Look What You Made Me Do

by Nikki Smith

  ‘Joanna.’ I smile back, neither of us making the effort to cross the small floor area between us, the few carpet tiles an insurmountable obstacle.

  ‘Mum.’

  ‘I just came in to see if Livvi wanted anything specific for her birthday. I did try to call you at the weekend but I couldn’t get hold of you.’ It’s an accusation. My fault if I’m not available whenever she wants something. I take a deep breath. I feel as if I’m meeting a stranger for the first time when I see her; any warmth that we’ve managed to establish in our last encounter is wiped out and we have to start all over again.

  ‘She mentioned a camera,’ I say. ‘I think you can get V-Tech ones that are pretty indestructible.’ And can you get her dad to come home, I ask silently in my head. Just bring him back and she won’t need anything else.

  ‘I’ll have a look in John Lewis,’ my mother says. ‘Adam used to take some brilliant photos, didn’t he, Caroline? Has he sent you any recently?’

  My sister smiles briefly. ‘A few,’ she says, glancing at her computer screen before she has to expand any further. Normally the way my mother manages to manipulate the conversation around to Adam whenever Grace or Livvi are mentioned would make me prickle, but today it barely registers. I have more important things to worry about.

  ‘I hope he’s making the most of it,’ my mother continues. ‘I still don’t understand why he left when he did. It would have been better for him to have a gap year after university.’ It’s so unusual to hear her criticise Adam that I glance across at Caroline who stares at her for a couple of seconds before looking at me.

  ‘Is Livvi having a party?’ she asks, as if she hasn’t heard what Mum said at all.

  ‘No. She wants to go indoor skydiving so we’re taking her to a place that does it at the weekend.’

  ‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ Mum asks.

  ‘We went a few years ago,’ Caroline says. ‘It was brilliant fun.’ A small balloon of joy floats up inside me as I think she’s defending me for once. ‘It’s perfectly safe,’ she continues. ‘As long as you don’t do it if you’re pregnant or anything.’ She stares at me, and I look back, a flush spreading across my cheeks. She’s not going to do this now, surely. I glare at her and shake my head slightly, enough so that it’s obvious. She tilts her head slightly to one side and I know what she’s asking. Am I going to give her what she wants? Fine, I think. She can have it. I don’t care anymore. Sell the business. Take the money. I just want my family back together. I nod tightly and blink to stop my eyes welling up as her mouth turns up at the corners, her smile almost imperceptible if you weren’t looking for it.

  ‘Joanna, are you OK?’ my mother frowns.

  ‘Not really,’ I say, wiping under one eye with my finger. ‘Buddy died.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ my mother says. For a moment it looks as if she’s going to move towards me but then I see her foot stop, mid-step, and she fiddles with the pendant on the end of her necklace with one hand instead.

  ‘The girls are in pieces about it. Livvi doesn’t want to let go of his blanket. She packed it in her bag this morning and would have taken it into school with her if I hadn’t told her she had to leave it in the car.’ I dig my nails into my palm. ‘I can’t bear to get rid of it.’

  ‘What happened?’ my mother asks.

  ‘The vet thinks he was poisoned. Antifreeze.’

  ‘I am sorry.’ Caroline is staring at me, her face paler than usual. I can’t even tell if she means it.

  ‘I’m going to ask the solicitor to proceed with the sale of the business if that other firm you mentioned are still interested.’ I look at my mother, who finally steps towards me, putting her hand on my shoulder.

  ‘It’s the right thing, Joanna.’

  ‘Is it?’ I don’t know anymore, but I’m certain I don’t want to stay here any longer. I want to take the girls somewhere where we’ll feel safe.

  My mother moves her hand away, stung by my comment as Caroline continues to stare at me.

  ‘If it all goes smoothly,’ I say, ‘it shouldn’t take long to sort out.’ I smile at them both in the silence that follows. ‘Oh, and I hope you’re both going to come to Livvi’s birthday on Friday. It’ll be the last one she has here before we move.’

  I call Paul’s mobile once more whilst I’m waiting for the girls in the school playground at pick-up, silently making all kinds of promises to a higher power about what I’ll do if he answers, but his voicemail kicks in again, and I slide my phone into my pocket as Grace comes out of her classroom.

