by Jill Childs
‘He cried the day you were born,’ I said. ‘But that was because he was happy.’
‘Then I saw myself on a trolley and they put a needle in my arm and a mask on my face and pushed the trolley into a big lift and a nurse pressed the button with a four on it. When we were in there, the ambulance man put his hands on my chest like this and leaned on me and Daddy was shouting.’
I didn’t know what to say. I just kept quiet and let you talk.
‘Daddy was sad and I knew you would be too so I told the man: I think I’ll go back please. And then I was there again, in my body on the trolley, and my head hurt and I felt sick and my ears were full of noises and when I opened my eyes, lights in the ceiling were rushing past me and I thought they were hardly lights at all, compared to the light I’d just seen, but Daddy’s face hung over me and the doctor’s and that man said “Stay with us, petal, stay with us”, and then I fell asleep.’
You seemed tired when you finished and I reached an arm round you and hugged you to me, stroking hair from your forehead.
‘Do you believe me, Mummy?’
I didn’t want to tell you that I didn’t believe you – it seemed to feel true to you and it is a terrible thing not to be believed by people you love. So I just said: ‘I’m very glad you came back, Gracie. You don’t know how glad. I love you very much.’
A chill wind blew along the river and clouds thickened overhead. You were starting to get cold. I stood up and you jumped to your feet and we walked back towards the bridge, hand in hand. I clutched you very tightly. I wanted to be normal with you but my head throbbed with the effort of understanding the implications of what you’d said.
‘Please will you tell me,’ I said, trying to sound matter of fact, ‘if you remember anything else?’
‘OK.’ Your voice was chirpy.
A moment later, you let my hand fall and started to skip, jumping sideways on and off the edge of the path, your hair flying as if you’d forgotten about the whole thing.
* * *
That evening, after we’d read a story and I sang you to sleep, I sat on in your room, gazing down at your face in the shadows. Just you and me, in the silence.
You were sleeping on your knees, hunched forward over your bear, one arm flung out, your head lolling to one side, hair splayed across the sheet. You were so still that I kneeled down beside you and lowered my face to yours to catch the soft, barely audible suck of your breathing. You didn’t stir when I put my lips to your cheek and stroked the hair from your eyes. Your skin smelt of lemons.
You stirred and I retreated at once and settled in the lumpy armchair and sat, my legs curled under me, my cheek against the rough fabric, thinking about you and how blessed I was to have you back again, here, alive. And thinking about that poor young woman, Vanessa, the estate agent, and her desperate mother, somewhere out in the darkness, who had lost her daughter forever.
Eleven
The following morning, you went to nursery and, as I shopped and cooked and did the laundry, I thought constantly about the strange story you’d told. All I could imagine was that you were experiencing your own form of post-traumatic shock, processing in some way all that had happened and reliving it in the only form you knew: a story.
By the time I collected you from nursery, I’d decided to take you with me to do something that had been in my mind for a while. To go and see the scene of the accident for myself. Perhaps, I thought, it would help us both.
I bought flowers. It was an overpriced winter bouquet and as I paid for them, I hesitated, wondering what on earth I was doing, busting my budget for someone I’d never even met. I seemed to hear my beloved father’s voice, always the pragmatist. He laughed in my ear. Nineteen ninety-nine? Really? And you’re going to tie them to a lamp post and leave them there? Oh please, Jen, please.
You clung tightly to my hand as we jumped off the big step of the bus onto the pavement and I looked round, trying to make out the landmarks. A dry cleaner’s. A chemist’s. A convenience store. A coffee shop.
I looked warily at the surface of the road. No dark patches that might be the remnants of spilt blood. No shattered glass. Nothing at all. Just the endless rumble of fast-moving cars and buses and lorries and a hard, damp chill in the air.
You helped me to find the end of the roll of brown tape and pick it free. We wrapped it round and round the flowers and the lamp post behind. The stems stood upright, the heads leaning forward. I thought of witches, tied to the stake, waiting to be burned. I blinked, stuck the card on the front in its plastic sleeve. For Vanessa.
