by Harriet Tyce
I try to make eye contact with her, fail. I want to try and engage with Julia properly, get her attention, give her reassurance, but she’s too much on edge.
“I know you haven’t,” I say. “Of course you haven’t done anything to harm her.”
“I know they’re going to blame me for everything. That’s why they won’t let me see her,” Julia continues, as if I haven’t spoken.
“I thought that was because your ex is there?”
Now she looks at me, eyes blazing.
“That’s what they say the reason is. But they’d say anything, wouldn’t they?”
“I think you’re completely overdone. You’re exhausted. You need some food, a bath and a proper night’s sleep.”
Julia keeps staring at me, holding my gaze for so long that my eyes start to water. I blink and look away. Julia laughs, a harsh sound that holds no amusement in it.
“Any minute now you’ll make me a cup of tea,” she says.
I open my mouth, shut it. Open it again. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can say that’ll be of any help. But if you can’t be at the hospital, wouldn’t it make sense to get some rest? You must be exhausted.”
“I am exhausted,” Julia says. “Completely exhausted.”
“You could stay here if you want. Robin is away tonight. It wouldn’t be any trouble.”
Julia leans back, her expression softer.
“That’s very kind,” she says with a smile. “I wouldn’t want to impose, though. I’ll go home—it’s for the best. Where’s she gone?”
“With Nicole and Pippa. They’ve gone to the seaside for the weekend.”
Something shifts in Julia’s face, the warmth gone, as if a light has been flicked off behind her eyes. But it’s only for a second, for such a short time that I wonder if I’ve imagined it, as Julia turns to me, smiling once more.
“You’ve been very kind to me,” Julia says. “I’m sorry we didn’t get off to the best start. Once Daisy is out of hospital, I hope that we’ll become much closer.”
“So do I. And I really hope that’s soon. How is she doing now? Has there been any improvement?”
Darkness reappears in Julia’s eyes, a distance reopening between us. For a moment she looks entirely bereft.
“I don’t know,” she says. “I just don’t know. They say they’re doing everything they can, but…”
It’s the end of the conversation. Julia’s shut down, as if she came here under some kind of spell, which has now broken.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come,” she says. “I don’t quite know what I was thinking. I’m going to go home. You’re right, I should get some rest. And have a bath.”
She gets up and gives me a quick hug, walks out of the kitchen before I even have a chance to stand up.
“Your ring?” I call out. She comes back. I put it in her hand, and she looks at it.
“I bought this to cheer myself up,” she says. “Tiffany. My favorite. Funny how little it means now.” She pushes it into her pocket and strides out. I call goodbye, but I hear the front door shut behind her.
After sitting for a moment, trying to work out what the purpose of the visit has been, what’s actually going on, I give up and return to my phone. It’s Andrew I want to find out about. I flick quickly through the messages from Jeremy, deleting them before reading after a quick glance ascertains that they’re all variants on sorry, got carried away. He certainly did.
At that moment a text comes through from Nicole.
Robin has left her phone behind, in case you were trying to text her. She noticed earlier but I forgot to tell you—sorry if you’ve been trying to get hold of her Nxx.
A jolt goes through me. Despite missing Robin so much, it hadn’t even occurred to me to text. I’m just not used to her having a phone. I run upstairs to look and sure enough, it’s sitting on the corner of a shelf, battery long drained. A bittersweet feeling runs through me. It won’t be long before Robin has to be surgically removed from her phone, like other teenagers I see on the bus, engrossed in their little screens. At least Robin’s still a child at heart, no matter how grown up she sometimes seems.
I go back downstairs and pick up my phone to text Nicole, but instead I’m overwhelmed by an urge for human connection, a word with Robin. I ring Nicole. She replies after a couple of rings but sounds distracted, her answers to my questions short, although she’s friendly. The conversation doesn’t last long.
“I’d better go,” Nicole says. “I need to sort out some food for the girls.”