  ‘Grandma said she might come over to drop your present off on Friday,’ I say to Livvi as she gets into the back of the car, her arms clasped tightly around her schoolbag that she refuses to put on the floor. ‘And Auntie Caroline might pop in, too.’ I look at Grace in the mirror and notice her sit up a bit straighter.

  Livvi leans forward. ‘What about Uncle Rob?’

  ‘Possibly, sweetheart. We’ll see.’

  ‘He always gets me good presents.’ She hesitates. ‘Dad will be back, won’t he?’

  ‘Course he will,’ I say, my voice artificially bright, not allowing the possibility of Paul failing to be home by Friday to seep like water through the cracks in my façade, spilling into the lake that’s growing ever deeper in the pit of my stomach.

  ‘Is he coming home tonight?’ Grace asks. I hesitate as I feel her eyes on the back of my head, trying to read my thoughts. Don’t go there, I think. There are things that you don’t want to see.

  ‘Not sure, sweetheart. I think it depends how the camping goes. Have you got much homework tonight?’ Her eyes narrow as I glance at her again in the mirror, wondering if she realises how much I hate lying to her.

  ‘I get a birthday wish, don’t I?’ Livvi asks. ‘When I blow out my candles?’ I nod. ‘Can I ask for Buddy to come back?’ she asks.

  I swallow. ‘We all wish that, darling, but I’m afraid he can’t. I’m so sorry.’ The lack of sleep I’ve had for the past couple of nights suddenly hits me and it takes all my willpower not to let my eyes shut for a moment, to drift into the rhythmic hum of the engine, the seat warm against my back. I turn up the air-conditioning to its highest setting, needing the blast of cold air on my face, switching on the radio to keep us all distracted. I turn into our driveway and am praying so hard for his car to be there, that I wonder if I’m imagining it when I see that it is.

  ‘Daddy!’ Livvi flings open her door before I’ve even switched off the engine, running across the gravel still carrying her schoolbag, Grace following closely behind. I lean my head against the steering wheel and squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to let myself cry. Anger rushes in like a tidal wave, obliterating any earlier feelings of worry. My hands tremble as I walk across the driveway. The front door is already open, and I can hear the girls’ voices inside.

  ‘Hi, Jo.’ He looks at me as I walk into the kitchen and I stare at him, a mixture of relief and hate and anger and exhaustion all churned into one.

  ‘Hi.’ I can’t bring myself to say anything else as I put my car keys down on the counter, my fingers shaking, and pick up the kettle to fill it under the tap.

  ‘Did you have fun?’ Livvi asks him and Paul looks at me, his eyes asking how he should respond. I hesitate, wondering whether to say nothing, to let Livvi realise my excuses to cover his absence have been a lie and leave him to explain why he decided to disappear for three days without bothering to let any of us know where he was.

  ‘She means in the tent. Camping,’ I say finally, throwing him a lifeline, not to save him but to protect the girls from having to face anything else at the moment. ‘For Ben’s birthday.’ I can see he’s grateful, but if he thinks it opens up the possibility of forgiveness he’s mistaken. ‘Why don’t you take a drink and a biscuit outside, girls? I’ve got some things I need to talk to Dad about.’

  ‘About my birthday?’ Livvi smiles as she takes a couple of chocolate digestives out of the tin.

  ‘I can’t possibly tel
l you that,’ I say. She follows me over to the patio doors which I open, taking the key down off the wall. The girls walk out onto the lawn as I watch, not wanting to look at him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jo,’ he says, ‘I needed to get away.’

  I turn around and walk back towards him, keeping my voice down only because I don’t want the girls to hear. ‘You’ve been gone for three days without so much as a text to let me know you were OK. Where the fuck have you been?’ I hurl the words at him like knives, the urge to physically hurt him so strong I have to force myself not to get too close.

  ‘I’ve been staying in Travelodge in Brighton,’ he says.

  ‘Brighton?’ I repeat.

  ‘On my own,’ he adds, anticipating my next question. ‘I just needed some time to think.’

