by Helen Mcginn
‘Fuck me, Flo. That’s quite heavy.’
Flora burst out laughing, closely followed by Tilda, and once they’d started, they couldn’t stop. They laughed until tears rolled down their faces.
‘What’s so funny?’ Pip stood by the kitchen door, a half-smile on her face.
‘Oh, I don’t know, darling. We were just talking and, well, sometimes you’ve just got to laugh.’ Flora wiped the tears from her face.
‘Amen to that,’ said Tilda, draining her glass.
30
‘Stephen, are you awake?’ Denise knocked on the bedroom door, gently. A muffled reply came from the other side of it. ‘I’ve got you a cup of tea.’
‘Yeah, come in.’
She turned on the light and put the tea down on the small table by his bed. ‘How are you feeling?’ She looked at him as he rubbed his eyes, his hair sticking up, looking unbearably young.
‘Thanks, Mum.’ He reached across for the tea, spying his one and only suit hanging up on the back of his cupboard door as he did, a stark reminder of their day ahead.
She perched on the end of his bed. ‘I’ll make you a proper breakfast, if you like. I think you should eat something before we go.’
‘I’m not…’ He looked at his mother’s face, expectant. ‘Thanks, that would be lovely.’
‘Eggs and bacon?’
‘Yes, please.’
Denise stood up to go.
‘Mum?’
She turned to her son, his ashen face looking up at her.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I know you are, Stephen. Let’s just get this done. We’ll be all right.’ She smiled at him, hoping she looked more reassuring than she felt. She went to the kitchen and put some bacon under the grill. Then she broke eggs into a glass bowl, slaking them with a knife. As she stood there, the sound of metal rhythmically hitting glass, she closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer. Their lives had been shattered that August night, the days afterwards a blur. She thought back to that small, stuffy room at the police station, where an appointed lawyer, Mr Sawyer, had explained that Stephen should plead not guilty to a charge of death by careless driving.
She’d watched her son retreat into himself ever since, Denise trying to find the right things to say, but the hideousness of what had happened was always there. She’d barely slept more than a few hours at a time, for months. She often felt as if in a dream, or rather a nightmare, wishing desperately for someone to wake her.
Now they sat in silence, Denise drinking more tea whilst her son pushed his breakfast around his plate.
‘You need to eat.’
‘I can’t.’ He didn’t look up, his voice breaking.
‘Come on, you need strength for today.’
‘Mum, I killed someone.’
‘I know. And I wish we could change that, but we can’t. So, you just need to tell them what happened, in the courtroom. Just as Mr Sawyer said. That’s all you can do.’
Slowly Stephen raised his eyes. ‘Mum, I don’t think I can do it.’
‘I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. But no matter what happens, I’ll be there. Now, try and eat. I’m going to go and get ready; we’re being collected in about an hour.’
‘OK.’ His hand trembled as he tried to scoop up some eggs with his fork. He let it drop to the plate with a clatter, blinking back tears. Pushing his plate away, he stood and went back to his room, sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the suit. Next to it, on the floor, was a bag he’d packed the night before, together with his mother’s help. It contained some clothes, a pair of trainers and a washbag. Denise had insisted he take the earplugs she’d bought him, along with a stack of paper and stamped envelopes with their address on the front.
Stephen had known this day would come, had even told himself he was prepared to face it. But all he wanted to do, right then and there, was shut the door and never come out of his room.
They sat in the taxi, Denise trying to answer the driver’s questions politely whilst giving nothing away. Stephen looked out of the window as the court buildings loomed into view, drab and unassuming. The day was grey and overcast, the air heavy.
Mr Sawyer greeted them as arranged, carrying bundles of paper. He was a large man, the buttons on his shirt struggling to hold the strained material in place, his eyes jet black like a shark’s. Together, Denise, Stephen and Mr Sawyer made their way inside and, after going through a lengthy security check, were shown into a small room off to the side of the courtroom.
Mr Sawyer hung up his overcoat on the back of the door. ‘Right, we might be here for some time, just to warn you. The hearing is due to start at nine thirty but we’ll see. For now, we wait. Can I get you some coffee?’
‘No, thank you.’ Denise managed a small smile.
Stephen shook his head, too, his gaze fixed on the floor.
‘Right, well. I shan’t be long.’
‘Actually, do you mind if I just go and find the ladies first?’
‘No, of course. Right out of there, down the hall, second on the left.’ Mr Sawyer gestured which way Denise should head.
‘Thank you, I won’t be a moment.’ As she walked along the corridor, she passed an older couple coming down a flight of stairs, flanked by another man carrying papers. Denise looked at them, her eyes meeting the woman’s for a fleeting second. The woman hadn’t even noticed her, but Denise knew. She had similar features, the same bright eyes as the woman she’d seen in the churchyard. She watched them disappear as they walked on down the long corridor in the opposite direction. She felt suddenly weak and her vision blurred before black started to close in around her. Then nothing…
‘Mrs Hirst, can you hear me?’ Denise tried to focus. She could just make out a face, the words coming to her as if through a fog. ‘How are you feeling? You gave us a bit of a scare there.’
