The Push

by Claire McGowan

  Today she was going to finish her interviews, and hopefully, find something that would lead her to the truth. As soon as Diana got in, anyway. Alison was almost gratified to see the younger woman roll in ten minutes after her, late, pale-faced, and clutching a sausage sandwich.

  Jax – five weeks earlier

  The days dragged on. Aaron went to work, came home late. My mother called by, a whirl of activity on her way to book group or Zumba or coffee with one of the many friends she unaccountably had. ‘Darling! Still lying about like a slug in the bed?’ She didn’t seem to take in the fact that I was on compulsory bed-rest. When she found me still in bed or on the sofa, she would tut. ‘Jacqueline! Slobbing around all day isn’t going to help your mood, now is it?’

  ‘Mum, I’m not supposed to be up.’ I shouldn’t even have been answering the door, and I sank back down again, though she was standing there with her coat on, expectantly. ‘What? I can’t make you tea. I have to lie down as much as possible, or the placenta will rupture.’

  ‘Goodness, such a fuss! In my day you just got on with it. I’ll do it then.’ She strode into the kitchen, and I heard her sigh. ‘Those dishes will be hard to clean, if you leave them like that.’ I waited for the offer to wash them, but none came. ‘Do you have Earl Grey? No? Well, I suppose a herbal . . .’ I could hear her rummaging in my cupboards. ‘Really, darling, some of these things are quite out of date. You ought to have a clear-out before the baby comes.’

  I took a deep breath. On the muted TV, people argued on a daytime chat show, their faces working with silent rage. ‘I would have, if this hadn’t happened.’

  ‘You’ll never catch up if you don’t get on top of it before the birth. I had the whole house cleaned, dinners batch-cooked.’

  There was only one thing to do, and so I did it. ‘Mum? I know you’re right, and I so much wanted to have a clean-out, but the doctor says I can’t move. Could you help me?’

  A silence. ‘If you let me do it how I see fit.’

  ‘Of course.’ Let her line the drawers in cloth and arrange the tins by sell-by date. I didn’t care any more, if it got her off my back.

  Every moment stretched and burned, my own thoughts wrapping around me like sodden sheets. I had ruined the lives of two people, at least one of whom did not deserve what happened. And if it wasn’t Claudia or Mark Jarvis, someone was still trying to hurt me. I tried my hardest to think of everyone I’d ever wronged. Colleagues whose jobs I’d taken? Service users with a grudge? Ex-boyfriends, or even an ex of Aaron’s I didn’t know about, one of those damaged young women from the care system? But I couldn’t think of anyone. I became as jumpy as my mother, double-checking the windows and doors.

  One morning I had been slumped in bed for some length of time, I couldn’t even say, when I heard a scuffle outside. I had slipped into bad habits, lying in bed all day, sometimes transferring to the sofa, clicking on to some mindless TV show. Aaron brought me things, cakes and magazines and books, which he could hardly afford. I pretended to look at them, but really I couldn’t take much in. The doctor came to see me, told me I was doing alright but had to keep up the rest. My home had become my prison. Aaron would not even be home at six that night, since he was going to Nina’s to help her with her taxes. I couldn’t complain, since I really would have liked it if he earned some more money, especially now I might get fired, but how would I cope being alone all day and all night? Alone and not able to move?

  When I heard the noise at the front door, it took me a while to realise what it must be – the milk. We had recently switched to a glass-bottle delivery, in an effort to save the world so the baby could grow up in it. It gave me a small boost of normalcy – something different. Perhaps I could catch the milkman, say hello. Although I’d thought they would come earlier in the day, wasn’t that what milkmen did? The clock told me it was after twelve. I’d lain there for hours, not sleeping, not engaged with the world either. Elizabeth Barrett Browning of the modern era.

  I rushed downstairs much faster than I should and pulled open the door. But there was no one there. No one on the street either. I stepped outside for a moment – and screamed. I looked down. A shard of broken glass had pierced my stockinged foot, and blood was now oozing out into the white pool of milk I stood in.

