Back in the driver’s seat, I glance at my watch. It’s just after ten to nine. I reach for my bag and pull out my phone, dialling the number to make the call I’ve been dreading.
‘Sandy, hi. It’s me, Lorna. Look, I’m so sorry to do this to you at such short notice but the hospital just called with an appointment for Freya. They had a cancellation. She’s been having trouble with her ears, remember? Mark can’t take her, so I’ll have to. Would you cancel and reschedule my clients this morning? I know… I’m so sorry. But I can’t turn it down or she’ll have to wait months. She’s often in pain… Thanks, Sandy. I owe you one.’
After I hang up, my skin clammy with sweat, I turn off my phone and drop it back inside my bag. I don’t want anyone to reach me.
* * *
I get to the park ten minutes early, waiting under a tree not far from the river, fidgeting from one foot to the other. A couple of runners pass by, the sound of their tinny music hissing from their earphones. My body tenses as I scan around the park. It was the only place I could think of to meet. Our park. Shots café would be far too busy at this time and they know my face. There’s no way I could risk it.
A male figure approaches in the distance but, as he draws closer, I can see it’s not him. What if he doesn’t even come, I think, already feeling the ache inside? What if he’s trying to fix up a meet with ‘Abbi’ right this moment, or worse, he’s with her, his lodger? Still, I keep my phone switched off.
‘Hi,’ comes the low voice from behind, making me jump. He’s close, so close it makes me wonder how I didn’t hear him approaching. ‘You’re looking good, Lorna.’ I feel his hands drawing me closer. His confidence and assertiveness were always so attractive. Like he owned me, wanted me all for himself. To care for me.
‘Hi,’ I say softly, my eyes flicking from his eyes to the scar on his lip. ‘You came.’ As ever, my heart kicks up at the sight of him.
‘You thought I wouldn’t?’ He laughs, leaning forward to kiss me. I pull back, conscious of being in public. Of it all starting up again. That’s not why I came.
‘No, I just…’ I can’t mention Abbi. I sweep back my hair, lowering my eyes. ‘Don’t kiss me here. Someone might see.’
‘Is that an invitation to go somewhere private?’
‘No, Andrew, it’s not.’ We start walking, tracking the path through the trees that runs parallel with the river. The air is fresh and cool, springlike and untainted by our illicit presence. ‘I thought we should talk. And not in one of those hotels. They made me feel like a dirty little secret. I hated that I couldn’t come to your place.’
‘But the whole thing was a dirty little secret,’ he says, flashing a smile. ‘Wasn’t that the point? Anyway, I’d rather talk about the future. About us. What happens next.’
‘Andrew, I don’t think you really understand.’ I stop, turning to face him, the same strange feeling from last night hitting me.
‘Then explain,’ he says, trying to draw me in for a kiss again. I shy away.
‘Look, I’m not doing this a second time, Andrew. I want you, but I don’t want you. I was moving on, but now this…’ I look up into his eyes.
‘Is it because of your family?’
‘Of course it’s because of my family,’ I say. ‘But how is that any different to you putting your… your lodger first, or…’ I only just stop myself from mentioning Abbi and all the other women he’s no doubt chatting with on Double Take.
His face changes then, as if I’ve overstepped the line. ‘Lorna, Lorna,’ he says, reaching out for me. ‘Why are you so hung up on her? This should be about us. No one else. I want us to have a future together.’
‘Hung up?’ I say loudly. ‘Hung up on the woman you’re living with, that you lied to me about?’ My hand goes to my forehead as I hear myself sounding crazy. I feel as though I’m stumbling through thick fog, searching for something except I don’t know what.
‘I’ve told you before, but you never listen. It’s as though you don’t want to hear.’ He laughs then, setting my already raw nerves on fire. ‘Anyway, you’re in no position to lecture me.’
‘But I didn’t lie to you about Mark. I’ve always been honest about it. Not proud, but at least honest. You just won’t… won’t even admit what’s going on, like you want to torture me.’ I walk off, shaking, scuffing the ground until he catches up, grabs me and swings me round.
‘OK, I’ll be honest then. We had a thing, but it was ages ago. Before you and I even met.’
