Am I Guilty

by Jackie Kabler

  The Indian food was delicious, and to my surprise I ate as much as Nell and Isla did, suddenly ravenous, wolfing down naan bread and chicken tikka masala, scooping up dal and matar paneer, washing it back with mouthfuls of cold wine, but with sparkling water too, careful not to drink too much.

  When Nell had been finally packed off to bed, shortly after nine, promising to read for just twenty minutes and then turn the light off, I sat down next to Isla on the sofa.

  ‘Isla? I need to ask you something. This is going to sound really weird, OK …’

  I paused, and she looked at me quizzically.

  ‘Weird is your normal, Ashfield. Shoot.’

  I smiled, but a nervous flutter had started in my stomach, the food suddenly laying heavily.

  ‘Right, well, it’s about September. About the day Zander died. The thing is, I’ve started remembering things, finally. And … well, I suppose I’m not sure if I’m really remembering, or if my mind’s playing tricks on me. I know how things happened – well, I know how everybody said they happened. What I assumed happened. But these memories, or whatever they are – well, there are some contradictions, I suppose you could call them.’

  ‘Contradictions?’ Isla had put her wine glass down on the table as I’d been speaking, and now she turned to face me, frowning. ‘What sort of contradictions? What do you mean?’

  I put my own glass down too.

  ‘Well, first of all … and this doesn’t really make sense, no sense at all actually, but I always assumed I drove the car home from lunch that day. I mean, it was my car, and I always drove it, and obviously I shouldn’t have that day, because I was pissed, but I assumed I did, and nobody said any different. I mean, you didn’t say any different, did you?’

  She was staring at me now, eyes wide. Was I imagining it, or had some of the colour drained from her face? She looked paler somehow, her skin milky against the deep red of her hair.

  ‘The thing is, Isla, and this is going to sound mad, but as these memories have started to come back, I keep thinking that I didn’t drive home after all. I mean, not that it matters, in the light of what happened after that, drink-driving is the least of it all. But I’ve got these pictures in my head … these … these images, and every time, I see myself in the passenger seat. Not in the driver’s seat, Isla. And I don’t know why. I mean, tell me I’m crazy, but … well, was I? Was I the passenger that day, and not the driver?’

  Isla was sitting very still, eyes fixed on my face, and I definitely wasn’t imagining it now – she was so pale her skin had developed a greenish tinge. My stomach lurched. Why was she reacting like that? What was …?

  ‘Holy shit, Thea? Are you serious? Why would … why would I drive your car home? I was just as pissed as you, remember? And you never let me drive your car. Why would I suddenly drive that day? I can’t believe you’re asking me this. What do you think I am? For fuck’s sake, Thea …’

  She was on her feet now, pacing the room, repeating: ‘Fucking hell, are you serious? I mean, for fuck’s sake …’ over and over. I sat for a moment, watching her, then stood up too.

  ‘OK, OK, I’m sorry. Isla, please, sit down. I’m sorry, OK? It’s just an image, in my head … but you’re right, it makes no sense. I’m just really confused, OK? I have all these pictures, flooding back, and I don’t know how to make sense of them, don’t know which are real and which aren’t. I’m just trying to sort it all out in my mind, before the trial, you know? I’m sorry. Come on, sit down. Have some more wine.’

  I sat down again, picking up her glass, topping it up with more wine and holding it out towards her, and she stopped pacing, stared at me again for a few moments, then came and sat next to me, grabbing the glass from my hand as she did so. She took several gulps, draining the glass, then put it down on the table.

  ‘We’re going to need more, if we’re going to carry on with this conversation. You’re a freaking nutter, you know that? Go on then, what other memories have come back? Anything else you want to accuse me of?’

  She drew air quotes as she said the word ‘memories’, her tone deeply sarcastic. I looked at her for a moment, relieved that she hadn’t walked out, and that her colour had returned to something near normal. Did I dare though, ask her this next question, the most important one? I had to, but the enormity of what I was about to say was suddenly hitting me. It was the sort of conversation that could destroy our friendship forever, and I couldn’t bear that. I needed to ask her, but I needed to phrase it carefully.