I drew you in front of me and stood there for a moment, my hands gripping your shoulders. A religious person would say a prayer. We were not religious people. You twisted round, expectant, trying to look at me.
‘Did you know her?’ A stout woman, full in the door of the coffee shop. Her hands were across her bosom, holding thickly padded upper arms, warding off the cold.
‘Not really. I mean, no. I know the woman driving the other car.’
‘Oh.’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Is she…?’
‘She’s fine. Barely a scratch.’
‘I saw it happen. I was stood right here.’ She nodded at the doorway that framed her. ‘That poor girl’s car went out of control, swerved right across the road. Bang. Head on.’
I nodded. I wanted her to say more, to tell me what I knew in my heart, that whatever the other woman did wrong, the accident was partly Ella’s fault too. Despite what the police said.
‘And that poor kiddie in the back.’
My eyes travelled down to you and hers followed.
‘Hello, darling. What’s your name?’
You didn’t answer, twisted back to me for guidance.
‘Gracie,’ I said. ‘She’s three. Well, nearly four.’
‘Nearly four! What a big girl!’ Her eyes rose again to mine and read my expression. ‘Was it her, then, in the back?’
I nodded.
She looked you over. ‘Come into the warm. You like marshmallows, Gracie?’
The coffee shop was almost deserted. We slid into chairs in the window and I ordered drinks and a toasted sandwich. You faced the interior and watched with round eyes as the woman worked behind the counter.
I looked out at the street. The table juddered each time a heavy lorry rumbled past. The flowers hung unhappily on the lamp post. They blurred as rain spattered the glass. It was a sad offering, already desolate.
‘I didn’t know what else to do.’
‘Of course you didn’t.’ She seemed to understand at once. She was bustling now, hissing steam and pulling levers as she made you a hot chocolate and stuffed the tiny cup with pink and white marshmallows, then made me a cappuccino and shook chocolate shavings over the foam. ‘It’s a lovely gesture. Two plates with the toastie?’
She waved me away when I reached for my wallet and came to sit beside me, facing the window. She jerked her head towards you and mouthed: ‘Is she alright?’
I nodded. She considered us both, then pulled herself back onto her feet and returned with a tin of worn crayons and a printed colouring sheet and put them in front of you.
‘Could you tell me a bit more, please?’ I kept my voice low, watching you pick out a crayon and start to scribble, hoping you were too absorbed in your colouring to listen. ‘What happened, exactly?’
She blew out her cheeks. ‘I was stood right here. It was quiet, you see. I like to get some air.’ She made a discreet smoking gesture over your head. ‘See what’s going on.’
You scribbled hard, the tip of your tongue sticking out between your lips as you concentrated. Yellow. Every now and then, your small fingers reached for a marshmallow and you bit into it, your brow tight as you chewed.
‘Who was she talking to?’ the woman asked. ‘Do you know?’
I shook my head. ‘Who?’
‘Your friend. Didn’t she say?’ She nodded. ‘On her mobile.’ She put her splayed fingers to her cheek to demonstrate. ‘Shoutin
g. Right old ding-dong. Don’t know what she said but I heard her through the window, just before, you know. That’s what made me look up. And then, bang.’ She made the sign of the cross on her breast.
I set down my cup, spilling coffee in the saucer and out across the plastic tabletop. For a moment, my chest was so tight that I could barely breathe. I was right. I knew it from the start. Ella was to blame. She was shouting down the phone, distracted, when the accident happened. Not paying proper attention. With you, my love, in her care. You could have died.
The woman looked embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—’
I swallowed hard, pressed the flat of my wrists to my eyes to stop myself crying. She filled the silence by reaching for a serviette and mopping at the splashes of coffee.
‘And to think, that little one in the back. And she’s alright, you say? Well.’
I couldn’t speak. My hands, at my face, shook.
