by Emily Gunnis
So he had lain on the sofa while she, Grandad and her bump did most of the decorating. With Nana making cushions and Grandad donating bits from his antique shop, it had slowly become their home. She had loved that flat, and the memories they had built there: the three of them in the bath, Emma’s first steps in the lounge. Fast-forward four years and – in the heat of a row – she had suggested she and Emma move out for a bit to give them some space. She had been shocked when he’d agreed.
She could see him through the window now, pacing up and down, picking up Emma’s toys with a tea towel over his shoulder. As she watched, his shoulders hunched and his jaw clenched; he had caught sight of her and pounded his forefinger at the watch on his wrist. It wasn’t his weekend to have Emma, but he’d had to as she was working and Emma was poorly and he was clearly furious about it.
Sam locked her car and headed for the front door. She had already taken an earful from Murray, and it would take everything she had to stay reasonable if Ben started on her. As she walked up the path, her conversation with Murray came back to her in waves. He had been punishing her ever since Emma was born.
She had returned to work as soon as humanly possible, but she couldn’t pull the all-nighters she used to, or drop everything and chase up a lead over a weekend off, and as payback, he’d been giving her the dregs of the story barrel. Which was why she was keeping the Cannon story to herself for now. Murray didn’t pay her enough and he didn’t deserve a story as good as this one. She was going to jump ship as soon as she got a better offer, and that would be revenge in itself.
She reached out and pressed the buzzer to the flat.
‘Hi, how you doing?’ she said when Ben finally answered the door.
‘Hi,’ he muttered through gritted teeth, not meeting her eyes. ‘You’re late.’
‘Sorry, I tried really hard to get away. How’s Emma?’ She was speaking to the back of Ben’s head as he charged back down the hall. She missed the Ben of old so much, the one who poured her a glass of wine and ran her a bubble bath after a hard day. Not this Ben, who would most probably drown her in it.
‘Okay. She seems fine in herself, but she hasn’t eaten anything, so I’m trying to get her to have something now.’ He began tidying away Sam’s coat and bag from where she’d dropped them on the sofa. Clearing up had never been one of his strong points, but since she’d moved out, he made a point of highlighting any fault of hers, as if to show her how much better off he was without her.
‘Maybe I can help,’ she said.
‘I doubt it, she plays up for you.’ He settled back down at the table, and Emma immediately started reaching out for her mother. Ben tried to force some broccoli into her mouth. Emma promptly picked it up, screaming, and hurled it across the room.
‘Emma, that is very naughty,’ he shouted.
Sam walked over to Emma’s chair and crouched down beside it. ‘Hi, darling.’ Emma leant over and wrapped her arms around her mother, falling off the chair into her lap and descending into giggles.
‘Thanks!’ snapped Ben.
‘What?’
‘She needs to eat something. She needs a proper meal. And she’s not getting down from there until she’s had some vegetables.’
‘Sorry, I was just saying hello to my daughter.’
‘Well, she won’t sit up again now. I’m trying to get some sort of routine going and you’re undermining me.’
‘Okay, well do you want us to just go?’ Sam started picking up bits of broccoli from the carpet.
‘Go? She’s in the middle of her meal. Oh, forget it,’ said Ben irritably.
Sam straightened up. ‘Okay, I can see you’re gunning for a fight. We’d better leave.’
‘That’s right, just walk away and leave me to clear up the mess. How poetic.’
‘Ben! I’m sorry you had to have Emma, but I don’t have a choice. Nana’s exhausted and I can’t just take a day off.’
‘Here we go. Poor me, I’ve got no control over how my roller-coaster life has turned out. Everyone hold on tight, sorry, not my fault.’ He tried to force another spoonful of food into Emma’s mouth. Sam bristled: Emma was old enough to feed herself.
‘That is so unfair,’ she hissed. ‘It was your idea for me to work, for you to stay at home with Emma. I told you it would be hard.’
