Cross Her Heart

by Sarah Pinborough

  ‘Given how things stand, I’d say I didn’t really know her at all.’ I don’t have time for this. I have to go to work so I slide past – gently does it – to get my coat and feel the tension radiating from him as he tries to keep his rage under control.

  ‘I don’t understand why you won’t do it.’ He follows me into the corridor. ‘It’s money for nothing. It could sort all our financial problems out.’

  Not my problems, I want to say. Yours. ‘It’s not for nothing. It’s dirty. Sleazy. You’ve always said that about anyone who sells a story yourself.’

  ‘It’s like you’re protecting her,’ he growls. ‘Always defending her.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘You did it just then. About the old woman.’

  I pause at the front door. ‘I wouldn’t want Ava to read it. Me talking about them for money. She has no one to trust at the moment.’

  ‘You’re never going to see her again so why does it matter! Why can’t you get that into your thick head?’

  I let the front door slam behind me. There are still a couple of reporters – for want of a better word – dirt-diggers, maybe – loitering at the end of the drive, but I don’t look at them, let alone answer as they call out to me. I get in my car, put my sunglasses on, and drive – too fast for our 20 mph speed limit – until I’m free of them.

  If only it was so easy to escape all of it. I think about the £40,000 the Daily Mail have offered. Richard said they got in touch with him, but he hasn’t knocked so much sense out of me this year I’d buy that. He called them, of course he did, and told them all about Lisa and me and our friendship and how much insight I’d have into her day-to-day life. His face was a picture when I said no. He couldn’t believe it. Especially when he realised how powerless he was in this. No one wants his story – it’s not worth a fraction of mine. How did I ever think this man was love? Even in the early days, when I’d help him with his work, study the shapes and spaces of houses with him, give him ideas for clients, I should have known it would come to this eventually. Why are you wearing red lipstick? Who are you wearing it for? The little accusations should have been my first clue, so many years ago.

  My phone starts ringing. Him. I let it ring out and when I stop at the traffic lights I send a short text: I’ll think about it. I really should think about it. I don’t owe Lisa anything, and Ava probably isn’t looking at the papers anyway. Given everything else, I doubt it would matter to her. But it would matter to me. I’m angry at Mrs Goldman, because she should know better. She’s lonely. I hear the words in Lisa’s voice. She’s probably just enjoying the attention. At least she can afford a cake now and then after this. I shut the voice down. Lisa doesn’t get to be Mother Teresa in my head now. She’s the fucking problem. Even now she’s gone I’m still left carrying the can for her.

  The atmosphere in the office is different and I feel it before I reach my desk. They’re all slightly hyper, like young pups let off a leash. A pack for sure, and one I’m not quite part of any more. Stacey glances my way, as does Toby, and the noise settles as my arrival registers.

  ‘What?’ I ask. ‘Have I missed something? I’ll have a coffee, if you’re making, Emily. Thank you.’ All bright smiles as I throw my handbag down under my desk. Unfazeable Marilyn. Confronting things head on.

  ‘It’s about Lisa or Charlotte or whatever,’ Julia says, after a Mexican wave of knowing glances passes around the room. I bristle. What now?

  ‘Oh yes?’

  She perches on the edge of my desk, proprietorial. ‘Well, we all went for a drink last night, and Penny said—’

  ‘Penny?’ I cut in before I can stop myself.

  ‘We thought she needed a break from everything.’ She says we but she means I. She is teacher’s pet, after all.

  ‘That was nice of you.’ My tone matches hers, sweetness and light, although my heart is racing. They all went to the pub without me. Worse, Penny said no to me but yes to them. Sure, it could be that she simply changed her mind, but it doesn’t ring true. She’s not comfortable with me any more. I’m too close.

  ‘Anyway, Penny said money has been going missing from the petty cash. She thinks Lisa took it.’

  ‘Really?’ It all plays out behind my eyes. Julia buying wine, Penny drinking too quickly, needing to relax, and then opening her big mouth.

  ‘You didn’t know about the money?’

