by Nicci French
‘That was a year ago?’
‘Something like that.’
‘What happened then?’
‘You really want to know?’
‘I do.’
Ellen wiped tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand.
‘I thought I was going crazy. He’d made me believe he couldn’t live without me, then he just behaved as if it had all been nothing, a fling. He left you and—’
‘It was mutual,’ I said, interrupting. ‘We left each other.’
But was that even true? I didn’t know any more and not knowing made me feel weak and untethered.
‘Whatever,’ said Ellen cautiously. ‘You separated and he didn’t want anything to do with me. I suppose he’d met this other woman.’
I was about to interrupt again, to tell her that he had met Emily after we’d parted, but I didn’t. Because who knew if that was the case?
‘That word “dumped”, that’s how I felt.’ Ellen looked away from me, across the brightness of the park. ‘Thrown away. I tried to contact him and I wrote to him and I thought of going round there and slashing his tyres or smashing his window, or going to the school and making a public nuisance of myself. He wouldn’t have liked that. I went to a therapist instead, which was a much better idea, because now I don’t want to kill myself and I don’t even want to kill him, or shame him, I just want to get on with my life and never, ever be dependent like that again. I think he’s an arsehole, a typical male shit who preys on the vulnerable, and I’m really, really, really sorry. But I think you’re better off without him.’
‘You do? That’s all right then.’
‘Sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.’
‘It was. Though I agree with you.’
Ellen hesitated, then spoke in a rush. ‘Was he ever violent?’
‘What! What are you saying? Did he hit you?’
‘No.’ A flush moved up her neck and into her face. ‘But he… I always thought it was possible. You know.’
‘Right.’ I felt a bit sick.
‘Every so often he was scary. So I wondered…’
‘No.’
‘Good.’
‘Had he had other affairs?’
Ellen flinched. ‘I don’t know. You’d have to ask him. I mean… I kind of assumed but I don’t know.’
‘You said that you tried to contact him. When exactly was that?’
‘When he left me and I was in a mess.’
‘Have you tried to contact him again or seen him?’
‘Why on earth would I? I’m done with all of that. I never want to be that person again.’
THIRTEEN
I rang Aidan and said I couldn’t see him that night after all.
‘You’re doing this quite a lot.’
‘What?’
‘Putting me off.’
‘I know. Sorry. It’s just at the moment…’ I let the sentence trail away.
‘Is there something you’re not telling me? About us, I mean?’
‘No. Honestly. I’ll explain later.’
I ended the call and sent a text to Jason saying we needed to talk, urgently and privately. A text came back almost instantly: v busy can it wait?
no, I replied.
Then added another: Tomorrow before school? 8.15?
I rang my school secretary. I’d told her early that morning I was ill, and now I said I wouldn’t be coming in on Friday either. Stomach bug, I added, very contagious. I didn’t know when I’d be back. I called Gina and told her I would collect Poppy today, but could she or Laurie take her to school in the morning. I could hardly bring myself to speak to Gina or picture her eager, pleading expression. I just wanted to take my troubled little daughter and go far away, somewhere empty and peaceful and healing. I pictured a hilltop, a lake, gentle heat: May was my favourite month, everything clean and new.
What would we do on a hilltop, though?
* * *
I was waiting outside Poppy’s class when the bell rang. Poppy charged out and wrapped her arms tightly around my legs and burrowed against me. I stroked the top of her head, feeling the heat of her.
‘Can I have a word?’
It was Lotty, Poppy’s teacher. Her round, smooth face was serious.
I disentangled myself from Poppy’s grip. ‘Get your coat and wait here a minute. We’re going swimming.’
‘Swimming? Me and you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not Jake?’
‘Just us.’
I left Poppy with the nursery assistant and followed Lotty into the classroom.
‘I know you’ve been worried about Poppy.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘She hasn’t had a good day. She bit Sadie.’
‘Bit her?’
