Around us, on all four sides, flickering electric lights are coming on in the windows; a man-made hospital dawn two hours after the outside natural one.
It seems impossible that only the day before yesterday I was putting frozen pain au chocolat into the oven. As if there’s been an earthquake in time, with the fire separating the tectonic plates of our past and present irrevocably. A little high falutin’, sorry, but who else can I tell? Poor Jen would probably think I was prepping her for an A-level retake in something.
As soon as I see your face, I know that no heart has been found for her. I go close to you and you tell me that there’s time! It’s still going to be alright! Not to be defeatist! She will get better. Of course she will. You don’t need to speak for me to hear your burly tough optimism. Because although we no longer have a solar plexus love, we have the married kind, which means that your voice – you – are inside my mind.
Sarah arrives, her clothes crumpled, no make-up. She was doing shifts at Jenny’s bedside with you last night.
‘I got through to Ivo,’ she says. ‘He’s trying to get a standby flight.’
You just nod.
You knew about this, Mike? You must have done for Sarah to have his number. And you thought this was OK? My voice clearly isn’t in your head, because this is a terrible idea. Or perhaps my voice is in your head and you just ignored me. Yes, I’m cross. Of course I’m bloody cross!
Has Sarah told him what she looks like now?
Can anyone describe Jenny’s face and body now?
Last Saturday they went to Chiswick House Park together. ‘What did you do?’ I’d asked her that evening, thinking they’d gone to the café, or had a picnic, maybe read. When she didn’t answer, I’d imagined all sorts of canoodling. Finally, a little embarrassed, she’d told me – they’d just looked at one another; the long sunny hours spent staring at each other’s faces.
Maybe if you’d known about how they spent their afternoon, you’d have known it wasn’t a good idea.
Because what will he think when he looks at her now?
And how can she bear his rejection?
I’m sorry. You think she’s unconscious and will be totally unaware of him. You’ve no idea how badly she may be hurt by this.
Crossness and apologies. As in our old life together, our children pull us apart as frequently as they unite us; causing tensions we had no idea about when we married – although at the moment I’m the only one who’s aware of them.
Sarah outlines her plan for the day – talking to Rowena and then going to the police station – but you are going to stay put; your only mission is to guard Jenny. Despite the multitude of medical staff in ICU, you’re not going to leave your post.
In the corridor Jenny is beaming.
‘He’s going to get a standby flight. Aunt Sarah phoned him.’
‘Did she…’ How can I ask this?
‘No. She didn’t tell him what I look like now, if that’s what you’re worried about? But it won’t matter. That sounds stupid. Of course it will matter. What I mean is, it won’t change anything.’
What can I say? That only tough-as-old-boots married love could withstand this, not their fragile five-months-old romance; that ‘love is not love which alters when it alteration finds’ doesn’t apply to teenage boys.
‘Young love,’ you used to say, smiling, and I’d want to hurl a potato at you, or whatever I was washing or peeling at the time – as if this kind of relationship could age into wrinkles and smile lines. Because what he felt for Jenny had built-in obsolescence, even without the fire.
‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ Jenny says, a little baffled. ‘I mean, I know you don’t like him much.’ A very short pause, just space enough for me to argue, but I don’t and she continues. ‘He’ll tell the police about the red paint now, won’t he?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
Sarah walks past us on the phone. ‘This takes precedence,’ Sarah says, then pauses. ‘I don’t know. [Pause.] No, you take some time off work. [Pause.] I don’t have time for this right now.’
She must be talking to Roger. You try and like him out of loyalty to your sister, but I annually resent his sneering face at the Christmas table when he actually tries to win pulling the crackers but is the only person at the table not to wear the paper hat. Competitive about his own children, dismissive of ours; frankly, I loathe him, and perhaps that’s one reason I used to dislike Sarah, for being a unit with him.
She hasn’t mentioned her own family to you or her job, putting us absolutely centre stage. I’m only just discovering that how someone behaves in everyday life gives no clue how they’ll be when it counts. Maybe Roger – in the right circumstances – would wear a paper hat and let Addie win the cracker. Though he’s hardly shining now if Sarah’s half of the conversation is anything to go by. I think I see disappointment on her face, but not surprise.
