“You didn’t tell me someone stopped,” Liam said, looking at me and then at Cook. “Who was it? We have to thank him.”
“We’ll give Abby the details once we’ve spoken to him again, and if he wants us to,” Cook answered, then looked at me. “That’s all for now. Thank you.”
“I’m going to prison,” I said, staring at him. “Aren’t I?”
“That’s not for me to decide,” he said quietly.
My eyes darted around the room, then landed on Liam’s face, which had turned the light green shade of the walls. I felt his hand tighten on my shoulder.
“Abby,” he said as we watched the policemen leave, quietly conferring with each other on the way to the lift. “Jesus, I should have... I wish I’d... I’m so sorry.”
But I closed my eyes, didn’t want to listen to another person saying how sorry they were. He’d begun despising me for what I’d done, I was sure of it. Somehow he was being different toward me. He’d already started pulling away. And I couldn’t blame him. How could he love me after what I’d done? How could anyone?
“I’m tired,” I said quietly, turning my head away from him. “Let me sleep. I’ll call you.”
He bent over and kissed my forehead. “You rest.”
I sobbed quietly after he left. Rage, denial, fear, hopelessness—impossible waves of emotion smashed into me, churning me back and forth, back and forth, as if controled by some psychotic sadist.
Twelve hours ago Liam and I had decided to live together.
But now we may as well have been stranded on different planets.
* * *
The pain in my legs woke me, and I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep. The nurse with short blond hair and fake eyebrows mercifully pumped me full of morphine again and told me to rest some more. Seconds after she left, Liam walked into the room carrying a spoon, three pots of chocolate pudding and a plastic-wrapped sandwich.
“Have you been awake for long?” He held out the food. I shook my head, and when I didn’t reach out he put the items on the tray in front of me. “Shall I open something for you?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You have to eat.”
“No, I don’t,” I snapped. “I really don’t.”
He looked at me for a while. “I’ve been thinking about what should happen next,” he said. “I mean, after...you get out of here. And, uh, Tom’s funeral.” Long pause. “I can still move in.”
“With me?” I raised my eyebrows. “You still want to?”
“Yes. Nothing has changed and—”
“How can you say that?” My voice went up a few notches. “Everything has changed. Everything!”
Liam took a step toward me, but when he touched my hand I pulled it away.
“You’ll need help around the flat,” he said. “Let me be there for you. I feel so...responsible. We could—”
“Don’t, Liam.”
“Don’t what?”
“Pretend everything’s going to be okay. Pretend that playing house will help.”
“Baby, we’ll get through this and—”
“How? I killed Tom. I don’t see how I’ll ever get through this. Ever.”
“You need time,” Liam said. “I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”
“I’d like to be alone.” My voice came out as a strangled whisper. “Please, I—”
“Abby. I love you.”
“Please.” I turned my head away from him. “Go. I do need time. Alone. I’ll call you when I’m ready, okay?”
I didn’t open my eyes for ages, not until I was absolutely sure he’d left. And while the drugs had helped the pain in my body subside, the agony traveling throughout my soul and into my heart was unbearable. I wanted to scream, howl, swear and rant, climb out of bed, get a barrel full of morphine or whatever I could find and pump it into my veins.
Liam and I were meant to be together, everybody said so. For the first time I hadn’t kept parts of me compartmentalized, denying him access, like I’d always done before. I told him everything, to the point where sometimes he had to kiss me to shut me up. We fit together, like in those unrealistic, sappy Hollywood movies. Except in our case, none of it was scripted.
In so many ways Liam had become my savior. The only person apart from Tom who’d stopped me from giving up on relationships—with boyfriends, girlfriends, family. But now Tom was gone, and it was all because of me.
The punishment a judge and jury would impose didn’t frighten me. I welcomed it. Nothing could be worse than the lifelong sentence I’d handed myself anyway. Knowing my brother had burned to death because of what I’d done. No other sentence would even come close.
Lying in that hospital bed in the clean room with the sterile blinds, I vowed I’d make myself pay for the rest of my life. If Tom couldn’t live, I didn’t deserve to be happy. My shoulders dropped as the finality of my decision crystalized in my mind. It had to be this way. It had to. After all, Liam would soon see me for what I truly was.
A monster.
* * *
I barely moved for hours, not until a man with a full head of gray hair, thin wiry spectacles and a freckle-dashed face entered the room. He was dressed in a somber suit and held a shiny black briefcase with a silver buckle under one arm.
“Miss Sanders?” he said, and as he smiled his nose bent slightly to the left.
“Are you another policeman?”
“No, no. I’m Sean Joyce. From Cascio, Joyce and Blunt.” The name rang a distant bell, but when I didn’t answer he added, “I’m a solicitor.”
“I’m not sure I understand. I didn’t call—”
“Your mother did. My partner, Mr. Blunt, handled her divorce.”
That was where I recognized the name from. “But why...”
“She said you’ll need legal help.”
I looked down, felt the heat spreading across my cheeks. “I can’t afford to, um...”