“How are they doing? Can I have a word with Robin?”
“They’re out playing on the beach at the moment,” Nicole says, “but I’ll send some photos later. They’ve had a great afternoon. I think they’re really happy.”
“That’s brilliant,” I say. “You know, my meeting has actually finished. I could always come up too?”
“That would be great,” Nicole says. “It’s quite fiddly to get to without a car, though. There isn’t a station in the town.”
“Oh, right. I guess I could hire a car, but…”
“Why don’t you have a relaxing evening and then you’ll see Robin tomorrow. We can arrange a trip another time.”
“OK.” I’m about to tell her about Julia’s visit, how stressed she was, but Nicole has finished the call and I don’t have the energy to call her back and recount it all. I want to look online for information about Seacliff Securities, find out what the hell is going on.
Much later that evening, when I’m sitting on the sofa, still fighting my way without success through numerous internet searches, my phone beeps. It’s a message from Nicole, All tired out! it says. The words are attached to a photograph of Robin and Pippa asleep together on a gray sofa. They’re lying feet to each end, their heads meeting in the middle as they share a big cushion as a pillow, blonde hair and brown entwined, cheeks flushed as if from running around outside. I zoom in on Robin’s face—it’s relaxed in sleep, corners of her mouth lifted as if in a smile. A tension eases in my chest. At least she’s OK. That’s one less problem to worry about.
I make more efforts to find out what the hell is going on with Andrew, but the Reuters report is the only one I can find. It’s not being reported by any other news agency. I try the Seacliff Securities website, but it looks just like normal. The office number clicks through to an office-closed message, but given it’s a Saturday afternoon in New York, that’s not so unusual. I think about calling round some of Andrew’s colleagues, but I can’t bring myself to do it, break the silence of months to ask… to ask what, exactly? Who has been arrested? Is it a fraudulent organization? It’s too much to comprehend.
I decide to go upstairs, hoping there might be more information available in the morning. I close up the house, check the front door is double locked before I finally get into bed. I look at the photo of Robin for a long time before falling into a fitful sleep, filled with fleeting visions of her running away from me along a rocky shore, long brown hair blown out behind her in the wind.
46
I jerk awake from a nightmare in the early morning, rushing through to Robin’s room to check on her before remembering that she’s not here. I return to bed, problems pushing into my mind, jostling out any benefit from my brief sleep.
Andrew. Has he been arrested? If not, where is he? And what the hell is the story with Seacliff and the Ponzi scheme? If he has been involved in something like this, it makes perfect sense, providing an explanation for his behavior over the last while. But I don’t know how to deal with the idea that he might have committed a criminal offense. I might be separated from him, but he’s still Robin’s dad. It’s unthinkable.
Then Jeremy. The book. I’m going to have to do something about it, though I don’t know what. Again, I remind myself that I need to speak to the Bar Council advice line and ask for their opinion on it. Also think about reporting Barbara for her unethical conduct. I should never have gone to his flat in the first place.
Robin’s got homesick. Julia came up for the evening, but she’s driving back with Robin first thing this morning. She’ll drop her with you. Hope that’s ok Nxx
I call Nicole immediately, who picks up almost as quickly.
“What happened?” I say. I’m alert. Not anxious, but alert.
“Oh, poor Robin. She had a terrible nightmare, woke up screaming and crying. Inconsolable. She just wanted you. We calmed her down, gave her a drink. Julia said she’d bring her back this morning, and then we let her get back to sleep.”
“What time did they leave?” I’m trying to stay calm but I can feel my heart rate rising, memories still haunting me of the last time I didn’t know where Robin was, those awful hours.
“About seven,” Nicole says. “So they should be with you pretty soon.”
“I didn’t realize Julia was going to visit. She didn’t mention it yesterday.”
“Oh yes, she mentioned she’d seen you. Well, you know how upset she was. She got back to her house and she just couldn’t cope with being there on her own, without Daisy, not being able to go into hospital and see her, even. So she thought it would help to come up to us, see the sea. I really wanted to say no, but she insisted.”
