Cross Her Heart

by Sarah Pinborough

  As it is, I’m bursting to talk to her about it. Maybe we’ll be able to sneak off later and I can tell her. Not that there’s much to say, but I just want to relive it. Get her opinion on him, on me, on everything. God, I’m like a teenager, all nerves and jittery excitement over a boy.

  ‘What the hell is going on over there?’ Richard’s smile turns to a frown as he looks at something beyond my shoulder. ‘Down by the river.’

  I turn, as does the rest of the small crowd around the ice-cream van. It’s like ripples in water, the sense of something off, spreading from one person to the next. I squint, the brightness of the day too much. In the distance the riverbank is busy. Where people had been lying or sitting on blankets, they are now on their feet, all facing the other way. Mothers hold their toddlers close. I can feel it from here; the relief and guilt in the tightness of a grip that screams thank God it’s not my child.

  Child … river … girl gone in … has someone got the ambulance men … Jesus where was the mother … what is wrong with people …

  The words drift back at us, Chinese whispers passing through the field, and suddenly I know, I just know, Ava is somewhere beyond all those people, she’s central to whatever has happened.

  I drop my ice cream as I start to run.

  ‘Lisa?’ Marilyn calls after me, confused. I barely hear her through the wall of my panic. This is my fault, all my fault, and pride and falls and happiness and loss and I run and I run, pushing hard through people as I force my way to the epicentre. Please God, let my baby be all right, please God let my baby be all right … my brain screams the prayer at a God I know isn’t listening and my eyes water with the kind of tears that come from terror.

  As I break through the final row of people, the first thing I see is the St John’s ambulance men, big figures in green uniforms blocking my view. Sunlight flashes from the silver foil of a blanket and for a moment everything sparkles, distracting me, and then she stands up and I see her. My baby. Soaking wet but alive.

  I run to her, wrapping my arms around her, burying my face into her stinking hair. Oh God, she’s alive. She’s safe. My baby is safe.

  ‘It’s okay, Mum. I’m okay.’

  She gives me a half-smile and I half-laugh in return, but it’s nearly a sob. And then suddenly her friends are there too and we’re a huddle of love around her, all their young voices high-pitched in my ears: What happened, I was just, oh my God I can’t believe, Jesus Ava, you saved him, this is mental … I cling to her, to all of them, not trusting myself to speak as relief makes my limbs tremble.

  A woman’s arm breaks through, reaching for Ava, and we splinter outwards. I see my own fear and relief reflected in the young woman’s face. She can only be about twenty-five. Something has settled into her face today, I think. Something that wasn’t there before.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says, through her tears. ‘Thank you. I don’t know how he got over there. He was supposed to be with the others …’

  She’s holding him tight. A little boy, wrapped, like my little girl, in a silver blanket. His big eyes peer out. He’s not crying. He’s too busy trying to process it in his young head. The danger. My heart stops for a moment. How old is he? Two or three? The same age as Daniel. As Daniel was. The world fractures around me again, my seeds of happiness blowing away through the cracks. This is what happens when you relax, my inner voice tells me. This is what happens when you let yourself be happy.

  ‘Look this way please!’ The voice is so commanding and I’m so lost in my relief for Ava, and the reminder of Daniel, that I do as I’m told. We all do.

  I’m blinded by the flash.

  21

  Local teenager saves toddler from drowning in dramatic river rescue …

  Tragedy was averted at Elleston town’s annual festival when plucky sixteen-year-old Ava Buckridge saved two-year-old Ben Starling from the River Stour. Ava, pictured below, was enjoying the sunshine when screams alerted her to the horror of two-year-old Ben struggling in the water. The quick-thinking teenager dived in without hesitation and pulled the boy to safety.

  The toddler had been playing with his cousin and older children but wandered off, and, unknown to his young mother, found his way across the bridge where he slipped on the steep riverbank. Thankfully, Ava, who swims at county level with Larkrise Swimmers at Elleston pool, was on hand, and Ben was returned to his mother safe and well.