‘She and Uncle Roger don’t get along any more,’ Jenny says to me as if reading my thoughts. So Sarah has talked to Jenny about her marriage. My God, who isn’t talking to Jenny about their marriage? Perhaps a teenage daughter in the room doesn’t smooth adult relationships but makes them gripe.
Sarah abruptly ends the conversation, saying she has to go.
Jenny and I go with her.
A nurse answers the locked door of the burns unit, surprised to see Sarah.
‘Jenny’s been taken to ICU, didn’t anyone-?’
‘Yes, actually it’s Rowena White I want to see. She’s been friends with Jenny since primary school, and you know how people become friends of the family too.’
She stumbles as she speaks; telling half-truths, like crumpled clothes, has never been Sarah before.
The nurse lets her in and we follow her to Rowena’s side-room. A woman is wheeled past on a trolley.
‘I can’t do this right now, Mum,’ Jenny says and I curse myself for bringing her into the burns unit. ‘I’ll be back in a little while, OK?’
‘OK.’
She leaves.
In Rowena’s side-room, a nurse is taking the dressings off Rowena’s hands.
Sarah waits a little way from the open doorway for the nurse to finish. ‘The burns have got damaged,’ the nurse says to Rowena, surprised. ‘Some of the blisters have burst…?’
‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry.’
‘Not your fault, sweetie. But how?’
In the doorway I see Sarah listening intently to this, but the nurse and Rowena haven’t seen her. I remember that Sarah did a two-year stint in the domestic violence unit.
‘I told the other nurse about it yesterday,’ Rowena says.
The nurse looks through Rowena’s notes.
‘So you did. You said you slipped…?’
‘Yes. I’m just so clumsy.’
I shudder at her use of Maisie’s vocabulary.
‘But there’s damage to the top of your hands as well as the palms?’ the nurse says.
Rowena is silent and doesn’t meet her eye.
‘Have the doctors taken a look at you?’ the nurse continues.
‘Yes. Does it mean I’ll have to stay here longer?’
‘It may do. We have to be so careful about infection. You know about all that, don’t you? I think I already read you my riot act?’
‘Yes, you did. Thank you.’
‘I’ll be back to see you in a bit.’
As the nurse leaves, Sarah comes in.
‘Hello, Rowena. I’m Sarah, Jenny’s aunt. Is your mother not here?’
‘She’s gone to get me a few things from home.’
Rowena seems at ease with Sarah so she can’t know that she’s been eavesdropping.
‘How are you feeling?’ Sarah asks.
‘Fine. Getting much better now.’
‘It was incredibly brave. What you did.’
Rowena looks embarrassed. ‘You saw it in the paper?’ she asks.
Rowena’s rescue effort was hidden in the middle pages of the Richmond Post. I’m not sure if you read that far. It was in the mode of ‘Very Small Earthquake Not Many Killed’ kind of a story – ‘Plain Girl Runs To Help But Doesn’t Rescue Anyone And Is Slightly Hurt’. Tara wouldn’t let anything detract from the main story of beautiful Jenny dying.
‘I saw it, yes,’ Sarah says. ‘But a colleague told me too. I’m also a police officer.’
‘Course. Mum told me. Stupid of me. It wasn’t brave though. I mean, I didn’t have time to be brave. Wasn’t thinking really.’
‘Well, I disagree,’ Sarah says. She sits down next to her.
‘Mum told me about Adam,’ Rowena says. ‘It’s just so terrible. I mean, Adam’s such a lovely boy. Well, you’re his aunt, so you know what he’s like.’
Her way of speaking is diffident, even when she’s trying to make a forceful point. Her young face so earnest.
‘You obviously know Adam?’ Sarah says.
‘Yes. I mean, he was only a baby really when I was at Sidley House with Jenny. But I got to know him last summer, when I was doing work experience there. I was his classroom assistant and he was just so… well, good. And thoughtful. Really polite. And that’s pretty rare in boys his age. And it’s just wrong what they’re saying about him. Awful.’
I hadn’t known that Rowena was courageous and neither had I seen that she’s become kind and intuitive; as though paper has been put on Maisie’s gentleness and Rowena is the brass-rubbing image.
