It has been two years since I moved into your town, and in that time you have grown close to me; you have begun to want my opinion, respect it, to look at me the same way you look at Chubby. It has taken time but finally I have fully integrated myself into your life and your future. But recently, I’m beginning to feel it isn’t enough. I’m beginning to wonder what it would be like if it was just us. If Chubby and Bessie and your parents were no longer here and I was the centre of your world. If it was just the two of us. Alone.
*
You saw a woman walking along the street the other day, holding her young daughter’s hand. And you didn’t need me to tell you the girl was afraid, that the bruises on her arms were fingermarks. You didn’t know I was standing close by but you realised for the first time the world isn’t entirely as you expected it to be. That the little town we live in isn’t so different from the rest, which is full of cruel, manipulative people. It is full of a rage you never believed possible.
I saw the cogs working inside of your beautiful mind, saw the flashes of shock, horror and sadness seep into your face, and I had to keep myself from running over and covering your eyes.
People are not like you, John, I wanted to say. People are greedy and malicious and they lie and steal. You are special. You are a good one. One of very few. And the world is going to want to hurt you. Want to strip you of your honesty and kindness. It is going to want to change you. But I want you to know that I will never hurt you. You don’t break the things you love, and I will never break you, John. I’ll keep you safe from the world you are growing up and seeing for the first time. Don’t worry, Blue-Eyes.
Thursday 5 March, 1992
I swipe a crumb from the corner of your mouth. You glance at me uncertainly and I wish I hadn’t. When you are finished you leave the plate in the sink and we rush to the door, thoughts of the cool river luring us outside. Your mother calls you back. Grinning, she taps her cheek. ‘Affection.’
You drop a kiss on her skin and run to join Chubby and I, laughing. I can’t help it: I glare at your mother, fingers swiping the yellow vase over the edge of the cabinet. It cracks against the floor, shattered pieces flitting through the air. She gathers the shards up in her hands, muttering under her breath.
I kneel down and help her. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Graham. It was an accident. I’m really sorry.’
‘Oh, it’s OK, sweetheart. No harm done. Go on. You three go and play. It’s fine.’
I make a performance out of looking over my shoulder so you can see how upset I am. Chubby giggles nervously, skipping ahead of us, fat juggling in time with his feet hitting the ground. You wrap an arm round my neck. ‘It’s OK, mate. Come on, let’s go and cool down.’
I smile, just enough for you to see those words of comfort helped, just enough for you to see I need more. ‘It’s really OK. It was an accident. You didn’t mean to do it. Mum’s OK.’ A pat on the back. I nod, sigh. Yes, you’re right.
You and Chubby run ahead laughing wildly, arms out, feet tripping over the tips of your shoes. I follow slowly behind, hands tucked into my shorts, smiling. Not at you. At your mother.
*
Your arm is wrapped around Bessie, lips whispering a story into the halo of her hair, chin resting on her head. Laughter pours from the open window into the warm night. I climb the branches of the tree outside your house, my clothes tugging on the wood, fingers grazing the yellowy sap. I position myself between two branches and wipe it from my fingers. If I listen carefully, I can just hear your soft, melodic voice lifting over the sound of birds chirping above me. Bessie says something and your head falls back, laughter pouring from your lips. She wiggles under the duvet. You close the book and kiss her head. As you leave, you wave and she waves back.
I watch you appear in the room adjacent to Bessie’s. You change into your pyjamas and I run my eyes over your body, drinking you in. The clothes you wore are left in a pile at the bottom of your bed. You pull the duvet up over your head and knock on the wall twice. I glance over to Bessie and am surprised to see her reply with two knocks of her own. You both smile and burrow deeper into the beds. A last goodnight call.
When I rest my head on my own pillow, I hold the hair I cut from your head close to my cheek, running it over my skin. It is soft like your fingers would be on my lips. After I turn the light off, I rest my hand on the wall.
Then I knock twice.
Chapter 38
John
Thursday 17 December, 2015
When you were a boy, you snuck into the kitchen at night and stole acid drops from your mother’s hiding place. I can still hear the crackling of the wrappers.