  The pretty sixteen-year-old is humble as well as brave, commenting, ‘I saw the little boy in the water and a man was pulling his shoes off to jump in. I swim every day and knew I would have a better chance against the currents, so I just ran. Honestly, it wasn’t a big deal. But it was a bit cold!’

  22

  LISA

  I tell myself I won’t look, but my eyes drift to it every time I have to pass the front desk. Marilyn had one newspaper article laminated to keep, but Penny had this one framed. She says it reflects well on the company. Marilyn has all the press reports cut out in an envelope. So does Ava. I don’t even want to touch the paper. I feel as if my face shines out from each picture, though in truth I’m half turned away in most.

  The mug scalds my hand as I come back to my desk. It’s almost comforting, this pain that keeps me in the present.

  ‘You must be so proud,’ Marilyn says, for about the thousandth time this week, as I put her drink down. She’s got a new Internet page open. It’s the Larkrise Swimmers and Ava’s coach. He’s put a piece up about her and how all children should learn to swim. My jaw aches from tension. Why can’t they all shut up and go away?

  ‘Of course I am, how many times can I say it?’ I hold my mug tighter. ‘To be honest, I’m just happy the little boy is okay.’ Ben. His name is Ben, but when I see his face in the paper my breath catches as if he is Daniel. He’s not Daniel. Ben is alive. Daniel is dead. There are more pictures of Ava than there are of Ben and his mother. I’m not surprised. She looks like some American starlet in all of them. Denim cut-off shorts and her soaking T-shirt slick against her body. She loved the fuss too, as I cringed and tried to pull her away. I stood no chance. She and her friends were happy to pose. Too many pictures. Too many with me skulking in the background.

  It’s only local news, I tell myself, over and over. No one pays it any attention. It will fade. They’re Alison’s words. I called her on Sunday, breathless and panicky and apologetic for disturbing her weekend. Her voice was soothing and reassuring. It dripped cool and professional into my ear. I would be fine, she said. It would blow over, she said. She told me to call again if I felt my anxiety getting too much. She told me to do my breathing exercises. I heard children in the background. It’s hard to imagine her with a life of her own. Funny how we put people in boxes. She’s always only professional with me.

  My calmness lasted for about five minutes after putting the phone down and then the fear and worry crept back in, and I haven’t been able to expel it as I’ve crawled through each day. If anything, my tension has got worse. It hasn’t helped that some reporter from the largest of the local rags got hold of my mobile number yesterday and called wanting to do a mother-and-daughter interview. I turned it off after that and haven’t turned it on since.

  My hand red raw from the hot mug, I try to focus on the mail-merge job contract letter I’m composing, but the musky smell of the Stargazer lilies in the vase on the table by my desk distracts me. Most days I would find it lovely, but Simon bought these, and when I think of Simon it’s a reminder of how stupid I was to think I could relax into happiness. He brought a bouquet of these for me, and a small, funkier one made of bright unusual flowers I couldn’t name for Ava. They’re in a vase in the office kitchen. I didn’t take them home. There’s enough going on without having to explain him to her as well. Penny didn’t send her flowers, after all, so why would a stranger? Ava would know there was something not entirely professional about it all.

  I wanted to get her something myself to show that I am proud of her. I want to try to tell her she is my everyth
ing, and pride isn’t a big enough word for how she makes me feel when I see her being kind and sweet and selfless. But all of this is bound up so tightly with the truth of everything inside me, that even if I wanted to tell her, I could never undo the knots.

  ‘Have either of you taken any money from the petty cash box?’

  I’ve been so busy staring at my screen while my thoughts race I didn’t notice Penny coming out of her office. Her voice is low, her back to the rest of the room.

  ‘No,’ Marilyn says.

  ‘Not me,’ I add. My mouth is dry. Suddenly what I saw this morning is making more sense.

  ‘It’s twenty pounds short, I think,’ Penny says. ‘It’s happened a couple of times now.’

  ‘How many times do we have to tell you to lock the cash tin?’ Marilyn should have been a mother. She has the perfect tone for it. ‘The cleaners are probably having it.’

