She replies immediately: You said that three weeks ago. Forgotten what you look like.
No kiss. Great. She’s angry at me too. I need to try to involve her in the wedding prep more. Robert and I are just always so busy.
I stomp up the drive. I hate being late for David and Judith’s dinners. They always make me feel like it’s incredibly rude. Which is a bit rich given I know they made Robert cancel our Christmas plans with Mum and Ness. Something which Ness clearly still hasn’t forgiven me for.
I force a smile onto my face as I reach the house. No point knocking – they won’t hear me in the dining room. I head round the back and let myself in the side door, taking my shoes off in the boot room. I smooth my hair once more, try to straighten the creases on my blouse and skirt and take a deep breath.
I hear the raised voices as soon as I step out of the room. I pause in the empty kitchen as the word ‘wedding’ reaches my ears.
‘But we have planned everything for April the fifteenth,’ Robert says. ‘The invites are about to go out.’
‘Well you can un-plan everything,’ David retorts. ‘Rushing into it like this.’
My breath catches in my throat. Is he saying we should cancel the wedding?
‘It’s our anniversary,’ Robert says.
‘It’s a gimmick,’ David snaps.
My hand’s shaking. Do they not want us to get married? I knew this was moving too quick for them. They only met me in October, the surprise engagement happened on Christmas morning. I saw David’s face after I unwrapped the ring and Robert dropped down on one knee.
‘Darling.’ Judith sounds pleading. ‘We’re not saying it’s not a lovely idea, we’re just asking you to push it back by a couple of months. You have to understand, these things take time – we need to make sure the right people can attend.’
What people? This is our wedding, not a work function.
‘It’s a Milcombe wedding. You have to give them warning. Timothée and Béatrice will need to come from France.’
‘It’s only Bordeaux – they can use their damn private plane,’ Robert snaps.
‘Do not use that crude language in front of your mother,’ David retorts.
‘Sorry, Mummy,’ Robert says automatically.
‘Don’t you think June is better?’ Judith says. ‘The weather will be nicer. We can use sweet peas in the bouquets.’
I’m allergic to sweet peas.
‘It’ll give you time to dissuade her from this ridiculous idea of her having anyone other than Emily as a bridesmaid,’ David says. ‘Bridesmaids are supposed to be that – young maidens. Not women in their thirties.’
Ness?
‘It’s her sister,’ Robert says.
‘So uncouth,’ Judith says.
I realise I’m twisting my hands together in anger. This is my wedding. They are discussing my wedding without me. Undoing all our plans. Is this a ploy to delay things so Robert will re-think? No, that’s crazy. This is Robert’s family. They love him. They want us to be happy. They’ve just got carried away thinking about the business. The big Milcombe wedding. Robert will put them straight.
‘There’s no negotiation, the wedding is taking place in my house, I am paying for it, and I say it takes place on the seventeenth of June.’ David’s words are emotionless, like he’s closing a work deal, not discussing the wedding of his only son.
I hold my breath. Please Robert, fight back. Say no. We can get married anywhere. In a registry office. In Vegas. We don’t need money. We can run away.
‘I’ll talk to Jenna,’ Robert says.
A tear rolls down my cheek. I wish he would stand up for himself. Once we’re married I’m setting new boundaries: they can’t go on interfering like this. I swipe the tear away. We just have to get through the big day. It’s a tense time for everyone.
I take a deep breath. Steady myself. Then close the boot-room door with a loud bang, as if I’ve just arrived. ‘Hello!’ I call. ‘Anyone here?’ My voice bright, as if everything is fine. As if my heart is not breaking inside.
Now
‘Burns!’
I jolt awake. Ryan’s square jaw is pressed against the flap in the door.
‘Whass happening?’ Kelly mumbles from above. How long have I been asleep? The morning sun streams through the window. My stomach rumbles. I missed dinner.
‘Appointment. Move it, prisoner,’ Ryan says.
What time is it? Appointment? Are the police back – have they realised that something doesn’t add up? Has Mr Peterson been contacted by David?
‘Is it her scan?’ Kelly’s skinny legs, still wearing socks, dangle from above. ‘Have you had your scan yet?’
