by Chris Curran
There was nothing for it but to kneel by the suitcase. It was a big fabric thing that looked as if it had never been used for travelling. I guessed Alice had bought it specially. And, – oh God would there never be an end to these moments when a tiny lost memory would swoop in to skewer me – I’d packed our only case for the wedding. Because we hadn’t had time to go to the hotel beforehand, it had been in the boot of the burning car that night. And now I saw, not Steve or Toby, but Tommy, his little rucksack bulging on his back, as he waved goodbye from Daniel’s doorstep.
Gritting my teeth, and telling myself to get on with it, I unzipped and flipped back the lid. The first thing I saw, right on top – Alice, don’t make it easy for me, will you – was a pale blue photo album: Toby and Tommy’s baby book. Very carefully, making sure it didn’t flip open, that no loose picture should slip out, I placed it on the floor, my fingers trailing over the cover. I let my hand rest on it for a long moment, but knew I mustn’t open it yet. If I looked at it now, even held it for too long, I was finished.
Right at the bottom of the case I could see some white fabric wrapped in plastic: my wedding dress. What was I going to do with that? Hang it in my wardrobe, here, just as it had hung in our house? Hide it away and never look at it again, or get rid of it? I put my hand inside the plastic. The material didn’t feel silky, as I remembered it, but somehow thickened, as if shrouded in a layer of dust.
Until I held my babies for the first time, I thought I could never be happier than on my wedding day. Steve was perfect and I was already pregnant.
It was a small wedding, Steve and I insisted on that, but as I got out of the car at the little hotel and stood in the sunshine holding Dad’s arm, the babies kicked inside me for the first time, and it was so wonderful I determined to treasure the memory forever. After the accident, I forced it into the corner of my mind I kept shuttered and bolted. But I had to start bringing those memories into the light again and to look at them without flinching. So I let my thoughts run on.
Steve had been shocked at first; it was too early for him to start a family because his garden design business was just taking off. He’d been thinking of hiring an assistant, but that had to be put on hold, and as the news sank in he said we would make it work and it would be wonderful. By our wedding day I knew he was as excited as I was.
Eventually, even Dad came round to the idea of us marrying, and he and Alice both adored my boys when they arrived. Dad said they made him feel young again.
I pushed the dress back into its plastic cover, but as I did so, I saw Emily in her wedding dress, twirling in front of me, looking pretty with a coronet of red flowers in her dark hair. My heart gave one huge beat, high up in my chest, and for a second, I thought it was a lost memory of that day.
But no, a couple of weeks before I’d gone up for her hen weekend and she’d been excited to show me the dress. I bit my lip hard: it wasn’t going to be as easy as that.
There were two other photo albums close to the top of the case and I would have to look at those later on. Just underneath them was a cardboard folder full of documents. Alice must have collected them from various drawers where Steve and I had stuffed them. I knew she and Lorna had gone through everything they thought was important, so this could wait.
It was when I peered into a small carrier bag to find two little pairs of shoes – the twins’ very first – that I had to stop. I took them out and laid them side by side on the carpet. Toby’s were red and Tommy’s blue: we never dressed them alike, they weren’t identical anyway, but Steve and I agreed we must always encourage them to be individuals.
I picked up Tommy’s pair and kissed the grubby leather, breathing in the musty smell and pressing them to my chest as I swayed back and forth on my knees. Then I put them gently back into the bag. Toby’s little shoes felt different somehow, older, more fragile, as if they might shatter like glass at my touch. I was afraid to squeeze them, but I held them to my cheek and to my lips, kissing them again and again.
And from somewhere deep, deep, inside I felt that familiar earthquake as my chest heaved and I choked on the huge sobs that tore out of me. This wasn’t crying: it was more like some kind of brutal assault by my own body.
‘Oh, Toby, Toby my baby, I’m so, so, sorry.’