‘Sadie had to go to the nurse. She needed a bandage. Her mother is very upset.’
‘That’s awful.’
‘It’s not just that. It’s what Poppy said.’ Lotty wrinkled her nose. ‘She called me a cunt.’
I felt like I needed to sit down but I couldn’t see anywhere. All the chairs were too small to sit on.
‘I’m so sorry. But she doesn’t understand.’
‘I know she doesn’t. But we don’t tolerate acts of violence and aggression in our class.’
‘I’ll talk to her. I’ll make that clear.’
‘I’ve reported your concerns to safeguarding already. I will have to add this incident.’
‘Right.’
‘Do you have any idea why Poppy’s behaviour has changed like this?’
‘I don’t. Her father and I separated, but that was a year ago and she’s seemed fine up until now.’
‘Well. We’ll keep an eye on her. Don’t hesitate to come to me if there’s anything I can do.’
Tears pricked in my eyes. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. So sorry.’
We spent nearly an hour in the pool. Poppy was learning to swim: her strong pale legs paddled furiously beneath her; just the shallow disc of her face was above the water. Like a water lily, I thought, or a jellyfish. She had no fear. Every so often she would disappear beneath the surface and become a writhing shape, and then emerge spluttering and laughing, blowing spouts of water from her mouth.
Back home, we took biscuits and juice into the small garden and examined the flowers. When we’d moved in, one of the first things we had done – before we’d finished the unpacking and rearranging – was to plant spring bulbs and shrubs for the following year. The daffodils and tulips were gone, but I had also put in some aquilegias. Poppy squatted beside them and poked the tight buds that were beginning to open. She crawled over to where I was sitting cross-legged and put her head in my lap and we watched the goldfinch swinging on the feeder. Her face seemed almost luminous in the soft evening, and I thought how normal she seemed, how miraculous. It was hard to believe she’d sunk her sharp little teeth into her friend’s flesh.
There was a sound of a window opening above us and I twisted round to see Bernie. There was a woman beside him with a shaved head and dark brows. He waved enthusiastically. I raised a cautious hand back.
‘We’ve made some bread,’ he called. ‘Too much for us. Do you want some?’
‘It’s really kind of you but we have bread.’
‘Not homemade sourdough bread, you haven’t.’
He disappeared before I had time to reply.
We ate fish fingers and peas together, Poppy carefully peeling off the crisp shell of breadcrumbs to save till last, and then I ran her a bath and knelt beside her, trying to blow bubbles through the circle of my forefinger and thumb. I took her onto my lap to dry her, feeling the damp warmth of her clean, glowing body. Pulled on clean pyjamas. Sat on her bed.
‘Story,’ said Poppy imperiously. ‘Little Bear.’
‘In a minute. I want to ask you something. Your teacher said—’
‘I didn’t do it.’
‘You bit Sadie.’
‘I didn’t do it. I hate her.’
‘I hate her. I hate you. I hate you.’ She looked at me triumphantly. ‘Cunt,’ she said.
‘You do not say that word.’
‘Kingcunty cunt.’
‘Poppy!’
But she turned away from me, wriggling her angry body further down beneath the duvet.
‘I’m not going away. I want to talk to you. Even if you’re upset or cross, you don’t bite people. Or hit people. Or call people bad things. It’s very wrong. It will make people upset.’
‘I want Milly. Where’s Milly?’
‘Listen, Poppy.’ I bit my lip, trying to find the right words. ‘I think you saw something that made you frightened.’
‘Yes. I did see. I did see!’
‘Did Daddy hurt someone?’
‘Yes, Daddy did hurt!’ Poppy pulled herself upright, looking almost exultant.
‘Who did he hurt?’
‘He did hurt!’
‘Who?’
‘Milly?’ Poppy sounded dubious.
I was doing this all wrong. It’s the most basic rule with children: if you want to find out what has happened, never ask them a leading question.
