I’d failed her again. Let her down when she needed me. Why did I need anything other than her? In the darkness that had been my life up to that point, having Elspeth was like the sun finally coming out. If I could do it all over again, I would take her hand and march into Sophie Bailey’s party with her. I would laugh and whoop as she danced with her friends. I’d eat cake and chat with the other mums. And when it was all over I would look at the happiness on her face as we drove home and I would be content. There are so many things I’d have done differently. But it’s too late now. There will be no more parties; no more sunshine.
‘We’re a bit early but I’m sure they’ll have your room ready,’ says Amanda, opening her door. ‘Maggie?’
I can’t move. The seat feels like it’s clamped tight around me. My whole body is shaking.
‘I understand this is difficult,’ says Amanda, placing her hand on mine. ‘But we are all here for you. This is just a temporary measure. Think of it as a rest home, a place to spend a few days finding your feet.’
My heart feels like it will burst out of my chest. The memory of Elspeth fills my head. I need to talk to Sean. I can’t get through this without him.
‘Let’s just take one step at a time, eh?’ Amanda says, noticing my panic. ‘Now you wait there and I’ll come round and help you out of the car.’
As she shuts her door I am tempted to lock mine. I could sit here in Amanda’s little car for ever and never have to face the outside world again. Just sink into those memories.
The car door opens and I jump. The air outside is cool and brings me out of my thoughts.
‘Right then, love,’ Amanda says. ‘Let’s get you out.’
As I unfasten the seat belt I get a strange sensation up my spine. I see Elspeth looking at me instead of Amanda, her face quizzical.
Where are we going, Mummy?
Elspeth.
I don’t want to, Mummy.
‘Easy does it.’
Amanda is guiding me out of the car, and Elspeth is gone. Every movement hurts. Pain slices through my lungs as I step on to the pavement. Dr Elms says that there is no sign of inflammation, but I will need to use inhalers to build my lungs back up.
‘Now wait here a moment, love,’ says Amanda. ‘I’ll just get your things from the boot.’
‘My things?’ I say. ‘What things? You mean … from home?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ says Amanda, making her way to the boot. ‘It’s just some new clothes we cobbled together for you.’
‘Do you know what’s happened to all my stuff from Larkfields – from my house?’ I say. ‘When can I get it back?’
Amanda pauses then turns to face me.
‘We tried to get it for you,’ she says, putting her hand on my arm. ‘I went over to Larkfields myself but the new tenant said that everything had been thrown away by the landlords.’
‘What?’ I exclaim. ‘But they can’t do that. Surely it’s against the law?’
I think about Elspeth’s bedroom; her books and toys, her beautiful craft creations; all our photographs.
‘I’m ever so sorry,’ says Amanda. ‘I really am. Look, let me just get these bags out and then we’ll go inside and make a nice cup of tea.’
I wait on the pavement while she retrieves the clothes. I feel so fragile; as though the slightest touch could send me flying from this spot. I see myself landing in the middle of the road and shattering into a thousand pieces. It’s a tempting thought. How nice it would be to simply stop existing.
Amanda slams the boot shut and I fold my arms across my chest protectively as she comes towards me. She’s holding a large carrier bag with the name of a discount shop on it.
‘As I said, it’s nothing fancy,’ says Amanda. ‘But it will set you up for now until you get yourself sorted.’
I look down at the clothes I’m wearing. A pair of ill-fitting polyester trousers, a sky-blue hooded sweatshirt with the words ‘LA Living’ printed across the chest and a pair of black plimsolls. All courtesy of Claire, who had raided the hospital lost-property room for me.
‘Right, let’s get you inside,’ says Amanda, putting her arm round me.
I nod my head. My mouth has gone dry and my legs feel leaden. It’s like I’m fourteen years old again. I shudder as the memory of that time resurfaces: the smell of antiseptic, the walls that felt like they were closing in on me, the horror of knowing that my fate was in someone else’s hands. And now it’s happening again.
I grip Amanda’s hand as we walk up the short path that leads from the street to the front door. There are two stone lions on either side of the door. One of them has a chipped nose.
