by Elena Wilkes
It’s Alex.
She doesn’t know if she says his name out loud or if it’s in her head.
‘Frankie?’ His voice out there is only just discernible. He coughs a little and tries again. ‘Frankie?’
‘I’m here,’ she says as loudly as she dares. The juddering in her arms and legs won’t stop. ‘I’m here. I’m okay.’
She has no idea if this is true. She gives her toes the instruction to move – they oblige. And then her fingers, her hands—
There’s a sudden jolt and a slither. She grits her teeth and closes her eyes.
This is it. This is it. This is where it’s all over.
If she stays completely still, if she doesn’t move even an inch… She lets herself breathe and allows herself a tiny glimpse towards him.
No, Alex! No! Don’t do that!
Her heart begins to stutter with shock – Stop! Stop!
The car slithers a little, its nose dipping into mid-air. Every movement threatens the delicate balance.
Her heart in in her throat as his weight rocks the car: juddering and shaking the frame from side to side as he tries to crawl his way back. One bloodied hand is extended, the fingernails broken and grimed with red. There’s a hissing sound coming from the caved-in hole that was once his mouth.
She suddenly realises what he’s saying.
‘Pleeaasssse,’ he hisses. ‘Pleeaasssse.’
The hand inches towards her. She could grab it. She could.
Gingerly, oh so carefully, she forces her elbow to lift and straighten. She will have to reach forward soon. She will have to alter her weight to—
She can feel the slight shift beneath her. Her breath catches. If she moves suddenly…
‘Frankie,’ he says.
His wrist is there: so close. If she were able to bend, slowly, slowly, and breathe out…
The tips of her fingers extend through the shattered windscreen and touch skin. It’s cool, like marble. His cold palm slides under hers and she closes her hand and wills a grip of iron into it. Don’t let go. Just don’t let go—
‘Frankie—’
Her eyes come up to lock onto his.
He’s staring straight at her.
‘All you have to do is hold on,’ she says. ‘That’s all. I’ve got you, Alex, I’ve got you.’
His gaze locks onto hers. It’s pleading, she can see that. She can only imagine what’s down there in that drop – the rocks, the stones, the water; she can only imagine the fall, the moments of knowing, absolutely, what the end will be…
There’s a muffled moan behind her. She looks down at Vanessa. Her breathing is laboured now: hard and rasping. The moan comes again. It’s not Vanessa.
Something begins to dawn. She looks again at Alex. His eyes have gone from pleading to terrified.
The cries get a little louder. There’s a thump from the boot.
‘Chloe’s in the car.’
It’s not a question, it’s a realisation. Alex’s face begins to change.
‘She hit her head,’ he pants. His tongue slithers over bloodied lips. ‘She wasn’t supposed to… I was going to talk to her, persuade her…’
She can feel the ache in her fingers, the thrumming drive of pain in her shoulder socket.
‘You hurt my daughter. You hurt my child.’
‘I didn’t mean to, Frankie. I did it all for you. I’ve done everything for you. You have to believe that – I wanted to put right what I did. I wanted to give you back the thing you lost.’
She can feel the muscles in his hand loosening; he’s getting weaker. She tightens her own. There’s a bang and a grating sound somewhere beneath her feet as though metal is warping. A siren wail in the distance whines through the air. Behind her, she can hear her daughter sobbing quietly. She’s in the darkness all alone, too scared to cry out. Her heart begins to bleed with anguish.
‘Frankie.’
She looks up into Alex’s pain-filled eyes.
‘Let me go,’ he whispers.
‘No… I can’t…’ The crack and buckle of hinge and joint gets louder. ‘No, Alex, no—’
But he opens his hand: his fingers spanning wide. It’s more difficult for her to keep a hold.
‘Alex, please don’t do this.’
‘Save your daughter and save yourself,’ he whispers again. ‘I’m sorry, Frankie.’
The hand twists. His arm and face are there one second, and then suddenly they’re gone.
There’s a moment.
Dear Jesus. The wailing of the sirens gets louder. All around her, birds are beginning to gather on the bridge wires, their chatter filling the air, drowning out the sobs that rasp in her throat.