‘And anyone could have got in,’ Rowena earnestly continues. ‘Annette – she’s the school secretary – well, she’s pretty lax about security. Presses the buzzer to let people in without looking at the monitor on her desk. I don’t want to get her into trouble, but it’s important to tell the truth now that Adam’s being blamed, isn’t it?’
Sarah nods. ‘Can you tell me what you remember from Wednesday?’
‘Yes, but, well, which part?’
‘How about from when you went to the school with Adam?’
‘OK. He wanted to get his birthday cake. I knew he’d be a little embarrassed if his mum went with him. I mean, he loves his mum to bits, I know he does, but it’s not cool in front of his friends, is it, to go with your mum? So I asked him if he’d like me to go with him. I had to get the medals anyway. I didn’t hold his hand until we got to the road. Held it just for that bit. Sorry, that’s not important, is it? Anyway, we went into the school together, and I went straight to the secretary’s office and Adam went to get his cake.’
‘On his own?’
‘Yes. He was going to meet me again in the office, so we could walk back to sports day together. I should have gone with him, shouldn’t I? If I had…’
She trails off, upset.
‘Which floor is Adam’s classroom on?’ Sarah asks.
‘The second. But it’s the other side of the hallway from the Art room. That’s where they said the fire started, isn’t it? I mean, it’s on the second floor too, but not close.’
She seems young and not terribly convincing as she tries to help Adam.
‘So you were in the office, while Adam went to his classroom?’ Sarah prompts.
‘Yes. Annette was in there and she chatted to me about something silly. As per usual. And then the alarm went off. It was really loud. I went out of the office, calling for Adam. And then I heard Mum calling for me.’
‘So you were with Annette in the office when the alarm went off?’
‘Yes.’
Sarah must be crossing people off her list of suspects. The office is two floors beneath the Art room. Neither Rowena nor Annette could be the witness who supposedly saw Adam. And neither of them could have started the fire. Though I can’t imagine Annette – let alone Rowena – as an arsonist.
‘I saw Adam running out of the school,’ Rowena continues. ‘Mum told me to go outside with Addie and then she went to help with the reception children.’
‘Do you remember if Adam was holding anything?’
‘No. I’m sure he wasn’t. I’d have noticed. Do you want me to tell someone that? Is it important?’
Sarah shakes her head. Presumably because DI Baker would say that Adam could easily have discarded the matches by then.
‘Did you see anyone else?’ Sarah asks.
‘I’m not sure. I mean, I wasn’t looking. I think I might have done. It was only a glimpse. I’m sorry, that’s not helpful at all, but I can’t remember any more.’
‘If you do-’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll tell the police. Straight away. I am trying to remember but the more I try and think about it, the fainter it becomes until I’m not sure if I saw anyone at all and just imagined it.’
‘OK,’ Sarah says. ‘So you went outside to join Adam. Can you tell me what happened then?’
‘He was panicking, looking for Jenny. He said that she wasn’t out at sports day. When I saw Annette come out, I asked her if she’d brought the office register. You know the book where you sign in and out? But she hadn’t. She said it was OK because there was no one else in the building. I asked her if she was sure and she said that she was. The fire was really bad by then. I mean, there’d been this big bang, and loads more smoke and flames.’ She looks upset. ‘I never even thought that Jenny might still be in there.’
‘Because Annette said everyone was out?’
‘Not just that. I wouldn’t have thought she was still up there in any case. I mean, I don’t know her well, never have actually, which is silly really when we were at school together, but I’d have thought she’d gone outside. I mean, it must have been broiling up there and it was such a beautiful afternoon. Well, I don’t think anyone would have expected her to sit in the medical room all afternoon in the baking heat. But she did.’
Was it because I’d implied she wasn’t responsible enough to be school nurse?
‘Then Adam saw his mother running into the building shouting for Jenny,’ Rowena continues. ‘He tried to go after her. I had to stop him. It was awful.’
‘And that’s when you went in?’
She nods. Sarah seems about to say something else then sees the awkwardness in Rowena’s face.
‘Before you went in, when you were still outside on the gravel with Adam, do you remember how long it was until Annette came out to join you?’
‘I suppose, yes, she wasn’t there straight away. I mean, I remember Mum helping Tilly, the reception teacher, and I was with Addie. I suppose if I had to guess, it would be a few minutes.’
