Everything You Told Me

by Lucy Dawson

  It’s the first time I’ve experienced the perfect storm of rejection, heartbreak, grief and fear all at once – and that night, I do something really stupid. My two best friends on my corridor get me some vodka from the on-campus Londis, to drown my sorrows. One of them – in her first year of a drama degree and obsessed with Pulp Fiction – casts herself as a female Tarantino, and enjoying the way it sounds and how she imagines she looks saying it, strides into my room clutching the bottle and a packet of fags, waves them around and shouts, ‘Fuck him! Drink some of this, smoke these, and in the morning, start the rest of your fucking life better off without him!’ We down a lot of vodka, and then they stagger off to their rooms. I climb under my duvet, but much more than half-cut, and through tears that I can’t seem to stop, my pissed teenage mind is still desperately looking for a way to hold onto this first boy I’ve ever loved. I blurrily decide that if something awful were to happen to me, Joe would realize what I mean to him and come running back. So I get back out of bed, and, picturing him sobbing by my bedside while I’m hooked up to a life support like the one I saw Dad on less than two weeks earlier, I open a bottle of paracetamol – this being back in the day when it was still possible to buy more than ten at a time over the counter – swallow the contents, and lurch back to bed.

  I wake up the next day feeling like I’ve slept amazingly well – but sober, am scared witless by my actions of the night before. Particularly when I realize there were about twenty pills in the bottle.

  I have a lot of time to think about it over the next forty-eight hours that I spend vomiting. I could have killed myself. How did it not kill me? This is also in the days of no Internet, so there’s no immediate answer, and therefore, of course, no one that I ask. In fact, I tell not a single soul about this sordid, deeply private moment of my life until some sixteen years later, when, while becoming closer friends, Liv and I – heavily pregnant and watching a movie while eating cake balanced on our bumps – have one of those intense disclosure/bonding sessions about the boys and men we have loved and lost.

  ‘I honestly don’t know how you’re not dead,’ Liv said in amazement. ‘Some people can tolerate drugs better than others, I guess. You were so lucky!’

  ‘It never occurred to me that I might actually die, I only got as far as imagining him doing some mad dash to the hospital to rescue me.’

  ‘The classic teenage cry for help.’ Liv shook her head in disbelief.

  ‘No. It really wasn’t,’ I corrected her. ‘I think I was partly still reeling because of what had happened to my dad, and was just very pissed and very stupid.’

  I reach out and grab Matthew’s arm. ‘Did you hear me? I said I was very pissed, and an idiot. I was also only nineteen. I don’t know what impression Liv has given you, but—’

  ‘You swallowed twenty paracetamol?’ Matthew is looking frightened and bewildered, almost as if he barely knows me. ‘Six years we’ve been married, and you never thought to mention this?’

  ‘It was private,’ I say. ‘And it has no bearing on my life now, whatsoever—’

  ‘Really?’ he interrupts. ‘You don’t think this might have been relevant when you were struggling after Chloe was born, too? That I had a right to know?’

  ‘No. I don’t. To both questions. Look, you and I both know it wasn’t easy after Chloe, but Christ, Matthew – tell me a single person that doesn’t find it hard having their first baby! I don’t think I was any more depressed than any other new mum. And I’m not depressed now. In fact, I’m coping better than I did first time around, because I know that it’s going to get better. What happened at university was really dumb, and a very long time ago. Liv had absolutely no business telling you about it.’

  ‘She didn’t feel she had a choice. She was worried not saying anything might put you at more risk, if we didn’t have the full picture.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ I look up at the ceiling and try very hard to stay calm. ‘This is why none of you believe me about last night, isn’t it, because of what Liv has told you all? Look, this is not something I have a problem with. I was not going to kill myself!’