Denise took a sip of the water from the paper cup being held to her lips. She swallowed slowly. Things started to come back into focus. She could make out Mr Sawyer in a chair opposite and, to his left, Stephen.
‘You OK, Mum?’
‘Yes, I… don’t know what happened.’ She tried to speak but her lips felt like cotton wool.
‘You fainted. We found you lying at the bottom of the stairs.’ The kind woman spoke again. ‘Here, try and drink some more water.’
Denise did as she was told.
‘Mrs Hirst, are you sure you don’t want to have a lie down? At least until we go into the courtroom?’ Mr Sawyer failed to keep his mild irritation from his voice.
‘No, really, I’ll be fine. I’m feeling better already.’ She tried her best to sound convincing, a little chirpier. ‘I think I just should have eaten more this morning, that’s all.’
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.’ The woman went to leave. ‘Just shout if you need me again.’
‘Yes, thank you. We will.’ Mr Sawyer shut the door behind her. He waited a few moments whilst Denise sipped slowly from the cup. ‘Now, listen. I need you both to be strong. Stephen, do your best to speak clearly, answer the questions as we’ve discussed. Denise, you’ll be sitting to one side but it’s not a big room: you’ll be able to see Stephen quite clearly. We’ve been through all the “what ifs” but let’s go in there with the right attitude. Are we clear?’
They both nodded.
There was a knock at the door.
Mr Sawyer called out, ‘Thank you.’ He looked back at them and clapped his hands together. ‘Time to go.’
Flora sat at the tasting counter in the shop, tapping at her laptop, a line of unopened bottles in front of her. She tried to concentrate on the words on the screen, but the cursor had been in the same place, blinking furiously at her, for what seemed like an age.
Mack came down the stairs into the shop carrying a tray. ‘I thought you could do with these.’ He walked across to her, putting a plate of biscuits down in front of her.
Flora looked at the plate. Normally, she’d have fallen on it. She looked up at Mack.
‘It’s the court case today.’
‘I know, Flora. I see you’re trying to distract yourself with work but why don’t you take advice from an old bugger like me and go for a walk on the beach? It’s never not a good idea to go for a walk on the beach.’ He looked at her over his glasses.
‘You’re right. I’d thought I could do something to distract myself but it’s not working. When did Johnny say he’d be back?’
‘He said around two-ish, so you go. I’m fine here.’
‘Excuse me?’ A man who’d been browsing the expensive clarets called over to Mack. ‘Have you got anything really old?’
Mack walked back towards him. He’d been quickly brushed off by the man when he’d first come into the shop. ‘Well, I think we’ve got a ’92 in the back.’
‘But 1992 is hardly old.’ The man scoffed.
‘It’s 1892, sir.’ Mack pushed his glasses up his nose, smiling.
‘Ah, right. Very good. What sort of price are we talking?’
‘Around eight.’
‘Hundred?’
‘Eight thousand.’
‘Maybe something a little younger?’ The man seemed to deflate a little.
Flora stifled a laugh. She closed her laptop and shoved it into her bag, waving at Mack as she slipped out of the shop. She decided to head to one of her favourite spots, a stretch of beach reached by a small path through the hedge just off a lay-by. Somehow it had remained a secret, even among locals. She put the radio on, voices talking about an opera singer she’d never heard of. Hitting the button, she switched station and suddenly the car was filled with the sounds of one of her favourite songs. She turned up the volume, the music taking her back to a time in her parents’ garden when the most fun to be had involved a hosepipe and a sprinkler. She remembered the way she and Billy would race through the spray, watching as the water threw rainbows in the air. She could hear him calling her name, pleading with her to watch as he jumped over the sprinkler, dissolving into fits of laughter as they both got soaked.
She pulled up by the side of the road and headed down to the beach. The tide was out, leaving islands of slick, glossy mud on show, small channels of seawater running between them. Great puffy clouds scooted across the blue sky and the wind carried the scent of salt with it.
Flora buttoned up her coat and walked into the cold wind, the sound echoing in her ears. The waves moved quickly towards the shore, one after the other after the other. She moved from the pebbles onto the sand closer to the shoreline, enjoying the feel of it sinking under her feet. She glanced behind, seeing her footprints being washed away just seconds after leaving them.
As she looked out to sea, the words of the woman in the church in Venice came back to her, so clear it was if the woman was standing right next to her. ‘Hearts stay broken,’ Flora whispered, her words taken out to sea by the wind.
She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She grabbed it and pulled it out, turning it to see the screen. She stood for a moment as she pulled off her gloves in order to unlock the phone, tapping in the numbers of her wedding anniversary.
The message flashed up from her father. It took her a moment to take it in. She looked at the message again, wanting to make sure she was reading it right. Tears clouded her eyes.
She rang Johnny’s number. He picked up immediately.
‘Have you heard from them?’
‘Yes, Dad’s just texted.’
There was a pause. ‘And what did he say?’
Flora looked down at her boots in the sand, her feet now wet. She hadn’t noticed the waves washing up over her feet.
‘He, um… was found guilty. He’s got eighteen months in prison.’
