Brought to Light
an excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

“Mum, for God’s sake, will you hurry up!” Hannah’s voice, hollering up the stairs, had all the musicality of a cracked fog horn. “I’m going to miss this bloody appointment. You know how much it means to me.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Lyndsey called back in a placating tone. She put down her hairbrush and smiled wryly at herself in the mirror, marvelling at how much family dynamics had changed in the space of a single generation. If she had spoken to her mother like that when she was seventeen, she’d have received a good clip around the ear and been sent to her room for the day!

Lyndsey’s parents had always been older though, she reasoned. They were already in their early fifties when she was seventeen, not thirty-eight as she was now; and there had still been some residue of Victorian-style values in the nature of “children should be seen and not heard”. The era had not yet dawned in which, to be seen as “A Good Parent”, you were expected to run around at your children’s bidding and ferry them uncomplainingly wherever they wanted to go. Being older than most parents of teenagers, Lyndsey’s would never have cottoned on to that idea anyway. In their eyes it was the child who had to be seen as good, not the parent; and that was achieved by strict control, discipline and not spoiling them.

Fortunately Lyndsey had never shared her daughter’s aspirations to be a modelling superstar, for her mother would have soon put a stop to any “fancy ideas” of that ilk. Lyndsey had often been able to get around her dad for any little treats and favours she yearned for, but her mother was quite a different matter. And when it came to the bigger issues of life, her mother had unquestionably ruled the roost.

“Mum!” It had reached eardrum shattering pitch now and Lyndsey rushed from the bedroom, annoyed with herself for allowing her thoughts to run away with her again. She ran down the stairs, past a scowling, foot-tapping Hannah waiting at the front door, and into the kitchen to grab her handbag. Rob was silently drying the breakfast dishes and putting them haphazardly into the cupboard.

“See you later then.” Rob didn’t respond. Lyndsey gave him a peck on the cheek. As usual it was unreturned. “Where’s Alex?” she asked, suddenly noticing her son’s absence. He’d been there for breakfast. He didn’t say anything, of course, unless you counted the occasional grunt as speech.

“Gone out,” Rob replied with a shrug.

“Did he say where he was going? Or who he would be with?”

“He may have done; I can’t remember. I was probably only half listening. I wouldn’t know who he meant anyway.”

Lyndsey could hardly believe what her husband had just said. She knew every one of Alex’s friends and acquaintances: those she would be okay about him going off with, without telling her where he would be, and those whose company and influence would cause her grave concern until her 14-year-old son was safely home again. There was no point making a fuss about Rob’s lack of responsibility at this moment though, not with Hannah on the verge of an apoplectic rage. She had Alex’s number; she’d call him on her mobile later.

Leaving Rob to his Saturday paper, she hurried out to the car with her daughter, not daring to stop at the hall mirror to slap on a dash of lipstick. Hannah was incensed about the delay, certain that her entire life would be ruined if she missed this opportunity. “If this agency doesn’t take me on because I’m late it will be your fault, and you’ll have that knowledge hanging over you for the rest of your life!” she warned.

Lyndsey resisted the temptation of a cynical reply along the lines of, “I’ll try to live with it,” knowing full well that she would, in fact, be riddled with guilt if she was to blame for the shattering of her daughter’s dreams. Let the rest of the world do that to her; not her mother. “All right love, I’ll get us there as quick as I can. I’m as keen as you are to see the name of Hannah Palmer up in lights, you know!”

“Oh mum! You surely don’t think I would use my real name, do you?” Hannah exclaimed, as she fastened her seat belt. “I mean, Hannah Palmer – really!”

Lyndsey pulled out of the gate onto the deserted lane, noticing how pretty the bare-limbed trees looked, still twinkling with the morning’s frost. She tried to sound a bit more cool and switched on. “No, of course not, I was kidding,” she lied. “So have you got a stage-name, if that’s what it’s called in modelling circles?”

“Annelisa de Palma,” Hannah proudly declared, raising her chin and haughtily surveying the sheep in the passing fields as if they were her adoring public. “It’s similar to my real name, but more exotic-sounding. And I thought that as I’ve inherited more of Dad’s Latin looks than your English complexion, the ‘de Palma’ would be appropriate. What do you think?” The question was thrown in casually, as if her mother’s opinion was next to worthless, but Lyndsey could spot her daughter’s need for approval a mile away.