  ‘And you didn’t consider letting me know where you were? Or even that you were safe? Have you any idea how worried I’ve been?’ He doesn’t answer. ‘No, of course you haven’t, have you. Because you’re a fucking selfish prick.’ I step towards him, pushing my hands against his chest, forcing him to step backwards. He doesn’t attempt to defend himself and I notice his scruffy stubble and red-rimmed eyes. He looks almost as knackered as I do.

  ‘I wasn’t going to come back at all but I couldn’t do it. I missed you all too much.’

  He says it quietly and for a moment I can see something in his face that hints at his anguish but it’s swallowed by the fire that’s raging inside me.

  ‘I have to tell you something,’ he continues. I brace myself, waiting for him to tell me he’s seeing someone else. ‘About why I left. There isn’t an easy way to say it so I’m just going to come out with it. I’ve got myself into debt.’

  I frown, confused. ‘What?’

  ‘A couple of months ago I lost quite a bit of money betting online, so I borrowed some more to cover it up, but I ended up losing that too. And now the people I borrowed it from want it back.’ I’m looking at him, but his words don’t make any sense. He doesn’t gamble. I swallow. ‘How much?’ I ask.

  ‘Twenty thousand pounds.’ He looks down at the floor as he says it.

  ‘Twenty thousand?’ I repeat his words, wondering if I’ve misheard.

  ‘And I can’t afford to pay it back. I tried selling things and hoped you wouldn’t notice – I pawned my watch and the jewellery your mother gave the girls last year, but it wasn’t enough and now they keep adding on interest.’ I think back to the earring I’d picked up off the floorboards on the landing, realising where it had come from. The heirlooms she’d wanted the girls to have. Images start to slot themselves into place in my head. ‘I was desperate, Jo. I’ve wanted to tell you for ages, but I didn’t know how to. And then we had the funeral and I couldn’t –’

  ‘Are you saying this is my fault?’

  ‘No, no – I didn’t mean that. I just didn’t want to worry you, and then you told me about the baby and I – I just didn’t know what to do.’ I stare at him blankly.

  ‘The people you borrowed the money from, they’re the ones who vandalised my car, aren’t they?’ I ask, remembering the words written in large white letters and he nods, slowly.

  ‘They’ve been here? To our house?’

  He glances at me as we hear a shriek of laughter from the garden. He swallows. ‘Only once. They insisted on meeting to talk about how I planned to pay them back. They didn’t come inside. They stayed in my office. The other times we met at different places in my car. It was their phone charger you found.’

  I put my hand on the counter to steady myself. ‘You let them know where you live? Where your family lives?’

  ‘I didn’t have a choice, Jo. They weren’t here for long. Ten minutes at the most.’ The memory of seeing the empty space between the hangers in Grace’s wardrobe makes me livid. Somebody touching her things. I can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

  ‘No, Paul. They haven’t only been here once. After you decided to leave on Monday, they came back, into our home. Into Grace’s bedroom where they hid inside your daughter’s wardrobe.’

  ‘What?’ His face is ashen.

  ‘Inside Grace’s wardrobe. I heard a noise in her room and when I went to look, I could see someone had been hiding inside it.’

  ‘They couldn’t have. I didn’t give them a key to the house. How did they get in?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps you left the back door open. They ran out before I had a chance to have a conversation with them.’

  He stumbles over to the table and sinks down into one of the kitchen chairs, putting his face in his hands. I think he’s crying but I’m too numb to care.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jo. I never meant this to happen.’ He looks up at me. ‘Are you and the baby OK?’

  I stare at him. ‘There is no baby, Paul. There never was.’

  THURSDAY

  Caroline

  It had taken me an hour on Tuesday to read her entire notebook, and I’d been concentrating so hard I hadn’t moved from my position on the bed. When, finally, I’d put it down, I’d realised my legs had gone to sleep; a numbness that had given way to tingling and prickles of pain as I’d stretched them out, wincing as I’d wiggled my toes. I’d closed the cover, trapping her between the pages, and had put my hand up to my face to catch the tears that fell, hot and heavy, on my skin.