“I wish you’d asked me before sending Robin off with her,” I say.
“I did message. But Robin was so excited about coming home…”
I feel the reproach in Nicole’s words. Robin can’t even cope with one night away. She’s disturbed everyone. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I thought she’d like it. I suppose it all got too much for her.”
“Well, it’s as well that Julia was here.”
“Thank you for having her,” I say, and the conversation ends. As soon as I’ve cut the call to Nicole, I phone Julia’s mobile. There’s no reply. I try again, and still it rings out. Nothing to worry about, though, I reason. Julia’s driving. Maybe it’s not hooked up to hands-free. She’s got someone else’s child in the car with her—she’s bound to be driving carefully, more carefully than usual. She won’t want the distraction of the call.
It’s not even eight yet. I lie back down in bed and my eyes grow heavy again. I fall asleep, my phone still in my hand until another nightmare pulls me from sleep just after half past nine, dread looming over me, horror close.
No call from Julia. No sign of them. Where the fuck are they?
I put the phone down, make coffee, go through to the bathroom and shower. When I flush the loo, the handle comes off in my hand, the decrepit plumbing giving up the ghost at last, and in frustration I throw it at the wall, in the direction of the bathroom sink. It clips the mirror over the sink with enough force that it breaks it, the crack spreading.
I’m not superstitious, but I look at the damage with dread, tentacles of it uncoiling through my gut. I know I’m being stupid. There’s nothing to worry about. There’s bound to be a good explanation for everything. I need to distract myself, stop being hysterical. Too much pressure. I’m under too much pressure.
Moving with sudden decision, I go downstairs and find a roll of bin bags. I’m going to clear up my old bedroom, put all the debris into the rubbish and start again, rip out all of the traces of Lydia’s spite and fury. This is Robin’s home now, and I’m going to make it perfect. It’s time to stop putting it off.
Taking a deep breath, I head upstairs again and into the room, facing the chaos head on. I open up the first bin bag, shovel in scraps of paper and shreds of fabric, the ruins of all my childhood. Every now and again I find a page that’s escaped destruction, a paragraph from a much-loved book. I’m not lingering over it, though, filling one bag, then the next. I’m in a frenzy, anger at Jeremy, at Andrew, worry about Robin, and underneath it all, a drumbeat of defiance against my mother. Fuck you fuck you fuck you as I scoop and bag, scoop and bag. I’m not like you; I love my daughter. I take your hatred of me and I spit on it. Fuck you.
This frenzy soon fades. I might have started off immune to the hostility that pulses in the room, but soon enough it beats me down.
It’s nearly ten. Julia hasn’t called back. I still don’t know where Robin is. I go back downstairs and pace from room to room. Waiting. And as I wait, the word Tiffany comes into my head, a pale blue box, a bird crawling with maggots. A cold hand grips my guts.
Part 2
SUNDAY, 1:00 P.M.
I stumble back to the bus stop from Julia’s house, knees and head sore from where I fell over. I know my head is still bleeding but I don’t care. Adrenaline has numbed me. The shock will hit at some point, but now I welcome the pain, the sting of grazes, distracting me from the darkness in my head. My imagination is going deeper into places I’ve never wanted to visit, my fears spiraling out of control.
I should be at home, in case Robin has somehow made it there. There’s no point pacing the streets when I don’t have the first idea where my daughter might be. I need to sit down, take stock, speak properly to the police.
At the thought of the police, the memory of my earlier phone call crashes into me, my hysteria. They’ll have me marked down as a troublemaker, a time waster. It’ll be hard to get them to take anything I say seriously.
Do I even know what Robin was wearing yesterday? I need to put a description together for the police, that’s for certain. I can see it now.