‘So you are fucking your lodger, and you lied about it. Lied to your therapist.’
‘You’re not my therapist any more, remember?’ Even though I can see the hurt in his eyes, it feels as though he’s mocking me, playing with me, making me feel like a naughty child. Right now, I hate him.
Love him.
‘I was your therapist, before you decided to… to…’ I cover my face, angry and frustrated. ‘How long before we met was it going on with her?’ I hate how I sound – desperate, needy, as though an unplugged hole in me needs filling with reassurance. This isn’t how this morning was meant to go. I wanted a calm ending, closure, a chance to get on with my life.
Then the panic again – ringing in my ears, blurring my vision, making me doubt everything.
‘I don’t know exactly,’ he says, shrugging as if it’s no big deal. ‘Why can’t this just be about us, Lorna?’
‘Because there is no us,’ I say. ‘Answer me. How long before we met were you with her?’
‘You’re obsessed. She means nothing to me, can’t you understand?’ That’s when his mouth comes down on mine – his lips all-consuming, his scent becoming a taste now too. I try to pull away but can’t, and I have no idea if it’s because he’s forcing me or because I don’t want to.
‘A few months maybe,’ he whispers, the words resonating in my mouth, as if he’s chanting them down my throat. ‘Maybe a few days, I can’t even remember… Who cares?’
‘I care,’ I say, kissing him back, holding his face, touching the cleft above his lip with my thumb.
‘Look, Lorna, she’s not even that attractive. She’s all alone and has nowhere else to go. She works a crap job that doesn’t pay much. I have to… to subsidise her sometimes. I can’t just chuck her out. You want me to be heartless?’
I stare at him, narrowing my eyes before they turn to saucers. I’m filled with fear. ‘Oh God…’ I whisper, his face swimming in front of me. ‘It’s all my fault… all my fault…’ The scar transforms from something rugged and attractive into a grotesque, open wound.
‘Lorna?’ Andrew says. ‘Are you OK? You’re not making sense.’ He holds me by the shoulders.
My palms are flat against his chest. I can’t even see Andrew any more. He’s turned into someone else. My hands smack against him, gradually picking up a beat as I clench my fists and thump him over and over again. He grabs my wrists, trying to stop me, but I carry on hitting him as hard as I can, swaying from side to side, my hair getting in my mouth as I shake my head, crying out, spit and tears flying everywhere.
‘Lorna, stop!’
I stiffen, my elbows bent against his chest, his hands clamped around each of my wrists as I sob and heave. ‘It’s all my fault… it’s all my fault…’ I’m not even making sense to myself. Images of naked women and bright colours swirl through my head, and the taste of sick in my mouth makes me want to throw up.
‘Lorna, calm down. If it’s what you want, if it’ll make things OK between us, I’ll ask her to leave. She’s been thinking about it anyway, I reckon, acting odd. Let me sort it.’ He puts a finger under my chin, lifting it up. His voice is low and calming as he leads us over to a bench. ‘Are you OK? You look really pale.’
I stand there, trying to slow my breathing, shivering and shaking, trying to focus on him, but I can’t. It’s getting worse.
‘Lorna,’ he says, kissing me again. I’m vaguely conscious of his hand slipping inside my coat, down beneath the loose V-neck of my top. His fingers
feel cool against my skin.
‘Do you want me?’ he says, though I can’t be sure, because the ringing in my ears finally drowns everything out. My heart races and my limbs are heavy and weak. I can hardly hold myself up.
Then there’s nothing. Just blackness.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lorna
‘Lorna… Christ, Lorna, are you OK?’
I groan, touching my face. There’s blood on my fingers.
‘Talk to me, Lorna… please. Tell me you’re OK. What happened?’
Is it Andrew’s voice? I’m not sure. In my mind, it’s mixed up with someone else. The sun glares through a gap in the clouds, turning him into a fuzzy silhouette.
‘I… I don’t feel well.’
I try to sit up, but my muscles won’t work. His arms are around my body, helping me up. I go with it, allowing myself to be lifted and pulled onto a bench. My head wants to float off my shoulders.
‘Where am I?’ I flop sideways, lying down on the wood. I can’t hold myself up.
