by Emily Elgar
Or are you sorry for lying to protect him?
Then she moves again, so she’s above me, staring down at me. She’s strangely absent behind her eyes, like she’s temporarily walked away from herself. Her eyelid keeps pulsing; she’s concentrated. Even though I can’t move, I still freeze.
At the end of the ward, a man, a heavy-sounding man, shouts out numbers; he’s giving the new patient CPR. Through the high-pitch squeal of the alarms and the voices shouting orders, I hear a lower, crunchy sound, like he’s snapping twigs as the patient’s ribs break beneath him. I will one of them, someone, to turn away, to know what’s happening here.
Charlotte hangs her head forward.
‘I’m sorry you heard me, Frank,’ she says again. She speaks in a hissed whisper that finds its mark quicker than normal speech. ‘But you have a daughter. You know how hard you’ll fight to protect your child. You’d do the same if you had to, Frank. You’d do the same.’
Time seems to yawn, stretching out before me. I don’t hear the noise from the new patient’s drama any more, or the shouts from the people told to save her. I keep my eyes steady, unflinching. Her hand shakes as she starts twisting the valve on my tracheotomy; my stomach crawls and writhes like it’s full of maggots.
No, no Jesus, no.
My throat starts making an unnatural gurgling sound, like water being sucked down a drain.
Please, please, Charlotte.
Then, suddenly, there’s no breath, no noisy rattle from my chest, and it’s a novelty until my lungs seize in panic. My breath has disappeared. I’ve been still for months but this is different; it’s an unnatural kind of still, like a wave that’s suddenly frozen.
I don’t want to go like this.
Boiling molten metal is poured into my lungs, and then they harden.
I was going to tell Alice everything,
Charlotte is cowering in the corner by my chair, her hands raised to her mouth like she’s trying to muffle a scream.
I was going to make Lucy proud.
Tears flow freely from her eyes, but she keeps them fixed on my face. My vision starts to blur, colours run like wet paint, which is a relief; I don’t want her face to be the one I take with me.
I was going to walk out of here one day, next to Lucy.
Everything melts to silence; even the weird orchestra of outraged alarms falls away to peace.
Sorry, Luce, I let you down again. I’m so sorry.
Lucy must have known I need her because she comes running up to my bed.
Ah, Luce, there you are!
She’s a little girl again, her fringe poking out underneath one of my dad’s old flat caps. She’s missing her front two teeth and her cheeks are flushed with fresh air and she laughs as she takes my hand and pulls me up. We’re not in the hospital any more; we’re on the plane again but this time she doesn’t want me to sit back down in my seat. She wants me to jump; she wants me to jump out of the plane with her. I tell her she’s crazy, but as I look at the clouds below I think what a relief it would be to let go, and I know it’s the right thing, the only thing I can do. Lucy wriggles her little hand in mine. She turns to me, her eyes dance with joy, and she laughs. ‘Ready, Dad?’
And we fall.
24
Cassie
Maisie’s whole body trembles with adrenalin. She leaps with every distant bang and fizz from the fireworks, as if she’s terrified of the New Year itself, fearful of the changes it may bring.
Cassie wants to pack for the Isle of Wight before Jack gets home. She doesn’t know how long she has so she only pauses to soothe the little dog briefly. She looks at her phone; it’s after 1 a.m. already. She took her time walking home, breathing in the rich night. The darkness felt nourishing; she felt like she could walk for ever, at last in tune with the earth beneath her. She pulls her mum’s old leather bag out of the spare room cupboard; its familiar animal smell puffs up to meet her. She’ll only take what she needs for a week or so. She opens drawers and lays out a couple of pairs of jeans, underwear, jumpers and T-shirts. She puts her mum’s photo album and diaries into the bottom of the bag; maybe she and Marcus can look through them together. Her wash bag can wait until early tomorrow morning, just in case Jack comes into the bathroom and notices her things are missing. She doesn’t want to risk raising the alarm tonight. That would only complicate things, muddy her decision with shouting and tears, when practical action is so much clearer, so much easier. In spite of everything, she wants to minimise the hurt she causes Jack. She doesn’t think he’s a bad man, not really. He’s just misguided, and so was she.
