by C D Major
Ava shook her head.
Claudia simply waited – a trick Ava had seen her use on guests in the studio.
‘You know when people write in . . .’ Ava blurted.
Claudia’s eyes rounded. ‘What do you mean? Viewers?’
‘More like trolls. Have you ever had a letter?’
Claudia tilted her head to one side. ‘Yeah . . . have you?’
Ava crossed her arms over her chest, nodding. ‘I got a note. It was weird. Said I was being watched.’
Claudia grimaced. ‘Gross. Any others?’
‘Just the one.’
Claudia pressed her lips together, her pink gloss impeccably in place. ‘Probably just a bit of a sad case. Keep it – or give it to HR.’
‘OK.’ Ava felt a small whoosh of relief that Claudia didn’t seem worried.
‘I’ve got one who sends them in purple ink that always makes my skin crawl.’ Claudia’s mouth screwed up in distaste.
Ava had received the odd email in the past, typically delivered as ‘feedback’: criticisms of her clothing or a new haircut. But never a physical note and nothing had ever felt so personal, so sinister.
‘Look. Don’t worry, alright? I’ve got to run, but promise me you’ll get some sleep, OK? You don’t exactly look blooming.’
‘Charming.’ Ava felt her mouth lift a fraction.
Claudia blew her a kiss as she rushed away. ‘Love ya!’
Ava felt a tiny bit lighter as she turned back to Garry. The other reporter had left and Garry was shuffling papers on the desk. She stepped across to him.
‘I wanted to apologise,’ Ava blurted. ‘About yesterday.’
‘It’s OK.’ His voice was low. ‘We got enough. I did the edit.’
‘Thanks. I owe you, Garry. I really am sorry . . . it won’t happen again.’ Suddenly Garry’s face was blurring in front of her.
‘You alright, Ava?’ His voice was full of concern and she knew he had forgiven her.
‘I didn’t sleep well. But . . . I’m ready to film. Can I drive with you, though?’
‘Car still out of action?’
Ava nodded, not wanting to admit she hadn’t felt in a fit state to drive. Was it just her imagination or did Garry seem suspicious?
Garry drew her into one of the empty editing suites, the room still musty despite the smell of furniture polish. ‘Are you alright, Ava?’ Concern etched his face. ‘I’ve been worried. Recently you’ve been . . . different.’
‘I know. It’s been . . . complicated.’
He sat on the edge of the desk. ‘You know you can talk to me. We’re close, aren’t we? Friends?’
‘We are,’ Ava said. They had started out in the newsroom around the same time, moved through the ranks together. Garry had often been an ally in briefings to the bosses. They ended up on a lot of jobs together and that suited her fine. They’d got into a good rhythm.
Garry and Fraser didn’t have a lot in common, but Garry had met a girl called Katy and they had been on some double dates together. Katy was fun, a teacher at a secondary school in the city different from Fraser’s. She and Fraser had bored them all endlessly with chat about pastoral care and Bloom’s taxonomy while she and Garry would talk about story ideas and TV shows. For a time, she thought Katy and Garry would get engaged, but the relationship ended and, somehow since then, their out-of-office friendship had taken a back seat.
Now, sitting here with someone who actually knew her and Fraser as a couple, she found herself wanting to share all the worries she had been holding so close to her, that she hadn’t told Fraser or even her best friend.
‘Quick, duck!’ Garry whispered as a man in a baseball cap walked past the glass square of the door. ‘It’s Neil. Don’t want him finding us yet. Not exactly a man of many emotions, is he?’
‘And you are?’ Ava couldn’t help but smile a little.
‘I know you don’t like your men too emotional. Said it made you nervous to see a man cry.’
Ava puffed out her breath. Had she said that? ‘Not sure I’ve got a man any more,’ she said in a small voice, her arms crossing her stomach.
Garry frowned, leaned forward so she could smell peppermint toothpaste on his breath. ‘What do you mean? You’ve broken up?’
‘No . . . well . . . God, I hope not. But . . . well . . . I’m pregnant. Twenty weeks. I’d decided not to tell anyone at work yet. We had the second scan yesterday. But Fraser . . . Well, we had a row and he . . . he sort of left.’
