Concealed Force

Chapter 1

"So," Laura said, walking down the porch steps and along a palm-tree-lined path. "Mary is...Grandma's cousin?" She turned to wave goodbye to the sweet-faced older woman in the bungalow window.

"No," her father snapped, striding ahead. "She's your great uncle Michael's cousin. Completely different side of the family."

"Oh. Of course. Sorry, Dad."

"Try to show some respect, Laura."

She was trying, but it was difficult to keep track. There were so many family members, thousands, it felt like. In direct contrast to her mother's neat, nuclear family, Laura's Dad had a Christmas card list that went on for pages. He had family trees and clan meets, he had cousins once, twice and three times removed.

They'd always been a near-mythical group, and Laura had thought it would be fun, coming to Florida, meeting all these distant relatives, getting time to bond with her dad now her A-Level exams were finally over. A summer away, soaking up the sun, before she started university.

Somehow she'd forgotten how stupid her dad made her feel, how easily irritated he was, especially when she seemed not to be honoring the family in some way. He'd already shouted at her this morning for not remembering today's schedule of visits, and yesterday she'd got the silent treatment all evening because she'd called Cousin Alec Alex (though she was sure no one else had noticed).

Without his girlfriend—Chrissie—there to act as a buffer, Laura was at the mercy of her father's bad moods. At first she'd tried to tell herself it was the heat that made him ratty and her dopey, that it was the humid air, the constant sound of cicadas, the feeling of being damp under clothes all the time.

But now she was remembering, too late, how relieved she'd been after her parents' divorce: at nine years old she'd finally been able to make mistakes at home without being ridiculed. And she'd stopped making mistakes when she wasn't being watched by those critical eyes.

What an idiot she was for assuming ten years would make any difference. That either of them would have changed enough to make this pleasant. They'd only been in the States for two weeks and already she didn't even trust herself to choose food from a restaurant menu.

"It's the other side," her dad called now as she, once again, tried to get in through the driver's door of the car. "They drive on the right here. I have to remind you every time. Is there something wrong with your brain?"

"Sorry." That was practically all she said here. Sorry sorry sorry. She might as well write it on her forehead to save time.

Thankfully cousin Mary had already gone back inside the house, so she couldn't overhear them and offer the sympathetic looks that other relatives had given her. And at least the hire car's air conditioning was good, so her nervous sweat had a chance of receding.

She was happiest when they were driving. She could almost relax between destinations, and enjoy the view. America was so different to England, so shiny and glamorous, like a permanent movie set. (She didn't dare say this to her father who'd think it cheesy and stupid.)

They'd been down to the Florida Keys, jet-skied along the Inter-Coastal, sat on porch swings and verandas, dipped their feet off the edge of jetties, waded through the mud of the Everglades, fished and swum and eaten tons.

It was the trip of a lifetime. She kept telling herself that. She should be grateful. She was grateful. But she couldn't help planning a return trip, on her own or with friends, sometime in the future, when she wouldn't always be on the verge of tears.

"Do you want to stop for food on the way?" He was trying to moderate his tone, keep his voice soft, and it was this that told her she was already crying—the feeling had become so normal. She dabbed at her face, annoyed with herself.

"If you want."

"Well, I was asking you." The irritation was back. It didn't take much.

"Right, sorry, then actually I'm quite tired. It might be nice to get to...wherever we're going first." She couldn't remember. Was it a relative they were staying with tonight, or were they booked into a hotel?

"Fine."

But it obviously wasn't fine.

"If you want to eat, though, I don't mind."

"No no, I don't want you falling asleep in your plate. I can manage...it's only a three-hour drive. If you'd got your license before we came here I could maybe have had a rest, but..."

Laura squeezed her eyes shut, tried to stop listening. Failing her driving test twice (under his tuition) was yet another stick to beat her with, like the fact that she'd had to retake her exam year and defer her university place, like the fact that she'd been let go from the receptionist position at his office when she kept cutting off phone-callers rather than putting them through.

It was why she never invited him to see any of the plays she performed in, because just knowing he was in the audience would make her forget her lines, or trip off the edge of the stage. She couldn't let him ruin that. Theater was her only sanctuary. Luckily, he'd never seemed that interested anyway.

"Look," she said, finally, "why don't I have a nap in the back, just half an hour, and then I'll be totally ready for dinner. And we'll both be happy."

It was the most she'd said to him all day, and her father was quiet for a moment. She studied him while she waited for his answer. His blond hair a few shades darker than her own, his blue eyes, a little paler. She'd inherited his Nordic good looks—"You lucky girl," he always said—but not his confidence, his forcefulness.

"Okay," he said at last. "That's a very sensible plan, Laura, it's nice to know you can use your head occasionally."

He pulled over and she climbed out of the front and into the back, lying down on the seat.

"Make sure you strap in," he said. "Just in case."

She pulled the belt across her; it cut into her hips, but she wasn't going to argue. There was a blanket from the plane balled up in the footwell, and she pulled it over her head to cut out the glare from the evening sun. And then she curled up on her side and fell asleep.