by A. L. Bird
It’s too much. She stands up, walks to the door of the neighbour’s house, puts out her head for fresh air. But as she inhales, all she gets in her lungs is the ash of her former marital home.
She walks back in to Becky and Harriet.
Harriet looks up as she comes in. ‘When is Daddy coming back?’ she asks. ‘Does he know about the fire?’
Kirsten wants to hug her dear sweet daughter to her, and tell her never to mind about Daddy again. To tell her that she must regard his sole contribution as having given her life – that maybe that is why he felt able to try to take it away.
Instead, she says: ‘We’re not seeing him right now, sweetie. And yes, I think he does know about the fire.’
Kirsten exchanges a look with Becky, then sits down beside her again.
‘So what do we do?’ she asks Becky.
Becky pulls her phone out of her pocket. ‘This is her,’ she says, loading up the screen. ‘I knew her at school. She went to the drama school a year before me. She never told me about it at the time, but now I know everything. Ian confessed it to me when he found out I was pregnant. He felt so guilty that he’d interfered in two girls’ lives.’
Kirsten peers over the screen. Caitlin. She’s slim, pretty, fresh-faced. A spark in her eye. Whether or not the spark was there or not when she was fifteen, Ian should have known better. Perhaps it was this secret, then, that he’d really been so terrified about getting out there, not the Becky secret. The actual thing that would land him in prison, on a sex offenders list – more serious than sleeping with a seventeen-year-old student. And it had clearly been on his conscience, otherwise why would he have told Becky? For a moment, Kirsten feels sorry for Ian – so much plotting, but such a poor judge of character. Then she remembers what he tried to do to Harriet (and to her, and to Becky), and she hardens against him again.
‘What’s your plan?’ she asks Becky.
‘I’m already in touch with her,’ Becky says. ‘She’s like a sleeper agent – I’ve been waiting to wake her when the time is right. Said I’d help her.’
‘And is she ready to be woken? I mean, what’s in it for her?’
Becky shrugs. ‘If she gets some press money from telling her story, she can have a pretty excellent year off travelling the globe.’
Come on – what? Ian is going to be destroyed because a girl wants some air tickets?
Becky seems to sense Kirsten’s reticence. ‘We’re not doing this just because of her. We’re doing because of all of us – you, me, Harriet. Particularly Harriet.’
‘You’re right,’ Kirsten says. And if Ian had been foolish enough to have underage sex with a student, then he deserved the punishment he would surely get.
Kirsten watches as Becky taps away on her phone. A few moments later, there’s a buzzing. Becky holds up the phone and leaves the room.
Kirsten places her chin on Harriet’s head, so Harriet’s hair nestles up against her neck. ‘You doing all right down there, sweetie? I know all this is a bit of a mess.’
‘Can we get a dog when we get a new house, Mummy?’ Harriet asks. She is busy stroking the ears of the neighbour’s golden retriever. ‘Bessie’, her name tag says she’s called.
‘Why not?’ Kirsten says. She doesn’t say: I don’t know if there’ll be a new house, I don’t know if the insurers will find out your dad set fire to it and won’t pay out, I don’t know if we’ll have to live in rentals for ever, or if we’re going to have to go and live in Becky’s flat. I don’t even know if you’ll always call me Mummy, now that Becky’s in your good books for saving our lives. So she says yes to the dog. Just to keep it simple for Harriet.
Kirsten sits back on the sofa and exhales. Christ, what a mess. All she wants to do is go back to sleep in the nice soft white sheets in her lovely house, the house that she’d put so much care into over the years, had added detail after detail to. The house she’s shared with a man who would murder his own daughter. She shakes her head. Even if the house was repairable – which it wouldn’t be – she couldn’t go back. Life had moved on.
Becky comes back into the room. ‘Done,’ she says.
‘What do you mean, “done”?’ Kirsten asks.
‘She’s phoning the tabloids, and the police. Saying all the #metoo stuff has made her realise she can’t stay quiet any longer. It’ll be all over the papers tomorrow, and the police will pick Ian up and charge him.’
