Her Perfect Family

by Driscoll, Teresa

  Matthew wonders what exactly Amanda’s using. He thinks of Sam’s murder just a few hours earlier. He considers an immediate dive to put her in a hold, but Amanda quickly pulls her bag on to her lap and reaches into it. She meets his eye as a warning. He stills himself.

  ‘Could you give us a minute, Matthew? We were just sorting out something private here.’ Amanda’s still looking at him and keeps her hand firmly inside her bag, clearly gripping something.

  ‘Actually I’ve asked Amanda to leave now.’ Rachel stands and moves closer to Gemma’s bed. ‘I’m very tired.’

  ‘I won’t stay, then. Just wanted to update that it’s all going well at the cathedral.’ Matthew pretends to check his watch. ‘I need to get back there, actually. Can give you a lift if you like, Amanda?’

  ‘I’ve got my own car.’ Amanda scrapes her chair backwards towards the wall so that she can see both Matthew and Rachel Hartley too.

  Matthew sips his drink. ‘Where’s your husband?’ He keeps his voice steady as he looks at Rachel.

  ‘Taking a shower.’

  ‘Maybe you’d like to take a little break too. Join him? Get some rest?’

  ‘She’s going nowhere. Actually, can we change seats, Rachel?’ Amanda glances between Rachel and the window on to the ward. The blinds are down but Matthew’s hoping once the armed officers arrive, they’ll be able to make out movements through the gaps.

  ‘I’m fine here. I like to be next to Gemma.’ Rachel’s voice cracks and Matthew can see that her hand is shaking as she reaches out to take her daughter’s.

  ‘I said we need to change seats.’ Amanda’s head is jerking strangely, like a tic, and she takes her right hand, now holding a gun, from her bag and points it at Gemma.

  Rachel lets out a horrible noise. Like an animal in pain. She then throws herself on to the bed, shielding Gemma’s body. ‘You stay away from her. You leave us alone.’

  ‘It’s going to be all right, Mrs Hartley. Let’s keep everything nice and calm.’ Matthew keeps his gaze fixed on Amanda, who moves into Rachel’s seat in the corner. It’s deliberate. She’s placed herself out of line of sight through the window to the ward and hence out of line of shot from the ward. She must have guessed about the backup.

  ‘Come on, Amanda. You don’t want to make this any worse. You don’t want to hurt anyone here.’ Matthew speaks slowly but Amanda won’t even look at him. It’s unlikely now that armed support will be able to get a clean shot when they do turn up. So he’s on his own. His mind’s in overdrive, trying to work out the least dangerous of his options.

  ‘You need to wake Gemma up.’ Amanda’s voice is cross suddenly, and still her head is sort of twitching. ‘I told you already, Mrs Hartley, I need to talk to your daughter.’

  Rachel is crying now, still lying across her daughter’s form in the bed. Matthew thinks of Amelie and something shifts inside. He knows he’d do the same. Try to shield her.

  ‘I can’t wake her up. She’s in a coma. What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Come on, Amanda. She’s right. We can’t talk to Gemma today. But we can work something out. Amanda. Look at me. Talk to me.’

  At last she turns to him, also moving the gun. Pointed now at Matthew.

  ‘She opened her eyes. She’s faking it.’

  A pause. Matthew waits.

  ‘I just want what’s fair. Don’t you see that?’ Amanda tilts her head towards the mother and daughter huddled together on the bed. One utterly still. The other weeping. ‘Look at them. I just want to know what that’s like.’ She pauses again. ‘To be everything to someone.’ Her tone is darker. Determined. ‘I’ve got nothing else now. Only the baby. I just need to talk to Gemma. Make her listen.’

  Matthew’s mind is whirling, trying to figure out what the hell Amanda means about Gemma’s baby. He needs to distract her. Turn her away from Gemma.

  ‘Look. I can understand why you’re so upset. About the job. After all you’ve done for the university.’

  ‘You know about that?’ Amanda lets out a little huff.

  ‘Must be devastating.’

  ‘I gave my whole life to that place.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, you did.’