How long I knelt there, heaving and choking, I couldn’t have said, but at last I came back to myself. My face felt sore, my eyes sticky. I dabbed at the baby shoes with a tissue and placed them beside their brother’s in the carrier bag. Then I took the bag and the photo albums to the bedroom and laid them carefully in an empty drawer.
The phone shrilled through the silence and I grabbed it: had to stop that noise. ‘Hello,’ Nothing. As I put down the handset it rang again: a withheld number. This time I didn’t speak and heard a tiny click before the dialling tone kicked in. Of course it was just a call centre trying to sell something, but all the same it made me look round to make sure all the windows were closed.
Back in the living room, I started piling things into the case again. I couldn’t face any more tonight.
A knock on the door. I stood behind it, listening.
‘Hiya, Clare, are you in? It’s me, Nic.’
I rubbed my face; it must be obvious I’d been crying.
Another tap, ‘Clare?’
She had to know I was in so I opened up. ‘Hello, Nic. Did you just ring me?’
She laughed. ‘I’m not that lazy.’
‘And you haven’t rung me late at night anytime, have you?’
‘Not me, babe. You should report it if you’ve been getting nuisance calls.’ Her smile was very sweet and I felt bad about being suspicious.
She took a step forward. ‘Just thought you might like a coffee. I’ve got some nice biscuits too. Molly’s asleep, so we can have a proper chat. I did all the talking last time.’ Her big grey eyes were shiny, but I could see she was probably lonely.
‘That would be lovely, but I’m not feeling too well. I’m going straight to bed.’
‘Oh, I thought you looked a bit peaky, what’s wrong?’
‘A cold coming on, I think. Don’t want to give it to Molly.’
‘Lemsip’s what you need.’ She turned towards her own door. ‘I’ve got some you can have.’
‘It’s fine. I bought a packet on the way home.’
‘Oh, OK, you get to bed then. Maybe later in the week for that coffee, eh?’
I closed the door. Poor thing, she was only trying to be friendly, but the idea of sitting over there was too much for me right now. And if I’d let her in, what would she have made of the open case and the evidence of my past scattered around it?
I pushed the case back into the corner of the room. What I’d said to Nicola wasn’t so far from the truth. I felt awful. I stood by the window, staring at the sea, still and pale today under a bright evening sun that hung in the sky like a ball of fire.
I begged my brain to come to life. Eyes closed, I tried to conjure up those images I sometimes saw: the dark twisting road, the trees and clouds overhead. But it was no good, behind my lids the sun turned everything red. I pressed my fingers to my eyes to make them as dark as my memories. But still nothing came, not even the disjointed glimpses I’d seen before. It was hopeless and I let my eyes fly open again, so fast that the sunlight made me blink.
And something stirred.
It was nothing like the way they show it in films about amnesia. This was more like that feeling when you’re searching for a word you know very well, but can’t quite bring to mind. An itch in the back of your brain as intolerable as nails on a blackboard, or the screech of an old gate closing.
On the other side of the gate stood a Clare who knew the truth.
I reached and reached for it, desperate to stop it swinging shut, and finally touched it, my eyes squeezed tight again with the effort. It slowed, and for a millisecond the screeching was stilled.
Then my mind flinched back: more pain and guilt. And whatever I had known for that brief
moment was gone.
I was very tired when we closed the shop on Thursday, but I knew there was next to nothing in the fridge so I had to force myself to shop for food. As I stopped at the gate with my two bags of groceries, I wanted nothing more than a cool shower.
‘Hey, look who’s here.’
Nicola and Kieran were sitting at a white plastic table that had suddenly appeared amongst the overgrown greenery of the garden, a wine bottle in front of them. Molly played on a blanket with a mess of plastic toys. Kieran jumped up, and before I could protest had taken my bags from me.
‘Let’s put these things away and you can join us. It’s too nice to sit indoors.’
I allowed him to take the bags through the front door then insisted he go back out while I put away my groceries. I took my time, but decided there was nothing for it but to give in to the inevitable. And I had to get used to socialising with people.
