by Kerena Swan
Sophie is lost to him but perhaps he can have one more day with her. He’s been so looking forward to Mia’s birthday, to seeing her little face when she gets the doll’s house. He wants to build the furniture with her and help her mix the paints. He’s never spent much time with children before and it has surprised him how much fun they are. Maybe it’s because he can do all the things he missed out on in his own childhood. He enjoys Tilly’s company too. Getting a smile from her is such a delight.
Yes, that’s what he’ll do; spend one last day with her and then … Well, then he’ll leave.
With sudden energy Max gets up. He has plans to make before the net finally tightens around him. He switches on his laptop then brings up Google. He flicks through a few websites until he’s satisfied he has all the information he needs then leaves the house. For once he’s glad he could only afford a 1980’s house. He’s always preferred newer places, but they wouldn’t suit his needs right now.
In the DIY store he searches the aisles for the items he needs. Memories of an earlier shopping expedition here to buy window locks flashes into his head and he fights the urge to yell out loud.
What would his life have been like if he’d been born into a so-called ‘normal’ family? Would he have been a bad person then? He doesn’t think so but that doesn’t excuse what he did. He should have lived the life he had differently.
He finds a timer clock and puts it into his basket along with the other items then pays and leaves. Next, he goes to the chemist and purchases honey shampoo and bubble bath. He visits a photography booth and asks them to print a picture of Sophie and Mia in the rowing boat that he has on his phone then buys a frame for it. Last of all he visits the off-licence for a bottle of champagne.
He’s almost home when another thought occurs to him. He swings the car round and heads for the local toy shop. Will they have what he’s looking for? Do they deliver? He’s almost functioning on auto-pilot now. He’s paid for the goods and delivery and is back home with no recollection of the journey.
He’s taking no chances tonight. He’s had a hot bath with the honey products so his skin and hair smell like Sophie’s. He’s got fresh bedding for added comfort and a bottle of whiskey to knock him out. He’ll probably have a hangover in the morning, but anything is better than the nightmares which plague him night after night. He can drink a few strong coffees before he drives to Sophie’s house.
He props himself up on his pillows and takes a few glugs of whiskey straight from the bottle. He clutches the photograph and absorbs every feature of Sophie’s face. She is so, so lovely. He looks at the fine arch of her eyebrows framing her clear, smiling eyes and the contours of her delicate cheekbones which bring a perfect symmetry to her features. He smiles at gorgeous little Mia too. He would love to be a dad to her. And to Tilly. He would nurture and care for them all.
He awakens the next morning, mouth dry and head pounding, and staggers to the bathroom to throw water over his face. A whole night’s sleep! Not that it’s cleared his mind to the point that he can see a way out of this situation. He can’t. The important thing now is to make this last day with Sophie a day to remember for the rest of his life.
Pushing Ivy, the police, and the drain problem to the back of his mind, he makes himself a strong black coffee, showers and dresses with care. At least his eyes don’t look so bloodshot today despite the whiskey. Once he’s shaved, and dried his hair, he looks almost like his old self, thank God. He wants to look his best for Mia’s party. Sophie’s parents will be there, and he hasn’t formally met them before. It can’t be long before they hear things about him that make them despise him but for today, he wants them to like him. For today he wants to pretend that he’s living the life he could have had if things had been different. One day isn’t too much to ask, is it?
With a bounce in his step he picks up his car keys and jacket and turns towards the front door. Silhouetted in the glass are the two police constables who visited yesterday.
He opens the door with a feeling of dread.
‘We need to ask you some questions, Mr Saunders,’ the one called Hayward says. ‘We’d like you to accompany us to the station.’
‘Am I under arrest?’
‘Not yet, Mr Saunders. Not yet.’
70
Is everything OK? Are you on your way? I fire off another text. Max is only half an hour late. But he’s always so punctual. Why won’t he just let me know what’s going on? I turn on the taps and add a squirt of liquid to the dishes in the sink. I’m up to my elbows in suds when the doorbell rings. At last! He’s here.
‘Tilly, get the door, please.’ Where’s the towel gone?
