‘I need to know what’s happening.’ Ed directs this at the policeman on duty outside Gemma’s cubicle, but the guard just stands to open the door into Gemma’s space.
Inside Rachel has her hand up to her mouth, watching the TV above Gemma’s bed on mute, tears rolling down her cheeks.
He was expecting an immediate row over Laura. A scene with DI Sanders.
‘It’s Alex,’ Rachel whispers. ‘He’s on the top of a car park, threatening to jump.’
‘What? And they’re showing that on live TV?’
‘No. Not live. But they’re showing pictures. He’s got a banner, Ed. And a loudhailer. He’s making demands. Saying things about Gemma.’
‘Gemma? What the hell . . .’ Ed moves deeper into the room so he can read the screen.
A rolling headline says, ‘Rooftop protest linked to coma student Gemma Hartley’.
‘He’s told everyone she’s pregnant, Ed. The whole world.’ Rachel is sobbing now. ‘Why would he do that? Why would he do such a horrible thing? Is this because we refused to see him? Ignored those notes?’
Alex sent a second note, asking for a paternity test. A ridiculous request. They gave the note to DI Sanders. She said not to engage.
Ed moves across the room to put his arms around Rachel’s shoulders – the chasm and confusion over Laura temporarily forgotten.
‘The absolute bastard. Why are the media allowing this?’
‘He contacted them through some campaign groups. Pro-lifers and fathers’ rights groups. He says he has a right to know if it’s his baby. He’s going on about wanting the test; he says we’re refusing to see him and the police won’t tell him anything either. He’s saying that he wants to bring the child up himself.’
‘The man’s completely off his head. This is monstrous.’ Ed feels furious. Also helpless. He was resigned to the possibility of Gemma’s news becoming public eventually. But not like this . . .
He glances at their daughter, silent and still in the bed. She has on the headphones that Rachel now uses to resolve their disagreement over whether Gemma can hear. They’re his expensive noise-cancelling ones. Rachel plugs them into her iPad, linked to a relaxation or meditation app, playing gentle sounds of running water. A soft breeze. It normally annoys him that Rachel still insists on this. He doesn’t think Gemma can hear. But at least they’ve stopped arguing about it and today he’s surprised to feel grateful for the precaution. He could not bear for his daughter, trapped wherever she is trapped, to know what’s going on today.
Just a week after someone sank a bullet in her leg.
‘Do we still need to talk about Laura?’ Ed’s staring at Rachel.
‘Yes. But not now. Not now. DI Sanders is dealing with all this first. Oh – what the hell do we do?’ Rachel’s tone is desperate. ‘Should we get a lawyer, do you think? Is there some way we can stop the media running this? Letting him say these things?’
‘I don’t know, love.’
‘What about Helen’s sister? She deals with the press all the time. Maybe she can advise us?’
‘No, no. We don’t really know her, do we? And we need to be careful who we talk to.’
But Rachel’s already taken out her phone and is typing.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m just sending a text to Helen. Telling her we need media advice.’
Ed lets out a huff of air. This is not favour territory. ‘What about the police guy? In their press office?’
‘I don’t like him. I’m not even sure I trust him, Ed.’
‘Well – I’m going to ring our lawyer. We need proper, sound advice, not favours.’ He stands just as the picture on the TV changes. There’s a close-up of Alex, sitting on the outer wall of the car park’s top storey. A headline says ‘These are not live pictures’. There’s some kind of home-made banner strung out from the wall. The other channel’s pixelating it. But not this one. Ed leans forward to read it properly. Rachel follows his gaze and does the same.
‘A father’s rights’.
‘Why do they say it’s not live?’
‘They probably don’t want to get blamed if he jumps.’
‘Jumps?’ Rachel looks horrified. ‘You don’t seriously think he’ll jump, do you?’ She looks back at the screen. ‘No, no. He’s doing this for attention. To ruin Gemma’s life. Like when he came here and caused the scene. He’s just bitter because they split up.’