‘Your mum said she had lipstick on.’
‘I don’t remember that. Is it important?’
‘It’s a little odd to put on lipstick,’ Sarah says, ‘in the circumstances, don’t you think?’
I think she’s confiding in Rowena to win her trust a little so that Rowena will confide more in return. Maybe she’s sensed Rowena is keeping something from her.
‘I don’t know if it’s odd,’ Rowena says stiffly. ‘And I didn’t notice. I’m not much good at things like make-up, actually.’
She’s so awkward and I feel for her. I bumped into her and Maisie in Westfield a couple of months ago. Her clothes were dowdy and despite being spotty she had no make-up on. I thought she was a plain girl who wasn’t helping herself look prettier. I’d hoped that Maisie was going to try and get her some nice clothes or make-up. I wince as I remember how superficial I was about appearances.
‘You said you were Adam’s classroom assistant last summer,’ Sarah says. ‘Does that mean you were assisting Silas Hyman?’
‘No. Addie was still in year two then. Mr Hyman teaches year three.’
‘Did you get to know him?’
Rowena shakes her head. ‘He wouldn’t have talked to someone like me. Wouldn’t have noticed me.’
‘But you noticed him?’
‘Well, he’s very good-looking, isn’t he?’
‘What did you think of him?’
Rowena hesitates a moment, then looks away from Sarah. ‘I thought he could be violent.’
‘Was that because of what he said at the prize-giving?’
‘I wasn’t at the prize-giving.’
‘So what made you think that?’
I think it’s the years of violence by her father, which makes her more perceptive to viciousness – like bruised skin being more sensitive to touch.
‘I used to watch him sometimes,’ Rowena says. ‘It was easy because he never looked at me so he didn’t notice me watching him.’
‘You saw through him?’
‘I don’t think it’s like that, like he’s hiding the real person inside. More like he’s two different people.’
‘One good, one bad?’
‘I know it sounds strange, silly, but if you read about it, I mean literature going way back when, it’s something that’s been happening for centuries. You know morality tales in the Middle Ages, the good angel and the devil? And the Jacobean plays with fighting for someone’s soul. It’s not the person’s fault the devil is there. You have to help that person get rid of him.’
Was she talking about Silas Hyman or her father? She wasn’t doing English for A level so must have scoured books looking for something to make sense of it all – to make things better. Because if there is a devil and an angel in her father, then one day the devil can be banished and the angel will win out and her dad will love her.
‘You said to me that you weren’t really thinking,’ Sarah says. ‘When you went into the school.’
‘That’s right.’
‘You were thinking enough to get a towel and soak it in water.’
‘I should have taken three, shouldn’t I? And I didn’t do any good. Didn’t help.’ She starts to cry. ‘Sorry. Being a twit.’
The same word that Maisie uses about herself; a middle-aged, self-denigrating word.
‘Don’t say that, please don’t,’ I say to her. ‘It’s not a word that any teenager should use. Especially not you. You went into a burning building, for God’s sake.’
‘Mum?’
I see Jenny has come in.
‘She did. And don’t tell me it was all about Donald, and some wish to make her father proud.’
‘OK…’
‘You’re not a victim, Rowena, you listen to me! You’re gutsy and resourceful. And whatever made you do it – whatever the reason – you’re extraordinary. And I will not let your father’s abuse blind me – or anyone else – to your bravery.’
‘Blimey, Mum, you socked it to her. In a good way, I mean.’
‘Shame she can’t hear me.’
‘I’m sure she will, one day. Everyone will. In stereo. I’ll tell them too.’
Sarah is looking through her notes. ‘If I could just go back to the secretary for a moment?’ she says. ‘Are you sure that she said everyone was out?’
‘Yes. Definitely. Later, I mean after Jenny had been brought out, she said that Jenny had signed herself out. Said she remembered her doing it.’
‘It would explain why your phone was outside,’ I say to Jen.
‘Maybe,’ she says, her voice unusually quiet. I see that she looks pale and tense, her fingers knotting together.
‘I can’t remember, Mum. I can’t fucking remember. Sorry. It just doesn’t make sense. Why would I sign myself out, then go in again? But why would Annette lie?’