“Oh, don’t worry.” Mr. Joyce tapped his briefcase with his index finger. “It’s been taken care of. Your mother, she—”
“I can’t accept her money. We don’t... I don’t deserve it, we... She hates me and—”
“Miss Sanders, Abby,” Mr. Joyce said gently but with a firmness that made me look up at him. “Your mother was very clear that she doesn’t want to see you in prison. The fees have been taken care of. So let me help you.” I nodded slowly, and he pulled up a chair.
“First of all,” he said as he patted my hand, “I’m so sorry for your loss. I won’t ask how you’re feeling emotionally. I find the question abominable, given the circumstances.”
I half smiled. “Thank you.”
“But how are you physically?” he continued. “Do you need anything? Are you in pain?”
“My legs... They hurt.”
Mr. Joyce squeezed my hand. “Shall I ask the nurse to—”
“No,” I said loudly, then dropped my voice. “The pain makes it more real.”
He looked at me with his pale blue eyes, and I wondered what he was thinking.
“I never met Tom,” he said after a moment. “But your mother speaks highly of him.”
“Yes. He’s wonderful.” I bit the inside of my lip. “Was.”
Mr. Joyce opened his briefcase and balanced a thick, yellow legal pad on one thigh. “Let’s start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”
He made copious notes as I talked, gave me tissues for my tears and patted my hand when I sobbed so hard I couldn’t speak. He asked pertinent questions, probing as gently as I imagined he could, and never once, or so it seemed, passed judgment. It was like talking to a saint.
“Take your time, Abby,” he said softly, and on more than one occasion. “We have all the time in the world.”
I got to the end of my story. “So,” I said, exhaust
ed from the range of emotions I never thought would be possible for any human to go through in such a short time, “how long will I be in prison?”
Mr. Joyce patted my hand again. “There are no prior convictions. No history of alcoholism, correct?”
“No, none.”
“Well, a large part of the sentence will depend on how far over the alcohol limit you were. A custodial sentence is mandatory, I’m afraid.”
I swallowed. “What’s that?”
He cleared his throat. “Prison, potentially.” He held up a hand before I could say anything. “But under two years can be suspended. People tend to see this kind of situation with a more compassionate eye. After all, your only brother died in an accident you allegedly caused.”
“I caused it, Mr. Joyce. I’m guilty. You don’t need to tiptoe.”
“Right. Well, they’ll look at how you were driving, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“The police could determine your actions contributed to the accident in some way. If you were speeding, for example. But there’ll have to be some form of physical evidence showing you were at fault. Do you understand?”
“Other than the alcohol, you mean?” I said. “But what will the consequences be? Surely there’ll be some?”
“Well, I’ll try my best for a suspended sentence. You’ll likely lose your license for at least two years. Probably obligatory endorsement and compulsory extended test.” He must have seen my face. “It means you’ll have to re-sit your driving test.”
“I don’t care about that.”
He smiled. “Of course not. Look, I realize the whole situation is terribly frightening, but I’ll help you through this. You’re not alone.” Mr. Joyce ran a hand through his thick hair. “It’ll take a few months to get this sorted out, hopefully no more than a year. But we’ll get there.” He stood up. “Is there anything else I can do for you now?”
“No. But thank you.”
Mr. Joyce smiled. “It was nice to meet you, Abby. I only wish the reasons were different.”
He held out his hand. It felt soft, warm, and I wanted to keep on holding it, snuggle up in his palm, ask him to please keep me safe for a little while longer, but it was time to let go.
* * *
Dr. Patel stood at the bottom of my bed when I woke up.
“How are you?” he said. “I hear you slept for hours and haven’t asked for more morphine.”
I yawned and rubbed my eyes. “What time is it?”
“Twenty past ten.” When I frowned he added, “Sunday morning.”
A fleeting smile crossed my lips. Then a wave of nausea grabbed hold of my gut, turning it inside out and around and around. From nowhere, Diana Ross’s voice popped into my head, and all I could think of was Tom flicking me, telling me to stop singing that song. And then all I could see were images of The Muppets and I wanted to laugh and laugh, not because it was funny, but because it was so overwhelmingly sad.
Dr. Patel looked at me. “Abby, I’m going to arrange for you to see the hospital’s grief counselor as soon as possible. To talk.”
“Okay.”
Dr. Patel kept looking at me but remained silent until the spiky-haired nurse arrived. I let them move me around as they checked me over and looked at my legs, removing dressing, inspecting stitches, talking in medical terms I didn’t understand.
“Everything looks good,” Dr. Patel said as the nurse left, then he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Have you remembered anything more about the accident?”
“No. Everything’s still blank.”
“That may never change. But give yourself time.”
Time. That word. That theory again. If I gave myself enough time, everything would be okay. Time heals all wounds. How wrong. How impossibly wrong.
Once I was alone again, I attempted to swallow the food that had been left for me while I’d slept. The bread stuck to the roof of my mouth. The coffee tasted bitter. The yogurt bland. My eyes welled up, and I wanted to retch after every bite.
“Thank goodness you’re eating.” Liam came into the room holding the biggest bunch of flowers I’d ever seen. White lilies had always been my favorite. He set them down and hugged me. “How are you?”
