by Elena Wilkes
‘No, I think I understand.’ Did she?
‘But maybe not quite as mad as being in a café with me must feel to you,’ Vanessa smiled. ‘But maybe we’re both sitting in that court because we’re trying to achieve the same thing. I’m guessing you’re looking for answers that you know you won’t find anywhere else. You want the whole picture so that you can try and make sense of all this, just like I do. Is that anywhere close?’
She hadn’t thought of it like that, but that was exactly how she felt.
‘I have this terrible, terrible driving need to know. No matter how excruciating, no matter how horrific, I have to be there and hear every single one of the details and know, precisely what my daughter went through.’
The sheer enormity of what she was saying crumpled her face into a mask of pain. Her hands came up to her mouth as though trying to stop the words, but now she’d started, she just couldn’t stop. She began to weep: sobbing and sobbing behind those trembling fingers. Frankie stared at her in horror.
‘I carried her inside me for forty weeks and then her birth – the long and agonising twelve hours of it…’ Her voice whispered. ‘We went through the blood, the sweat, and the tears together, and at the end I held her in my arms and she held my little finger. I made a promise to her then, that I’d be by her side through everything. That she would never have to face anything alone.’ She took a massive breath and her eyes widened in shock and horror at the realisation. It was as though Frankie wasn’t there.
‘But I broke that promise, didn’t I?’ She began to cry again then, great convulsions of grief, not caring that people were looking round and wondering what was going on. ‘If I can hear it… If I can make myself listen to what she went through, if I can picture every second of what she endured, then it’ll be like I kept my promise and I never really left her.’
Her weeping got louder. Frankie was suddenly jolted out of her trance. Her eyes searched around frantically as she pulled a whole load of serviettes from behind the sugar holder and pressed them across the table.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…’ Vanessa kept saying. ‘I shouldn’t be talking to you like this. I shouldn’t be saying these things… Look at me, I’m supposed to be the adult here, looking after you.’ She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and then went to grab another serviette. ‘Please forgive me, Frankie. This must all seem very strange and uncomfortable—’
But Frankie suddenly caught her hand. ‘Vanessa—’
The sensation of the touch felt weird but strangely nice.
They looked into each other’s eyes.
‘Vanessa, I wish—’ She broke off and looked away. ‘I wish someone like you had been my mum.’
The pain in Vanessa’s eyes burned.
‘Thing is, I’ve never had a mum. I’ve never had what you’ve just described. No one’s ever told me that they’d be with me, no matter what.’
Everyone lets you down in the end. Even the people who are supposed to love you.
Vanessa let go of her hand to dab at her cheeks. ‘That’s so sad, Frankie. So incredibly sad,’ she sighed. ‘No one should have to go through any of that alone, that really is the worst thing…’ She gave a watery smile. ‘Hey, maybe we can help and support each other Frankie, what do you think?’
She had no idea how she could help anyone.
‘I think we both want the same things… I think we both want to know the truth, however hard it might be to hear it.’
Her antennae twitched an alert at what Vanessa was saying.
‘I mean, you’re discovering things about this boy that you thought you were in love with. We both want to know exactly what happened that night.’
Frankie’s gaze didn’t waver.
‘This all must be excruciatingly painful for you,’ Vanessa said as though she’d read her mind. ‘But you know things, details, that I don’t.’
‘Oh, I don’t think—’
But Vanessa started to gabble. ‘I know, but there could be things, couldn’t there? Tiny things. Things he said that night, things he did – clues. His state of mind. It would tell us – tell me… it could give me the answers I need. You know things, Frankie, you just don’t realise it.’
‘I really don’t.’ She felt another frisson of alarm.
‘You haven’t made the connections, that’s all.’
‘I don’t know anything.’ She instantly began to back-pedal.
‘But you don’t know that,’ Vanessa pushed. ‘If you would agree to meet me again – talk to me, just chat, that’s all I’m asking. I mean, did you know, or suspect he had some kind of relationship with Charlotte? Did you ever argue about it?’
The desperation came off her in waves.
A split-second image of that fight over the hairband sprang up as Frankie slewed her chair back.
‘I have to go now.’ She had a sudden surge of panic. She didn’t want this. What was she doing here?
‘Please. Frankie—’
‘I really have to.’ She stood abruptly.
‘I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.’ Vanessa’s face was lined with pleading. ‘I shouldn’t have said all that.’
Some of the other customers were looking round.
‘Please.’ Vanessa smiled around the café as though it was all fine. ‘Please, Frankie, finish your food. Finish your tea. I’m sorry. You’re right, you’re right. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. This was all supposed to be so nice and now I’ve spoiled it… Please, don’t go.’ The begging eyes made her sit.
‘I promise I won’t ask you stuff like that again.’ She dipped to look at her. ‘I give you my word. I totally understand how you feel. I know how I come across. Peter says I’m too full on; I suffocate people so they end up not wanting to be around me. Charlotte couldn’t. She shut herself away… I know she kept secrets from me. If I’d known her secret was someone like Mar—’
She realised what she was saying and looked up suddenly.
‘God.’ She bit her lip and looked as though she might cry again.
