A Family By Design Read online




  A Family

  By

  Design

  Olivia Rytwinski

  Copyright © 2017 Olivia Rytwinski

  KINDLE Edition

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  PublishNation

  www.publishnation.co.uk

  For Aleks & Lily

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my friends, family and editor A J Humpage for their wonderful advice, feedback and support during the writing of this novel. I couldn’t have done it without them. Thank you!

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  About the Author

  Like echoes rippling through time, flowing in ever-tighter circles and drawing closer to a time when they can no longer remain hidden beneath deception and lies, dark family secrets are finally revealed, as they were always going to be, it was only ever a matter of when not if.

  One reckless act, an unforgivable lie – unimaginable consequences.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lost

  Until yesterday my life was perfect.

  OK, maybe it wasn’t perfect, but not a million miles off. I didn’t know it at the time. Who stops to count their blessings as they rush to get the kids ready for school, travel to work, run the treadmill and step off at the end of a long and exhausting day? I had no idea of the nightmare to come. No idea what awaited me. Had I known, I would have kept Lyssa tight within my embrace.

  CHAPTER TWO

  One Day Previously

  Wolfstone House

  Benn Cady - Scottish Highlands

  Cuckoo, Cuckoo.

  I flinched and glanced as the bird hopped in and out of its doorway. Eight o’clock already. I plucked Lyssa’s lunch box from the armchair beside the range, then paused beside the dining table to spoon a mouthful of cereal. No time to sit and chat over breakfast.

  “Mum, I’m having school lunch today remember?” said Lyssa. “It’s International Book Day!”

  Lyssa stood in front of the full-length wall mirror brushing her curly caramel hair and I thought, heaven help me if I ever forget something important.

  True to her genes, Lyssa stood a full head above most of her classmates. Recently I’d noticed that she carried a hint of gangly awkwardness when she walked, but with no self-conscious stoop to her shoulders even when standing with her more petite pals. Her pleated skirt, bought a couple of months ago rode high above her knees, and I wondered if I could persuade her into her gingham school dress. A couple of weeks ago, when I’d suggested the weather was warm enough, she’d given me a withered look and said, ‘No one wears those in Year 6.’ Which just goes to show what I know.

  As I watched her, the sunlight reflected in the mirror to light up her pale, velvety skin, which contrasted with determined forget-me-not blue eyes.

  “What do you eat on Book Day then?” I asked.

  Christmas lunch - goes without saying, Easter lunch - a chocolatey dessert, but Book Day had me baffled. Lyssa’s school organised special days to get the children into eating the cooked dinners, or I conceded, reading in this case. As I tried to remember all the upcoming events at her school, I concluded it wasn’t only the pupils that the teachers were challenging these days.

  As always, Lyssa was on top of the finer details.

  “Mrs. Wrigglesworth says the theme is James and the Giant Peach, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. We all voted for our favourite books, and they won. I didn’t vote for either of those.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Anyway, I did tell you. And you wrote it on the calendar. See.” With one arm aloft, she marched across and pointed to the calendar hung beside the fridge.

  This state of the art stationery item, complete with a different coloured pen for each of us, was a notable addition to the O’Donnell household and was supposed to make light work of drop-offs, pick-ups, dentist and other engagements. Sadly, it didn’t fulfil its grand administrative promise. I rarely looked at it when it mattered, and Max didn’t know it existed, despite it staring him in the eye each time he went to the fridge. And, I thought, why was it always my job to remember these things? Although Max was a vocal supporter of equal rights, at work, he was happy to leave me to handle all the domestic minutiae and was always ready with an excuse to avoid helping with the housework, ‘Just need to alter a design, reply to this email, tweet.’ For goodness sake.

  Life was chaotic and there was a limit to my multitasking abilities. As I was getting ready yesterday morning Max had walked into the bathroom.

  “What are you doing up there?” he said, sniggering and slapping my bottom.

  Naked and balancing on the edge of the bath and still with toothbrush in my mouth, I replied. “What does it bloody look like. I’m getting the shower curtain down. You obviously haven’t noticed it’s thick with mould.”

  “I would have done that for you,” he said.

  “But you didn’t.” I said, spitting a mouthful of toothpaste into the bath.

  Had I overreacted with Lyssa? A packed lunch or school dinner, it was a minor matter after all. Still, I fumed, why wasn’t Max helping out more with the family and home organisation? I worked full-time now and earned a damn good salary. I made a mental note for us to sit down and have a civilized talk about sharing out the chores, such as the cleaning, laundry, and school admin, ad infinitum. I hoped it wouldn’t turn into another opportunity for us to hurl vicious accusations at one another. Even Louis and Lyssa helped out, albeit financially incentivised and with a titbit or two of bribery thrown in for
good measure.