  ‘What would you think, Sal, if you were me?’ he asks, his voice quiet. ‘My wife who “hates her life” and has been looking into divorcing me, disappears in the middle of the night with sixty-five grand in cash. Naturally, I think she’s left me and our children. The next morning I find out she was actually prevented from jumping off a cliff in Cornwall by a passer-by, and she had a suicide note on her. Her best friend tells me I ought to know that a long time ago she attempted to kill herself at university. Then my wife comes home. She can’t explain where the money is, she tries to tell me the note was in fact one that I’ve already seen – only I haven’t – and says, yes, I am correct: she took a paracetamol overdose twenty-one years ago that she never told me about, but don’t worry, it’s not related to this situation at all, and can I please not just trust her when she says that actually, she has no idea what happened last night? That’s it. That is her explanation. Would you believe you, Sal?’

  ‘Yes. I would. Because it’s true.’

  ‘Oh, Sally, don’t treat me like this. Please. It’s insulting.’

  ‘I’m not saying it doesn’t look bad, but—’

  He laughs incredulously. ‘Oh, OK. That’s good. At least we agree on that.’

  ‘Matthew, stop!’ I say, on the brink of tears. ‘Please. I’m your wife. I’m telling you that I have no idea how I wound up on those cliffs – and I’m frightened, Matthew. I went to bed and woke up three hundred miles away! Forget what Liv told you. Trust me – help me!’ I let go of his arm and take his hand imploringly. ‘I love Chloe and Theo so much. I would never, ever do that to them. There has to be another explanation for what happened last night.’

  His eyes well up again too, and he hesitates. ‘Go on then,’ he whispers. ‘What is the reason? What really happened? Tell me.’

  There is a long pause. I want to tell him my suspicions about Kelly, as well as everything Caroline has disclosed to me about her. But not wanting to reveal how his mother has already betrayed Kelly’s patient confidentiality, I stay silent.

  ‘I can’t,’ I confess eventually, and Matthew sighs heavily.

  Theo begins to cry down the monitor, and I start to get up.

  ‘No,’ Matthew says. ‘You need to rest.’ He throws back the duvet and climbs out of bed. I listen to him walk down the hall and wait for Theo to begin crying when Matthew picks him up, but instead my husband gently and successfully starts to soothe our baby back to sleep in a way I didn’t even know either of them were capable of.

  What the hell has happened to my world overnight?

  My phone buzzes in my hand. I glance down at the screen – it’s a message from Liv.

  How are you?

  I don’t even think about it. My fingers flash over the tiny keyboard angrily.

  You told him? WTF?

  The three dots scroll as she starts to type back.

  I had to. You have two kids Sally. You don’t have the right to make selfish choices now.

  I gasp in amazement. Well, I guess it’s a good job I haven’t just tried to top myself. That’s some pep talk, Liv.

  You’re ANGRY with me? I message.

  Three dots…

  Yes. I am. Very.

  Wow. All I can do is sit and stare at the screen for a second, in shock, but then the three dots start furiously scrolling again.

  So many people love you. You have so much in your life!

  Oh, OK. I think I get it now. I hesitate, then type.

  Is this more about your stuff than my stuff? I promise I know how lucky I am to have two kids. Would never, ever hurt them. I don’t remember what happened to me last night.

  A pause, and then the dots begin to ripple. I wait, but then they stop rolling – and vanish.

  Let’s discuss tomorrow? I request. It delivers instantly, but I’m still holding the phone having had no response – she usually acknowledges texts
with an ‘x’ – when Matthew comes back into the room.

  ‘Sal, you need to get some rest,’ he says, climbing into bed next to me. ‘Put your phone down.’

  I do as he asks, and he rolls away to the other side of the bed. But I can’t sleep. Of course I can’t.

  Once I’m certain Matthew has definitely drifted off, I reach for my phone again, this time doing a search on Kelly Harrington. The latest news item flashes up. It’s a link to the MailOnline.

  The picture that I see when I click on it makes me exclaim so loudly, I don’t know how I don’t wake the whole house up. My future sister-in-law is beaming like the Cheshire cat on steroids as she holds her left hand up in what appears to be an Instagram selfie. ‘It’s true! I’m so happy!’ Proud Kelly Harrington confirms engagement and shares first pictures of a very bling ring! gushes the headline.

  Kelly Harrington shares her happiness after her boyfriend proposes during a romantic holiday in Tenerife!