Garry didn’t speak for a while. His eyebrows knitted together and his fist opened and closed on the desk. She couldn’t read him at all as he cleared his throat, filling the small space as he stood up. ‘I had no idea,’ he said. ‘Pregnant. And it’s Fraser’s?’
‘Of course it’s Fraser’s!’ Ava ejected a high laugh at the prospect of her baby being anyone else’s.
Garry’s face was still serious, his eyes dark and unreadable.
‘But now he’s left – I pushed him away!’ She felt the despair rising as she pictured his face as she left him after the scan.
Garry pushed the hair back from his forehead. ‘God, no wonder you’ve been distracted.’ There was a glimpse of his usual cheery self beneath the intensity. ‘I’m glad you told me.’
‘I feel like I’m going a bit mad, to be honest. And what if Fraser doesn’t come back? What if I have to bring up a baby on my own?’ She wrung her hands as panic gripped her.
‘Hey,’ Garry soothed, reaching to put a hand on her arm. ‘Hey, you won’t be alone. Whatever happens.’ He didn’t speak for an age, chewing his lower lip. ‘A baby . . . Well, whatever happens with Fraser you’ve got friends, Ava. Are you . . . are you going to keep it?’
‘Yes, yes of course!’ Ava’s hand went straight to her stomach.
‘You can survive anything. If you decide . . .’
‘No. Garry.’ Ava was appalled. Was he suggesting what she thought?
‘You can heal after these things,’ he said, his voice soft.
There was something in the words that suggested he had experienced just that.
‘Garry? Did you and Katy . . . Did you have a baby?’
He gave her a faraway smile and then wafted a dismissive hand. ‘Why don’t you take the day off? Take some time to think. I can get someone else to do today.’
She nodded and whispered a thank you, everything too much.
‘I’m glad you told me.’ He stepped forward to give her a quick hug that caught her a little off guard. ‘I’m always here for you.’
Chapter 43
CONSTANCE
I am good for months and months. We have a party in the green room when I become nine years old; I sit in my leather wheelchair with the red arms, Crumpet in my lap, and open presents. He plays with the string. The house feels strangely full up, egg-and-cress sandwiches on a tiered stand, scones with butter, smells and sounds too loud. The woman who cleans, who calls Annie ‘hen’, is there, and Annie and Mr Hughes and their boy, Keven. He looks different when he’s inside. He doesn’t talk to me, half-hiding behind Annie dressed in his stiff shorts and shirt. I wish he would.
Mother kisses the top of my head as she wheels me back to my room. ‘Good girl.’
I go to the doctor in Glasgow more now. He showed me to one of the other doctors there – a surgeon. Mother’s eyes glowed as they talked about me and my chair and my legs and how they don’t work really since the polio I had.
Crumpet grows. Crumpet is my friend. My loving companion. Crumpet stops me being lonely. A lot of days I forget to remember about other children, about looking out of the window. I still move around the room, leave my chair, but never for long. I’m always scared that Mother will see, that she’ll take Crumpet away from me again.
Then I see him on the bridge. The boy. Keven. He often comes, and today he is walking next to his father, Mr Hughes, the man with the hat and the big scissors. The boy is so much taller now with a pale, thin face, light red hair and a large laughing mouth. He is s
o alive he never seems to be able to be still – skipping, leaping, throwing stones from the bridge, whooping at the sky. He sometimes spots me in the window and, at first, I dipped out of sight, clutching Crumpet to me, burying my head in his fur.
This time, though, the day is dreary. The clouds are grey and fat when the boy bursts into view again, racing across the bridge. His shouts make me edge near the glass and peer out of the diamonds at him. I can’t help smiling as he hops and jumps and runs about. How much fun it would be to be racing in the outdoors. If I could do that my legs would be strong again. I can feel them wanting to move, to wheel, to leap, to jump. I want to join him. I stand right up on my wheelchair, hands on the windowsill, watching.
The boy wears a long grey coat and boots and he has moved so close today, standing at the top of the stone steps leading down to the path that runs a little way from the window. He looks to his left and that is when he sees me.
I stare. I can’t help it. I forget to dive away, to hide, and I find myself lifting a hand. I am waving at him, not realising how close I am to the window until my nose nudges the glass. The boy waves back and I feel like Crumpet when he leaps with delight. The boy grins and pokes his tongue out and I laugh in my small room and do the same, tapping on the glass with my fingers. How I want to play!