My scan! The timing is funny. Sara was in the visitors’ room yesterday – she, like everyone else, will have heard that I’m pregnant. Did she push for me to have my scan? I think she’s the type to. I should have trusted her earlier – I should have told her. I’ll thank her. Under my blanket I run my hand over the taut mound of skin.
‘None of your business, prisoner,’ Ryan snaps. ‘Move it, Burns.’
Kelly’s bump makes her bum stick out as she clambers down. ‘He’s just grumpy because his favourite receptacle got released.’ She raises her voice as she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. ‘Only the druggies will shag him now!’
The door hatch slams shut. I haul myself out of bed, pulling my jumper off freely in front of Kelly.
‘Oh my god – you popped already!’ Kelly says, grinning at my bump. ‘You’re bigger than I was at three months.’ She circles me, admiring my skin. I laugh, run my hands over my baby. It’s a huge relief to be able to share this with her.
‘Err . . . I reckon I might be further along than that,’ I say. Then add, as if in explanation. ‘I was on the Pill.’
‘Ah, mate,’ says Kelly. ‘That happened to a girlfriend of mine – she got to five and a half months before she realised. Her baby daddy freaked.’ She shakes her head.
‘Robert will be thrilled – I know he will be.’ I hug my bump. Kelly squeezes my arm comfortingly.
There’s a thump on the door. ‘Hurry up, Burns, I don’t have all day!’ Ryan yells.
I hurriedly start pulling on clothes. Wash my face in the sink.
Kelly follows me round like a chick behind its mother. ‘Fuck, the shitter’s backed up again,’ she says.
I don’t look at the pan.
Kelly bangs on the door. ‘You hear that? Our toilet’s blocked again. You need to get the number-one governor to sort it out. That’s the third time this month.’
Ryan grunts from outside.
‘The scans are mind-blowing – like, there’s a little human in there.’ Kelly passes me my shoes from under the bed. ‘I cried at every one!’
By hiding my pregnancy from everyone in here, I’ve been hiding it from myself too. I’ve been waiting, in limbo, for DI Langton to show up and say it’s all a mistake and I can go home. But my baby’s been growing all this time, my body changing. I should have pushed for my scan earlier – what if something’s wrong? What if it’s my fault for not facing up to it sooner? Could the lawyers find out? David could use it against me. Argue I’m an unfit mother. I think of his cold rage yesterday. His control. It’s all about that, always has been: controlling Judith, Robert, Emily. Everyone has to dance to his tune. Has anyone stood up to him before? I remember Emily, hands on hips, rounding on him. Oh Emily. And suddenly I can picture it all: Emily standing up to him, David losing his temper, lashing out. Robert running in, and David killing him too. The only witness.
Kelly is oblivious, as she bounces round the room. ‘She’s ready.’ She bangs on the door again. Ryan unlocks it. ‘Good luck!’ She hops from one foot to the other as Ryan closes it in her face.
The wing is empty, only the murmur of early risers coming from the locked cells. And my fears about David filling me up like liquid. I squash them down. Now is not the time. Now is about me and my baby.
Seeing the wing like this reminds me
of the first night I arrived. No one peers out the hatches, I guess most are still asleep. I wait until we’re through the gate and heading along the corridor before I speak. It’d be too easy to be overheard in the wing. Ryan’s strutting, as if his shoulders are so big he can’t help but swagger.
‘Is Sara taking me?’
Ryan, who clearly isn’t a morning fan, manages only a fraction of his usual suggestiveness. ‘Prefer women, do you?’
He unlocks the next gate. Weak sunshine pools on the floor. We’re getting closer to the reception. To fresh air. My skin tingles.
‘It’s just me, Kev, and you,’ Ryan says.
What?
‘If I had to pick a threesome partner, Fat Kev wouldn’t be my first choice,’ Ryan laughs.
He’s joking, surely? Just trying to make things sound sexual when they’re not. ‘This is my hospital appointment – for my scan?’
‘No flies on you, are there?’ He swings the key chain like a pendulum off his finger.
‘But Sara’s a woman.’ They can’t let two men take me. That can’t be right.
