It’s impossible to be here and not to think about Harriet.
I know she isn’t there, I know she is in hospital, and that the noise I just heard came from downstairs or outside, not next door.
I feel her presence anyway.
I shuffle up to the wall, close, still sitting down. My hand rests on my protruding belly.
And I lean my head gently against the wall.
Epilogue
Present
I sit, listening to the drip, drip, drip from a shower that only runs for a short time to prevent me from trying to drown myself in it.
There is a loud, unidentified bang at the other end of the corridor. A sob that peaks at my door and then peters out like a siren as it moves further away towards its final destination.
I slam my fist down on the gnarly carpet in frustration. Pick at a thread. Trace the initial that is in my mind: A. A.
I press my ear against the hospital wall again, so hard this time that it hurts. But since when did pain bother me?
Somehow, I am back here. Through the wall is the only way, again, and it has been awfully convenient, my room being the one next to the waiting area. It is convenient, too, that he comes along with her when she visits, every single time.
I listen to his voice, try to make out the words and garner some clues. Because whatever he says, is he genuinely happy? Is she? I have the experience to know now that what they project may not be the real picture. I know about the filters that people put in place, about the omissions, about the gaps that are there, if you look hard enough for them.
For Tom and Lexie, their fertility issues. For Naomi and Luke, their imperfections: a relationship that was no healthier or more stable than the one between Luke and me.
Another patient – suicidal, I think – screams loudly and I curse her for masking this conversation that I am trying so hard to tune into, as I do every time, to help build up my picture. Work out where the holes are that I can squeeze myself in between. Just because something doesn’t work once, doesn’t mean it won’t work the next time.
‘Shut up,’ I whisper. ‘Let me hear.’
But in this place, even my own head makes noise. A buzz that I am forced to listen to because I cannot drown it out with endless scrolls, messaging and updates. I am banned from the distractions, banned from the nothingness.
A notebook sits by my side and I flick through notes taken every time I have done this, every time I have listened in to what they say while they wait.
The notebook sits side by side with a special violence-free pen. A privilege, apparently, as I haven’t yet killed myself, despite weeks in this wailing, barren place.
Despite many of those weeks, unbeknown to my doctors, being medication-free, again. I glance down at my mattress, under which my latest lot of meds are hidden.
I hear a few more words as they wait patiently, him set to read the out-of-date magazines for an hour, her to come in here once again, holding out her biscuits and being my friend.
I flick again through the notebook. Archie, it says on it, over and over. I whisper it to myself, to test it out: this new name now, in my life and ready for its possibilities. Archie.
Acknowledgements
Before I start my acknowledgements, a warning: I haven’t been given a word count, I had a baby a few months ago and I’m still in shock that I have written a book, so this could get emotional. And long. It could get very long. In fact if it seems to come to an abrupt end, Avon probably changed their mind about the word count and decided that I needed one last edit. If I’ve missed anyone off, erm, that’ll be why too. There was a gushing paragraph about you in my original draft, honestly.
Firstly, thank you to my agent Diana Beaumont at Marjacq. I lucked out when Diana became my agent. Through The Wall would be a far worse book without Diana and her smart suggestions, notes and edits but, on a personal level, working with somebody who is so understanding and kind when you are juggling writing and parenting has been invaluable. There aren’t many people that, when they phone to tell you you have your first book deal, wouldn’t flinch that your response is ‘Just hold on one second while I whack on Paw Patrol and turn the bath water off.’ You made me feel like it wasn’t unprofessional, it was just reality and you’re right. Workplaces in 2019: you should all try to be more Diana Beaumont.
Thanks also to everybody else at Marjacq, but especially Leah Middleton for your early input and Sandra Sawicka for your eternal patience in explaining complicated foreign tax forms to me. TTW being sold to foreign territories makes all the clichés about wildest dreams apply.
Thank you to the lovely and hardworking team at Avon, especially my editor Helen Huthwaite. We haven’t been working together long but I find that 24 hour stomach bugs speed up the bonding process. Thanks for holding my champagne and not laughing too much when I said, green faced, that I didn’t want you to take it away because I might magically feel better soon. I’m not very good at giving up drinks. Aside from drink holding, your tight edits have made TTW a better book and your flexible approach to my, erm, slightly chaotic schedule (see above re: Paw Patrol) has also made the whole process joyous and unstressful. I appreciate that so very much.
Phoebe Morgan, who was TTW’s first editor before she headed off to pastures new. Phoebe, it may have been short but you were fundamental to TTW being out in the world and deserve a giant thank you. How lucky was I that my manuscript landed in the hands of such a talented editor/author/multitasker extraordinaire? Especially one who has made me seriously rethink my garlic storage habits. Even now you have left Avon, you champion the book from afar, which is a lovely thing. I have high hopes that we can get our timings right and do some literary festivals/eating together soon.