Frankie felt an immediate rush of pity. ‘Please don’t get upset, Vanessa. Please… I’m not walking out. You’ve been nice to me and kind to me. You’re a lovely person. Please don’t do this to yourself.’
Vanessa brought the bundle of napkins to her nose again and wiped her streaming eyes. ‘You even chose the guacamole,’ she laughed sadly through the tissues. ‘Charlotte’s favourite.’ She paused as though considering whether to say something and then took a breath.
‘Don’t end up like Charlotte, Frankie,’ she said suddenly. ‘Protect yourself from men like Martin Jarvis. Stay away from people like him. You have a chance right now: walk away, do something positive with your life. Don’t drag his darkness around with you – cut all ties and move on. No good will come of people like him, no matter what they tell you.’
Frankie sat back in her seat and picked up the mug of tea again and drank deeply.
‘I know that’s not something you want to hear, Frankie, but something positive has to come from Charlotte’s death. If it means that you live a life that’s free of those sorts of men… If it saves one young girl from all that trauma, then none of it was pointless.’
‘It’s too late.’
‘No, no, no, that’s madness talking.’ Vanessa reached across the table and touched her elbow. ‘It’s not too late! You don’t have to choose that way. You’re really young, you’re really smart, you’re really—’
‘Martin has my heart,’ she said simply. ‘I gave it to him: all of it. I’m his now: for good or for bad, whatever happens.’
Vanessa studied her with a tight smile. ‘I know it feels like that right now. At your age all your emotions are so intense they overwhelm you. But as you get older, you’ll see things differently, I promise you. Martin Jarvis will become just a name.’
‘You don’t understand.’ Frankie lifted the mug and finished the remainder of the tea. ‘He won’t, you see. He never will. He’ll be
in my life forever until the day I die.’
‘No, Frankie, please don’t say that. Please.’
She placed the mug gently down on the table.
‘He will. Because I’m having his baby.’
Chapter Eleven
Now
‘You’re not seriously going out?’
Alex looks at her as though she’s lost her mind.
Frankie squeezes her feet into her shoes and picks up her bag. ‘If I’m going to be disciplined then I need to look at Keeley’s file. I need to speak to Declan at the home and find out what’s been said. I don’t for a minute think that he made a complaint about me. He’s not that kind of guy.’
‘But that could be seen as interfering with the investigation process, and anyway you said you were scared – terrified, even. How can you go out? And I thought after the police and the note this morning… You honestly can’t take these kinds of chances.’
‘I’ve decided I’m not letting him ruin my life, Alex, even if I am bloody petrified. I’m not letting him do that.’
‘Then let me come with you. Let me drive you at least. I’ll sit outside in the car and wait. You said he was watching you, Frankie. It’s not safe.’ He looks around for his jacket. ‘Actually, I hope he does turn up.’ He snatches it up aggressively. ‘I want him to show himself so I can explain, in very clear terms, what being harassed and terrified really feels like.’ He pulls on one sleeve but Frankie grabs his hand.
‘Alex, don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘I’m the regional manager, I don’t need to be chaperoned. I can’t be guarded twenty-four hours a day. I’m only going to the home and back. Twenty minutes each way, that’s all.’ She sees the look on his face. ‘Oh Alex, don’t look at me like that! – how about I ring you? Does that put your mind at rest? I’ll ring you when I get there and when I’m leaving, how about that?’
‘But you were—’
‘Seriously. It’s a promise. If I say I’m going to do it then I shall,’ she says definitely. ‘What’s the time now?’ She glances at her watch. ‘It’s ten forty-five. If I go now I’ll phone you in twenty-five mins, max.’ She leans forward to kiss him, but he pulls her into a hug and holds her close.
‘I’m scared for you, Frankie. I’m scared this bolshie-ness will make you take risks.’
‘I will be careful. I’ve said. I promise.’
He doesn’t look convinced. ‘Well, I’m going to ring the police station this morning and leave a message for Julia – tell her about the note on the car and ask her what she’s found out about Matthew Jarrow. I’m not having an arsehole like that dictating our lives.’ He bristles. ‘If the police won’t protect you, then I will.’ His jaw works angrily.
She’s instantly worried. ‘Hey, hey now, promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid.’ She looks closely into his face. ‘I need you by my side, not in some bloody police cell, do you understand?’
He nods defensively.
‘I’ll ring you when I said, right?’
He’s still standing on the doorstep watching her as she gets into the car. She lets out a long sigh of relief. Here feels like an oasis of privacy. She realises he hasn’t moved as she quickly dips to start the engine. Being with Alex feels like acting a part. She lifts a hand to wave before reversing off the drive, watching his outline getting smaller and smaller in the rear-view mirror.
She’d already made the call to Declan while Alex was in the shower, to talk over what happened. She also told him that she might pop in for a chat later. That should cover it if anyone asks. Watching the road unfolding in front of her, she tries to quell the rising alarm at what she’s about to do. The desperation is moving as swiftly as the lies. There’s a black hole up ahead and a moving walkway that’s heading in one direction.
How will this all end?
Badly.
Who will be hurt the most?
The thought nearly paralyses her.