MISSING: Ten-year-old girl, 4 ft 9 inches tall with shoulder-length brown hair, blue eyes. Robin was last seen wearing…
What? What was she wearing? I wasn’t with her—how can I know? It’s not Robin anyway, the description so cold and two-dimensional. It says nothing of the child she really is, warm, loving. And brave. So brave. She’s dealt with this move across the Atlantic, from everything that was known, familiar, all her friends at the school where she was so at home. She’s negotiated our separation, all the weeks of not seeing her dad, the move to London, the new school, trying to make new friends, the state of the old house… I’ve put Robin through so much. I don’t even want to think about what’s blowing up with Andrew.
It’s going to be different now. As soon as Robin is home again, back with me, it’s going to change. I’m getting my house in order.
Determination replaces my despair. Enough wallowing now. Time to go home and sort this shit out.
I’m nearly at the bus stop when I hear a woman calling.
“Sadie, Sadie!”
It’s Jessica. She’s dressed in running kit, her cheeks flushed. I want to ignore her, but she’s coming closer, hand outstretched.
“I thought it was you,” she says, taking hold of me by the shoulder. I stiffen, her touch unwelcome.
“I was on my way home.”
“Over this way for coffee with someone?” Jessica says, her eyes beady with curiosity.
“Something like that,” I say. “Anyway, I’d best be off.” I try shaking Jessica’s hand off but she takes a closer hold of my shoulder.
“Is everything all right? You don’t look very well.”
I take a moment to reply, unwilling to show her any weakness, putting my chin up against her beady gaze. “I had a fall,” I say, gesturing at the mud on the knees of my jeans. “Tripped over a paving stone.”
“Ah, OK. Popping in to see Julia for coffee, maybe? Or Nicole?”
Her face is hungry. I didn’t think about the effect my new-found friendship with the women would have. Jessica’s jealous. I can’t even begin to deal with that right now.
“I popped over to see Julia, but she wasn’t there.”
“Well, she’s got quite a lot on her plate at the moment,” Jessica says, the tip of her tongue darting out, moistening the corners of her mouth. She leans forward toward me. “I know she’s terribly popular, but she does seem to attract a lot of bad luck. That poor daughter of hers…”
I don’t want to engage at all. I want to walk away as fast as I can from this woman, her face mor
e and more predatory. But I can’t help myself. I want to know what she means.
“Bad luck?” I say, my voice quiet. So quiet I’m not even sure Jessica will hear me. But she’s focused so avidly on me, she doesn’t miss a word.
“Bad luck. At least, that’s what some people might call it. That little girl on the edge of death in hospital. They’re saying she might have been drugging her?” Jessica hisses. I feel the woman’s breath on my cheek, warm and stale, unclean. I try to move backward but the claw tightens. “And of course, there was that other little girl, Zoe. You must have heard about that?”
“I know there was an accident,” I say. “What does that have to do with Julia?”
“Well, she was there, of course. Didn’t you know?”
“Where?”
“On holiday with Zoe’s family. When it happened. When Zoe drowned.”
A jolt of shock passes straight through me. My face twitches.
“Oh dear,” Jessica says, “you really do look pale, Sadie. I don’t see why it should come as a shock, though. Where Julia is, bad things happen. You must have heard the stories at school.”
I look at her in complete surprise, not even trying to hide it. “School? No, nothing. I don’t remember a thing.”
“About how much of a bully she was? It was legendary.”
“I never heard a word. Bear in mind she was a couple of years below me, though—I wouldn’t know. My friend says that she heard Julia was bullied a lot.”
Jessica starts laughing, a sound of genuine mirth. She has to take her hand off my shoulder to wipe her eyes, and I step back. I want to get away from her.
“Your friend is wrong,” she says. “Your friend is very wrong indeed. She was a complete bitch. She and her cronies bullied one girl so badly she left—I was friends with her little sister.”
“How come you keep sucking up to her now, then? If she’s so awful?” I say.
The predatory expression fades from Jessica’s face, her lips tightening. She wraps her arms around herself, warming herself against the memories.