London
November 2009
Chloe walked through the front door and down the hallway, peering into the living room on her way to the kitchen. Everything was neat and tidy, and very still. It felt as though the house were holding its breath.
She was unnerved by the quiet. Hearing a small noise behind her, she swung around.
Alex was standing there. ‘We need to talk, Chlo.’
‘Has she gone?’ Her voice came out quiet and hoarse, and sinisterly calm.
‘Yes.’
‘For good?’
Alex paused a fraction too long. And Chloe’s frayed temper finally snapped.
‘Alex, you’d better start talking, and fast,’ she shouted at him.
Alex came towards her and tried to put his hand on her arm. ‘Chloe…’
She shook him off, walked a few paces, turned back and yelled, ‘Just tell me, for god’s sake – I can’t bear all… this.’ She threw her hands in the air. ‘If you’re having some kind of affair, just bloody well admit it.’
‘No! Chloe, look at me. Look at me, please! I’m not having an affair. I’m not having an affair…’ He strode across and grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly, trying to force the truth into her. She looked in his eyes and saw nothing except an entreaty for her to believe him. She felt a little calmer.
‘So then, what’s going on?’ she asked.
‘We were together for a couple of years, a long time ago,’ Alex answered, not slackening his grip. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face with each word he spoke. ‘We met at university, and then went travelling. And while we were in Australia she got attacked and raped and nearly killed. And after that, we fell apart.’
‘What?’ Chloe couldn’t take it in. She watched as Alex spoke; every muscle of his body seemed taut with tension.
‘When we came home, she disappeared. She said she was only going away for a little while, but she never came back. I never saw her again until Thursday night – that’s why I was so shocked. That’s why this is all so awful and weird.’
Chloe just looked at him, her mind a jumble of incoherent, half-formed thoughts. How could she have ever prepared for this?
In a few days it felt as if her whole world had changed.
‘Chloe?’ Alex’s voice was alarmed.
She stared at him blankly, then was jolted out of her stupor on seeing the tears in his eyes. They were still so close, his hands on her arms, his face inches from hers.
‘So you were a couple for how long?’
‘Two years.’
Two years, Chloe thought. She and Alex had been together only a little longer than that.
‘And you loved her?’
Alex sighed and closed his eyes for a moment as he said, ‘Yes, I did.’ She watched his face as he looked at her again, his intense dark eyes boring into hers. ‘But it was a long time ago now, Chloe. Way before you and I ever met.’
‘So you don’t love her any more?’
Why had she asked that, when she was so close to his face she couldn’t fail to gauge his reaction. He looked as though she had struck him.
There wasn’t much of a pause before he tried to speak, but it was enough. She let out a cry and pushed him away, running out of the kitchen, down the hallway and up the stairs. She could hear him chasing her.
‘No, Chloe, no, you’ve got it wrong. Don’t do this, please…’
She swung around at the top of the stairs as he took them two at a time to try to reach her. ‘Me do this?’ she screamed. She turned on her heel before he could touch her and strode into the bedroom, pulling open the closet and beginning to throw random items of clothing onto the bed.
‘Chloe,’ Alex cried as he came into the room. ‘What are you doing? Come on, we need to keep talking about this.’
‘I can’t, Alex,’ she said, as tears began to stream down her face. ‘I just need some space.’
Alex came around the bed fast, and tried to pull her to him. He caught her arm but she wrenched herself away, her free hand groping along the dresser and grabbing things, hurling them onto the bed.
‘Don’t go, Chloe,’ he said, his voice low and husky with emotion. ‘Please. This thing happened so long ago – and I’m so sorry you’ve been caught up in it like this. But it doesn’t change you and me at all. I love you, Chloe. Don’t go.’ He stood there watching her sadly, his eyes moist.
‘Alex, I think the only way I can cope with this is if I know that it’s over, that you’re never going to see her again. Can you do that?’
Alex shook his head. ‘Chloe, please try to understand. I don’t want a relationship with her, of course I don’t – I’m not in love with her like that any more, I’m in love with you. But there’s a history, and a long time ago I made promises, to her and to myself -’
‘You made promises?’ Chloe interrupted, her voice rising again. ‘What about the promises you made to me, Alex?’
‘Chloe -’
She marched out of the bedroom and along the landing, grabbing a suitcase from a cupboard there. She carried it back to the room and began to throw things into it, not making any attempt to pack them properly.
Alex watched her for a minute, then came forward, and said, ‘Chloe, stop.’
She paused and looked at him. His face was wretched.
‘You don’t have to go. I’ll go, until we’ve both calmed down enough to talk,’ he said, gently taking her things out of the case and laying them on the bed.
She watched him, but suddenly felt too tired to argue. She didn’t have a clue where she would have gone anyway.
‘I’ll wait downstairs,’ she said, and walked out.
She stood by the table in the kitchen for ten minutes, hardly aware of her surroundings. She heard a noise in the hallway and mechanically walked out to look.
Alex was there with a suitcase next to him. He picked up a bag and turned back to her.
Beyond all reason, she was suddenly desperate for him to stay. But as they looked at one another, in that moment she couldn’t find her voice.
And then he was through the doorway, and as he turned back again, before he could say anything she had jumped forward and slammed it behind him.
She slid down the wooden panel of the door into a heap on the floor, crying and crying, as if she would never be rid of the tears that poured from her. She hugged her stomach, half-glad of the secret she still carried and half-imagining d ramatic scenes that might make Alex rush back to her – blood pouring from her traumatised body, an ambulance taking her to hospital, Alex’s guilt-ridden face as he sat by the bed and learned of the baby he’d almost had. That would serve him right.
When her tears eventually subsided, she sat still for a while, sniffing and rubbing her eyes. Eventually she turned around and pushed the letterbox open with her fingers, peering through the slit, praying he would still be there; but the rain-soaked path was empty and dark.
Is this it? she wondered. Is this the end of my marriage – sitting here in the hallway with mascara running down my face? Or is this just the beginning of something else – a difficult period, sure, but perhaps not an ending. She would give anything for someone to explain to her whereabouts down the proverbial line she and Alex were right now.
What had she been thinking of, that secrets could ever be benign? They were nothing of the kind – they were poisonous shards of glass that were trapped just below the skin, twisting and turning with every movement a person made, threatening to break through the surface.
Some dark thing began to rear up in her then, towards the surface of her consciousness. It was her mother, sitting like this against a doorway, and sobbing like she would never stop.
What had happened? It seemed she had pushed the memory down – although now something came to her – a darkened room she didn’t want to look into. She forced the image away, fought it off until she was sure it was vanquished, made herself focus on Alex’s ugly, buried secrets as she curled up on the floor.
There came a beeping sound from her pocket. She fumbled with the phone as she lifted it out, and looked at the screen. There was a text message.
I WILL CALL YOU TOMORROW.
TRUST IN ME. I LOVE YOU.
I WILL COME BACK TO YOU.
For the rest of the week, Chloe’s world seemed to revolve around one question:
‘Have you told him yet?’
