‘Yes. I don’t like him. He says things I don’t want to hear. He scares me. Make him stay away, please.’
Willow appeared calm, sure, and Robin was determined she’d stay that way.
‘Of course. I’ll tell him, don’t worry.’ But how could she not ask… even at the risk of a flare, Robin wanted to hear it herself. ‘Do you want to tell me what he’s said? It’s okay if you don’t.’
In the silence, she reached over and took a bobble from the dresser and began to tie Willow’s hair, the motion soothing the anxiety that riddled her. Again, when she glanced upwards, serious eyes met hers. Watching, waiting.
There was something different about Willow, Robin felt and saw it. It had happened before. Moments of lucidity, as though she’d emerged from her locked room refreshed, batteries charged. It never lasted long though.
Days or hours, never the weeks and months and forever Robin yearned for. She clung on though, making the most of each minute, talking, talking, talking, like she’d stored up a zillion words that she had to share with her child. It was like having her back, eating toast, watching television, the simplest things that brought Robin the greatest pleasure. Then Willow would turn away, fade, then lock the door. And Robin had to wait on the outside without a key.
When she finally spoke, Willow’s voice was low. ‘If you are bad, you go to hell. It’s horrible there. Worms crawl over your skin, demons pull your hair and scratch your eyes, and you never sleep because they keep you awake and remind you of all the bad things you’ve done. He says that’s where I’m going to go because I don’t pray, anymore. God is very angry with me for thinking bad thoughts. I’m scared because I don’t want to go to hell, Mum. I want to be with Maya in heaven.’
Robin was horrified. How could a father do this to his child? Why was he pushing a fragile woman to the edge, saying all the things that he knew would terrify her? Gina was right. He couldn’t be trusted.
Knowing that Willow would pick up on any hint of panic, the merest trace of doubt, Robin gently put down the brush then knelt at the side of Willow, pulling her skinny legs so her body twisted and faced her. Taking her pale hands in hers, Robin sought to soothe her wide-eyed girl.
‘Now, you listen to me, Willow. The only person who is bad, is your father for telling you such nonsense and I promise, he will never ever say these things to you again. You, my darling girl, are the most beautiful, the most kind, with a good soul and God would never turn you away because he forgives us our sins, doesn’t he?
‘Remember, we used to say the prayer in Sunday school and look at the pictures in the books, of your friend Jesus. He’s one of the good guys, isn’t he? And he wouldn’t lie so please, believe me, and believe in him. Will you promise me that, Willow? And in return I’ll promise to keep Dad away.’
Willow nodded. Her hands tightening as she spoke. ‘I promise.’
Robin pulled her bestit’ll be okaysmile from the bag and then leant forward, kissing Willow on the forehead. Leaning back, Robin intended to stand, however, Willow’s grip intensified, as if holding her in place with her hands and a stare. A chill ran through Robin.
‘I want to be with Maya. In heaven. The angels know the way but when I ask them they won’t tell me how to get there. I asked Gina. She’s going to help. Will you help me, too. Please, Mum. Please help me.’
Unable to look agony in the face a second longer, Robin wrapped Willow in her arms and held her tight, pulling her as close as she could and whispered into her daughter’s ear.
‘Of course, of course I’ll help you. We will pray, together, ask the angels and the good guy. See if he can get a message up to the boss and somehow we will find the answers and one day, you will see Maya again. I know it. Just hold on, Willow. Hold on to me. Please don’t let go just yet. Please don’t leave me.’
Clinging on, to her child and the hope that her words had got through, Robin forbade herself to give in to tears. Willow needed to see her mother strong and sure. Able to fend of that despicable man they called father and husband.
So, when she felt Willow’s arms move, gentle hands resting on her back, reciprocating, Robin held her breath and scrunched her eyes, relishing the moment. They stayed like this, locked in embrace, until the ringing of the doorbell broke the mood, the precious moment was lost and as they pulled apart, Robin realised one thing. Willow hadn’t answered, she’d held on, but she hadn’t promised she wouldn’t leave.
‘I think someone’s at the door.’ Willow turned towards the sound, a wary expression on her face.
‘It’ll be Babs. I wish I’d not invited them now. I’d rather spend the evening with you.’
And as much as it sounded ungrateful and mean, it was true. Robin had lost heart and interest in her girly night in, because in light of the recent revelations it seemed trite and inappropriate and her mind was racing, trying to think of an excuse to send them home.
Until Willow spoke. ‘But we’re having sandwiches and cake. I want to see Babs and Gina, just for a bit.’ Averting her gaze from the door she turned it on Robin. ‘Can you get my slippers, please. My feet are cold.’
Robin, fearful that Willow might fade, acted on instinct, following the signals, not wanting to miss her chance to score a point over Edmund and Nate and at the same time, lift the mood and make Babs and Gina happy. Grabbing Willow’s slippers from beside the bed she pushed them onto her feet before forcing creaky knees to stand. Without being bidden, Willow copied and wordlessly headed for the door.
‘Do you want something warmer? The fire’s on in the kitchen, but perhaps a jumper?’ Robin was fussing but couldn’t help it.
Willow shook her head, then glanced at the bed, then the door, as if her courage and energy were waning. From behind, in her yellow sweatshirt and black leggings, her precious child looked so small and frail, her little chick, her very own will-o’-the-wisp.
Willow was searching for the impossible. Asking a question nobody had the answer to. Trying to reach somewhere uncharted, as mythical as Brigadoon, the end of the rainbow, nirvana. Heaven and Maya.
It was with a bittersweet combination of melancholy and determination that Robin led Willow along the landing and down the stairs, her voice soothing, telling her pale-faced child how pleased they’d be to see her, hoping that Babs and Gina would hear and be suitably excited when they entered the kitchen.
At the same time Robin vowed that somehow, she would find a way to help Willow. Keep her away from Edmund’s mind games for a start, and then focus on keeping her daughter safe from harm, because the message earlier was clear.
Willow was stuck, just like Robin, but that was her own fault, a situation of her own making that she could have changed any time she’d wanted. But as she’d said to Arty, she’d been weak. A coward, bound by faith and duty. Hiding behind motherly love and she’d got it wrong. No matter what Arty said, she was to blame for so much.
Her daughter’s predicament was infinitely worse. Not only was her husband cheating on her, he wanted to unburden himself. Willow was trapped there on earth by her mind, a slave to clinical depression, at the mercy of a cocktail of drugs that sometimes failed her. And she was tortured by the images of that fateful hideous day, and those of the beautiful baby she longed to see again; and, thanks to Edmund, by images of terrifying demons, and the fear of going to hell.
