by Chris Curran
The bar man brought our food and for a moment there was silence, but I spoke before he could start to question me. ‘So Catholic and, what, Sikh? That must have made an interesting mix.’
‘Hindu – no turbans or gurus – but they were both pretty flexible in their approach to religion. They only had two kids, and Dad enjoyed a nice roast on Sundays and the odd pint. And, in fact, I’ve always thought the religions are rather alike: all the little figures of Hindu gods and the Catholic statues of saints, the shrines, the candles, the flowers.’
‘So you’re not religious yourself?’
‘How did you guess? If I had to choose it would be Hinduism. Much more relaxed about sex, for instance. Some of the stories about Krishna are pretty racy.’
I knew I was blushing, and I could have sworn he noticed and had enjoyed making it happen. I looked down at my plate and forced in a mouthful of food, all too aware he was still looking at me with a slight smile. This was where the questions would come, and I braced myself to take care. But he let me off lightly. ‘How’s the food. Was I right about it?’
It was some kind of casserole, but I could hardly taste it. I nodded and gulped some of my drink. ‘Yes it’s very good. So Nic said you’re a photographer. Do you do a lot of advertising work?’
‘Just enough to keep the wolf from the door. The truth is I’m down here recovering from a bit of a breakdown. I got to thirty and decided I should try to earn bit more, you know, become a respectable member of society.’
So he was probably about my age. Why the hell was I thinking that? I felt a flush rise in my cheeks again as if he could read my thoughts and forced myself to listen to what he was saying.
‘ … foolishly got into the management side and found boardroom politics were just too cut-throat for me, couldn’t cope.’ The greenish eyes were suddenly intent. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this.’
‘A breakdown’s nothing to be ashamed of.’ I felt oddly flattered by his confession.
‘It wasn’t very dramatic anyway. Just couldn’t get out of bed in the morning, but it lasted for days. Then, when I finally got in the car to go to work, I found myself driving down here instead and never went back.’
‘Will you eventually, do you think?’
‘Oh, no. I’m poorer, but so much happier. I only work freelance for a few agencies, where I have friends. Apart from that I’m hawking my own stuff around the galleries and trying to do a book.’
‘I used to love taking photos.’ I could have bitten my tongue.
‘And what about now?’
‘Oh, I don’t anymore.’
‘Not even of your son?’
I think I blustered something about that not counting, but it didn’t convince even me. I stood up, saying I needed the loo, knocking into the table and managing to spill the dregs of my drink in the process.
In the toilet, I washed my hands and stared into the mirror. My face was flushed and there were shadows under my eyes, but I looked OK; the turmoil inside certainly didn’t show. I had been tempted, just then, to start talking about Tom and I knew I mustn’t do that because it would inevitably lead to more – to Toby and Steve and God knows what else.
Kieran had bought more drinks when I got back to the table. ‘I really ought to go. I’ve got a long journey in the morning.’ Why did you say that, you idiot.
‘Oh, where to?’
‘Cumbria, visiting my cousin.’
‘Oh, my neck of the woods. It’s gorgeous up there when the sun shines, isn’t it.’
I nodded, sipping my drink and hoping to shut down the conversation.
He did it for me, talking about how helpful Nic had been since he moved in. ‘She’s local, so anything you want to know she’s your girl.’
Our glasses were empty and I pulled on my jacket. ‘Yes, she seems like a lovely person.’
Thank goodness he was quiet as we walked home. I didn’t want to talk, but the thought of my bleak flat slowed my steps. It was dry now, and the hint of a rainbow glimmered on and off amongst the clouds, but the street was still slicked shiny with moisture. As we approached the house, I realised I must say something.
‘Thank you for the meal. I was much too tired to cook.’
‘Still haven’t been sleeping well?’
Damn, damn. When did I tell him that? ‘Not brilliantly, no.’
‘It’s these short nights. You should put up heavy curtains. I replaced mine as soon as I moved in.’