Checking the time, she slows down and begins to indicate, before pulling into a lay-by. She waits, and then makes the call to Alex.
‘Yep, it’s me. I’m there already. I don’t know how long I’ll be, but I’ll ring you when I leave, okay?’ She keeps her voice steady and reassuring. He’s not happy but at least he’s not suspicious. She ends the call, hating herself, hating what she’s doing, but it feels like she has no choice. Her fingers plug in the phone number that she thought she’d never ring again. She rests her head back, staring up at the sky, amazed that it’s trying to connect. Her heart is making the connections too: squeezing with nerves and an appalling, shaky, hope. She closes her eyes as a voice answers.
Her mouth opens but no sound comes out.
‘Hello?’
The shock of the voice on the other end is like electricity.
‘Hello?’ it says again.
So many years.
‘Vanessa, it… it’s Frankie,’ she stammers. ‘You still have the same number… I was scared you’d changed it and I wouldn’t find you.’
It’s a ridiculous thing to say. She cringes.
There’s a silence on the end. Then: ‘What do you want, Frankie?’
‘Can I see her? Please. I wouldn’t’ ask, but—’ She breaks off.
There’s a moment’s pause.
‘No.’
‘I need to.’
‘I don’t care. I don’t care what you need. The answer is still no. We’re fine. We don’t want you.’
‘You don’t understand—’
‘I understand everything. He’s out and it’s brought it all back.’
The punch takes her breath away.
‘You know?’
‘Of course I know. We’re Charlotte’s family. We’re the victims.’
The terrible guilt weighs around her heart like a stone.
‘He’s following me.’
‘And?’
‘I’m scared what he’s going to do next. He’s sending me letters. I’ve seen him outside my house. I don’t know what he wants.’
‘Of course you know, Frankie.’ Her voice is hard and flat. ‘I’m glad he’s following you, obsessing over you. I’m glad he’s vengeful and possessive and driven and angry.’ Her voice is brittle with fury and pain. ‘It’s what you deserve.’ She hears another voice murmuring in the background.
‘Let him. It’ll be justice for both of you.’
There’s a beep as Vanessa cuts her off and she’s left holding the phone, listening to her own silence.
We’re fine.
But we’re not all fine, are we?
Frankie stares out into the quiet lay-by.
Some of us haven’t been fine for fifteen years.
No matter how many kids’ lives have been made better: the smiles, and the hugs, and the hand-holdings, the sitting on beds and stroking faces – no matter how many roofs she climbs and daring rescues she throws herself into, there’s always that one child she didn’t save.
The one she chose not to.
Her own.
Chapter Twelve
‘I shouldn’t be here.’
She says it out loud. Her voice jars oddly into the car’s quiet interior.
She checks out all the houses in Vanessa’s street. The rooflines are just as she remembers them: the front doors, the gardens: everything has stayed the same. It’s like a kind of grotesque dream: something from a very long time ago that comes back to her in pulses of appalling recollection. The horror begins to grind. The old memories come at her, one after the other, a picture-terror that makes her want to gun that engine, put her foot down and get out of there as fast as she can. But her heart won’t let her. Not now.
* * *
‘I shouldn’t be here.’
She said those words once before as she stepped over the threshold of Vanessa’s house.
‘Nonsense. Why ever not? I’ve invited you, you’re very welcome. More than.’
She walked into the tiny hallway, feeling Charlotte’s whispered prese
nce like an immediate draught of cold air. She shivered.
‘There’s no need to feel uncomfortable. It’s awful for all of us sitting in that court day after day and you have no one to go home to. I only wish we could do more. Pete and Jack will be in for a cup of tea soon. Come and sit down. Relax.’
Vanessa patted the back of an armchair and Frankie sat, perching on the edge. The room was pleasantly neutral and very neat – fawn carpet, sisal coloured sofa, a glass coffee table – but it felt like a church with old graves under the floor, the bodies lying there, dead and gone, but their creepy company very much alive.
‘There we are. I’ll go and put the kettle on.’
Vanessa bustled into the kitchen as something inched its way up Frankie’s spine. She looked around, moving her eyes but not her head, acutely aware that Charlotte’s touch was on every surface – that her fingers had lingered on this, and that: this table, that chair – she could maybe even detect a tiny note of lingering perfume, but when she tried to breathe it in, it disappeared.
Why had she even agreed to come here?
She knew why: it was like her punishment. She deserved to see every second of what they were going through. Their pain should be her agony.
‘Hello! You must be Frankie.’
She jumped. Vanessa’s husband was standing in the doorway to the kitchen watching her; his jumper was filthy, and he had mud on his face.
‘I would come over and shake your hand, but I’m not allowed on the carpet.’ He grinned and scratched his chin, smearing the mud a bit further. ‘I was just saying to Vanessa that you’re very welcome to come out and join me and Jack outside while the weather’s not too bad. You can bring your tea if you like.’ He smiled at Vanessa who had appeared at his elbow with a tray of steaming mugs. ‘Do you like gardening?’
She was aware he was talking to her as though he’d known her for years.
‘Jack and I are just sorting out what we’ll plant next spring. We like to get the ground prepared. It takes our minds off things. Come on, let me show you.’