by Lucy Dawson
‘I’m sorry, you’re talking about me being sectioned again?’ I’m astonished, but try to keep my voice calm.
‘If we’d felt we had to go down that route, we would have done, yes,’ Caroline says truthfully. ‘You and I talked about this very possibility the other night, before you broke into Will’s flat, but it hasn’t needed to be the case. You are, however, very tired, you’re stressed, you’ve been up and down the country. You’ve got medical tests coming up – and did I mention two small children? I’m offering to drive you because it saves you doing it. That’s all. I promise.’
As I climb quietly into bed, and lie very still, listening to Theo beginning to stir through the monitor – I honestly don’t know how he does it, does he sense the vibrations of us coming upstairs or something? – the momentous events of the day replay through my mind. I can’t believe Kelly is actually out of our lives.
She’s gone.
I know Will is incredibly hurt and angry right now, and that he will never truly appreciate the extent of the situation he was in, but maybe eventually he’ll make his peace with it regardless – and with me. Kelly’ll probably do something similar to another bloke soon, and perhaps he’ll see it then. At the very least, I’m sure he won’t be single for long. He’ll meet someone else. Men always do. And this time, it’ll hopefully be a nice, kind, normal girl, who loves him for the amazing person he is, and would never dream of doing something so unkind as to take back the ring he bought for her, never mind all the deeply psychotic shit Kelly pulled.
I think about standing on top of that lonely clifftop, disorientated and terrified. It was almost exactly a week ago today that I climbed into this bed and closed my eyes, suspecting nothing. I remember Kelly’s furious expression back at the flat when she thought I’d planted something to incriminate her, shortly before she twisted it into one of fake fear for my mother’s benefit, then finally imagine her merely inches away from my unconscious face, as I lay in this bed, prodding me to make sure I wasn’t going to wake up – maybe lifting my lifeless, heavy arm and letting it drop.
I shudder and pull the duvet more tightly around me. If the last of her legacy is that Matthew and our parents are going to continue watching me like a hawk, I can probably live with that. Although – I consider with deep disquiet Caroline saying they’d all talked about ‘options’ for me – now Kelly’s gone, there won’t be any further confusion about my behaviour in any case. Everything will return back to normal.
We can all finally move on with our lives.
So long, Kelly. It was not nice knowing you.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I wake up to the sound of Theo chattering happily to himself in his cot. Stretching, I reach for my phone to check the time. Ten to seven? Wow! He’s actually done – I count it through on my fingers – five hours back to back! That’s amazing! I blink a couple of times and yawn. I think I actually dreamt last night; the first time in six months. I go to sit up, but Matthew reaches out and pulls me towards him.
‘Just five seconds with my wife before another day starts,’ he murmurs, and I collapse back into his arms. It feels good.
It literally is five seconds, though, because Theo shouts suddenly, having decided he’s bored of being on his own after all.
Matthew groans, but as I start to get up again, he says, ‘It’s OK, I’ll go,’ and throws back the covers.
As he leaves the room, I gratefully reach for my phone and go straight to the news. There’s nothing more about Kelly, but then I guess there won’t be until she moves her stuff out of the flat later today. I sigh. The papers are going to love that – poor Will. I’ll ring Mum in a bit – see how he’s doing.
I put the phone back down and wriggle under the duvet again. Theo’s nappy change will buy me another minute or two, but I jump as a small muffled voice alongside me says, ‘Mummy. My tummy feels achy.’
I open my eyes. Chloe is standing right over me, looking rather pale. ‘Hello, darling. Achy in what way?’ I peer up at her blearily.
But she doesn’t answer, just opens her mouth and with a graphic ‘Bleuarhhhh!’ she pukes on my head.
‘Urgh! Oh my God!’ I shout, sitting up in shock. A glob of sick plops from my fringe into my lap, and poor Chloe bursts into tears.
‘Oh, darling, don’t cry! It’s OK! Mummy isn’t cross!’ I reach a hand out to her, while looking around urgently for a cloth of some sort. ‘It’s all right – poor girl. Hey, do I look funny?’ I try to smile, but then gag; the smell is horrendous. I can feel it dripping down my neck.