‘How do they know that?!’ John throws his hands up. ‘Even my mother doesn’t know that!’ He runs fingers through his hair and is surprised to see handfuls come away. He looks at Don desperately. ‘How do they know that?’
He shrugs, eyes stuck to the photograph of Bonnie’s arm, dotted with rosebuds of blood. A dot to dot, and connecting them is a stripe of blood that makes up the outline of a sweet wrapper. ‘I don’t know. They’re fucked up.’
Jules snatches the photograph up and waves it in front of Alice. ‘There isn’t going to be any of her left by the time you find her!’
Don puts a hand on her shoulder and she shrugs him off. ‘Get off me, Don!’ She turns back to Alice. ‘It’s all right for you. You sent your daughter to France to keep her safe. What are you doing for mine?! This sick bastard has had her for weeks. Tell me WHAT YOU ARE DOING ABOUT IT!’
John takes her hand, a show of support, and looks at Alice for an answer. She has been like a friend to them but now he is beginning to want to shake her.
She looks at him beseechingly. ‘You know we’re doing our best. I’ve gone out on a limb with you two, telling you things I shouldn’t, keeping you in the loop. I know how you must feel—’
‘No! You don’t. You can’t know how we feel. Your daughter is safe and sound. She’s not being hacked to pieces by a sick fuck who’s got it in for your husband.’
Don bites his lip, drawing blood. ‘Jules, don’t say that.’
‘Why not? They’ll probably start sending us fingers soon. Or toes. Or maybe one day, when we’re sipping soup through a straw and the police are about to start on yet another box of doughnuts, they’ll send us her head.’ Tears drip off her chin and her unruly hair tangles against her wet cheeks. Her eyes are bloodshot and underlined with black, a combination that is a shocking contrast to the paleness of her skin. John looks at his wife and feels the last of his resolve crumble. He wonders how long it will be before they both lose their minds. Perhaps he already has. He hears Bonnie’s voice in a silent room, feels her curl up next to him on the sofa. He sees her everywhere he looks. And sometimes he even smiles and opens his arms for her to jump into.
‘Jules, that won’t happen!’ Alice spreads her hands, placating.
‘You don’t know that!’ Spittle flies from the corner of her mouth. John squeezes her hand, feeling her emotion like an electric shock to his skin.
Blood blooms on Don’s lip, and for a moment it looks as if he’s bitten through a vein. His frightened, round eyes peer at them, like they did when he was a child and cut his leg on barbed wire. ‘Hey… hey, I’m just going to check on Kimmy.’ He shuffles from the room, wiping the blood from his lip, surprised, as if he hadn’t even noticed it was there.
John watches him go, eyes glued to the signs of weight loss. For the first time in his life he can see his best friend is getting thin. The thought of it unsettles him.
Jules glares at Alice, then curls herself into John, sobbing. ‘You need to find her, Alice. If things keep going like this, she might not have long.’
‘I know. I know. We’re doing our best. They’ll trip up. They always do. They get arrogant and lose their edge. I’ve told you this before. Whoever’s doing this is leaving no traces for us to find but they will. They will.’
‘How did they know about the acid drops? Nobody knew that.
’
‘You must remember someone, you must! You can’t have someone so close your whole life and not know about it! The guys at the station are beginning to think you’re in on it!’
‘What?! Of course I’m bloody not! Is that why you can’t find them, because you’re not looking? Because you think you’ve already found who’s responsible?’
‘No. Absolutely not. We’re doing everything we can.’
‘Do more! Do more, Alice!’ He rests his chin on Jules’s head, closing his eyes. ‘You need to find her. Please, please, just find her.’
Chapter 39
Maisie
Tuesday 26 January, 2016
‘He used to say all mistakes are accidental good choices. Because we learn from the mistakes we make, then move forward. I think that perfectly defines who he is as a person. Positive. Upbeat, kind. Optimistic.’