‘Quite nice, isn’t it?’ says Amanda as she raps three times on the door.
I don’t have a chance to answer because at that moment the door opens and a thin man with ginger hair and a blotchy face stands in front of us.
‘Mr Hutchinson?’ says Amanda, extending her hand. ‘I’m Amanda Jones from Lewes Housing Support Service. This is Maggie Allan.’
The man sighs and nods his head.
‘You’d better come in,’ he says, looking at me like something he’s just trodden in. ‘And please wipe your feet.’
We follow him into a circular hallway. It’s clean, pleasant even, though the air stinks of cooking fat mixed with cheap air freshener. I scrape my trainers against the brittle entrance mat. Amanda removes her sandals.
‘It’s through here,’ mutters Mr Hutchinson, pointing at a door to the left of the staircase. ‘You said she couldn’t do stairs.’
‘That’s right,’ says Amanda, smiling warmly at me. ‘Mrs Allan has just been discharged from hospital and is still quite fragile. She was in a coma for almost ten weeks.’
The man looks me up and down then shrugs.
‘As I told your colleagues, I don’t normally do DSS,’ he says. ‘You sure she’s not going to be any trouble?’
I stand impotently as Amanda reassures Hutchinson that I am no threat to him or his establishment; that I am in a fragile state; a ‘priority need’ case. I want to run away, as far away as possible from here. Back to my home and my family. At this time of evening I would be preparing dinner in the kitchen. Elspeth would be drawing at the table. My eyes fill with tears as I remember the simple happiness of those moments and how I never truly appreciated them; or her.
‘Right,’ says Hutchinson, nodding at Amanda. ‘Well, I’ll know who to bill if anything goes wrong. I’ll show you the room.’
He steps towards the door. Amanda hangs back and squeezes my arm.
‘Please try not to worry,’ she whispers. ‘It’s all going to be fine.’
I nod my head though I know that it is far from fine. It is as bad as it can possibly be.
‘Okay,’ says Hutchinson as he unlocks the door. ‘After you.’
He stands back to let us through. Amanda enters the room first.
‘This is lovely,’ I hear her say. ‘Really light.’
I take a deep breath then step inside.
‘Oh, there’s a kitchenette,’ Amanda cries, clapping her hands together. ‘That’s good.’
I follow her to the other side of the room where a microwave sits on a small metal counter. There’s a white jug kettle and two mugs, a metal bowl with sachets of sugar and four tiny cartons of UHT milk.
‘Crockery’s in that cupboard under the sink,’ says Hutchinson. ‘I’ve made an inventory of it so I’ll know if any of it goes missing.’
I want to speak. I want to tell him that I have no intention of stealing his crappy stuff. That nothing is worth anything to me any more. Instead I just nod, like a dumb animal, and listen as he explains how the microwave works.
‘TV’s over there by the bed,’ he says, pointing to a flat screen that is wedged on a table. ‘We just ask you be respectful to the other guests when you’re watching it. Keep the volume low.’
I nod my head though I’m not really taking in what he’s saying. I can feel my heart speeding up as panic grip
s me. This can’t be happening.
‘Oh, and no visitors after seven p.m.,’ says Hutchinson, tapping his fingers on the door frame. ‘That’s a strict rule.’
I look up at him and the room starts to spin. No visitors. I thought the darkness was gone for ever but now as I stand here in this strange room, it hits me. I’m back where I started.
‘Elspeth,’ I whisper.
‘Who’s Elspeth?’ says Hutchinson, his eyes widening.
‘No,’ I cry, my tears making a blur of Hutchinson. ‘I can’t. Not again. I need to find my baby, my beautiful baby girl. I need to get her back.’
Amanda grabs my arms before I fall to the ground and I let her hold me; let her carry for just one moment the weight of my despair.
‘It’s okay, love,’ she whispers as she pushes my hair out of my eyes. ‘You let it all out. Have a good cry.’
In the background I hear Hutchinson walk to the door.
‘I’ll leave you in peace,’ he says. ‘If you need anything just ring zero from the phone on the desk.’