‘MATTHEW!’ I yell, scrabbling to my feet and grabbing a clean towel from the pile waiting to be put away, next to the bed. Quickly, I wrap a turban around my head to contain the vomit. ‘See?’ I say, eager to reassure Clo. ‘We’re all fine!’ I put my head up, just in time to see her give me a frightened stare.
‘Mummy! I’m going to be sick again!’
I look around me desperately, but there’s nothing bowl-esque, just my open make-up bag on the floor. No way. I lunge for another towel, just as the poor little thing gags again and her tiny body heaves. A torrent of puke cascades onto the carpet, then onto the towel that I finally manage to shove under her mouth.
‘What’s up? I’m trying to change Theo’s… Oh Christ!’ says Matthew, appalled, appearing in the doorway with a half-naked baby balanced on his hip. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Clo’s been sick,’ I answer, equally as unnecessarily.
‘Oh God,’ he groans. ‘It’s all over the carpet…’
Chloe looks up at him worriedly, her eyes streaming.
‘That’s OK, Daddy,’ I say warningly. ‘Clo couldn’t help it, and she’s been very brave.’
‘Yeah, sorry – of course,’ he says. ‘Well done, Clo.’
‘Do you feel like you want to be sick again, sweetheart?’ I ask.
She shakes her head silently and looks down at the vomit.
‘OK, well, go with Daddy and brush your teeth while I just sort this out,’ I say brightly.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Matthew asks, taking Chloe’s hand. ‘Is it something she’s eaten?’
‘Let’s just get sorted, shall we?’ I say firmly. ‘And think about that in a second?’
‘Why have you got a towel around your head?’ Matthew says suspiciously.
‘Chloe was also sick on me.’
Matthew’s eyes widen. ‘Oh.’
‘Yeah, never mind. It was just an accident.’ I smile at poor Chloe again.
But Matthew has already stopped listening. ‘Theo! No!’ He looks down in dismay to see a large, spreading wet patch on his pyjama leg, as our nappy-free son looks around him disinterestedly, then yawns.
Matthew looks up at me incredulously, and for a second I can see he has no idea what to do. ‘MUM!’ he yells instead, over his shoulder, in the direction of the spare room. ‘Can you get up and help? We’ve got a situation here!’
‘How are you feeling now, darling?’ Caroline looks sympathetically at Chloe, tucked up under her blanket on the sofa. ‘Better?’
Chloe nods, without taking her attention from the Tinker Bell movie I’ve put on for her.
‘It went everywhere.’ Matthew peers at Chloe anxiously. ‘What do you think it is, Mum?’
‘Matthew, Chloe’s really fine.’ I smile.
Matthew frowns. ‘Well, she’s not, is she? She was just violently sick. Are you not at least concerned?’
I nod furiously towards the door, and they both follow me out into the hall.
‘Of course I am! I’m deliberately downplaying everything in front of Chloe as I don’t want her to worry she’s ill, or that it’s going to happen again,’ I explain. ‘And I was all bright and breezy upstairs because the first thing you said was about it going all over the carpet, and I didn’t want her to think she’d done anything wrong, either.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Matthew says. ‘Sorry.’
‘I wonder if it’s related to Theo having that strange crying
fit earlier in the week?’ Caroline says. ‘Have they eaten something odd, do you think?’
I look at Caroline, puzzled. ‘But Theo wasn’t sick, as far as I know. Chloe’s probably just picked something up.’
‘She hasn’t been anywhere where she might have caught something, though, has she?’ Caroline persists.
‘Well, she was in the shop with my parents,’ I say slowly, not sure where this is going. ‘I honestly think it’s nothing serious – but I’ll keep an eye on her this morning.’
‘OK,’ Matthew says.
‘Would you mind if I sort my hair quickly?’ I ask, gesturing to the towel twist on my head. ‘It’s just it’ll dry funny if I leave it much longer.’
‘Well, I can’t have Theo, I’ve got to get on with some work,’ Matthew says.