Mikaela had asked first, when she’d rung Chloe to see how she was and got more than she’d bargained for. Her mother had then outdone herself by ringing at least four times in one day, the same question bursting continuously from her lips. Chloe had almost ranted at her after a while, wanting to shout, ‘How can I tell him about the baby if he isn’t even bloody here?’ but she didn’t. While no one knew Alex had gone, she could still pretend this wasn’t real, and avoid the awkward silences and pitying stares.
She’d made an exception for Mikaela. Her cousin had heard the quaver in her voice immediately, and once Chloe had started crying down the phone she couldn’t seem to stop, so Mikaela had immediately insisted that Chloe came to stay. They had been holed up together for the past few days. Chloe brought home bad food for them both after work, and to start with they talked, then progressed to watching sitcom reruns while slating the perfect-looking actresses that swanned on and off the screen. It was an odd throwback to their teenage years, and initially Chloe had found comfort in that; then gradually it had begun to disturb her. She didn’t want to go back to being one of the girls, sharing her broken heart and letting others help her to mend it. Her despair was something she couldn’t even articulate, let alone allow others to pick over.
Tonight she would be going home. For a few days it had been a relief not to have to face the empty house, now devoid of its loving atmosphere; but Mikaela was away with work from today and Chloe had begun to miss some of her home comforts, not to mention clean clothes.
Alex had been persistently ringing her mobile, but she was still too hurt and confused to talk to him. When he’d tried her at the office, she had hung up as soon as Jana transferred the calls. She needed to clear her head first; she was scared she wouldn’t be able to stop her mouth from spitting vile accusations and insults at him right now. He had left voicemails too, but she hadn’t replayed them. She didn’t want to hear his voice, so she deleted them instead.
This morning she’d already spoken briefly to her mother, who had been most affronted when Chloe had cancelled the next trip to the Lakes. As Chloe spoke she was aware of the irony – this was what Alex had been begging her to do for weeks, and it had taken his leaving to push her to it. Her mother spent the rest of the call making snide comments about how she hadn’t realised she was such a burden to them. In response, Chloe had told her that now she was pregnant it might be more difficult to come quite as often, to which her mother had laughed and said, ‘Don’t be so dramatic, Chloe. It’s not an illness, you know.’
As she tried to shake off that particular conversation, Chloe walked through the office doors in a daze, still absorbing the fact that she was further on in her pregnancy than she’d known, rubbing her stomach, unable to comprehend that a new life had taken a firm shape of its own in there before she’d even been aware of it, and that her husband still didn’t know that he was going to be a dad.
As she walked out of the lift and past reception, she saw David Marchant striding towards her. With no time to avoid him, she turned and attempted a smile.
‘Morning, Chloe.’ David made no effort to hide the long look he took at his watch as he approached. ‘Good to see you this morning. Don’t forget you have a meeting with Neil at eleven. The Abbott case is looming large for us now. If you see Mark popping in at any stage this morning, be sure to pass the message on to him as well, won’t you?’
‘Yes, David.’ Chloe sighed as she made her way towards her office. She tried to imagine the look on David’s face when she told him she was four months pregnant. Normally it would have terrified her, but right then it made her almost laugh out loud. Great, she was becoming hysterical.
As she walked past the secretaries’ pool, Jana noticed the smile on her face and gave her a shy, friendly hello. It took Chloe aback. Jana didn’t often talk to her; in fact, Chloe didn’t think the secretary liked her much. It hadn’t bothered her overly, as she’d made a rule that her relationship with her secretary would be strictly business after what had happened with Charlotte. Spending a few years working with her former boyfriend’s one-night stand hadn’t been much fun.
She noticed Mark’s office was dark, and the door was shut. She turned back to Jana.
‘Where’s Mark this morning?’
Jana shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Has he got anything on?’
‘Well, his diary’s clear,’ Jana replied.
‘He hasn’t phoned in?’
‘No,’ Jana said.
Mark was never later in for work than she was. What the hell was going on with everyone? Chloe wondered with tired exasperation. She usually felt she was a good judge of character, but she didn’t seem to know anyone at all at the moment.
In her office she lifted her bag onto her desk and took out the number of the ultrasound unit at the hospital. She rang it and asked for an appointment, having to repeat herself when the lady couldn’t hear her whispers. She watched the glass wall of her office closely, waiting to see either David or Neil appear there looking cross, but nothing happened.
They could fit her in tomorrow. Tomorrow she’d see their baby for the very first time. Alone.
As she sat down, she reluctantly looked at the in-trays piling up behind her with legal documents waiting to be drafted and letters needing to be written. The court applications to be made. Half-heartedly, she pulled a case file towards her, but instead of opening it she tried to re-examine just why she hadn’t told Alex about the baby. If she had, surely he wouldn’t have left. She thought back to the Lakes, and that fateful conversation when she’d only just found out herself. ‘We’re not ready for that yet,’ he’d said dismissively. If he hadn’t said those words, would she have told him by now?
Possibly, as since then she had certainly been worried about how he would react. When the baby had been on the tip of her tongue so many times, one question kept recurring in her mind.
What if it changed nothing?
That was the core of it. And so their poor baby had become the trump card in its parents’ marital problems before it was even born. She pushed away the thought that they would make terrible parents. But really, what chance did their child have when its mother was being torn apart by worry just as the very cells of its tiny, amorphous body were furiously dividing and multiplying and trying to get the act of creation right?
She tried to distract herself by going to Mark’s office. The lights were still off. She frowned: it was past ten o’clock. She didn’t think Mark had been late since the time they’d broken up. Her brief affair with Risto flitted through her head. Mark hadn’t spoken to her much for quite a while back then, even though that relationship had fizzled out as quickly as it had started when Risto had had an unrefusable offer from a head-hunter.
She went back to her office and tried Mark’s mobile. He answered straight away.
‘You do know we’ve got a meeting about Abbott at eleven, don’t you? I saw David this morning and he didn’t look too happy.’
Mark sighed. ‘Fine, I’ll try and get in. Jesus, Chloe, I’m hardly ever late like this, and now David is on my case.’
‘Why are you late?’
Mark paused, then said, ‘Look, you worry about your problems, and I’ll look after mine. How is Alex, by the way?’
Chloe bristled. God he was infuriating. She took a deep breath. ‘He’s fine. I’ll see you at eleven, then.’ And she hung up before he could reply.
It had taken Alex three days of sleeping on his friend Justin’s sofa to decide whether to go to see Amy again. It felt like betraying Chloe, but right now he couldn’t find his wife to talk to her about it. She wasn’t at the house, and she wouldn’t take his calls. He had thought about going to her office, but it was such a public space that he knew this was a bad idea.
In the meantime he kept rereading the internet printouts he’d shown to Amy. Each time he did so he could feel his blood heating up rapidly.
Three men go on trial today accused of the kidnap, rape and murder of a Swanbourne waitress.
Michael Evan, 31, George Constantine, 34, and Clay Tate, 29, are accused of luring Vanessa Gordy, 24, from the Indian Ocean Bar in North Cottesloe. Her body was found two months later in bushland near Yanchep by a family walking their dog.