She looked away. You, oblivious, crayoned furiously.
‘They took forever getting her out. Put one of those things on, round her neck. Poor little mite.’ She raised her eyes to check on me. ‘And she was your friend?’
My friend? Ella? I didn’t reply.
Something seemed to occur to her and she got to her feet, dropped the sodden serviettes in the bin and went behind the counter, rummaging there. You lifted your head and watched. When she came back, she carried something small inside a folded carrier bag.
‘I was going to take it to the police, you know, but I didn’t know where to go. There used to be a police station just down there, along Flyfield Road, but they closed it. Turned it into a kebab shop. And I didn’t want to get her into bother. Anyway, take it. You can give it to her now, can’t you?’
I opened up the bag. A phone in a red leather case.
She pointed towards the listing flowers. ‘It was just there, in the gutter. I thought I’d better pick it up before someone nicked it.’
You looked too. ‘Is that Auntie Ella’s?’
The woman gave you an indulgent smile. ‘Well, aren’t you the cat with nine lives? Bet you gave your mummy a scare, didn’t you?’ She looked back at me and lowered her voice again. ‘I tell you, I didn’t think she’d made it. When I saw her out there in this bad light, I thought for a minute I’d seen a ghost.’
Twelve
A day or two later, as we walked home from nursery, I had the sense that we were being watched. You chatted away about a story the teacher had read but I only half-listened. I stopped, there in the bustle of the high street, and feigned interest in a powder-blue dress and jacket in a shop window. Beside me, you flattened the tip of your nose and your lips against the glass. A tall figure, a man in a cashmere coat, his hair neat, grew in the reflection as he came towards us. His shoes shone with polish.
I turned to greet Matt as he reached us.
‘Jen!’ He smiled down at me and, although I felt awkward, I found myself smiling back. ‘How are you?’ He crouched down to your level. ‘And this is Gracie? Wow! High five!’
He held up his hand and you slapped it.
‘I’m a doctor, Gracie. At the hospital. Do you remember when you were there? You were such a brave girl. I’ve got a present for you, if that’s OK with Mummy. To say well done.’
He opened his shoulder bag and pulled out a small chocolate bear, wrapped in gold foil.
‘A bear!’ You danced with excitement. I was conscious of living off my savings, so treats were rare.
He raised his eyes to me. ‘Is that OK?’
You looked from him to me, waiting for my decision. I nodded. What else could I do? You took it and ripped off the foil at once, stuffed it into your mouth.
‘What do you say?’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘That’s very kind. Really.’
‘I always have a bear or two about my person.’ His eyes were bright and amused. ‘I’m so glad I caught you. I thought I saw you back there—’ he pointed vaguely back towards the river ‘—at the traffic lights. But I wasn’t certain.’
You tugged at my hand, feet still dancing. ‘I want to go home now.’
‘So how are things?’ His look, intense and concerned, reminded me of those wretched days in the hospital. Of his kindness. Of the food he bought me, the coffees and croissants, the curry.
‘I meant to call you. I’m sorry. To say thank you.’
‘No need.’ He broke into a grin. ‘I mean, no need for thanks. Not no need to call me.’
A woman with a double buggy powered past, filling the pavement and forcing us against the side of the shop.
‘Mummy!’ You began to fret at my side, pulling me. ‘Let’s go home.’
‘I should probably…’ I hesitated.
He must have sensed that you were restless but he didn’t take the cue to leave.
‘Do you live round here? I go to the dentist off the high street.’ He pointed. ‘Not exactly convenient but a friend of the family.’ He paused. ‘I was just going to get a coffee, actually. Don’t suppose—’
‘Mum-my!’ You twisted and tugged, getting cross now, pulling me away.
He looked at you, then back to me. ‘Don’t worry. Another time.’
‘Look, we only live round the corner.’ I didn’t really want to invite him but he looked so disappointed that it just came out. ‘Come for a coffee at our place, if you like?’