  I thought she said she was out there working? Another shot of Kelly in a swimsuit cut up to her armpits, draped over some sun-drenched rock like a lads’ mag Andromeda, sits alongside the text.

  The beautiful twenty-seven-year old actress – I thought she was thirty? – tweeted ‘It’s true! I’m so lucky and so happy!’ after a source – Kelly herself, then – told MailOnline that her partner of just under a year, TV exec Will Tanner, had gone down on one knee at sunset. It seems he went all out with his ring choice too, opting for a stunning solitaire for his celebrity beauty, which reportedly cost a whopping £70,000!

  Seventy thousand pounds? My mouth falls open.

  Will doesn’t have that kind of cash! Even if he did, he wouldn’t spend it on a ring – that’s obscene! I scroll down and peer closely at the square-cut rock squatting on her slim finger – and then it’s as if her fist smashes right through the screen and punches me full in the face with the realization.

  OK, Caroline, now I know exactly what happened to your money.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘You’re wrong, Sally, and you’ve got to stop this.’ Mum bangs around my kitchen in her dressing gown, getting knives and forks out of the drawers for the cooked breakfast sizzling on the Aga. ‘Of course that’s not how much the ring cost. I spoke to Will last night, after they went shopping yesterday afternoon, and he warned me that the figure Kelly’s representative was going to feed the press was very exaggerated. She’s in the public eye, it’s almost expected that she have the perfect clothes, nails, hair – and jewellery. People want their stars to be glamorous and removed from reality, don’t they? You want to see them getting off yachts in Cannes, not pushing shopping trolleys around Aldi.’

  I stare at my mother. ‘She’s not Elizabeth Taylor, Mum. And Will’s not Richard Burton either. Even if it’s worth half what the papers say, we both know he couldn’t afford to pay that either. So how was it financed?’

  Mum whips around and points a fish slice at me. ‘I mean it. Stop it. We discussed this last night. She didn’t take Caroline’s money.’

  ‘It’s the perfect out. Got some cash you need to lose fast? Buy a rock that no one knows the exact cost of and stick it on your finger.’

  ‘Oh, Sally! Can you even hear yourself? I’ve never heard anything so improbable.’ Mum flips the bacon in the pan and pushes it down aggressively.

  ‘Well, I woke up in Cornwall yesterday with no idea how I got there. That happened. I don’t see how this is any more impossible to believe. Does Will actually know that our money is missing?’

  ‘Please don’t say anything,’ Mum begs suddenly. ‘He’s already so worried about you. Even though I’ve told him you’re home safe with us, all he wanted to do was come and be here for you yesterday. They both did.’

  ‘She didn’t want to be here for me at all, Mum. Kelly and I argued. Remember?’

  ‘That was then. Everything’s changed now, because of what’s happened. She wants to support you, just like the rest of your family.’

  ‘No, she doesn’t!’ I exclaim. I’m desperate to tell Mum what I’ve learnt about her future daughter-in-law. ‘If you had any idea what—’

  ‘You didn’t take Caroline’s money, did you?’ Mum asks suddenly, lowering her voice.

  Her unexpected question completely draws me up short. ‘What? No! Of course not!’

  ‘I think I might have been tempted to, if I were you – even if it was just to hide it for a bit and teach Caroline a lesson. The bloody cheek of it, going behind your back and asking Matthew to lend her your savings.’

  ‘I haven’t taken it or hidden it. I didn’t even know all that cash was here on Friday night.’

  ‘Really? If someone left a big bag downstairs in my house, I’d have a nosy around in it. Perhaps that’s just me.’

  ‘Mum, please listen. I’m trying to tell you I’m genuinely worried about how Kelly is—’

  ‘Good morning,’ says a voice behind us, and we both jump guiltily as I turn to see Caroline standing in the archway of the playroom. Mum self-consciously tightens her dressing-gown cord at the sight of Caroline’s hot pink Issa jumpsuit, an outfit most women half her age couldn’t pull off as well. I don’t ask her to take off her pointed black pumps with their three-inch heels. I wouldn’t dream of it. Caroline would consider it the height of bad manners to be asked to remove her shoes.

  ‘How are we all this morning?’ She smiles at us.