“Ann-e-lis-a-de-Palma,” Lyndsey repeated slowly. “Hmm, I like it. It’s got a nice ring to it; well done.” Lying was another thing she would have been severely punished for as a child, but motherhood had turned her into a pro! Every out-of-tune rendition of the latest pop song and clumsy, disjointed dance routine that Hannah had ever performed for her and Rob’s benefit had been praised unstintingly; each page of almost illegible and grammatically incorrect writing deemed a masterpiece, each childish daub a work of art.

“You praise her too much, Lyns” Rob had cautioned her a few years ago. “Why do you keep telling her she’s good at things she’s not?”

“Because it will give her confidence in herself.”

He had laughed ironically at that. “Oh yeah, she really needs more confidence, doesn’t she? She already thinks she’s better than you and I and her brother put together! All you’re doing is building her up for a bigger fall when she realises she’s not actually any good at these things.”

Lyndsey had lowered her gaze and sighed. “Yes, she probably will fall. I’m well aware of that, Rob. But when she does I’ll be there to catch her. And until she finds something she really is good at, I intend to keep praising her for all her efforts.” She had looked at Rob in appeal. “And I hope you will too.”

Neither of them had ever had to lie about Alex’s achievements, however. Effortlessly bright in most academic areas, naturally gifted in both art and music, and proficient, though totally disinterested, in sports, he had never been in need of artificial praise and bolstering. His only shortcoming, in fact, seemed to be a distinct lack of joie de vivre. A quiet, contemplative child, he had become moody and sullen in his early teens. He could do with a little of his older sister’s vivacity, Lyndsey thought.

It pained Lyndsey to think that one of her children had the talent and skills to do whatever he wanted to do, yet didn’t seem to want to do anything very much; while her other child was champing at the bit, firmly believing the world to be her own personal oyster, but was completely lacking in all the necessary ability and flair.

“You’re going to have to put your foot down, Mum,” Hannah said after about ten minutes. She leaned across the car and tapped a long, French-manicured and pierced fingernail on first the dashboard clock, and then the speedo. “If we get stuck in traffic in town it’s going to take another hour and my appointment’s in 50 minutes. I don’t want to arrive at the last minute all hot and bothered.” She pulled down the sun visor and minutely checked every detail of her hair and make-up in the mirror.

Lyndsey glanced across at her daughter, who looked more than her years in the sexy cropped top and stylish gold jewellery. She really was stunningly attractive. The old Italian blood from way back on her father’s side truly had come out in her: sleek, black hair that caressed her shoulders, huge dark eyes with lashes that could cause a draught, strong nose and jawline, and a perfect olive complexion. Maybe modelling was the road to the glittering future Hannah had set her heart on. Maybe it would save her from a life of dull unfulfilment like the one Lyndsey and so many others had settled for. Anyway, Lyndsey was determined not to be the one that prevented her daughter from following her star.

“Okay, Annelisa de Palma,” she said, stepping on the gas a little more, “let’s get you there in good time. Your public awaits!”

They laughed together at the sound of Hannah’s new name, then spent the next ten minutes in animated girly chit-chat about what sort of clothes she might be wearing and which poses she was best at. They were cracking up at her over-the-shoulder sultry pout when Lyndsey thought perhaps she should bring up the topic of nude and “glamour” modelling. She had no idea what her daughter’s views on these were.

She didn’t have time to find out. Hannah’s mobile phone went off and she undid her seat belt so she could reach into her skin-tight jeans to retrieve it. There was a flash of red as a sports car took a corner too wide in front of them. Lyndsey swerved to avoid it and came down too heavy on the brake. Her front wheel caught some unthawed ice at the edge of the lane and Lyndsey lost control.

In one brief, horrific moment, Lyndsey saw the wall approaching and, through the pounding in her ears, heard the haunting sound of her daughters screams. Then, with her head enveloped in the driver’s airbag, she felt the impact and heard, as if from a long way off, the unmistakeable thud, crunch and shattering glass sounds of a car crash.