Come Back to Me

by Sara Foster

  75

  On the way home to find out if his dad was still alive, Mark couldn’t stop thinking about Chloe.

  What a liar he was, cajoling her into thinking that friendship was all he wanted, when the more he thought about it, the more he felt she was right for him, always had been. He could see that Chloe was worried she was second fiddle to Alex’s affections for Julia; how ironic that the roles of the two women were reversed in Mark’s mind.

  And now she was pregnant! Mark couldn’t get his head around what that meant for him. He tried to block out uncomfortable thoughts, but they kept sneaking back in again.

  Bloody Alex. He hated that man.

  When he got back to the apartment, to his surprise his father was actually awake and drinking coffee.

  ‘Didn’t come home last night?’ he said gruffly as Mark banged his briefcase down onto the table and headed for the bathroom.

  ‘Obviously,’ Mark replied.

  ‘Good night?’ his dad asked, still studying the paper.

  ‘Fine. Did you get anything sorted with Mum?’

  ‘That woman is a liability – haven’t heard from her since she stormed out. Too bloody emotional and hypersensitive, that’s her problem. She thinks the world revolves around her.’

  Finally, Mark had had enough. He came back and threw himself down into the chair opposite his father. ‘You both need to grow up,’ he said bluntly.

  His father looked up in surprise, mug poised against his mouth. He put his drink down slowly, his hand trembling momentarily so that the mug rattled against the table. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You heard me. Whatever is going on with you, sort it out. Mum might be like a bulldozer, but you’re just as bad. Otherwise, why have you run away from home, Dad?’

  Henry’s face had reddened. Mark waited for the outburst, but instead, his father leaned back and sighed.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ he said, like a petulant child.

  Mark leaned further forward. Now he had his dad on the ropes, he dared not let go – it might never happen again.

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Getting older isn’t easy, you know,’ Henry said belligerently.

  ‘Don’t tell me this is your mid-life crisis!’ Mark snorted. ‘Bit late, isn’t it?’

  Henry’s next verbal blast pushed Mark back with such force that their roles were instantaneously reversed. ‘You little shit!’ he shouted. ‘You think you’re so clever, sneering at your father because he’s old. Relative youth doesn’t give you any advantage, you idiot, except a false sense of security that is soon enough undone.’

  ‘Dad, I…’

  ‘DON’T YOU DARE,’ Henry growled, leaping up and heading for Mark’s bedroom.

  Mark’s hands were balled into tight fists, but he kept them on his lap. He ceded this argument for now, and changed tack as he called after Henry.

  ‘Dad, I need to get ready for work.’

  ‘I’ll be out of this place as soon as possible, don’t you doubt it,’ Henry raged, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

  Mark leaned back into his chair, looked down at his shoes, and sighed.

  76

  To get to the Supreme Court you had to walk through glorious lush gardens, where lemon gums and umbrella trees sheltered you from the fierce midday sun, and brightly coloured flowers lined your way. For Amy, it was like walking through the Garden of Eden to get to the Gates of Hell. She wondered if the gardens made it worse for all those who knew they walked this way in their last moments of freedom – a stark reminder of what they had forfeited their right to.

  The court building itself was one of a cluster of historical buildings incongruously sandwiched between modern skyscrapers and laissez-faire pubs and sailing clubs by the river. Thick white pillars supported the porticoed entrance. It was at these pillars that Amy’s step faltered, and she would have stumbled if Alex’s hand hadn’t been there, grasping her elbow.

  She hadn’t slept much over the past few days, but her brain seemed to have decided that now was a good time to shut down. Her mind was foggy, her eyes bleary, and all she really wanted was to go back to bed.

  A couple of security guards turned suspicious gazes on her. She smiled feebly and righted her stride, allowing them to check her bag as she heard Alex asking in hushed tones for Court Number Two. The entrance hall was full of people, a babble of noise. The guard asked why they were there, and Alex quickly told him they were related to the victim. She supposed it wasn’t even much of a lie. They received instructions on general court etiquette, such as bowing to the judge, which her sluggish brain did its best to remember.

  There was an extravagant staircase ahead of them, which, while more suited to the frippery of a stately home than the practical environment of a court of law, made the place seem all the more foreboding. Amy grasped the thick wooden rail tightly as they climbed. She felt as though she were hyperventilating. Her heart was beating erratically – strong beats staccatoing against her chest. She desperately sucked in air. The surroundings swam before her eyes and she thought she was going to faint, but the twisting molasses inside her head continued. Alex’s arm was firmly around her waist, and he was marching them on. There was no way he would let her back out.

  When they got through the doors to the upper gallery, there were people already seated in the public viewing area: a middle-aged woman with tired, sad eyes; a quartet of girls in their early twenties; three police officers; and two court security officials. Amy was surprised. She’d thought there would be more people here. The press must be somewhere else.

  Alex took her hand and guided her to seats at the front. She held on tight, feeling a small pulse throbbing through his fingertips and connecting with her own.