  She’s good. She knows I know. ‘Oh, I know about the money.’ This is my shot across her bow, a hint of accusation in my tone, and I don’t know if it’s my imagination but I’m sure I see a flash of something in her eyes. Careful, I tell myself. How much do you actually care? ‘Penny told me.’

  ‘Did you ever see Lisa do anything suspicious?’

  They’re all listening now, little flicks of heads in my direction. What else was discussed last night? Me, obviously, but in what capacity? What conclusions did they draw? What path did Julia lead them down, the sneaky little thieving bitch? The aggression in my thought shocks me into acknowledging that I believe what Lisa said. Julia is a wolf among sheep in our office.

  ‘No. If I had, I’d have said something.’

  ‘Of course you would.’ She smiles, the slashes of blood red on her lips highlighting her perfectly white teeth. Bleached, no doubt. Another trick to appear youthful. Lisa wasn’t wrong about that either.

  The blinds in Penny’s office are shut and I wonder if it’s because she’s hiding from them or me or all of us. Maybe she’s got a hangover. Whichever, I can’t believe how ready she is to lay the guilt at Lisa’s door. She’s a child-killer, I want to storm in there and tell her. Not a bloody petty thief.

  ‘I suppose we’ll find out soon enough if she had money problems,’ Julia purrs. ‘It’s all coming out in the news.’

  My stomach knots. What if they find out Richard has dug me into a financial hole and we’re living off credit cards? Will that make me suspect number one? ‘Or maybe she did it just because she could?’ I say. Julia’s smile twists, triumphant. She knows what I’m doing. Trying to worm my way back in by agreeing with them. How will they react if I do what Richard wants and sell my story? My job would be over. Would anyone else hire me? A woman in her forties in this job climate who tells all for cash?

  ‘Marilyn Hussey?’

  I hear my name being called before I’ve even noticed the man and woman standing a few feet away from my desk. The office falls silent, everyone alert and watching.

  ‘Yes?’ All professional as I die a little inside. What now?

  ‘They told us at reception we could find you here. Could we have a word?’

  The woman flashes a badge as she introduces herself as Detective Sergeant Bray, but with the dark suits and sensible shoes they’re wearing along with the dour serious expressions, it wasn’t necessary. It’s obvious they’re police.

  ‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Let’s go to a meeting room.’ I don’t bother to ask what it’s about. It’ll be Lisa. What else could it be? Lisa, Lisa, Lisa. I’m so sick of Lisa.

  It’s not about Lisa. Not directly, anyway. It’s about Ava, and I’m not steeled for that. As they ask their questions – Have you seen her since her mother’s identity was exposed? Have you heard from her last night or today? – alarm bells ring in my head and they say nothing to reassure me when I point out they must know where Ava is better than me. She’s with Lisa, surely?

  Their polite smiles and expressionless eyes meet my concerned ones. I ask if she’s run away and they don’t answer, but instead parry with questions of their own. Are there any other adults, other than those at her school, she might be close to? Anyone she might contact? I rack my brains but I can only think of that swimming club of hers. Their coach maybe? Lisa didn’t have any close friends other than me, and therefore, by default, Richard. But Ava doesn’t really know him other than to say hello to.

  They thank me, though it’s clear I’ve given them nothing, and it’s only when they’re about to leave I remember the one t
hing I know about Ava maybe no one else does. The thing I spent the whole of the last evening wondering if I should tell Lisa about.

  ‘If she’s missing,’ I say, hoping to get a reaction out of them that may give me some snippet of information, ‘you may want to try any local abortion clinics. I saw a bit of wrapping in the bathroom bin at their house. Only the corner, but it was from a pregnancy test, I’m sure of it.’ I should know, I’ve done enough of them in the past. ‘I think Ava might have been pregnant.’

  They thank me again – this time with more sincerity, their visit here no longer wasted time – and DS Bray gives me her card. Her name is unfortunate, I think, as she walks away, feet heavy in her solid shoes, no elegance in her gait. She’s like a donkey.