The doorbell rings again. I find the towel and roughly dry my hands then rush to the hall. Tilly gets there a split second before me. ‘I’ve got it.’
‘Where were you? I told you to keep an eye out for Max.’
‘Chill out, Mum.’
She opens the door and steps back when a streak of golden fur nearly knocks her over. My heart sinks with disappointment that it’s Mum and Dad arriving early but I smile brightly.
‘Steady on, Nutmeg, you crazy dog,’ Tilly says. ‘Hello, Grandma, Grandad.’
Tilly kisses Mum on the cheek but isn’t quick enough to kiss Dad. Nutmeg drags him through the hall, straining at her lead to sniff out poor Welly who bolts through the cat flap into the garden.
Mia rushes downstairs, a fairy outfit bunched around her waist. ‘Grandma, Grandad. It’s my birthday!’
‘We know,’ they chorus.
Dad has let Nutmeg off the lead and she’s got her nose through the cat flap. At the sound of Mia’s voice, she bounds back, her tail and bottom wagging furiously and her nose crinkled from smiling. Mia gives her a quick hug then turns her face away as Nutmeg tries to lick her. She insisted the dog came to her party, so we’ve had to check the children are all OK with it. As it turns out, most of them have a dog anyway.
‘Have you got me a present?’ she asks.
‘Mia! It’s rude to ask for presents,’ I tell her. ‘Come into the kitchen, everyone, and I’ll put the kettle on. Here, let me sort your clothes out first.’ Mia has somehow managed to get herself into a tangle of straps and ruched netting.
‘Oh no, Grandad, I think we forgot to bring Mia’s present.’ Mum looks at Dad conspiratorially and he joins in.
‘Maybe we can bring it over next week.’
Mia’s face falls and he bends down and whispers in her ear. ‘Grandma’s hidden it in her big bag. She’s tricking you.’
Mia runs to the bag and Mum pulls out a large gift with all the flourish of a magician. Mia grabs it excitedly and tears off the paper then feasts her eyes on an array of plastic fruit, cakes, pizzas, and vegetables.
‘Wow! We can have some great pretend picnics now, Mia,’ Tilly says. ‘And we can play shops.’
This is another of Mia’s favourite games and I’ve bought her a little till to go with the products.
‘Will we get to meet Max properly today?’ Mum asks. At the mention of his name Mia looks up at me expectantly.
‘He should be here soon,’ I say, doing my best to sound light-hearted.
Mia smiles then trots off towards the lounge with her present. Has Max changed his mind about coming? I’m trying to stay positive but the confidence I felt after our lunch yesterday is dissipating again. Maybe he’s happy to enjoy lunch dates and lovemaking with me but doesn’t want to take on a couple of children. He’s been great with them but it’s a big leap from spending an occasional few hours with them to taking them on permanently. Maybe he’s running scared.
‘What time are the guests arriving?’ Dad asks. ‘Have I got time to have a quick look round the garden – see if there are any jobs to do before the winter?’
I make a mammoth effort to put my fears about Max on one side. ‘Two o’clock,’ I reply.
I look up at the large wall clock. ‘Crikey! We’ve only got an hour and a half to get everything sorted. Mum, can you
help me with the food? Tilly, can you decorate the table please? Mia, you can put all the party bags and prizes on the sideboard then fetch the donkey from your room.’
Mum looks bemused. ‘It’s for pin the tail on the donkey,’ I explain. ‘We’re going to play all the traditional games you used to do for my parties when I was little.’
‘How wonderful! Much better than those themed parties where they go to venues to do an activity.’
‘I know. I suppose it’s easier for the parents to pay someone else to entertain the kids, but I think they’d rather play simple games.’
‘You’re quite right. I’ve never come across a child who doesn’t like playing pass the parcel.’
Mum’s last few words are mumbled as she bites into the wrapping on a packet of chocolate fingers. I turn away and check my mobile again. Nothing. I mustn’t let Max spoil the day though.
