The Perfect Family

by Samantha King

  “Annabel,” I whisper, barely breathing her name, my eyes searching for her thin, lifeless body beneath the barren rose bushes, even though I know it isn’t there—has never been there.

  I look up towards the bedroom windows at the back of the house: Aidan’s room, with Annabel’s right next door.

  Run! Hide! Don’t look back!

  That is where Annabel would have run to hide, pulling her brother behind her on the morning of their birthday. Her own private little world; her place of safety. I keep my eyes fixed on the dark window, picturing them crouched on the bedroom floor, their arms entwined around each other, eyes squeezed tightly shut and heads close together as they waited for the horror to pass and Mummy to come and find them. Only I didn’t come, and I wonder how long they waited, what they heard, and what they imagined was happening outside in the garden below. They may not have witnessed either shooting, but images would have played out in their minds all the same. I want the chance to wipe out those terrible pictures and replace them with only happy ones.

  I step across to the wooden swing bench where I used to curl up with the children on summer days. The Buddha they gave me sits patiently next to the bench; I close my eyes and picture the twins’ joy as I unwrapped it after my special Mother’s Day breakfast and told them it would bring us peace always. I remember those moments so vividly, even as I remain conscious of the world around me. This is the difference now when I drift off into memories. In the bright-dark, I became part of my memories; I inhabited the past, gliding between different times in my life, never realizing that I wasn’t actually there.

  Until now, I’ve never wondered why I always remained inside the house, reliving and replaying all the events of my life but never venturing out here, to the place where the peace I’d promised the twins was destroyed, violence tearing through our safe world, ripping my life apart. Now I understand that my unconscious mind was protecting me. As Professor Hernandez once said to me: the mind is incredibly powerful.

  I have fought my way back to life, and I will find my children, I think desperately, starting to hunt in earnest through the garden now, dragging my hands through trailing wisteria and the laurel hedge along the back fence, plunging my arms into hawthorn bushes, heedless of the thorns tearing my skin. I rip into the huge rhododendron bush in the far corner and yank away branches of spruce overhanging the back of the shed where Dom changed into his dad’s old army clothes and sat waiting for his moment. My legs are shaking so much I can hardly stand, but I don’t stop: I trample through the flower beds I spent years nurturing, oblivious to the little wildlife statues of my tranquillity garden toppling sideways as I walk round and round in circles, sobbing now, tears running down my face and my heart pounding until I think it will shatter into pieces.

  Annabel! Aidan! Where are you?

  A ball of anguish chokes me as I whirl around the garden, the stranglehold of hysteria tightening as I search desperately, repetitively, returning again and again to look at the same empty swing where Annabel still isn’t sitting, ducking to look underneath the slide where Aidan still hasn’t crouched to hide from me. If they are not here, I have no idea where else to look; and if I cannot find them, I wish Dom had taken me with him.

  “Maddie, please stop.”

  I ignore DCI Watkins’ low warning. I know he wanted to search the garden methodically, no doubt to preserve any evidence. I’m disturbing a possible crime scene; I’m making his job harder and he’ll be wishing again that he’d insisted I stay back at the police station. But this is my garden, my children; I have to find—

  I hear a scraping noise.

  Hairs prickle at the back of my neck.

  I turn. I look across the garden to see old Mr. Cooper from next door shuffling round the corner of the house, leaning heavily on his polished ebony walking stick as he joins Professor Hernandez and the detectives standing wide-eyed at the edge of the lawn. DCI Watkins, Michelle, the doctor and another man I presume must be DI Baxter: the moon casts an ethereal glow over them all; they look like ghosts, pale figments conjured up by my imagination to play yet more cruel tricks on me.

  But pressed close to each side of my elderly neighbor, skinny chopstick arms hooked tightly through his, stands a small, freckle-faced, copper-haired child. I blink once, twice, but they don’t disappear. A hollow cry erupts from my throat and I lurch forwards. As if made of stone my feet refuse to move: heavily, clumsily, I drag them across the dewy grass, and then I am stumbling, falling towards my children, arms outstretched until my shoulders almost dislocate, every last pain in my body forgotten as I watch the twins simultaneously break free from Mr. Cooper and fly towards me.

  “Mummy!”

  The thud of Annabel’s body against my chest is followed a second later by Aidan’s, and it feels like they’ve kick-started my heart, bringing me back to life. I wrap them up and hug them so hard I don’t think I can ever let go; I feel their skinny arms work their way behind my back, linking hands with each other, entwining until our three hearts echo with one thumping beat and it’s impossible to know where one of us ends and another begins.

  “I knew you’d come back for us,” Annabel says at last, turning her soft cheek to rest flat against my chest.

  “Always, my darling girl,” I say, burying my face in her golden crown of curls, breathing in the poignantly familiar sweet scent of apples mingled now with the damp-cinder tang of autumn.