‘And what if he is the father?’ Ed looks at Gemma. ‘What if he actually did this to her?’
Rachel looks confused. ‘You’re just saying that because you don’t want to believe it could be Laura.’
He doesn’t answer at first. Doesn’t want to fight over Laura while all this is going on.
‘What if he meant to kill her, Rachel, but didn’t know about the baby? And now he’s doing this out of guilt – because he realises he nearly killed his own child?’
Rachel turns back to the screen, tears still rolling down her cheeks.
A male reporter, his hand holding his earpiece in place, is now giving an update live. He says that the rooftop protester is understood to be the boyfriend of Gemma Hartley who was shot during her graduation ceremony at Maidstead Cathedral.
‘Ex-boyfriend,’ Rachel barks at the screen.
The reporter continues to say the protester has emailed local media to claim that he and Gemma are expecting a baby together and he wants a say in the child’s future. And information on Gemma’s condition in hospital which he’s being denied.
‘How are they allowed to say this?’ Rachel’s tone is utterly distraught.
The phone at their legal team’s office is finally connected but goes through to answerphone. Damn. Ed asks for his lawyer to return his call urgently but checks his watch and realises it’s unlikely. They’ve only used the firm for wills and moving house. He has no idea if they do out-of-hours work or will even be able to advise him within standard hours.
Rachel’s phone buzzes. ‘It’s a text from Helen. She’s watching the news too. The national bulletin must be running a summary.’ She pauses to read some more. ‘She’s sent her sister’s number. So what do you think? She’s experienced with the media. Shall I ring her?’
‘No. I don’t think that’s a good idea at all. The fewer people we speak to the better.’
Rachel hesitates and then Ed can see a male reporter, just finishing his live update on the TV screen above Rachel’s head. The journalist suddenly turns towards the car park, which is behind him. It’s not possible to see Alex from the reporter’s position. Ed suspects that’s deliberate in case something awful happens.
‘Wait a moment. I’m just hearing something . . .’ The reporter seems to be listening to someone out of shot. When he turns back, his eyes are at first difficult to read.
‘OK. The police are just sharing an update.’
CHAPTER 34
Black and white
Shouldn’t it always be what’s best for the child? Isn’t that always the bottom line?
Here is the way I see it. I have everything ready. Everything set up. I am prepared to do this properly. To put everything else on hold for this. That’s what a child needs. Absolute dedication. Unconditional love.
A person who doesn’t want a child shouldn’t have that child. The child would be better off somewhere else. With someone who wants them.
Being wanted is the most important thing of all, surely.
It’s not rocket science. It’s simple.
I am ready to do this. Make the sacrifices. The child should be with me.
People are not always what they seem to be. And sometimes people just will not listen. Or believe. Or face up to the truth.
But I know the truth. And I see things clearly here. I see things that other people cannot see. People just need to listen to me now . . .
I feel completely sure that I know what’s best here.
CHAPTER 35
THE FATHER – BEFORE
Ed Hartley was certainly no
t looking for love the night he met Rachel.
He’d given up on love – in fact had pretty much given up on life. Back in England after the nightmare of Laura’s illness, he’d told no one the truth of what had happened in Canada. Without parents to take an interest and no siblings, there was just a small circle of friends who were all surprised to learn he was back so soon.
So what happened?
At first Ed hedged his bets, imagining he would eventually be returning to Canada. That a treatment programme would be found for Laura. Given this, he dodged all the questions out of loyalty to his wife. He didn’t want her to be judged and he didn’t want to be judged himself for seeming to have abandoned her.
But as the weeks stretched to months with Laura’s condition getting worse rather than better, his strategy came undone. He felt utterly isolated.