  ‘Very well, thank you, Caroline,’ says Mum graciously. ‘Would you like a bacon sandwich?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Caroline says kindly. ‘It smells wonderful, though. Would you like me to marshal the troops?’

  ‘Thank you. Chloe’s upstairs in her room getting dressed, and Matthew’s changing Theo’s nappy,’ I say, not quite able to meet her eye.

  ‘Well, how very civilized,’ Caroline says. ‘Did you manage to get some sleep last night?’

  ‘A bit,’ I lie. ‘Listen, would you both excuse me a minute? I think I’ve just missed a call.’ I reach into my dressing-gown pocket and pull out my mobile. ‘It might be the Crisis team again.’ I pretend to scan the screen. ‘I’d better just check my voicemail.’

  I pass my father in the hall on his way into the kitchen, clutching the Sunday papers. ‘Hello, love,’ he says. ‘You’re looking much brighter this morning. I’ve just been to the petrol station to get these, and I chose you a magazine while I was there. I thought you could have a quiet sit down with a cup of tea later. Your mum and I will watch the kiddies.’

  I take the glossy interiors magazine he’s proffering, touched by the small but very thoughtful gesture. ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  He smiles kindly, reaches out and ruffles my hair, before walking into the kitchen. There’s a lump in my throat and I have to force myself to get a grip, before hastening off to the downstairs loo. I’ve probably only got about another three minutes before either one, or both, of the children will want me.

  I close the door quietly and sit down on the loo seat. I very plainly don’t have anyone’s backing or support, but I think I’ve got to phone Will and talk to him about Kelly. If the situation were reversed, and Will had serious concerns about Matthew, I’d want to know. I’d consider it a betrayal if he didn’t tell me, and I actually don’t feel I have any choice but to talk to him anyway, given this is about keeping our family safe – my children in particular. I meant what I said to Kelly: I’ll do anything to protect them. But what exactly can I tell Will? Without being able to divulge Caroline’s information, I run the risk of him reacting exactly the same way the others have to my accusations, or actually an awful lot worse – he loves her, after all. I want Kelly out of our lives, but at the cost of potentially losing my brother? I exhale slowly. No, I have to do it. I have to tell him my fears. It’s the right thing to do.

  The phone rings to the point that I’m expecting his answerphone, but at the last moment, he picks up with a sleepy, ‘Hey, Sal, are you all right?’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ I say immediately. ‘I’ve w
oken you up.’ I forget no one except people with small children in the house are ever up before nine on a Sunday.

  ‘It’s fine. I’ve been by my phone in case you wanted to talk.’

  I hesitate, but just manage to say, ‘Thanks. That’s kind of you. Listen, Will, can I discuss something privately with you for a moment? Would you mind going somewhere where we can’t be overheard?’

  ‘Of course.’ He sounds worried, and there’s a pause, before he returns back to me. ‘I’m in the spare room now. Go for it.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘So, tell me about your shopping trip yesterday!’

  He pauses again, before saying slowly, ‘Er, OK. To buy the ring, you mean?’

  ‘No, to Sainsbury’s,’ I try to joke. ‘Yes, of course the ring!’

  ‘Um, we went to this place Kelly knows. Well, she knows the daughter of the owner. We both liked the same one pretty much straight away, and we bought it. There’s not much else to tell, really.’ There’s another silence before he says, ‘It didn’t cost anywhere near what the papers are saying, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  OK. Here we go.

  ‘I am a bit concerned, yes,’ I say. ‘I just don’t want you over-stretching yourself to keep up with a lifestyle you’re not necessarily needing to be a part of. But then, for all I know, Kelly contributed to the cost?’ I wince at such a completely crass way of trying to find out if she pulled out a huge wodge of cash at the till.

  ‘Sally,’ he interrupts gently, ‘Kelly’s honestly not like that, she had no expectations at all. I’ll tell you in confidence, it cost me seven thousand – which is still a lot of money, but her friend’s dad gave us a really good deal.’

  There’s absolutely no way the ring in that picture was only seven grand. I immediately lose all attempts at subtlety. ‘You paid, then? Not her?’