Come Back to Me

by Sara Foster

  Her phone began to ring as she negotiated a roundabout, and she pulled it out of her bag, her eyes darting back to the road and adjusting her steering as she veered towards the kerb, but not wanting to stop.

  She snapped it open without looking at the caller. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Chloe, it’s June. Your mum’s been discharged. We’ve brought her home. Don’t go to the hospital, come to the house instead.’

  ‘Discharged? After a heart attack? That doesn’t sound right.’

  ‘Just come to the house, love – where are you now?’

  ‘Kendal.’

  ‘Great; well, we’ll see you soon.’

  Chloe hung up, grimaced, and, without indicating, at the next roundabout went all the way round to go back in the direction she’d just come, causing an irritated motorist to honk his horn at her. She resisted the temptation to give him the finger.

  It took her another forty minutes to reach the laneways near her mother’s house, and as she did so, the phone rang again.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, holding the mobile sandwiched between ear and neck to allow her hands to remain on the steering wheel.

  ‘Chloe, it’s Mark. What’s going on? Jana said your mum is ill.’

  ‘Yes, heart attack,’ Chloe replied, frantically turning the steering wheel at a tight bend. ‘I’m nearly there now.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Lake District.’

  ‘Christ. Chloe, I’m so sorry…’

  Chloe felt tears welling again. God, she was so sick of crying. ‘Thanks, Mark. Look, I’m driving, I can’t really talk.’

  ‘Okay, but ring me later, won’t you? Let me know you’re okay.’

  ‘Thanks, I will.’

  She hung up, gritting her teeth, and threw the phone onto the passenger seat. The conversation she’d just had should have been with Alex, not Mark.

  June came out of the front door of Chloe’s mother’s house before Chloe had even stopped the engine. As soon as she got out of the car she was enfolded in a hug, and Chloe responded for a moment, before pulling back and looking at June’s face, reassured to see only concern there.

  ‘Where’s Mum?’ Chloe asked.

  ‘Right this way,’ June said, leading her towards the front door, when George appeared.

  ‘June -’ he said.

  ‘Just let her see Margaret,’ June replied, not looking at him, trying to usher Chloe inside.

  Chloe stopped for a moment. This was a little odd. The two of them seemed tense, and terse with one another.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ June demurred in an overly bright voice, as George said, ‘Chloe, a word,’ and motioned her back towards the driveway.

  ‘George -’ June began, but he raised his hand to quieten her.

  ‘We’ll be there in a minute,’ he said.

  June shook her head but went inside.

  Chloe was alarmed by all the subterfuge. ‘What’s going on, George?’

  He looked solemnly at her over his half-moon specs. ‘Your mother called from hospital this morning, saying she’d had a heart attack. So, June called you and we went down there, and waited while they did some tests… But, apparently, it wasn’t a heart attack after all, it was an anxiety attack.’

  Chloe stared at him, dumbfounded. She was aching and tired from racing up to see her mother, thinking she was critically ill, to find out she had had an anxiety attack?

  ‘She seems fine now,’ George continued. ‘I just thought I should warn you, as I think June might have misled you on the phone this morning – unintentionally, of course. She was very worried at the time.’

  Chloe nodded, still at a loss for words. She followed George into the house, and they walked through looking for her mother, who was eventually located in the kitchen.

  Ironing.

  ‘Chloe, darling!’ her mother trilled as she broke off from flattening the sleeve of a blouse and came around the ironing board to embrace her. ‘You’re such a sweetheart to come. Silly me, thinking it was a heart attack, but I couldn’t breathe all of a sudden, and then I felt so terribly dizzy, it was like I was getting sucked into a big black hole, and so I called the ambulance. And they were ever so nice, in the ambulance, they figured out it was nothing pretty quickly, but they took me in and did all the tests anyway, and said that, actually, I’ve got a first-class ticker, how about that?’ She began to set about the sleeve with gusto. ‘June and George have been marvellous, of course,’ she said, finally pulling the blouse off the board and searching a nearby laundry basket for a hanger. She smiled across at June as she said this, and June, who was filling the kettle, smiled back.