‘Yes, well, I thought you’d grow a heart once she was born. Most mothers can’t bear to leave their child for a day, let alone five days a week, six sometimes.’ Ben winced as Emma pushed his hand away.
Tears stung Sam’s eyes. ‘I see her a hell of a lot more than you do now, because of your supposed job-hunting days.’
‘Yes, well, I do have two job interviews lined up for tomorrow, which I needed to prepare for, but since I had to look after Emma, no doubt I’ve blown any chance there!’
‘We can’t keep relying on Nana. I’ve been hoping for a promotion so we can afford a childminder, but it’s hard when your boss is an asshole.’
‘If I get a job, then we can afford a childminder!’
‘That would be great,’ said Sam, trying to calm the situation, ‘but I know you’ve been struggling with it. I didn’t know about these interviews; what are they for?’
Ben let out a sarcastic scoff. ‘What do you care?’
‘I care quite a lot actually. I think it’s great that things are happening for you but if you’re going to be working long hours, then we need to maybe think about a plan.’
‘A plan to keep me in my place, you mean.’
‘I need a wee!’ Emma shouted.
Ben sighed heavily and reached down to where she was sitting on the floor next to Sam.
‘Mummy take me!’ Emma cried. ‘I don’t want Daddy, Daddy’s a wanker.’
Ben glared at Sam. ‘I can see you’re being very complimentary about me behind my back.’
‘I did not use that word around her. I would never say that about you. She probably got it from the language you use when you’re driving her around. And what the hell did you mean by saying I want to keep you in your place?’
Ben fetched some wipes to mop up Emma’s face. ‘I mean that Nana won’t always be around and one of us still needs to be able to have Emma if the childminder’s poorly or if you have to work late and won’t be home on time. I might get a job, but I’ll never have a career. You’re completely oblivious to how much slack I have to pick up. The power that job has over you, it’s weird.’
‘I need a wee!’ Emma shouted.
‘That just isn’t true. I can’t believe you said that!’ Sam’s eyes welled up, just as Ben picked Emma up and she weed all down his leg.
‘Great!’ he shouted. ‘You’re four years old, Emma, you’re starting school soon. You can’t keep having accidents!’
As he pulled at Emma’s wet clothes, fat tears poured down the little girl’s cheeks and she stared up at Sam, reaching out her hands. She would remember this moment, thought Sam. She would remember this as the moment they’d hit rock bottom.
She walked over to her daughter and stroked her hair, shushing her gently until she calmed down. Once Emma was changed, Ben picked her up and handed her to Sam.
‘There you go, you can have her now. I need a beer.’ He strode out of the room before calling back to her. ‘And Nana or you will have to have her tomorrow if she’s sick, because I’m not cancelling those interviews. You can let yourself out.’
As Emma nuzzled into her, Sam stood staring at the sofa where she and Ben had spent so many nights curled up together with their daughter asleep in the Moses basket at their feet.
Then, as the front door slammed so hard that the lounge walls shook, for the first time since she and Ben had met, she felt nothing at all.
Chapter Eighteen
Sunday 5 February 2017
Despite her racing heart, Kitty was overwhelmed with exhaustion. Her eyes stung, but closing them did nothing to stop the avalanche of thoughts in her head. She had wanted to get to bed early because of the sleepless night fol
lowing her party, but after her session with Richard that morning, every tiny sound was jerking her awake. When she did nod off her ticking carriage clock was a constant reminder of how much sleep she wasn’t getting. She let out a heavy sigh and resigned herself to another sleepless night, propping herself up in bed instead and turning on her bedside lamp.
She looked round the bedroom, her eyes darting between the dark oak floorboards, vintage furniture and carefully selected prints from galleries all over the world. Despite spending months working with an interior designer, she could never settle on what she liked, and as soon as she did, she hated whatever it was and wished she’d chosen something different. The result was an impersonal show home, and she felt as if she might as well be in one of the many hotel rooms she had stayed in throughout her life.
