Page 44 of Unworthy
“I think that Wagon Wheel must have been dodgy or something,” I muttered, feeling my cheeks heat, which was almost unheard of for me.
Those green-brown eyes looked up at me and she nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard you can get the odd dodgy one. That’s why I stick to Curly Wurlies.”
And so, despite all this shit and filth and pain, despite feeling more fucked up than I had in decades, and despite the acute embarrassment of this entire situation – despiteallthat, I smiled.
Chapter 21
Burn it to the ground
Yaz
The drive up north had taken nearly six hours. During that time we’d all decided to pool our knowledge of the Markham family. Apart from what my parents had already told me, all Max knew was that the twins hated their parents and hated coming back to this place. The Markhams were one of those seriously ancient aristocratic families, suffused with history, money and land (which generated even more money). Apparently there’s a bridge in Yorkshire where people have to pay money to the Markham family in order to cross it.
Although neither of the twins ever mentioned their parents, Heath and Verity did talk fondly about their grandparents. Unfortunately both sets had died. Mum reminded me of something from years ago, back when we’d gone to pick up Max and the twins for the summer. When we arrived Verity was crying, which was really unusual – they were both normally so happy to see us – but Heath was in a rage. I remembered vividly what he had said that day, mostly because of the swearing – something I hadn’t heard much of aged only seven. In fact, it may have been the first time I’d ever heard the f-word out loud, and it was all the more shocking because Heath was always so charming, always saying the right thing in the right way – but not then.
“That fucking bitch!” he’d shouted as Verity collapsed into his side sobbing, and he’d put his arm around her to hold her up. “We deserved to know what was going on.”
“Granny,” Verity had whimpered as Heath turned her into his chest and told the teacher who’d been speaking to him tofuck off. In my seven-year-old mind, saying the f-word to a teacher was the height of recklessness. I couldn’t quite believe it. Dad ushered me away before I could hear any more while Mum and Max went to comfort the twins.
“Didn’t they go to her funeral?” I asked Mum after she’d jogged my memory of that day. I was sitting in between Mum and Mia in the back. I glanced at Mum and she pressed her lips together, shaking her head. When she spoke, her voice was tight with anger.
“The parents let a teacher tell them. Ateacher. Didn’t even come in person to do it themselves. And those poor children – they never got to say goodbye to their grandmother. From what Verity told me they’d been very close to her. She’d died halfway through the term and the funeral happened without them.”
“Oh no,” Mia whispered. “Why wouldn’t their parents tell them?”
“Those animals were only interested in themselves,” Dad put in, his voice gruff and his hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “‘No point interrupting their schooling’ was the excuse the teachers came up with for them.”
“Of the two of them it was Heath that worried me most,” Mum said as she stared out of the window. “Verity cried, she let me hug her, she talked about her granny – apparently she had purple-tinted hair, and made them little meringues which she carried about in her handbag. Heath didn’t cry at all. He stuck close to his sister, made sure she was okay, made sure she ate, slept on the floor next to her bed – until I found him and set up a cot bed instead. But after that angry outburst on the first day, he was back to his old self – charming, polite, as if nothing was wrong. But I could tell he wasn’t right. When he thought nobody was looking, his smile would drop and he’d stare off into nothing, clenching his fists so tight his knuckles would turn white. The poor love.”
When we had arrived at the Markham estate that morning I knew instantly that Ihatedit. Before we even made it to the front door, we’d had to suffer the spooky, half-mile-long driveway. The house itself only came into view after we’d almost given up on it. Then, from around massive hedges, a huge stone monstrosity appeared. It looked like something out of a bad Gothic novel, not a childhood home.
“V told me that her father had let the gardeners carry on, but that the old bugger hadn’t let anyone into the house in years.” Max had said as we approached the house. “Who knows what state it’s in.”
“Where’s their mum?” I asked from the backseat.
“Spain, I think V said. She wasn’t sure though – it sounded as if that was where Vhopedshe was. I don’t think there was much love lost there either.”
Now, standing next to Heath outside this monster of a house, after he’d just vomited from the anxiety of having to return here, I was also glad his mum wasn’t here – the thought of either of Heath’s parents made me feel murderous. Heath’s face was ashen, and his eyes still looked a little wild, but that small smile he forced out eased some of the tightening in my chest. I looked down at Heath’s hands now and, sure enough, just like mum described from when he was a child, they were bunched into tight fists. His brief smile emboldened me to cover the fist nearest to me with my smaller hand. He tightened it for a moment before I felt the muscles relax under my touch and he let his fingers unfurl. I moved my hand, so we were palm to palm, and threaded my fingers through his. He hesitated before giving my hand an almost painful squeeze, like I was some sort of lifeline he had to hold on to. He shook his head, then gave me another weak smile.
“How do you like the family pile then?” he asked after clearing his throat. I tugged him away from the wall and the house. I could almost feel the tension rolling off him the further from the front door we got.
“I hate it with a vengeance, and I think you should burn it to the ground.”
Heath’s eyebrows went up and he let out a small, surprised laugh.
“Okay, say how you really feel.”
I smiled up at him. “I will.” There was a crunching on the gravel next to us and we both looked down to see the pathetic-looking dog from earlier – its big eyes were staring up at Heath, and it gave a small whimper. Keeping hold of Heath’s hand, I reached down and held out my hand, letting it come to me. After it sniffed my fingers for a moment, it let me stroke its head, but when Heath crouched down it whimpered and flinched away from him.
“She’ll be one of Dad’s hunting dogs. Looks like a working cocker bitch.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell you there was a dog here?”
“She must have been hiding when the groundkeeper came in. Probably did a lot of that – hiding, I mean.” He pulled his hand away from the dog, as she was clearly scared of him, and sighed. “You know, the RSPCA came once to take away all my dad’s dogs. Someone reported him. I loved those dogs. They slept in the shed next to our room. V and I watched as they took them away. V was crying, but I was glad – I loved those dogs enough to be glad that they were getting away.” He let out a hollow laugh. “It’s funny, isn’t it? Mum and Dad weren’t deemed good enough to look after some dogs, but when it came to humans…”
He trailed off, and I felt my throat constrict.
“I don’t think it’s funny,” I told him, my voice rough with emotion.