‘You’re in the park, Lorna. You fainted. Just lie there for a bit, let the blood go back to your head.’ He pulls off his coat, draping it over me, crouching down beside the bench so our faces are close. ‘You’ve cut your lip.’ He dabs at my mouth with a tissue, making me flinch.
‘I feel sick,’ I say, trying to sit up again.
‘Stay lying down,’ he says. ‘Do you want me to call someone?’
It takes me a moment to think who he might call. The only person I can think of is Mark. ‘No,’ I say, managing to sit up. ‘What a mess.’ I cradle my head in my hands, elbows resting on my knees as I fight the urge to throw up. ‘This has got to stop, Andrew. I was moving on, trying to get on with my life. Nothing we’ve done or ever could do is right.’ My voice is weak, but I’ve never meant anything so much.
‘I know,’ he says. ‘And I’m sorry.’ His words are soft and low as he takes my face in his hands. ‘It’ll be OK. We’ll be OK. Just know that I love you.’
I shake my head, not allowing myself to hear him. If this is what love feels like, then I don’t want it. ‘Where’s my bag?’ I need my car keys. I need to go.
‘Here,’ he says, passing it to me. I pull out my phone, switching it on with trembling hands. I have to call work, tell them I’ll be in shortly, try to put my life back where it was. I had one foot over the precipice again, nearly took another step. It’s not too late to change, to make things better, to get back on track. ‘Ow… my head,’ I say, touching my forehead. I delve in my bag, finding a blister pack of paracetamol. I take a couple, swallowing them without water.
Then the alerts on my phone start coming in. Missed calls, texts, WhatsApp messages, several voicemails and a couple of notifications from Double Take. Those won’t be from Andrew, at least, my muzzy brain tells me as I angle the screen away from him. But it’s all the other alerts that concern me.
‘Shit,’ I say, reading the messages from Mark.
Lorn, where are you? School called me when they couldn’t reach you
Call me back asap. Trouble with Freya. Where are you?
Clinic has called me. They said you’re not in work. You with Freya yet?
Lorna, where are you?
What’s going on?
I scroll through all the other messages, hardly believing what I’m reading. ‘Oh Christ, no…’ I listen to the voicemails – three from Mark, sounding more and more concerned about me and, eventually, annoyed – plus several from work and Freya’s school.
‘You’ve gone really pale again, Lorna. What’s wrong?’
‘What’s wrong?’ I say, standing up, wobbling, my face twisted with anger at him, even though I know it’s myself I’m mad at. ‘The one time I turn off my phone, ever, the entire world has been trying to reach me. It’s Freya. Something’s happened.’ I rummage in my bag, pulling out my keys. ‘I love Mark,’ I tell him. ‘I love my family. I can’t do this any more. Please don’t contact me again.’
I walk away, my footsteps fast and unsteady, unable to stop the tears. When I hear his voice calling out to me, I don’t turn back. I get in the car, locking the doors, fastening my seatbelt. As the engine roars to life, as I speed out of the car park, I vow to myself that I’ll never see him again.
‘Mark, hi, it’s me. What’s going on?’
‘I should be asking you that,’ he says down the line quietly, as though he’s with someone. I grip the steering wheel, cursing the traffic as I head towards Freya’s school.
‘I’m sorry, my battery died. I forgot to plug in last night.’ I swallow down the lie. ‘Is Freya ill? She told me she was feeling poorly this morning.’ I almost choke on the guilt, for sending my little girl into school when she didn’t want to go. I swerve, narrowly missing the back wheel of a bicycle. The car in the next lane hoots. ‘Mark?’ Silence. ‘Where are you?’
‘Again, shouldn’t I be asking you that?’ He sounds louder now, as if he’s moved somewhere where he can talk.
‘I’m on my way to school,’ I say. ‘I got the secretary’s messages, but she didn’t say what was wrong.’ Panic builds, layered upon the dread of what I’ve done. I’m tempted to put my foot down and drive into a lamp post.
‘Where have you been, Lorna? No one could reach you. I was worried.’
‘I’ll tell you when I see you,’ I say, hoping to have thought up a plausible excuse by then. A plausible lie.
