The Broken (Echoes from the Past Book 8)

by Shapiro, Irina

  “She’s grotesque,” someone else hissed. “An abomination.”

  “Say that to my face, if you dare,” David challenged the speaker, his voice firm and loud enough for everyone to hear.

  No one said another word, but the damage had been done. Helen walked home slowly, her eyes unseeing. Had it not been for David, she’d have tripped, fallen over, and not had the strength to get back up. He pushed the pram slowly, his other hand on the small of her back, a pillar of silent support. Davy walked next to his father, his cheeks flushed and his eyes downcast. He was old enough to understand, and he looked as upset as his parents.

  Helen had never been so relieved to see her front door. She left the children to David and went into the kitchen to see to Sunday lunch. Performing mundane tasks calmed her. David turned on the wireless and the strains of a Beethoven concerto filled the house, drowning out Helen’s unhappy thoughts.

  “Would you like to go for a walk? It’s a fine day,” David asked after lunch.

  Helen shook her head. She couldn’t bring herself to leave the house and come face to face with any of their neighbors. She wanted to hide for the rest of her life, if such a thing could be arranged, but if all she could get was a few hours of solitude, then she’d take them and be grateful. “I’ll take Annie out into the garden. I’ll read while she sleeps.”

  “Davy, would you like to come with me?” David asked.

  “I’d rather stay at home, Dad,” Davy replied. He looked sad and tired, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his parents’ troubles.

  “All right. I won’t be long. Just need a bit of exercise,” David said.

  “Take your time,” Helen said.

  David gave Helen a quick kiss and headed out the door. Helen closed the door behind him and leaned against it, glad to shut out the outside world. She coped by hiding, but David walked for hours, desperate to release his pent-up frustration.

  They hadn’t spoken of Edith in any great detail since Helen’s revelation. Neither of them had the emotional wherewithal to delve into her alleged affair with Edward Edevane or the abandonment of their son, but Helen knew David thought about it and it gnawed at him. Not only had his mother given him away without a second thought, but she’d been angry to find him on her doorstep. She’d had a good reason for her reaction, but given that she hadn’t seen her boy since he was an infant, it would have gladdened David’s heart to know that despite her mortification and shock, she was glad to see him, pleased to discover that he’d turned out to be a fine man and had survived the war that had killed so many. Instead, Edith had looked at David as if he were shit on her shoe, something distasteful to be disposed of as quickly as possible.

  Had Edith the courage to tell Helen the truth that night, things might have been very different for all of them. Perhaps she’d even still be alive. Helen didn’t think sharing her secret would have prevented the heart attack, but maybe if Edith had remained downstairs, Helen could have summoned help when the pains came. It was a foolish thought, she knew that, but she couldn’t help wondering what might have happened had Edith lived long enough to tell the truth. Would she have told her the truth? It would have been the right thing to do, but for some reason, Helen doubted her mother’s desire to do the right thing was uppermost in her mind. Perhaps she would have kept silent, allowing Helen and David to marry anyway.

  Helen had to stop thinking along these lines, but her mind kept looking for ways out of their predicament, even though the die had been cast and there was nothing left to do but live with the outcome. She needed something to distract her from her morbid thoughts, so she fetched her book and carried Annie out into the garden, where she settled her on a cushioned chaise. Helen covered the baby with her shawl since it was cooler in the shade and she didn’t want Annie to catch a chill. Davy came out into the garden too. He had his toy truck with him. He liked to roll it back and forth and load the bed of the truck with pebbles from the garden.

  Helen tried to read, but the words swam before her eyes, the sentences slithering like snakes. All that emotion had worn her out, leaving her feeling as limp as a rag doll. She laid down the book and leaned back in the chaise, closing her eyes. Annie would be asleep for at least an hour, so she allowed herself to doze off, lulled by the murmur of the wind in the trees and the calming symphony of birdsong. It felt so good to just let go for a while, to slip into oblivion and dream.