  Alison

  ‘Mrs Dunwood.’ Alison let Diana knock on the door, her smile spread wide, while she lurked behind with a bad-cop frown. She didn’t care if this over-privileged cow didn’t like her, the feeling was mutual. She could see a cleaner’s van parked outside, and sure enough a South American-looking woman was in the hallway, polishing a table which held a huge vase of lilies. She flinched when she saw the police officers – possibly she was undocumented. Alison smiled to try and show she was no threat.

  Monica Dunwood was wearing another unsuitable outfit, leather trousers and a black silk blouse, which didn’t appear to have any spit-up milk on it, Alison noticed. She smelled of some expensive perfume and her hair was once more newly done. ‘Not again? Honestly, what do you need now? You’ve already torn my house apart.’

  ‘We need to talk to Chloe,’ Alison glowered.

  ‘What? Why? She’s only a child.’

  ‘She was here that day, so she might have seen something. Just a quick word would be appreciated.’ Diana was more conciliatory, and so Monica led them into the living room with bad grace.

  As they passed the cleaner she barked, ‘Not so much polish, Marisol, you’ll ruin the wood!’

  The woman jumped. ‘Si, madam, sorry.’ Alison’s glower deepened.

  ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting tea?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Diana, and Alison reluctantly said she was too.

  When Chloe appeared – a dishevelled teenager in a hoody and pyjamas, with unbrushed hair and pale spotty skin – she could not have looked less like her polished mother. She was also, surprisingly, carrying a baby in a frilly white dress. Monica seemed annoyed. ‘Why did you get her up from her nap?’

  ‘She was awake, Mum. You can’t just leave her there.’

  Monica set her jaw. ‘Give me her.’ She held the baby at arm’s length. To the officers: ‘Do I need to be here if you’re talking to her? She’s underage.’

  ‘Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.’

  She sighed. ‘Fine. But if the baby cries, I’m taking her out.’

  Alison wished they could chat without Monica; she didn’t think Chloe would feel exactly at ease with her mother in the room. ‘Hi, Chloe. We just need to talk to everyone who was here that day, who might have seen something.’

  Chloe seemed nervous, but it could have just been her age. ‘I didn’t see anything.’

  ‘OK, but could you just talk us through it? Maybe you’d like to sit down?’

  ‘Sit down,’ barked Monica. ‘Honestly, don’t they teach you any manners at that school?’

  Chloe perched on the edge of a plush grey armchair. ‘I was in my room most of the day. I don’t like the sun and I’ve been off sick this term. Glandular fever.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Chloe.’ This could explain her pasty and pale appearance. ‘Your room is upstairs?’ Near the balcony. Maybe she had seen something.

  ‘Yes, but . . . I only went out when I heard the screaming. So I don’t know what happened. She fell, I guess.’

  ‘And who was out there?’ Diana was taking notes.

  Chloe fiddled with the fringe on a cushion. ‘Dunno. Lots of people were on the landing. Aaron, Jax, that Cathy woman. Mum came up as well.’

  ‘Cathy? You’re sure?’ Cathy had said she was downstairs when the fall happened, changing the baby’s nappy. Was that a lie? And Jax said they were also downstairs, in the living room. Alison was acutely aware of Monica’s stroppy presence, the baby in her arms who seemed half drowsed, barely making a peep.

  Chloe shrugged. ‘Think so. I don’t know all their names.’

  ‘She had her baby with her?’ Maybe she’d meant she was changing Arthur upstairs, not downstai
rs.

  ‘No.’ Chloe shook her head.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yep. That other woman, her wife or whatever, she had their baby when she came up afterwards.’

  So Hazel and Cathy had lied about that. Or did they just make a mistake, remember wrong? Diana took over. ‘And did you see anything else that day – notice any tensions between the couples, maybe?’

  Monica opened her mouth. ‘Eh, excuse me . . .’

  ‘Please, Mrs Dunwood. I must ask you only to interrupt if Chloe’s at risk in some way, or you think she doesn’t understand what she’s being asked.’

  Monica subsided. ‘She’s fifteen. I don’t know why you’d take her word for anything.’

  Chloe snorted, ignoring her mother. ‘Tension? Er, only loads. All of them were in some kind of fight, I think. The Asian couple, the two women, Jax and her guy – he must be loads younger than her. Only people who weren’t were that older posh woman and her husband.’