Cassie concentrates.
What about the shed? She thinks of her paints, smeary and twisted in their tubes, her paintbrushes stiff from lack of care. She’ll treat herself to some new ones in a day or two. She’ll leave with Maisie early in the morning, as soon as it’s light. If all goes to plan, she won’t even have to see Jack. She could be at Marcus’s house by lunchtime.
The bag is only half full. She could take so much more but she likes the idea of travelling light, leaving with just the essentials. She shoves the bag under her bed. Good. What next?
She picks through her jewellery box until she finds her mum’s old turquoise ring. Her engagement and wedding rings seem to suck onto her finger, like they don’t want to leave her. She twists her finger to get them off and doesn’t pause as she drops them into her jewellery box. Let Jack find them and realise how serious this is. Her mum’s turquoise ring is heavier on her finger, the metal cooler, more substantial and sure of itself than Jack’s thin rings. It feels right.
How is she going to let Jack know she’s going away for a while? Depending on how hungover he is, he probably won’t get up until about 10 a.m. and, after checking the shed, and finding it empty, he’d call Cassie and then probably Jonny. Jonny’s already involved enough as it is. She can’t expect him to be the one to tell Jack she’s gone away; he’d have to bear the brunt of Jack’s anger, and that wouldn’t be fair. Text is far too dismissive, too casual. Jack deserves more than that. It’ll have to be a letter.
She changes out of her scratchy, synthetic dress and into pyjamas. She coaxes Maisie out from under the bed where she shakes, cowed and vulnerable, even though the bangs from the fireworks have at last quietened. Downstairs is murky; the furniture and their possessions seem to spy on her like guards. She turns on a lamp, flicks the kettle and tears a page out of the book they used for notes to their cleaner, scrawled reminders to buy washing liquid and bin liners. She finds a black pen and starts writing. She doesn’t plan it; she just lets the words come. They follow her satisfyingly practical mood: Jack, I’m going away for a while. I don’t know how long. I need space. Please don’t call or look for me. I’ll be in touch when I’m ready. C.
She pours boiling water over a camomile tea bag; she’ll keep the letter with her tonight and leave it on the table early in the morning for Jack to find when she’s already left. She’s about to turn the light off and go upstairs when, from outside, a yellow light pools around the kitchen, as though it’s searching for something. For a mad moment, Cassie thinks it’s someone outside with a torch, Jonny maybe, come to check on her, before she hears the low crunch of wheels grinding against tiny pebbles and she knows the light isn’t from a torch, it’s from car headlights. Shit. Is Jack home so early? If she crept upstairs now, she could get into bed, pretend to be asleep and avoid him altogether. She slaps her hand against her leg and calls ‘Maisie’ but the little dog has disappeared again, her stubby tail poking out from under the sofa. Cassie will have to pull her out by the collar to get them both upstairs in time, but it’s too late. There are a few muffled words, the slam of a car door, pebbles chomping against each other as the cab turns around, and then the metallic chatter of a key in the lock. Cassie feels exposed. She wishes she could hide like Maisie, crawl under the sofa. Instead she shoves the letter into her pyjama pocket and picks up her tea as the door opens. Her heart eases as Charlotte walks through t
he front door.
‘Charlotte, what are you doing here?’ Cassie focuses on keeping her voice light. ‘I thought you were Jack.’ Charlotte moves slowly, glinting in her sequin dress as she hangs her black coat up on one of the pegs by the door, and, through the window, Cassie watches the cab as it indicates out of the drive. Why is she here?
Charlotte takes off her kitten heels by the door. She’s pulling off her gloves as she enters the kitchen; she looks small suddenly, like a child playing dress-up in her mum’s sparkly dress. She looks up at Cassie briefly and, seeing her mug, says, ‘Oh, you couldn’t make me one of those, could you, Cas?’
Cassie doesn’t move. Instead she says, ‘Sorry, Charlotte, I was just about to go up to bed actually.’
But Charlotte ignores her, and sits at the table with a small exhale, before she says, ‘I just need to talk with you for a few minutes. You left early tonight. Jack was looking for you for ages.’
‘I just wasn’t in the mood, that’s all, and I was worried about Maisie with all the noise.’
