My Girl

by Jack Jordan

  ‘Paige Dawson?’

  She snapped her head towards her father. A man?

  ‘She’s here,’ her dad said. He turned to look at her. ‘Be good. I’ll be right here.’

  Instantly shaking, she stood and walked off with the man.

  Robin. I thought it was a woman. I don’t want a man. I don’t want this.

  ‘Great to meet you,’ he said through a smile as they walked down the hall. ‘My office is just down here.’

  He opened a door with his name on it, that unisex name that she already hated for tricking her, and held the door open for her to enter.

  The room was spacious and light, yet comforting from the warm coloured fabrics on the chairs and the cushions. Paige didn’t like the comforting colours; it felt like a trap: you’re safe in here. Now tell me all of your dirty secrets.

  ‘I need to use the bathroom,’ she said.

  ‘No problem. The toilets are at the end of the hall. I’ll put the kettle on. Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Coffee. Black, no sugar.’

  Robin nodded and headed down the hallway. Paige went in the opposite direction for the bathroom. Beside the toilet door was a fire exit. She looked down the hall and watched Robin as he walked in the opposite direction and out of sight. The door to the fire exit slammed against the wall as she ran down the stairs.

  FOUR

  Paige woke up in the police cell with a pounding headache.

  It was a small cell, with a bed built into the wall and a blue plastic mattress. The laces had been removed from her shoes, along with her belt and her wedding ring. She got up, aching all over, and walked barefoot on the cold floor to the silver toilet in the corner of the cell. A security camera moved when she moved.

  What the hell did I do?

  When she drank, she often suffered from blackouts – dark, taunting gaps in her memory – but this was the first time she had woken up in a police cell.

  You went back to the pub. You walked home. You drank some more.

  Slowly, she began to remember.

  She looked down at herself and saw that she was covered in dry mud, which came off in thick flakes. She remembered hearing the gravel hitting the bottom of the car as she raced towards Ryan’s gravestone. She had barely been able to see where she was going through the tears in her eyes. She remembered lurching forward with the impact of the crash and seeing the world outside the windscreen jolt upwards, before being thrown back into her seat as the car mounted the headstone. The next thing she remembered was lying on Chloe’s grave next to Ryan’s – with the car engine still running, lights still on, wheels still spinning – sobbing into the grass and mud. She had woken again to see a police officer checking her pulse. He had been out of breath, talking on his radio, checking Paige over for injuries. She couldn’t remember anymore.

  Paige promised herself never to drink again, but in the same moment she wondered how long it would be until she was at home, pouring herself another glass.

  A polystyrene plate sat on the floor in front of the door offering a cold, stale sandwich that she had refused to eat the night before. She had drunk the tea they offered: it had burned her tongue. Just as she was considering eating the sandwich, the hatch on the door opened.

  A police officer peered inside the cell, stared at her, and then closed the hatch again before opening the door.

  ‘You’ve been granted bail. Your lift is here, too.’

  When asked for a next of kin the night before, she had given them Ryan’s details, until she remembered he was dead. She gave them Maxim’s name and phone number instead. Now that she remembered, she considered asking to stay in the cell so she didn’t have to face Maxim. But the promise of a drink was greater than her dread of her brother, so she slipped her feet into her shoes and followed the officer.

  The walk to the reception desk was humiliating. Her shoes were loose without laces, so she had to drag her feet along the floor like a child waiting to grow into her new shoes. She almost tripped and had to grab the arm of the officer, who flinched at her touch.

  The police officer led her to the reception desk and stood at her side. The custody officer behind the desk didn’t smile back at her.

  ‘Do you remember much of last night?’ she asked.

  Paige shook her head. The custody officer looked familiar. Then she remembered: they had gone to school together. Samantha – that was her name. Samantha had a career, a ring on her finger, probably a few kids. They couldn’t have turned out more different. Paige couldn’t look Samantha in the eye. The embarrassment was just too great.

  ‘You’ve been charged with reckless driving under section 2 of the Road Traffic Act 1988, driving under the influence of alcohol under section 4 of Road Traffic Act 1988, criminal damage and vandalism of private property under section 1 of the Criminal Damage Act 1971, and drunk and disorderly behaviour under the Criminal Justice Act 1967.’

  Paige had to remind herself to breathe. She must have looked clueless, because Samantha sighed.

  ‘You drove through the gates of the cemetery, knocked down a wall, and destroyed a gravestone.’

  Not just any gravestone, Paige thought. Ryan’s.

  ‘You’ve been granted bail. You will need to attend the court hearing on the twenty-third of November. Failure to attend may see a warrant being issued for your arrest and further charges being brought against you. Do you understand?’

  Paige nodded furiously.

  ‘I recommend you consult with a solicitor soon. Everything you need to know about financial aid and finding a solicitor is in this pack.’

  Samantha pushed a pile of papers towards her. Paige stared at it for a few seconds, overwhelmed. She signed loads of forms without reading them. Her hands were shaking so badly that her signature was nothing but a scribble. The whole time, she could feel her brother’s stare burning into her back. Samantha kept talking. Paige nodded along as she put the laces back into her shoes. She took her belongings out of the plastic bags they had been stored in overnight and pulled the pile of papers close to her chest.