It wasn’t so bad. Nic had a fund of funny stories about Molly and seemed able to talk non-stop without taking a breath. When she paused to open a packet of chocolate buttons and hand them to Molly on her blanket, she said, ‘Come on Kieran, Clare wants to know about you too.’
He was a photographer doing a lot of advertising work and told us about a recent shoot with some child models and their ghastly parents. Nicola put her hand on his arm. ‘But he’s being modest as per usual. You should see the pictures in his flat. They’re wonderful. He’s having an exhibition and they’re going into a book.’
Kieran laughed and shook his head. ‘Clare doesn’t want to know about that.’
‘Oh yes she does. Clare, you must get him to show you. Which reminds me, Kieran, don’t you owe me a meal?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ he said, smiling and raising his dark brows at me. ‘I’ve got a lot on at the moment, but you’ll both be invited as soon as I have a free evening.’
At least I wasn’t going to be cornered into agreeing to anything here and now, and the little smile Kieran gave me when Nic went to collect a ball Molly had thrown into the bushes suggested he intended to let me off the hook.
They both evidently knew Bunches and it was enough that I was able to talk about Stella and Harriet for a few minutes. ‘No Dad there either?’ Nic said.
‘No, but Stella and her daughter are very close.’
‘There’s hope for us all then,’ she said, refilling our glasses before I could stop her. She laughed as I began to protest, saying, ‘Go on, let yourself go. There’s another bottle in the fridge. In fact, Kieran, if you’ve got my key on you, can you go and get it? I’m knackered from running after her ladyship.’
He pulled some keys from his pocket and rattled them at her. ‘I knew there was a reason you wanted me to look after your spare.’
When he was inside, Nic leaned towards me, speaking softly. ‘So what do you think of Kieran, eh? Bit of all right isn’t he?’
‘He seems very nice.’
‘Well he likes you. I can tell by the way he looks at you. And before you got here just now he was asking about you.’
Chapter Ten
Back in the flat, the suitcase was still lying in the corner, still open, and I knew I needed to check through it once more. There was a CD down the side of the case, and when I pulled it out I remembered what it was: photos I’d taken at Emily’s hen weekend. Apart from the pictures of the wedding itself these were the closest in time to the accident.
I slipped the disc into the laptop and here was Emily, in a silly little veil and tiara, with Alice and myself, all gurning for the camera, drinks raised high. It was the last time we three were out together – all so carefree.
It was hard to look through, but I forced myself to go slowly: to try to put myself back in those moments, to go behind the smiles and recall how it had really been. My trousers were too tight, I remembered and I had been uncomfortable lolling on the leather sofa in the cocktail bar. And I’d been worried about Alice because she looked so tired, working long hours in A&E at the hospital and obviously finding it difficult.
I clicked onto a photo of Emily, sitting on her own at the table in the restaurant where we’d eaten. She seemed unaware of the camera, looking at something or someone in the distance, and her expression was almost unhappy.
Something else I’d forgotten was that she’d told me the night before how difficult things had been with Matt for a few weeks.
‘It’s not us, Clare, it’s work, but it’s affecting us.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘All this trouble with the Briomab fiasco.’
‘I didn’t know he had anything to do with that, and anyway it’s all sorted now, surely.’
She’d laughed then and put it down to pre-wedding jitters from both of them. But now I had to wonder. And was it something I could ask her about?
Right at the bottom of the case was a scrapbook I’d kept as a kid. I couldn’t see how it could help, but maybe going right back might jolt my memory into action.
Sitting on the sofa, I flipped through it. The early pages made me smile, they were filled with pictures cut from magazines, cute kittens and rabbits mostly. I’d forgotten how much I longed for a pet when I was about ten. After that there were dried flowers and grasses squashed under messy strips of Sellotape. Then some rubbings of stones and shells in different coloured crayons that represented the extent of my artistic phase. A few cuttings of pop stars came next and then – ah this was better – some photos.