‘Thanks, Mr Hutchinson,’ says Amanda, lifting her head.
He closes the door behind him and I wriggle free from Amanda’s embrace.
‘I’m sorry,’ I mutter, aware suddenly that I’ve exposed my vulnerability to a complete stranger.
‘You have nothing to feel sorry about, Maggie,’ says Amanda. ‘This is a huge ordeal for you in every way. But we’re here for you.’
I rub my chest. The pain is starting up again.
‘I need my inhaler. Could you get it for me?’ I say, sitting on the bed.
‘Yes, of course,’ says Amanda, standing up and taking the small blue inhaler from my bag. ‘My house is cluttered with these. My son has asthma but he’s always losing his bloody inhalers. Which isn’t surprising considering the state of his bedroom. Still, that’s teenagers for you. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to …’
‘It’s fine,’ I say, putting the inhaler to my mouth and taking a sharp breath.
‘Here’s some water,’ says Amanda, handing me a yellow plastic beaker.
I take it and sip slowly.
‘Does that feel better?’ she asks, smiling at me as though I’m a small child.
‘Yes,’ I reply.
I drain the cup then put it down on the floor beside me.
‘I saw you have a box of painkillers in your medicine bag,’ says Amanda, picking up the beaker and taking it to the sink. ‘How many do you have to take a day?’
‘Six,’ I reply. ‘They’re for the muscle pains.’
Amanda nods her head.
‘Well, I think it’s probably best if I leave you enough for tonight and then I’ll give the box to your carer, who’ll be visiting each day from tomorrow. It’s a good idea if she administers them, just for the time being.’
She smiles but I can detect an underlying wariness. She doesn’t trust me with them.
‘Anyway,’ she says, rubbing her hands together, ‘I think it’s time for a cuppa. It’s just this crappy UHT milk, I’m afraid. Are you happy to have it black?’
I nod my head though I really don’t want a cup of tea. I’m so tired. I slip off my shoes and climb on to the bed, my eyes suddenly heavy with sleep. In the background I can hear Amanda filling the kettle. I close my eyes. I see Elspeth paddling in the sea at Whitstable. Sean is holding her above the water and she’s kicking her little feet. The water splashes in Sean’s face and he looks over at me and laughs. I am sitting on the beach, watching them. They look so happy. But then I see it. The huge wave. It’s coming up behind them. I jump to my feet and throw my arms in the air. ‘Sean,’ I cry. ‘Look behind you.’ But they can’t hear me. I start to run but the shingle slows me down. The wave is getting higher. It’s almost upon them. I scream Elspeth’s name and at the very last minute, just before the wave consumes them, she looks back.
I wake with a start. Amanda is standing by the side of the bed holding a mug with faded flowers on the front.
‘Here’s your tea, love,’ she says gently. ‘I’ll pop it here on the side table then I’ll leave you to get some rest. I’ve popped some basics in the cupboard for you if you’re hungry later. Then I’ll be back tomorrow with your carer and we can discuss what’s next.’
She walks towards the door and I suddenly feel afraid.
‘You promise you’ll come back tomorrow?’ I say, sitting up. ‘You won’t leave me here?’
‘Maggie,’ says Amanda soothingly, ‘I told you. We are all here for you. We’re going to help you get through this. I promise.’
She closes the door behind her and I curl on my side, tucking my knees into my chest. Upstairs someone slams a door and I hear Hutchinson talking to Amanda in the corridor outside. I put my hands over my ears to drown out his voice then close my eyes, willing myself to sleep. But all I can see is that giant wave enveloping Elspeth’s tiny body.
It’s no use. I have to do something, I tell myself, as I throw the covers back. I can’t just lie here. I need to start looking for Sean.
12
Dear Mummy,
It’s the middle of the night and I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see horrible shapes, like big sea creatures with tentacles coming at me. Last night I dreamed I was drowning. I was sinking in brown muddy water and I couldn’t breathe. When I woke up, Zoe was standing by the side of the bed. She said I’d disturbed her with my screaming. I thought she’d be angry but she was quite nice. She went and got me a cup of hot chocolate then came and sat on the edge of my bed while I drank it. She said that she had nightmares when she first arrived too but then once she got used to it they stopped.
