ANA arrived home from the Guy’s house after Daniel.

​

When she walked into the kitchen he went straight to the cupboard and poured two large brandies. “Do you want anything with this?” he offered, “Coffee, water, ice?”

 

“Nothing at all, thanks.” She took a sip, unused to spirits, especially during the day. But this was not a normal day.  “Without a doubt, this has been one of the strangest and toughest days I have ever spent in my life. I can’t tell you how happy I am to come home. But tell me, how did you get on, cariño?”

 

Having downed the brandy, he poured himself a second, this time diluted with a little soda. They went out to the naya and sat down. “You are going to find this difficult to listen darling, but Mark wants us all, his friends, to hear about Sarah from him. I think he feels so guilty about what he did in India that he is blaming himself for Sarah’s death.”

 

He began telling her the story of Sarah, “You need to know this before I even begin to tell you about the files on her computer.” He poured himself more brandy and began.

​

“I don’t think I have ever heard a sadder story. Do you know, all the time Mark was talking, I kept thinking of characters in those Greek myths; the ones the Furies pursued, even to the ends of the earth. That’s how Sarah’s life struck me, now I know more about it.” And so he began Sarah’s story, the tale of the child of two hippies, whose father took off when she was born, so she had no contact with him at all. Her mother had joined a commune in Dorset, many of whose members were Maoists. Mark had told them of Sarah's wry smile as she described the time spent arguing in endless meetings. 

​

In a curious way, though, she had portrayed a happy childhood; there were lots of other children to play with, fields to run wild in, and not much school. Until, when she was around fifteen, her mother brought a man back to the Dorset commune, someone she met on a protest march in London.

 

“The long and short of it, my love" Daniel put his arm on her shoulder, “is that the man sexually abused Sarah. They found out afterwards, much later, that he had abused some of the other girls as well, including even younger kids, but I will come to that later. When Sarah told her mother what he had done, her mother refused to believe her, and did nothing about it. Then Sarah became pregnant at sixteen. Her mother, if you can believe such a terrible thing, persuaded a woman in the commune to carry out an abortion.” 

​

Daniel stopped then and took a large swallow of his a drink, paused until he could carry on. Ana was too shocked to speak.

 

“Apparently this woman had some medical training, but she botched the job, and left Sarah unable to have any children, ever. And so, as soon as she had recovered sufficiently, she took off for London with a woman from the commune, she became Aunt Charlie to Sarah. They were both disgusted by the whole thing.”

 

Ana couldn’t stop the tears that ran down her face and Daniel gave her a handkerchief. When she was calmer, he continued. “It gets a bit better now, my darling, because  Charlie, the woman who helped her leave the commune, was more like a mother to Sarah than Rowan, her birth mother.” 

 

“Madre mia, cariño, I can hardly believe it. It’s like misery lit, something out of a book by that Irishman, stories so awful that you can’t believe children can live through such horror.” She wondered how Sarah could have kept her pain to herself, hidden. Now, with hindsight, Ana thought she might have guessed a little of Sarah’s sadness. She remembered Sarah’s voice, on the telephone, telling her how lucky she was to have a family. Her tears flowed again.

 

But Daniel wasn't finished. “You haven’t heard the half of it yet, my love. The man, the abuser, abused girls much younger than Sarah, and eventually one of them told their teacher what was happening. So then it all came out; a huge scandal, they broke up the commune, and the man went to prison for a long time.” 

 

Mark had told Daniel that Sarah had been asked to give evidence in court against the man, but it was several years later, and she had remade her life. Her Aunt Charlie had found a good job in London, they had somewhere to live, and eventually Sarah had managed to get into a secretarial college, where she did extremely well. They found out that her evidence would not make a great difference; there was plenty enough against him without her appearing, so she refused to go to court. When Sarah told Mark her story, years later, she had told him it would have been like destroying her life all over again, just as things were improving.

 

“Sarah never spoke to Rowan, her mother, again. She told Mark she could never forgive her mother for not protecting her. “It’s what mothers are supposed to do and mine didn’t”, Sarah had told him.. But this is the important thing, Ana. Someone sent Sarah an email a while back, with a press cutting telling that the abuser was being released from prison. He had served his sentence; time off for good behaviour, I suppose. The news upset her terribly.” 

 

Mark had told them that Sarah remained fond of Charlie and always kept in touch with her. It was Charlie who  informed Sarah that Rowan had died, and  persuaded her to go over to Dorset for the funeral, six months ago, so that Sarah  could say goodbye to her mother and put end to her anger ."

 

Mark said he could not understand why anyone would do something so cruel; why would someone revive all that horror when Sarah was living in Spain and had put that time of her life behind her.

“But this is the important thing and now we come to her computer files. It looks as if she became obsessed with finding out where the abuser was living, what he was doing and whether he had any access to children. This is when she used the internet to search for information.  Mark believes her interest in the lives of everyone here started at the same time. Lots of the web searches I saw go back about six months, so the timeframe sounds likely.”

 

Ana understood that the idea of her abuser, out and about again, free to abuse more children, might have unhinged Sarah, made her obsessed with the secrets people keep hidden in their lives.  

 

Later, sitting alone on the terrace, Ana tried to put her feelings in order; she found it difficult to explain, even to herself, how unsettled she felt.  The story of Sarah’s life was foreign to her, although she had read about communes in British and American novels about the sixties.  Sexual abuse was as common in Spain as anywhere else but it was still not talked about, it was a secret hidden behind closed doors.  Mark and his passion in India, the suicide of Jonathan’s lover and now Sarah’s sad life, these secrets had been buried but not forgotten.
 

What could she say to Daniel? Was he the person she needed to talk to?  Mayte was her first choice, but now there were things she couldn’t tell her friend. That was part of her distress, that she was caught between two worlds, two groups of people,  her old life, her family and friends and the new friends she made through Daniel.  What could she say and what needed to be kept secret? Secrets again. This afternoon she thought about her own secret, the one she kept from everyone, even Mayte, who had always known the worst of her. Who really knows the worst of anyone, she wondered? It was not the time to remember Max but she wondered where he was in the world now. 

 

Papi always understood. If she found the right time, she would talk to him, she trusted his judgement. He was a listener; there had been times in her life when talking to her father helped put her thoughts in order.

​

Daniel joined her on the terrace. He had spent an hour or so finishing an article he must write, only then turning to Sarah’s laptop. To Ana, he looked exhausted but he said only “don’t ask” when he joined her, pouring himself a stiff whiskey, an unusual drink for him.

​

They sat together on their terrace, savouring the moment, the smell, the sounds and the softer temperature of the approaching dusk. They sat in silence, keeping their thoughts to themselves until the sound of a car driving into the garden disturbed them.  It stopped in the drive below them and they heard the doors open. It was not an opportune moment for visitors. 

​

Daniel looked over the terrace wall; “Jesus, I don’t believe it. Ivan and Carole Hepworth have arrived.”