  ‘There is something else, yes.’

  My hand fluttered to my throat, and then back to my lap. Isla was reaching for a new bottle of wine, one she’d popped in the cooler on the table earlier.

  ‘Oh good. Go on then. Can’t wait.’

  The sarcasm was still there. I sat in silence as she picked up the opener and uncorked the bottle with a practised twist, then refilled our glasses. I took a deep breath. I’d just have to say it.

  ‘I have another memory, Isla. And this is the craziest one of all, and please don’t laugh. But … well, I know what’s supposed to have happened is that I left Zander in the car, and then we fell asleep, and everyone assumed he was in his pram so nobody checked, and then he wasn’t in his pram at all … but the thing is, Isla … the thing is, I remember now. I remember bringing him inside. I remember putting him in his pram. And then sitting down, and falling asleep. And so how can it be, that later he was back out in the car again? If what I remember is right, and every day now I remember it more clearly … if what I remember is right, how can that be, Isla? How did he get there? How did my baby get back into that car, when I brought him in, Isla? How?’

  I was suddenly aware that I was on my feet again, my voice high-pitched, screaming the words at her, tears rolling down my face, and that Isla was staring up at me, open-mouthed, a look of pure horror on her face.

  ‘Thea? Thea, what are you talking about? What are you …?’

  And then there was a terrible wailing sound, a primal, guttural howling, and we turned in unison to see Nell, standing in the doorway in her pyjamas, fingers clawing at her hair.

  ‘Nell!’

  I reached for my daughter, and she staggered towards me, eyes blank, and collapsed into my arms.

  30

  ISLA

  The wine bar was packed, bodies five deep at the counter, punters waving twenties or leaning provocatively forward in low-cut tops, trying to catch the barman’s eye. The air was thick with beer and perfume and a hint of sweat – the smell of Friday night. Miraculously, I’d found a single empty stool at the far end, near the door to the toilets, and sat there, still reeling from what had happened at Thea’s.

  When Nell had come staggering in, making that hideous noise, sleepwalking or having a nightmare or whatever the hell was wrong with her, I’d simply walked out, left without another word, grabbing my bag and coat from the hall where I’d dumped them and slamming the front door hard behind me.

  Once out on the street, I’d hesitated, suddenly unwilling to turn right and go back to my empty bedsit so early on a Friday night, and in desperate need of another drink. So I’d turned left instead, turning my collar up against the cold, walking so fast I was practically jogging, until somehow I found myself pushing open the door of the Montpellier wine bar, wincing as the wall of heat and noise hit me. I stumbled through the throng, the suited after-work crowd, the groups of overdressed women clinking Prosecco glasses, looking hopelessly for a quiet corner, then spotted the bar stool and bulldozed my way towards it.

  Now, clutching a double whiskey, I gave the man behind me a further sharp elbow in the ribs as he leaned drunkenly and, seemingly, obliviously, against my back for the third time, and tried to breathe normally. I felt sick, but I knew it wasn’t the alcohol. On the stools nearest to me, a woman in a black leather miniskirt was running her fingers lasciviously up the pinstriped thigh of a shaven-headed man, who responded by leaning over and licking her neck, slowly and noisily. I shuddered, downed my
whiskey and gestured to the barman for another. He nodded, busy with an order, and further down the bar another lone drinker winked at me. I looked at him for a moment – he was quite attractive in a louche, Bill Nighy type of way – then looked away, my fingers tapping an impatient rhythm on the countertop.

  Shit. My head was beginning to pound, my stomach churning. I was still in shock, I thought. Had that really happened at Thea’s? Had she really asked me those questions, made those accusations? How much did she really remember? I shivered, despite the heat of the bar. I’d been terrified this might happen, that her memories might start to return. The traumainduced amnesia, or whatever it was called, had been such a gift, but now …

  ‘There you go, love. Add it to your tab?’