‘Really?’ His eyes lit up. ‘Well, only if you’re sure. I’m on lates today.’
I led the way across the high street and turned into our road. You ran ahead, racing to be first. By the time we got there, you were swinging backwards and forwards on the rusty gate.
I warmed some milk for you and left you to play, then went to put the kettle on. Matt leant back against the cupboards, large and solid in our small kitchen. He looked very much at ease, his expensive coat already draped over the back of a kitchen chair.
‘Nice place.’
‘Thanks.’ I turned my back to him and began to put the shopping away.
He peered through the connecting door to the sitting room where you were busy rummaging through your toys. ‘Been here a long time?’
‘Six or seven years. Richard chose it. He wanted a bit of garden.’ I shrugged, remembering. ‘And now, of course, it’s just Gracie and me.’
Matt broke into a grin. ‘I’m so pleased to see you. I’ve thought a lot about you, Jen. Wondered how you were.’
I didn’t answer. I turned my back to him, hiding my face, suddenly awkward. A mechanical tune rang out from the sitting room as you pressed buttons on a toy laptop. I concentrated on unpacking the shopping, wondering how long he planned to stay, whether I’d need to offer him lunch. He moved to the fridge and studied your drawings and paintings displayed there, bunched together with magnets.
‘Does she like drawing?’ He considered one closely. ‘She’s good.’
Your bear sat squarely in the middle of the kitchen table, propped against the fruit bowl from where he’d watched us eat breakfast. I moved him to the sideboard alongside placemats and colouring books and old shoeboxes of felt-tip pens, paintbrushes and crayons.
‘Have a seat.’
His physical presence dominated the space. He pulled out a chair and sat a little away from the edge of the table, his long legs crossed. He was wearing black jeans, a smart pair, with a jacket and tie. They suited him. When Richard wore jeans, he always looked as if he were trying too hard.
I finished tidying and reached for mugs. His eyes followed me as I moved.
‘It’s only instant coffee, I’m afraid. Or builder’s tea. Milk? Sugar?’
I made him a mug of tea and sat on the far side of the table, conscious of toast crumbs and traces of jam on the surface.
I had a clear view through to the sitting room where you’d settled on the settee with a book on your lap, your lips moving as you told yourself the story. I recognised the book from here. Beauty and the Beast. You couldn’t read
; you just had it by heart.
‘So you’re doing OK?’ His voice was gentle.
His fingers, wrapped round one of Richard’s old mugs, were long and delicate. His chest was broad. He smelled fresh, a pungent scent of apples. It was so odd to see him sitting here, at the kitchen table. I didn’t really see friends nowadays, not since Richard left. It was just you and me. And in the evenings, just me.
‘Yep, think so.’ I nodded. ‘I’ve taken some time off work. They’ve been very good. Just until Gracie starts school in September.’
‘The days are long but the years are short.’ He smiled. ‘So what sort of work aren’t you doing?’
‘I run a training and development unit at a German investment bank. Not corporate training but personal development, one-on-one mostly.’
Richard always zoned out when I talked about work. I stopped bothering long ago. But Matt’s eyes stayed attentive.
‘It’s all about helping people work towards what they really want to do. It’s very rewarding. Well, most of the time.’
He considered. ‘Do people know what they want?’
‘That’s half the battle. Helping them find out. Then we break it down into steps and work out how to get there.’ I paused. I didn’t know why I was telling him all this. I didn’t really know why he was here at all. ‘It can mean leaving banking, for some people. And that’s OK too.’
I lifted my eyes, looked through to the sitting room. Your head was bent low over the story. I watched you for a moment and the sight of you, so engrossed, made me smile. I realised he was looking at me and turned. His eyes, on my face, were kind.
‘Gracie’s doing so well. I was frightened to death. You can imagine.’ I stopped. I still found it difficult to talk about without crying. ‘But she’s completely fine. Just as bright and lively as she always was.’ I nodded towards the open door. ‘Well, see for yourself.’