She'd talked with her then, asked about her clothes and they both discovered a love for Zara and for a moment, it was like Suzie was chatting to Rachel from school again. Giddy and enthusiastic and smiley, and when Rachel came and Katie went, it left Suzie with an ache. A sadness that she didn't have a daughter of her own. The feeling was hard to shake off. It wouldn’t leave her. As the months went on and Suzie became more involved with Rachel, the fullness at what Rachel had only served to show what Suzie didn’t, and it left her with a longing. An emptiness.
She knew it was silly to compare herself to her friend, but she couldn’t help it. Rachel had so much; she had everything. It was only when Suzie met Adam that the feeling lessened. Adam had shown her a way forward. He’d waltzed into her life and promised her everything she’d wanted in a few months: a brilliant career, a better home, a family, the promise to become a mother. For the first time, Suzie felt like she deserved a place at the table with Rachel, instead of watching from the sidelines. Meeting Adam had given her the confidence to suggest they work together, start up the events businesses. She’d been on her way, things were finally coming together for her. Adam was the solution, not the problem, he’d offered her everything she wanted.
She closed her eyes. She’d been such a fool.
That was the last time she’d seen Katie, just a few days ago. She’d been in her school uniform. Suzie remembered her face, the striking hair against her pale skin, her intelligence, her alertness. Had she spoken to Adam about Katie? She must have, she’d talked of introducing him to Rachel and Phil often enough, all those plans that he’d cancelled for one reason or another. She must have talked to him about their children, about the aloof Jessica and beautiful Katie.
‘Oh God,’ Suzie said putting her hands to her face as a fresh wave of despair swept over her. ‘Oh God, what have I done?’
She stood up. Sleep and lack of food had made her mind foggy. She didn't quite know what she was going to say or how she was going to do this, only that it had to be done. Her legs were shaky and unstable and she saw his laptop as she'd left it. What would the police do with it all? She leaned against the door for support and then, before she lost her nerve, put both memory sticks into the side pocket of her handbag. She lifted the laptop and then put it back down. It was out of charge, useless to take with her. She'd have to put the memory stick into Rachel's laptop and show her on there as the Remote Models site wasn't live any longer, she'd taken the whole thing down.
A sob caught in her throat as she thought of Rachel, unknowing, innocently thinking that her family was intact, her problems consisting of a broken ankle and the catering for the Gatsby party. She was struggling to think if there was any other way to do this, another way to tell Rachel and Phil, to explain it all and then she remembered Phil. Phil who was having an affair and it stopped her for a moment.
With everything about Adam, she'd forgotten about Phil's affair.
How they'd seen the messages on Twitter and in that moment, it came back to her. Shutterbug.
The Twitter messages they'd seen that day had been from Shutterbug. That was the Twitter username that Adam used. Adam’s car was found at the retail park. Those messages had been from Adam.
It was Adam arranging to meet Katie at the hotel, not Phil conducting an affair, and as she realised it she fell against the wall, her heart hammering. It took a moment for her mind to get around the idea.
Adam on Twitter. Shutterbug. Champagne and a hotel room.
Her legs almost went beneath her.
Rachel had gone to that retail park expecting to find Phil, but what did she see instead?
She put on her jacket panting, chills running along her spine. She felt like she'd run a marathon, her tired brain trying to work it out. Trying to put all the pieces together. Rachel said she hadn’t seen Phil. Phil said his car was stolen. But Rachel had seen something. She'd been in a state at the hospital. Adam’s car abandoned, his accident. Bleeding on the brain.
Suzie's phone ringing made her jump. It was the landline, a loud ring echoing throughout her flat. She went to it quickly, thinking in her panic that it must be Rachel. That Rachel was calling to tell her, to explain what she saw that day.
‘Ms McFadden?’ the voice was soft, Suzie recognised it but couldn't place it. ‘It's Janine here from the hospital? We’ve been trying to get hold of you.’
‘I think my mobile’s broken,’ Suzie said. ‘It’s smashed.’
