Free Don't Be Afraid by Daniela Sacerdoti Page A

you’re a musician . . . Are you away overnight often?”
    I opened my arms. “Look, it’s my job. It’s my life. I know I should always be there, but—”
    â€œNo, you shouldn’t.” Torcuil looked at me, raising his eyebrows. “You do what you do. If you were to give it up for Isabel . . . You would never forgive her. And she would never forgive herself.”
    I looked down. I was so lucky to have my brother, always in my corner. Weird, though: we were talking about these family matters in front of Clara and it didn’t seem wrong.
    â€œAnyway,” I continued. “This is an especially difficult time for my work. I’m on trial with the Scottish National Orchestra. There are two possibilities here: I stop the trial—”
    â€œOr I work out.” Clara finished the sentence for me.
    â€œNo pressure, then.” Torcuil attempted a joke.
    â€œIt’s a lot to take on,” I said.
    â€œBut she is the one for us,” my brother intervened, again looking at me. My arms came out in goose bumps. What does he know? Like so often with Torcuil, the workings of his mind were a mystery. I could only trust. And I did. I did trust him.
    â€œI think I am,” Clara said with a smile. She was still calm, unfazed.
    â€œI haven’t told you everything. Bell . . . Isabel is not here at the moment. She’s at the hospital. She . . .” I couldn’t say it aloud. I couldn’t.
    She tried to kill herself.
    For a moment, there was silence around the table, and I could almost feel Torcuil and Margherita holding their breath.
    â€œI know,” Clara said in a soft voice.
    â€œI suppose there is no point in asking you how you know.” I was trying to keep my voice steady, but I couldn’t help my distress creeping in. I cleared my throat.
    â€œIt’s a small village . . .”
    â€œSo you are aware of what we are dealing with?”
    â€œYes.”
    I took a breath. “If you want it, the job is yours. What do you say?”
    â€œI say, yes. If Isabel wants me . . .”
    â€œWe’ll persuade her,” said Torcuil, but he was tormenting a tea towel in a way that told me he was not that confident.
    I looked around at everyone. “Well, that’s the easy part done.” I felt a lump in my throat. Please let me persuade her , I prayed silently. Please convince Bell to let Clara into her life. But I knew it didn’t work like that – ultimately, Bell would make her own decision. It would be up to her to accept Clara or not.
    To try to walk on the road to recovery, or stand still and suffer.
    All the help in the world was there, if she accepted it.
    My Bell. My Bell and her battle.
    â€œYou wouldn’t give me a guided tour of this beautiful place?” Clara asked, and with that, the tension burst like a bubble.
    We walked through room after room, each of them spotless, with the most beautiful furniture pieces. Dotted here and there were signs from the National Trust, explaining the history and use of each room. It was strange, to see these spaces we used to live in as children cordoned off and shown to the public. I remembered playing hide-and-seek here with my siblings, reading books on the antique sofas, stepping without thinking on the precious mosaicked floor of the music room, keeping our clothes in the intricately carved wardrobes, sitting for dinner in the light of precious chandeliers. It was all normal, for us. Just the way life was.
    â€œLook, there’s even a treasure hunt you can do. For children,” Torcuil said, handing Clara a piece of paper. “Margherita’s son – he’s four now – must have done it a hundred times!”
    â€œLet me see. Find the beast of the north . . . Oh, up there!” She pointed to the big framed painting of a polar bear. “My children would have loved this too, when they were little.”
    â€œYou have children?”