“Tired of people asking me that question,” I snapped, then mumbled, “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I brought you some magazines. It’ll give you something to do.”
He kissed my forehead, and I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck, ask him to carry me away, take me somewhere safe. But then I looked at him, and all I could see were moments we’d shared with Tom. Playing darts or pool at the pub, them gently making fun of my music choices, or debating the best football teams. I’d told them more than once they should’ve been dating each other, and I was so happy I’d found someone who’d love my brother almost as much as I did.
“You shouldn’t have come,” I whispered. “I said I’d call.”
“I know, baby.” Liam stroked my cheek. “But it’s your birthday. I didn’t want you to be alone—”
“But that’s the point. I have to be.”
He clenched and unclenched his fists hanging by his sides. “Abby. I—”
“Listen.” I swallowed, then looked directly into his beautiful wolf eyes. “I want you to leave,” I said loudly, straightening my back.
“What—”
“And I don’t want you to come back.”
Liam frowned. “Why?”
“I can’t be with you.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He took a step back, the hurt etched in his face. “I’ll come and see you tomorrow. And the day after and—”
“No.” I took a deep breath. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want you to come back. I can’t be with you at all. Ever.”
He drew a sharp breath as the realization of what I was saying hit him. “You’re ending this? Now? You can’t.”
I wanted to scream no, but instead I said, “Yes, I can. I have to.”
“No, you don’t. You’re overreacting and—”
“Overreacting?” I shouted, inexplicably wanting to hurt him. “I can’t be around you,” I said, every syllable a dagger sure to pierce his heart. “Every time I see you I think of Tom. And he’s dead. The person I loved the most is gone because of me.” I balled my fists, and my voice dropped to a strained whisper. “Please. I don’t want to explain. I’m exhausted. But I can’t make you happy anymore. So go...just go.”
“But, Abby—”
“Go!”
Liam stared at me. “Fine. I’ll go. Give you some time. But I’m calling you tomorrow.”
“Don’t you get what I’m saying?” I was shouting again and I saw the blonde nurse pop her head in through the doorway. I shook my head at her, and she retreated. “I don’t need time. I need you to leave me alone. I hate myself, and you’re making it worse. Don’t make it worse. If you love me, then go.”
Liam stuck his hands in his pockets, opened his mouth to say something, but he must have thought better of it, because he suddenly turned and walked away.
As I pulled the blankets up to my neck I kept my eyes shut tight. This was the way it had to be. I knew that as my body healed, Liam’s compassion would turn into resentment, hatred and then, worst of all, indifference. And I couldn’t bear to see the ugly transformation begin.
NOW
ABBY
WITH OVER AN hour to spare, I’d set the table. Nate took over the kitchen duties, so I fled upstairs to shower. After completely redoing my makeup and fussing over my hair, I changed into the long blue dress with the plunging neckline I knew showed off my figure. I avoided looking at myself in the mirror for too long. I didn’t want to stare at the person pretending the effort was exclusively for her husband.
When the doorbell rang, the necklace I’d been trying to put
on slipped through my fingers and landed on the carpet with a dull thud.
“Can you get the door, Sarah?” I heard Nate call out.
“No problem, Dad,” she yelled back, her footsteps going toward the front of the house.
If I’d asked her she’d likely have answered, “In a minute” or “I’m reading”—or perhaps she wouldn’t have responded at all. There was no denying her clear preference for Nate over me, though I supposed that shouldn’t be much of a surprise, particularly when the little voice in my head reminded me about how I’d betrayed Sarah by reading her diary.
Muffled voices and laughter traveled up the stairs. Although it was time for me to go downstairs, my feet were glued to the floor. I looked at myself properly in the mirror, taking in the low-cut dress that perfectly framed my cleavage and my toned arms. I swallowed. Shaking my head, I changed back into my jeans, pulled on a white T-shirt, and rubbed the blusher off my cheeks with the back of my hand.
“Abby?” Nate stood in the bedroom doorway. “Are you okay?”
I jumped and turned around. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“You coming?” He paused. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
Nate walked over and put his arms around me, pulling me closer as I tried not to bristle. “You’ll have to do better than that. What’s going on?”
“I told you. I don’t like him very much.”
“Well, they’re here now. Give him a chance, okay? And Nancy seems great. It’s just them for now. Zac will pop by later.” He took me by the hand and led me downstairs to the kitchen where Paul, Lynne, Nancy and Liam stood chatting to each other with the apparent ease of old friends. Nancy already had one of the twins balanced on her hip, gently rocking her.
Paul looked over. “There she is. We thought we’d lost you.”
I smiled but said nothing.
“Hi, Abby.” Nancy hugged me with her spare arm, and I know I bristled because she let go of me as if she’d scorched herself. “Thanks for having us over.” She smiled a bit too brightly. “It was lovely of Nate to ask, but are you sure it’s no trouble?”
When my eyes met Liam’s I didn’t need to force myself to look happy. I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d tried. I rubbed my hands together. “None at all. What can I get you to drink?”
The Neighbors Page 12