behind it.

Kate had once shown Lawrence how to crack open a coconut, and that was how it had felt, like her head was being cracked open and everything inside was being lost. The staff weren't even very kind to her; a nurse strapped some padding to her forehead and told her gruffly she might want to get it checked out at the hospital. They were probably angry at her for disturbing her father.

"He won't eat when he's upset," someone had told her. Didn't they think she was upset too? It was something she'd inherited; when she was wound up, she forgot about food, she had to force herself to swallow mouthfuls of toast in order to get through the day. There was something she could cling to; her father didn't know who she was, and she barely even recognised him any more, but at least they still shared one trait.

She checked her phone. She had four missed calls from Caroline and one from an unknown number, plus a plethora of texts. Was Caroline worried about her, or was she just worried about having to arrange cover for Kate's lessons since she hadn't turned up at work? The pain of seeing her father die a little bit more each day made her cynical.

A new text came through from Lawrence. He said she didn't need to come round (if she wanted to she could, and they'd play Scrabble) but please could she text his mum to stop her from worrying? Kate loved Caroline's children, William's intelligence and understanding, Lawrence's sweet nature and eagerness to learn. They were both very like their mother.

She took a leaflet out of her pocket, something she'd picked up from the travel agents' on the corner of town. It was folded open on a page about going to Russia. There were photographs of the elaborate gold-laced buildings, and the mournful ruins of the old Russian churches, and of Moscow in the snow. She'd had a conversation with her father a couple of weeks ago, in a rare moment of lucidity, where he'd described a holiday he'd spent with her mother once in Russia. His eyes had gleamed when he'd spoken of the fun they'd had; Kate had been suddenly hopeful, and begun to research the possibility that she could take him back to Russia, but now she saw that it couldn't happen.

"What?" she snapped at her phone when it vibrated again, nearly losing her grip on it as she fumbled to check the screen. The same unknown number as before.

"Hello," she said to the mystery person.

"Oh, hello, um– Kate."

"What do you want?"

"I was just–" they faltered again, "Hang on for just a second."

There was a shuffling at the other end of the line.

"Kate?" Caroline said.

Her voice unmistakably lovely, all frightened and tense. Kate said nothing, she sat on the edge of the cliff and swung her legs, looking down on the village below her. It was getting dusky now, the street lamps were warming up and she felt like she was in a fairy tale. Men, women, children walking up driveways and being greeted by their families at the front doors; a toddler on a trike in the street, plumes of smoke from a back garden where someone was burning unwanted things. Maybe photographs. Oh, we don't need these, we have the memories. Kate wished she had photographs of every day of her childhood, because then perhaps she wouldn't feel quite so much like she was losing it forever.

"Kate, it's me. I've been looking for you. Gillian's been driving me– you remember Gillian from the wedding, Alan's daughter? I've been– where are you? I just want to know you're safe and I'll leave you alone, if you want."

I don't want to be left alone. I want you to hold me forever.

"I talked to the people at your dad's home and they said something happened. They said they thought you were upset. I'm really sorry, I'm sorry about my mum and Alan, and how that must feel to you. If I could, I would get rid of dementia so you didn't have to– but I can't, nobody can. And that's really horrible."

Kate's tears dribbled down onto the holiday leaflet.

"But you've had so many good years with your dad. Think about people who don't have dads at all." Caroline sighed, and Kate supposed she was thinking of her own dad; she never really spoke of her, but Kate knew their relationship hadn't been a good one. Or maybe she was considering John, and how he'd hurt the boys. "What happened at the home with your dad, Kate? Did he say something?"

"He doesn't know who I am."

"I know. Please, just tell me where you are and I'll come. I don't want you to be on your own."

"I'm sorry," Kate sobbed, "I should have been in school today, there's exams soon and I've got to–"

"That doesn't matter."

"Lawrence texted me. He said– he asked me to text you so you didn't worry about me, and he said we could– play Scrabble if I–"

"Kate," Caroline whispered.

Her tears acted as a solvent and the ink circle she'd drawn around the Russian holiday was running, like her dreams dissolving before her eyes. She wanted to go home, not to her own home, to Caroline's, and she wanted to sit on the sofa with Caroline on one side and the boys on the other and she wanted Caroline to play with her hair in the way that she only did in those occasional moments when she let her guard down entirely and just let herself love her girlfriend. That was what she wanted.

"Will you come and get me?"

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