‘Chloe?’ she calls out, choking through her tears. There’s silence. ‘Chloe?’
Somewhere deep inside the boot, she can hear her crying urgently now.
She gathers herself. She has to be strong; she’s all Chloe’s got right now.
‘Chloe. This is Frankie… I’m the one who—’
The car starts to rock. There’s a squeal from the boot. She braces her feet either side of the footwell with a great shuddering intake of breath, ramming herself back in the seat, praying that her weight is enough. The rocking stops.
‘Chloe,’ she says steadily. ‘Can you hear me? I’m Frankie. I’m the one who—’ She is going to say ‘saved you’, but realises there are so many other things she’s done. She takes a big, deep, breath.
‘I’m telling you Chloe, that whatever happens, I’m right here with you.’
There’s no sound from the back.
‘Chloe?’
Does she imagine it, or is there a tiny shift?
‘Can you hear me?’
A tiny, tiny muffled voice comes from behind her. ‘Yes, I can hear you.’
‘Are you hurt?’ She closes her eyes. The horror of Alex’s face swims back at her. She immediately shuts it out.
‘Only my head: just a little bit.’
There’s a sickening creak and a sudden pitch forwards and Chloe starts to scream. The sky tilts alarmingly, wavering with a sudden view of tree-tops and rushing water as the car begins to see-saw. Frankie clutches at the seat, whispering prayers, begging, pleading.
‘I’m scared,’ Chloe whimpers. ‘Please do something, Frankie.’
Vanessa moans pitifully.
‘Okay, okay…’ She looks round. ‘Okay… I’ve got this. I’m going to come and get you, right? You stay still, now Chloe, yes? You stay completely still.’
Gingerly, her fingers feeling for even the minutest movement, she reaches around for the safety belt. The catch clicks open and very gently, she lets it go. Her body resists even shifting an inch. She glances back. She has no idea what she should do. This feels like immediate suicide.
Vanessa is sprawled between the seats; there’s no way round her. The blood bubbles from between her lips and her breathing rattles.
The car slithers with a jolt and there’s the sound of stones falling. Chloe yelps in fear but Frankie speaks over her.
‘Listen to me Chloe. Just listen, yeah?’ she soothes. ‘I’m going to tell you something now, and I want you to be the bravest you’ve ever been, right? Can you hear me?’
‘Yes—’ There’s a whisper.
‘Your mum is with me. She’s okay, but she’s banged her head.’ She closes her eyes. Where the hell are the emergency services?
There’s a whimper from the back.
‘No, no, she’s going to be fine. The emergency people are on their way, and she’s going to be absolutely fine, can you hear me, Chloe?’
She has a terrible sudden thought that the sirens weren’t for them… Her eyes widen. Maybe no one even knows they’re here…
One eye pivots to where Vanessa’s broken face lies crumpled against the dash. Please let that not be true, she begs whatever gods might be listening. Chloe is weeping harder now. She’s only a kid, just a kid who wants her mum. The sound goes on and on.
‘Chloe… Chloe,�
� she soothes, but at the same time a sudden, fierce instinct kicks in: an urgent and absolute drive. ‘You keep listening to me, right?’ If it’s literally the very last thing she does, she’s going to hold her daughter.
Slipping her hand around the side of the passenger seat, she feels for the seat release lever, and then, by the tiniest degrees, she begins to tip the seat back until it’s lying flat.
‘Can you hear me, Chloe? Yeah?… I want you to do something and it’s very important.’ She begins to squirm her shoulders up towards the headrest, until she feels it dig into her spine.
There’s a hushed, frightened snivelling.
‘I want you to look all around, and I want you to tell me if you can feel any loops or catches or anything like that. I want to be able to get to you, you see, and I think the seat might drop forward if we can find the way to release it. Could you look for me? Could you do that?’
There’s a rustling sound and Frankie can hear Chloe moving her hand across the rear of the seat.
‘There’s a tab thing… Like, material stuff.’
‘Yes!’ Frankie breaths out. ‘That’s what I was hoping for. Can you pull it?’