The case has attracted huge media attention in Perth, as Tate is a member of the prominent Tate Mining family.
All three men have pleaded not guilty.
The report was already weeks old. Each day it seemed more and more pressing that he come to a decision. If they didn’t hurry, they might miss the trial altogether. This was their chance.
He had spent years after Amy had disappeared thinking of what those bastards had done to her, to him, to them. Not only that, but the more he remembered the time they had spent at the hospital, the more he felt he had let Amy down, unable to discern, much less offer her, the support she needed, and the stronger his urge had become to redeem himself and make it up to her. Time hadn’t faded his feelings much; it was only upon meeting Chloe that he had been able to gradually lay them aside.
So many times he had dreamt of seeing those men caught and punished. Not quite as often as he had imagined the retribution he would inflict himself were he allowed, but this was certainly the next best thing. Amy’s return had brought back all the old torments: the inadequacies he still felt; the rage he thought he’d quietened; and more and more his thoughts were consumed with at least seeing that justice was done.
Eventually, he left Chloe a long message on their home answering machine, explaining as much as he could think of, and then made his way to see Amy, still hoping beyond hope that this was the right thing to do.
Amy was overwhelmed when she saw Alex at her door. She had almost given up on him. The last few days had seemed to exist separately in time, as though there were nothing imaginable either before or after: past and future were on an entirely different plane of existence. She had been in a bubble, scared almost to breathe in case it should burst.
She invited him in, and watched as he cast his eye over her surroundings for the first time. She saw his gaze run across the bare white walls scarred with dirty marks, and the damp spot on the ceiling, then on to the scuffed wooden floors and over to the sofa bed in the corner at one end, the kitchenette at the other.
‘This is… is…’ He threw up his hands as if lost for words.
‘Horrible,’ she finished for him, moving to the kettle that perched on a tiny sill of the kitchenette. ‘It’s only temporary, though.’
Which was true, but the way she’d said it made it sound like she was about to buy a huge three-bedroomed semi-detached in the suburbs, whereas all her places in the past ten years had looked very similar to this, and she had no doubt the next one would too.
She looked up with a wry smile on her face as she said it, to let him know that she wasn’t feeling sorry for herself, and he smiled back.
They stood there awkwardly for a moment. Eventually, Alex walked across and put his arms around her, his cheek pressing against the top of her head. She kept her arms by her sides, but didn’t want to push him away.
‘Look,’ he said, holding on to her. She could smell his skin – aftershave mixed with something earthier and more natural. She breathed deeply, listening as he continued, ‘I don’t know how much longer the trial will last…’
She moved away from him and walked over to the window. ‘You don’t have to come, you know,’ she said softly, looking at the grey sky outside.
There was anger in Alex’s tone as he said from behind her, ‘Oh, really? For god’s sake, have we really just picked up from where we left off ten years ago, Amy?’ His voice became louder as he added, ‘Have you come back into my life, turned everything I know upside down, just so you can continue to shut me out?’
She turned and stared at him. ‘My name is Julia,’ she replied, enunciating the name slowly as though he were a child.
‘No, it’s not,’ he said. He stomped over to the door, grabbing the handle before he came marching back across the room, cupped her face firmly between his palms, making her look at him, and said, ‘Amy – Julia – whoever you are – I am NOT leaving. This time, I am NOT going. I want to help you. You are GOING to let me help you.’
The force of his words terrified her for a moment – even though it was Alex, perhaps the one man she still trusted – and she burst into tears. And then he lifted her bodily, carried her to the sofa and sat her on his lap, shushing her as though she were an infant, holding her, letting her weep and weep. And when she was done, she realised she didn’t want him to leave ever again.
That afternoon she told him the story of the past ten years, all her adventures – as bold a narrator as some returning conquistador. She described climbing mountains, rappelling off cliff faces, rafting through white-water gorges, snorkelling in coral seas. And he stared at her in open amazement.
Yet in between each word she spoke there was the void of everything she left out. She held his attention with the solidity of her words, distracting him from the great white sea of absence around them. What would he see, she wondered, if he could peer into this ocean of things held back? And what would he think of the terrible thing she hadn’t yet told him? Would he understand that she had tried to live the life they had dreamed of having together? Or would he see that when she went rappelling she had been praying the rope would have an undetected fray; that halfway through her descent it would snap, leaving her plummeting to earth. Or that her life jacket would deflate, her scuba tank be empty of oxygen, her foot brush against a deadly creature that would not hesitate to bite. That she had spent the years since death first took a long, appraising look at her, actively seeking it out once more. But because of the promise she had made to her mother – and perhaps also the prospect of facing her father in the afterlife – she couldn’t empower herself to take charge of her destiny. How galling it was that as much as she had become a victim of life, she was still forced to wait to be the victim of death – it was out of her hands, there was nothing she could do.
When she had finished talking, they both said little. The atmosphere in the cramped flat was dense.
After a while, he whispered to her:
‘It wasn’t easy for me, Amy. I was miserable for a long, long time. I even went back, you know – to Perth – a couple of years later. I thought I could play detective somehow, that if I found the men who attacked you, I might somehow karmically bring you back to me. But it was a waste of time, of course. There were no unsolved precedents to your attack; nothing new to uncover, however long I wandered around for. I didn’t really know what I was looking for anyway, and the police didn’t have time for me. I gave up after a few weeks and came home. Then I drank for a while… but pulled myself through that eventually when I realised how much I was upsetting my folks. And I tried to support your mum, until she cut me off. I checked in with missing persons regularly. I saw you everywhere, on the street, waiting for buses. I thought about you all the time, every minute…’ His voice trailed off. Silence reigned again.
After an age, Alex lifted his head and said softly: ‘I haven’t changed my mind, Amy. I’ll come with you… to Australia.’
‘Alex, you really don’t have to… there’s no point,’ she replied, hardened against his emotion.
‘Yes, I do,’ he answered, reaching across to tilt her chin up so she could look him in the eye. ‘And there is a point, of course there is. I’m sorry, it’s just that Chloe…’ His voice cracked on her name and he shook his head as he added, ‘God knows what she’s thinking, I can’t even find her to talk to right now. It’s not an easy situation all round,’ he finished.
Spite ran through her like an electric current. ‘I’m not asking you to risk your perfect marriage,’ she spat at him. ‘I haven’t asked you for anything.’
‘I know,’ he said, studying her face. ‘But if you want to go back, then I will go with you,’ he added, and there was fire in his eyes.
The bitterness ebbed in her as fast as it flowed. She looked down. ‘Thank you.’
Alex reached across and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. She had to stop herself from leaning into the pressure of his fingers. ‘It will be okay, Amy. You can do this. I think maybe you should do this. I think perhaps I’ve come back into your life for this.’
She nodded, looking down at his chest. ‘I know,’ she said as he pulled her close. She wanted so much to believe in his words. She was praying that now he was back with her, Alex could make it all right.
An avalanche of decisions and deliberations came crashing over her, and she realised she couldn’t do it. She wasn’t strong enough. What was she thinking? But she had no choice now. She had to go to Australia. If she backed out, then Alex would disappear from her life again.