‘I’ll take him.’ Caroline reaches out. ‘We’ll pop out for a breath of fresh air for twenty minutes before his nap. Take as much time as you need – I suppose Matthew is in his office right there if Chloe wants anything – and it’ll give you a moment to recover yourself.’
‘Thank you. I can set the pram up for you now?’ I offer.
‘Yes, please. I’ll make sure we’re back for a quarter to ten. Come on, Theo!’
I decide to do my hair in the playroom, once I’ve made sure Chloe is still all right, so I’m within easy reach if she starts to feel sick again. Head upside down, as the hairdryer hums, I watch Caroline out of the window, happily pushing Theo down the drive before disappearing off around the corner.
Of course I’m concerned about Chloe, but she doesn’t have a temperature, she’s drinking plenty. It’s not irresponsible of me to suggest we just keep an eye on her; it’s sensible. I might try and call Mum in a moment too, before Caroline gets back. I want to ask her about this nanny and au pair plan that apparently they all have, and while Will won’t want to speak to me, it’s also important he knows I’m staying in contact, thinking of him, and I don’t take what happened yesterday lightly.
Another movement catches my eye, and I look up to see Ron walking stiffly up the drive towards the front door. Sighing, I turn the dryer off, put my hairbrush down, and make my way out into the hall. He’s only my elderly next-door neighbour, I know, but earlier this week he saw me on the doorstep in my nightie, now he’s catching me with mad, half-dry hair. It would be nice for people to find me looking normal for a change.
He actually does a double take when I open the door, as well he might to find Tina Turner standing in front of him.
‘Hello.’ I smile. ‘Please excuse my hair, I was halfway through drying it. My daughter was sick in it this morning, the poor thing.’ There’s a stunned silence as he stares at me. ‘Anyway,’ I continue brightly, making a mental note to also try to attempt more social interaction with adults before I lose my already limited social skills completely, ‘what can I do for you, Ron?’
‘I just wanted to say first of all, I wasn’t spying on you,’ he says gruffly. ‘So don’t think I was.’
It’s my turn to look wary. ‘OK,’ I say slowly. ‘I’m sure you weren’t, but what are we talking about, exactly?’
‘This.’ He holds up a small plastic box, in camouflage colours.
‘Sorry, what is that?’ I stare at it, still none the wiser.
‘It’s an Invisible IR Hunting Camera with PIR sensor and SD card recording.’
‘Right.’ I pause. ‘Sorry, Ron, did you say it’s a hunting camera?’
‘Yes, but I got it to film the bats that I think are roosting in your loft, not mine. I’m about to have a bat survey done, you see, because we want to put another bedroom in the attic, and maybe extend out the back, only you can’t do anything if there are bloody bats. It’s lunacy, the planning regulations. Never mind a house is built for people. Anyway, these surveys aren’t cheap, so I thought I’d see what was what first. And I bought this,’ he holds the box up again, ‘because it films infra-red and you can see exactly what’s going on at night. I set it up to film last week. That’s when I saw it.’
‘Saw what?’
He looks a little shamefaced. ‘All the coming and going here. I was going to wipe it then, honestly I was, but then I showed Shirley.’
‘Shirley, your wife?’ I say, still confused.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I shouldn’t have, I know, but she’s such a fan of hers, I couldn’t not.’
I go very still. ‘A fan of who – Kelly Harrington? You filmed Kelly here?’
‘Yes.’ He looks embarrassed. ‘I didn’t intend to, but I watched it back, and there was Kelly, three sheets to the wind… I said to Shirl, the state of her… She couldn’t even stand when you put her in that taxi. But then when everything was in the paper yesterday it made more sense, the poor old girl. We think she was smashing in EastEnders. Anyway, you should have it. Our son wants us to sell it to the papers.’ He holds the box aloft again. ‘He reckons we’d make a bob or two. But that’s not right. You can’t go doing things like that – and that’s why I’ve brought it around to you now, so you can destroy it. I’m very sorry I even got it in the first place. We only caught it by a whisker – it started filming about a minute before the taxi turned up. I really was only after the bats, though.’