‘Or maybe it wasn’t Daddy?’ I said, hopelessly.
‘Not Daddy?’
‘Did Ben hurt someone?’
This was all wrong: I was just planting ideas into her fertile brain.
‘Ben did do it.’ Poppy nodded vigorously. ‘Ben did hurt.’
I rubbed the side of my face. I was like someone who had walked over crucial footprints, muddying them all. I ploughed on.
‘When you were with Daddy and Emily, did something happen to make you sad?’
Poppy gazed at me. Her eyes were bright, the pupils large. Her mouth was pulled into a straight line and her body was tense. I could see that a storm was building up inside her.
‘Story.’ She pinched at my arm with fingers that felt like pincers. ‘Story now. Little bear.’
When at last I leaned over her to kiss her goodnight, thinking her already asleep, Poppy’s eyes flickered open. She stared at me as if I was a stranger.
‘Are you dead now?’ she whispered dreamily.
‘No! I’m alive and I’m here.’
‘When you’re dead, where will you be then?’
I looked at my daughter. Who are you? I thought. What are you thinking? What have you seen?
* * *
Bernie brought the bread round when I was writing reports. I had done three and I needed to do twenty-seven more in the next two weeks. He stood in the doorway, clutching the loaf to his chest and smiling.
‘Thanks.’ I sounded rude. ‘It’s very kind of you,’ I added.
‘You’re welcome.’
He took that step forward, as I’d known he would, to bring him just a little bit too close.
‘Being neighbours,’ he said. ‘We should do something. A drink or whatever.’
‘I just wanted to say,’ I blurted out, feeling it was now or never. ‘Your room is just above Poppy’s. She can hear you.’
He flushed slightly, but he didn’t seem angry.
‘I can hear you too,’ he said.
FOURTEEN
‘I’ve got about fifteen minutes,’ said Jason, looking at his phone, laying down his briefcase, taking off his sunglasses, all business.
Even though I had had to drop Poppy off early and cross London, while he was a few minutes from his school, Jason was late. I had been in the café for more than ten minutes, watching my cappuccino go cold.
‘What is it that’s so urgent?’
‘Poppy is urgent,’ I said. ‘So it might take more than fifteen minutes.’
Jason sighed. ‘We’ve been through this.’
‘Is there anything you’ve forgotten to tell me? Apart from Emily being pregnant and Ben living in your house, that is. With a dog I don’t trust.’
‘Tess, what’s going on? Why are you being like this?’
‘Nothing then?’
‘I really don’t have time for this. Look.’ He leaned forward and for a moment I thought he was about to take my clenched fist in his hand. ‘I don’t understand your question. Is it about Poppy? She seems fine enough to me.’
He sat back. I caught him taking a surreptitious glance at his watch.
‘I just talked to Ellen Dempsey.’
I looked at him as I said it and, despite myself, I was impressed. He gave the smallest start of surprise.
‘Didn’t you hear?’ I said. I leaned forward and spoke more loudly. Another couple at the next table looked round. ‘You must remember her. Lorraine’s sister, that one. The young one.’
‘Not now,’ he said, still calm. ‘Not here.’
‘When Poppy was tiny. When we were talking about our relationship and deciding to give it a go. When you were telling me that I was tired and emotional and that’s why I felt dissatisfied. When we were having relationship counselling and being honest with each other, laying all our cards on the table. Remember?’
‘Did you arrange this here so you could make a big scene in public?’ said Jason. ‘Is that you?’
When Jason said that, he was being perceptive as well as unfeeling and manipulative. Because he was right. It wasn’t me. I had spent my life avoiding confrontation, being the first to apologise, assuming everything must be my fault somehow. I was genuinely tempted to call his bluff and create a no-nonsense, horrendous public display. But I didn’t. I knew I wouldn’t be good at something like that and it would come out wrong and I would feel terrible about it afterwards.
