The Haven

THE HAVEN

Copyright ©

Vanessa Bootle 2010

'Megan Blake!'

Her mother's drunken shouts made her wince, and she knew she should have replied, but all Meg could think about was getting away. 

‘Get back here you sneaky little cow or I swear I'll--'

It was difficult sneaking out her bedroom window, particularly when Meg was on the second floor, but she managed it. The trick, she'd realised, was to stay calm and methodical; pass one leg at a time through the window frame. Climb down onto the sloping roof. Sink low to the knees and then - the hardest part - grip and slide slowly down the drainpipe, one hand at a time. It was four metres tall at the most, so didn't require too much effort and, despite a little dirt and some clawing from the brambles below, Meg came out relatively unscathed. Practice had seen to that.

For a brief moment she stood with her back to the wall and listened for signs of life.  When all that came back was a soft, reassuring silence a half-smile smile appeared on her lips.

That's better, she thought, before sticking two fingers up at the window.

Walking out onto the main street, Meg wondered if it was possible to hate her own mother.  Jane Blake and her constant drunkenness had turned their home from a place warm and safe into something cold and full of hate.  Not even Meg's room was secure now the lock had been snapped and Jane could enter whenever she wanted, barge in, grab Meg by the arm, shout, shake her, hit her across—

Meg raised a hand to her cheek and wanted to cry but immediately blinked back the tears. Crying over the past just wasn't worth it, not anymore. If she cried every time something bad happened to her at the hands of Jane she'd be all cried out, and it wouldn't stop what was happening or keep Meg safe.  And that was what she wanted more than anything. For now it was much better to run away; as long as she was outside she felt a temporary protection.

Today however, Meg looked around and didn't feel safe at all - as though something wasn't right in Westerly.

The first thing she noticed was the lack of people; no-one wandering on the footpaths, pottering in their gardens or driving down the roads, as though the population had been sucked into a Twilight zone and left her the sole resident of a deserted village.

A flock of ravens then scattered from the oak tree ahead, moving high and fast as though they'd been frightened; until they were nothing but a fine, black mist undulating over the rooftops.

But most unnerving were the storm clouds in the sky.  Black and bloated with rain, they were forming an eerie, luminous darkness in seconds; swirling and gathering pace at an almost preternatural rate. The midsummer air felt heavy as a wind picked up and Meg shivered, zipping up her jacket.

Then the sky opened and thick sheets of rain came crashing down.

Startled, Meg broke into a run, darting through trees and parked cars as the now-icy wind burned her cheeks and tangled her long, dark hair.  It was difficult to see, but she could sense the Green was empty as she ran through its trees, past the promenade of shops until at last she took cover beneath the white, arched doorway of the Phoenix Cinema.

She was soaked, the hems of her jeans wet and heavy, her converse squelching as she stamped her feet. Meg looked impatiently at her watch. So much for being on time, she thought, then checked herself for sounding like an angry girlfriend. Gareth was just a friend and this was simply another evening hanging out with him... as friends.

She stepped deeper into the alcove as white sheets of rain ricocheted off the pavement. 

Turning to peer through the glass into the unlit cinema foyer, Meg then rattled the doors but they were of course, locked.  Again, that heavy, unsettling feeling caught her, and her stomach flipped as she turned frustrated, back to the Green. 

Utter darkness, save the occasional streetlamp.  She scanned the empty pathways and shuttered up shops; even Maria's café had no lights shining through the windows.

Her eyes settled on a sign just a few feet away, with a waterlogged headline - WESTERLY ATTACKS PSYCHO STILL AT LARGE.  There had recently been a spate of assaults in the village; people vanishing at night and then showing up days later, barely alive and unable to remember what had happened. Some still hadn’t been found.  Westerly was a quiet village, rarely concerned by crime, so understandably people were on edge. Now they preferred to stay indoors when it grew dark and she felt stupid for not doing the same.

Outside the Phoenix, Meg was completely alone.