‘Wow. Are you all right? Where are you?’
‘I’m at the beach, the bit by the old lighthouse.’
‘Are you with anyone?’
‘No, I wanted to come on my own.’ Flora walked back towards the shingle on the beach. ‘I’m going to head back in a bit. I’ll see you at the shop.’
‘Flo, why don’t you go home?’
‘Actually, I think I might go to my parents’. I think I should see them.’
‘Well, it’s up to you. But they will have had a long day, I should think.’
‘I know, which is why I’m thinking I’ll take them some food. Actually, would you mind if I stayed there tonight? I’ll come back first thing in the morning.’
‘Of course, whatever you think. But, Flo, you sure you’re up to driving?’
‘I’m fine, Johnny. I promise. I’ll call you later.’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you, too. Thank you. Tell the kids I’ll see them tomorrow.’
She put her phone back in her pocket and looked out at the vast sky in front of her. She thought of the rainbows in the air as the tears rolled down her cheeks.
31
‘Thank you, Jenny.’ Denise leaned in through the car door.
‘It was the least I could do. I wasn’t going to leave you on your own there now, was I?’
‘Guess I’ve got to get used to the house being empty.’ Denise shrugged. She hadn’t dared herself to think ahead as to what might happen if her son was sent to prison. But she really didn’t think she was going to feel like this. After the shock of the accident and the constant worry of what might happen, the unthinkable had finally come true. Her overwhelming memory of the day was watching Stephen and the back of his head as he was taken out of the courtroom by two police officers. He’d turned and given her a small wave just before he left and then, before she could even wave back, he was gone.
She walked back into the dark, empty flat. She hung her coat on its peg, turned on the hall light and went to the kitchen. She topped up the kettle then stood, watching it boil.
She thought of Mr Sawyer’s words as they’d left the court. Eighteen months didn’t mean eighteen months. It would be more like nine months and the rest on licence with a fair wind behind them, whatever that meant. Denise knew she should have been grateful to know Stephen wouldn’t be in prison for as long as they’d thought, but still, she was devastated. Then her mind turned to the couple she’d passed that morning at court. She’d not taken her eyes off Stephen once they were in the courtroom but part of her knew she hadn’t dared to for fear of meeting theirs. She thought of them sitting there, listening to see what would happen to the man who’d killed their son. Their lives had been shattered because of her own son’s actions. Because he’d been stupid enough to take a stolen car and drive his friends – not that they were really his friends, not one had been anywhere near Stephen since the accident – in the hope of impressing them. In order to fit in. She thought back to him as a little boy, always with his head down, not wanting to draw attention to himself.
What should she have done differently? Was it her fault that he wasn’t strong enough to stand up for himself? Had she loved him enough? Did she love him too much? The same old questions crashed into her head, one after the other, not even bothering to form an orderly queue. They were familiar now. She hadn’t been able to think of anything else for months.
Denise poured hot water into a mug, splashing it onto the kitchen counter as she did. It took a few seconds to register she hadn’t put a teabag in. Leaving the mug on the side, she went to the table by the window. The street below was now quiet. Far away, the sound of a siren made her think of her boy. She closed her eyes, put her hands together and prayed.
Dinner at her parents’ house had been quiet. Flora had called ahead, telling them she was coming with something for them all to eat. Kate had protested, saying she had something in the freezer, but Flora had insisted.
‘Please, Mum. Just let me do this for you.’
Her father had answered the door. They’d hugged. ‘You OK, Dad?’
He’d nodded, then gestured to the bags Flora was carrying. ‘Let me take those.’
She smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘Hey, Mum, how are you?’ Flora crossed the room and hugged her mother
.
‘Well, just glad that’s over, to be honest.’ Kate sighed.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t come.’
Kate passed her a glass of wine. ‘You had your reasons to not want to be there.’
There was a pause. Flora was about to fill it when her mother continued.
‘So, what did you do today?’ Kate put some plates on the table.
‘I went to the beach.’ Flora wanted to tell her she’d cried until her eyes hurt.
‘That sounds nice. More for you, Robin?’ Kate proffered the bottle across the table to her husband. ‘Actually, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go and have a bath. I am feeling absolutely exhausted. I’m sorry, Flora, I know you’ve brought food but I don’t think I could eat a thing.’
Flora went to protest but her mother was already on her way out of the room. She turned just before she left. ‘Come up and see me before you go to bed, Flora.’
‘I will.’ Flora waited until she heard her mother’s footsteps disappear up the stairs. ‘Dad, what’s going on?’
‘What do you mean, darling?’ Her father busied himself getting cutlery out of the drawer.
‘Oh, come on, Dad.’ Flora couldn’t help but laugh.
Robin stood up and went to the kitchen dresser. He picked up the whisky bottle. ‘Fancy one of these instead?’
Flora nodded. Robin poured out two measures of whisky into tumblers and handed one to Flora.
‘Thank you.’ She brought the glass to her nose and sniffed it gently, the smell of smoke and sea filling her nose. ‘Dad, please talk to me. I don’t understand what’s going on.’
‘I’m not sure I do either. I have ended my relationship with… her.’