by Helen Mcginn
‘Who?’ Flora wanted her father to spell it out to her. It might be over, but she wanted him to squirm at least a little.
‘You know who. Ally.’
‘How long?’
‘Flora, please…’
‘I said, how long?’
‘About five years.’ He looked at his glass, unable to meet his daughter’s eyes.
‘Why, Dad?’ Flora hissed at him.
‘I don’t know, Flora. I know that’s not good enough, but I honestly don’t know. If I could go back and change it, I would. It was a really, really stupid thing to do.’
‘And it’s really over?’
‘Yes, it really is. Sadly, though, I don’t think that makes any difference to your mother.’
‘But, Dad, you can’t just let it go like that! She’s clearly so hurt, and desperately trying not to seem like it – you know what she’s like.’
Robin looked at his daughter, knowing that she was right. ‘I’m not sure she wants me to stay. Not now. After everything that’s happened, I just don’t think she can forgive me.’
Flora fixed him with a stare. ‘Look, after everything that’s happened you have even more reason to make sure you change her mind. You need to show her that you’re sorry, that you want to make things better.’
‘She doesn’t seem to want to try.’
‘Dad, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want you to try.’ Flora rolled her eyes.
‘Right.’ He took another sip of his whisky.
‘And I tell you what, if Billy were here he’d be telling you to do the same thing. To do something rather than nothing.’ Flora held her father’s eye.
‘I know he would.’
‘He’d also be furious with you.’
‘I know that too.’
They looked at each other for a moment. Flora smiled at her father. ‘It’s not too late, Dad.’
Robin sighed. ‘I hope you’re right.’
Kate sat in the bath hugging her knees. The water was lukewarm, the bubbles long gone. She could just about hear their voices below, the words muffled but the tone unmistakable. Flora was clearly giving her father a talking-to.
Kate felt drained. Her limbs ached, her eyes were heavy. She closed them for a second, seeing the courtroom once again. It had been such a strange day, the functionality of it all at odds with the emotions she’d had to keep in check.
Seeing the man who’d killed her son for the first time in the flesh had been harder than she could have possibly imagined. He’d looked so normal, not the monster Kate had imagined at all. In fact, he was still a boy really, and he had looked so lost and scared. And seeing the woman she assumed was his mother, the back of her at least, sitting there, seemingly not taking her eyes off her son for even a second, was almost unbearable. It made the whole sorry story feel like such a waste.
Kate pulled the plug and stepped out of the bath, wrapping herself in a warm white towel. She crossed the bathroom into the bedroom and sat on the edge of their bed, reaching for her nightgown and putting it gently over her head. There, in a frame on the bedside table, was a picture of Flora and Billy as small children, sitting in a sea of daffodils. She’d taken that picture one sunny day in their garden, down near the river. Robin was just out of shot and the grins on the children’s faces were directed at him, clowning around for Kate to get the perfect picture. Kate could remember the sound of their laughter, fits of pure giggles, even now. Moments afterwards, Robin had grabbed the camera and taken some pictures of Kate, smiling into the camera. One of them sat framed on his bedside table, his favourite photo, as he often told her.
She reached for the picture, picking it up and holding it in her lap. Their life together had been so happy, for the most part. How could he have betrayed her like that?
Monty poked his nose around the door and, at her call, came trotting across the bedroom. She reached down to pick him up.
‘Come on, then.’ She put him in the middle of the bed, where he promptly circled a few times before settling down into his perfected position, curled up with his paws crossed. He looked up at her, his brown eyes sad. She stroked the top of his head, his coat gloriously soft. ‘You’re not helping, Monty.’
There was a gentle knock at the door. ‘Mum?’
Kate looked up to see Flora standing there, holding a mug. ‘Come in.’
‘I brought you some hot water and lemon.’ Flora walked over to put it down on the table next to Kate. She spotted the picture in her mother’s hand. ‘Oh, Mum.’ Flora sat down next to her mother and put her arm around her shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry. It must have been awful for you today.’