There’s a plucking sound and scratch of fabric and then a sudden pock! as the seat jerks forward. There, in the darkness, two round eyes blink up at her from the gloom.
Shielding Chloe from the sight of Vanessa, Frankie uses all her strength, easing herself onto her side and extending an arm until her fingers reach through the gap. There’s a sudden warmth as she feels skin touching hers, then there’s palm against palm, heat against heat, as she pulls herself over the back seat and into the gap, closer and closer until their foreheads are almost touching. There’s the sound of a helicopter overhead.
‘I’ve got you, I’ve got you,’ she whispers, seeing a tiny smile of relief flicker across Chloe’s face. ‘Your mum’s here, I’m here, we’re all okay. Won’t be long now, they’ll come and get us soon, you just—’
The car begins to slide.
She can feel the dig and pinch of Chloe’s fingernails in the flesh of her arm as she grips tighter. There’s a bumping squeal, the clatter of stones and shale falling away as the undercarriage begins to grind – a deafening grating shudder that runs through her neck and down her spine. She can taste blood in her mouth.
She begins to gabble, shouting louder and louder. ‘Chloe, Chloe, I’m here with you – I’m here… I know you’re scared, but you don’t have to be because I’ve got you now, right? I’ve got you.’
Tears threaten to overwhelm her. ‘You’re not alone,’ she whispers fiercely. ‘I’m not leaving you.’
There’s a booming sound and a sudden bang that shakes their whole world – she knows this is it. She puts her face close to Chloe’s to block everything out and squeezes her eyes tight shut. An almighty judder starts up that shakes and convulses them to the core. She knows they can’t hold on. She knows this is the moment where—
The car jerks.
A gust of wind whistles and a sudden brilliance blooms all around as the whole back of the car opens in a great yawn of stark lights and people calling and radios jabbering.
‘We’ve got you. We’ve got you,’ a woman’s voice says. She hears the rustle of uniforms as hands touch her face.
‘Can you tell me your name?’ she says. ‘Mine’s Clare, and we’re going to get you out of here. You just need to hold on.’
She opens her eyes, hearing the whop-whop-whop of a helicopter and the roar of an engine. Great lobster claw hooks have clanked into place all around the bumper, holding them fast. She looks up. There is Chloe, her daughter, next to her. Her hand is still clasped tightly in hers. She doesn’t think she can let go – ever. She looks up at Clare. ‘I’m Frankie. There’s a woman injured in the front,’ she shouts over the din.
‘Yep, don’t you worry, we’ve got her, Frankie,’ Clare smiles. ‘You’re all going to be fine.’
Chloe’s saying something, but Frankie can barely hear her. She pushes her hair back out of her face.
‘…me,’ she makes out.
‘Sorry?’ She brings the fingers up to her mouth and kisses them.
‘I said, thank you for coming to find me.’
Her heart and mind and gut all melt; she might dissolve at any minute.
‘I wasn’t ever going to leave you. I promised you that a long time ago.’ She tries to stop her voice from breaking. ‘I broke my promise once, but I’ll never do it again.’
And then the tears come.
Chapter Thirty-Three
There are a bunch of kids playing with a Frisbee. Their shouts and screams echo through the park. Frankie sits watching the sparrows gathering around her feet; they are tiny little engines of need. They never give up.
It was this park. It could have been this bench.
It would be weird if it was. She looks to her right and left. It could have been that one, or that. She remembers crying. She remembers a man perching at the other end, nervous to sit too close, and asking if she was okay.
Alex.
His goodness and his badness in equal amounts.
Then she remembers Jack.
Laughing as they played video games together on the settee. Jack finding her a place to stay and smuggling out baby things.
His kindness and his cruelty: half and half.
She thinks of Charlotte. She imagines her final moments; her jaw tightening at the thought of what she went through. A young girl with two men she should have been able to trust. How she would have begged and suffered, clawing at Alex’s arms, desperately fighting for those last few moments of life. How those men thought they could do with her as they pleased.
She closes her eyes, sickened. She had been there that night; she heard her, she saw her, but did nothing to help. She’s no better than them, really. All she could do was run away. She’s been running away all her life.