  Another whiskey had appeared in front of me. I pushed the empty glass towards the barman, mumbling an appropriate reply to his question, and picked up the new one, trying to ignore the tremor in my hands. As I drank, the fiery liquid searing my throat, I thought of those early days, the days when Thea and I were both young and single, when we would sit side by side in bars like these, drinking together, and dreaming.

  Until everything changed. I hated it when she had Nell, hated it more than Thea ever knew. I hated it. I despised this mewling being who had taken my best friend away from me, who had turned her into this alien mother creature. She tried to be the same, when we were together, but I could tell her heart wasn’t in it anymore, not like it used to be, and it broke mine. Things improved a little when Nell got older, went to school, became less dependent on Thea, easier to leave at home. I even started to like the kid a bit, to find her entertaining and intelligent and quite sweet on occasion, which came as a massive shock to me. It made Thea happy though, and so for a while things were good.

  And then the silly cow got pregnant again. Got pregnant by fucking Greg Garrington, and decided to keep the baby. Seriously? SERIOUSLY? Who does that, for Christ’s sake, when they’re married to someone else? But that was Thea, and there was no changing her mind.

  I cried for days when she told me, although she never knew that. One kid had been bad enough, had stolen enough of her from me, but two? I kept her secret, though. Of course I did. I loved her, so I kept her secret, and kept my fingers and toes and legs and everything else crossable firmly crossed that this new baby wouldn’t take us backwards again, that nothing would change.

  But it did change, of course. It really changed, after Zander was born. It was never just the two of us anymore, or hardly ever, and I couldn’t bear it. If we went for lunch, Zander was always there, in his pram, demanding attention, and then Nell needed picking up from school … if we went out at night, Thea’d always be running late because the baby needed to be fed or bathed, or she’d have to go home early because he’d be up in a few hours for his 1 a.m. feed, and blah and blah and BLAH.

  It was insufferable, and it had been making me miserable. I’d tried to rationalize it, to tell myself I was getting too old anyway for the drinking and the partying, we both were. That I was being a selfish cow. That it was time I started thinking about settling down, too, about stopping the wild nights out and the one-night stands with men who had no interest in me other than a quick shag. That Thea and I were still friends, would always be friends, best friends, but just in a different way, a more … a more adult sort of way.

  It wasn’t as simple as that though, of course. Thea and I were far more than just friends. I don’t mean we’d ever been sexually involved, nothing like that. But there was something intense between us, a deep connection, something entirely different to the connection I had with any of my other friends. I’d felt it that first time I met her, the evening when she spilled a drink all over me in that bar in London, and clumsily tried to wipe it off, her face all flushed. I felt it then, and I know she did too, and so many years on nothing had changed, not really. We just got each other, like nobody else did.

  Except it had changed now, hadn’t it? Now, suddenly, she didn’t trust me anymore, had flung these horrible accusations, questions, whatever they were at me, and worst thing was, the most dreadful awful thing, the thing that made me sick to my stomach, was that she was right. I’d done something terrible, and I’d thought I was safe. But now Thea was remembering, and suddenly I wasn’t safe anymore, and I had no idea how to handle it.

  I swallowed the last of my drink, the alcohol starting to make my head swim, and looked for the barman. He was down at the far end of the bar, so I waved a hand, trying to get his attention.

  ‘Jaz! Lady here needs a drink!’

  The barman turned and nodded, and the Bill Nighy lookalike grinned at me.

  ‘He won’t be long,’ he said. His voice was deep and mellifluous, and I held his gaze for a moment, then smiled a brief thank you and looked away. Any other night, Bill, I thought. Not tonight though. I can’t.

  ‘Same again?’

  Jaz was standing in front of me, wiping his hands on his black apron.

  ‘Make it a double,’ I said.