‘It really was, Flora.’ Kate finally let herself cry the tears she’d been holding back all day. ‘It just made everything seem such a dreadful, dreadful waste. All of it.’ She sighed. ‘And I don’t understand why it had to happen to us. I mean, it could have been anyone. Why did it have to be Billy?’ Kate looked at Flora, tears streaking her face.
‘I don’t know, Mum. I wish I knew, too.’ Flora hugged her tightly.
‘And seeing that man. Well, boy really.’ Kate took a deep breath. ‘He looked so… normal.’
‘Mum, like you said, this doesn’t bring Billy back. But at least the trial is done.’ Flora took the picture from her mother’s hands, studying it. ‘He looks so happy there.’ She looked at Billy’s face, his head back, laughing. ‘He was beautiful.’ She placed it back on the bedside table. ‘Mum, can I just ask one thing of you?’
Kate wiped her eyes. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘I know it’s not your doing, but please, please don’t give up on Dad.’
Kate waved her hand. ‘Oh, Flora, I’m too tired to even think about that.’ She slipped under the duvet, pulling it up around her.
‘Mum, please?’
Kate sighed. ‘The truth is, darling, this isn’t just about forgiving your father for what he’s done.’
‘But—’
Kate put her hand on Flora’s arm. ‘It’s not just about his actions. I’ve lost a son and that’s devastating. But I’ve also been betrayed, and I have to learn to live with knowing I’m not good enough for the person I love, the person I thought loved me.’
‘Mum, that’s not true…’
‘I’m afraid it is. And the worst thing about being rejected by someone is that it doesn’t make you hate them. In fact, it makes you love them even more.’ She looked up at her daughter. ‘I just need some time, that’s all. To figure out what I want to do. Which is why I’ve asked him to go, so that I can do that without him here. I’m sorry, I know that must be hard for you, especially after…’ Kate shook her head, then looked up at Flora. ‘But it’s just how it’s got to be, for now, at least.’
Flora nodded slowly. The pain in her mother’s eyes was almost impossible to bear. She hugged her again, then kissed her mother’s head and turned to leave. Just before she left the room, she turned back. ‘Mum?’
‘Yes, darling?’ Kate reached for her mug.
‘I love you.’
‘I love you, too. Sleep well.’
Lying in her bed in her old room that night, Flora found that sleep refused to come. She couldn’t stop thinking about seeing her mother like that. Flora grabbed her phone and tapped out a message to Johnny, the screen lighting up her face in the dark.
I miss you x
She put the phone back on the table and turned towards the window, the shapes in the dark so familiar even after all these years. The bears on the windowsill, the dressing table covered in half-used bottles of perfume, photo frames crammed with images of her teenage life, all still just as they were when she left home. Her phone pinged. She turned back and tilted the screen towards her.
I miss you too x
32
‘Pass me the tape?’ Tilda pointed at the roll of Sellotape in the middle of the table. ‘Actually, pass me the wine first.’
Flora, Tilda and Susie sat around the marble-topped island in Susie’s kitchen. Not that it could be
seen for all the wrapping paper and bags of sweets piled up in the middle.
‘So, tell me again how exactly we got lumbered with this job?’ Flora topped up the wine in Tilda’s glass, then Susie’s, then her own, draining the bottle. Their second, she noted. It seemed to be going down like water for all of them, even Susie.
‘It’s Tilda’s fault.’ Susie pointed at her without looking up from her present wrapping.
‘Oh, come on. At least we don’t have to bake anything. This way we just have to wrap a few presents for the kids whilst, I’d like to point out, drinking really nice wine.’ Tilda had volunteered them to do present wrapping for the children for the School Christmas Fair. She’d chosen to ignore the no-sugar rule in the guidelines promptly issued by the head of the PTA, instead clearing the shelves of small packets of sweets in the local supermarket.
‘Susie,’ Flora reached for the empty bottle, ‘you do know this is a really expensive bottle?’