Charlotte looks up at Cassie and then she looks at the chair opposite her.
‘Come on, Cas,’ she says, ‘I wouldn’t be here at this time unless it was important.’
Cassie moves into the kitchen. They don’t talk as Cassie makes Charlotte a cup of herbal tea.
Even though she strains to be alone again, Cassie decides she doesn’t want Charlotte to worry, so she puts the tea in front of her mother-in-law and lowers herself into the chair opposite Charlotte. She’ll listen to her for a few minutes, gulp back her tea, and in ten minutes she’ll be upstairs, checking over her bag one last time before she can get into bed and wait for the sun to rise.
But first, she has to deal with Charlotte, who rests her palms on the table and is staring at Cassie as though she’s seeing her for the first time.
‘Whatever is going on has to stop, Cassie.’
Cassie feels a frown crest over her whole face.
‘Please, Cassie, be respectful. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’ve seen you and Jonny together. I saw you all those months ago at the food festival, the way he looked at you. I didn’t think anything had happened then, but I could see he wanted it to; that’s why I told you about Mike. I thought you’d understand. I didn’t tell you just for the sake of it. I was warning you to be careful.’
Cassie stares at Charlotte’s mouth, too stunned to say anything herself, so Charlotte keeps talking.
‘I wanted you to see how hard I’d worked to protect Jack, the sacrifices I’ve made so Jack could keep believing his dead dad was this hero, this perfect man. I wanted you to hear it from me; I thought it’d make you think, stop you from wrecking your marriage. Ever since you lost the baby, you’ve been different. That was understandable at first, but now I see you and Jonny, messing around like you did before.’ She looks up sharply at Cassie as she says, ‘I won’t let you destroy my son.’
Cassie almost laughs in outrage.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t listen to this.’ Cassie shakes her head, stands up from her chair, but Charlotte is too fast. She grabs Cassie’s wrist.
‘Don’t you ignore me.’
Cassie wriggles her wrist away from her mother-in-law and slaps her hand down hard on the surface of the table.
‘Charlotte, you’re so blinkered! You still think it’s me having the affair? Talk to Jack, ask him what’s really been going on. I’ve had enough. I’m going to bed.’
She whistles for Maisie who creeps out from under the sofa and trots, head down, not making eye contact, towards Cassie. Maisie trembles by Cassie’s feet. She looks like she’s been scolded. Cassie bends to rest her hand on Maisie’s head; it’s like she’s a completely different dog, shell-shocked and terrified of life. Cassie looks at the turquoise ring on her finger, heavy on Maisie’s head and she realises that if she leaves like this, no matter what she did, Charlotte would always blame her. She’d be blamed if their marriage broke up, if their child grew up in two homes. She thinks of the baby, twelve weeks old; even if Cassie’s life here is over, she’s going to be inextricably linked to Charlotte and Jack forever. Charlotte needs to know the truth. She can’t be complicit anymore, protecting Charlotte from the truth about Jack and protecting Jack from the truth about Mike. She turns back to Charlotte who is sitting back at the table, her hands wrapped around her mug, her gaze still fixed firmly on Cassie.
‘Charlotte, it was Jack who had an affair, not me. It was Jack and my friend Nicky. I saw them.’
Charlotte’s eyes flash at Cassie; something phantasmic passes behind them, like the truth has roused something dormant within Charlotte, and it doesn’t like what it hears.
‘You’re lying. You’re lying to protect yourself.’ Charlotte stands suddenly. She leans forward over the table, opposite Cassie. Maisie, smelling tension, creeps around the door and curls herself gingerly in a little ‘u’ shape at the bottom of the stairs. Charlotte looks different to Cassie suddenly; where she once saw strength she now sees something tremulous and unpredictable resting behind her eyes. It feels familiar somehow; she’s seen it before in someone else.
‘Charlotte, I think you should tell Jack about Mike, about his affairs. I think it’s only fair he knows. He’s a grown man now, not a little boy.’ More gently she adds, ‘He’d be angry at first, but then he’d calm down and be honest with himself. I think he already has suspicions.’
Charlotte’s eyes snap up to Cassie.