  “I thought we’d never see you again,” Aidan says, looking up at me with blue eyes shining out from a face that is crumpled and wet with tears.

  “Nothing—no one—can keep me from you, my precious boy.” I hold him tighter, my throat too choked to say more.

  “You have a very kind, wise neighbor, Maddie,” Lucy says, stepping forward, and I look up to see her smiling through her own tears. “He heard Dom smashing up the house in the early hours of Saturday morning, and the moment he saw his car pull away, he came to get us. We’ve been playing bingo pretty much non-stop ever since.” She rolls her eyes, and then she is dancing towards us, sobbing and laughing as she throws her arms around me. “I’m so happy you’re home,” she says as she presses her cheek to mine. “We never knew—all this time Dom told us you were still asleep in the hospital, that it was unlikely you would ever wake up and that we couldn’t visit you, couldn’t—”

  “I can’t thank you enough, Lucy,” I say hoarsely. “For looking after them. You are the best friend I could ever wish for. Now meet my other best friend. Sebastiàn. He helped me find my happy ending,” I say, beaming as Professor Hernandez strides across the grass to shake Lucy’s hand, before returning to pump the hand of each of the detectives in turn, ruffling Jasper’s hair and then last of all stooping to give a surprised Mr. Cooper a big hug.

  “As I told this young detective here when he knocked on my door just now, Madeleine has been a life-saver to me since my wife died,” my frail but brave neighbor says, pulling a neatly pressed white handkerchief out of his tweed jacket pocket and meticulously dabbing his eyes. “I know he came by before. I’m sorry I didn’t answer the door. I thought it was, you know, him come back for the twins. I’ve been keeping them hidden in my wife’s old sewing room, you see. Just till I could work out a plan. It was the very least I could do for Maddie’s little ones. Look at them. Who could ever bear to hurt a single hair on their beautiful heads?” I look down at the twins, pressing against me as if to imprint their bodies upon mine. They are part of me, as I am of them: a three-way knot that has looped between us since before they were even born, and I will never let it be broken again.

  “I love you both beyond life,” I say, treasuring the steady rise and fall of their chests against mine, their synchronized puffs of breath warm against my neck. “I love you round the stars and over Mars,” I whisper between their red-gold heads.

  Annabel looks up at me and our eyes lock in recognition of her words and where she wrote them. I’m almost too blinded by tears to see the shy, anxious smile on her face, but I
feel her tiny hand squeeze mine.

  “Is it over, Mummy?”

  “Like a bad dream. We’re going to start living our own dreams now.” I gaze down at the two almost-identical, happy shiny faces glowing up at me. “My precious twins. I choose us.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  In writing this story I thought a lot about dreams, and I’m fortunate to be able to say that my three biggest wishes in life have been granted: meeting my husband, having our children, and now becoming a published writer. Of course, as you will know, fulfilling dreams takes an immense amount of hard work as well as a hefty sprinkle of luck—and I’d like to say a huge thank-you here to some very special people who have helped me.

  Emma Beswetherick—for your unwavering faith in me, your brilliantly incisive but always nurturing guidance, awe-inspiring speed, energy and enthusiasm. And for offering champagne at every opportunity! Quite literally, I couldn’t have done this without you, and I feel privileged to have you as my editor. Best phone call from a New York taxicab ever. Thank you!

  Dominic Wakeford (infinitely more charming than your namesake!)—for your eagle-eyed insights and answering all my questions so patiently! Alison Tulett—for fabulous copy-editing and pointing out every bloop with such tact! And Fraser Crichton—for catching everything that slipped through the net. Anniina Vuori (and Diane Spivey)—for your super efficiency and friendly patience in demystifying contracts, and because Contracts people are the unsung heroes who genuinely make things happen!

  The entire Piatkus team—for all that you do. Which is a lot! From Rights to Production, Sales & Marketing to Publicity, you are a fabulous, incredibly talented bunch of extraordinarily kind, clever and creative people.

  John Scognamiglio and everyone at Kensington Books, who have taken such brilliant, thoughtful care in bringing my book to U.S. readers.

  Eugenie Furniss—for being so wonderfully fleet of foot in taking up the baton!

  Finally, my husband and children—who convinced me to follow my dreams, without realizing they’ve already made the most important ones come true.

  Paul—for all the massive, life-changing things. Paying the bills, keeping the children happy and entertained to give me time to write. Never, ever letting me give up. Thank you for being right by my side—always encouraging me, often carrying me!

  Hani and Rafi—thank you for filling my every day with happiness, and for putting up with Mummy being glued to the laptop! I could never have written this book without you: it is all because of you, and it is all for you, always. You are growing up into such amazing people, but you will always be my babies—and I love you both beyond life.