Suddenly the boy looks back over his shoulder, towards the bridge and I look too, wanting a glimpse of Mr Hughes, his kind eyes crinkling as he watches his boy. I wonder if my father would have looked at me like that.
I wobble on the chair I have dragged to the window as I strain to see him. Mr Hughes comes into view. I’m still smiling when I realise he is walking with someone.
I am too late. I cannot get down in time. My mother looks across, her mouth still moving as she talks to Mr Hughes, a finger pointing towards the garden until she spots me, mouth falling open, arm dropping to her side like a stone. Even from here I can see the warning in her eyes. Mr Hughes looks at her, at me, frowns.
I slink off the chair, out of view, my hands slippery, my head pressed against the cold, whitewashed wall, wishing I could disappear through it and away. I stay listening for any sounds, not daring to look up out of the window and be caught again. Maybe it was in my head? Maybe she didn’t see me at all.
I turn and face the room; every item in it accuses me. The walls seem to close in on me as I creep low, dust-coated feet quiet on the floorboards. Crumpet is still curled up asleep at the foot of my bed and I join him, curl my body tightly around him, squeeze my eyes tight, try to feel comforted.
She doesn’t come. Time passes. Crumpet wakes and the sun drops out of the sky. I wrap my blanket around my shoulders, tummy empty and aching. I rub my thumb and forefinger together as I wait. I don’t want to leave my bed. I don’t want to leave Crumpet. I lick my lips and sit on the edge of my bed. My shoulders start to relax; maybe it will be fine.
I strain to hear the rattle of the tea tray. I reach out to ruffle Crumpet’s fur. There are footsteps – I am sure of it. A key turns.
She appears. There is no tray and no bowl for Crumpet. She comes into the room and I stare at the floor, ready for the things I will say . . . that I must listen to her and the doctor . . . that I’ll always stay in my chair . . . that I won’t look out of the window. ‘I am sorry, Mama.’ She lets me talk and my voice gets bolder as I go on, my grip loosening.
She holds a blanket. She reaches across me and for a second I think she might be tucking it around me with a gentle word, that I need to keep warm, keep my strength. Instead, she grabs at Crumpet, folds him quickly into the blanket. There is a whimper and the material is jumping in her arms.
I watch in horror as she steps backwards.
‘I trusted you,’ she says.
I want to get up, to run, to beg, but I know if I get up it will make her angrier. ‘Please, Mama.’
I can’t bear it. Not to see him for days. My eyes don’t leave the bundle in her arms.
‘Go back to your window,’ she says, and I freeze.
She locks the door clumsily and I do get up. I hear her walk up the ramp, across the hallway. The heavy front door to the outside bangs shut behind her. It is as if someone has turned up the sound, as if I can hear every step as she crosses in front of the house.
With my palms on the wall I trace her steps, back at the window, feel every muscle strain.
I see her walk past the top of the steps where the boy had stood. She turns and stares at me. My mouth is dry. I don’t understand. I can’t stop looking at the bundle in her arms.
I am right up against the glass, unable to tear my eyes away. What is she doing? Why is she taking Crumpet out onto the bridge? Why does she want me at the window?
And then I realise.
I watch every second.
I scream and scream and scream.
Chapter 44
AVA
The subway carriage rattled beneath her as she sagged in her seat. She would never have managed filming. Later, when she stepped out and climbed up into the street, she cannoned into passers-by who gave her filthy looks, her mumbled apologies coming too late. Her phone rang and she lifted it to her cheek, barely glancing at the name, just hoping to hear Fraser’s voice.
Pippa was shrill as she greeted her. ‘Mum said you kicked her out.’
‘I didn’t kick her out.’ Ava was too tired for this. She was about to make her excuses, about to hang up, no time for sibling rivalry or tensions or another row. Then she realised Pippa was giggling.
‘You poor thing! Forget about Mum – I was worried about you. Liam said you were really upset, that you and Fraser had rowed. And Mum told me he isn’t in the flat with you any more?’
‘It’s true,’ Ava gulped. She turned into her street and lowered herself onto the low wall outside their flat. ‘Oh God, Pippa . . .’ She cried then, a messy, snotty, blubbery mess – no words, just sniffs.