  It’s a mean thought and I realise what a bitch being under so much stress is making me. If Lisa were here we’d probably laugh at it, but alone it’s just bitter and mean. But if Lisa were here none of this would be happening at all.

  Ava’s run away. The thought hits me as I turn back to the office to face the pack’s curious, hungry looks. My worry ties itself in knots. Little Ava out there somewhere in the world, angry and alone. I hope she’s not alone. I hope one of her friends knows where she is and will crack under police pressure. She’s sixteen, I tell myself. She’s not stupid. She’ll be somewhere safe. The thought is hollow. The world is full of bright but angry sixteen-year-olds who run off and end up on the streets or worse. Dragged out of rivers. Never heard of again. Ava’s stubborn and she always has been. She wouldn’t go back, however bad it got.

  Maybe she has gone to get an abortion. Maybe she’ll turn up afterwards. I never thought Ava getting knocked up would be a comfort, but now it’s like an emotional anchor. She’s gone to get an abortion somewhere. The police will find her.

  I go straight to the kitchen to make a coffee – the one Emily left on my desk now too cold for my taste – and it’s Stacey who joins me like a skittish cat, and asks what they wanted. She at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed and I wonder who pushed her in here, Julia or Toby or a combination of the two.

  Fuck you, Lisa, I think for the millionth time since she ceased to exist. Fuck you very much for all this.

  34

  AFTER

  2003

  There are no fairy tales, no happily ever afters, no matter how many cheap Disney videos she plays in the afternoons to keep her daughter settled while she cleans and tidies and tries to make their lives look normal and under control. Not for her at any rate. She was stupid to ever think there could be.

  She aches as she gathers up the empty beer cans and cheap vodka bottles and throws them away. What is the point, she wonders. There will only be more to throw away later. Later. She can’t face any more later.

  Upstairs, in her cot, Crystal starts crying. Crystal. She hates their daughter’s name. One of their many, many big arguments was about that name. Ava was what she’d wanted to call her. A name which spoke of elegance and charm and better things. Crystal sounds cheap for trying so hard not to. Crystal is breakable. Crystals can be smashed into a thousand pieces. The thought of any harm coming to her baby terrifies her. It fills her every waking thought, humming in her blood. Someone taking some terrible crazy revenge. She should never have told Jon who she really is. She should probably have never got involved with him, never have dared to think she could have a love that survived her past, but without him she wouldn’t have her daughter so she can’t wish for that.

  Little Crystal is two now. Her turning three can’t come quickly enough. To be three would mean she was past Daniel’s age. Maybe her dreams of him will then fade. Maybe this sense of terrible dread will go. She doesn’t believe it. The dreams and the dread will be with her forever, and they’re so much worse since Crystal was born. At first she thought the dreams were Daniel’s ghost wanting to punish her more from beyond the grave, but in her heart she knows that’s not true. Daniel was a good boy. And he was only two and a half.

  She goes upstairs and cradles Crystal to her thin chest, soothing her. The little girl’s clothes need washing, as do most of her nappies, and the whole of their small house smells vaguely of shit and warm milk, but Jon hasn’t left her any money again and she’s out of washing powder. This cannot go on. She needs to call Joanne. She has to. She may deserve this awful life with a man who drinks too much and calls her a killer and says she revolts him whenever she tries to appease him, but her Crystal, her Ava, doesn’t. If they stay here, who knows how it will end? What he’ll do?

  Last night was a wake-up call and she needs to act. To finally show some spine. Every time she closes her eyes she sees it: the bottle smashing against the wall to the right above her head. Little Crystal, sitting on the floor, shocked into stopping crying at her parents’ fight for a moment, covered in broken glass and alcohol.

  It killed his anger in its tracks. He loves their daughter, she knows that, but she knows violence and what he did was enough to chill her to the bone. To make her realise how he blames her for everything through his alcoholic haze. She’s grown up a lot in the past three years, the long years since the perfect night when she told him her secret. She’s learned a lot about people. She knows he loves her, but she knows he hates himself for it. He can’t look at her most of the time and when they have sex she can feel his disgust. It’s worse since Crystal came along. Her sweet innocence is a constant reminder of what Charlotte did.