Lightning flashed across the Green to emphasise the point. Why hadn't she made Gareth meet her outside The Haven?  She tutted, which made her feel better for all of three seconds. The truth was, she felt a little anxious standing there and as lightning flashed again, followed by a huge thunderclap, Meg took a moment to look around.

That was when she saw him.

A man was standing very still about twenty yards away. She didn't scare easily, but seeing a lone man in the shadows on a day like this made Meg shrink against the wall. Now aware of his presence, she could see him even in the dark; a tall, bulky silhouette leaning back against a tree.  Her breathing grew light and shallow as she stepped away from the wall to get a closer look one careful step at a time.

Please don’t see me, she prayed.

But then a flash of lightning showed him looking straight at her.

Meg shrunk back into the wall, vainly looking around whilst keying a number into her phone - Gareth's mobile immediately cut to voicemail - and cursing, she peered around the alcove to see the figure emerge from the trees and step onto the pavement, its steel-toe capped boots glinting in the streetlamps.

She tried Gareth's phone again, and as it started to ring Meg looked around the corner to see the figure’s steps quicken.  She wondered if it was time for her to run.  Take a deep breath, Meg.  Don’t look back.

She dived out of the alcove and was immediately hit by the merciless rain ---

'Meg!' Gareth had rounded the corner, his ringing phone now redundant in his hand. 'Meg? What's wrong?'

Her eyes flickered towards the Green, but the man had vanished, leaving only the shadows. Had she been seeing things, imagining everything? It wouldn't have been the first time, after all.

'Nothing', she said lightly. 'I thought I saw something. Can we go inside?'

Gareth frowned. 'It doesn't look like we’ll have much luck.'

He gestured with a nod towards the cinema foyer and Meg jumped to see the squat, affable form of Jonah Martin standing behind them.

'Sorry kids!’ He shouted through the glass, 'there's been a power cut. No film tonight!'

'Can't we come in until it dies down?'  Meg pleaded.

'Not possible. I've got a leak in the roof at home and I have to head back,' he was already slipping on his jacket. 'It looks as though this storm will last the night, so I'd hurry home too.'

Meg looked despairingly at Gareth. They both knew that her house was the nearest, and she hated to think what trouble she'd get into with her mother. Lately things had been particularly tough; the entire week had been building up to today and Meg had been reminded at every opportunity that ten years ago to the day, her father had disappeared.

'We can't stay for long,' she said quietly.

From the look on his face, she could tell that they were thinking the same thing - get in and out, as fast as possible. 'It'll be okay Meg, I promise.'

He put his arm around her shoulder and his touch made her shiver. She looked up at him, seeing the big collar of his favourite navy reefer jacket turned up to fend off the weather, even though it hadn't done much good; his short blonde hair was spiky and dripping rain onto his thick brown eyelashes. Meg smiled as he casually blinked away the water with eyes of the deepest, darkest blue. She didn't know what she would do without him.

'What?' Gareth smiled, showing off two perfect dimples as he removed his arm.

She shrugged and pulled up her hood.

They had met five years ago, shortly after Gareth had moved to Westerly. He had been sitting on the school playground, sketching in a leather notebook with a chewed-down pencil grasped lightly between his fingers. Meg had known about his surly reputation, but had walked right over to him and he'd just looked up and smiled. It happened instantly.  Both of them hated being home alone and they bonded quickly - Gareth was lucky if he saw his parents at all and Meg's mother loved a bottle of wine more than her own daughter, so they spent most of their time together.

The kids at school mistook Gareth’s aloofness for snobbery because his parents lived in Westerly Manor. But Meg knew that Gareth picked fights and argued with teachers simply to defy his parents and the lifestyle their wealth brought. To her he was kind, protective and able to tell what she was thinking simply by a look. He had stuck with her through all the dramas: her mother, the drinking and all the secrets and issues she regularly tried to forget and with him, she could.

It was for those reasons Meg loved him. When he looked into her eyes, her heart raced and hands grew clammy. Her knees wobbled. Her friend Erin had said they'd make a great couple, but Gareth had never implied that he wanted anything other than friendship. So Meg kept her feelings quiet, even though at the end of the summer, he would be gone; she wondered how someone who could often read her so well actually knew so little.