‘Just to be completely clear, Ron,’ I try to keep my tone neutral, ‘you’re saying on that camera is a film of me putting Kelly in a taxi, and she’s drunk? When did you record this?’
‘Last Friday night.’
My heart gives a thump. ‘Can I watch it right now?’
‘Of course – if you’ve got a computer?’
I hold the door wider. ‘Come in.’
Grabbing my laptop from the hall sideboard, I take him into the kitchen, placing the computer on the table and starting it up. ‘This film is definitely from last Friday night? You’re absolutely sure?’
‘Yes. I am.’
‘And you can see our house in it?’
He rubs his neck awkwardly. ‘Yes, but like I say, I was only trying to see the bats. Which you have got, by the way. I counted three. Well, you can see them for yourself, now.’ He removes a small card from the camouflage box and inserts it into the side of my computer. We both wait, and my stomach lurches with apprehension as an icon appears on the screen.
‘May I?’ says Ron, and I stand aside.
He clicks on it and quickly opens a file. He’s surprisingly computer literate for an older man, and just as I’m beginning to worry he might actually not be telling me the truth about why he was filming our house, I forget everything as a black-and-white image of our empty drive appears on the screen.
‘I’ll just start it… Now… There, you see?’ Ron says, points out a flickering movement. ‘That’s the bats. Oh, and here’s the taxi arriving.’
I watch, stunned, as an unmarked car pulls onto our drive, but Ron’s right – it’s a taxi. I know it is, because I recognize it. It’s the car that I woke up in last Saturday morning on the clifftop. My heart starts to speed up, and my skin prickles, as next, I watch the front door to our house open.
‘Oh my God…’ I breathe, as I see myself emerge and appear on screen.
Ron looks at the floor uncomfortably. ‘I’m very sorry,’ he says again, but I don’t answer. I can’t say anything. I just start to shake as, transfixed, I watch myself struggling to stand, arm slumped across her shoulder, because Ron is wrong, of course, it’s not Kelly who is unconscious – it’s me. It’s not possible to make out the faces clearly, but there’s no doubt in my mind who is who. I’m so lifeless that one of the cab doors opens, and the driver gets out hurriedly to go and help.
‘This cannot be happening…’ I whisper, staring at the two female figures he rushes over to assist.
‘I know.’ Ron misunderstands me. ‘You have to actually lie her on the back seat there. See? Dear oh dear…’
‘There isn’t any sound, then?’ I manage to ask, as evenly as possible.
‘No, this sort of film is about getting a visual rather than audio. It’s quite c
lear, though, considering it’s pitch black, isn’t it? Although, to be honest, I’m not entirely convinced a newspaper would have been able to identify Kelly from this—’
Which is probably why you haven’t sold it, I can’t help but think silently to myself.
‘—but Shirl and me knew it was her, because of course we’d seen her arrive earlier.’
We continue to watch – me in horror – as they shut me into the car, the driver firmly closing the back door, before getting into the front seat and driving off, stealing me away. She stands there for a moment longer on the doorstep, before turning calmly, and letting herself back into my house, where my children lie upstairs asleep, vulnerable and unprotected.
‘Can I keep this, Ron?’ I straighten up suddenly.
‘Of course. And just so you know, I haven’t done any more filming since then. We got what we needed on the first go.’
And thank God he did. The second I’ve managed to get rid of him, I rush back to the computer and watch the film again. I have to sink down onto a chair because my legs won’t hold me up.
‘Mummy?’ calls Chloe from the other room. ‘I need a drink!’
‘Coming,’ I whisper, barely audibly – once more reaching the part where the cab drives off with me in it, and she stands there watching it leave with her arms composedly folded. I hit pause and stare at the slightly grainy figure so hard, it starts to blur, before suddenly covering my mouth with my hand, as I think I’m about to be sick. I close my eyes, and once the nausea has dissipated, I open them again and look right at my perpetrator on the screen, completely unaware she has just been caught red-handed.
I hit play again and watch once more, as Caroline turns, walks back into my house, and calmly closes the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO