Saving April

by Sarah A. Denzil

  The girl has been crying. There are tear tracks down her cheeks, and red rings around her eyes. Her chin quivers as she moves away from me.

  “April, talk to me.”

  Slowly, she unfolds her arms from around her chest, and pulls up the sleeve of her shirt. I hear the sharp intake of my breath before I’m aware of making it. Along April’s upper arm is a series of deep blue bruises.

  “Who did this?” I say, in that same breathless voice.

  But she won’t answer me. She won’t speak at all. Another tear falls from her nose. She turns her head away.

  “Come into the house. I’ll make you a cup of tea and we can talk about this. You’re going to be all right, April. I promise. If you tell me everything, I’ll make sure you’re all right.” I realise now that I’m going to cry. The nausea has gone, but it has been replaced by a burning desire to burst into tears. I feel so… so… protective of this birdlike, vulnerable girl standing before me in my garden. I want to take her in and look after her. I want to beat Matt Mason black and blue for doing this to her.

  I reach out to touch her, to brush away one of her tears. But she jerks back. In mere moments she’s running away. Her hair stretches out behind her, black and glossy like a raven’s wing.

  “April,” I call, starting to run after her.

  But she’s gone.

  I rub my face with my hands, feeling numb and helpless. This can’t be it. This can’t be where I fail to save her. I have to do more. I rush back to the kitchen, pick up my mobile phone from the dining table, and punch in the number from the business card left to me by PC Baker.

  “Hello, is this PC Baker?” I ask when the phone is answered.

  “Speaking.”

  “It’s Hannah Abbott,” I say. I might be imagining things, but I could swear that I hear a sigh down the other end of the line. “Listen, I know I’ve rung you once already, but this is really important. April Mason has a series of bruises on her upper arm. The left one.”

  “How the bloody hell do you know that?” PC Baker sounds almost suspicious.

  “What? Well, I know because she showed me. She turned up in my garden and showed me her arm. I… I didn’t ask to see. She just showed me.”

  The man sighs again. “All right. I’ll be over there in less than ten minutes. Okay?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Laura

  The bang on the door is ominous. Neither I nor Matt move. He’s still staring at the closed curtains. I hesitate before going to the door. April was in the kitchen for a while. She came downstairs but I couldn’t look at her. She said she was going to make a snack and disappeared into the kitchen for a while. A few minutes ago she went back upstairs. None of us spoke as she went up the stairs.

  “If it’s that cow from across the street tell her to fuck off,” Matt says.

  “Don’t worry, I will,” I reply.

  I can’t believe Hannah. She let me sit there and talk about my problems while all the time she knew what April did, and she even called the police. She thought my daughter was in danger and she didn’t even tell me. What kind of a person does that? Then, to top it all off, she’s tried to ring me at least five times today. I have no idea what kind of narcissist thinks they can do that to another human being and then call for a chat.

  When I swing open the front door, my jaw almost hits the floor. Before the two police officers can speak, I hear myself saying. “The bitch called you again. I can’t believe it.”

  The man frowns, before examining me from top to bottom. “We had a call about a domestic disturbance. Can we come in please?”

  I step back from the door, allowing them to pass. The police officers are immediately roaming around the room, staring at everything—the walls, the carpet, the furniture. I know already that they’re searching for signs of a struggle. They’re checking to see if we’ve been physically fighting. The thought of them analysing our actions makes me feel sick.

  "How can I help you?" I ask. I realise that I look a mess. I glance quickly in the mirror and smooth my hair. There isn’t a bruise from where Matt slapped me. That’s one good thing.

  “I’m PC Ellis and this is my colleague PC Baker. Can we speak to your daughter April for a moment,” says the younger, female officer. She has one of those “approachable smiles” like a receptionist, or the girl who tries to nick your boyfriend from under your nose. I dislike her immediately.

  “Why?” I ask. I fold my arms across my chest and stand between them and the stairs.

  “The call was about your daughter, Mrs. Mason. We’re just following up. It won’t take a minute.” She speaks with a soft voice like she’s talking to a child and I hate it.

  I open my mouth to tell her where to go, but Matt must sense that I’m about to do something stupid, because he gets to his feet and stops me. “I’ll go and get her.” Then he says to me, “The sooner this is over and done with, the better.”

  PC Ellis continues to smile at me as Matt disappears up the stairs. I can see the sickly sympathy emanating from her patronising expression. I think she believes I’m some battered wife to be pitied. But she knows nothing about me and nothing about my family.

  I rake my fingers through my hair. Who am I kidding? My family is in tatters.

  “Are you all right?” she asks, coming closer to me. “Would you like to sit down and have a glass of water?”

  I shake my head. I want to turn time back. I want to go back a long way.

  Finally, April and Matt come back into the room. I shift my weight from one foot to the other. What has that crazy bitch said across the house?

  “Look, all right, we did have an argument,” I say before the questions begin. “I found out that you guys had been here before because April held a ridiculous sign up to the window. I was angry at April for what she did, but I didn’t hurt her. No one has hurt her. She’s acting out because we just moved here. That’s all it is. She’s a troubled child in general, but no one is hurting her. This is a safe home.” Matt places a hand on my arm and I stop speaking. I’d been rambling at a fast pace, but I didn’t realise it. I must seem like a hysterical, stupid woman to them.

  “April, do you remember me from a few days ago?” she asks in a voice more suited to talking to a toddler than a teenager.

  April nods.

  “You’re not in any trouble, okay? We just want to establish what has been happening here. We want to hear from you how you are. You can talk to us, okay?”

  “I’m fine,” April says. “I’m sorry about the sign.”

  “She is, she really is,” I add. Matt glares at me.

  “That’s good. We don’t mind about the sign, we just want to find out a bit more about you. Is there anything you’d like to tell us?”

  “She just said she was fine,” I reply through gritted teeth.

  “Can we see your arm?” the woman asks.

  What is this about her arm? My face flushes hot with embarrassment and fear. Why am I the last to know everything? Matt’s expression is impassive. If this is new to him, he doesn’t show it.

  April rolls up her sleeve and my heart drops when I see the bruises. There are at least two of them, and they’re very dark blue. I try to control my breathing, pretending that I’m not shocked to see the deep bruises on my daughter’s arm. But inside I’m crying. I’ve failed at being a mother.

  “How did you get those bruises, April?” the woman asks.

  “I fell down the steps into the garden,” April says. She doesn’t miss a beat with her answer. I could breathe a sigh of relief, but I can’t seem surprised, not now.

  “I saw the whole thing,” I say. “It was a real tumble. We didn’t have any steep steps at our last place. She’s lucky she didn’t bang her head. It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise. There’s no damage to the bone or the joint.”

  “Are you in the medical profession?” PC Baker asks this time.

  “No, but I made sure April could move her arm after the fall. And I checked in with NHS
Direct.”

  The officers assess me for a moment, narrowing their eyes. Then PC Ellis smiles, apparently satisfied with my explanation.

  “Look, this is all a huge mistake,” Matt says. “The woman across the street has some sort of obsession with us. She clearly has no life of her own, so she’s trying to ruin ours. She’s called Laura five times today, and sent her text messages. Show them your phone, love.”

  I pull my phone out of my trouser pocket and scroll down to the missed calls section. Hannah’s number features many times. The male officer jots down the number into his notepad.

  “She’s called the police on us twice now, and both times it’s been over nothing. No one else has a problem with us on the street. They don’t think we’re hurting April, it’s just her. You’ve no idea how hard it is to have someone accuse you of something so awful. She’s making our life hell. That’s why we keep arguing, because of her. It’s Hannah you need to talk to, not us. She’s a compulsive liar. She’s a writer, you know. She understands how to make up stories. I bet she gets them all confused in her head, everything gets embellished.” Matt is so impassioned that even I find myself siding with him.

  “If anyone was hurting April, I would know,” I say. “She’s my little girl and I would do anything to protect her.”

  The two police offers exchange a glance.

  “We’ll look into this for you,” PC Baker says with his mouth in a tight line.

  Chapter Twenty

  Hannah

  When the police come out of number 72, I know it’s all gone horribly wrong. I expected Matt Mason in handcuffs, but they leave alone. It’s Laura who shows them out. She watches them leave from the door, but as they’re getting into the patrol car, her gaze redirects to me. I’ve never seen anyone so angry before. Her narrowed eyes dagger me. I shrink back away from the window, my stomach like a washing machine.

  What am I going to do?

  The buzz from last night is wearing off, leaving me to contend with a dank, anxious reality. Even my house smells dirty; musty and mouldy, like the sweat leaving my body. I’m unwashed and greasy, wearing yesterday’s clothes, pacing the room like a tethered animal. They let him go. Now April has to live there with that monster. That cheating, lying, skeevy man.

  I gasp when the phone rings, wrenching me from the dark fog of my mind. I leap back and my heart thuds. I cross the room and grab the receiver.

  “Hello?” I say, my voice almost unsure of itself.

  “Hannah Abbott? This is PC Baker. We’re calling to ask you to come to the police station tomorrow morning. We’d like to talk to you about your allegations against Matthew and Laura Mason—”

  “Not Laura,” I say. “Just Matt. He’s hurting April, you have to believe me.”

  The officer sighs. "Miss Abbott, you must not contact the Masons anymore. We’ll talk to you in more depth tomorrow about this, but from now until then, you must not contact the Masons at all. Do you understand?”

  “Are you going to arrest Matt? Did you see the bruises on April’s arm?”

  “Yes, we saw the bruises,” he says, avoiding my first question.

  “And you’re not going to do anything about it?”

  “That’s not something I can discuss with you over the phone.” His tone is firm, to the point of patronising. “I need you to confirm that you will not contact the Masons. This is very important. I need to ensure that you were listening to me.”

  I’m taken aback. Not only have the police done nothing, they’ve called me and practically warned me from speaking to the Masons. They’re painting me as the villain.

  “Miss Abbott,” He repeats.

  “I will not contact them,” I say. I slam the phone down so hard I hope it made his ears ring.

  This is unbelievable. Not only has Matt Mason got away with what he’s done to that little girl, but his wife—and even the police—are supporting him. I reach for my phone to try Laura’s number again, maybe if I can reach her I can explain everything that has been happening. I could kick myself for not telling her when I had the chance. Now she doesn’t trust me. I put the phone down before dialling, thinking about the conversation with the police. Contacting the Masons wouldn’t solve anything.

  The dark fog of my anxiety swirls up from my toes. Every part of my body is tightly wound. I need something to help me calm down. Get through the next ten seconds. No, fuck off, I won’t. I’m not playing that game anymore. I stagger into the kitchen and pull bottles out of my kitchen cupboards. There has to be alcohol in here. The vodka is gone, but there must be an extra bottle I’ve forgotten about. Aha! I grasp my new saviour, an old bottle of whiskey given to me at one long ago Christmas. A ghost of my past.

  Whiskey is not my first choice of spirit. I almost spit it out when I take a swig, but then I swallow it down and the heat spreads through me, working out the knots that have tightened my chest for too long. This is the beginning of a new determination to stop the panic taking over my life. I refuse to be that timid woman afraid of the world. I will go out there and grasp it, with the help of my new friend—whiskey.

  There’s the sound of movement outside. I twist towards my kitchen window to see Edith in the garden staring open mouthed at the bottle of whiskey in my hand. I take another swig, maintaining eye contact, then I flip her the middle finger. Judgemental old bat. She has no idea what I’ve been going through. She has no idea who I am. I’m just the woman with nothing to her. I’m a mild inconvenience, with a car I won’t sell and a garden I won’t tend. A woman with no husband, no life, no child—that is not someone she can respect. To her generation my worth comes from how many kids I can pop out.