She had moved house so many times, desperately trying to find somewhere that felt like home, and it seemed to her now, staring round the room, that it was something that would always evade her.
She pulled back the covers, pushed her feet into her slippers and walked across the polished floor, opening the heavy curtains to reveal the River Thames below. As she watched the water reflect the lights from passing cars, her body grew tired, and after a while, she sank into the velvet armchair that sat by the window.
With the light behind her, her reflection glowed back at her against the dark night sky and soon her eyes grew heavy. As she began to drop off, she heard noises, panting. Someone running.
A black tunnel. She was running towards a splinter of light at the end of it, her feet splashing in the dripping water below. Gasping in the darkness, she felt overwhelmed with the need to escape. As she ran, she looked down at her hands, which were covered in dirt. She was clutching something. She opened her palm and a key tinkled onto the ground in front of her. Come back here! The voice behind her was loud, her fear overwhelming. She picked up the key and followed the light. There were running footsteps behind her now, splashing faster and faster. Stop, child! She could feel the woman gaining on her. She reached some steps, with a door at the top of them, and fumbled with her cold hands, pushing the key into the lock and trying desperately to turn it. Using both hands she twisted it and, pushing with all her might, finally prised it open, running up the last few steps into the night. Turning round, she slammed the door back down and locked it behind her.
Open this door! The woman was shouting; she was banging on the door so hard it shook.
The cold winter night surrounded her, paralysing her with its enormity. Terror spurred her to move, and she ran towards a stone building in the distance, lit up in the moonlight. Her legs were like lead, and the ground was uneven and frozen. She bashed into headstones, tripping on a stone cross, which made her lose her balance and come crashing down. She pulled herself up, the woman’s voice still shouting faintly behind her.
Her breath was her only companion in the freezing night as finally she reached the safety of the outhouse. The wooden door at its entrance was hanging from its hinges, and she pushed it aside carefully. Bent double trying to catch her breath, she looked around for somewhere to hide. There were holes in the wall where the moonlight came through, and her eyes fell on an old plough in the corner, propped up by a pile of bricks. She ran over to it, pushing it with all her strength until it began to tip. As it came crashing down on its side, she heard angry voices shouting in the distance, coming towards her. Elvira! Elvira!
Kitty woke suddenly, gasping for breath. It took a moment for her to realise where she was. That it was the dream again. Richard’s words ran round her head: ‘Dreams are unresolved issues trying to process themselves in your brain while you sleep . . . Do you think the key could still be there? Is that what you think your dream is telling you?’
One more day, thought Kitty, one more day and St Margaret’s would be gone for ever. Then she would never know for sure if she could have discovered the truth.
She stood up and rushed over to the wardrobe, frantically pulling out clothes.
The journey to the front door seemed a long one, but with every step her strength grew, a tiny flicker of hope igniting in the pit of her stomach. She found a torch and pulled on her boots and waterproof mac, then left the apartment and took the lift down to the ground floor.
As she stepped out into the street, the freezing air stung her face and she smiled slightly. The night was dark and cold, but as she set off in the shadows of the plane trees lining Victoria Embankment, the eight-year-old Elvira she remembered skipped ahead of her, cheering her on with every step.
She flagged down a black taxi as she walked.
‘Would you take me to Preston village, north of Brighton, please?’
‘Blimey, love, that’ll set you back about two hundred quid,’ said the driver, leaning over to the window.
‘Fine. I’ll need to stop for some cash then.’ She opened the door and settled herself into the seat.
Chapter Nineteen
Sunday 5 February 2017
‘I’m just so tired of taking shit, Nana, from Murray, from Ben.’
‘Then don’t take it.’ Nana stopped her knitting and looked over at Sam.
‘What choice do I have? If I tell Ben to take a jump, Emma loses her dad, and if I tell Murray to sod off, I’m out of a job.’