His circle of friends was the usual mix of old and newer via work. There were a few university friends who kept in touch and a couple of boarding-school friends who knew him a little better, being aware of his childhood trauma. There was also Mark, who’d worked alongside him at the agency before Canada. Ed liked Mark. A laid-back kind of guy with a dry wit and a warm smile. He wasn’t as blokey and showy as some others in marketing. They often had drinks together on a Friday. He and Laura had invited him for supper a few times and she’d liked him too. They’d issued an open invitation for Mark to visit them in Canada. They’d even exchanged letters over possible dates but of course the trip never came off.
Mark was one of the first to get in touch with both curiosity and concern when Ed was suddenly back in the UK. Ed played it cool. Put on his brave face. He shared only that he and Laura were sadly trialling a separation. He let the assumption of an affair hang in the air, neither confirming nor denying leading questions. He got sympathy and curiosity and handled both from his dazed state with a mixture of detachment and annoyance.
Still Ed was hoping to keep Laura in his life. What he didn’t realise at the time was he was already slipping slowly into a depression. He had some savings and set himself up initially in a budget hotel near Bristol. He spent his days filing his CV with recruitment agencies, stressing that he didn’t mind where he worked but he needed something fast. He didn’t want to commit to renting anywhere to live until he knew where work might take him.
His CV was thankfully sound. And in the end it was Mark who came up trumps work wise. He’d moved and was now in a senior role in a marketing agency in Manchester; he offered Ed some freelance contracts with clients in the sector he knew well. Drinks and hospitality. Ed did so well he was offered a contract, which Mark hinted was very likely to turn into a full-time job. So Ed took the plunge and got himself a studio flat with river views.
He couldn’t say that he was happy but he found a way to function. The hermit life. He phoned Canada every week at first, pushing for permission to visit Laura. But there was no change in her condition and no change in the advice for him to stay away. Slowly her parents became more distant on the phone. The gap between calls became greater. After six months they raised the ‘D word’, believing it better for Laura. Better for them too. Get on with your life, Ed. This is the best way to help her. Let her go . . .
He resisted. He investigated therapies in the UK. But it was like pushing water uphill. And there was no way Laura could travel. Or even see him.
After nearly two years, he caved. Signed the divorce papers. He had never felt such a failure.
In sickness and in health . . .
He’d let Laura down and he’d let himself down.
Through all this, Mark coaxed him out when he could. Drinks here and there. A movie. He tried to get him to talk properly about what had happened with Laura but Ed said there was nothing much to talk about. We got married too quickly. End of.
And then one cold week in November, Mark and his girlfriend Lottie invited him to dinner. Just a few nice people. Please come.
It was all very last-minute – a call just a couple of hours ahead of the meal. He doesn’t even remember why he said yes in the end. Maybe precisely because it was late notice. No big deal. But suddenly he was ‘out’ on a Saturday evening, freshly divorced and freshly showered in a clean shirt, and there she was. Rachel in her red dress with her big, broad smile and her sparkly eyes.
‘I hear you were in Canada. So what’s Canada like?’
‘I don’t really like to talk about it to be honest.’ He looked into her face and waited for the wary expression. He waited for the follow-up questions and the narrowing of eyes. He waited for her to look bored; to excuse herself to the bathroom so she could return and talk to the guest on her other side without seeming rude. But to his surprise, none of that happened.
That night . . . or ever.
Instead Rachel leaned in closer and her smile broadened. ‘Well that’s fine by me. Let’s forget Canada. So what do you like to talk about?’
CHAPTER 36
THE DAUGHTER – BEFORE
Revenge is not forced upon a person but is a choice. Discuss in relation to A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.
I still feel numb. I still feel angry. And I still feel a complete mug.
But I also feel just a tiny bit more in control, because at least I’m getting information together. Proper information on my options.
I finally got to see ‘S’ yesterday and I’ve spent most of the time since in bed or on the phone, trying to be more practical. I will not let that man ruin my life . . .