  ‘Who else were you with?’ Samantha asked.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The other car. Were you being chased?’

  ‘What other car?’

  Paige looked at the officer, bewildered. The officer stared back at her.

  ‘There was another car in the graveyard.’

  ‘Who was driving it?’

  ‘We don’t know.’

  ‘Well I don’t, either.’

  Paige heard her brother sigh behind her and the sound of his foot tapping impatiently on the hard floor. Samantha noticed it too.

  ‘Call us if you remember anything.’

  Paige nodded.

  Keeping her head down, she walked over to Maxim. Her cheeks felt hot.

  Maxim’s black hair was turning grey, and his skin looked loose and tired. The clerical collar made him look even older.

  ‘I’ll pay you back for the bail money.’

  ‘You think I’m angry about that?’

  ‘I’ve learnt my lesson.’

  ‘You’ve said that so many times before.’

  ‘Well, I mean it this time.’

  ‘Come on.’

  They left the station, and Paige immediately lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

  Maxim looked tired. She wondered what time they had called him. His eyelids were puffy.

  ‘You need to get it together, Paige.’

  She was too ashamed to speak.

  ‘Your husband died. So did your daughter. It’s awful. But that doesn’t mean you can drive around drunk and cause havoc.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Do you know? You’ve been pulling stunts like this for ten years. It’s time to snap out of it. You’re going to end up killing yourself.’

  A flash of her husband dead in the bath invaded her mind. Blood. So much blood.

  ‘Can you just take me home?’

  ‘Why did you do that? Destroy Ryan’s gr
ave?’

  She smoked her cigarette, revealing nothing.

  He left me on my own. He didn’t even say goodbye.

  ‘I’ve been so patient with you, Paige, but now I think you need some tough love. Let. It. Go. You can’t change the past. You can’t bring them back. But you can make a life for yourself: get a job, make friends, be happy. Chloe wouldn’t want you to live like this.’

  She took one last drag on her cigarette before dropping it to the ground and killing it with the stamp of her foot.

  ‘You can tell me what to do with my life when you find your only child’s body parts in a river. You get to judge me when your partner kills himself where only you will find him. You can give me tough love when you have even the slightest idea of what I’m going through.’

  ‘I can’t sleep at night because I’m so worried about you. I wake up in the middle of the night wondering if you’re safe or dead somewhere. I have my own problems, thanks to you. Maybe you should have some more consideration for the people that are still here, who love you and need you to be safe.’

  ‘I never asked you to worry about me. I don’t want your pity or your criticism. I want to be left alone.’

  ‘So you can eventually kill yourself?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Well that’s what you’re going to end up doing, whether you mean to or not. Or you’ll end up in prison. Wake up, Paige. You’re a mess.’

  ‘Your life isn’t so damn perfect. At least I know who I am.’

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You haven’t had a girlfriend in your entire life. Just come out, Maxim. Stop hiding behind that dog collar.’

  ‘I’m not gay.’

  ‘Well pull your finger out and get a girlfriend. All you do is read the damn Bible and piss me off.’

  ‘Maybe I could settle down and be happy if I wasn’t so worried about you all the time. Maybe you can do us both a favour by sorting your life out.’

  ‘Don’t blame your sorry life on me.’

  ‘And what about Dad? If you carry on the way you are, he’ll have another heart attack.’

  That hit her hard, like a blow to the chest. She didn’t speak for a moment.

  ‘Paige, I’m sorry…’

  ‘I just want to go home. Please, just take me home.’

  ***

  Maxim took the long route home, down the country lanes, which gave both of them time to calm down. As the car pulled up outside the house, the two of them were silent.

  Paige looked at the house, wedged between the neighbouring houses along the terraced street, and reminded herself that it was just her home now, not theirs. She wouldn’t hear Chloe’s music drifting down the stairs, or walk in to the smell of Ryan’s cooking. Nothing awaited her but silence and memories of the dead.

  ‘I’ll pay you back,’ she said, opening the passenger door. ‘Thanks for coming to get me.’

  Before Maxim could reply, she shut the car door and searched for her keys in her bag.

  ‘I made you some dinners,’ he called out.

  She turned around to see her brother shutting the car door and clutching numerous plastic containers.

  ‘I made them yesterday. Just throw them in the freezer and heat them up when you’re hungry.’

  A grateful smile crept onto her face.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said as she took them from him.

  ‘You’re looking thin in the face, so heat one up the second you get in.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘You can always stay with me,’ he said.

  ‘I need to do this on my own. I can’t have people looking after me forever.’

  He nodded and headed back to the car.

  ‘You’ll make someone very happy one day, Maxim. Don’t leave it until it’s too late.’

  He smiled and sat behind the steering wheel.

  She put the key into the lock and went inside.

  The house reeked of stale smoke and misery, but the living room was spotless. The kitchen was gleaming, and fresh laundry was ironed and folded neatly in the washing basket. There was a sticky note from Greta on the fridge.

  Try not to let it get so bad again, Paige.

  Paige screwed up the note and threw it in the bin.