‘Really? They don’t seem to have been too quick on charging all the other people who’ve been named as potential rapists in the media.’
‘She was underage. In his care, as a student. He still teaches. It’ll be a priority.’
Kirsten nods glumly. Of course. And she won’t escape from being named in the press. She’ll have to be ‘unavailable for comment’, won’t she? She pretty much is – her landline, her mobile and her house are all in ashes. She feels prickles of sweat in her spine. The papers will love that story, won’t they? They turn up to the house of the alleged rapist, and find that – coincidentally – it’s been burned down. There’ll be a profile of her, and what she knew about her husband. How could she live with a man like this? Had she burnt the house down when she found out? Maybe she’d better release a statement. Maybe it’s all going to come out anyway.
She looks again at Harriet, playing innocently at her feet. They’ll have to manage it. They key thing is to hold on to her. With Becky. Of course.
‘Shall I say anything to the press?’ she asks Becky.
Becky shrugs. ‘Your choice. Either way, Ian is going to burn.’
Chapter 54
BECKY
Becky manages to find a quiet corner of the neighbour’s house to phone her sister Julia. After Becky had texted her earlier to say what was going on, she’d had a barrage of calls, all of which she’d instinctively flipped to voicemail. But then she’d had a text: ‘IF YOU DON’T CALL ME, I’M NEVER SPEAKING TO YOU AGAIN!’ And she knows from past experience that Julia might just mean it.
‘Do you believe me now that he’s a bastard?’ Becky starts the conversation.
‘What do you mean?’ Julia asks. Then there’s a silence. Becky can’t see her, but she can hear Julia gradually realising. ‘Shit, what, Ian …?’
‘That’s not how we’re bringing him down, though. So forget I said it. But I thought you needed to know. Policy of honesty going forward, and all that.’
‘But why would you not tell the police? He’d be locked up for ever, attempted murder, arson, assault. He’d never bother you again!’
Becky shrugs. She doesn’t need Julia to get it, just for her not to be a barrier. ‘It’s for Harriet,’ she says. ‘And Kirsten. And therefore for me. Everything would come out. It’s better this way.’
‘Which way?’ Julia asks. Becky can hear the suspicion in her voice.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Becky says.
‘What happened to your “policy of honesty going forward”?’ Julia asks.
Becky considers. She’s only just got Julia back onside. Which is going to be better – keeping secrets from her (and Julia knowing that), or telling the truth and risking her approbation?
She knows Julia. And Julia now knows what Ian is capable of, and how much Harriet means. Julia was the one who wouldn’t speak to her for years simply because she thought Becky had given up on Harriet. This plan was now the opposite of giving up on Harriet.
So Becky takes a deep breath and explains everything to Julia. Everything she’ll read about in the press in the coming days. And the inside story she’ll never hear.
When she’s done, Becky waits for Julia’s reaction.
‘What if it doesn’t work?’ Julia says. ‘What if they decide not to prosecute, that it all happened too long ago?’
Trust Julia to voice the one thing that was worrying Becky. ‘They will,’ Becky says. ‘Think of the political pressure. A teacher. An underage schoolgirl. The CPS will have to take the case – and if they don’t, they’ll have a whole load of minister
s on their back. It will work.’
‘And the jury? What about them? And what if Ian decides he’s going to tell the whole sordid truth? That it will somehow help his defence?’
‘What – hello, jury, not only do I commit statutory rape, I sleep with other students, steal their daughters, then burn down their homes?’
‘He wouldn’t be pleading it like that.’
Becky knows Julia’s right. But she has a fragile agreement, with Kirsten, even with Harriet. She doesn’t want to admit the risk of it breaking down.
‘Look, it’s just Plan A, OK?’ she tells Julia. ‘We can do Plan B: the whole truth, at any time. Are you with me?’
‘Does it matter?’ Julia asks.
‘Yes,’ Becky says. ‘It does.’
‘In that case,’ Julia says, ‘I’m with you.’