Alex began to tell her that he was trying to reshuffle his client commitments for the next few weeks, and some were being more cooperative than others. He spoke anecdotally, but she felt guilty. It hadn’t really registered or concerned her at all that he was risking his marriage for her, as a large part of her thought that he shouldn’t be married in the first place. But causing his business to go on the slide suddenly felt like too much to ask.
‘Alex, you don’t have to -’ she began.
‘Amy, stop it. I’m coming.’ His voice was firm. Then he paused, and she could tell he had something more he wanted to say to her by the stiffness of his shoulders and the set of his jaw. He took a deep breath. ‘Amy… your dad…’
‘Is dead,’ she said in a monotone. She put down a biscuit she had been nibbling on, which seemed suddenly dry and stale.
Alex nodded. ‘I went to his funeral,’ he murmured. ‘I was hoping you would be there.’
‘I couldn’t…’ she said, staring at the wall behind his head.
‘I know. I spoke to your mum. She was very upset.’
Her gaze moved to meet his. ‘Al, what is this? Are you trying to give me a guilt trip? You don’t need to, okay? I already feel responsible. If it hadn’t happened, if I hadn’t run away, caused him so much stress…’
Alex looked alarmed, and she saw the knife edge he was on, trying to talk to her yet worried she might snap at any second.
‘No, no, that wasn’t what I meant. I just -’
She held her hand up. ‘I just couldn’t, okay? I hope perhaps Mum understands now – now it was so long ago. At the time it was too… difficult for me.’
‘Of course,’ Alex nodded, and his hand moved to cover hers. She let it, but her eyes slid away from his, down to her lap. Because she couldn’t deny it any longer – she was still lying to him. He thought he knew everything now but he had barely scratched the surface. And what would he think of her when he did?
‘Sit down, Mark,’ Neil said from behind the desk as Mark appeared at his office door. He waved a hand in the direction of a vacant chair.
Mark sat.
‘Now then,’ Neil began, leaning forward. ‘You two give me a rundown of exactly how far you’ve got with the Abbott research.’
Mark stared at his yellow legal pad uncomfortably, waiting to see if Chloe would speak first, but she appeared to be deferring to him.
‘Anytime now would be good,’ Neil said, leaning back and steepling his fingers.
Mark looked up. ‘I’ve been going over everything,’ he said. ‘And I’ve found a few interesting and relevant precedents. When I’ve finished I’ll draw up a memo -’
Neil held up a hand. ‘The time for memos has long passed, Mark.’ He leaned forward again, and this time there was menace in it. ‘Do you realise,’ he growled, looking between the two of them, ‘that we begin in two weeks? It is undoubtedly the biggest case we have ever had in this office and we are woefully – WOEFULLY – under-prepared.’
Mark surreptitiously looked at Chloe, wishing she would join in. She glanced at both of them, then back to the files on her lap. Mark was alarmed to see her eyes were moist. Oh god, Chloe, don’t cry. Not in the office.
Mark’s gaze moved back to Neil, unsure of what to do next, but to his surprise found that Neil was distracted, staring over Mark’s head, his face alarmed. Mark barely had time to turn around before he registered, with dismay, a booming voice.
‘Not disturbing anything, am I?’ it said, and then there was a showy and rather irrelevant rat-a-tat on the office door.
There stood Henry, last seen semicomatose on Mark’s bed, where he’d left him an hour earlier.
At first glance, Mark thought it might have been worse. Henry was decked out in what appeared to be one of Mark’s pinstriped suits, with a navy tie neatly tucked in. But his father hadn’t shaved. And the waft of alcohol hit Mark and disturbed his recently breakfast-lined stomach at the same time that he registered Henry hadn’t done up the button of his trousers, which were straining badly at the extra bulk of him, plus he was only wearing one shoe.
Mark had a horrible flashback to the only time his father had come to school sports day, when he had run second in the egg-and-spoon race and caused a huge fuss afterwards, saying that the winner had made a false start and demanding a rematch. That had been excruciating, and it was about one hundred times less embarrassing than this.
He turned briefly back to the others, as if looking for help, but Neil appeared dumbstruck, and Chloe’s mouth was slightly open, though her face showed both concern and surprise.
There was nothing else for it. Mark sprang into action, jumping out of his chair and heading towards the door. ‘Dad…’
‘Not now, Mark,’ Henry said grumpily, and sidestepped him. ‘What are you fellows discussing?’ He glanced at the contents of Neil’s desk. ‘Ah, Abbott. Tricky one. Maybe I can help?’ And he sat down with a thump in the chair Mark had just vacated.
Mark looked at Neil, who was slowly recovering himself. ‘Henry,’ Neil said. ‘Would you like some water?’
‘I’ll get it,’ Chloe interjected, and rushed out before anyone could say anything.
Henry looked between Mark and Neil. ‘Good god, what’s wrong with you two? You look like a pair of imbeciles.’ He guffawed, with no apparent awareness that the other two men remained stony-faced.
‘Excuse me a second, Henry,’ Neil said. He gave Mark a studied look as he walked past him, and Mark watched through the open door as Neil bent and murmured into his secretary’s ear, her glance behind confirming the topic of their discussion.
Mark looked at his father. ‘Dad, where’s your shoe?’
Henry peered down at his feet. ‘It’s…’ He lifted up his leg and wiggled his toes beneath his sock. ‘I thought it was…’ he mumbled, and looked around the floor and under the desk as though it had just jumped off his foot and hidden itself nearby.
Neil spoke from the doorway. ‘Mark. A word?’
Henry was down on his hands and knees now, searching for his missing shoe. ‘Sounds like you’re in trouble,’ he growled from the floor. ‘What have you done now?’
Mark didn’t reply and moved over to the doorway, his eyes not daring to leave his father so he could intercede in whichever embarrassing move Henry decided upon next.
‘Della is ordering a taxi,’ Neil hissed. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I wish I knew,’ Mark replied, casting an uneasy glance in Neil’s direction. ‘He’s been like this all weekend.’
Neil grimaced. ‘You’re going to have to take him home.’ He turned to look at Mark. ‘Are you sure you’re up for this workload at the moment, all things considered?’
Mark’s heart sank. He wanted to be in on this case; and he didn’t want to be remembered for letting them down when they needed him. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It’s fine – I can do what you asked, honestly, I’ll work on it all night if I have to.’
‘Mark, I don’t think -’
‘Neil,’ Mark said, his voice so unintentionally aggressive he feared Neil might react and sack him on the spot. ‘I can do it – I’m a good way through already – further on than it looks. I’ll bring all my research in first thing tomorrow.’
Neil sighed. ‘Okay then. It looks like you’ve got a lot to deal with today, but if you’re going to do this then don’t let me down, okay? We’re out of time on this one.’
‘I won’t,’ said Mark, wondering why he couldn’t have just taken the easy way out.