‘I've some news regarding your fiancé, Adam Staple?’ Janine went on and Suzie held her breath.
‘I'm pleased to tell you that he's regained consciousness. Although it's still very early, Mr Staple had made clear signs of response. He's awake Ms McFadden.’
He was awake.
26
Rachel
The Christmas light switch-on is a big deal in Chester. There's a parade where community groups and local artists get involved, with floats, banners, dancers, people in costume, all led by a brass band playing Christmas songs.
It usually starts somewhere near the town hall and worms its way through the city, along the main drag of Eastgate street, and through the gateway arch of the Eastgate clock, the original entrance to the Roman fortress, all singing and whooping and being cheered on by the crowds. It's stunning and spectacular and chaotic.
Katie's school was involved this year. The PTA had sent many a letter fundraising for something or other and a theatre group that Jessica had previously been a member of were performing. It marked the start of late night Christmas shopping and the opening of the Christmas market.
Apart from the really miserable, everybody seemed to go, and Phil was usually amongst the really miserable so each year I had to argue my case for him to attend. He hated it. Couldn't stand the crowds, the forceful commercialism but the girls loved it. And so did I.
Katie and Jessica met their friends there, I inevitably joined up with a few of the other mothers from school and Phil, despite his grumbling, was fine after a few paper cups of mulled wine. It was a key date in my calendar, a mark when Christmas was starting, and I'd get that old familiar buzz when I knew that both my work and social life were about to go up a gear. It was usually a date I loved, one I anticipated but on that morning, where normally I would have been filled with plans and instructions, I had practically forgotten it.
‘So?’ Katie demanded and I couldn't remember what she'd been saying.
I was sat in the kitchen, coffee in front of me, crutches by my side. I'd washed, sent a message to Della telling her to go straight to the Gatsby house. I’d dressed, made it downstairs and was now involved in an argument with Katie, but I had no clear recollection of doing any of it.
‘Mum?’ she prompted, and began to brush her hair. Her lovely, long, thick black hair that seemed to shimmer in the weak winter sunshine and I watched her, entranced.
When she'd first been born, she'd arrived with that hair. A full head of black hair and the midwife had laughed, we all did. I'd been shopping with her a few weeks later, she was still very much a newborn, and a couple of women had stopped me to peer into the pram. They'd seen my beautiful daughter and both cooed and made the usual noises, and then one of them said, ‘Just look at the little beauty, straight out of the wrapper and a full head of hair to boot. She's not messing about, is she?’
I'd never forgotten that expression. ‘Straight out of the wrapper and a full head of hair to boot,’ she’d said it like Katie had arrived prepared, ready for anything and it was true, she proved to be resilient in ways that surprised me. She gripped life, took hold of it and shook it. Unlike Jessica who struggled with insecurity and her sense of self, Katie had never doubted who she was. She was so independent, right from the start. I never felt the need to worry over her as I had Jessica. I always thought Katie so capable. She was like me, able to take anything on without it phasing her in the slightest. I'm not saying there aren't periods when she drives me to distraction, when I can scream at her stubbornness, and there was a long t
ime when she was around ten that we fought like cat and dog, but on the whole, she's a good kid. A brilliant kid. A wonderful daughter. Her grades are good. She studies hard and has ambitions of working in fashion.
I watched her that morning and could not marry up the girl in front of me with the girl we had talked about last night. She was so young, how could she have undressed and posed like that? Done those things? With a stranger? It was impossible. I couldn't believe it. Not my daughter, not her, not Katie.
‘Are you even listening to me?’ Katie rolled her eyes. ‘Mum? Are you listening? What's wrong with you this morning?’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘Mum! Tonight! Is it okay if I meet Olivia and Eve? I'll have my phone and we'll be back by nine. They want to meet up outside the Disney store. To get a good view. You can go to where we usually do, near the bank, but I want to…’
I had no idea what she was talking about. I could only see her hair, the way she was brushing it. Her small fingers checking for snags with each stroke. She stopped and gathered it up, looking at her reflection in the window, pulling it into a high ponytail, so tight I could see the skin around her eyes taut and suddenly it was there, the photograph of her. Hair piled up on top of her head, heavy eye make-up and I was drenched in cold sweat.