‘If you can call that thing female,’ he sniffs.
Irritation rises in me. ‘This isn’t funny. Sara should be taking me.’
‘Buggers can’t be choosers.’ His whitened teeth like marble tombstones. ‘Me and Kev are stuck escorting you.’
But I don’t want them here.
Ryan drops his arm over my shoulders. ‘Let’s try and make the best of it, get to know each other better,’ he purrs into my ear. My flesh crawls. ‘Road trip!’
He drops his arm just as we round the corner to find Kev waiting. His paunch looks more like a pregnant belly than mine. Dangling from his hands are handcuffs.
No.
‘Arms out, prisoner,’ he says.
For so long I have wanted to go outside. To feel the air on my skin. To see the sky. The birds. Trees. Normal people. But not like this. Not in a bottle-green prison hoodie and handcuffs.
‘I won’t run.’ There has to be another way?
Kev scoffs.
‘Come on, Burns.’ Ryan nudges me. ‘It’ll be kinky.’
‘No cuffs, no appointment.’ Kev ignores Ryan.
I swallow the bile rising in my throat and hold my arms out. The metal cold, permanent, humiliating, as it snaps shut onto me.
Now
Handcuffed between Kev and Ryan, I want to die walking into the hospital.
The two women behind the desk stare at me. I say nothing.
‘Which way is the maternity ward, love?’ Kev asks the one on the right.
She moves her stapler toward herself. ‘Down the hall, up to the third floor, and at the end of the corridor.’
I focus on the cracked rubber floor. Tiles covered in circular indentations.
‘Oh my god, what do you think she did?’ the receptionist hisses to her colleague as we walk away.
‘Do you think she’s one of them serial killers?’
‘Maternity. I bet she’s a prostitute.’
A man pushing an empty wheelchair swerves round us.
‘And on my tax money,’ the woman harrumphs, as we disappear round the corner.
‘Here, they’ve got a Costa,’ Kev says.
I see the feet and legs of people grouped round tables turn toward us. A small boy in a blue T-shirt is yanked back to safety.
‘You know how much sugar is in those drinks?’ Ryan says.
‘Hasn’t done me any harm. The sign says it’s this way.’
‘What about you, Burns?’ Ryan shakes the arm of mine he’s holding. ‘Bet you like a bit of something sweet? Bet you’d love a cake, huh?’
They both laugh.
I don’t respond.
‘I like those little wafer biscuits they do that melt on your latte.’ Kev draws a circle on his palm with his finger. I imagine that each circular indent on the floor is a wafer crumbling under my feet.
They keep on like this for a few minutes. Banal small talk, ignoring the deplorable cargo between them.
For a split second I think it’s Sally. But why would she be in the maternity ward? It’s not her, of course. Just a woman with the same handbag and similar hair. An apparition conjured by my mind. A further humiliation: someone I know seeing me led and shackled like an animal.
The nostrils of the woman with Sally’s handbag flare. Protectively she wraps her arm over her swollen stomach.
I would not hurt a child.
I would not hurt you.
I just want to be with Robert.
I just want Emily back.
I just want my baby.
Is that why Sally has rejected me? Left me to face the trial of imprisonment all alone? Because I stopped being Jenna her friend and became the mythical Blonde Slayer, something to fear and despise?
Ryan steers me to a blue plastic chair at the far corner of the room, while Kev speaks through the glass hole in the wall to yet another receptionist. Mercifully, there is no one else in here, and I can’t hear anything of what this one says. The receptionist finishes with Kev and closes her window like a guillotine falling. I try to hide my handcuffs in a fold of my jumper.
‘How long we got to wait?’ Ryan says.
‘They’ve got someone in there already.’ Kev hitches his sagging belt up his waist.
‘Bloody hospitals.’ Ryan looks with disgust at the posters advertising a free app that monitors your baby’s movements.
‘There ain’t enough staff for Free Flow till we get back.’ Kev arches his back, flashing us the sweat patches on his white shirt.
‘Again? Bloody hell.’ Ryan spreads his legs out wide. I move mine away. Try to make myself smaller.
‘Another two resigned last week,’ Kev says.