‘Is it? I’ve no idea – first one I found in the fridge.’
Tilda picked up her glass and sniffed. ‘Now you mention it, it does smell expensive. How much would this go for?’
Flora looked at the label, noting the producer. ‘Well, the producer is a bit of a cult figure. I think this goes for around forty pounds a bottle.’
Tilda choked. ‘Bloody hell, really?’
Flora laughed. ‘Yes, really.’ She looked at Susie, who carried on sticking down paper as if she hadn’t heard. Flora caught Tilda’s eye for a second.
‘Well, I’d rather do this than make mince pies any day.’ Susie looked up at them, picking up the empty bottle from the table. ‘Shall I get another one?’
Soon, the wrapping was done. They sat around, piles of wrapped sweets stacked neatly into boxes, their cheeks flushed with wine and laughter. Tilda finally broached the subject Flora wanted to but didn’t dare.
‘How are things with Julian? I take it he’s not coming back tonight?’ She glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven.
‘No, he’s staying in London again. You know how it is.’ Susie shrugged. A silence followed. Clearly, Susie wasn’t going to give anything away, not yet.
Flora, suddenly made brave with the wine, sat up. ‘Actually, Tilda, I’ve got a favour to ask you. Given your second-to-none skills at stalking people online…’
Tilda did a mock bow. ‘Thank you very much.’
‘I need to know where to find a woman called Denise Hirst.’ Flora took another small sip.
‘Isn’t that…?’ Tilda looked at Flora, her forehead crumpling a little.
‘The mother? Yes.’
‘But isn’t that, well… illegal?’
‘No, not that I know of. According to my father any contact between them and us is meant to be through the Victim Liaison Officer, but the thing is, I don’t want my parents to know about it. And it’s not like I want to see him, just his mother.’
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ The look on Susie’s face told Flora she quite obviously didn’t think it was.
‘I’ve seen her before, actually. In the churchyard, where Billy’s ashes are buried.’
‘What was she doing there?’ Susie sounded astonished.
‘Well, your guess is as good as mine, but she practically ran as soon as she saw me. And the thing is, I couldn’t help but feel… not sorry, but something for her. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since. I know it sounds weird but I would like to talk to her.’
‘What about your parents?’
‘I’m not planning on telling them.’
‘Oh, Flo, are you absolutely sure?’ Tilda looked worried.
‘Listen, they’ve got their own stuff going on at the moment. I promise, I’ve thought about this a lot and, yes, I’m sure. She can always say no, but I thought I’d write to her, see if she’d be willing to meet me. Just for a cup of tea, perhaps.’ Flora looked from one friend to the other. ‘Please don’t look at me like that. I’m feeling much better than I did, honestly. Well, generally, anyway. I still have my moments.’ She thought of one just a few days earlier, when a song on the radio had brought back memories of Billy in such a rush, she’d had to pull the car over to the side of the road and wait until the sobs had passed.
‘It’s just that, well, she might not say what you want to hear.’ Susie spoke softly.
‘But that’s just it. I don’t know what I want to hear. I just need to ask some questions. And she can always say no or not answer them, but if I don’t ask, I’ll never know. And then I’m stuck, and I really, really don’t want to be stuck any more.’
Tilda sighed. ‘Well, I still think it’s a little insane, but, yes, give me a home town and I’ll try and find an address for you. Strictly between us.’
‘Thank you.’ Flora smiled at her friend.
Susie scooped up the empty glasses. ‘Right, come on, you two, chucking-out time.’ She looked up at the clock. ‘Do you want me to call you a cab?’
‘I ordered one earlier.’ Tilda looked at the clock, too, squinting to make it come into focus. ‘Shit, how did that happen?’ Just then her phone rang. ‘Yes, we’ll be out in a minute, thanks.’
‘Thank you, as ever, for your wonderful company. It was just what I needed.’ Susie hugged each of them in turn.
‘Take care.’ Flora hugged her back, feeling the bones of Susie’s shoulder blades through her jumper.