  I hadn’t planned to drive the car home. I’d actually thought Thea wouldn’t really be drinking much that day, not with both the kids there. I thought she’d have one glass, maybe two maximum, which would have been fine over a couple of hours with a big lunch. But when we got there, to the pubby restaurant place out on the London Road, with the lovely sunny terrace and views over the fields, and ordered champagne, it was as if the old Thea suddenly re-emerged. Two, three glasses disappeared effortlessly, and then we were ordering another bottle. She didn’t seem to notice that I was barely touching my drink, was drinking mainly water and just the odd mouthful of champagne.

  I’m not even sure myself why I decided to do it … it certainly hadn’t been planned, hadn’t been in my head at all when I’d got into the car with Thea earlier, heart sinking as I realized not just one but both of the bloody kids were coming too, again. I just suddenly thought, I suppose, that maybe I could somehow use this to change things a bit. That maybe if I kept a clear head, stayed relatively sober, but Thea got really pissed, out of her head drunk, when she was supposed to be in charge of the kids, that Rupert would ban her from taking them out again like this, and that I’d get her back to myself. That in future, she’d have to leave them at home. That I could have a quiet word with Rupert later, say how concerned I was that she’d drunk so much, that the kids had been distressed, that sort of thing. I knew how he’d react. Rupert was predictable like that.

  This all sounded dreadful now, sounded as if I was trying to portray my friend as a terrible mother, but that wasn’t what I intended, not at all, because she wasn’t. I just wanted a little bit more of her for me, I suppose. I wanted her to come out and spend time with me, alone, and if Rupert told her she couldn’t take the kids out when we were drinking, then I’d get what I wanted.

  Selfish, or what? God, so, so bloody selfish. But at the time, it had seemed like a good idea. And so I sat there, the sun burning my skin, sipping my champagne and drinking my water, and I let her get drunk. Properly, steaming drunk, despite the steak and French fries we ordered along with the bubbly. Zander was kicking happily in his car seat, in the shade under our table, playing with some coloured plastic animal, and Nell was down there with him, staying out of the sun, engrossed in a game on Thea’s iPad.

  ‘Can’t see it in the sunshine. And it’s nice down here. Can you just pass me a drink now and again?’ she’d asked, and every now and again a slender hand would emerge from under the table and Thea and I would laugh, and one of us would put apple juice with a straw carefully into it, and it would disappear for a minute then re-emerge, waving the empty bottle.

  Shortly before three o’clock we decided it was time to go home. I’d noticed Thea’s eyes looking bleary, dark shadows under them. She looked exhausted suddenly – she never got enough sleep anyway, but the heat and alcohol were clearly making her everyday weariness significantly worse that day. She was slurring her words by then, wobbly on her feet when she stood up, almost falling over
when she reached down to grab Zander’s car seat, dropping her car keys onto the hot stone of the patio. Good. I wanted her like this, worse than this ideally, when Rupert got home.

  We could have some more wine back at the house, I thought, as I retrieved the keys, then gently took the baby seat from her, Zander sound asleep now, and carried it to the car myself, slotting it carefully into place. Nell, who’d still been tapping away on the iPad as she walked behind us, seemingly oblivious to the state her mother was in, clambered into her own seat, yawning and complaining about how hot the car was.

  ‘We’ll put the air con on, Nell. It’ll cool down in a minute. Sssshh, you’ll wake your brother,’ I said, slipping into the driver’s seat and turning the key in the ignition, then getting out again to deal with Thea.

  ‘I’ll drive,’ I whispered to her, as she stood unsteadily by the bonnet of the car, blinking in the bright sunlight, the alcohol clearly really getting to her, and she nodded mutely. I opened the passenger door, helping her in, clipping her seat belt into place, then climbed back into the driver’s seat. Behind me, Nell was leaning back in her seat, eyes closed, headphones on, hands limp on the iPad which was resting on her knee. Next to her, Zander was also still sleeping, head tilted to one side, long lashes resting on his creamy cheeks. To my left, Thea was slumped in her seat, chin on her chest. Was she asleep too, already?