Henry refused to leave the office, until Mark told him that he was taking him home to show him the Abbott research as he needed his advice. It was humiliating, addressing his father in such a condescending way while Neil and Chloe watched. Neil had wanted to help them outside, but Mark had assured him they were fine, and had managed to steer his father through to the entranceway fairly quickly, just grateful that Neil’s office was near the main doors so there wasn’t far to go or too many people to pass. With the one or two offices they couldn’t avoid, Mark had looked in and waved at his colleagues, trying to keep up the appearance of normality, though since there was a secretary in on this, the episode would be travelling through the office gossip lines faster than the speed of light once they’d left, he was sure of that.
He was bundling his dad into the taxi when he heard his name being called. He turned around to see Chloe running up to him.
She looked at Henry in the car. ‘Mark, I’m so…’
He held up his hand. ‘Don’t, Chloe.’
‘God, Mark, I’m only saying -’
‘Look, I’ve got to go.’
She put a hand on his arm. ‘Call me, if you can’t cope with the work. I’ll help you. I’ve got nothing better to do.’
He looked at her hand and then into her face. ‘I thought you had just as many problems as me at the moment.’
She stared back at him. ‘My problems seem to have walked out on me,’ she said, her mouth a tight line.
Mark’s brow furrowed as he looked at her, slowly comprehending, then he heard a groan from inside the taxi. A look inside told him his father was going a strange colour, and the driver had turned around, eyeing him suspiciously.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to go,’ he said, and Chloe nodded and stepped back, then turned away and walked inside.
In the taxi Mark dialled his mother’s number.
‘Mark, I’m very busy,’ she snapped as she picked up. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m with Dad,’ he said. ‘He’s not very well.’
At that point his father leaned into his shoulder. ‘Are you speaking to Emily?’ he asked.
‘He sounds drunk,’ came his mother’s waspish voice on the other end. How the hell she could tell that from just a few words overheard down a phone line, Mark had no idea. ‘Is he drunk?’
‘Mum, Dad isn’t well,’ Mark tried again.
She snorted down the line. ‘I could have told you that years ago,’ she said.
‘MUM!’ Mark’s gradually eroded patience finally crumbled. ‘Dad is sick. Something is very wrong. I am taking him back to my apartment, and I want you to come over and sort this out. RIGHT NOW! My boss is going to sack me if I don’t keep on top of my caseloads, it’s a critical time at the moment -’
‘Mark, I’m at work right now.’ His mother wasn’t one for backing out of an argument. ‘I can’t just drop everything because your father chooses to -’
‘Dad just walked into the office wearing my suit with the trousers undone, and with only one shoe on,’ Mark announced. ‘From the sopping wet sock, I think he came all the way into town like that. He’s been comatose in my bed for much of the week. I haven’t had a straight word out of him. This is not just my problem, so stop being so selfish.’
He turned around to see Henry had fallen asleep, his head lolling back, his white-bristled jaw loose and his mouth hanging slackly open.
There was a long pause on the line, so long Mark thought his mother might have hung up. Then he heard her sigh. ‘I’m on my way,’ she said, her voice flat and defeated.
When Amy had first seen the reports, and Alex had explained that the police had linked this case to hers, she had seemed willing to confront the situation. But now, as Alex watched Amy, he began to worry. On one printout there had been a pixellated photo of one of the men, which had left her shaky and withdrawn. Perhaps that was playing on her mind, as Alex could tell she was having major doubts now, and he didn’t know how much heed to pay them.
Besides, he was having second thoughts as well. He felt very nervous. He didn’t know if he could trust either of them to act predictably or sensibly when they got there. How would Amy cope with seeing the men who had harmed her so terribly? And how would he handle it, come to that? But not going at all: that could be far worse, he knew, and he could not countenance it – that after all this time they would still be mired in the interminable decay of inaction.
Alex had the feeling that he was going to have to be the one to make plans. So once he had assured Amy he would be back later that afternoon, he headed outside.
As soon as he was in the fresh air he tried Chloe again: no answer on either her home phone or mobile. Where the hell was she? Desperate now, he rang the office again, and got Jana.
‘I need to find her straight away,’ he said tersely. ‘It’s urgent.’
‘I’m sorry, Alex.’ Jana sounded embarrassed. ‘She left half an hour ago with a bundle of work and said she’d be working at home this afternoon. Try her mobile.’
‘She never has it bloody switched on,’ he snapped, then added a quick ‘Sorry’ before they said their goodbyes.
Quickly, he made his way towards the station and home, dialling another number as he did so.
‘Lewis speaking,’ a voice cut in after a few rings.
‘Lewis, it’s Alex.’
‘Alex, don’t tell me you’ve finished our project already! Do you work at warp-speed?’
Alex laughed, trying not to dwell on the amount of work he had waiting for him.
‘No, Lewis, I’m ringing for a favour, actually; want to pick your legal brains. I’m following a trial that’s going on in Australia, and wondering how long it’s likely to last. I need to know the procedure for this kind of thing.’
‘Well,’ came the reply, ‘it depends on all sorts of things – amount of witnesses and evidence – could be weeks, months… What’s it for?’
‘It’s a murder case – I’ll tell you what, I’ll forward you the web link, just give me a sec.’
‘All right, mate,’ Lewis replied. They hung up, Alex fired off the message, and his phone rang a few minutes later.
‘Won’t run for too much longer, I wouldn’t think…’ Lewis said without preamble.
Alex felt his sense of urgency increasing. ‘Okay, then; thanks, Lewis. I’ll make sure I get some design considerations to you asap.’
‘No problem, Alex, thanks. Although I thought you said your wife was a solicit-’
‘Thanks again, Lewis, much appreciated,’ Alex cut in, hanging up and praying he hadn’t sounded too discourteous.
The train, as always, took its time in getting him home. As he walked up the street, his heart sank when he saw that Chloe’s car wasn’t parked outside. His suspicions were confirmed once he opened the front door. The place was dark and empty. Upstairs, her toiletries had gone from the bathroom. She was staying somewhere else.
He left her a brief note saying he was looking for her, then headed out again. His mind was working frantically as he walked back towards the station. Chloe was doing a great job of avoiding him, and he and Amy were running out of time. By the time he reboarded the train he had made a decision.
When Alex got back to Amy’s ramshackle flat, he had news for her.
‘There’s a flight this evening, and I’ve reserved us seats,’ he told her.
‘What?’
‘Get packing.’
‘Alex, this is crazy, we can’t just -’
‘Amy, the longer we hang about, the harder it’s going to get. Besides, the court case has been going on for a while. If we don’t go soon it’ll be over.’
‘Alex, will you please call me Julia. And I just don’t know if I can do it.’
He walked over to her. ‘You’re not Julia to me. You’re Amy. And I understand that you’re scared. I do. But you know you want to see these men behind bars. You need to see it. I need to see it, come to that. And this is your chance to have closure. This might set you free.’
He pushed the words at himself as much as her, desperate to believe them.
She looked down at her hands, and just nodded.
They were ready to go by teatime. They rode the tube in silence, steadying their bags against the rocking and jolting carriage, not touching one another. At the airport he tried Chloe’s mobile again but it went through to voicemail. Her voice asking him to leave a message was like a snap of fingers bringing him back to reality.
