Before the lesson is over, they are looking at her as if she is hope at the bottom of Pandora’s Box; a light in their dark, boring lives. They stare up at her with big eyes, round with awe and amazement. And if she walks past them and smiles or praises them, they grin to themselves and look about the room, making sure others have noticed. It has only been one lesson and already they worship her. She is beautiful with her brown hair and hazel eyes but it is something sitting deeper than the surface. She emanates a quality that is irresistible. A sweetness and unassuming sincerity that makes her stand out from everyone else. The boys fancy her, the girls envy her. It is almost like a spell she has put them under. One she doesn’t know she has the power to cast. It is one of the reasons I love you so much, Blue-Eyes: you don’t realise how special you are.
She looks at me and I feel a flush of heat envelop my face. I count the seconds, one, two, before she looks away. And I know I want that look again. I crave it. I crave her attention and touch. I want it more than I have wanted anything ever before. I need it. It is a gasping, burning pull deep inside my gut. I won’t be able to walk home unless I know I will come back tomorrow and have it again. I know how it seems, Blue-Eyes, I know I sound like all the other boys and girls, but it is different. It is stronger.
Much stronger.
I am the last to leave when she finishes her lesson. I walk past her, inhaling her vanilla scent, revelling in the proximity between us. She has her back to me, bending over a book on her desk. I mumble a goodbye.
‘Bye, sweetheart.’
As I go, I reach out and touch her skirt. My fingers graze the fabric and make it sway. She doesn’t notice and I leave. But my fingers are alive with the essence of her. Later, I run them down my face and I think I can feel her on my skin. I sleep with my hand tucked under my cheek, lips sucking on my fingers like a baby.
Chapter 11
John
Friday 4 December, 2015
The sonographer smears on the gel and runs the probe across Jules’s bump. ‘Ahh, here we are.’ She smiles at the screen. ‘All seems well. I know you asked for another scan because you were worried but this little one is a very healthy baby. Would you like to know the sex?’
John looks at Jules and she nods. There isn’t much point in keeping it a surprise now. ‘Yes.’
‘A boy. A little boy.’
Jules puts her head against the headrest and stares at the screen, her face awash with emotion. She covers her eyes but he can see the glint of a tear under her little finger. He leans forward and kisses her head. The doctor jumps up from her seat and makes her way to the door. ‘I’ll give you a minute.’
‘She… she secretly wanted a brother! She told us she didn’t mind but I saw her mark the calendar with the date her baby brother would arrive. She… she wanted a brother.’ Jules leans into his shoulder and sobs. John wraps his arms around her.
This is supposed to be a happy time. A time to treasure, but instead here they are like this. For a moment, John wonders if it is a dream. This can’t actually be happening. When they return home, Bonnie will be sitting on the sofa with a book or playing a board game with Don. She’ll look up at them and smile, running over, trying to look at the scan photo. That is the way things will be. Except they won’t, will they?
Jules rummages through her bag for a tissue, pictures and make-up falling out. John pulls one from his pocket and hands it to her. This is their reality: who can get a tissue quickest. He knows he shouldn’t be having these thoughts. He and Jules are healthy, their second child is on his way and they will find Bonnie. They have hope. Hope. Such a feeble thing, such a wavering, useless emotion. No. They must be positive, otherwise what’s the point? Bonnie, if – when – they find her, will return home to a mum and dad who are no use to her. They have to be positive.
‘Jules.’ He wipes hair from her eyes and smiles. ‘Jules, Bonnie would want us to enjoy this. She’d want to be here with us. Right now she’d probably be sitting here—’ he pats the examination bed ‘—and staring at the screen with that look she gets when she’s excited. She’d be jumping into my arms and telling me all the things she’s going to do with him.’ John wipes her cheek and holds her hand. ‘She’d be telling us about the books she’ll write for him, the jokes she’ll tell him. She’d be happy. Excited. And when she comes back, when the police find her, we need to be ready. She needs to come home to a happy house, not to us as we are.’
Jules tucks her hair behind her ear and nods slowly, her face regaining some of its composure. ‘You’re right. I know you are.’