  ‘It’s ridiculous. You don’t need a degree to do a good job.’ She pauses, that chin twitch again. ‘And half of the students take drugs. They don’t throw them out.’ Her tone’s more distant, as if she’s talking to herself. Still he needs her to look at him, not Gemma.

  ‘So what happened with Sam, Amanda?’

  She narrows her eyes and for a beat Matthew regrets the question.

  ‘Why don’t we move outside? Just you and me. And we can talk about what happened with Sam. I want to listen. I want to understand.’ Matthew pauses as Amanda stares at Gemma, wrapped in her mother’s arms on the bed. ‘Whatever’s happened, it’s not Gemma’s fault.’

  ‘He spun her the very same story, you know.’

  ‘Sam?’

  ‘Yes. I waited for him.’ Her face changes again. ‘I waited for him and look what happened. I get nothing and she gets a baby.’ She turns the gun towards Gemma again. ‘You need to wake her up. We need to talk. That baby needs me.’

  Matthew’s just trying to calculate the risk. The distance between him and Amanda across the room. If he dives, can he disarm her? Or will it trigger the shot?

  But Rachel’s standing up. She turns to step between Amanda and the bed. ‘You can’t seriously think that anyone would ever let you near a baby?’

  ‘No, Rachel.’ He puts up his arm, but Rachel’s eyes are wide and defiant.

  ‘You stay away from my daughter.’

  And then Rachel suddenly lurches towards Amanda herself and all options are gone. Matthew dives too. There’s the thunder of the gun firing. A huge punch to his chest. He can’t tell where he is any more. On the ground? Is he on the ground?

  His eyes are open but he can see only blackness.

  There’s screaming. ‘You did this. You all did this.’ He can’t tell whose voice.

  A second shot.

  He blinks and blinks but still cannot see properly. Just a blur of more shapes in the room. More loud voices.

  And somehow he’s in another room too. So many young and frightened faces in their gowns and their mortar boards, all staring at him.

  Ice cream. Ice cream.

  And then it is their hall at home and Amelie is running down the stairs. Daddy, Daddy. You need to get up.

  But he can’t get up.

  He can feel all the air and the blood seeping from his insides. But he can’t see. He can’t make Amelie hear him.

  And he can’t get up.

  EPILOGUE

  THE MOTHER

  I regret the suit. Too hot. But they never get the forecast right, do they?

  At least the baby looks cool. Gorgeous, actually.

  I lean in to offer a finger and she grasps it in that endearing and utterly centred way, focusing her eyes with great concentration as if my finger’s the most exciting thing she’s seen all day. She clings tighter, tighter and then her expression starts to change and I realise what’s really going on here.

  ‘Oh no.’ Gemma’s tone is mortified as she leans in to watch her daughter’s face also. ‘She’s doing a poo. Oh, Sophie, not now. Please – not now.’

  The baby, my beautiful granddaughter – pink and plump and perfect in cream silk gown and matching bow in her hair – has decided to celebrate her first visit to church in her own inimitable style. I watch, first the pursing of the lips that to the untrained eye could be a smile, but changing – ah, yes – to that special sort of grimace.

  ‘What do we do?’ Gemma looks at me in a panic. ‘Mum. Everyone’s ready to start. What do we do?’

  I move swiftly, Sophie still in my arms, to the side of the church, closer to the door that leads to the corridor. Gemma follows.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, honey. I’ll ask the vicar for ten minutes. Here. You go and change her. No one will mind. There’s a proper station in
the ladies. I saw it earlier.’

  ‘But the dress. I can’t manage Sophie’s dress in there.’

  ‘Let’s just whip it off here for a minute.’

  ‘We can’t do that.’

  ‘Course we can. No one will see.’ I lift Sophie under her bare arms and hold her out – legs dangling – to her mother, smiling at how surreal that word, that new label feels. Mother. My little girl . . . a mother. ‘Take her through in her vest and I’ll bring the dress in a few minutes.’ I unzip the beautiful silk and between us, we slip it off, leaving Sophie in her pink, sleeveless vest and nappy – legs kicking. ‘Do you want me to come with you? Help?’

  ‘No. I’m fine. I can do it. You speak to the vicar.’