‘I like that. “Mistakes are accidental good choices.”’
Heidi presses a photograph into Maisie’s hand. ‘This is another scan photo – can you put it with the other one, please?’
‘Of course. Sweet little one.’ She smiles down at the baby. Button nose, fingers spread, chin propped on a small chest. She runs her finger over the picture and sucks in a breath. She’s told Ben; she can tell Heidi. ‘I was pregnant a year ago, you know. I had those pictures, treasured them like they were made of gold. Hung them up on the wall and looked at them every night before I went to bed. I used to whisper goodnight to my baby, good morning too. A few weeks before my due date, it was Ben’s birthday so I was rushing at the last minute to get his gift.’ She purses her lips, taking a deep breath. ‘I fell down the stairs and had a stillbirth.’
Heidi leans over the bed and rests her hand on Maisie’s. ‘I’m so sorry. I did wonder. The way you look at the scan photos… it made me think perhaps there was something.’
Maisie squeezes her hand. ‘I didn’t tell Ben until recently. He didn’t know I fell. I let him believe it was just this random thing that happened. For a long time I thought it was my fault, that I killed my own baby. After the stillbirth, we packed everything away in the nursery and left it there. Last Friday, I went in and brought it all into the lounge – photos, toys, things we hid away for so long. It felt good. When Ben got back, we went through his things and remembered him as he should be remembered.’
‘Did he have a name?’
‘Billy.’
‘Will you try for more in the future?’
She looks at Tim, wondering if he is listening. ‘No. I can’t have children. Billy was just luck, a miracle. We’ve always wanted kids so it’s quite a punch to the gut but we’ll get through it.’
‘How’s Ben? It must have come as a shock.’
She rubs her eyes. ‘It did. But I think he’s forgiven me. We’re going to be OK. I thought he’d hate me. I did kill his son, after all. You know I used to wish I’d died falling down those stairs. Broken my neck or something. Then it wouldn’t have just been him.’
‘Maisie, sweetheart, you didn’t kill him.’ She pats her hand, holding her gaze. ‘What happened was a tragic accident.’
Maisie nods. It was. It was an accident. She couldn’t have killed Billy. She wasn’t like the mothers on the news who all of a sudden took a hammer to their babies. She would never hurt a child. Even if someone held a gun to her head, she wouldn’t.
Heidi moves her hand, shuffling closer in her chair. ‘We lost a baby once. Long before our daughter came along. It was a really tough time for us – we were struggling to pay the bills for our flat. Then, suddenly, I was pregnant. I was still only young, a child really, but we knew without a doubt that we wanted a baby. We wanted a family, a little bit like you and Ben. We found out it was a girl and named her Summer. I was terrified, of course – but she gave us hope. She was our little angel.’
‘What happened?’
‘I miscarried very early on. We were mortified. I could barely leave the house. Tim was working three jobs to make ends meet.’ She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and holds Tim’s hand. ‘I started to walk to the local park for some time to clear my head. It was so peaceful. It made me feel close to Summer in a way.
‘A little while later, Tim took me there and showed me a bench he’d got commissioned in her memory. The inscription read: “For our angel. Heaven is closer than we think.” We still sit on that bench even now with our other daughter.’
‘That’s sweet. Didn’t you know Tim was planning it?’
She shakes her head. ‘No. He wanted it to be a surprise. We take our daughter there because it feels like our two babies are together. We’ll tell her the angel is her sister when she’s old enough to understand.’
‘So this little one is your third.’ She smiles at Heidi’s bump.
‘I’d love you to meet the baby.’
‘Really?’ Maisie’s chest swells with a burst of happiness. ‘I’d love to.’
Heidi kisses her husband’s head, a fug of sadness enveloping them. ‘Whatever happens, whether he recovers… or he doesn’t, I want you to keep in touch.’
‘I will.’
‘I don’t know what’s going to happen, Maisie.’ She glances at her, and the pain in her eyes makes Maisie feel sick. ‘I can’t see that this is good, this long with no good signs, but every day when I get up in the morning, I say today will be the day you’ll call and tell me he’s recovering. He’s getting better.’