I must have taken them with my first real camera. Lots of snaps from the Christmas when it was one of my presents. A couple of pages of Alice at various times, clearly enjoying the attention. Then a few of Mum and Dad on what looked like birthdays. Finally, a couple of Lorna. How lovely she was then and how I adored her: the fairy godmother nickname was never really a joke to me.
Here she was in our sunny garden, sitting with Dad, plates and drinks on the table. It must have been one of those times when Mum was in hospital and Lorna came round to cook for us.
And, as I looked, I understood the meaning of that expression about scales falling from your eyes. It was so clear from the way they sat, his hand across the back of her chair, her smiling up at him. Why had I never suspected?
Lorna had always been far more than Dad’s secretary, even more than just a family friend, but I’d always thought of her as my special person. I looked at the photo again – maybe I was wrong, what could you really tell from one picture? And she had been there for me when I needed her. If she really had loved Dad, could she have been so good to me when she knew I’d killed him?
All of us – me, Alice and Emily – had worked at the office with Lorna at various times as teenagers. So, of course, she was at Emily’s wedding, and even though she wasn’t called to give evidence, she came to the trial every day. Looking at her now, so elegant, I thought again how dreadful she must have found it when she visited me in prison.
Being searched, sitting in those bleak rooms, on scratched plastic chairs, and trying to keep chatting when I was so often surly and ungrateful. More than once she had to watch as a fight broke out. And then there was the time, as she was about to leave, when the warders wrestled a prisoner to the ground in front of her. I was being taken out, but I could still remember Lorna’s look of horror as she saw the woman’s mouth forced open to get at the drugs her boyfriend had passed her in his goodbye kiss.
I told her several times she shouldn’t keep coming, but it was Lorna, along with Alice, and later Ruby, who helped me to stay sane – to carry on living.
Lorna lived just off Kensington High Street, and as I stood waiting for her to open the door, I reminded myself again of how wonderful she had been to me all those years ago. What the neighbours must have thought about a bedraggled teenager, smelling of vodka and worse, even daring to enter their street, let alone being welcomed inside one of the neat mews houses, I could hardly bear to think now.
Those days, when she let me have a warm bath, dress in clean clothes, and fill up on proper food, wer
e what I credited afterwards with keeping me in touch with the normal world. Allowing me to see it might be possible to become part of that world again one day.
But more important than all the comforts was the knowledge that at least one person still thought I was worth something – still loved me, whatever state I was in. But now I wondered if she really did care for me, or if I was just another way to keep close to my dad.
When she opened the door she held me for a long moment. I let my hands rest on her shoulders. Even now I hoped she’d tell me I was wrong, there had been no affair. But would I believe her if she did?
She walked heavily as she led me into her small living room. Of course her knee was bad, but she also seemed depressed. ‘There’s hot coffee in the kitchen, but I’ll leave you to bring it in, if you don’t mind. Thank goodness it’s not much longer till they fix me up.’ She patted her leg and lowered herself into a pale leather armchair. It was placed so she could look through the length of the room to the French windows and beyond to her lovely courtyard garden.
The tiny kitchen gleamed. There were pots of herbs on the window sill: basil, parsley and thyme, and the coffee percolator sent out fragrant steam. The oven was warm, obviously cooking our lunch. It smelled good and a bottle of red wine stood next to the coffee mugs, but when I went to the fridge for milk, I noticed how empty it was. A bowl of salad, a pork chop in its Sainsbury’s tray, a small wedge of stilton, some yogurts and a bag of grapes – the fridge of a single woman, and possibly a lonely one.
I put the tray of coffee on the low table and sat on the sofa, glad of the chance to fuss with the cups and milk. ‘You’ve done a lot with the place.’ I waved my hand to take in the vase of lilies; the fitted bookcases; the gleaming parquet flooring.
‘Well, your father left me some money, so I was able to buy it, after all those years of being a tenant, and I’ve really enjoyed making it my own.’
This was the moment to ask her about their relationship, but I found I didn’t want to. It was so good to be with Lorna, in the way we’d always been. When I didn’t speak she murmured, ‘He was very generous.’