‘No,’ I said suddenly. ‘No, you can't. You're not going.’
Katie spun around dramatically, hair falling about her shoulders.
‘What?’
‘We're staying in tonight. All of us. None of us are going to the switch-on. It's too much with my leg, and your dad hates it anyway.’
Tears of complete injustice and anger welled in her eyes, her small hands went into fists and she was close to stamping her foot, just as she had done as a toddler. Having just witnessed a glimpse of the different version of Katie, to see her act in this way and to look this way, with her hair loose and her cheeks red was intense. Just like that, she was back to being a child again.
The swing of personas was fiercely dramatic and I thought of her friends, were they the same? Did they sit on the cusp of maturity, with the ability to fluctuate so suddenly between child and woman? And what of their mothers? How did they handle this breathtaking change?
‘What's this?’ Phil was buttoning up his blazer, coffee cup in hand, getting ready to visit the regional office. He flashed me a warning look, a glare that told me, ‘It's just another day. Act normal. Nothing is wrong.’
‘Mum says we're not going to the parade!’ Katie practically screamed. ‘But I've had these plans for weeks. She knows I'm meeting the girls there, she knows it!’
Phil stared at me, he was already holding out his hands, palms tilted upwards in an effort to calm the air about us. ‘Of course we're going to the parade,’ he said. ‘Go. Get your shoes on, get your bag. It's time to leave for school.’
‘Dad, I mean it,’ Katie was saying as Phil ushered her out. ‘There is no way I'm not going. I've made plans.’
I heard Jessica smirk, heard her goad Katie in the other room and an argument begin. Phil marched in and quickly stopped it, I heard him give them both instructions to get ready to leave. He came back into the kitchen, came straight over to me and stooped so his face was level to mine.
‘I can't do this,’ I whispered, shaking my head. ‘I can't look at her. Talk to her, I can't do any of it without imagining…’
He gripped me, his hand on my shoulder.
‘Stop,’ he said. ‘Think about it. Think about her. Think about them both, our daughters, think about what we agreed last night.’
I shook my head.
‘I don't want her to go to school even,’ I said, wiping my face. ‘I don't want to let them out of my sight. Either of them. I want to lock the door. They should stay home, we all should.’
Phil took a deep breath, he took hold of my hand, ran his thumb along my palm.
‘I'm doing the school drop off. Calling in at the office. As soon as Suzie arrives, you're going to the house, to meet Della and do that Gatsby party. You'll meet the people from the marquee, talk with the clients, organise the food. You’ll see how Suzie has styled the house and compliment her. You’ll be in control, organising stuff, doing it all, doing everything like you always do. Then tonight, we are going to the Christmas parade and you'll laugh. You'll drink mulled wine and you'll let me push you about on that wheelchair and make light of your broken ankle and it will all be normal.’
Katie bounded back in then, her eyebrows rose in question and I held my arms out to her. It was a reflex action; I couldn't help myself. Phil took a step toward me but Katie, knowing how to manipulate situations to her favour, surrendered to a hug.
I squeezed her tight, breathed in the scent of her, felt her small frame in my arms and didn't want to let go. I wanted to tell her I knew, to ask her if she was okay, what had happened, how it had happened. I wanted to sit her down and talk for hours about the string of events that had led to her baring her young body. I wanted to ask her about him, what he'd made her do, if her friends had got involved, if any of her friends knew, but then, I remembered the conversations from the previous night. The never ending discussions about what would be best for Katie, what would be best for Jessica, our daughters. Their welfare was the only cornerstone we had to work around.
In the end, we both agreed that we would wait. Think about it a while. For as long as that monster was in a coma, we had time. Time to make the decision. Blurting out what I knew, unprepared on a busy school morning, was not the answer.