  You’re a monster. That’s what he said last night. How can I love a monster? His words are worse than blows, but the blows can’t be far off. She’s had to gauge these things before. It’s all building to some awful conclusion, and she’s terrified he’ll take it out on Crystal, however much he says he loves her, because she knows how easy it is for things to go horribly wrong.

  She holds the pudgy little girl too tightly, until she starts to cry. She doesn’t scream or wail, but lets out a gentle sob as if she can pick up on her mother’s anguish. She can, of course, and maybe she’s afraid to cry loudly now, even when Daddy’s out of the house.

  Jon won’t be back for hours. He’s not at work, he’s at the pub or the bookie’s or round a mate’s house. He only works a few hours a week now and that won’t go on forever. His drinking is too out of control to hold down a job. She used to be able to see the man she fell in love with still inside him, but not any more. Not now it’s all turned to shit. Worse than shit. This awful loathing that emanates from him.

  She has to call Joanne. This is the end of the line. Failure has to be faced. Maybe it will be fine, maybe she’ll be able to stay who she is now and move to a little flat in the same town – maybe even her old flat. She won’t be able to work until Crystal goes to school, but it could maybe be almost like before she met him. She’d have routines like when she was happy.

  It won’t be that way, of course. Joanne’s already unhappy about the situation. She thinks it’s ‘precarious’. Jon’s ‘highly unpredictable right now’. And she’s right. He should have taken the counselling he was offered when they came clean about him knowing. But he didn’t. He said he was fine. He loved her. That was before the pressures of fatherhood and the pressure of carrying her secret every single day for years and years.

  This is the other thing she’s learned over these years. The secret is her own. It’s her burden and sharing it doesn’t lighten the load, it simply doubles it. She can’t stay here if she leaves Jon, that’s just wishful thinking. Joanne, and the police, and all those people who make her decisions won’t let her. Jon’s threatened often enough that if she takes Crystal away, he’ll ruin everything. Tell everyone. Finish her. When he’s sober, he says he’s sorry, but how often is he sober? You can’t trust a drunk, she knows that too.

  Crystal is crying and she has to do what’s best for her. She burns with shame when she finally calls the probation officer, but Joanne is nothing but professional and suddenly it’s all out of her hands. Plans are put in motion. It would seem they were readier for this than she is. All
that’s left for her to do is leave him a letter. She tries to write how she feels, and also to be cold with him. He needs that. He needs to start again as much as she does. Her hand shakes as she writes. She doesn’t love him any more. This is true. She’s afraid of him. This is also true. She writes one final line before folding the paper and leaving it on the kitchen table.

  Don’t come after me. Don’t try and find me. Don’t try and find us.

  Calm now, she was always calm when someone else took control, she gathers what she needs and the pieces of her legacy life – passport, NHS certificate, everything that made this ghost of a person real. They’re useless now, a skin that will soon be shed, but Joanne will want them back, and even if she doesn’t, Jon shouldn’t have them.

  She takes a moment to stand in the house, the flimsy walls of her playing card castle, and then she’s ready when the car comes. She doesn’t cry, she never does, but her heart empties as she closes the door.

  Goodbye, Jon, she whispers. I’m sorry. She doesn’t look back as they leave. She’s so tired of looking back. Instead she holds her tearful daughter tight and points at buses out of the window. ‘Don’t cry, Ava,’ she says, sucking in the smell of her child. ‘Don’t cry.’

  35

  NOW

  MARILYN

  I’m on autopilot, watching my movements from the inside, in awe of my body’s ability to get all the shit I need doing done. Despite the awful pain – this time a rib or two are definitely cracked – I get up, get dressed and head into work. On my way I stop at the bank on the high street and wait outside until they open. I’m the first customer through the door and I hear myself speak. ‘I’d like to empty these accounts, please.’ I smile, confident. There is barely five hundred pounds in one, but there is a thousand in another. Money I’ve been squirrelling away as an emergency fund, never thinking I’d actually use it. An illusion that I may one day be brave enough to break away.