  She sat down at the breakfast table with a fork and ate one of Maxim’s meals, cold. After half a portion, she put the dish in the fridge and poured herself a large wine. It looked as though she had stocked up on Pinot before she went driving around town and crashing into headstones. She popped six pills into her palm and swallowed them down in one go.

  Paige went back into the living room with her glass and considered sleeping on the sofa again. Ryan’s scent still lingered on the bed sheets. His unfinished book was still on the bedside table, his reading glasses resting on top. His clothes still hung on his side of the wardrobe.

  She headed upstairs and caught a glimpse of the bath she had found him in. Blood was running down the bath panel and creeping between the tiles on the floor.

  It’s not real. It’s all in your mind.

  She snatched her eyes away and stopped outside Chloe’s door. She found herself turning the handle and stepped inside.

  The smell of her filled Paige’s nostrils and warmed her heart. She quickly closed the door behind her, to stop the scent from escaping. The bed was still made. The curtains were open. Photos were stuck all over the walls like a collage: friends, family, a poster of some hunky actor that Paige could never name. Paige sat on the bed and drained her glass. It hurt remembering Chloe, being surrounded by her. Ten years had passed since Chloe had been taken from her – snatched from the roadside as she walked home from school – but to Paige, it felt like yesterday.

  ‘Who killed you, Chloe?’ she said into the room. ‘What happened to you?’

  Tears stung at her eyes. She inhaled her daughter’s sweet scent until she sobbed.

  ‘I miss you every minute of every day. I feel like a part of me died with you. I want to move on, to try and be happy, but I can’t. I can’t be happy without you.’

  She lay down on the bed, clutched her daughter’s pillow to her chest, and cried herself to sleep.

  FIVE

  Paige was beckoned from her slumber by the sound of Chloe’s voice.

  It can’t be her. I must still be dreaming.

  Chloe was laughing, a young child’s laugh. She was calling for her father.

  They’re dead. This is a dream. I’ll wake up soon.

  And then she heard her own voice. She almost didn’t recognise it – it sounded so happy, so free.

  Paige sat up and looked around Chloe’s bedroom in search of her, in search of Ryan. The small television was on, with a young Chloe on the screen, ghostly behind the dust. Paige hadn’t watched their home videos in a long time. Seeing her daughter’s beaming smile and shimmering red hair, and hearing her voice and her laugh, it was all too much, like a knife to her heart.

  The video footage was from their trip to Majorca in the summer of 1997. Paige had been holding the camera, and her younger, happier voice could be heard commentating on the scene. Chloe wore a pink one-piece, and her red hair was soaked and plastered to her head and neck; she would have been about eight years old then. Ryan was noticeably younger, slimmer, happier. His nose was burnt and red, and his shoulders were peeling. They were taking it in turns to dive into the pool under the blazing hot sun while Paige scored the dives out of ten. She let Chloe win most times.

  Tears ran down Paige’s cheeks as she watched the footage, but she couldn’t seem to draw her eyes away.

  Stop watching it. You’re only hurting yourself.

  She hugged Chloe’s pillow to her chest as though it were Chloe in her arms.

  Paige watched the footage right to the end. Only when the tape turned itself off, bringing her back to the present, did she wonder how it had come to play in the first place.

  I didn’t put the tape on. I came up here and fell asleep on the bed. I didn’t hunt for
the tape and play it… did I?

  Her memory was awful after she’d been drinking, like a broken film reel. Whole segments of time were missing, fuzzy, unsalvageable. In fact, her recollection of most her life seemed to be full of taunting gaps, so that she only had a handful of memories to look back on. She barely remembered her childhood, although she was glad she wouldn’t have to live it again. Maybe it was a good thing she couldn’t remember.

  But she had no recollection of putting the tape on to play.

  You live in this house on your own now. Who else could have done it?

  She smelt the pillow, hoping to find Chloe’s scent still there, and not replaced with the stench of stale cigarettes and wine. It was there, but it was faint. She got up before she did more damage and headed downstairs.

  She popped two pills for the wine-induced headache, made herself coffee and sat down on the sofa. It was half seven in the morning and still dark outside.

  ‘OPEN THIS DOOR, NOW!’ her father bellowed, as he banged on the front door with his fist.

  She jolted and spilled the coffee down her front. She rushed to the door and let him in. Anger seemed to radiate from him. She shut the door behind him.

  ‘What the hell were you thinking?’

  ‘I’m sorry I left the therapy session, I couldn’t…’

  ‘It’s not about that. That’s the last thing on my mind.’

  It took her a moment to remember: the graveyard, the police station.

  ‘I’m sorry, I was—’

  ‘Drunk. Of course you were. You always are.’ He paced the room, shaking, breathing hard. ‘This has got to stop, Paige. You can’t keep going on like this. Do you want me to have another heart attack?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then stop stressing me out!’

  ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘Just because Ryan’s dead, it doesn’t mean that you get to put yourself at risk now. People still care about you. I still care about you.’ His whole frame was shaking. ‘I wake up some nights, wondering if you’re asleep in your bed or dead in a ditch somewhere. How would I know? How would anybody know?’