I now have an assessment booked. Apparently they can do a scan to work out my exact dates so I know exactly how long I have before I need to make a final decision. They’re also offering counselling which I will definitely need because I honestly still have no idea what to do.
When I got back to my flat after seeing them together – ‘S’ and his very pregnant wife – I was so furious, I wanted revenge. I admit it; I wanted to tell everyone. I wanted to ring my friend Maddy. Post it on social media. Stuff his stupid job. I go cold thinking about it now – the fallout if I’d done that, I mean. But thankfully I calmed down quickly enough to realise a public showdown would reflect as badly on me as him. And it’s not just me any more. I have to think of the baby. If there’s even to be a baby.
So I sent a text to ‘S’, threatening to call round at his house for a chat if he didn’t reply.
He replied.
We met at a hotel we’ve been to before in a small village. I had to take a damn train again, fuming all the way. This time he didn’t book a room. He met me in a tiny alcove in the corner of a snug bar at the back of the place.
I can only assume he was planning to break up with me while securing a promise not to kiss and tell. So I decided to come out with it straight.
‘I’m pregnant. I’ve been trying to contact you ever since I found out.’
The shock on his face was extraordinary. ‘Pregnant? But I thought you were on the Pill?’ He was whispering and glancing around.
‘I am. I don’t know how it happened. So why the radio silence? Ghosting me.’
He ran his fingers through his hair and I watched his face really, really carefully and it was like seeing him for the very first time. I honestly couldn’t believe in that moment that I had been such a fool. He feigned all this concern. Tilted his head. And suddenly instead of seeing this man as mature and kind and genuinely into me, it was like watching him through this new lens; an actor rehearsing.
‘Wow. Poor you. What an awful worry.’ He leaned forward and touched my hand.
I pulled it back. ‘Yes. Poor me. So why didn’t you text me back?’
I wasn’t ready to tell him what I already knew; I wanted to see what lies he would tell me. How he would try to squirm out of the hole. But I honestly had no idea just how callous he would be.
‘I’ll pay. You mustn’t worry about the money.’
‘What?’ I could feel all this bile bubbling up. I was so shocked and so angry I wanted to hit him. I had to clench my hands into fists on my lap
to stop them trembling.
‘Well. You can’t keep it. You won’t want to keep it.’ He paused. ‘I do know it will be unpleasant. Awful for you. But I’ll help you through it. You will get past this.’
‘And what if I want to keep it? The baby. Our baby?’ Until that moment, I honestly hadn’t let myself even imagine this. I am terrified of a termination but kind of imagined I’d have no other option. But ‘S’ taking it instantly for granted I would do that, without a second thought, was too much.
‘Well. You can’t keep it. How can you keep it? Bring up a child?’
‘I thought you were going to leave your wife down the line. That’s what you said. That’s what you made me believe. That we were going to be together.’
He blushed then. Those fingers through his hair again. ‘Well, actually. That’s why I haven’t been in touch.’ He cleared his throat. He cast his actor’s eyes across the room and then back again, lowering his chin. I wondered if he actually practised this in a mirror. ‘She’s not been well.’
‘What’s the matter with her?’
‘I told you. She’s fragile. Ups and downs. We’re in a down.’
I remembered them alongside the car with the picnic basket. The way he kissed her. The way he touched her bump. Cupped her face. Took the sunglasses from the top of her head and placed them gently back on her nose.
I took in a deep breath and was weighing up if what I actually wanted was a scene. To call him out there and then. Shout. Cry. Have it out with him in public. Hit him?
A part of me did very much want all that but another part of me felt such an idiot too. I mean, you read about this kind of man. You see him in the movies. The problem is that you think you will be able to spot him in the flesh.
I looked right into his face and spoke very quietly. ‘I saw you. You and your pregnant wife. So you can cut the bullshit.’ I stood and picked up my handbag. ‘I came here tonight for one reason only. To warn you that I have your number. And you’d better watch yourself – because if I want to ruin your career, I can. And I will.’
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