They end the call, Julia agreeing to come to London as soon as Ian is in custody. ‘The guy has a knife and a matchbox,’ as she puts it. ‘I’m not leaving Bristol until he’s behind bars.’
‘What about me and Harriet? What do we do?’ Becky asks.
‘Oh, I think you have that all figured out,’ Julia says.
Which is true. She does.
Chapter 55
KIRSTEN
‘Who were you speaking to?’ Kirsten asks Becky, when she comes back into the room.
‘No one,’ says Becky.
Kirsten raises an eyebrow.
Becky shakes her head. ‘Sorry. Force of habit. I’ve been trying to keep my background a secret. You get used to it. It was my sister.’
Kirsten nods. There it is – the usual stirring of nostalgia, of guilt, of longing, when someone mentions they have a sister. She wishes she could just call hers as easily as that.
‘What does your sister make of all this?’ Becky asks Kirsten.
Kirsten frowns. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You said you had a sister. That time, when I came round to tea. When I was “Miriam”.’
Kirsten blushes. She hates thinking back to that tea. Her embarrassing assumption that Becky was just a young, childless teacher with a knack for spoiling Sunday afternoons. But that tea also now carries the fear of how it could all have ended, with ‘Miriam’ basically stalking them, getting creepily close to Harriet. How it could all still end.
She doesn’t say all that to Becky, of course. ‘I haven’t told her. We don’t really speak,’ Kirsten explains.
‘Anything to do with me?’ Becky asks.
Kirsten smirks, despite the self-centred presumption of the question. ‘A lot to do with you,’ she says.
‘Then I’m telling you to fix it,’ Becky says. ‘I fixed things with my sister, and it’s so much better now. Having a confidante you can genuinely trust. Of course, me and you will end up becoming like sisters, the amount of time we’ll spend together with Harriet. But it’s not the same, is it?’
Kirsten closes herself down a little internally. She doesn’t want to be like a sister to Becky. It’s not the same, not at all. From what Kirsten can remember, with a real sister, you may hate each other at times but you know that, ultimately, they wouldn’t do anything that would really screw you over. Maybe they’d hurt you. Maybe they’d put themselves first when they should have helped you. Maybe they’d just ignore you for years.
But they wouldn’t steal your child.
‘I’ll try calling her,’ Kirsten says.
She still knows Nina’s number. Of course she does – they were sisters. Called each other every week, when they were younger, in the times when you learnt people’s mobile numbers. Even with her mobile lost in the blaze, she’s proud to think she can still get in touch.
Using Becky’s mobile, she dials.
Invalid number.
Shit. Nina would be one of the few people to change her number. Kirsten wonders if it’s because of her.
Kirsten calls her mum.
‘Mum, hi,’ she starts, forgetting for a moment that her house has been on the news in flames. There are endless questions: is she all right, is Harriet all right, is Ian keeping them safe?
Kirsten explains as much as she needs to, but nowhere near as much as she could. So far as her mum is concerned, Harriet is a true grandchild. She can’t take that away from her. And how do you undo all those years of lying?
Once the onslaught is over, she asks the question. ‘Do you have Nina’s number? I’ve got the wrong one on my phone.’
There’s a pause. ‘Um, I’m not sure I should …’
‘Come on, Mum,’ Kirsten begs. ‘I really want to speak to her, patch things up. The fire put everything into perspective. And she’ll have seen it on the news; she must be wondering what’s going on.’
‘If she is, sweetheart, she hasn’t said anything to me.’
So, Kirsten was already dead to her sister, was she? But she couldn’t be. Not really. There must still be a flicker of something there. All those years together as children, as teenagers – the dressing up in sunglasses and pretending to be rock stars, doing botched dye jobs on each other’s hair, testing each other on their homework, covering for each other if Mum and Dad thought they were revising but they were actually going out with a boy – that couldn’t just be erased, could it? Beneath her froideur, Nina must be burning to talk to her. Mustn’t she?
‘Come on, Mum – can you please just give me her number?’ Kirsten asks again.
Another pause, while her mother considers the competing demands of maternal diplomacy.