He hesitated after the beep. ‘Chloe, I’m sorry…’ he began cautiously. He paused again. What could he say? There was so much that needed to be said, he didn’t know where to start. ‘I hope you’re getting my messages. I’d really love to talk to you. I’ll try you again soon.’ He hung up.
Only later did he realise that it would sound fairly obvious from the background noise that he was at an airport. God only knew what she would make of that.
Chloe had spent the afternoon at the library, needing to escape the office but wanting to delay heading back to an empty house. As she finished up the day’s paperwork, she knew she wasn’t doing very well. She had started to wander around like a zombie, even simple tasks taking a lifetime, doing everything on automatic pilot. Sometimes, when she’d sat in front of Mikaela’s TV, nibbling on a cracker or sipping tepid tea, she had tried to make herself laugh at the incredulity of the situation.
She would never have suspected that her marriage could be rocked by scandal – it was the kind of thing you read about in the cheap women’s magazines that cluttered the surfaces of waiting rooms: ‘My husband ran off with a stranger’ ‘My husband is a bigamist’ ‘My husband had a secret life’. Pictures of normal-looking, scruffy, smiling men held up by pale, sad-faced women in tracksuit pants. Wedding photos showing people wearing out-of-fashion clothes, and brides with too much makeup, the happy couple separated by a superimposed tear down the middle. Yes, sometimes she could almost laugh about the absurdity of it all, before reality came flooding back.
She had still told no one except Mikaela that Alex had gone. She barely understood herself what had happened, and couldn’t think how to begin to explain it to everyone else. There had just been another message from Alex flashing up on her mobile, and her finger didn’t hesitate on the delete button. She was far too angry and upset to talk to him.
As she gathered up her things ready to go home, her thoughts turned briefly to Mark’s father. No wonder Mark was so ashamed. He didn’t say much when people talked about his dad, but he didn’t have to – she could almost see the hairs on the back of his neck bristle with pride when someone recognised him as Henry Jameson’s son. However, she knew it wasn’t always easy for him – there was a lot to live up to in having the Jameson name, and there seemed to be plenty of disadvantages in going into the same field of work as your parents. Not that Chloe had had any chance of that – her mother was a full-time homemaker, and she hadn’t got a clue what her real father did.
She felt a familial pull towards her brother. She really should call Anthony. He used to be such a large part of her life. They had the same sense of humour and she’d always felt they would be close friends as grown-ups, but since he had moved to America, their relationship had drifted into the territory of polite pleasantries during intermittent phone calls. They’d been to each other’s weddings, but weddings were such huge occasions that you didn’t get time for intimacy unless you were the bride and groom – well, barely even then – and Chloe had felt very strange at Anthony’s, meeting all his Yankee friends and hardly even knowing his bride. Her mother had refused to come, saying she was too ill at the time to travel all that way; but Chloe had thought it was really because she was worried their father might be there. She had wondered the same thing herself, but had stopped looking when Anthony whispered a curt ‘He’s not here’ in her ear as he saw her casting her gaze around. Thank god Alex had been there to hold her hand and make it feel okay.
And so her thoughts were round full circle, back to Alex again.
She stopped off at McDonald’s on the way home. It was her third takeaway in as many days, but cooking for one felt too depressing. As she exited the restaurant, she briefly imagined Alex coming home to find she’d gained a couple of stone and laughed bitterly at the irony. If he took too long she really would have gained that much in baby weight. As she walked, she took a bite of her hamburger and envisioned the baby coming out of her with a spotty face and bad breath. She threw the meal into the next bin she passed.
Once at home, she unpacked the bag she’d taken to Mikaela’s, then put on her tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt and headed into the lounge room for a quick blast of mind-numbing TV. On the way she caught sight of a blurry figure stumbling past the hall mirror. She stopped in shock. Edging towards it for a closer look she took in her wild hair and red-rimmed eyes and gasped in surprise. She looked like a ghost, her face so pale that it almost blended into the white wall behind her.
She glanced at the answer phone in the hall. No messages on there today. She didn’t know if that felt better or worse. Then, as she glanced down, she saw Alex’s scrawly handwriting on the memo pad next to the phone and felt herself start. He’d been home? The note said little except that he was looking for her, and he’d signed it with love and kisses. She felt her anger subside a little. She missed him, and wondered where he was.
Perhaps she should take a day off tomorrow, she thought, and phone the hospital to rearrange the ultrasound. She couldn’t face going there alone. She should be going with Alex; it was just too much to contemplate in the glare of his absence. Besides, the Abbott case wouldn’t wait – in fact, she really should fish out the paperwork now and get on with it. She decided the TV viewing would have to come later, and walked into the kitchen to find her briefcase, while idly flicking through the post, just bills and statements, hieroglyphics of numbers marching straight into a black vortex in her brain without even pausing for her to consider them.
All at once she was tired of being cross and miserable. She wanted to break through this impasse with Alex, but she didn’t know how. She thought about the messages he’d left on her mobile and began hunting for her phone in case there was another one.
There was a knock at the door.
It could be Alex, she thought, looking down in dismay at what she was wearing. But then, why would he knock?
All the lights were on, so there was no pretending she wasn’t home. Another knock and she was scurrying down the hall.
When she opened the door she thought at first glance it was Alex, but then the vision coalesced into someone similar but not quite her husband.
‘Jamie? What are you doing here?’
Jamie came in without waiting to be invited. ‘I’ve been trying to ring Alex all weekend. He’s not answering,’ he said, injecting his strange flat speech with a touch of indignation. ‘Where is he?’
‘He’s out,’ Chloe replied, heart sinking. Jamie wasn’t easy to talk to at the best of times. In theory she felt sympathetic towards Jamie and his problems, but when actually confronted with this bewildered, erratic man, she usually felt more awkward than anything else.
‘When’s he back?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You must know.’
‘I don’t, I’m sorry.’
Jamie looked at her as though trying to figure out if she were teasing him. ‘So where is he?’ he repeated.
‘Jamie,’ she said, exasperated now, ‘I really don’t know.’ She walked back through to the kitchen with Jamie following her. ‘Do you want a drink?’ she asked politely.
Jamie was looking round the room as though Alex might leap out from a hiding place at any moment saying, ‘Boo’ and grinning. ‘Just water,’ he said, going over to the tap and pouring himself a glass.
‘So,’ he turned around and leaned against the sink while sipping his drink, ‘how come you don’t know where he is?’
Chloe closed her eyes, steadied her thoughts, and sighed.
‘He’s gone to help a friend,’ she said.
‘Which friend?’
‘Julia.’
‘Julia? I don’t know any Julia.’
I’m sure you don’t know all Alex’s friends, Chloe felt like saying.
And then she realised. Jamie might actually be a source of information here.
‘Old girlfriend, dark hair, turned up out of the blue. Seems to be having some problems.’
‘Old girlfriend? Well, that’s got to be Amy – he’s only really had two of you that lasted beyond a month!’ Jamie grinned.
‘Amy?’
‘Yeah, Amy Duvalis, they went out at university and afterwards went on a long holiday together, but then she disappeared. Something happened to her.’
