Esme's Wish

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

The day had dawned a sullen grey, and the sun hid behind a bank of cloud. Pelicans strutted around Picton Harbour’s foreshore, scouring it for scraps. The air was laden with the smell of impending rain, mingling with the wharf’s usual odours: fish and old rope and greasy diesel.

None of the vessels from the fishing fleet had yet returned from their daily run. The wharf’s jetties were a skeletal sight, stripped of the boats that usually bobbed on either side. A large launch was moored at the end of one of the jetties. People clustered beside it, orbiting around Penelope and her large yellow hat as if she were the sun.

Esme’s father broke off from the group, and enveloped her in a goodbye hug. Her nose twitched unpleasantly. He reeked of something strange: as though Penelope had drowned him in a bottle of her perfume.

He loosened his hold on her, but she stayed pressed against him a little while longer. When she stepped away, he forced a smile, his eyes moist.

‘Thanks for coming down to say goodbye.’

Her own eyes brimmed over, too. She wanted what she couldn’t have. She wanted her old father back—the one that stunk of fish and grime and the salty sea, not this one. She wanted to say the right words, but they wouldn’t come. She tried to wish him a safe, happy trip, but all she managed to blurt out was: ‘I hope everything goes okay.’

Penelope advanced toward them, her lips pursed as if she had just tasted a sour lemon. She spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Let’s not be late, dearest.’

The launch soon slipped its moorings and motored off. Birds swooped behind it, searching for scraps, before heading to better pickings back on shore.

A hollow feeling spread inside Esme, relieved only by the prospect of having the cottage to herself for a while. The honeymooners would be away, and out of contact, for the next few weeks. Aaron had agreed that Esme could stay there on her own, on the proviso that her new in-laws check on her every so often. This was her chance to go through her mother’s things once more, search for clues. She’d looked over them a hundred times, but surely there was something she’d missed.

‘Es-may!’

Mavis, Penelope’s older sister, strode up to her. Dressed perpetually in brown, she reminded Esme of a moth, one that clung to people and was impossible to get rid of. Though she lived alone in the village, the two sisters were rarely apart.

‘Hello, Mavis. And it’s pronounced Es-mee, not Es-may.’

Mavis huffed. ‘Well, I’d appreciate it if you’d call me aunt, dear. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be a little late this afternoon.’

‘Late for what?’

‘Your father didn’t tell you? Arrangements have changed. I’m to stay with you while they’re away.’

Esme stiffened. ‘What are you talking about? No one’s said anything.’

Mavis pursed her lips and pulled a key out of her pocket, waving it at her. ‘Don’t look so put out. Penelope had a word with me last night, at the reception. We both agreed that you’re far too young to stay on your own while your mother and father are away—’

‘She’s my stepmother, not my mother. And I’m almost sixteen. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.’

Mavis snorted. ‘Not after yesterday’s performance.’ She pocketed the key. ‘By the way, Penelope’s asked me to do some sorting out while I’m there.’

‘Why? Our house is fine the way it is.’

‘I’m sure it is. But you may need some help getting the cottage ready for the move to the village.’

The words didn’t stick.

Is this some sort of joke?

Esme’s mouth went dry. A buzzing started up in her ears. ‘What did you just say?’

‘The move to the village.’

‘What are you talking about?’ she cried. ‘We’re not moving anywhere!’

‘It’s not up to you. What you need is company.’ Mavis flicked at an imaginary speck of dust on her skirt. ‘Strange girl. I thought you’d be pleased to get away from that isolated place. Children your age need to be around good influences, like me. Anyway, it wasn’t my idea. It was Penelope’s. Aaron has no idea—but I’m sure by the end of the honeymoon, she’ll have convinced him …’

Mavis prattled on and on, but Esme didn’t hear a word she said. She couldn’t listen anymore. It felt like her heart had dropped through the jetty and impaled itself on the rocky seabed. She had lived in the lighthouse keeper’s cottage her whole life. It was home, and her last link with her mother. The village was Penelope’s domain, where she reigned with her family and friends.

After Mavis left, Esme stood on the empty wharf for a while, gazing up at the village. Each house stared down at her like an eye, ready to track her every move.

The clouds finally broke, pelting her with fat raindrops all the way home.

It was still storming when Mavis moved in that afternoon. Esme’s new step-aunt immediately embarked on a cleaning frenzy, attacking every surface until the cottage smelled like a hospital ward. While Penelope acted as if Esme didn’t exist, and as if Ariane never had, Mavis latched on to Esme and wouldn’t let go.

The rain stopped eventually, but the running war of words between them continued unabated. Even Reuben got caught up in the fray. One day, Esme found her step-aunt backed into a corner with Reuben hissing at her. After that, Mavis resorted to keeping a large broomstick nearby, and tried to whack the cat with it whenever he came into sight.

As the days progressed in painful succession, the uneasy thought that Penelope had made some sort of deal with Aaron’s parents—a deal to bring him back into the village community—crossed Esme’s mind more than once.

