The Missing Pieces of Sophie McCarthy
Page 30
‘Just go,’ she said coldly. ‘I don’t need to hear this.’
Enough, I told myself. You’ve got through to her, Dee. That’s enough for today. One small step at a time.
‘I’ll come back tomorrow,’ I said with determined cheeriness, then – with a pointed look at the bag of crisps – added, ‘I’ll bring some groceries.’
She stayed sitting while I let myself out. At the front door, I hesitated. The door open behind me, I turned back around to face the hall, which had an empty, distinctly desolate air about it, as did the whole house.
The strangest feeling came over me. It was as though I saw my daughter’s future in that hallway. Bleak. Painful. Lonely.
60
Sophie
She wrote to me. Kristina Owens. Or Kristina Nolan, as she’s now known. She sent me a message through Facebook, and I stupidly opened it without realizing who it was from.
Dear Sophie,
I’ve tried to put St Brigid’s behind me, so when I first heard from Hannah Evans my hand automatically reached for the delete key. I remembered Hannah as a shy, earnest girl in the year below us and so I decided that the polite thing would be to respond, even if only to make it clear I wasn’t interested in a reunion. But then I received another message from her, a message that turned my world upside down. She knew that you had been right next to me when I ‘fell’, not further back down the track, as you’d told the teachers. Hannah didn’t see the push, unfortunately, so it’s not as if I can take it up with the police, but she has given me something so unexpected, so precious: she has validated my side of the story.
It’s thrown me right back to when it happened. All those feelings raging through me while I was trapped in the hospital bed: pain, anger, frustration, helplessness, more pain. My leg was ruined, in pieces, and needed numerous rounds of surgery. I was bedridden for weeks, alienated from my friends, from normal teenage life. The bones eventually mended and I tried to get on with my life. The problem was that, even on the good days, the pain never quite went away. It shadowed me, pulled me back, made it hard to maintain an active lifestyle, or a meaningful relationship (my ex-husband told me I’m bad-tempered), or hold down a permanent job.
A long time ago my specialist told me that I would have to ‘live with the pain’. And so I do. I live with it. I’ve accepted that my career is second-rate. I’ve accepted that I’m sometimes hard to live with. I’ve accepted that my body will never be quite right, will never fit back together as it once did. In the last couple of years I’ve learned how to meditate, and it has changed my life. I’ve been able to acknowledge and control any negative energy, resentment or anger. But the one thing that has been difficult to accept, to transcend, is the fact that you got away with it. You pushed me, you lied, it was my word against yours, and you’ve never been held to account. I’ve accepted what happened to me, but have been less successful with accepting what happened (or rather, didn’t happen) to you.
But now this. Not only has Hannah validated my side of the story, she has opened up the possibility that maybe you didn’t get away with it after all. Because Hannah said that you were also involved in a serious accident, spent weeks in hospital and have not been able to fully resume your career or your life. On hearing this, I just couldn’t help myself: the court records were online, and from the judgement I learned exactly how the accident had happened and the details of your injuries.
And you know what? My first thought was, was it me? Did I make your accident happen? Did I will it upon you? All those nights when the old me, the bitter me, used to lie awake, wishing for revenge, wishing upon you the same misery and suffering that I was feeling.
But no, your accident was not my fault. You were good at science, Sophie. Remember Newton’s third law of motion? For every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction. That spiteful push on the side of the ravine slowly gathered momentum and force over the intervening months and years, and finally culminated with a car – your car – ploughing into another on Anzac Parade, a perfectly appropriate reaction to the action you started. You had this coming, Sophie. It’s a matter of physics. It’s a matter of karma. It’s a matter of justice in its purest form.
Besides, I wished nothing upon you that hadn’t already happened to me: failed relationships; constant, debilitating pain; and loneliness, because that’s the worst thing of all.
It’s important that you know I’m in a good place now. I have a new man, a wonderful, caring man who doesn’t scare off if I’m occasionally snappy or having a bad day. I’ve discovered that personal happiness is the ultimate salve for pain. It’s taken me many years to get to this place, Sophie. You have a long road ahead of you. Despite my continuing efforts to be positive and not be dragged down by bitterness and hatred, I can’t find it in me to wish you luck.