‘Poofs.’ Ryan flicks a bit of lint from his trousers.
For a moment no one speaks. The clock ticks on the wall. I risk a look up and out the seventies-style window. A slither of blue sky curled through the clouds. Not enough for a sailor’s suit. That’s what Nan used to say. A swift darts past, a brief flash of freedom.
‘Here, why don’t you go get yourself one of them lattes and those wafer biscuits you like?’ Ryan says.
Kev looks interested.
‘I’ll be all right with her.’ Ryan jerks a thumb in my direction.
I know straight away I don’t want to be alone with Ryan. I try to speak. My mouth is too dry. My throat pinched closed.
‘You sure?’ Kev wasn’t asking me.
No.
‘Course, bruv.’ Ryan leans back, lets his other arm stretch over the top of the chairs. Relaxed. Proprietorial. ‘You deserve a little treat after we’ve had to slog down here so early.’ A persuasive smile. A reassuring flick of the wrist.
Kev ambles off. Already imagining his coffee.
A chill curls up my ankles like a snake.
Instinct tells me not to make any sudden movements. We are alone. The receptionist’s window is down. I can’t see her through the opaque glass. I’m handcuffed. And Ryan’s leg is pressed against mine.
I try to peel myself away, just a millimetre, so I can’t feel his weight pushing against me.
‘Where you going, Burns?’ His left arm is round me in a second.
I freeze. My body rigid. I can feel his pecs against my arm, his breath in my hair, on my face, in my ear. I want to scream.
‘If you were just a little bit more friendly,’ he purrs, ‘things could be a lot more comfortable for you.’
He pushes a strand of hair slowly off my face. Fear surges through me. If I scream will the receptionist come? My chest expands.
As if reading my mind he says, ‘Now don’t think about doing anything stupid. You don’t want to be face down on this floor, do you?’ He lets his finger lazily trace down my cheek, my neck. My skin screams. ‘We wouldn’t want anything to happen to that baby, would we?’
His finger is still going, down, over my breast, round my nipple. My whole body contracts, as if trying to close him out.
The sound of the glass partition sliding up slices into the air.
He springs away from me.
I gulp for air.
‘Ms Burns!’ the receptionist trills.
‘Come on.’ Ryan grabs my arm roughly and pulls me to my feet.
My knees are weak. My legs shaking. My hair falls into my eyes. My bound hands can’t push it back. I want to pull away, run, but I can’t function.
‘Come on.’ Annoyance in his every thrust. And he forces me into the sonographer’s room.
Now
Blue floor. White faded walls. No window.
‘Good morning, Ms Burns.’ The sonographer, a jolly woman with vanilla ice-cream swirls of hair, turns to greet us with a folder in her hands.
She frowns at the sight of Ryan, who’s still gripping my arm. He gives her his best winning smile. Her face doesn’t alter.
‘You can wait outside,’ she says. ‘Ms Burns, if you just pop yourself up onto the bed we’ll take a look at how you’re doing.’ She pats the white sanitary paper that’s unrolled down the bed.
‘I’ve got to stay with her at all times,’ Ryan says.
My cheeks burn. He makes it sound like I’m a threat.
‘I see,’ the sonographer says, pulling the sliding door behind us.
Please make him leave.
Ryan still has hold of my arm. The sonographer catches sight of the handcuffs glinting on my wrist.
‘Those will have to come off,’ she says.
I smile at her. I’m no threat. I won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt anyone.
Ryan huffily undoes the cuffs.
I rub at my wrists. Swallow. Try to get some moisture into my mouth.
‘Okay, dear,’ she says. Her hand cool and gentle on my arm. ‘Up you get.’
The paper crinkles as I lie down. Ryan is staring, a smile on his face. I want to scream at him to get out. He touched me.
The sonographer glances at him, her face darkening. She puts herself between him and me. ‘We just need you to uncover your tummy. That’s it,’ she says gently. I pull my jumper up and over my mound, careful not to let anything else show. I stare at the ceiling, try to imagine Ryan is not here. That Robert is. No. That’s too painful. Just focus on your breath. Just breathe. The sonographer rolls the waistband of my joggies over.
On My Life Page 18