  ‘Anita and Jeremy?’

  ‘Yeah. They seemed OK. But the rest – drama city.’ Chloe’s eyes went to her mother. ‘And I mean everyone.’

  At this Monica sat upright. ‘I think that’s enough now. I can call your supervisor, you know. Don’t think we’re not aware of our rights, in this house. My husband plays golf with one of the country’s top criminal barristers.’

  Chloe rolled her eyes dramatically behind her mother’s back, and Alison fought a smile. ‘One thing, Mrs Dunwood.’ She tapped the framed wedding picture, deliberately smearing it. ‘Your wedding – this was six months ago, I believe?’

  ‘I suppose. Why?’

  ‘You said it was a year ago before.’ Alison heard a small chuckle that she assumed was from Chloe.

  Monica frowned harder. ‘I believe I said about a year; anyway, a year, six months, what’s the difference? It hardly has a bearing on the case.’

  But maybe it did. There were so many little lies and omissions here, that Alison didn’t know what was important and what wasn’t. ‘I’m sure it doesn’t. Thank you, Chloe, you’ve been very helpful.’ Now Alison knew for sure that several people were lying about where they’d been when the fall happened. She just had to find out why.

  Jax – five weeks earlier

  ‘But what can have happened? Who’d do this?’ I sounded hysterical, but I couldn’t help it.

  ‘No one.’ Aaron knelt in front of me, tenderly looking at my foot. The bleeding had stopped but it still throbbed where the glass had gone in. I’d done my best to put a bandage on it, but it was hard when I couldn’t bend over, elephant that I was. ‘Something just knocked it over, probably. A fox maybe.’ It was certainly plausible; we were plagued by foxes screeching at night and getting into our bins. But broken bottles, on top of everything else? The car, Minou, the messages, the mail-out . . .

  ‘Both bottles?’

  ‘I don’t know. You said you heard someone outside?’

  ‘Maybe. I’m not sure.’ Would someone really do that, come all the way to my house and smash my milk bottles? What a strange combination of pettiness and rage. I realised that I should have told Aaron about the messages before this, and at the very least I should now, but I still found that I couldn’t. Things were too unstable, still no more word on his mother, my health issues. And he didn’t know that version of me, naive and wilful and destructive, and I didn’t want him to. I was a different person now. I wondered if Mark Jarvis would say the same about himself, if that was why he’d gotten out of prison now. He’d said at first he hadn’t done anything, that it was just curiosity that had made him download the images. He’d even tried to say it was research, which I suppose was another good explanation for why he gave so much time to the charity: camouflage. Then the truth came out, the picture that showed his face, and he couldn’t lie any more.

  It wasn’t the same. I drew my cardigan around me. ‘I’m just worried, you know? It’s not nice, being stuck at home all day, afraid I might start bleeding any minute.’

  He frowned. ‘I wish I could be here with you. And I’m sorry, babe, but Nina wants me to go round again tonight.’

  ‘Again?’ I knew we needed the money, but I needed him too.

  ‘Something about VAT.’ He sounded so apologetic. ‘At least she’s paying me.’

  Was Nina really making so much from running antenatal groups that she could afford to pay someone for five nights of accountancy support? Perhaps she was just trying to help us. I forced a smile. ‘It’s OK. I’ll watch TV or something.’ And wait for whoever had broken my bottles and sabotaged my car to come back.

  ‘Just rest, babe.’

  Rest. As if it was easy to lie flat on your back, alone, with nothing but the circulation of your thoughts.

  I heard a noise outside, a rap at the door. Aaron’s head turned. ‘That’ll be her now.’

  ‘She’s picking you up?’

  He shrugged. ‘She said it was on her way home anyway, we might as well walk together.’ He was putting his jacket on, the muscles of his shoulders twisting beautifully. ‘Bye, babe.’

  ‘Wait!’ I called him back. ‘Did you do those posters?’

  He frowned. ‘Posters?’

  I knew he hadn’t. ‘For Minou! She’s missing, remember?’