She went to pull away and I swallowed hard. I shut myself up.
‘Love you,’ were the only words I let out of my mouth.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ she pulled away, looking at me suspiciously. ‘So?’
‘So get your coat on, or we'll be late,’ Phil said and he looked at me, I gave him a small nod and he went to the door. For now, this was the path that we'd decided on. Normality. Ordinariness. Routine.
I heard the door slam with Phil still reassuring the girls that we'd be going to the Christmas parade and collapsed on the table with my head in my hands. The thought of what was in front of me was beyond daunting. I went for my phone, then realised that Phil must have taken it with him. He'd confiscated both my phone and laptop at about three in the morning when he caught me trying to hobble downstairs to view the website of Remote Models.
When I needed to Google what state people were in after they came out of a coma, if they could be classed as a reliable witness. I had an urge to call the hospital where he was, to speak to a nurse or a doctor there and ask what were the chances? What were the chances of him waking up? How long did we have to come up with a plan?
It had been quarter to four when we'd finally stopped talking, we'd been over and over it and for lack of a decision we'd decided to do nothing. One more day to think, to take time to consider what was best for our daughters. But now, sat alone in the kitchen waiting for Della to arrive, knowing I'd have to act normal with her whilst I churned inside, I didn't know if I was capable.
The chime of the doorbell made me jump and pain shot through my leg. I waited, and then, remembering I was in the house alone, went for my crutches. It rang again, insistently.
‘Coming!’ I shouted, wondering why Suzie was so early, I’d sent her a message to come at nine, to give myself some time to collect myself. I hobbled forward, I could see the outline of a figure behind the glass door, two figures, one was in the background and the silhouette registered some recognition but by then I had opened the door and it was too late.
Detective Sergeant Bailey stood before me, his younger partner hovering in the background and I was glad of my crutches. The expression people use of their legs buckling from under them I'd thought a dramatic exaggeration, but without the support of my crutches, I felt that's exactly what would've happened to me.
‘Steady,’ Sergeant Bailey held out his hand to catch me but I straightened myself within time. I gripped my crutches, sweat prickling on the back of my neck and I tried a
smile, I felt my face move but was certain it was unconvincing.
‘See you've not yet got the hang of those crutches,’ he said and smiled. I nodded, neither in agreement nor disagreement but for lack of anything to say. My mind was a blank, I didn't know my lines. The cold air washed over me, it was starting to snow, delicate little flurries were floating down and I thought of Jessica and Katie, squealing with excitement at the sight. I shouldn't have let them go, Phil should be here. I didn't know what to say to the police whilst I was alone. Now that I knew everything, I needed him here, I didn't know how to act.
‘Are you okay, Mrs Farrell?’ he asked and I nodded. ‘Is Mr Farrell in at all?’
‘Taken the girls to school,’ I said and my voice was breathy, like I'd just jogged up the path.
‘Well,’ he straightened himself a little, looked behind me into the house. ‘Can you tell me what time he’ll be back?’
‘He’s going to the office,’ I said, my voice tumbling over my words. ‘He’s going straight to the office after the school drop off.’
Sergeant Bailey shared a look with his partner.
‘Shall I tell him to call you when he’s back?’ I asked and he shook his head.
‘I think we might make a trip there, we’ve got the address.’
My heart started to gallop. ‘He might be on the road,’ I said, ‘calling on clients, so if there’s anything…’
‘We’ve got a bit of good news,’ Sergeant Bailey said and I held my breath. ‘We might be able to find the person who stole his car quicker than we thought.’
I waited for him to go on, a sick feeling building in the base of my stomach.
‘The person who was hit,’ Sergeant Bailey grinned. ‘The victim. He's out of the coma and on the mend. Can't be interviewed yet of course, but we think we'll have something from him in the coming weeks. If we're lucky he might've seen the person driving the car at him. Just wanted to keep Mr Farrell updated, and ask him a few more questions. Clarify some things. He told you we found his car? Burnt out in Crewe.’
If He Wakes Page 21