  There was silence as they all waited for Chloe to say something. George still looked sombre, while June was engrossed in finding tea bags, and Margaret was smiling beatifically at Chloe.

  When Chloe finally spoke, it didn’t sound much like herself, but the words were definitely coming from her mouth in a stream of bilious abuse.

  ‘You selfish, selfish woman,’ she spat, watching the two women’s expressions become startled, and noticing somewhere in her subconscious that George was registering absolutely no surprise at her words. ‘I have driven five hours to come and see you; I have broken speed limits all the way here; I have come, despite being incredibly tired and nauseous, all the time desperately worried about you… to find you ironing, drinking tea, perfectly well, and completely oblivious to the effect you have had on me – to the kind of stress you’ve caused me today – when I’m, I’m pregnant -’ the secret was out of her mouth once again, and she registered the lack of shock on George’s and June’s faces with no real surprise – of course her mother had told them, her mouth was bigger than the Channel tunnel – ‘and when my husband is god knows where’ – at this, they did all look surprised ‘- but that’s okay, Mum, my life is going down the toilet, but as long as you’re fine…’

  Margaret’s face was a picture of shock. Having returned to the iron, she put it down absent-mindedly, not noticing as June discreetly righted it so it wouldn’t burn a hole in the cover. ‘Chloe -’ she began.

  ‘Save it,’ Chloe said, holding up her hand. ‘I don’t want to hear it. Just stay away from me. Just leave me alone from now on.’

  And she ran out of the room, down the hallway, and through the front door.

  She was clutching her car keys, trying to find the right key on the fob, when she heard steps behind her. She swung round ready to launch into another tirade, to find George there.

  ‘George, don’t -’ she said.

  He put his arm around her. ‘I’m not,’ he replied. ‘Just… don’t drive all the way back tonight,’ he said, pressing something into her hand. She looked down to see two fifty-pound notes there, and reacted by trying to give them back to him.

  ‘Chloe,’ he said, ignoring her and holding her shoulders gently. ‘I’m your uncle, or as good as. I’m paying for you to find a hotel for the night. Humour me. Okay?’

  She nodded, looked quickly into his eyes and then down at the gravel drive.

  He kissed her on the forehead. ‘We’ll call you,’ he said, walking back towards the front door as she got into the car, and stopping the two women, who had come behind him, from going any further.

  ‘Chloe,’ Margaret called, and her voice was high and unnerved. ‘Please.’ But Chloe was in her vehicle now, and she drove away without looking back.

  79

  As the sun cast the dusky pinks and mellow oranges of dawn onto the river, the first boats were already making their leisurely way along. The city was lazily yawning and stretching, preparing for another busy day. By contrast, as he stood on the hotel room balcony, Alex’s mind was frantic. He had given up all thought of rest some hours ago.

  He was out of his depth here. How had it come to this? How come it always felt like he was on the back foot, desperately parrying what everyone else could throw at him?

  In his hand was his plane ticket. He had been thinking all night of h
eading to the airport, catching a plane back to Chloe. He’d been intent on calling her yesterday evening, but Amy’s revelation had thrown him completely off-kilter again. He didn’t know how much more he could take; the whole thing was becoming a bigger and bigger mess. He tried to imagine how he would be feeling in Chloe’s position. He felt he had let her down, and for what? A girl from his past he thought he owed something to; a girl who this morning he didn’t feel he knew at all any more.

  He was so angry with Amy.

  But then, as always, his thoughts came back to the fact that nothing was her fault. She, more than anyone else, was the victim in this.

  He was not that far away from the street where she’d been snatched. He wondered if it would be cathartic to go back there, or whether he would be torturing himself by retracing the steps of a journey that was immeasurably painful the first time around. He had no fucking idea. No clue about the rights and wrongs of any of this.