Aaron’s parents had been so eager to pay for the wedding, and the honeymoon, and even the enormous ring on Penelope’s finger. Aaron and Ariane had moved to Splinter Bay soon after their marriage, angering Aaron’s parents. The senior Silvers ran the island’s fishing fleet, and the move had thwarted their plans to train him in the family business.

From time to time, Esme looked out for the sea eagle that had acted so strangely on the day of the wedding, but it was nowhere to be seen. The bird, along with the beleaguered cat, had made itself scarce.

One afternoon, she entered the living room, and for a brief moment, thought that she was in the wrong house. The mementos that had always decorated the mantelpiece—small picture frames, a piece of driftwood, and a cornflower-blue vase—were gone. In their stead stood oversized photographs of Penelope and her extended family. Mavis was attempting to remove the painting that usually hung above the mantelpiece: a depiction of the sea eagle flying above the lighthouse, underneath a full moon.

‘Here, Es-may, help me get this down. There’s an awful lot of clutter on these walls. It’s like a shrine in here.’

Esme stopped dead. Red spots ran riot in front of her eyes. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she yelled.

‘Getting this place ready for my sister, of course. Once we’ve finished here, we’ll get started on your room.’

Esme glowered. At that moment, if Mavis had been struck by lightning and rent in two, she wouldn’t have cared. She blazed at her.

‘Hasn’t Penelope been married twice before—briefly? How long do you think she’ll stick around this time?’

The only sound in the room was a sharp intake of breath. Mavis’s lip curled. She stalked over and leaned into Esme’s face. ‘If there are any problems with my sister’s marital choices, it’s that the men she marries are never good enough.’

Esme backed away, but Mavis bore down on her again, so close that Esme could see the perspiration beading on her upper lip.

‘Don’t you dare criticise my sister. Instead of sticking your nose into other people’s business, why don’t you concentrate on making yourself useful?’

A manic laugh escaped Esme. ‘You think I’m the one sticking my nose into other people’s business?’

Mavis’s lips twisted into an unexpected smile. Her voice softened unnaturally. ‘I wonder what Aaron might say to you coming to live with me for a year? Give the lovebirds some space.’

Esme stepped back. ‘You wouldn’t dare—’

‘Wouldn’t I?’

Esme stalked off into the kitchen and filled the sink up with soapy water. Mavis had unearthed every vase in the house, including the cornflower-blue vase from the mantelpiece. She dipped it in the water and scrubbed at it, Mavis’s face taunting her from every soap bubble, until she wanted to scream.

A throbbing started on the side of her head, a familiar pounding that signalled one of her headaches was coming on. Esme had suffered from them for as long as she could remember, but this time, the pain was worse than ever. She decided to leave the kitchen and escape to her room.

Or at least—she tried to.

Her hands wouldn’t budge. She couldn’t move a muscle.

Her first panicked thought was that she was having some sort of seizure. The pressure on her head grew worse, a cap of pain squeezing at her skull. Her eyes closed of their own accord, and a roaring sound engulfed her.

She fell into a trance.

When the roaring sound subsided, Esme, in her mind’s eye, was no longer in the kitchen. She was standing in the living room of her own house, pressed up against the wall behind the sofa. The blue vase stood on the mantelpiece, filled with lavender. The painting of the sea eagle hung above it. The wallpaper was fresh and new; Esme had always known it to be cracked and peeling in places. A fire blazed in the hearth below.

What’s happening to me?

Rooted to the spot, she spied Reuben curled up by the fire. Others were in the room, too. A man and a woman on the sofa, facing each other. They were deep in conversation and didn’t seem to notice that Esme had materialised right behind them.

Reuben, his coat black and sleek, his gait unhindered by age, stirred. He padded over and stared up at Esme inquisitively, before slinking back to his post by the fire.

The man was her father, his face younger, his hair showing no signs of grey. She couldn’t see the woman’s face, but it didn’t matter. There was a map of this person within her, one that she had folded and unfolded countless times. The fall of her hair, the slope of her shoulders, the shape of her, was more than enough. Esme’s heart was close to bursting.

Mum.

The conversation grew heated. Her father’s voice was edged with frustration. Ariane was sitting very still.

‘I got a letter from Dr Wright,’ he said. ‘You missed your last appointment.’

‘I’m not going back. I’m fine. I told you,’ Ariane murmured.

Aaron shook his head. ‘You’re not fine. You need help, Ari. You’ve been acting the way Lucinda did, before she passed. Making up strange stories. Sleepwalking. I’m worried that one night, you’re just going to get up and walk right out of the door.’

What on earth are they talking about?

Her mother flinched. ‘I just might, if you keep talking like this!’

Aaron stood up and stormed out of the room, but Ariane called him back.

‘Wait, I’m just a bit worn out, that’s all. Just tired.’ She rose up off the sofa. ‘Come back. I don’t want to fight.’

The scene started to fade, and Esme cried out. ‘Mum!’

Her mother twisted round toward her, a strange glimmer in her eye. Her face was taut and tired, but lovely as ever. She only looked for an instant, seeming to see right through Esme, before turning back to Aaron.

The room vanished. Esme was back in the kitchen—no longer frozen in place.

She dropped the vase in the soapy water and fled the room.