  ‘I lock my desk.’ Even as she says it, Penny’s face is half-admitting the lie. ‘Well, when I remember.’

  ‘Make sure you do from now on,’ I say.

  ‘I probably took it myself,’ Penny mutters. ‘Brain like a sieve these days. Bloody hormones.’

  As she walks away, I see Julia heading over to the photocopier. Penny smiles at her; a warm expression of open fondness. Julia, the new golden girl. I should say something. I really should.

  ‘You okay?’ Marilyn asks.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ I say. ‘Just trying to figure out what to cook for tea.’

  ‘Rock’n’roll, Lisa.’ She grins at me. ‘Our lives are so rock’n’roll.’

  I stare at my computer screen and force deep breaths into my lungs. It’s all too much. The world is starting to choke me, fingers tightening around my throat.

  23

  AVA

  It’s been weird since the thing at the river, but I have to admit, the attention has been nice. Better still, I look okay in most of the pictures printed, which is a major result. My Facebook has gone crazy. So many new friend requests – seems like everyone at KEGS wants to know me now – and there are so many posts about how great I am. A little bit of me is pissed off the exams are over and so I can’t go into school and revel in all this glory, even though I know that’s really shallow.

  The only person not fawning all over me is Courtney. He’s gone a little cool and I think he’s sussing out that I’m going to ditch him. Or maybe he’s jealous of all the attention I’m getting.

  Maybe that’s why Mum’s being a bit of a moody cow too. Could she be jealous? He tells me she’s a drain on me. That she’s selfish to want me to stay her baby forever. He says she’s dragging me down and I shouldn’t pander to her. I think maybe he’s right. He’s been amazing though. He said he wasn’t surprised at what I did at all because he knows that’s the kind of woman I am. Brave and strong and beautiful, and he’s such a lucky man to have me. He called me a woman.

  It makes me shiver to think about it. Not a girl any more. A woman. His woman. I’m the lucky one. When he calls me beautiful, I feel it. Normally, if someone pays me a compliment it has the opposite effect. I feel clumsy and awkward and so aware of all the things that are wrong with me. Not when he does it, though. Perhaps that’s what love really is. And in a few days I’m going to see him! I can’t wait. I’m so excited. There’s just one other thing to sort out beforehand.

  I stare down at the Boots bag on my bed. I should do it. Maybe after tea. It’s not going to be positive, that would be crazy, but still there’s a nugget of fear in my stomach. I’ll feel better when it’s done and I know either way. And as Jodie says, even if it is positive – please God don’t let it be positive – it can be sorted out. Taken care of. At least it’s the summer holidays. If I need an abortion I can do it while Mum’s at work. She’ll never know.

  24

  LISA

  ‘I couldn’t get hold of you. Your phone’s going straight to answerphone. Richard’s out for an hour doing a quote, so I thought I’d pop over.’

  I can’t decide if I’m happy to see her or not. I’ve just finished washing the dinner plates after a less than pleasant chicken salad with Ava, who grunted answers to my questions and has now locked herself away in her room, her friends no doubt on their way over, only ever fleeting figures on the stairs. I’m not sure I have the energy for Marilyn now. I’m emotionally exhausted. It takes everything I have to stay in this state of nervous anxiety alert.

  ‘What’s up?’ I ask, boiling the kettle.

  ‘Nothing’s up with me.’ She slings her bag over the corner of a chair before flopping into it. ‘But you were a bit off this afternoon. Something on your mind?’

  I can feel her eyes on my back as I busy my hands getting mugs and tea bags and milk. I have to tell her something. She knows me too well if also not at all. She knows my tics. I need to give her something and I can’t tell her about my worries from the weekend so I choose the lesser of two evils.

  ‘I think I know who took the petty cash.’

  Her eyes widen. ‘Who?’

  I pour the hot water and join her at the table.

  ‘Julia,’ I say. ‘It’s Julia.’