  Awareness came slowly as Helen surfaced from deep sleep. She didn’t rush to open her eyes, just lay there for a few minutes, listening to the rustling of the leaves, the chirping of the birds, and the vroom-vroom sounds Davy made while playing with his truck. She felt so peaceful and heavy-limbed, it was a shame to have to get up, but it was time to feed Annie and get supper going.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead,” David said softly. Helen hadn’t heard him come into the garden but was glad he was back from his walk. She must have slept longer than she’d thought.

  “I fell asleep,” she said apologetically, and glanced at her watch. She felt guilty for leaving the children unattended for such a long time, but everything appeared to be much as it had when she first came out into the garden nearly two hours ago.

  “I know. You looked so peaceful. Do you feel any better?” David asked gently.

  “A little,” Helen lied.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

  “I’ll nurse Annie, then get supper started.” Helen said as she sat up and tidied her hair.

  “Annie’s still sleeping. Don’t wake her. I can stay out here with the children for a bit,” David offered.

  “All right.”

  Helen got up off the chaise and walked into the house, reluctantly entering the kitchen. She was so tired of cooking. She felt like that was all she ever did, besides the washing. It never ceased to amaze her how much dirty laundry four people produced, and how many meals needed to be prepared. When it had been her and Edith, they’d often eaten a cold luncheon or sometimes just fried some sausages for their supper. It didn’t seem right not to offer David a hot meal when he came home from work, and Davy was a growing boy who needed hot, nutritious food.

  Helen took some potatoes out of the pantry and began to peel them over the sink. Edith had hated peeling potatoes, but Helen didn’t mind. It was better than chopping onions. That always made her cry. She finished peeling, washed the potatoes, and set them to boil. Once the potatoes were almost ready, she’d mash them while the sausages were frying.

  Helen turned at the sound of footsteps. David walked into the kitchen, Annie in his arms. She was still wrapped in Helen’s yellow shawl and it hung around her like a curtain. Helen opened her mouth to say something when she noticed David’s expression. The pain in his eyes was like nothing she’d ever seen before, not even when he’d first beheld Annie. He looked bewildered, as if he’d just seen something he simply couldn’t make sense of.

  “David, what is it?”

  “She’s—” The words seemed to stick in his throat. “She’s not—”

  Helen dropped the tea towel she was holding and reached for the child. David surrendered her without protest and Helen held her close, peering into her little face. Her eyes were still closed, and her cheeks were rosy, but there was no life left in the tiny body. Annie’s chest did not rise and fall, nor did her eyelids move. She was perfectly still. Gone.

  An anguished scream tore from Helen’s lips. How could this have happened? Annie had been sound asleep, alive, only a short time ago, and now she was… Helen couldn’t even think the word. The finality of it took her breath away. Her legs began to tremble, and she sank into the nearest chair, Annie still in her arms. She held the baby to her face, kissing the downy head and inhaling the scent of Annie’s silky hair for the last time. Death had already begun its work, turning a living child into a lifeless doll, but Helen’s mind was still grappling with what she was seeing.

  “David, I don’t understand. What happened? How could she have just slipped away like that?”

&n
bsp; David’s eyes glistened with tears, but all he could do was offer her a helpless shrug. “I don’t know. She seems to have passed in her sleep. Perhaps her condition—”

  “Dr. Ross said she was healthy and strong,” Helen protested. “We should call him right away. Hurry, David!”

  “Helen, she’s gone,” David said gently. “I think she has been for some time.”

  “No!” Helen cried, but she knew the truth of David’s words. Annie’s face was cold to the touch, utterly lifeless. As a nurse, she’d seen many recently deceased bodies. Had Annie had limbs and digits, they would already be growing stiff.

  “Let me have her, Helen,” David said softly. “I’ll put her in her pram until the undertaker comes to collect her.”

  “No!” Helen cried. “There will be no undertaker.”

  “You can prepare her for burial yourself, if it will make you feel better,” David replied. He looked ashen but talking of practicalities seemed to ease him somewhat.

  “I want her buried here.”

  “What?”