  He leaned against the balcony railing and breathed in the fresh morning air, trying to think of the way forward. Maybe the problem was that he was letting things happen; the empathy he had for everyone else was colouring every action he thought about taking, converting them to inaction. In fact, his decision-making abilities seemed so far to have been paralysed.

  But not any more.

  He stood back from the railing, stretched, and headed inside.

  Amy was asleep, a mound under the sheets, her face buried in the pillow. Alex grabbed his phone and went down to the lobby.

  Chloe’s mobile rang until her voicemail cut in. He had forgotten it was late at night there; she might well be asleep. The soft, cheerful sound of her voice made him unbearably homesick. After the beep, he tried to leave a message.

  ‘Chloe, I’m so sorry about all of this. I -’ He paused, trying to think of what to say. ‘I want to explain, please give me that chance -’ He didn’t know what else to add, so in desperation he hung up and tried the number again, not expecting an answer, but then heard a click as it connected.

  ‘Alex?’ Chloe’s voice came on the line, low and cautious; for him it was like water on parched skin.

  ‘Thank god. Chloe, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?’ There was a pause. ‘No, of course not. Stupid question. Did you get any of the messages I left? I’ve wanted to talk to you so much; to explain. I shouldn’t have left like that -’

  ‘I deleted a lot of the messages, Alex. I was too upset to listen to them.’ She sounded weary and reserved. Not like her usual self at all. He cringed at having done this to her. To them.

  ‘Okay, then I need to tell you – we’re in Australia because there’s a trial – for the murder of another girl. It’s the same people, Chloe… Amy wanted to come back… she’s completely alone; I felt I owed her this. And it was now or never. Last time I let her down… this time I wanted to do something… These monsters need to get put away.’

  ‘And what do you think you’re doing to me now? For god’s sake, Alex – Australia?’

  He didn’t know what to say to that.

  ‘Just how long are you planning to be in Australia? Why haven’t you called before?’ she said, still sounding tired.

  ‘I know, I’m sorry,’ he began. ‘It’s just, it’s hard to get a moment alone…’

  He trailed off, but she didn’t miss a beat. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re sharing a room with her, Alex.’ There was an edge to her voice, and his mind was shouting, Lie, lie, don’t let her think this of you, but the words wouldn’t reach his mouth, so, stupidly, he paused for too long, until saying anything would have been worthless.

  There was an almighty silence. Then he heard her voice again, and it was cracked with rage. ‘And what about a bed, Alex, are you sharing a bed too?’

  ‘NO! Chloe, don’t…’ he said, but the line was already dead.

  He remained frozen for a moment with the phone dangling uselessly from his hand. Then a wave of weariness crashed over him, and he headed back to the hotel room, lay on his bed, and tried to rein in his rising emotions.

  After what seemed like hours, sleep finally descended on him.

  When he woke up, Amy was dressed and sitting by the window.

  ‘What time is it?’ he asked, trying to clear the fug from his head; remembering with a pang that his conversation with Chloe hadn’t been a dream.

  ‘Half-past twelve,’ she replied.

  ‘Bloody hell.’ He ran his hand over his face, slowly coming to. ‘How long have you been awake?’

  ‘A while.’ She wouldn’t look at him.

  ‘Amy?’

  She remained stone-still.

  ‘Amy, look at me.’

  Slowly, she turned her head. His heart sank. Her face was stricken and tear-stained.

  He got up and dressed in silence, while Amy continued to stare out of the window. Then he put his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Let’s go and get something to eat.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Amy.’ His tone lowered as he barked at her, his patience thinning. ‘It wasn’t a question. Come on, let’s go.’

  When she lifted her head, she looked taken aback. But she did as he said, getting up and slipping her shoes on, and they headed out the door. This time, Alex was determined to excavate right to the bottom of all their secrets, and uncover some answers.

  80

  They bought sandwiches and drinks and headed down to the river, finding a spot on the foreshore away from people, listening to the raucous cockatoos flapping from tree to tree. They were alone, except for the occasional walker or cyclist briskly crossing their path.