  I’d cried for the life Lauren could have had, the things she’d missed out on. I’d cried because she’d deserved so much better. I’d known who she was from the photo they’d printed in our local paper after it happened. A photo of her at her sixth-form college, her smile hiding the issues they’d said had been all in her head. Rob had seen me reading the article and had told me he’d worked with her. He’d hired her as an intern at his building firm. She’d only been there three months. He said he hadn’t known her that well, that she’d kept herself to herself, but he’d organised flowers and a card to be sent to her funeral from the whole company. She’d been the same age as Adam is now. Her mother had used to shop in our local Tesco before it happened; I never saw her afterwards. Tragedy often swallows families whole.

  I’d made a choice when this had dropped through my letterbox onto the hall floor, its plain brown paper packaging disguising the bomb inside. I’d chosen my son. I don’t regret my decision. A mother’s instinct is always to protect her child. I wish I could have taken care of her too. But I couldn’t do both. I’d had to put this away under this mattress where it’s ticked silently, all this time, waiting for me to be ready.

  I had opened it when it had arrived, almost three years ago. I’d peeled off the paper, seen her name on the front cover, and hadn’t been able to move. It had been Halloween and Adam had been planning to go out trick or treating with some of his friends. He’d come downstairs to show me his Scream mask and had pulled it off as soon as he’d seen my face, worried he’d terrified me. He hadn’t realised my reaction had been nothing to do with his costume. I’d still been holding the notebook, offering it out like a poisoned chalice, hoping he’d demand to look at it, that I’d be forced to show him, that I wouldn’t be the one with the responsibility to have to decide. But he hadn’t. He’d held up his mask, telling me that all his friends were wearing something similar, and had disappeared into the kitchen to grab something to eat.

  I’d watched as he’d walked away, my legs finally obeying my instructions to move, and had taken the package upstairs, putting it in the airing cupboard under a towel, the first place I could think of, returning to it after Adam had gone to meet his friends, carrying it outside, intending to put it in the dustbin. But I hadn’t been able to bring myself to throw it away. I’d known keeping it would be more dangerous than letting it go, but I couldn’t stop thinking how her mother would feel, and it had become my burden to carry. To hold onto as a constant reminder.

  Under Adam’s mattress was one of the only places Rob wouldn’t look. Anywhere in my room and he’d have discovered it on one of his expeditions to hunt for things he thought I shouldn’t have. I slide it
back under there now, the cover catching on the sheet, a sign of resistance against returning into the dark, but I stroke it reassuringly. It won’t have to stay under there for long.

  Two hours to go until Rob gets home. I’ve had viewings all day today and hadn’t gone back to the office after the last one; I hadn’t wanted to face Jo. I would never have told Paul that she’s pretending to be pregnant but my sister doesn’t know that and I can’t tell her. She forwarded me the email she’s written to the solicitor; I showed Rob last night. It’ll keep him away from her for now, long enough for me to do what I need to do.

  I empty the dishwasher that’s finished its cycle and fold the washing that’s been hanging on the clothes rail to dry. I iron three of Rob’s shirts – I need to look as if I’m carrying on as normal. I tidy the house, running the hoover over the hallway and sitting room and dust the already clean surfaces. I carry the washing basket upstairs, lifting the pile of clothes into the airing cupboard, an arm of his shirt falling out as I push the door shut, as if he’s still trying to grab hold of me even when he’s not here. I look around our bedroom, adjust the books on my bedside table into a neat stack and put Rob’s reading glasses into the jacket pocket of a suit that’s hanging in his wardrobe.

  I squirt bleach round the rim of the toilet in our bathroom, spraying the sink with Cif and wipe it with a cloth until the porcelain gleams bright white. Opening the bathroom cabinet, I sort through the various tubes and packets, throwing out anything that’s exceeded its expiry date, tidying the shelves so I can see exactly what’s on them. I empty all the bins in every room, stick the rubbish into a black liner and take it outside to throw it away. I drag the heavy dustbin down to the bottom of the driveway – the bin men will collect it tomorrow morning.

  Walking out of the house into the back garden, I can’t resist going into my greenhouse once more. The stillness inside trembles with anticipation. I look around quickly, checking nothing is out of place, picking up the watering can that has fallen onto its side and propping it up against one of the glass panes before pulling the door shut, the screech of metal against metal cutting into the silence.