  From where they sat they could clearly see the front of the courtroom. She took a tentative look down at the lawyers’ desks, vertigo like a slow spinning top in her head, but was then distracted as the jury filed in. They were followed by the judge, who strode confidently to his chair as they all stood for him. As he sat down, his expression was unreadable and Amy marvelled at how this could be. He reminded her of her dad – she’d be embarrassed to use a mild swearword in front of this man and yet he’d just spent days digesting the most obscene details of this case.

  Before she sat down she automatically glanced over the railing again. And saw three men, besuited, standing in a line. As she watched, one of them turned briefly to look up at the gallery and she quickly strangled the squeak of shock that escaped her. The judge glanced up, and people nearby turned to stare at her. Alex’s grip on her hand tightened, but she sat down quickly, outwardly quiet, even though her heart was thundering.

  It was overwhelming to see them in the flesh, she thought, trembling. They might be evil cloaked in skin and bone, but they were just three men. So ordinary, yet she had recognised the one who looked up as the man who had pinned her in the back of the van – Dregs, she’d never forget that name. He was a lot thinner now, and his hair was shorter, but his features were more memorable. She stared at her feet, trying to shake off the thought that they were so close to her.

  Nevertheless, she didn’t last long after the first defence witness of the day was called. The man described seeing the victim, Vanessa, smiling at the men as they chatted to her in the bar where she had last been seen alive. He recalled that she didn’t look too worried. But under cross-examination, the man admitted that he played football with the brother of one of the defendants.

  Amy was shocked. Surely no one would choose to defend these animals because of such a tenuous link with them.

  And then she realised with a start that there might have been a trial like this for her own murder, but for their botched attempt at killing. If the knife had cut her throat as deeply as they had meant it to, then Alex would be here alone, her mum at his side, maybe her dad, watching on as people who had never known her talked about her. Or maybe her body would still be lying under the trees somewhere, like Vanessa’s had been for six weeks, dec
omposed, half-eaten by bush animals.

  Her first retch was dry, because she hadn’t eaten anything that morning, but on the second she disgorged thick white sputum into her hands. She got up hastily, even remembering to make a weird attempt at a bow to the judge, who, she half-noticed, was looking up again, before hurrying towards the door, which a security guard opened for her. Although she had said nothing to Alex, she was certain he was behind her, and, sure enough, as soon as they were outside, his arm came around her shoulder, and she shrugged it off.

  ‘Amy!’

  It wasn’t Alex who had just spoken. She was frozen like a hunted animal, fearing to look behind her, but her body responded like a reflex to her name and turned anyway.

  Alex was turning too. And she was still registering the man’s face as he said, looking pale with shock, ‘I thought it was you.’

  77

  As she stared at the man, who was looking at her intently, it seemed she was destined to become Amy again. Everyone around her was forcing her back into her weak, tremulous body. It really was too much.

  She recognised this man, but didn’t know from where, until Alex said, ‘Detective Thompson?’

  The man turned to Alex. ‘Yes,’ he said, his features opening as he smiled, as though he were mightily pleased to see them. He looked from one to the other. ‘I didn’t expect to see you two here. Amy, the last time I spoke to your mother, you were still missing. Does she know you’re okay?’

  Amy’s mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. She and Alex exchanged glances, each of them willing the other to talk, to tell the detective of their harebrained plan for her to find ‘closure’. It was ridiculous, Amy thought now – she would never find closure. She had done better in the last ten years through denial than she ever would by raking over the past again and again.

  The detective looked at them and seemed to decide that they really shouldn’t have this conversation in an open space. They were quickly led down a labyrinth of corridors to a small, featureless room, with chairs around a meeting table and a water dispenser in one corner. Alex went over and filled two white plastic cups, returning to the table with them. Amy sat down and drank greedily, her throat objecting to the sudden coldness sweeping across it. Alex silently took her empty cup, got up again and refilled it for her.

  The detective closed the door, and came to sit opposite them. ‘How are you, Amy?’ he asked. The concern on his face seemed genuine. ‘I’ve often thought about you, you know.’

  She tried out a smile. It didn’t work. ‘I’m okay,’ she said quietly.

  ‘You’re here to see these men get put away,’ he said, a statement, not a question.

  ‘We thought it would be a good idea,’ she replied, putting her head in her hands. It felt far from a good idea right now.

  She looked up again and the detective was nodding, but he didn’t say anything.

  ‘Will they?’ Alex asked, urgency in his tone. ‘Do you think they’ll be found guilty?’

  They both watched Detective Thompson intently. He nodded. ‘They will,’ he said, no trace of doubt showing on his face. ‘Of course, the law can be strange… unpredictable at times. But unless something happens that we haven’t anticipated, and I can’t for the life of me think what, then this case is cut and dried. They’ll be in prison till they’re old men, if not until they die. Amy…’ he reached across and put his hand over hers, and she concentrated on not snatching it away, ‘… I think you were right to come,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t think I can stay, though,’ she replied, still staring at his hand on top of hers. ‘I thought it would be good seeing them there, but… the details… I can’t…’ She took her hand from under his and smoothed her hair down over her ears.