Once Dad has completed his tour of the garden, with Nutmeg in tow checking all the bushes for Welly, I task him with hanging bunches of balloons on the front door and garden gate. With minutes to spare we’re ready for the twelve little fairies and pirates from Mia’s class.
I catch Mum watching me as I check my phone again. I shrug and smile. ‘OK, I think we’re all ready. Well done everyone.’ I make my voice as bright and cheerful as I can, but I can see Mum isn’t fooled. She gives me a smile then rubs the top of my arm. She’s probably disappointed as well. She’d been very impressed with Max during their brief encounter.
An hour later the party is going well. But Max hasn’t only failed to arrive, he’s also failed to reply to my messages and texts. He’s let me down and he’s let the girls down too. What does that say about our relationship?
Well, I’ve managed alone before and I’ll manage alone again. I lift my head and straighten my spine then lead the small children into the lounge and sit them in a circle for pass the parcel. They’re so excited my smile becomes genuine at the sight of them. I’m surprised, although I shouldn’t be, that none of them have ever played squeak piggy squeak or musical chairs before. One little boy says this is the best party he’s ever been to and the others nod in agreement. Mia looks thrilled, bless her. She’s already becoming aware that the other children seem to enjoy a lot more material possessions and costly experiences than she does. Hopefully this will redress the balance for a while. I don’t want her to be competitive, but I don’t want her to feel inferior either.
We’re almost down to the last wrapper and the tension is mounting. Children hold on to the parcel a fraction too long before reluctantly handing it to their neighbour. As the music stops again and a child gives a whoop of excitement, I hear the doorbell ring. My heart leaps into my throat and I fight the urge to jump up and answer the door. At last! We’re not expecting anyone else so it must be Max.
I look across the crowded room to Tilly who has clambered out of her chair to go to the door. I can barely focus on the game now. A child impatiently opens the last layer and she shrieks in delight as she finds a secret message writing set.
I turn to Mum who is clearing up scattered pieces of paper. ‘Can you organise the pin the tail on the donkey game?’
‘Of course,’ she says brightly, ‘I hope you’ve got Bluetac though. We don’t want any injuries.’
I show her where everything is and she announces the next game to the children who crowd around her. I squeeze past a couple of pink and yellow fairies and rush to the hall. When I reach it, crippling disappointment tethers me to the spot. I can’t believe it isn’t Max. I feel as if I’ve embarked on a journey to happiness only to find a ‘Road Closed’ sign up ahead.
‘I hope I’m not taking you away from the party,’ Gwen says. ‘I just wanted to bring a little gift round for Mia.’
Good manners prevail, and I rush forward to take her hand. ‘Not at all, Gwen, it’s lovely to see you. Come into the kitchen for a drink. It’s a bit too noisy in there.’
‘It certainly sounds like they’re having a lovely time. Tea would be wonderful. I won’t stay long, though. Or should I perhaps just leave the present for Mia to open later as you’re busy?’
I know Gwen is desperate to stay. She doesn’t have any family and is always asking me about the girls. It’s very sweet of her to buy Mia a gift so the least I can do is make her a drink.
‘Please stay. Mum can manage, and it’ll give my ears a rest for five minutes. I forget how loud small children are.’ As I boil the kettle Gwen comes over to me and speaks in a low voice.
‘I don’t know if you’ve heard the sad news, Sophie. I was speaking to one of the staff from Premier Care who supports Mr Brentwood. She told me Ivy Saunders died a few days ago. It seems she had a fall and wasn’t found for a couple of days.’
I stare at her in confusion. That can’t be right. Max has been visiting her this week – well at least I think he has. I sit down heavily. What’s going on?
‘Oh my God, poor Ivy. A couple of days! That’s terrible.’
Gwen pats my hand. ‘You really liked her, didn’t you love.’
‘I did. She was such a character. I can’t believe she’s gone.’
‘Mummy, I won the donkey game!’ Mia bounds into the kitchen followed by a huddle of chattering children.
‘Clever girl, I’m not sure about the party host winning but I suppose you deserve it as much as anyone.’ I look at my watch. Yet another ten minutes before the parents start arriving. I want everyone to go home so that I can try and get my head around everything.