But she’s not going to run now.
The bench shakes a little as someone sits down.
‘Hello, you,’ a voice says.
She turns to look at Martin. She’s not sure now if he’s handsome or ugly. It doesn’t matter; his eyes are the same eyes she got lost in, all those years ago.
‘Thank you for contacting me.’ He sounds a little formal and unsure.
‘I heard they’d let you out.’
‘Thank you for everything you did for me, Frankie. I can’t imagine what you went through with Alex.’ He looks at the ground, his fingers fumbling awkwardly. ‘I’m so sorry.’
She twitches a painful shrug.
‘But are you managing okay?’
‘I’m getting there.’ She flickers a tiny smile.
‘I tried ringing to let you know about my release, but when you didn’t answer, I tried your work.’
‘Ah. That.’ She raises a sardonic eyebrow. ‘It’s fair to say I’m officially on sick leave, or annual leave… Or, possibly, the precursor-to-being-sacked leave. I don’t think I’ll be allowed to work with kids anymore, do you?’ She smiles grimly. ‘But only time will tell.’
‘And Vanessa?’
She goes to answer but her phone pings and she dips into her pocket.
‘Speak of the devil, she says she’ll be here in five.’
‘And she’s definitely okay with this?’ He rubs the palms of his hands together. They stutter back and forth.
Frankie puts her own on top and he stops.
She looks at him. ‘Even from her hospital bed she was asking to speak to the police. She wanted to tell them everything she’d done. We have no idea what’s going to happen, but I’ll stand up for her, whatever it is.’
Martin stares down at her hands and shakes his head slowly. ‘She’s incredibly brave.’
‘She’s got guts, that’s for sure.’ Frankie nods. ‘I went to see her a lot while she was recovering in hospital. She’s received a lot of help. She feels so guilty over what Charlotte went through; she thinks she allowed it to happen. She’s apologised to me: she hates her
self – then there’s you…’ She shakes her head.
‘But Frankie, no one could have known about Jack and Alex, could they? That’s not down to Vanessa. They stayed away from each other all those years and I was never supposed to come out of prison. If Jack’s plan had come off and I’d died, no one would have ever been any the wiser.’
Frankie blinks sadly. ‘Do you think my relationship with Alex was calculated too?’ She looks away to where the kids are shouting and laughing. ‘Was I just another person who had to be managed and that was the best way of doing it?’
‘I think, in the beginning, Alex was manipulated by Jack just like everyone else, but I believe Alex truly loved you, Frankie. I think he was a man who was haunted by what he’d done. I think it drove him insane.’ He glances up. ‘Is this them?’
Two figures are walking slowly down the path. One is leaning a little on the other; their arms are linked.
‘Get ready to be delighted,’ Frankie raises a hand, smiling. ‘Chloe is a gorgeous girl.’
Martin swallows nervously.
‘There’s no need to be apprehensive. I’ve talked to them. You’ll see.’
Reaching up and around her neck, she unhooks the necklace and gathers it up. Martin watches her. ‘The memories don’t disturb you, then?’
Frankie smiles. ‘It was given with love from Vanessa to Charlotte, and it was given with love from Vanessa to me. Someone broke it for a little while, that’s all, and now it’s fixed again.’
‘Is that like us, do you think?’ he smiles.
‘Everything is possible.’ She gives him a look.
‘What are you going to do with it?’ He stares down at her palm.
‘I’m going to give it to Chloe,’ she smiles. ‘If she’ll have it.’
The figures draw closer. The younger one waves.
‘Hell, she looks like you,’ he whispers.
‘But she has your eyes.’
‘Our daughter,’ he sighs as though he can’t quite believe it.
They both stand, silently, listening to Chloe’s excited chattering. She’s not sure what his sigh is about: sadness maybe? Regret? There’s no point in either; there’s only the present and the future.
‘Yes, I used to think of people like that: who they belong to, who they’re related to.’ She sees the sunlight catching in Chloe’s hair. ‘But now I think it’s much bigger than that: it’s about who loves us. That’s what makes people ours.’