  I think of every judgemental look I’ve had when people realise my age and see no ring on my finger or child holding my hand. I take another swig. If only they knew the first thing about me.

  But now I have the chance to save a child, and what am I going to do about it? Am I going to sit back and let it happen?

  I haven’t eaten for hours, and I’ve had virtually no sleep, but I don’t think about any of that when I approach my front door. I don’t think about my mental state as I open the door, leaving my whiskey on the door step. I’m not thinking as I cross the road and pound on the Masons’ front door. But I do see April upstairs watching me. She waves once and I nod to her. Someone has to look out for her.

  Laura opens the door. She keeps the chain on so half her body is visible. For once she isn’t as pristine as usual. In fact, she’s almost haggard. There are bags beneath her eyes, and her hair is unruly, poking out from a messy ponytail. “You’re not welcome here. Come any closer and we’ll call the police.”

  “What does your husband do when you’re at work, Laura?” I say. “Where does he go? What does he do to April? Why is her arm bruised?”

  “How do you know about the bruises on her arm?” Laura asks through her gritted teeth.

  “She showed me,” I say. “She came to me and showed me because she needs help.”

  Laura shakes her head. “You’re crazy.”

  “Well, your husband is having an affair, did you know that?” I say.

  Laura’s face pales. “What are you talking about?”

  Now I know I’ve got her attention. Talk about her daughter and she doesn’t give a shit, but her husband having affair she cares about. “I saw him in the pub with a girl. And, do you know what? She can’t have been more than nineteen. She had dark hair and pale skin, just like your daughter. Your husband is sick.”

  I stagger back when Matt appears at the door. He unhooks the door chain and is out on the front step in an instant. I feel the eyes of the street behind me, watching the spectacle.

  “What are you accusing me of?” His eyes are wild. I’d forgotten how intimidatingly huge he was until he loomed over me making me feel like running away screaming.

  “I saw you with that girl. Then I came home, and April put a sign in her window asking me for help.”

  “I don’t know what you thought
you saw, but it’s a lie. You’re drunk, and you’re pathetic. Get the hell away from us and stay away.” He comes so close to me that I long to shrink away. But instead I hold my ground.

  “No,” I say, with tears in my eyes. “I’m not a drunk. I saw you. And I want to help your child. I want to keep her away from you.”

  Matt takes a step forward. “Get away from us.”

  “I will not.” I straighten my back. “You’re a liar and a cheat. I saw you slap your wife. What else have you done to them both? There’s more. That’s right, I know more about you than you realise.” I can’t help it, I grin. “I’m Amy Manford.”

  “Who the fuck is Amy Manford?” he says.

  “The seventeen-year-old girl you befriended on Facebook,” I say. “That was me. I pretended to be her.”

  “You’re mad,” he says. “You’re actually insane.” Matt shakes his head and pulls his fingers through his hair.

  It’s then that something snaps inside me. It’s the thought that he can go back to his life as though nothing has happened while I’m left alone with nothing. He doesn’t deserve a family. I would give anything, anything… and he hurts the family he has.

  It all happens so fast that I barely know what’s happening. I’m on his back, kicking and punching anything I can reach. Then Laura is flying at us both, her caramel hair flying in the wind. She screams at me, trying to pull me away. One of the doors opens from down the street and a man runs at me. He grabs me beneath the arm pits and drags me away, but I’m struggling against him. I break free and run at Matt again, knocking us both onto the tarmac. His hands are up, protecting his face. Two men lift me off him. And then the police sirens wail.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hannah

  There’s the crunch of metal and a spray of glass flies through the air. My face is punched by something pressurised before the glass lands over me. I’m dazed, but I know something is badly wrong. When I see the blood I start to scream, and I don’t stop.