Speaking of eating, a massive thank you to the side dish ordering legend and publicity machine that is Sabah Khan. I think we share the same terrier-like brains and so thank you for not minding when I send you 35 emails a day all with some small random thought I have had. I can’t imagine anyone with more energy, ideas and creativity working on my book and I’m incredibly happy that our paths crossed again. Not least because you never let me eat a meal without five different types of carbs on the side and left me the last Hawksmoor Rolo.
Thanks to the people who helped me with research, including James Ross, who told me all about working in TV, and those who answered my questions on police procedure.
Thanks to every editor that’s let me write for a living as a journalist, especially my unofficial mentor, Susan Riley from Stylist. I’m ridiculously lucky that I get to do it and that it’s carved out a path for me to live out a 30+ year long dream of writing a book.
When I read tips on how to do book acknowledgements, Google said to group them. It seems odd to do a hospital group but sometimes Through The Wall was written and edited in hospital waiting rooms and, once or twice, beds, so for that and a few other reasons, here goes.
Thank you first to UCLH and CRGH. Fertility treatments are something that Lexie and I have in common and both hospitals are the reason that my family exists and that my present and my future look like they do. There is rarely a chance to go back and say a proper thank you after treatments ends so I’m taking this opportunity. Thank you.
And then to the other hospital that changed our lives. Arrowe Park on the Wirral, maternity and neonatal units. You didn’t just save my son’s life, you saved mine, and we are working on ideas for how we can repay that in a more practical, fundraising way. In the meantime, remember how, one hazy January night in the neonatal unit, I said I would write you into my book acknowledgements? It’s nowhere near enough but here’s that mention for starters. Long live and protect the NHS (and give blood, everybody give blood).
Next, Rachel Tompkins, Sarah Bush, Francesca Brown. Where to start? You are the epitome of friendship: loyal, utterly in my camp, full of compassion. Fran, I would be friends with you even if you didn’t review books for a living. Sarah and Rach, taking on unofficial marketing roles even when in
dressing gowns at a spa really was above and beyond. And to all of the other friends who’ve been supportive of the book since I started harping on about it years ago, I am very lucky to have you.
Lucy Vine and Daisy Buchanan, co-authors of our creepy “Diana” WhatsApp group where we share details of Diana B’s movements and track her location at all times. Kidding! Diana, really we just geek out over how brilliant you are.
Daisy and Lucy, thanks for:
A. Hooking me up with the (did we mention?) brilliant Diana. It’s a big thing to “share” your agent and trust in my writing enough to inflict my manuscript on her and I will forever appreciate the gamble.
B. The wisdom when I message about book terms or acronyms that I think I’m supposed to know but I don’t. You’re such pros and you never make me feel silly.
C. The “we all feel like that” solidarity. Working alone in your pyjamas is the best but, at times, it can breed the worst paranoia. I always feel calmer when I speak to you two. What brilliant, funny women you are.
And then a thank you to the biggest champions of Through The Wall: my family.
Mum, Dad and Gem, AKA The Originals, you’ve done some very crucial babysitting while I’ve written/edited but, much more crucially, nobody believed that I could write a book more than you did. Nobody is more excited every time there’s any update, nobody is prouder and nobody is keener to celebrate and cheer me on with every win. Mostly with a bottle of champagne. It’s almost like you’re looking for an excuse, Mum?! Gem, thanks for doing my Facebook marketing for free too with your lovely proud sister updates. Thanks to my best chum Luna, to Blake and to Gibbo for reading a book that wasn’t about a player at Liverpool Football Club. And to the Turner/Sharps for being the best in-(non)laws. Dad, I’m sorry I didn’t write about the Tudors.
To my favourite people in the universe: my hilarious and smart boys. You can’t read this yet but one day you will and that’ll be pretty cool. Though ignore the swearing! Swearing is bad! They made me put that in, I don’t swear. Oh and by now, you might have figured out that I didn’t write Room On The Broom after all – sorry about the, erm, ‘confusion’ around that.
Lastly, to the hardest bit. Simon. For someone who writes for a living, I always run out of words when it comes to you, but I will try. Thank you for the support, the championing and for juggling things so that I am always able to write or edit if I need to. You told me once when I had a low moment that this book would get finished no matter what we needed to do and you were right. But only because I had you in my corner. You are the definition of a teammate. The biggest thank you of all is for you.
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THROUGH THE WALL
Caroline Corcoran is a freelance lifestyle and popular culture writer and editor with 15 years’ experience. She has worked for most of the top magazines, newspapers and websites in the country, and also as a copywriter for brands and websites. After 14 years in London, Caroline recently returned up north to the Wirral because she had a baby and there was more free grandparent babysitting available there. You’ll often find her feeling travelsick but still trying to write on a Virgin Pendolino into Euston.
You can follow her on Twitter here: @cgcorcoran
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