‘Ben would never disappear from Emma’s life, he loves you both too much. And as for Murray, well, would that be such a bad thing?’
Sam was sitting in her grandmother’s rocking chair, with Emma cuddled up to her. ‘Nana, she’s really hot, do you think she’s okay?’ She felt tears springing to her eyes.
Nana eased herself out of her own chair and felt Emma’s back. ‘She is a bit hot, darling, but I took her temperature and she’s fine. She’s just fighting a virus. Couple of days and she’ll be right as rain.’
‘Nursery won’t have her tomorrow if she’s poorly, and Ben’s got these interviews.’
‘I can have her, I don’t mind.’ Nana smiled fondly.
‘No, Nana, it’s not fair. I’ll ask him to come and get her after his interviews. I just don’t have the strength for another argument tonight. I feel like everything has completely unravelled since I moved out, and I don’t know if there’s a way back.’ Sam started to cry, angrily wiping away tears as Emma stirred and snuggled in tighter.
‘You can’t go back, but you can move forward if you’re both prepared to work at it,’ said Nana. ‘I know Ben’s struggling, but he’s not really sticking to his side of the bargain. It’s not entirely fair to make you feel so guilty.’
‘I don’t know, I think he might be depressed. I miss the old Ben, but he makes it so hard for us to be nice to one another. I feel like I’m the one breaking up our family, but he’s the one who’s determined for it to be that way.’
‘You’ll pull through. A few years down the line, you’ll be established and can call the shots a bit more with work. You’re just at the hardest part, carving out a career with a small child to care for.’
‘That’s just it. By then I’ll have missed her being little. I can never get this time back.’ Sam twisted Emma’s curls gently between her fingers and kissed her warm cheek until the little girl pushed her away.
‘You’d be miserable if you were at home all day with her. She has Ben, she has me, she loves nursery. She’ll be going to school soon. You’re with her as much as you can be at the moment. She’s a very lucky little girl who is well cared for. She’ll need you a lot more when she’s older, and if you’ve given up a job you love and are utterly miserable, what kind of example is that to set for her?’
‘But I work such long hours. I don’t see Emma, Ben hates me, and my boss doesn’t respect me. I’m so tired of killing myself every day and yet still being a disappointment to everyone.’
‘I don’t think your boss doesn’t respect you. I think you don’t respect him. And neither would I. He sounds like a nincompoop.’
Sam looked across at her grandmother. She loved every part of her, every inch of her sk
in, which smelt of rose water, every smile when she knew her hip was hurting her. She knew Ivy’s letters were getting to her too, that her grandmother would have loved to have known her own mother.
‘I’m sorry the letters have been so upsetting for you, Nana. They’ve made you think about your mother, haven’t they? Did you ever try and find her?’ she asked softly.
‘Don’t you worry about me, sweetheart,’ said Nana, concentrating on counting stitches.
‘But you didn’t always see eye to eye with your adoptive parents, did you? I mean, they weren’t very happy when you got pregnant with my mum, were they?’
‘They found it hard, yes, but they always did what they thought was best. I doubt I was the easiest child.’
‘But don’t you think about her? Your real mum?’ Sam watched her, waiting for her to look up.
‘Sometimes, but she’s probably long dead by now,’ Nana said quietly.
‘You don’t know that. You’re only sixty, she could be alive. I could help you look for her.’
Nana focused on her knitting, her fingers moving deftly as the needles clicked away. It was such a familiar sound, one Sam had fallen asleep to so many times.
‘Sammy, there’s something you don’t know,’ she said eventually, ‘something I need to talk to you about.’
‘Of course, Nana, what is it?’ said Sam, leaning forward. As she did so, Emma let out a cry. ‘Let me just try and put Emma down, then we can talk, okay?’
Nana nodded and rested her knitting in her lap, her eyes full of tears. Sam suddenly felt ashamed of herself for pushing her so hard.