  I put the dress carefully over my arm and watch Gemma head through the double doors towards the ladies in the corridor. I take in the blade – how effortlessly she now walks on her blade – and feel overwhelmed with love for her.

  I think of the day she finally woke from the coma and how I so stupidly thought the whole bad dream was over. No brain damage. And then the new nightmare. All the physio. The pain. The tears. My brave, brave girl learning how to adjust her stance and her balance as her shape and her weight changed week on week through the pregnancy. Learning and relearning how to walk.

  I think of her now out running while Sophie naps; how much easier she finds that blade.

  I’m going to wear my blade today, not the leg. Do you think people will mind?

  Of course no one will mind.

  I wait for the doors to swing back into place behind her before I turn, spotting the vicar. I hold up my hand and sweep across the front of the church to share news of our little impasse. He laughs. A family man himself.

  I stand alone then at the front, needing a moment. We are not especially religious. Haven’t been in any kind of church since . . . Well, you know. But it’s a pretty little church and Gemma so wanted this christening. This blessing. She can make up her own mind about religion later, don’t you think, Mum?

  It’s a modern design – pale stone and contemporary stained-glass windows. The sun is out, casting dancing shapes of blue and green and red across the pale oak floor. That other Rachel, that Rachel before, would watch the colours and find it pretty. But this Rachel – no. This Rachel thinks only of those wretched jugs from Alex. Blue and green and red.

  I smashed them all after his case – smash, smash. Shocked at my capacity for rage. They gave him community service, would you believe. Community service. The only silver lining – he’s not Sophie’s father. Gemma decided on a test. So we have a restraining order in place. He must never come near any of us again.

  I brush the skirt of my dress and think of my counsellor. She’s a great one for breathing. In through the nose and out through the mouth. And count, Rachel. I had expected to be past it all by now but she says I must be patient. And so I do the breathing. Four cycles and I feel a little calmer. I check my watch, wondering if they’ll come.

  I tap my foot and take in the little huddle of people, waiting to take up their seats. Ed chatting to my mother. He seems to feel my stare, turns and smiles. I smile back and lift the dress to signal the pause. He laughs. We’re doing so much better – me and Ed. No more secrets.

  He winks then swings his body back to my mother and I turn my gaze too. Near the font, a few of Gemma’s university friends are gathered in an animated group, looking so young and fresh-skinned with their long hair and their high heels. Their high hopes.

  I wonder if any of them were there. That awful day. The cathedral. No, don’t, Rachel. And breathe . . .

  I check my watch again. Were we even right to send the invitation? Probably not de rigueur at all. I mean – it’s a job, isn’t it? Not really personal. They didn’t reply but nor did lots of others and sometimes people just forget, don’t they?

  Gemma so wants them here.

  A couple of minutes pass and I’m just about to leave to help her out when there’s the squeak of the main door. And at last there he is. Impossibly tall with his curly hair and alongside him a beautiful, slim woman and the prettiest little girl with golden curls to match her father.

  I hurry through the aisle to greet them.

  ‘Matthew. I’m so glad you came.’ I want to hug him hello but realise this might be every kind of wrong. Not least because his arm is still in a sling. The last email said he’d had a second surgery on the shoulder.

  ‘How’s the arm doing?’

  ‘Surgeon’s happy. Should be right as rain. Back on the golf course in no time. I’m just wearing this to milk it.’

  His wife smiles and holds out her hand. ‘He doesn’t even play golf. But he is milking it.’

  ‘You must be Sally. I’m pleased to meet you.’ I beam, worrying quietly what she really thinks of it all. Of me. Of us.

  ‘You too, Mrs Hartley.’ Her smile reaches her eyes and I’m relieved.

  ‘Rachel, please.’

  I hold on to her hand and squeeze it. I’ve always felt it was my fault. Matthew getting shot. Wish I could find the right words. ‘We owe your husband so much. I’m really so very sorry. About the injury.’

  She doesn’t answer but holds the smile and squeezes my hand in return. And I realise that I cannot imagine what it’s really like. To live the way he does. The way they do.

  ‘Good job she nagged me to wear the vest, eh?’ Matthew’s winking. The story in the paper said the bulletproof vest was a last-minute thing. It was in his boot after he loaned it to a colleague. He only put it on after talking to Sally on the phone. Without it? Best not to think . . .