‘That’s not it at all,’ I said. ‘Once I knew, I thought it was important to tell you that I knew.’
‘All right,’ said Jason. ‘Now I know that you know. If you want me to apologise, all right, I apologise. It was a difficult time and it wasn’t a big deal, but I apologise.’
‘She says you were in love with her and promised to marry her.’
‘She was angry and upset.’
‘Were there other affairs?’
‘Let’s not do this.’
‘Because your fifteen minutes is almost up? Or because there were?’
He sat up straighter, visibly gathering himself. It was as if he was willing himself into an attitude of contempt. Once there, he was more assured.
‘We’re over, Tess. We were together, we had a gorgeous child, and then we decided to go our separate ways. We don’t have a relationship to talk about, except one that involves our responsibility towards Poppy. We’ve moved on. You have a new partner, I have a new partner. The past is gone.’
‘My past isn’t what I thought it was. We weren’t what I thought we were. Do you get how much I hate that?’
Jason stood up. ‘Is that Poppy’s bag for tonight?’
He reached over and took it.
‘You may not care about me, but I hope you care about Poppy. She bit a child at school yesterday. She called her teacher a cunt. Something bad is happening to her.’
‘I believe that,’ he said. ‘Have you looked at yourself? Don’t you think that Poppy might be picking up on your resentment and paranoia? Maybe you’re the one who’s making her act up, not me, not some mistake of mine that happened years ago.’
I stood as well. I leaned across the table so we were eyeball to eyeball.
‘I keep thinking of all the lies,’ I said. ‘That’s what gets me.’
* * *
I watched him leave, picking up his briefcase, putting on his sunglasses, stepping out into the street and not looking back. Now what? I had taken the whole day off school, but for what? I felt scraped thin by the encounter and also full of a restless, itchy energy.
I walked the fifteen minutes to Brockwell Park and for a while wandered aimlessly through its large spaces. I used to come here when Poppy was a baby, pushing the buggy past the lido, the café, stopping by the beautiful ponds to feed the ducks. How long ago that world seemed. In just a few days, my whole view of the past had bee
n violently rearranged and everything seemed unfamiliar. I felt unfamiliar.
I sat on a bench, closed my eyes, tipped my head back to feel the kindness of the sun that came slanting through the tall trees. The light was dappled. There were birds in the branches above me. I didn’t know what to do next. The detective, though sympathetic, had been no help; Alex had taken me seriously but could do no more than advise vigilance; Jason suddenly felt like an enemy. I could talk to Gina – but I didn’t want to talk to Gina. I didn’t want to talk to Nadine, who would probably only say what she had already said. Or my friend Becky, who was in the middle of an acrimonious divorce. I briefly thought of turning to Aidan, but he was too new in my life, too affected by my emotional turbulence. I needed a woman and I also needed someone who knew the old Tess, the one who had lived for nearly ten years with Jason, who had loved and trusted him, who had been so blind.
On an impulse I rang my mother, but the call went to voicemail, and I realised that it was Friday morning, and she would be at the health-food shop where she worked three days a week. I had been four when my father left us and started a new family – not much older than Poppy was when Jason and I had separated. I remembered – or I thought I remembered – the vicious arguments that preceded it. The fallout had gone on for many years: a rumbling hostility between them that quite often flared up into something more dramatic. I’d witnessed my parents being transformed by rage and distress into people who no longer felt safe to me, their faces wrenched into ugliness, their words hard and bitter. They both used to tell me how wrongly the other was behaving, how they couldn’t be trusted. It had been scary and nasty and it was what Jason and I had pledged to avoid ourselves.
My mother’s face came into my mind, lined and anxious, always readying itself for bad news. I didn’t leave a message.
I had no proof, no tangible facts, just a coiling dread that Poppy had witnessed something terrible, and an instinct that she was, unconsciously, telling her mother what, if only I would listen carefully enough.
Then an idea came to me and I stood up. It was better than doing nothing.