  “I won’t leave her alone in that graveyard. I want her here, in the garden, where I can look after her.”

  “Helen, Annie deserves a proper burial.”

  “Proper? What’s proper? She hasn’t even been baptized.”

  “That won’t matter. She must rest in consecrated ground, under God’s protection.”

  Helen laughed bitterly. “God’s protection? What sort of God would do this to a child? What sort of God would sentence an innocent little girl to a life of misery and deprivation? What kind of life would she have had if she’d grown into adulthood? Can you even begin to imagine how she would feel once she began to understand that something was irrevocably wrong with her? Can you even pretend to know what it would feel like to see other children running, playing, holding an ice cream, or even just wiping their own bums? How would she feel when she became a young woman and saw girls her age going out with fellows, wearing pretty frocks and high-heeled shoes, putting on lipstick and fixing their hair? How would she feel when those girls got married and had babies of their own and walked proudly down the street pushing a pram? She’d have none of it, David. None. She’d sit in her chair and watch the world go by, knowing she could never fully be a part of it, never enjoy the things that others took completely for granted. So, don’t tell me about God’s protection and love. He had none for my little girl, and I have no time for Him. I’m through with God!” Helen screamed.

  Somewhere at the back of her mind, she knew she was hysterical, but she simply couldn’t get hold of herself. Why should she? God had just multiplied their already unbearable tragedy, leaving her no emotional reserves to deal with her pain. She was broken beyond repair, utterly undone.

  David pulled her into his arms and held her close, the baby between them. “It’s all right, love. It’s all right. I’ll do as you ask. I’ll bury Annie by the rosebushes where you can look after her. I’ll do as you ask,” he repeated. “Now, let me have her.”

  Helen stubbornly shook her head. “I will hold her until she’s ready to be buried. I’ll not leave her alone for a minute. She deserves better than to be left in her pram like a forgotten toy. I’ll keep watch over her.”

  “Of course, love. You do that. And then I’ll take over. We won’t leave her alone.”

  Helen nodded into David’s shoulder, tears pouring down her face. “We won’t leave her alone.”

  Chapter 49

  June 2015

  London, England

  Quinn threw the brooch against the wall, unable to bear the pain it brought. Tears poured down her cheeks and dripped into her mouth, salty and bitter. All she wanted was to hold Alex and Emma in her arms and never let them go. The razor-sharp pain that had torn Helen’s heart to shreds was her pain. How did any parent ever survive the loss of a child? How did they go on from day to day knowing they’d never see their baby again or hear its voice? How did they fill the void that had been left not only by the child, but by the feelings the child inspired in its parents?

  Her heart broke for Helen, but it went out to David too. He’d loved that baby and was doing his best to cope with the terrible secret Helen had sprung on him only weeks before. Quinn admired his stoic strength and unwavering support, but although she couldn’t hear his thoughts or see his actions when he wasn’t with Helen, she was sure he’d suffered just as much.

  Quinn angrily wiped the tears away and stood. She needed to take something for the pounding headache that was cleaving her skull in two. This case was shattering her, and her body was letting her know in no uncertain terms that it wouldn’t tolerate this kind of emotional stress much longer.

  She went downstairs, took some tablets, and thirstily drank two glasses of water, then leaned against the worktop, gazing out over the sundrenched garden. Once Annie was buried, she wouldn’t be able to see anything more since the brooch would be buried with her. The cause of Annie’s death would forever remain a mystery, since Quinn had seen no signs of foul play. Perhaps Dr. Ross had been wrong, and Annie had been born with some internal defect. Or maybe it had been a case of sudden infant death syndrome, which usually struck while the child was asleep.

  Quinn considered ringing Colin to verify whether the hairline fracture in Annie’s nose might have occurred during birth but stilled her hand as she reached for the mobile. What was the sense? Regardless of what Colin had said, Annie had died of natural causes, as Dr. Clegg had initially concluded. It made no difference to the story; it was tragic enough as it was, and she couldn’t wait to be done with it. Annie might have died peacefully, but this was the most difficult case Quinn had ever worked on. This death wasn’t a result of adultery, treachery, or even bad luck. This case was about people who were good and kind and had done nothing to deserve the tragedy that stalked them. They’d had no say in what happened to them; their story had been written the moment David had injured his arm and went to the hospital where Helen worked, or maybe even before that, when Edith Brent had met David’s father during the Great War.