Kristina
I didn’t send a response. What was the point? I had absolutely no intention of compromising myself by either admitting the truth or apologizing. That doesn’t mean I don’t regret what happened. Even though Dad told me to ‘solve’ Kristina Owens, I didn’t actually plan what happened at the ravine. It was a moment of sheer spitefulness rather than something premeditated. She had beaten me by one mark in the maths challenge that morning. One measly mark had made Kristina the Olympiad Champion and relegated me to second place … again. It was the mark, and it was the fact that she wouldn’t allow me to lead the orienteering. She insisted on holding the map, working out all the coordinates. I am one of those people who has to be in charge. With every step along the track, I became more and more infuriated, until I was completely consumed with the need to get even with her. It was like when I used to pinch or hit Jacob, that quick – almost sweet – release to my frustration. Except that I didn’t pinch Kristina, I pushed her, and she fell a long way, and broke a lot of bones.
Just because I lied about what happened didn’t mean I wasn’t sorry. I would never do that again, never lay a hand on anyone, never allow my temper or competitiveness to get the better of me and cause such a bad error of judgement. Witnessing her terrible injuries. Those stressful few days when the school was ‘investigating’. Even the glory of being awarded dux wasn’t what I thought it would be. It never felt as good as it would have if Kristina had been in the audience, forced to clap and look pleased as I received my plaque. It never felt as good as it would have if I had beaten Kristina fair and square. I learned my lesson. Since then, I’ve always relied on my intellect, my hard-work ethic and my high standards to get where I want to be.
I’m thrown, though. At the thought of Kristina Owens lying in bed at night, wishing me ill. I’m rattled. Her message has penetrated the fugue of pain and sparked something in me. A desire to prove her wrong. A desire not to descend into a life of failed relationships, debilitating pain and crippling loneliness. Maybe it’s our old rivalry clicking into gear. Or maybe I’ve spent enough time wallowing and I’m ready to roll up my sleeves, get stuck in again.
Whatever it is, I force myself out of bed early the next morning.
Come on, Sophie. Come on.
I shower, wash my hair for the first time in over a week, and get dressed in smart trousers and a white shirt, as if I’m going to the office. After breakfast, I spend a few hours on my résumé, updating it with my experience and accomplishments at Real Cover. Then I phone some old contacts, and one of the calls proves promising.
By lunchtime I’m both exhausted and invigorated.
I have something to prove. Not only to Kristina but to Hannah too. And Jane. And John Greenland. And Aidan and Chloe. I’m always at my best when I have something to prove. As for Dad, I will not be derailed by what he has done and I do not need his kind of help to succeed.
I will come back fighting. It’s what I’ve always done when life deals a blow, and it’s the one part of me that can’t be broken, or squashed, or questioned.
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to Kimberley Atkins, Eve Hall, Tilda McDonald, Maxine Hitchcock, Sarah D
ay and everyone at Penguin for your dedication and vision.
Thank you to my merry band of early readers: Erin Downey, Petronella Nicholson, Ann Riordan, Sarah Shrubb, Merran Harte, Conor Carroll and Rob Carroll. Your comments and suggestions were invaluable. (A special mention goes to Ashling Carroll, who wasn’t allowed to read the manuscript, but tried very hard to talk me round!)
For technical assistance, I am immensely grateful to Kevin O’Mahony and Seth Gibbard (advance apologies for those instances where I’ve taken artistic licence, or simply got it wrong!).
Brian Cook, to whom this novel is dedicated, thank you for everything. We’ve been on a long journey together. We could write a book about it (or maybe we won’t).
Thanks to Liane Moriarty and Dianne Blacklock, who helped every step of the way. The bad news is, I’m becoming more and more reliant on your input. The good news is, the Bellinis that magically appear while we talk about everything publishing (and more).
Thank you to my family and friends, who are unfailingly supportive and put up with me constantly pillaging their anecdotes and personal lives.
Finally, a huge thank you to my readers. This book is a little different from the others. I’ve loved it right from the start. I hope you do too.
THE BEGINNING
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PENGUIN BOOKS
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First published 2018
Copyright B. M. Carroll, 2018
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Cover image © Mark Owen/Arcangel Images
ISBN: 978-0-718-18672-2