'Meg! We should get a move on!'

They started to run as another clap of thunder rumbled above and as if in response, the rain fell twice as hard. Meg wondered if the evening's events were building up to something - the storm, the figure on the Green, being locked out of the cinema - but she quickly dismissed it. Who believed in intuition anyway?

She could barely see in front of her as they reached the top of her road. Their clothes were drenched, it was hard to stay upright and with the wind and rain tumbling after them at such a speed, it felt as if something was chasing them. Don't slow down, instinct told her, you can't stop now. 

'I can't go any faster!' She cried.

Gareth held out his hand, which she grabbed as lightning forked across the sky. Several yards ahead, Meg saw the white cottage light up; its rough stonework safe and solid and for once, she longed to be inside those walls.

Hand in hand, they dashed through the overgrown garden, up the winding pathway and towards the front door. The dark windows rattled in their frames and an old wooden sign that read The Haven creaked loudly in the wind. Meg took out her keys and slid them into the lock; within moments, they had slipped wordlessly through the door, shutting out the storm behind them.

 
The hallway was gloomy and silent. Or it seemed that way until Meg's hearing adjusted to the gentle dripping of their clothes on the floorboards and the deep, comforting tick of the grandfather clock.

As she stepped in front of the mirror, lightning flickered through the windows and transformed the image of her pale skin and wild, long dark hair into something ghostlike, her features blurred. Meg stared harder, unable to move as the possibility of seeing her mother drained her energy.  Running away had crossed her mind, but she couldn't do it, not again.

Then a voice whispered, 'Megan.'

She felt cold. In the left hand side of the mirror a man's face reflected in the glass. Meg blinked, unsure if it was real, but there he was, his features difficult to distinguish except dark eyes flashing brightly in the shadows. She tried to move, but the vision had frozen her to the spot.

'Megan,' it came again, even closer, 'Run away.'

Meg spun around, but only Gareth stood there, leaning against the wall. 'What’s wrong?' He asked for the second time that evening.

With the vanishing man on the Green and now the ghost in the hallway, she wondered if it was happening again. Was it possible so soon after the last time? Did it mean she was getting worse? Meg felt it hard to breathe and just as the voice had said, wanted to run away.

'I'll meet you back here in a second,' she whispered, 'this place is making me crazy.'

'Wait,' Gareth hissed, and blocked her way to the staircase. 'I'm not leaving you alone with her.'

'What do you mean?'

It took him a moment to reply, as he ran his fingers through his hair, his broad frame suddenly hunched and awkward. 'I know she's been giving you a hard time this week,' he whispered, 'I saw the bruise when you came into school on Monday.'

Meg self-consciously reached up to her cheek. The bruise was barely visible now, more yellow than the deep purple it had been over the weekend. She thought no-one had noticed, and Gareth's concern had taken her aback. She couldn't have him think of her as weak- not when he was so strong.

'Honestly, I'm okay,' Meg lied. 'I left her passed out in bed.'

She felt self-conscious as Gareth looked into her eyes. 'I wish you'd reconsider staying here, that you'd come and live with me in London when University starts.'

'But my mum---'

'Your mum will carry on beating you and you know it,' he sighed, 'I won't be able to protect you---'

'Who said anything about you protecting me?' Meg cut in, more aggressively than intended. 'I can look after myself.'

'I know you can, I just,' he looked down, running his fingers through his hair again. 'I wish you'd stand up to her sometimes, or leave, but don't stay here taking her shit all the time.'

'And you'd like that, wouldn't you?' Meg replied, 'So it would make you feel better about leaving.'

Gareth's head shot up. He looked hurt and Meg instantly regretted what she'd said. She wished he wasn't leaving, that he didn't have to go to Art College. But unlike her, Gareth had the courage to get out of Westerly. He knew what was good for him, Meg supposed, and she had no idea.

'I asked if you wanted to come and you said no.'

Meg looked down; you asked if I wanted to come as a friend.

'Do you want to come with me?' Gareth demanded.