‘Hey, hey, it’s OK,’ Pippa soothed. ‘Ava, it’s OK. It’s going to be OK. Fraser loves you.’
Ava couldn’t speak for a moment.
‘Ava, stop it, come on. It’s fixable. It’s all going to be OK.’
Ava wiped her eyes with her shirt sleeve. ‘I don’t know, Pippa. He was right to leave. I’ve totally neglected him – and the baby.’ She was wracked with sobs once more. A woman walking a dog on the other side of the road peered in her direction then sped up when she caught her eye.
‘Well, you are having his baby at least, so that’s one way to get him to see you.’
Ava couldn’t help smiling in spite of herself.
‘Look . . .’ Ava pictured Pippa in her house, her head tilted to one side, phone tucked under her chin, a solemn expression on her face. ‘You need to call him. Now. Today. And you need to say sorry. It doesn’t even matter if you’re not.’
‘I am!’
‘Well, that’s even better! You need to say you’re sorry, that you’ll fix it, that you’ll stop neglecting him, that you’ll be . . . better.’
Better.
She wasn’t used to Pippa taking control like this. Normally it was herself or her mum calling the shots. For a moment she considered what it was normally like for Pippa, caught between two competing alpha females. How exhausting that must be.
‘Thank you,’ Ava whispered. She was bent so low that her hair tickled her cheeks as it hung down.
‘Hey, you’re my big sister!’ Pippa’s jokey voice was back. ‘I’m allowed to offer advice you’ll ignore.’
‘I won’t ignore it. I’m going to do it.’
Pippa shifted gear, her words tumbling out in a hurry. ‘Look, Ava, I haven’t been a great sister recently. I’m sorry. I think, you being pregnant . . . it sparked something – a stupid thing. An old jealousy about you and Mum being closer . . . it’s silly and embarrassing—’
Ava cut her off. ‘I get it. It’s fair enough. I know how Mum and I could be sometimes.’
‘Well, I’m favourite now!’ Pippa joked, and Ava wondered if the thick voice she co
uld hear meant Pippa was crying too.
‘She loves us both.’
‘I know.’ Pippa suddenly lightened. ‘And Liam telling me about the scan? God, Ava, it woke me up, you know? You’re pregnant! You are going to have a baby. I am going to be an aunt. And that is so bloody exciting!’
Pippa’s words were like a shaft of sunlight and Ava was still smiling when they said goodbye. She knew what she had to do.
She woke from her nap feeling groggy initially but, after downing a pint of water, she felt as if she was transforming back into a functioning human being. Fraser had agreed to meet her in less than an hour and she wanted to be on time and looking fabulous.
Hair glossy, fringe straightened, teeth cleaned and make-up on, Ava felt more like herself than she had in weeks. Throwing a loose white cotton shirt over leggings, she headed out of the flat.
The streets of Glasgow were busy with mums dragging school-age children around, pencil cases, new shoes and uniform bursting out of bags. Ava’s palms dampened as she rehearsed what she was going to say when she saw Fraser.
It was a cafe they hadn’t been to before; Fraser was already sitting in an orange booth when she appeared in the door. He half stood up as she stepped inside before returning to his Coke bottle, his hand shaking as he raised it to his lips. Normally clean-shaven in term time, he now wore a thick layer of dark stubble; his eyes looked bruised, the bags prominent under the overhead strip lights. An approaching waiter melted away once she’d ordered a Diet Coke.
‘Hey,’ she said.
‘Hey.’
Amid the banging of pans, the smell of frying onions, a bark of laughter from a group of teenagers in one of the only other occupied booths, Ava looked down, shame overwhelming her. All the things she’d planned to say dissolved. ‘I . . .’ She raised her head. ‘I came to tell you how sorry I am. For everything. For ruining your summer. For being distracted. For . . . for forgetting about your mum. It was unforgivable.’
The wait was interminable as she looked back down at the floor, staring at Fraser’s toes under the table, the faintest tan showing under a pair of flip-flops.
Finally came his voice, quiet in the hubbub. ‘And I’m sorry – for walking out. I just didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t keep nagging – you didn’t seem to notice . . . anything . . . I had plans . . .’ He swallowed. ‘I had wanted to propose this summer. Make things official for . . .’ He gestured at Ava’s stomach.