  ‘You see. You should always listen to your wife,’ I say, and we all laugh.

  ‘Where’s the baby?’ The little girl looks disappointed, casting her eye around the church. ‘There’s no baby.’

  ‘Comfort break. Number twos.’ I grimace, lowering my voice.

  ‘Oh dear.’ Sally’s now grinning. ‘Remember that all too well. She’s having a nappy change, Amelie.’

  ‘Yuck!’

  ‘I’m sparing the dress.’ I lift up the folds of silk to illustrate as Amelie asks if she can light a candle and Sally nods, leading her to the side of the church where a black, wrought-iron stand of candles is casting dancing opals on the stained-glass window above.

  ‘Seriously. Is the arm going to be OK, Matthew?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. What I did. I should have left it to you. I just—’ I’m thinking of that moment of madness. Diving at Amanda.

  ‘Please. We’ve been through this, Rachel. It was Amanda’s fault – all of it. Not yours. You were very brave.’

  ‘Was I?’ I close my eyes to the picture that still haunts my dreams the most. Matthew on the floor – shot and bleeding. And then Amanda – the gun to her own head, her eyes darting to Gemma then meeting mine one last time. You did this. You all did this. And then the horrible boom of the second shot, Amanda’s body thrown backwards with the force.

  And for the first time in that sad little cubicle, with all the blood and the mayhem as police rushed in, everyone shouting – man down, man down – I was glad of Gemma’s coma. Don’t wake up, Gemma. Don’t wake up just yet.

  ‘How’s Gemma doing?’

  It was ten more days before she opened her eyes. And at last kept them open.

  ‘Amazing. You’ll see in a minute. Actually, I’d better go. Give her a hand.’

  ‘Of course.’

  I put my hand on his good arm. And for a minute I just keep it there, eyes closed once more.

  Matthew and I last talked at Amanda’s inquest. Ed didn’t want me to go but I had no choice – a witness summons – and, in any case, I wanted to try to understand the mania. Why on earth Amanda would do that to Gemma.

  While we waited for the coroner, Matthew told me about Laura’s transfer back to Canada. Some appeal deal brokered by her mother. Laura will have to stay under supervision but in a special unit, not jail. Turns out she was sending messages to Gemma
as well as stalking me. She found Ed on a website through his work. Said in court that she needed to warn Gemma and me too that the man ‘posing as Ed’ was an imposter. He’s not who he says he is.

  She sent the note to Matthew via his daughter after reading about his work on the case. Checked his background online and got it into her head that he might be the one to finally listen to her. You have to help me find my husband. No one will believe me.

  The sad thing is she went back to Wells Cathedral, genuinely hoping to find the ‘real’ Ed there again. For their anniversary.

  And then the inquest.

  It was held in a dark, wood-panelled room in a town hall and wasn’t at all what I expected. Deep down, I suppose what I needed and wanted was a day in court for Gemma. A reckoning.

  But that’s not what I got; not what an inquest is. Both Matthew and DI Sanders tried to prepare me but I didn’t truly understand until I was sitting in the room. I remember this horrible wave of realisation as the coroner explained his remit; that his job was not to rule on Amanda’s crimes but on her death. Only why and how she died.

  I sat there and the cruelty of it finally hit me. I wasn’t there, in that dark and horrible room, as the mother of the victim. I was there as the last person to see Amanda alive.

  We did at least get more of the story. The police found a nursery set up at her house. A cot with a mobile in place. A nursing chair in the corner. Elephant curtains at the window.

  There were diaries too – a huge stack. Mad and angry scribblings filling page after page. Turns out Amanda had an affair with Sam when she first started at the university in her thirties. She fell pregnant but had a termination which she later deeply regretted. Sam said it was ‘the wrong time’. That his wife was fragile. Not Lily; this was his first wife.

  Amanda waited for him. Continued the affair on and off for more than a decade. She genuinely believed that, one day, he would get divorced and they would have a family of their own. But she suffered insomnia and stress and became dependent on sleeping tablets. When her doctor tried to reduce her dose, she went to dealers. And so the drugs spiral began.