'Meg?' A voice barked, 'Is that you Meg?' They heard a floorboard creak from the far end of the hallway, followed by staggering footsteps.

Swift to react, the pair darted into the kitchen. If they were fast enough, they could make it through the back door, to take shelter under the nook outside, until Jane had either collapsed onto the sofa or gone to bed.

Spurred on by Gareth, Meg thrust the key into the backdoor lock, but it was too late. The overhead lights flickered on and the side door opened, cutting off their escape.

'Well, look what we have here!'

Meg stood rigid by the dining table, horrified as Jane staggered through the door in a tatty pink bathrobe and slippers. Yesterday's mascara was smudged over her eyes and her lips were chapped and discoloured with red wine. She swayed gently, clutching a wine bottle in her right hand and the edge of the doorframe with the other.

'Hello mum,' Meg answered coolly.

'Going somewhere were you?'

Meg doubted her mother actually cared about her whereabouts; Jane’s eyes were so glazed it was a wonder she could see her daughter at all. 'To celebrate,' Jane held up the half empty bottle of red wine, 'I got this from your father’s wine cellar. Ironically, it’s the only comfort I have nowadays.'

'We're going over to Gareth's house,' Meg said quietly.

Jane turned to Gareth as though she had only just noticed him standing in the kitchen, and her mouth twisted into a grimace. Meg knew that her mother had always resented him. It was always the same: he's a bad influence, I don't trust him and his parents are weird. Although Meg thought that was quite rich, coming from a violent alcoholic.

The room fell silent and she watched apprehensively as Gareth tried to keep calm. Jane shuffled towards him until the stench of alcohol was overpowering; Meg saw his shoulders tense and his blue eyes flash defiantly. Please don't, she thought, not here, not now.

She was unsure if the thought was aimed at Gareth or her mother.

'My daughter spends more time with you than she does me,' Jane slurred, 'what makes you so damn special?'

Gareth didn't reply, and for a moment Meg wondered why he stuck around, why every time he came to The Haven he took this abuse and apparently, all for her.

'You say you're just friends but I can see something in your eyes,' Jane laughed drunkenly, 'How do I know what you get up to when I'm not around?'

'I'm not sure that's any of your business,' he shrugged.

'Do you talk to your parents like that, Gareth Richards?'

'My parents and I don't really talk.'

'Well, I can see why,' Jane scowled, 'you're nothing special, are you? Just their spoilt little rich boy they wish had never been born.'

Meg grabbed Gareth's arm. She could feel him tense, feel his bicep flex with anger and glared at her mother, who looked horribly arrogant as she took a swig from the wine bottle. Slowly, Jane's eyes narrowed and her head flicked back to Meg, 'Have you been missing your medication Meg?' She snapped, 'I know you skipped your last appointment with Dr Greene.'

Meg shook her head, 'Why do you care?'

Jane's face contorted, 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'It means that you're too drunk to notice anything.'

'Excuse me?'

'The kids at school call you Barmy Mrs Blake because you're always drunk, and I don't stick up for you because they're right. You don't give a shit about me you drunken old cow!'

'You bitch!' Jane cried and smacked Meg in the face with her free hand.

It had been a good, hard hit, and Meg stumbled into Gareth at the force. Her cheek suddenly felt numb, until the familiar pain shot through her temples, making her dizzy and bringing tears to her eyes. This had been the first time Jane had hit her in front of Gareth, which made it all the more humiliating. She shook his arms away, not wanting him to see her like this.

I need to get out of here, she thought as she looked up at Jane. Their eyes met, and for a moment she thought remorse flickered over the woman's face. It was short-lived.

'And don't even think about leaving!' Jane screamed, 'Ever since you met that boy you’ve treated me like a stranger!'

'Don't blame this on Gareth,' Meg spoke quietly to ease the pain, 'It's because you started drinking; because Dad left.'

Lifting her fingers to her cheek, she could feel it beginning to swell and wondered if Jane regretted any of her actions, or whether it would all be forgotten for the whole cycle to begin again tomorrow. Her mother walked forward and Meg shrunk back---

'Don't ever touch her like that again!'