‘No, tell me now.’ There’s something in Mark’s voice I haven’t heard in a long while.
‘I… I wasn’t feeling well. I went to the doctor, OK?’ He doesn’t reply so I carry on. ‘I blacked out. I cut my lip.’ I glance in the rear-view mirror, thankful that where I hit my mouth has now swollen and split, corroborating my story.
‘But Sandy at the clinic said something about you taking Freya to hospital? I don’t understand why she’s at school.’
‘I didn’t want to tell work I’d passed out,’ I say, my mouth dry to the point of not being able to speak. I indicate right to turn down the road the school is on, drumming my fingers on the wheel as a stream of traffic passes slowly. ‘I was embarrassed. It happened just after I dropped Freya off, and when I came round, I decided to tell work something else. I wasn’t thinking straight.’
‘Lorn, you don’t think you’re…’ I hear the hope in Mark’s voice, a thread of forgiveness if what he suspects is true.
‘It’s crossed my mind,’ I say, hating myself even more. ‘The last time I got light-headed was when I found out I was pregnant with Freya.’ I pray it’s diversion enough. ‘Look, I’m nearly at the school now. Where are you?’
There’s a lengthy silence before he says, ‘I’m already there. I had to cancel patients because of this. Freya’s in with the head.’
I pull up outside the school gates, parking illegally, scraping the wheel along the kerb as I reverse back at speed, bumping into the car behind me. ‘Christ,’ I say, pulling forward again. I grab my phone, turning it off hands-free, checking the paintwork after I get out. There’s no damage. I’m shaking, still dizzy and nauseous as I dash into the playground to find Mark pacing about, his phone pressed to his ear.
‘I’m here,’ I say, just as he turns round. We each hang up, me coming close, him instantly noticing the cut on my lip. His eyes narrow before locking onto mine.
‘Freya attacked a classmate,’ he tells me, blank-faced apart from a small twitch on his jaw.
‘Attacked a classmate? That can’t be true. She wouldn’t do that.’ I dash towards the entrance. I don’t want him to see my face, read the guilt. I hear him following behind, and I also hear my phone ping in my hand. Unable to help myself, I glance at the screen as I stride down the long corridor, the smell of school dinners making me feel even more like throwing up.
You’re proving popular today! The alert says. You have a new message from Andy_jag.
I screw up my eyes as I reach for the door handle, going straight into the head’s office. My little girl is sitting in a cha
ir, her legs dangling, her head down. ‘Frey-frey…’ I say, crouching next to her, curling my arms around her as Mark draws up. ‘I’m here now, darling,’ I whisper. ‘We’ll sort this out, don’t you worry.’ Mrs McBride clears her throat.
Freya stares at her fingers, picking the skin around her nails. Finally, she looks up, her icy-blue eyes boring into mine – eyes I don’t even recognise as my daughter’s. It’s as though she’s not in there, not the Freya I know.
She slides off the chair and goes up to Mark, pushing herself against his side, resting her head against him. He wraps an arm around her, stroking her hair. It’s only because I have the good sense to drop down into the chair, to put my head between my knees, that I don’t pass out for a second time that day.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lorna
Afterwards, when we’re all outside, I go to give Freya a kiss, a hug, anything to make her connect with me, but she’s still clinging on to Mark, sidling further behind his legs. ‘We’ll sort this out later,’ he says, touching my arm. ‘It’s best you get to work now, Lorna. Freya can come with me and sit in the office. That OK, Smudge?’ he says, looking down at her, ruffling her hair. ‘You can do some colouring.’
I give a small nod, all I can manage, and watch Mark stride away across the playground holding on to Freya’s hand. Neither of them looks back. When they’re out of sight, I head slowly towards the school gates, my handbag slipping off my shoulder, my coat flapping open and tears pouring down my face.
In the car, I rest my head on the steering wheel, forcing myself to breathe steadily… counting to seven on the way in, eleven on the way out. I can’t do it, my shallow rasps barely making it to three. How can my daughter be suspended from school? Even if it is on the last day of term, it’ll no doubt go on her record, perhaps carry forward to high school that she attacked another pupil – a friend – with a pencil.
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