  He sighed. That enraged me. ‘Babe, she’s a cat. They do this.’

  ‘And how would you know? Did you ever have a cat?’ That was low. Of course he hadn’t. Kids in foster care didn’t get pets.

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Please, Aaron. I can’t do it myself, I can’t even stand up. I ask you to do this one little thing and you still won’t!’

  ‘I’ve been busy!’

  ‘She’s my best friend,’ I said dramatically. ‘I don’t know what I’ll do if something’s happened to her. What if it’s the Croydon Cat Killer?’

  ‘I thought they said there wasn’t one.’

  ‘Huh. They might have said that.’

  A look crossed his face, as if upset that I’d said the cat was my best friend rather than him. I saw him force the irritation down. ‘I’ll do it this weekend, I promise. Love you.’ He was gone. As the door slammed I shuffled to the window, in time to see him and Nina walk off. Why hadn’t she come in to say hello? It was weird, wasn’t it, calling round for him just so they could walk there? Nina wore jeans and a sort of poncho, long silver earrings. She looked slim and stylish, not remotely like an elephant. I watched as the two dark heads disappeared down the street, and for a moment Nina turned to the side and I saw her laughing, glowing face. For some reason, I was stabbed by a shard of fear. She has him now. I told myself that was stupid and lumbered back to the sofa to watch something mindless on TV.

  Alison

  Rahul Farooq was on a break when they arrived at the hospital he worked at – as it happened, the same one where Alison was having her fertility treatment. A sense of doom had fallen over her. In this building her dreams had come to die. But never mind that now.

  Rahul was easy to find – lounging against the side of the building smoking. Alison thought of the painfully tidy house she’d met his wife in and wondered if Aisha knew he smoked. Perhaps not, from the guilty way he stubbed it out as they approached. Alison explained who they were.

  ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘We just need a word. Since you weren’t home when we called round.’

  He flushed. ‘It’s work, I can’t always get back in time. You know how it is.’

  She did but wasn’t going to let him see that. Diana said, ‘Is there somewhere we can talk, Rahul?’

  He sighed, ran his hands over his face. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks – was it just having a newborn and doing shift work, or something more? ‘There’s a lawn bit out back.’

  It turned out to be a picnic bench and scrappy patch of grass, ambulances coming and going in the background. Alison went first, her usual questions, where were you at the barbecue, did you see anything, did anyone have a reason to hurt Nina. His story was the same
as Aisha’s – they were in the garden, they didn’t see it happen but heard the noise. Yes, Hazel was with them when the fall took place, but then she went inside. No, they had hardly known the other group members, or Nina either.

  ‘You and your wife, you haven’t known each other long either?’

  He bristled slightly. ‘Over a year.’

  ‘But before you got married . . . ?’

  ‘It’s not so unusual.’

  ‘Would you say you know each other well?’

  Slight pause. ‘As well as you can after living together, having a baby.’

  ‘And how are you coping with little Hari?’

  ‘Fine. Well, he cries at night, but that’s what they do, isn’t it? I’m on shifts so I’m used to not sleeping.’ He smiled slightly, and Alison saw how attractive he was, dark hair and eyes, slight stubble. Or at least he would be, if he didn’t appear so heavy with worry. ‘It’s worth it, anyway.’ She gave Diana a very slight nod. Diana leaned her elbows on the picnic table.

  ‘Rahul. Does your wife know about your previous conviction?’

  There it was. He flinched. ‘Oh. I didn’t realise . . .’

  ‘We ran all the witnesses through the system. You came up.’

  ‘She doesn’t know, no. It . . . I didn’t want to worry her.’

  Imagine marrying someone and you didn’t even know they’d been convicted of a crime. It was one reason to date inside the force – everyone had been thoroughly vetted in advance. ‘You got off with a caution, was that right?’ said Alison.

  ‘And a fine.’ His voice was flat, exhausted. ‘And before you go shouting about it, yes, the ambulance lot know. They decided to give me a second chance.’ Probably they were so short of staff they were prepared to overlook the odd little slip.

  ‘Want to tell us more about it, maybe?’ Alison tried to sound friendly, knowing they had him over a nice little barrel.