I didn’t say I had no trouble sleeping in the daytime; in fact I struggled to keep awake. With his own history of mental problems he would know what that meant.
When we got to our front door, I had my keys ready and unlocked it before he had time to take charge, but at my own flat, I felt his hands on my shoulders, turning me to face him; those green-flecked eyes staring down at me. And I could do nothing.
‘Clare, I won’t be so crude as to ask to come in for coffee, because we both know that’s not what I want.’ I could feel the warmth through his shirt and was suddenly tempted to lay my head against his chest. ‘But may I do this?’ He clearly didn’t expect a reply and I couldn’t have given one anyway. Instead I raised my face and we kissed. It was a long kiss, gentle and warm.
Then he pulled back and looked into my eyes. I knew I should say something, move away, but it was Kieran who did so in the end. ‘Thank you Clare. Goodnight.’
I watched him head up to his flat, but twisted quickly away when he reached the turn in the stairs.
Chapter Fourteen
When I came to after the accident I knew my name, but little else. I opened my eyes to a vase of red flowers, a fly buzzing at the window, a pale light, and someone coughing nearby.
I think I croaked something, and a curt voice told me, ‘You’ve been in an accident. Lie still and rest. Doctor will be in to see you soon.’
I thought, of course, that it was just me. Didn’t even remember Toby, and Steve, and Dad. Everything hurt, and my head felt as if it was full of something soft and jelly-like that, if I moved too quickly, might seep out of my ears and eyes. So I lay still, trying not to think like that, not to think at all: to cling on to life and sanity.
Because I wanted to live then, even though I knew nothing except I was Clare, and this was a cool bed in a hospital room, with red flowers on a bedside table, a fly buzzing, a pale, painful light, and someone coughing – no, crying – nearby.
Then came the moment when I heard a child laugh and thought – Toby and Tommy. Just like that I remembered I had two sons. And Steve. I knew I hadn’t seen them and I couldn’t think why. Was I too ill, too horrible to look at?
The next day I was more clear-headed, and I knew something was very wrong. I asked again and again, and finally the nurse, who’d been ignoring me as she pulled the sheets tight and pushed and dragged at my pillow, sighed. ‘Your sister will be here later. She’ll talk to you then I expect.’ And I thought, well then, it must be all right, or she wouldn’t be so sharp with me.
Later, in prison, when I first understood and accepted my guilt, I felt so bloated and swollen with it that I thought there would be no room inside me for anything else. But I was wrong. First, there was Ruby, bringing me comfort and even a few happy moments that I allowed myself to enjoy because without them I couldn’t have gone on. Now there was Tommy, and that was far more than I could have hoped for.
Kieran was something different, and I certainly had no right to the kind of thrill I’d felt when he kissed me, the ease of talking to him, the pleasure at seeing his eyes crease with a smile and his hand holding a glass. I touched my lips. There had been times when I could recall Steve’s kisses so vividly that I could still feel them, but not today.
Watching the sun setting over the sea, I tried not to hear Kieran moving overhead. So close. I knew he was walking across to his window and looking at the same view.
I turned away, opened the laptop and checked the train times, then sent a message to Emily to say when I’d be there and I�
��d call her when I was on my way. After that I emailed Tom. I kept the tone light and didn’t mention last night, just told him I’d keep in touch while I was in Cumbria.
I was about to switch off when I thought about Lorna. I believed her when she said she loved me. And what right did I have to be angry with her because she’d had an affair? She had forgiven me for something so very much worse – I had killed the man she loved.
But I still didn’t trust myself to talk to her. At least an email would be a start.
Dear Lorna,
I am so sorry I behaved the way I did the other day and of course I still want us to be friends. You will always be my dear fairy godmother and I just need a little while to get used to the idea of you and Dad.
Lorna, if I’m going to help Tom, I have to know everything about the time around the accident. About anything at all you remember that could be relevant. I still have the feeling you’re keeping things back and if it’s because you’re trying to protect me, it isn’t working.