‘You told him?’
‘No, no, I swear I didn’t tell him anything.’ Cassie raises her hands to her mother-in-law, baring her palms, trying to calm her.
Charlotte comes up close to Cassie; her words make Cassie’s hair sway.
‘If you told him any of it, Cassie, what I told you in confidence, I … I …’
Charlotte’s words are swallowed by her anger; she can’t finish her sentence, just like Jack.
After a pause she shouts, ‘I just want to protect my son!’
‘Well, I think it’s time to stop.’ Cassie breaks the gaze first. Anger crackles between them, making it harder to breathe; she feels her heart bounce in her chest.
Charlotte is still staring, her gaze fixed on Cassie across the table.
‘What do you think all this is going to achieve, Cassie, really?’
‘I …’ Cassie pauses, and in the pause she thinks she might tell Charlotte about the baby, tell her that she wants her child to grow up in the truth, like she did, even when the truth isn’t pretty, but instead she says, ‘I’m going to go and stay with Jonny tonight.’
Charlotte’s face twists again, but Cassie raises her hands once more to her mother-in-law and says, ‘You can think what you like, Charlotte, I don’t give a shit any more.’ The truth of her words chimes delicious and real through her whole body. She doesn’t care! Suddenly she can’t wait to be a memory here. She turns towards the stairs. Maisie jumps up, startled by all the unexpected movement, and follows Cassie up the stairs. As Cassie runs away she hears a sharp crack as Charlotte’s mug crashes against the kitchen wall.
The room spins around Cassie as she grabs, unseeing, at the things she was going to take in the morning. Toothbrush, face moisturiser … she tips them into her bag. She remembers the letter she wrote to Jack, and shoves it in the inside pocket of the leather bag. She can’t leave it here any more; she doesn’t want Charlotte reading it. She takes off her pyjamas and grabs the jeans she wears for painting and pulls on a jumper, simultaneously wiggling her feet into her old Converse. She tries to text Jonny that she’s coming to his now, but her reception has dropped off again. She’ll text him on the walk over. She knows she needs to move fast, before her heart slows and her resolve trickles away. Everything looks different again, the colours and banal everyday shapes of the room she used to share with Jack made new and bright by her decision to leave now, right now. Suddenly it feels like someone else’s bedroom, a stranger’s space. Her body feels indestructible, oiled with strength. She�
�s shoving Maisie’s lead and treats into the bag when she hears the back door slam. It makes her freeze immediately, her ears strain for any other noise. She thinks she can just about hear the clock in the kitchen, but there’s nothing else. The cottage is completely silent. She’s gone, Charlotte’s left; she must have decided to walk home!
The zip seems to laugh in relief as she pulls the bag closed in one long tug and hauls it over her shoulder. Maisie hovers by her ankles as Cassie walks out onto the landing where they stop to listen again at the top of the stairs. There’s nothing. The quiet has the complete quality of no other living, breathing thing filling the space.
Her feet seem to echo as she walks down the stairs. Charlotte went out the back door; she always takes the footpath across the fields and over the little bridge to meet up with the village path that leads to her house. She’ll be home in ten minutes. Jonny’s place, thank god, is in the other direction, along the lane. Charlotte’s left the lights on in the kitchen; a large wet mark drips down the white wall opposite the kitchen table. Cassie steps over the broken porcelain and tries not to think about Jack coming home drunk and cutting himself on the shards. She opens the drawer where they keep all the miscellaneous home stuff; she searches through a stew of old chargers, lost pieces of string and instruction manuals. The torch is missing. Fuck it. She’s got Maisie and the torch on her phone. They know the route well; they’ll be fine. She needs to leave now before her excitement turns into fear and fogs her clarity. Her eyes dart around the kitchen one last time before she sees a flash of blue and walks over to the simple silver frame.
Maisie barks, thinking the sound of the glass smashing against the kitchen island is another firework. Cassie shakes the shards to the floor like tears before she carefully plucks the photo away from the smashed frame. She looks at April’s face, in her bright-blue head scarf. She looks like she’s smiling encouragement at Cassie, urging her on, and as she shoves the photo into her pocket, she knows that tonight her mum would be proud of her.