‘I’m properly worried about her,’ Flora said urgently to Tilda as they sat in the back of the taxi on the short drive home.
‘I know. Me, too. He’s obviously an arsehole. But hopefully she’ll wake up one day and realise life doesn’t have to be like that.’ The taxi pulled up outside Tilda’s too soon for them to continue their character takedown on Julian.
‘If only it were that easy.’ Flora kissed her friend. ‘See you tomorrow.’
She watched Tilda wobble up the path to her door, fake leopard-fur coat swinging off her shoulders, red platform boots proving quite the challenge after all that wine. Tilda fumbled in her bag, holding her key up in triumph after a moment, grinning back at Flora.
‘Looks like you ladies had a good evening,’ the taxi driver said, looking into his rear-view mirror.
‘We did, thank you.’ Flora smiled to herself, counting her blessings to have friends with whom she could talk about nothing or everything, depending on what was needed.
She crept into the house and up the stairs, got undressed in the bathroom and slid quietly under the duvet into bed.
‘Nice evening?’ Johnny turned to face her.
‘God, sorry. I thought I was being really quiet.’
‘You were,’ he lied.
She curled into his body, the warmth of his skin warming her own. They lay in silence for a moment.
‘You know I mentioned finding that woman?’
‘Yes.’ He couldn’t help but sound sceptical.
‘Tilda’s going to find her address for me. I’m going to write her a letter.’
‘Are you sure that’s what you want to do?’
‘I’m absolutely sure.’ She nodded into his chest.
‘OK. Now, can you stop talking so I can do this?’ He kissed her gently on the mouth.
‘I can.’ She tried to speak, laughing.
‘I said, stop talking.’ He kissed her again, his hand running softly, slowly up and down the length of her torso. She moved in closer and closed her eyes, letting her body respond and her mind drift upwards.
33
Kate looked out on to the garden, a thin frost covering the ground. The December sky was grey, the wind whipping the tops of the waves on the river in the distance below. She had slept heavily, without help, for the first time in a while. Her head didn’t pound as it usually did at this time in the morning.
She switched on the kettle, let Monty out into the garden and returned to the table a few moments later with a cup of tea. There, propped up against an empty vase on the table, was a letter. Just a simple piece of paper, folded i
n half, with her name written on the outside in Robin’s handwriting.
She reached over to pick it up. Unfolding it with one hand, she held it out and pulled her glasses down from her head with the other. His words swam in front of her eyes. He was sorry. He didn’t know why he’d done what he’d done. He wished he could take it all back. He loved her more than anything, more than ever. His affair had been a temporary madness and it would never, ever happen again. He hoped she would forgive him but he would understand if she couldn’t.
Kate put the letter down on the table and slowly sipped her tea. She thought of him, sleeping upstairs in the spare room where he’d been ever since she had confronted him in the garden. He’d done as she’d asked, not asked her to change her mind. But now, seeing his words down on paper, she knew something had to change. They couldn’t carry on living in limbo. She’d asked him to leave but sitting there, his words in front of her, she knew deep down she didn’t want him to, not really.
But could she really stay with him knowing what she knew? Did that not consign her to a life of feeling like she was second best? Monty scratched at the door. Kate let him in and he trotted straight across the kitchen to his bed by the foot of the Aga to warm himself, settling down with a contented grunt.
She thought of Billy, the familiar pang of pain in her heart at his not being here. Flora’s words came back to her, pleading with Kate not to give up on her marriage. Outside, snow started to fall, slowly at first then faster until flurries of snowflakes danced outside the windows. She sat for a while, letting her mind wander down old alleyways full of memories of her life together with Robin. When they’d met, they’d had barely a penny between them but their dreams had matched in size and shape. How they’d married against all their parents’ wishes, so young but so sure. How he’d encouraged her at every step to become the successful interior designer she wanted to be; she in turn supporting him through his professional life, attending endless company dinners, charming everyone as she went. How he’d been the most present of fathers, certainly compared with many of their friends back when the children were small.