‘OK, everyone. This is the last game – sleeping lions.’ This is the best game ever as it calms them all down and we get five minutes peace. ‘Everyone lie on the floor in the lounge. If you move you’re out. The last one in wins a prize.’ This is usually the one who’s fallen asleep.
Mum can sense I’m upset so she offers to watch the children. She’s wonderful. Nutmeg follows her in and I hear the odd giggle and squeal as she sabotages their game. She’s probably snuffling in their ears or tickling their cheeks with her whiskers.
I make small talk with Gwen, but she can see I’m troubled. If Max has only just heard of Ivy’s death, it explains why he isn’t here. He must be devastated and have arrangements to make. I’m not sure it explains why he hasn’t been in touch, though. I’m disappointed he hasn’t seen me as a source of comfort or sent a happy birthday message to Mia, but am I being unreasonable? Perhaps he just hasn’t wanted to put a damper on our day.
But why has he only learned of Ivy’s death now? Had they fallen out for some reason and is that why he’s been in such a strange mood recently? Had they fallen out over me? Damn it, there’s so much I don’t understand.
The game ends and children stream into the kitchen where Mia and Tilly give out the party bags. Mum cuts cake into slices and wraps them in napkins. I’d tried to delay the lighting of candles and singing moment for as long as possible because I really wanted Max to see Mia’s little face bright with happiness.
The doorbell rings and the parents crowd into the hall to collect their little darlings. I gather up coats and prizes while smiling and reminding Mia to thank her guests for coming. I tug jackets over little arms and kneel to do up shoes. I look into the radiant face of a small, dark haired girl as I straighten out her sock.
‘Thank you, Mia’s Mummy, for a lovely party,’ she says.
I’m about to reply as I pull back the Velcro on her patent leather shoe. The sound triggers a memory in my brain. A flash of movement from the corner of my eye, a shiny orb of glass clutched tightly in a gnarled old hand swinging towards my temple, a burst of pain and then … nothing.
Nothing until I woke with Max and Tilly looking over me. I sit back on my heels, gasping in shock. Did Ivy hit me on purpose? Try to kill me, even? I shut my eyes to block the thought, but the memory remains, replaying over and over in my head. I open my eyes and look at the startled face of the little girl then run upstairs where I vomit over the toilet.
71
Max runs his finger around his
shirt collar. It must be the wrong size because it’s strangling him. He tries to breathe deeply but there isn’t enough oxygen in this cramped room for him as well as the two police officers, and his brain won’t function. They’ve given their names and ranks but he hasn’t taken them in. They’ve offered him the opportunity to call a solicitor too but what’s the point? Nan, Lydia, the Jehovah, the backpacker in Jubilee Villas, and even the attack on Sophie. Doubtless the police are joining all the dots and finding evidence, and Max can’t see a way to navigate through to even temporary freedom.
They’ve kept him waiting for hours and he’s feeling sick with anxiety. This tiny, stifling room is like the haunted house at the fairground where the walls keep moving inwards. Panic is filling his chest and crushing his lungs. He needs to practice what he preaches to Sophie about taking long slow breaths.
Sophie, Sophie, Sophie. He can empathise with her panic attacks better now, but will he ever get the chance to help her through them again? Will he even get to see her? If only he could think straight and see a way forward. The policeman is talking. They’re switching on a tape recorder. He needs to concentrate on what they’re saying. Something about a caution and his rights?
‘You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.’
Oh God. Sweat forms like seed pearls on his forehead. He wipes it away, trying but failing to be surreptitious. Guilt must be screaming from his every pore, but he needs to concentrate. He can’t – absolutely can’t – go to prison. If he’s claustrophobic in this room, how much worse will he be in a cell? Images rush into his mind of darkness, mice, the hot rush of urine and for a moment his lungs feel paralyzed, incapable of breathing at all. He forces a gasp. Think, Max. He’s guilty. He deserves to be punished. But prison … Think, Max. ‘Can you please tell us your whereabouts on Thursday the thirteenth of October?’ an Officer asks.