Zoe is snoring now but it’s not an annoying sound. It’s actually quite nice because I know she’s there. Weasel Face doesn’t talk to me much. She just tells me what I should be doing, what time I should be up in the morning, what she wants me to help her with. On my second day here she handed me a piece of paper which she said was the rota and told me to stick it on my wall so I wouldn’t forget what jobs I need to do.
Today I had to empty the bins in all the bedrooms, wash the bathroom sink and then scrape the vegetables before dinner. It was hard work but that didn’t bother me so much because being busy takes my mind off things.
The worst part of the day is now when everything’s quiet and all I can hear are my thoughts. That’s when I think of you. I wonder where you are. Maybe you’re looking for me and any minute now you’ll hammer on the door and say, ‘It’s okay, we’ve found her.’
I wish that would happen. I wish it more than anything in the world.
Anyway, I’m going to stop now because my eyes are closing.
Goodnight Mummy.
I love you.
I miss you.
Your lovely daughter xxx
13
I get out of bed and search the room for a pen. There’s a pencil by the kettle that Amanda must have left behind. I pick it up and look around for something to write on. Then I see a red plastic ring binder on the little table by the window. The words IVY HOUSE INFORMATION PACK have been neatly written on the front in black permanent marker. I open it, flicking past the laminated pages outlining the fire drill, the visiting hours and the correct way to work the shower. I pull out a page that says ‘Useful numbers’ and see that it is only printed on one side.
That will have to do, I think to myself as I take the paper and pencil over to the bed and sit down. Turning to the blank side, I make a list of people who may know where Sean could be. My hands feel shaky at first, and the first few lines are barely legible.
I start with Rob Daniels, Sean’s desk partner at work. They got on well enough though I wouldn’t say they were the best of friends. He lives in Surrey but has a flat in London. Maybe he let Sean stay there?
Number two: Colin Greaves, Saffy and Alexandra’s dad. Of all the parents at the school, Colin was the one Sean made time to chat to at parties and parents’ evenings. He worked for a recruitment consultancy in Brighton and
was a huge Spurs fan. I remember he once gave Sean a spare ticket to accompany him to a match at White Hart Lane. Sean had been so busy work-wise this last year that he let the friendship drift. Just like he was letting everything drift, I think.
I pause to give my hand a rest before going on to number three: Alan Hamilton, Sean’s friend from university. They had shared a house in his final year, and though they lost touch after graduating, Sean had bumped into him on the tube a couple of years ago and they’d met up for drinks a few times since. The last I heard he was working for Lambeth Council. I write the words ‘long shot’ in capital letters next to his name.
Then, finally, Hester Trueman: Sean’s aunt. She lives in Portsmouth and must be in her eighties now. As his only living relative, maybe he contacted her to tell her about Elspeth’s death? I jot down the name of the village where she lives. I have no idea what her address is but Google may be able to help.
But then I remember. I can’t google because I don’t have a phone or a laptop. I throw the paper and pencil at the wall in frustration. This is hopeless, I think to myself as I flop back on the bed.
I close my eyes and try, desperately, to think back to the afternoon of 12th May but there’s nothing. It’s like my brain has been wiped. I can remember snippets of detail from earlier in the month. The May procession. The school spring fair. And I remember Elspeth had a new interest: Native Americans. She’d borrowed a book from the school library all about them. And she had wanted to make a dream catcher. Yes, I remember that. I went into town, to the craft shop, and bought willow sticks and wool and netting, and Elspeth had sat at the kitchen table and got started on it. Was that the day before the accident or the previous weekend? I’m not sure. I sit up in the bed, my heart pounding.
I think hard about that dream catcher. The wool was purple and blue: Elspeth’s favourite colours. I see myself sitting at the kitchen table weaving strands of blue wool across the surface of the willow circles and Elspeth’s voice, loud and insistent: ‘No, Mummy, you’re doing it wrong. The feathers have to be next to the pine cones.’
Day of the Accident Page 4