  ‘Last night -’ Alex began.

  Amy held up her hand. ‘I’m sorry, I was drunk.’

  ‘Yes, well, for a start that isn’t like you -’

  She bit back, indignance hammering against her throbbing hangover. ‘Alex, really, how would you know what’s like me? You haven’t seen me for ten years! You’re now a married graphic designer; how the hell do you know what I’ve become?’

  What on earth have I become, she thought as she finished, momentarily quaking inside.

  ‘Okay, point taken.’ He paused, took a deep breath. They both knew what was coming. ‘But, Amy, you said – you had a baby?’

  She nodded, staring out across the flat water of the river.

  ‘So it’s true?’ Alex said softly.

  She nodded again.

  Another long, weighty pause. Then, ‘Was it mine?’

  She shook her head. She wouldn’t look at him; she didn’t want to see his expression. She couldn’t believe there were more tears left in her, but here they were again, falling silently down her cheeks.

  ‘Amy,’ he said, and before he could ask any more, she was compelled to start talking.

  ‘You don’t understand at all,’ she said quietly. ‘Being… attacked like that… it causes scars that can’t ever fully heal. But it’s more than just a few marks on your body or in your head. In that one day, I lost everything. My self-confidence was gone. My trust in people was gone. I lost my parents, who didn’t see me as their innocent girl any more, but as their daughter “the victim”. I lost my friends, as I couldn’t face any of them. I felt like what had happened was written all over me, that people knew how disgusting and violated I was as soon as they looked at me. I felt worlds apart from everyone; I couldn’t even understand what I’d ever had in common with anyone.’

  Her voice was unnaturally high, breaking as she spoke. Her throat felt heavy with the truth of what came next as she looked at Alex. ‘And I lost you.’

  Alex tried to meet her eyes, but he could see too deeply into them. He flinched and bowed his head.

  ‘We lost each other,’ he said to the grass. ‘And I know that there’s nothing I can say to put that right.’

  But she was not ready to be silent and listen to him.

  ‘When something so utterly vile happens to you, it feels like a new person has taken over your body – like you’ve been possessed by this stranger. An
d you’re forced to live with them and get to know them, and respond to their wants and needs and desires, because they are you… and yet, they are not you. And while this walking ghost takes over your life, you are desperately trying to find ways to exorcise it – but you never can, because a living, breathing memory has given birth to it, and unless you can get rid of every second of that memory, you can never regain full control of yourself. So I’ve been wandering like a lost soul within the confines of my own body, hoping beyond all reason that one day I might come back and be myself again. And I’m still waiting, Alex. I’m waiting and hoping and praying… I don’t know how much longer I -’

  Her voice rose and was absorbed into the wind. She couldn’t go on.

  Alex’s arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her close. She clung on to him desperately, crying, not noticing until her tears began to subside that his body was heaving too.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Amy,’ he whispered into her hair.

  After what seemed like a long time, they were both calm and quiet again, staring out across the water. Something had shifted in Amy, and, remarkably, it felt a little like a brief snatched moment of peace.

  ‘Are you going to get in touch with your mum?’ Alex asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I think you should.’

  She looked at Alex. He was still watching the water. ‘I’m not sure she’ll want to talk to me after what happened with Dad.’

  ‘Amy, your dad was an old man -’

  She interrupted, ‘Who had a heart attack because of stress. I’m sure of it. If I hadn’t – if it hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t have died.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘No, I don’t, not for sure, but I’m pretty certain. I ran away because I was desperate, but I was so selfish – I didn’t think about the effect it might have on my poor dad. I just knew that people love to gossip, and when you’re the victim everyone looks at you and feels so sorry and sad for you, and then they go home and curl up on the sofa and feel so grateful and smug that they’re so lucky. I used to do it – I didn’t know that what I was doing was so hurtful, but I did it. And I didn’t want the sadness of my life to be the prop in someone else’s self-esteem, for people to be looking at me and thinking, Well, it could be worse, I could be Amy Duvalis.’