Above all I must find out why I took those pills and how I got hold of them. But I’ve realised other things may have been different to the way I imagined them. So please will you rack your brains for anything that might be relevant about me and Steve, about Dad, or about the situation in the firm at that time.
Clare
I hesitated for a second then added, with love, before my name and a kiss after it.
As I left the flat next morning, Nic opened her door, still in her dressing gown and slippers.
‘Hi Clare, you couldn’t spare a drop of milk could you? I’ve run out again.’ When I turned back to my door she must have registered the holdall. ‘Oh sorry, you’re off somewhere. I won’t keep you.’
I had plenty of time before my train, so I brought her a carton from the fridge.
‘Thanks, babe,’ she said, her shiny eyes crinkling at me. ‘Going somewhere nice?’
‘To see my cousin.’ Her nod and beaming smile somehow made it impossible not to add, ‘The Lake District.’
‘Ooo, you lucky thing,’ she said. ‘How long for?’
‘Just till Friday.’ I turned to open the front door.
‘Hang on a sec and I’ll get dressed and give you a lift to the station. Molly’ll enjoy the ride.’
‘No really, I’ve got plenty of time and I’d like a walk.’
‘Well, if you’re sure. It’s really no trouble. Don’t know why I keep paying out for that car. Only use it once or twice a week for shopping.’
She reached into her own hallway and I edged closer to the door, but when she turned back to me she was holding a pad and a pen. ‘Here are my phone numbers.’ She scribbled something and tore off a scrap of paper. ‘I’ve got your landline one, so give me your mobile number too.’ She laughed, waggling her head so her blonde, uncombed curls flopped back and forth. ‘You know, in case your flat catches fire or something.’
It would have been rude to refuse and after all she was just trying to help: to be a good neighbour. And I nodded when she said to give her a ring if I wanted a lift from the station when I got back, although I knew I wouldn’t do so.
On the train up north, I asked myself what on earth I was doing, churning up the past when I couldn’t even get a grip on the present; couldn’t deal with ordinary life and still looked at normal people as if they were enemies. But it was too late to turn back, and resting my head on the carriage window, I tried to put everything, and most of all the fear of what would happen when I saw Emily and Matt, out of my mind. As the miles rolled by, and the rain began to sheet down over fields that became greener and greener, I finally slipped into a dreamless doze.
I was woken by my mobile and I fumbled for it still half asleep. ‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Clare? It’s me, Emily.’
My heart thudded; she was ringing, no doubt, to put me off.
‘I won’t talk for long because you’re probably on the train and I hate people who chat on their mobiles. What time do you get in?’
‘4.30, but don’t worry … ’
‘Just wanted to tell you to forget all this taxi rubbish. I’ll meet you at the station.’
*
Emily, who once could hardly heat beans without burning them, had evidently become a keen cook and I sat in her kitchen at a big pine table as she stirred a risotto on the stove. They’d done a lot of work on the house and it was very different from the little place I remembered her and Matt buying a few months before their wedding. But it still felt very much like Emily: warm, untidy, and with touches of bright colour everywhere.
I’d asked if I could help, but she laughed and told me to relax and sit where she could see me and every so often she turned to beam at me, her brown eyes sparkling. ‘It’s so good to have you here. Wish you could stay longer.’ She ladled stock into the bubbling pan.
‘I wouldn’t have blamed you if you never wanted to see me again.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ She shot a teary smile at me. ‘Let’s just start again, shall we? I promise I won’t talk about the past. Just relax and enjoy a little holiday.’
I asked, ‘When does Matt get home?’
She turned away, her voice muffled as she searched through packets and jars in a cupboard. ‘He’s in Scotland, not due back till late Thursday, so you won’t see much of him. He was so disappointed to miss you.’
I swallowed down my frustration. ‘Oh well, never mind, that gives us more time to talk.’