‘What do you want to call him?’ John gestures to the screen, mesmerised by their baby.
She runs her hand across her stomach, smiling. ‘Bonnie wanted to call him Bertie.’
‘Bertie it is.’
*
She pulls on his hand and points to the floor. ‘Just a minute, Daddy. I dropped a penny.’ She leans down, chubby fingers reaching out. He stops her. ‘Leave it, sweetheart. It will give someone good luck.’
‘Will it?’
‘Yes.’ John kneels down and squeezes her hand. ‘In an hour or two, someone will see that penny. And they’ll kneel down like you and I are doing now. They’ll pick it up and for the rest of the day they’ll have good luck. All because of you. Because you left it there for them to find.’
She smiles and looks from him to the coin. ‘Really?’
‘Really, really.’
She fumbles through her pink purse and gently drops another next to it. ‘Now they’ll have more luck.’
John nods and grins. He takes her hand and they walk down the street. When they come back, the money is gone and Bonnie smiles all the way home.
Chapter 12
Maisie
Sunday 17 January, 2016
She looks at him as if she can’t decide whether he is really asleep or playing a game and at any moment will jump up from his bed and pull her into his arms. Her eyes snag on the tubes and needles embedded in his skin and all of a sudden fear slips through the cracks. The girl looks at Maisie, then studies the machines, small hand guiding a clump of hair to her mouth. She chews, and Maisie can see a glob of spit in the corner. A thousand different emotions jump across her features and for a moment Maisie is fascinated by their depth. Confusion. Hope. Surprise. Worry. Love.
When she frowns, her face wrinkles just like Tim’s, small creases appearing at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Chewing her hair, she takes three steps to the bed, guided by Heidi’s hand. Maisie smiles at her, eyes drawn to the cast that looks oversized on her small hand.
‘Hello.’
The girl looks at her and quickly looks away, gripping her mother’s hand as if she is worried Heidi might suddenly disappear. ‘Can… can Daddy hear me?’
Heidi gives her a silent nod, twisting her scarf into a small ball, eyes darting from the door to her daughter. Today her dense curls are combed back into a hairband and her eyes accentuated by mascara. Waterproof, Maisie thinks to herself. She wonders if she has applied it to detract from the red patches under her nose or if it’s just her way of feeling human again. Either way, the small act does nothing to assuage the fear that glistens in her eyes.
Maisie kneels down and smiles at the girl. ‘We don’t know, darling. Nobody knows. Your daddy is a little bit of a mystery. We like to think he can. Your mum and I talk to him all the time.’
She nods and leans over the bed, wincing as she catches her cast on the bedframe. Heidi jumps out of the seat and helps her, brow furrowing and creating a nest of wrinkles in her skin. She is on edge today; there is a tension in her movements that worries Maisie. A coiled spring. Maisie supposes she would feel the same in her position. She watches the girl carefully touch his hand, her fingers navigating the tubes. She is grateful Tim is asleep; even in a vegetative state, her patients have sleep cycles.
The girl cradles his hand, nestling her face into his palm. ‘Hi, Daddy.’ Tears spring to her eyes. Her voice rings through the room, send
ing a wave of sadness down Maisie’s chest.
Heidi lowers herself into a chair and rubs her daughter’s back. With the other hand she caresses her bump. Maisie watches her fingers make circular motions, hypnotised by the thought of a baby of her own. As a swift pang of agony stabs into her chest, she looks away, blinks three times, takes two deep breaths and then returns her gaze to Heidi. That usually does the trick.
Slowly the girl runs her fingers along Tim’s cheek, a crackle of quiet sobs bouncing off the walls. Heidi gathers her up and cradles her to her chest, careful to avoid the cast, rocking them from side to side. Maisie eases herself from the chair and waits in the corridor. She counts out ten minutes, then returns to her spot beside Tim. Now the girl is perched on his bed, tears dried on her skin, words tumbling from her mouth. Heidi rubs her back, smiling despite the look of dread that clouds her face. Is she worrying her daughter will lose her father? No, it is more than that. Maisie sinks into the chair, pondering the possibilities. Is the girl ill? Is something wrong with the baby? Is Heidi ill herself? Is she afraid she or her daughter will be attacked? Is she concerned the person responsible is still out there?