‘Most of my patients’ families do. Then, when they come in, I feel like I’ve let them down. I know that sounds silly but I do. I know what they’re going through. My brother, Danny, fell and suffered terrible bleeding on his brain. He was in a persistent vegetative state before he had a seizure and died. I understand how much it hurts. How, at night, you lie awake, praying, hoping, even talking to yourself.’
‘That’s why you became a nurse?’
‘Yes. And I’m glad I did.’
She nods. ‘And Tim? What’s your professional opinion now? Do you think he’ll recover?’
‘I hope he will.’
Heidi nods and winds her fingers through the scarf on her lap, a haunted look passing over her face. Maisie bites her lip to stopper the words, then eases herself from the chair and walks down the corridor to hunt for some tea. When she returns she notices a subtle change in the room. Heidi is bowed over her bump, turning her wedding band round and round on her finger. Maisie passes her a hot cup of tea. Heidi lowers it to her knee, the pads of her fingers turning red against the sides. The sharp tang of fresh tea fills the air and drops an intense craving into the pit of Maisie’s stomach. ‘People always think tea is the solution to everything.’
Heidi smiles, but Maisie can see it is purely for her benefit. Maisie has heard grief described countless times and in countless different ways. For some it is a pit in their stomach, a hole, an emptiness that steals away the significance of the days. For others, it is a pressure building up in their minds, making life impossible to live as they would have done before. For Maisie, grief is a burden strapped to her chest, the straps cinching tighter and tighter, robbing her of breath and of the hope of ever getting it back. She wonders if it is the same for Heidi.
‘How is your daughter today?’
‘She’s… she’s OK. She’s getting better. It’s a long process, though. The doctor said she’ll need to keep the cast on for a few more months.’
Heidi curls into herself, arms wrapping around her bump, expression unfurling like a ball of wool. Maisie takes the cup and glances at her fingertips. Did she even feel the tea burning through the cup?
‘Heidi?’
Her expression creases into a thousand folds. Her lips part and stretch back over her teeth as tears slither down her cheeks. Maisie wraps her arms around her shoulders, wishing she could do more. She holds her as she shakes in her arms. How would she feel if Ben were attacked in the street? She almost finds it impossible to imagine. A fug of fear and dread radiates from Heidi, wrapping a fist round Maisie’s heart. She has seen va
rying shades of grief but none like this. There is something else woven through – she can see it in the way Heidi fiddles with her scarf or bag, the way her hands begin to shake and she stuffs them under her legs. There is more to it.
Heidi sits up and mops her tears away with the cuff of her T-shirt. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart.’
‘Hey, don’t be sorry. It’s OK.’
Heidi smiles and pulls herself from the chair, dropping her bag and picking it up with shaking hands. ‘I’d… I’d better go. See you tomorrow, Maisie.’
Heidi opens the door and lets in a peal of noise that washes over Maisie in waves: snippets of conversations as nurses deliver sad words to sadder families. The tap and rub of shoes across the floor. The sway and brush of uniforms across exhausted limbs. The crackling of gum circulating round a mouth. Then, all of a sudden, it is gone. And all Maisie can hear is Tim’s slow draw of breath and the sharp, broken sound of her own.
Chapter 40
Miller
Sunday 8 March, 1992
I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see her cry. I wanted to see you comfort her, rub her back and whisper consoling words. If you knew, you would block me from your life, tell me to stay away from you and your family, protective of those you love, fearless of those who might cause them harm. But you don’t.
It didn’t take much effort. I wet my fingers and closed them over the flame, snuffing it out. Then I brought my hand back in a fantastical wave. A magician’s wave. She thought I had superpowers; she wanted to be like her big brother’s best friend. When your mother called you out of the room, I waved her over and whispered into her ear, ‘You can have magical powers too, but first you’ve got to touch the flame to prove you’re brave like your brother, Johnny. Can you do that? Can you be brave?’
Lies Between Us Page 16