  ‘Amy -’ Alex began, but the detective held up his hand.

  ‘I can understand that, Amy.’ He paused and appeared to be thinking. ‘But the case is nearly over. The defence has almost finished, closing arguments won’t take long. Why don’t you stay in Perth, rest a while, and when the verdict is announced I’ll make sure you’re here for it.’

  This sounded like something she might manage. She nodded. ‘Okay. Thank you.’

  ‘Of course.’ Detective Thompson got up. ‘Just give me your number.’

  Alex pulled out a business card. ‘My mobile works here,’ he said, handing it over. ‘And we’re staying at the Crowne Plaza.’

  The detective nodded. They shook hands.

  ‘Thank you,’ Alex said.

  ‘No problem. I’ll be in touch. It’s good to see you.’ Detective Thompson put a hand on Amy’s shoulder briefly as he left. He turned at the door. ‘If you haven’t already, Amy,’ he said, ‘phone your mum, love.’

  Then he was gone.

  By the time they got back to the hotel it was early afternoon, and jetlag was catching up with them.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Amy asked.

  Alex looked embarrassed. ‘I might sleep for a few hours, then see if I can reach Chloe – if I leave it till teatime here, it’ll be early morning there.’

  Amy nodded, then watched him lie on his bed and fall asleep. She was tired too, but she knew she’d never drift off, not after today. She couldn’t stop thinking about the court. The horrible details. That stupid witness. Those men… their blank, unrepentant faces…

  Before she knew it, the bottles in the minibar were all empty.

  She was sitting on the floor beside her bed, unsure how she had ended up there. She reached to try to get up, and sent an object crashing to the ground. She put her hand back down on the floor and felt a sliver of glass biting into it. As she watched, a red stream began to course along one of the lines in her palm.

  In no time, it seemed, there were arms around her, pulling her up. Alex’s hair was ruffled, his eyeballs pink with tiredness. She watched as he looked down at the shards of glass on the floor, and then he picked her up and carried her the short distance to the tiny cubicle of a bathroom.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said wearily, over and over.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he shushed her. He sat her on the toilet and pulled her arm towards the sink tap, within easy reach. He washed the blood off and took a good look at her hand. ‘It’s not so bad,’ he said. ‘I’ll wrap it up.’

  Once he had wrapped it in a flannel belonging to the hotel, he carried her back to the bed. She noticed a smear of blood on his neck.

  ‘Rest, Amy,’ he told her.

  She tried to sit up, but her head had drums inside that began a frantic banging in response to the movement. She quickly lay down again. The fog in her brain was welcome; she much preferred it to clarity right now.

  ‘Sssh, Amy.’ Alex was stroking her hair. His voice became sludgy as she began to drift towards unconsciousness.

  And then she told him. Why at that moment, she didn’t know. But she just couldn’t continue holding on to it alone any longer.

  ‘I had a baby, Alex,’ she whispered, pausing. ‘And then I did a terrible, terrible thing,’ she added, just before the world went black.

  78

  Chloe was at the office and finally getting down to some work, grateful that when she’d woken that morning she had felt a little better. She started to believe that if she didn’t think too far back or too far ahead, she could do this, she could ride out this period of uncertainty without completely falling apart. In fact, she began to feel strangely empowered. The situation with Alex couldn’t turn her into a wreck. Work couldn’t break her. The baby was too important for her to come undone. No, when Alex returned, he’d be surprised to find her more confident, more self-assured, and more composed. No more doubting, no more worrying. She was done with that. She had found a way through.

  And then the phone rang.

  ‘Chloe?’

  It took Chloe a couple of seconds to place the voice. ‘June?’

  ‘Yes, Chloe.’ June’s voice sounded nervous.

  ‘Is it Mum?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. She’s in hospital.’
>
  ‘Oh my god,’ Chloe cried. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I’m not sure, they think it might be a heart attack,’ June whispered. ‘I’m so sorry, Chloe. We’re on our way there now.’

  Chloe was already standing up, throwing things into her bag. ‘I’m on my way too,’ she said, ascertained exactly which hospital they were heading for, and hung up.

  Even in the face of something so urgent Chloe baulked at telling Neil she was leaving the office again. The whole sorry mess of her life felt like it was crashing down on top of her once more. She fired off a brief email to Neil before she switched her computer off, then hurried out of the building after a quick word with Jana, praying she wouldn’t bump into anybody else, and grateful at least for that small mercy when she got outside unchallenged.

  It took forty-five anxious minutes on the stop-start tube for her to reach home. At least once she was in her car and driving she felt more in control, with something practical to keep her occupied, although all road sense seemed to have deserted her and she had about half a dozen near misses. She was surprised there weren’t any blue flashing lights behind her yet, as she had taken no notice of any speed limits, going as fast as the traffic allowed. So much so, that now she had nearly reached Kendal, where the hospital was located, in what must have been record time from London.