‘Me and Mummy watched Moana yesterday. I wish you could have been there, Daddy. You would have liked it. We had popcorn. And even when Mummy put it in my bowl, it popped and popped!’ The girl fiddles with the hem of her shirt just as her mother fiddles with the fabric of her scarf, twisting it into a tiny ball. ‘Daddy, can you hear me? I love you, Daddy. Don’t forget.’ A tear forms in the corner of her eye and trickles down her cheek. Maisie sits up and smiles, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
‘Was it good? The movie?’
The girl looks up, surprised. ‘Yes. I like Moana. She has nice hair.’
Maisie nods. ‘Is she your favourite princess?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who’s your second favourite princess?’
‘Belle.’
‘And third?’
‘Cinderella.’
‘I’ve always wanted glass slippers like her. Have you?’
She nods, staring up at Maisie with a guarded expression. ‘I want a carriage. Mummy says I’m not old enough for one yet. Daddy says I can have one when I’m eighteen. He says he’ll find me some slippers on eBay.’
‘That sounds nice.’
‘What’s wrong with Daddy? Mummy says he’s asleep.’ She looks back at Tim, and Maisie is surprised how fast the subject has changed.
‘Daddy’s got a bump on his head. He’s in a very, very deep sleep. We’ve put a plaster on it so it can heal.’
‘That’s what Mummy said.’ She chews her hair again, hdf broken expression glued to her father. ‘Daddy gave me a tape recorder for Christmas. I recorded myself reading his favourite book so he can hear me. I don’t want him to forget me. Can you play it for him?’
‘Of course! That’s a lovely idea’
Heidi rummages in her bag and produces a small black device. Maisie hasn’t seen one in years. Her mother let her borrow one to sing into as a child; a time when she wanted to be a singer instead of a nurse. When she was very young and the future was just a wisp of something blurry on the horizon.
‘Thank you.’ She takes it and holds it in her lap. ‘What book is it?’
‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’
‘I used to read my brother that book. It was his favourite too.’
‘You have a brother?’ Heidi says, gently positioning her daughter on her lap and dropping the ruined scarf on the floor.
‘I used to.’
She nods. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Mummy, why are you sorry?’
‘I… er…’
Maisie leaps in. ‘I have an idea. Why don’t you help me massage your daddy’s feet?’
Her nose wrinkles and she glances to the foot of the bed. ‘I don’t want to do that!’
Heidi smiles sadly, kissing her head. ‘OK. Well, monkey. Why don’t you go and get a drink? She sees Watson. ‘Look who’s here.’
Maisie watches the little girl rush out into the corridor. Watson pulls her into his arms and kisses her nose. Then he nods at something she says and turns, making his way back down the hallway.
‘She’s sweet.’
Heidi repositions herself in the chair, taking up the scarf once again. ‘Thanks.’
‘So, how are you?’
‘I’m fine. We’re… we’re coping.’ She gestures to the door. ‘She’s sleeping in my bed now. And I’m glad because every time I close my eyes I’m afraid something will happen. It’s a relief to know she’s OK.’
‘She coped with all of that really well. She’s a strong girl.’
‘I know.’ She looks at Tim. ‘That tape recorder was his. He gave it to her for Christmas. When she was a baby, she cried constantly if we left the room, so Tim recorded us both talking to her. Played it and she was fine.’
‘Good idea. I wish my mum would have thought of that. I cried all the time.’
‘Do you have children?’
‘No, I don’t.’ Maisie shakes her head. She fiddles with the tape recorder, keeping her eyes low. She has worked so hard at building a wall up against the pain, each brick carefully laid with tears and effort. It frustrates her when she finds a breach. She doesn’t tell Heidi how much it hurts just to see her touch her bump. Or how the pain makes her feel like balling up on the floor and crying. It knocks her sideways and leaves her breathless.
‘When I was pregnant with my daughter, I was craving peanut butter constantly. We had the cupboards full of it. If I was upset or just fed up, Tim would stick a spoon in a tub, drop a dollop of ice cream on top and sprinkle it with jellybeans. He’d put a cheesy rom-com on the telly or stick the Rolling Stones on. He always knew what to do. He knew what I wanted even before I did.’ She leans forward and takes his hand in hers. ‘He’s a kind person. Always has been.’
Maisie nods. ‘One of the kindest things I’ve ever seen happened when I was twelve. Mum and I were sitting on this open-top bus, chatting about a movie we’d just seen at the cinema. Anyway, a girl in a wheelchair and her mother got on. She had special needs. From what I gathered, it was her birthday – she must have been about twenty – and the open-top bus ride was her treat. You should have seen her face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody so happy. She had this… this smile, this huge smile that lit up her face. Her mum looked so stressed, flustered. When she realised she couldn’t get her daughter up the stairs, the girl was heartbroken. She didn’t cry, she didn’t shout, she just sat there, staring at the floor. A man sitting at the back went over and talked to them. He picked her up – he was so gentle – and carried her up.’
‘And then?’
‘They came back down. Her hair was windswept, face flushed. She looked like she’d had the time of her life. The mother thanked the man over and over again. Before they got off, she hugged him. He returned to his seat and just sat there smiling away. That’s one of the kindest things I’ve ever seen.’
Heidi smiles. ‘That’s lovely. That’s the sort of thing Tim does.’
Maisie looks up as the door opens.
Watson peers round. ‘Heidi, I’ve got you a cup of tea.’
‘Oh, thanks.’ She stands and walks out of the door. Maisie follows and smiles, watching Watson wrap an arm around Heidi’s shoulder, struck by how lovingly he touches her.
Chapter 13
Miller
Friday 12 June, 1987
I hold the tangle of brown hair to my nose and inhale deeply. Closing my eyes, I envisage her standing before me and her smile fills me with joy. I’m not used to this type of emotion. It laces itself around my limbs, suffusing every inch of my body.
Her bedroom is small and stuffy, brimming with haphazardly placed knick-knacks, stacks and stacks of books shoved into the corners, and clothes – clean and dirty – thrown across the floor like one big, lumpy carpet. On the walls hang pictures of the sea, and I wonder if that is where she comes from. A home by the sea. Perhaps Cornwall?
Mother and Father took me and Mary once. A long time ago. I can still remember feeling the water lap at my feet, the frigid temperature making me shiver as I stood and waited for the three of them to tire. It seemed like hours. They built sandcastles, splashed in the sea, chased each other and, when the sun disappeared behind the cliff, huddled inside the beach tent to keep warm, hands cupping steaming flasks of hot chocolate. After they’d sucked the last drops from the bottom, they sank into each other and smiled, content in one another’s company.
I scrape more of her hair greedily from the brush, sniffing as I pull and stuff it into my pockets like a starving boy feasting on a banquet. The smell is intoxicating. Sweet and pure, like her. Her diary sits on the nightstand. I run my finger over the page, smiling at her small scrawl, at the way she dots her i’s with hearts. Bad ones. She can’t draw but that hasn’t dissuaded her from doodling in the margins. Hearts and arrows. Wings and swirls. Pieces of her imagination laid out on a piece of paper; segments of her raw, beautiful mind encapsulated for evermore in ink. The indentations beneath the pads of my fingers cut deep into the grainy paper. Sunday she is having lunch with her mother. Monday she is meeting a man called Jack. His name is circled twice. Five exclamation marks stand off to the side. I absent-mindedly wonder if he is her brother. Her father? Her friend?
Sitting on the bed, I cradle her diary in my arms. A red stain catches my eye to the right. Small, nearly unnoticeable, but it is fresh, bold against the white sheet. Blood. A cut finger perhaps? From the page of a book? I touch the stain and smile. I am not repulsed but happy, fascinated. With the diary in my hand and my finger digging into the stain, I feel close to her. How many others would she allow to see something as private as this? The blood from her cut smeared across her bed, her sanctuary from the harshness of long days. Not many. I know she doesn’t know I am here, Blue-Eyes. But later, when she is in bed, I wonder if she will smell me, if she’ll look around and wonder, just for a moment, if someone has been in her room? And if that someone was me.
Lies Between Us Page 6