‘What? What happened?’ She was eager to see if Jamie’s version of events matched Alex’s.
‘I think she got attacked.’
‘Oh,’ Chloe said, her mind whirring. ‘I see.’
‘Yeah,’ Jamie said, pouring himself another glass of water. ‘Alex was a mess. He was gutted.’
‘Oh,’ she said again, unable to think of anything else. It was the same story Alex had told her. But why the hell did the woman have two names? And how could Chloe compete with tragedy? And was it awful that it was this thought playing on her mind rather than any sympathy for the woman?
There was another knock at the door.
‘I’ll get it, maybe it’s Alex,’ Jamie said, completely incurious as to why Alex might knock at his own front door.
Chloe closed her eyes. She didn’t want anyone else here. When she heard Mark’s voice, her heart sank.
And then the phone rang.
She rushed to pick it up. The line was faintly crackling, but she could hear Alex’s voice saying hello.
‘Alex, where are you?’
‘Chloe, don’t freak out, okay. Did you get any of my messages?’
‘I haven’t had a chance to check,’ she lied, not wanting to admit that she’d deleted them. ‘What did you say?’
‘Oh god; well, listen to them, please. It’s just – look, I’m on a plane. I’m going with Amy to -’
‘Amy? So it is Amy? Hang on – a PLANE?’
‘Yes, it’s Amy. And yes, a plane. I can’t talk much now, but, Chloe, please, you have to -’
And then the phone was snatched out of her hand. ‘Alex, where the hell are you?’ Jamie blurted down the phone. ‘You promised me a trip to the pub last night, I waited for you.’
Chloe had the urge to grab the phone back off him and hit him over the head with it. But she was far too polite for that – which was something that, seconds later, she would regret immensely.
‘I came to find out where you were,’ Jamie replied in answer to the questions Alex was obviously asking. ‘Yeah, she’s fine. Why? Thingy’s here. You know, the lawyer bloke,’ he said, lowering his voice a notch or two even though Mark was by now only a few feet away.
There was a pause while Jamie listened. Then he held out the phone to Chloe. ‘He wants to speak to you again,’ he said, looking cross.
‘Alex,’ Chloe began, hating herself for feeling guilty.
‘Why is Mark there?’
‘I don’t even know myself yet,’ she said, trying to keep her tone light. ‘He’s only just got here.’
Even though it was the truth, she felt like she was telling a lie. She looked at Mark, who rolled his eyes and lifted his briefcase pointedly. ‘Work,’ she added. ‘Remember that case, the Abbott one? It came to a head this morning, so we’re panicking a bit.’
‘I see.’ Alex’s voice had a new, cold edge to it. Chloe felt completely on the back foot, and desperate, as though she were the one entirely in the wrong.
‘Look, I’ve got to go, Chloe,’ Alex said, as Jamie leaned forward next to her and said, ‘When’s he coming back?’ Alex seemed to have heard him. ‘Tell Jamie I’ll ring him at home.’
‘Al, at least tell me where you’re going?’ Chloe asked.
But he’d already gone.
Chloe felt tears welling again but the company she was in kept them at bay.
Jamie looked warily at Mark. ‘Chloe, I’m going to go, okay?’ he said.
‘Okay,’ she nodded, and followed him along the hall.
At the door, Jamie turned around. ‘I don’t think Alex likes him being here,’ he said, nodding his head towards the kitchen.
‘It’s okay, Jamie,’ Chloe told him, knowing without a doubt that he was right, ‘he won’t be here long.’
‘Right,’ Jamie replied, and then disappeared into the darkness of the evening without another word.
Chloe turned and headed back to the kitchen, where Mark was waiting with an annoyingly condescending look on his face.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, more aggressively than she intended.
Mark held his hands up, which, along with his briefcase, contained two bottles of wine in a plastic bag. ‘I need a partner to drown my sorrows with.’
‘Oh, Mark, I…’ Chloe’s hand rubbed her stomach as she thought of all the excuses she could use as to why she wasn’t drinking. ‘I’ve got a full day at work tomorrow, I don’t know if I…’
‘You can have a couple of glasses, Chlo, you’re not a complete lightweight,’ Mark said presumptuously. His eyes flickered over the items around the room – including a big picture showing a smiling Alex and Chloe peering out from a shiny wedding car and holding champagne flutes.
‘Everything okay?’ he asked.
‘Fine,’ she said. She felt slightly appalled at how easily the untruth tripped off her tongue, and Mark, lightning-quick predator of lies in the courtroom, merely nodded as his eyes lingered on the picture for a second, before he grabbed a bottle out of the bag he was holding and unscrewed the cap. There was a determined, slightly manic glint to his eye that made Chloe feel uncomfortable.
‘How’s your dad?’
‘Awful. Let’s not talk about it,’ he said, brandishing the open bottle as he turned towards the kitchen cabinets. ‘Now, where do you keep your glasses?’ He began searching through cupboards, energetically pulling doors open and letting them swing shut with a bang.
‘Are you okay, Mark?’ she asked nervously.
‘Of course,’ he said dismissively, then exclaimed, ‘A-ha!’ as he found what he was looking for and pulled two glasses from the shelf. He brought them over to the table, and Chloe sat down hesitantly, unsure of what to say.
He poured their wine, pausing to lift his glass to hers, looking directly into her eyes and saying, ‘Cheers.’
His piercing gaze was disconcerting. ‘Cheers,’ she replied uncomfortably, clinking glasses and watching as Mark raised his to his lips.
Amy had begun to doze while Alex was in the toilet, but when he came back he woke her up, flinging himself into his seat.
‘What?’ she said, surprised.
His eyes were two bullets of frustration as he looked at her.
‘Nothing,’ he answered crossly.
‘Al.’ She put a hand on his leg and he brought his own hand across as though to move hers off, but then paused and patted it instead. He leaned back in his chair and exhaled a long sigh.
‘I have no fucking idea what I’m doing,’ he said loudly.
The woman across the aisle from him, a toddler on her lap, turned to glare at them for a moment.
Under her breath, Amy said, ‘Great, thanks,’ feeling tearful.
Alex was still staring at the ceiling of the plane. ‘Oh, for god’s sake, don’t jump to conclusions about what I mean.’
Her tearfulness turned to anger. ‘Well, if you don’t want to be here…’ she hissed.
Alex turned to her, looking irritated. ‘What? What, Amy? What should I do? Just parachute out of the plane, and set my course back to England? I think I’m pretty well committed to being here, don’t you?’
Now the woman in the aisle was openly staring at them, alarmed. Amy turned away and leaned against the window. ‘Just get some sleep, Alex,’ she said over her shoulder.
He looked at her sadly but didn’t reply.
‘Mark, are you sure you don’t want to talk about your dad?’
Mark’s lips formed a sudden dam against the wine that sloshed back into his glass. ‘No, he’s fine,’ he said irritably, putting his glass down, rocking back on the chair and looking at Chloe, sensing there was more to come.
‘He didn’t look very good earlier on,’ she said tentatively. ‘Do you think you should have left him?’