  Helen might have believed that Annie’s deformity was her fault, but she would discover in time that it was a side effect of the drug Dr. Ross had prescribed. Annie might have been one of the first cases, but she certainly hadn’t been the last. Quinn hoped with all her heart that Helen had been able to forgive herself, but she wasn’t so sure. Even if she had accepted Annie’s disability as the result of the drug, she’d never be able to forget that David Edevane, the husband she adored, was her biological brother. How could she? That knowledge was bound to eat away at her, at both of them, until it destroyed their marriage.

  Quinn took a deep breath and headed to the study. She’d given herself time off from the case while they were in Berwick, but they’d returned home last night, and it was time to wrap it up. She had one more thing left to do before she could hand this case over to Rhys. The Google search for David Edevane returned two entries in the London area, and the ages fit. The elder was ninety-eight years old, the younger fifty-nine. Quinn jotted down the information and made a call to Rhys, but he didn’t pick up, so she left yet another message.

  She hadn’t been able to reach him in three days and was beginning to worry. It wasn’t like him not to answer her calls. She hoped he was all right and considered ringing his PA but changed her mind. Rhys wasn’t a child, and unless she had reason to think otherwise, she had to assume all was well. What happened before had been a one-off, a gut reaction to unbearable emotional strain. Rhys hadn’t intended to take his own life; he’d only been trying to dull the pain when he chased a handful of sleeping tablets with half a bottle of Scotch. Rhys wouldn’t do something so foolish again. He’d been happy the past few weeks, and almost irritatingly cheerful, smiling to himself as if he had a wonderful secret. Quinn shook her head. Rhys was mercurial as ever, but she wouldn’t have him any other way.

  Gentle sunshine warmed the garden and enveloped her family in a golden haze. Gabe sat at the table, his laptop in front of h
im. Emma was curled up on the chaise, reading a story, and Alex was napping in his buggy. They looked so happy and peaceful, it brought tears to Quinn’s eyes. Dear God, please don’t ever let anything happen to them. Please, keep them safe, she prayed. Life could change so quickly, and so unexpectedly.

  Gabe turned to look at her and instantly shut his computer. “Quinn? What is it?”

  She shook her head. “It’s nothing, really. Nothing I hadn’t known was coming.”

  Gabe nodded in understanding. “Do you know now?” he asked, not going into detail in front of Emma.

  “No, not conclusively.”

  “What are you talking about?” Emma asked, watching them with interest.

  “Nothing, darling. How about we go out for dinner today?” Quinn suggested. She needed to get out of the house and go somewhere where she would be surrounded by people. She wanted conversation to flow over her, music to thrum in her veins, and gorgeous, pulsing life to quash all thoughts of death.

  “Yes, let’s,” Emma immediately agreed. “I want a salad.”

  “What?” Quinn and Gabe asked in unison.

  “I need to watch my weight,” Emma announced. “Maya says it’s never too early to start.”

  “So, no chips then?” Gabe asked, his expression all innocence.

  “No.”

  “And no ice cream for afters?”

  Poor Emma looked so conflicted, Quinn nearly laughed out loud. “Em, it’s all right to eat what you like, as long as you do it in moderation. Your weight is right where it should be. You don’t need to go on a diet,” Quinn explained patiently.

  “But Maya says—” she began.

  “It doesn’t matter what Maya says. You have to make your own decisions in life, and if you want a salad, then you can have one,” Gabe replied, “but don’t do it to please Maya.”

  Emma nodded thoughtfully. She seemed to be weighing both arguments. “All right, you win,” she finally said.

  “It’s not about winning and losing, it’s about what you think is the right thing for you to do.”