  Wolfstone House was so remote that it was no quick fix when we ran out of the essentials or had to ferry Louis or Lyssa to a friend’s house or event. The nearest grocery store was fourteen highland miles away, and some of the kid’s friends lived an hour’s drive away.

  I leaned on the windowsill and picked up the wicker seabird. I spotted a delicate web strung between its beak and breast and blew it away. Then I looked out at the open expanse of glens and woodland, and further still to the Assynt hills emerging from their nightly shadows.

  “Mum! Are you even listening?

  I stirred from my reverie to find Lyssa with brush in hand and the other propped firmly on one hip.

  “Surely not everyone’s having International Book Day lunch? That’s a mouthful isn’t it?” I said, and chuckled.

  She nodded and dropped her brush with a clatter onto the table.

  “Course they are. Jenny, Eve and Jules are, and if I don’t, I’ll be the only one.” She finished with a defiant look that made it clear she wasn’t about to give in. As if she ever did.

  “OK, OK, Louis will eat them. I’m sure he’ll emerge from his pit at some point.” I made mental note number two to call him after dropping Lyssa at school.

  She bounced over and rewarded my inevitable compliance with a hug.

  “Thanks, Mummy. I love you.”

  I stroked her wild hair and relished her soft warmth. I found it impossible to argue with a daughter who had an answer for everything and a determination that reminded me of someone I knew well as a child.

  “I love you too sugar.”

  “You look smart today Mummy. Is that your new suit?”

  “Yes, thought I should wear it. There’s an important meeting at work, and I want everyone to listen to what I have to say.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “And does a suit make people listen better?”

  “I’m not sure, but sometimes we have to look smart, so people we don’t know will take us seriously. Men have to dress smartly too, like Dad.”

  She stood back, appraising me. “I think you look super sophisticated.”

  “Thank you. Hopefully, I’ll impress with what I have to say too,” I said, and felt a flutter of nerves as I remembered what was at stake.

  She ran her hand over my shoulder and added, “You should dry your hair though, it’s leaving wet marks down your back.”

  “It’ll soon dry. I reached for the towel that hung over the range and gave my hair a quick rub. “Come on Lyss.” I clapped my hands. “Are you ready? Have you packed your books and water bottle?”

  “Why do you always ask me? Course I have.” The blatant flick of her eyes denoted her annoyance. Then she walked away and said, “I’m not Louis you know.”

  “Sorry, it’s just habit. And can you check your blue inhaler’s in the front pocket?” I said, and wondered why I had to apologise so often these days.

  “Well, it was there yesterday when you checked. I know what I needed to tell you.” She turned to me. Her irritation gathered momentum.

  “Oh?” I replied, quite certain I didn’t want to hear whatever it was she was about to complain about.

  “Jules is getting a mobile for her birthday. So when she gets hers, I’ll be the only one in the whole class who hasn’t got one.” She folded her arms. “Just so you know.”

  “Not again,” I said, and sighed. “How many times do we have to have this conversation? Can we talk about it tonight, not now?” I turned on the tap and filled a glass. I sipped the cold spring water and wondered how much longer I could put off the inevitable.

  Once more, my easy going daughter demonstrated familiar teenage characteristics. I wasn’t prepared for that stage with my youngest; I would have been happy for her to stay eleven-years-old forever.

  I shared such a close bond with our children but my relationship with Louis altered as he’d grown into his teenage years. At fourteen, he’d gone through an awful phase at school - fighting and being disruptive in class - and he’d gained more than his fair share of detentions. Max and I were stressed, as it was so out of character for him. Eventually, he confided that a boy in his year had bullied him. It began after Louis won first prize playing guitar in a school talent contest and he’d received a lot of attention for it, especially from the girls.

  I realised that jealousy had triggered the harassment and his tormentor had called him vile names, and even taken photos of him and splashed them all over various social media with fake features and incongruous captions. Once out in the open, the school had dealt with the culprit and the persecution stopped. Louis’ mood and behaviour, both at school and home, instantly improved and I was proud of the way he’d committed himself to his schoolwork, especially with his exams looming ever closer.

  I knew I had put off giving Lyssa her first mobile because of the problems Louis had experienced.

  At the bottom of the stairs I stopped and bent over to put on my new tan leather heels. I felt a massive head rush, the floor rotated, and my stomach lurched. I straightened up, took some slow, deep breaths and grabbed the bannister as the walls returned to their proper places. Sweat broke out on my face and my mouth filled with saliva. I recognised the sensation and hurtled across the hall to the cloakroom just in time to retch into the toilet.