As if my words had some kind of negative power, an awkward silence descended. Emily ground pepper into the pan, put dishes to warm, and occasionally hummed to herself, while I looked around the room.
It had been extended since my last visit a couple of months before the wedding, but they’d kept the rough brick walls of the original cottage, and the one opposite the table was covered in framed family photos.
Emily had dark hair and eyes, like me, and in one picture – the two of us throwing dried leaves at each other in her parents’ garden – we looked like a couple of little gypsies.
That day was suddenly in my mind more clearly than yesterday. The smells of autumn bonfires in a nearby garden, the chill air against my hot little cheeks, and the joy of knowing I would be staying with Uncle Alan and Auntie Rose for a whole week. Away from Mummy’s complaints about my untidiness and noise. Here I could forget, for a while, what a bad girl I was.
The picture below was one of Alice’s birthday parties. Mum must have been having a good day because she looked radiant, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. There were eight candles flickering on the cake and Alice grinned over them, her smile identical to Mum’s apart from a lost front tooth. Dad had insisted Emily and I, awkward young teens, should be in the picture too and Emily had managed a stiff smile, whilst I looked down at the cake, hiding my face with a fall of hair.
There were various old wedding photos scattered around. Emily’s parents as toned- down hippies: Alan in a blue shirt with ruffles and a white jacket, and Rose trailing flowers from her mass of hennaed hair. A black and white of a couple I didn’t recognise – Doris Day and Rock Hudson lookalikes – were all tuxedo and frothy chiffon. Our shared grandparents, Dad and Uncle Alan’s mother and father, were there too: my grandfather in tails, top hat in his hand, and his new wife, very French and stylish, in tight-fitting white satin. A single photo of Matt and Emily tucked in amongst the group was the only evidence of their own wedding day.
As we ate we discussed asparagus and Italian cheese, Emily seeming to be as uncomfortable as I felt.
When we’d finished I told her to take it easy while I made some coffee, and as we drank it, I looked up at the paper smiles gleaming through the glass on the wall behind her head.
‘I notice there’s only one wedding photo of you and Matt.’
She shifted in her chair, rubbing a hand over her bump. ‘Well, they all went into the album.’
‘And you didn’t take one or two down from the wall when you knew I was coming, I suppose?’
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�No I didn’t, and to be honest I never look at the album either.’ Her brown eyes flashed at me for a moment, before she looked down at her plate again. ‘I’m sorry, Clare, but honestly it doesn’t matter anymore, at least not to me. Matt and I are happy now and the past is past. So we don’t really talk about it.’
‘That’s just it though, Emily. I need to.’
‘But what good can it do, going over painful things that can’t be changed?’
‘I have to understand what happened. Tom’s asking questions I can’t answer for one thing and well … I just need to know. I thought maybe the photos might help me to remember something from that day.’
She ran her hand through her hair, and pulled herself upright, her bulk making her stagger. ‘I’m too tired to look for them tonight. Let me show you your room and if you still want to see the album I’ll find it tomorrow.’ It was clear she was upset, but at the door of my room she seemed to revive.
‘Honestly, Clare, I think you should let it go. I was at the wedding too, remember, and if there was anything I thought you should know don’t you think I’d have told you by now?’
I smiled and squeezed her arm. ‘Of course. But I suppose I just need to remember for myself.’
She turned away. ‘Let’s talk about it in the morning.’
I told myself at 3 a.m. that I was just going down for a glass of water, but instead, I wandered through the downstairs rooms, keeping the lights dim, quietly checking bookshelves, opening drawers and cupboards. It was wrong to sneak about like this, but I guessed Emily would try to avoid the subject of the album in the morning, and I dreaded having to raise it again.
There was no sign of it and when I opened the final cupboard, the one under the TV, I wasn’t surprised to find only DVDs and a few old videos. But then I saw a DVD box that looked different to the rest. It was plain white, a little dusty and labelled in curling gold letters – Our Wedding.