  For a moment Marilyn says nothing, and then she exhales loudly. ‘I should have known. The way she’s always sucking up to Penny with little gifts for the office, or cakes for everyone. How did you find out?’

  ‘I got in to work early today.’ I’ve been in early every day since the weekend. Anything is better than lying awake with all my worries and it’s not like I have to get Ava up for school now the exams are done. ‘Sorting out the details for the Manning contracts. When I got there, she was coming out of Penny’s office. I startled her.’

  ‘Did she say what she was doing?’

  ‘Putting some invoices on her desk.’

  ‘Maybe she was?’

  ‘I checked when she went to get coffee and she had put some papers in there. But this is Julia. She wouldn’t be so stupid as to go in there without a reason.’

  I see a flicker of doubt on Marilyn’s face.

  ‘There’s more,’ I say. ‘Something happened at the salsa club night. You know, the office party. Something I saw.’

  ‘Go on.’ I start to tell the story and she leans forward as I speak as if sucking in my words from the air, to savour and swallow them, until finally I finish and we both sit back.

  ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

  ‘What could I say?’ I shrug. ‘I didn’t have any proof. It’s not like I caught her red-handed. I was on the other side of the room and by the time I realised what she’d done she was halfway to the bar. It would have been my word against hers, and you know what Penny’s like, she probably wouldn’t have known how much cash she had in her wallet, let alone if twenty pounds was missing from it.’

  ‘We need to tell Penny,’ she says. Decisive. She’s always decisive.

  ‘But there’s still no proof.’

  ‘Then we get some. We can set a trap. Mark the notes in the box or something and do a spot check.’

  ‘We’re not the police, Maz.’ I half-laugh. ‘We can’t go around demanding people show us what’s in their wallets.’ The relief of telling is being consumed by the anxiety of potential action.

  ‘We’ve got to do something. Penny thinks the sun shines out of that girl’s arse.’

  ‘She’s not a girl. Look more closely. I bet she’s not far off our age.’

  ‘You think?’

  I shrug.

  ‘Thank God I’m married, eh? I can let it all go.’

  I almost laugh. Marilyn has never let herself go. Me, maybe, but I never had it in the first place.

  ‘You’re not doing so bad,’ I say. ‘For an old bird.’

  ‘Cow.’

  We both smile and it feels good, even with the constant nausea and ache in my stomach.

  ‘We need a drink,’ she says, decisive again. ‘I’m driving but I can have one. Sod it. Get your bag. Let’s go to the pub.’

  ‘But Ava …’ I mutter. />
  ‘… Is sixteen,’ she finishes. ‘I keep telling you – you’ve got to give her space. Now sort yourself out while I have a wee. Let’s go.’

  It’s past eleven when I crawl into bed. I feel better than I have all week. The pub was good, old-fashioned and cosy and no one paid us any attention at all, which reminded me how this whole business with Ava and the river is only important for the bubble of our social circles, such as they are. No one else cares, they’re all getting on with their own complicated lives. We bitched about Julia, she quizzed me about what Ava was going to do over the summer and in sixth form and then we talked about Simon – who texted while we were out, asking for another dinner, and she made me answer yes. It was a good escape but as soon as I relaxed I felt shattered and couldn’t stop yawning. Relief and release. The sheer exhaustion that comes from having been wound tight for days and the comedown from living in fight-or-flight mode. I’m out of practice.

  I haven’t said goodnight to Ava, my tiredness too much to face any more confrontation. I’m clinging desperately to this wispy ribbon of calm. If I can get to sleep before the anxiety creeps back I’ve got a chance of a good night’s rest and everything will seem better in the morning. Rest does that. Sunshine does that. I’ll let Marilyn take the lead on Julia. And like she says, we won’t make any real accusations until we have proof. Evidence. I don’t want to think about evidence. It leads me back to worry.

  Even though it’s warm I leave the window closed and pull my duvet and knees right up to my chin. I make myself small. I close my eyes and take deep breaths. I imagine myself as the last person in the world. It makes me feel safe. The last person. Only me. Alone. I drift.