Gareth's tone made Meg jump. Stunned, she watched as he stepped in front of her, shoulders high and tense. She could tell he wanted to lash out and punish Jane - secretly hoped he would - but when he spoke again his voice was cool and composed. It reminded her of the way he talked to the kids at school when they riled him up. 'Who do you think you are?'

'I'm her mother!'

'Then why don't you start acting like one.'

It wasn't a question.

Meg looked from one to the other and knew it was the calm before the proverbial storm. She watched as they started yelling and tried not to cry, but her lips trembled and eyes welled as seeing them fight grew too much. She turned, running out of the kitchen and down the hallway, opening the door to a blast of wind and rain that almost knocked her over.

I just need to get away, she told herself and started down the pathway.

'Meg!'

Keep going, said a voice in her head, but as she turned at the gate and saw Gareth, she couldn't help but stop.

‘Where are you going?'

'I need to get away,' she yelled over the rain, 'I can't live like this anymore!'

'You won't have to.'

'You saw her hit me!'

'She won't do it again.'

Meg stepped closer, 'How can you be so sure?'

'Because you've got me,' he whispered and brushed his fingertips against her cheek so softly and tenderly, Meg looked up in surprise. 'And as long as I'm around, no one's ever going to hurt you.'

She stared wide-eyed as her friend's voice broke with emotion. 'I hate how she treats you, I hate that this is happening and you won't let me do anything about it!' Meg flinched as he kicked The Haven's front gate noisily against the wall. 'How can I leave Westerly knowing this will carry on?'

'I'll be fine.' There she went again, lying to everyone. But she leaned in close, worried because he had never acted like this before. 'I promise.'

Gareth's eyes searched hers. 'Look, there's something I have to tell you, Meg. I ----'

'Megan!'

Jane had run into the storm. She stood in the doorway, her face twisted like a crazy animal, her night gown flapping in the wind to expose pale thin legs. Meg felt humiliation for both her and her mother. She wanted to yell out and say how she was feeling, but couldn't speak. Bottom line was that she was afraid at what would happen when she walked away. Would it push her mother over the edge again?

'Come back here and do as I say!' Jane’s eyes were wild as she shouted over the storm. 'I'm your mother!'

It was true, Jane was her mother and the only parent Meg would ever have. Time and again Meg had thought about leaving, but she was never sure. Surely her mother must love her deep down, despite those alcohol-fuelled rages. She felt Gareth's grip tighten as he realised what she was doing and he shook his head, saying he would look after her. But she knew his pleas wouldn't change her mind. Taking a step forward, Meg made her way towards the door---

A huge, bright bolt of lightning crashed down and ripped into the apple tree beside them.

Two things crossed Meg’s mind as she staggered back into Gareth for the second time that evening.  Firstly, that Erin would have considered the lightning strike an omen of some kind.  And secondly, who the man was leaning against the doorway behind her mother.

He was half-submerged in the darkness, but Meg knew it was the same figure as before.  She wondered if perhaps he was connected to the storm and the strange feelings she was having and slowly leaned closer as he turned her way---

The lightning flickered out, leaving only Jane in the cold lamplight, clutching her wine bottle and the hem of her dressing gown. Now there were no shadows or figures lurking in the dark, Meg wondered if she had been seeing things and if the storm had been playing tricks with her mind.

She stepped towards Gareth. 'I want to go.'

'Go then, leave me!' her mother yelled, 'Just like your father did; you're just the same!'

Meg recoiled at the words. David Blake had walked out when Meg was only a child, with no note or sign as to where he had gone. He had left for work as usual that morning, and then simply never returned. The man had shown no remorse or love for either of them as they were left destitute; practically penniless. How could her mother compare Meg to that?

Jane was laughing viciously as Meg turned back, her expression fixed and cold. 'Why don't you stop comparing me to him and take a look at yourself,' she walked forward, wanting to be sure her mother heard: 'What a sad woman you are.'

A thunderclap resounded over the cottage, but Meg knew the laughter had stopped.

Taking Gareth's hand, they ran off together into the night.