  Afterwards, I rinsed my mouth, splashed my face with cold water and examined my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I looked washed-out, and my lips had shrunk and faded. At least my hair appeared to be minus any muesli like vestiges. I sat on the toilet seat and tried to gather my thoughts and steady my shaking legs.

  Lyssa appeared in the doorway.

  “What’s up Mummy?”

  “I’ve been sick. But I’m OK.” I tore off some toilet roll and blew my nose. “Came out of the blue.”

  She grimaced. “Eew! I hate being sick.”

  “At least you feel better afterwards, usually,” I said, and hoped that would be the case today.

  I stood up, flushed the toilet again and went through what I’d eaten yesterday. Then I put on my coat and looked at my shoes lying abandoned at the bottom of the staircase.

  Lyssa watched me with a deep frown. “You could take the day off Mum.”

  “That’s thoughtful, but I’m fine. Get your jacket and hop in the car. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “OK, if you’re sure?” She picked up her school bag and turned to me again, her expression serious. “Eve says her mum is always being sick. She hears her screaming at her dad, doors slamming and her mum throwing up. Eve was crying at school.” Lyssa chewed the inside of her cheek. “Her mum should go to the doctors shouldn’t she?”

  “Yes, she should.” I sighed. “That does sound upsetting.” And added. “Hopefully, I’ll only be sick the once.”

  Oh dear, it looked as though the rumours about Fiona, Eve’s mum, were more than mere rumours. Always fun at dinner parties, she often ramped up the atmosphere with her sparkle and joie de vivre. However, it didn’t sound like she was saving her party drinking for special occasions. I made mental note number three to have a discrete word with the school counsellor and their teacher, reasoning it wouldn’t be interfering, but showing concern for a child and a good friend. I felt guilty, realising I hadn’t talked to Fiona in weeks. I hadn’t seen her at school, and it hadn’t occurred to me to ring her. I resolved to call her to arrange something.

  The trouble with increasing my hours the past year meant that I’d lost touch with some of my closest friends; some made years ago through baby and toddler groups. I loved to visit friends, invite them over for lunch or go for a walk, but that had become impossible to fit into my hectic diary. Perhaps that was why so many people were hooked on Social Media. Our busy lives meant that talking in a virtual world took the place of getting together in the flesh. A poor substitution. Although I dabbled with Social Media when I had the time, it was something I could take or leave. I was so busy living my life, and I couldn’t understand how people found the time for it. Our snai
l-paced broadband didn’t help either. Maybe I could make more of an effort on-line, I thought. Mostly though, the stuff people shared either irritated me by its insignificance or bored me rigid.

  I sat on the bottom stair. My stomach still groaned and I realised that I’d felt out of kilter for days. And a more immediate problem was how I was going to get through the day feeling so ropey. Of all the days. I was chairing a meeting with the government department that funded our region of the Environment Protection Agency. Funding was a huge issue, and there had been threats of job cuts and a possible merger with our sister region. I decided against my power heels, as I didn’t fancy feeling ill and potentially keeling over in front of the management team, legs akimbo, knickers on display and my dignity in tatters. Flats might be just the thing to make my day that bit easier. And it wasn’t as though I needed the extra inches, at five foot nine I was eye level with most of my male colleagues.

  A few minutes later I headed through the front door in my unglamorous leather flatties and felt ready to face the day. I thought about Louis, still asleep. Each morning, I made a point of going in to see him, to wake him up and remind him he was off school to give him time to revise, not to catch up on sleep or the latest YouTube vlogs. Just for today I would ring him to check that, a) he was up, b) he was revising, while c) trusting he was being honest, over the phone.

  Last night when I went to say goodnight to him, I sat on his bed and looked across at the colourful array of clothes tossed onto the floor. Sat there in his vest and shorts, I realised, he wasn’t a boy anymore. His shoulders had broadened, his soft, boyish features had faded and instead he’d developed a strong jaw line, well-defined cheekbones, a slightly Roman nose and dark brows that framed intense blue eyes. Recently he’d gone for a trendy haircut, cropped at the sides with a thick curly quiff on top. His skin tone and hair were darker than Max’s, but otherwise, they were incredibly alike. They shared similar personality traits too; the same sensitive and creative side, which joined forces with a fresh wit and a puckish sense of humour. Ever since Louis’ voice had broken I often listened in on them talking, and tried to work out which of them said what, their voices were so alike in tone and resonance.