‘No, I think I’d better not, sweetheart. I don’t know what’s gone on between you and your sister, but I don’t want to be drawn into it. I gave Nina a promise when she changed her number. I’d love you to start talking again, darling, but I can’t break a promise. I can’t risk losing her like you’ve lost her.’
Kirsten feels herself close to tears. If only she could talk to her mother about the fear of losing her own child. That’s why she needs to talk to Nina. She’s the only one apart from Becky and Ian who know. And she can’t be totally honest about her feelings with Becky. And she’s certainly not talking to Ian.
Perhaps if Nina saw her, and Harriet, and Becky, all together, she would relent? Understand that Kirsten was doing ‘the right thing’? And she’d yield?
‘She still lives at the same address though, right?’ Kirsten asks.
Her mother sighs, as if worn out by the conflict to come. ‘Yes, yes she does.’
Then that’s where Kirsten, Becky and Harriet would go. It was only Camden, so very close to them. Ian wouldn’t think of looking for them there. And it would get them out of the neighbour’s way – Kirsten wasn’t stupid, she knew there were muttered conversations between husband and wife, wondering how long the fire refugees and their ‘nanny’ were going to stay.
‘We’re all going on a little trip,’ Kirsten tells Harriet, having already explained to Becky. ‘To see your auntie.’
‘Auntie Julia?’ Harriet asks excitedly.
Kirsten closes her eyes briefly. How confused their world had become. ‘No, sweetheart, a different auntie.’
‘Oh. Will Daddy be there too?’
‘No, darling. At least, I hope he won’t.’
* * *
Half an hour later, the three of them are standing outside a smart townhouse in Camden Square.
‘Does well for herself, your sister,’ Becky comments.
‘Or rather, her husband does,’ Kirsten says. When Nina had gone on maternity leave, she and her husband had agreed she didn’t have to go back to work as a physiotherapist. At the time, his architecture firm was doing well and Nina not working saved on a nanny. Kirsten had no idea whether the arrangement remained the same – she hadn’t asked her mother, and her mother hadn’t volunteered the information. Perhaps another promise had been made. If the arrangement had changed, their chances of finding Nina at home were slim.
‘Are we going inside?’ Harriet asks, breaking into Kirsten’s thoughts.
‘We’d better try, I suppose,’ Kirst
en says.
Together, the three of them go through the gate to the house. Kirsten lines Becky and Harriet up next to each other, hopefully making it immediately obvious to Nina what is going on, so she doesn’t slam the door in Kirsten’s face. Or maybe that’s too much to hope. Maybe Becky just looks like a nanny. Kirsten flicks a glance at her, then at Harriet.
No, she realises. She doesn’t look like a nanny. She looks like the mother of the girl next to her. Kirsten has never really seen the resemblance before – or perhaps she’s chosen to ignore it – but there it is. Like mother, like daughter. Harriet has Kirsten’s mannerisms and gait, but the bone structure, the eyes, the shape of the forehead – they are all Becky’s.
Kirsten rings the bell.
Nothing happens for a while, so Becky leans over and rings again.
Just as Kirsten is about to declare that nobody’s in, there’s a cry of ‘Just a minute’, and footsteps running to the door.
At first, it looks as though the door has opened by itself. But then Kirsten looks down. There’s a little girl, a year (or rather, three hundred and forty days – Kirsten done the maths before) older than Harriet.
‘Hello, Ruby,’ Kirsten says. ‘Is your mummy in?’
But Mummy soon comes to the door.
‘Kirsten!’ she exclaims. She’s holding a tube of glitter glue in one hand, and there are blue smudges of it on her temple.
‘And Harriet, and Becky,’ Kirsten says. ‘A lot has happened. Please, can we come in?’
Nina runs her hand through her hair. It becomes instantly covered in blue glitter.
‘Um, you might want to wash your hand …’ Kirsten says, indicating the glitter situation.
Nina either doesn’t understand or ignores her. Finally, she speaks. ‘Ruby, please take Harriet to play with your toys. These two ladies and I have a lot to discuss.’