‘Chloe, this afternoon it’s been one long marriage-guidance session at my place. My parents are just pathetic. Their relationship is more like that of business partners than a married couple – I realised on the way here that they don’t communicate, they transact. Neither of them will talk properly to the other, they’re just locking horns like a pair of fighting stags. Mum left in a huff an hour or so before I did, then I watched Dad count out four sleeping tablets and wash them down with whisky, which he had to go and buy himself since I’ve hidden the small stash of my booze he hasn’t got through already. I don’t think he’ll be going anywhere for a while, and I fancied chatting with someone who’s a bit more than semi-conscious tonight.’
Chloe looked riled at his supercilious tone. ‘Charming – I’m so glad you picked me,’ she said as sarcastically as she could muster.
‘You’re welcome,’ he replied, lifting his glass to his mouth and tipping his head back while he took an enormous slug of wine.
‘So, what’s going on with Alex?’ he asked, eyeing her carefully. ‘When’s he coming back?’
‘Soon,’ she said. But she had paused a fraction too long before answering.
‘Soon?’ He raised a prosecutorial eyebrow. Like a fox at a rabbit hole, he was scenting just how close he was to trapping her.
‘Mark, don’t,’ she began, her voice cracking slightly as she said it.
Various sarcastic comments ran through Mark’s mind, but then he leaned forward, took her hand, and said, ‘What’s going on, Chlo?’
She looked startled by the sudden intimacy of his gesture. His hand held hers, steadily, and he waited. Her mouth twitched a few times before she eventually answered with a bleak, ‘I don’t know.’
‘I presume it’s all to do with Julia?’ he asked, leaning in to her.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Have you seen her?’ Mark could hear the begging note in her voice, the desperation for any information he might impart.
‘Not since I saw her here last week,’ he said grimly.
Chloe cracked. ‘Well, it appears her real name might be Amy. Jamie just told me. What the hell is all that about? Apparently, she was attacked while they were together.’ Chloe had been toying with the stem of her wineglass, but now picked it up quickly and took a large gulp. ‘I just don’t know what to think,’ she said. ‘It was only a week ago, that awful night at the restaurant. Just a week. Some beautiful ex-girlfriend turns up out of the blue and my husband is immediately doing her bidding.’
‘I don’t think you’ve got that quite right, Chloe,’ Mark said, wondering why the hell he was allowing Alex any leeway.
‘Go on then,’ she demanded. ‘How does it appear to you?’
‘Like there’s a lot we don’t know,’ he suggested. ‘But any fool can see Alex loves you.’
‘Really?’ Chloe asked pathetically.
Mark tried to hide his grimace. ‘Really.’
‘God, but why couldn’t she be twenty-five stone and covered in boils? Why did she have to be so stunning?’
‘You’re stunning.’ The words were out before Mark thought about them. He tensed. But Chloe didn’t take it quite the way he thought she might. She laughed.
‘Yeah, right.’
Mark didn’t want to repeat himself but nor did he want to let it drop. So he said, ‘Of course you are. In fact, I was just looking at that photo,’ he gestured to their wedding picture, ‘and thinking that you look quite a lot like Julia there… when your hair was longer…’ He trailed off.
Chloe’s face had blanched.
‘What?’ Mark asked warily. ‘What did I say?’
Chloe stared at Mark, dumbfounded. She was remembering all too clearly.
He thought I was her. At the station. When we first met.
She could picture his face quite clearly: tentative, hopeful recognition quickly replaced with politeness.
He thought I was her.
Oh my god. What was she, really, to Alex? Just a second-string replacement in the absence of his one true love?
Mark had rushed round to her chair. ‘Chloe, what is it?’
She pushed him away blindly. ‘Nothing.’
‘Jesus, I thought you were going to faint. Here -’ He ran over to the tap and got her a glass of water, came back and placed it in front of her. Meanwhile, Chloe stared at the wedding photograph on the shelf, her favourite photo becoming an image of the two of them smiling like imbeciles while stupidly clinking glasses.
Was he thinking of her on our wedding day? When I walked down the aisle, did he pretend it was her until I came into sharp focus?
Was nothing real?
‘Chloe, please talk to me,’ Mark was saying, squatting down beside her chair. ‘You’re freaking me out.’
‘I think I just need to have some more wine,’ Chloe said, pouring herself a generous top-up, putting the baby right to the back of her mind.
This obviously signalled to Mark that she was coming out of her reverie, and he went and sat down again on the chair opposite.
‘I’m sure Alex will get whatever it is out of his system pretty quickly,’ he continued, oblivious to her thoughts. ‘There is something really wrong with that woman. She’s gorgeous, but… complicated… a bit, well, weird.’
Out of his system? Who did Mark think he was talking about Alex to?
Chloe clenched her fists under the table. She had no idea why she had ever dated Mark when he was like this. Now was one of those moments when she could see clearly what Alex saw – a smug, condescending, arrogant man. She sifted through her memories, recalling how he had made her laugh, how he had seemed confident yet, at times, uncertain when they’d first met. Every now and then he would show his vulnerability, and because of those times she had hung in there, but finding it was like hunting through heavy law books for the one small paragraph that might turn a case – both exasperating and exhausting.
‘How can you be so… so cold about it?’ Chloe asked sharply, ignoring the twinge of conscience she felt thinking of law books and the fact that they should both be going through the Abbott case notes right now. How could Mark dismiss someone he’d sounded so excited about just a week or so ago in a couple of swift sentences? ‘Doesn’t anyone ever get under your skin?’
Mark looked into his lap and gave a short bark of laughter. ‘You think I’m shallow?’ he said, looking up at her.
‘No,’ Chloe began, and then a surge of impatience overtook her. Why shouldn’t she say what she thought? ‘Well, yes, actually – at times.’
‘Now we’re getting to it,’ he said, staring at her, a malevolent glint in his eye. ‘You expect too much of men, Chloe. We’re not given to excesses of emotion. To women, things might be myriad shades of grey – but to men, it’s pretty much just black and white.’
‘Not all men.’
As soon as she said it, she knew she’d made a mistake.
Mark snorted loudly and derisively. ‘I presume by that you mean Alex? Really, Chloe, I thought you’d be the last person to defend him at the moment, since he’s proved to be so flighty.’
Chloe stood up abruptly, her wine glass wobbling dangerously as she did so. She was so enraged that she didn’t notice Mark reaching out quickly to catch the glass before it toppled. She had lost all efforts at control now. She came at him, her fists flailing, ready to inflict what damage she could. ‘How dare you!’ she cried. ‘How fucking dare you!’
She tried to connect, but Mark caught her wrists tightly with a strength that surprised her. She struggled with him but he held on firmly, and the small bolts of pain that shot through her arms stopped her in her tracks. Her face was contorted with anger as she spat at him, ‘Why do you have to be so bloody horrible, Mark? Why do you have to be such an arrogant, condescending bastard? You’re always so bloody rude. And you’ve always hated Alex. What has he ever done to you except be civil?’
‘He has you,’ Mark murmured fiercely, holding her wrists tight.
‘What?’ Shocked, she was suddenly still. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You know full well what I mean, Chloe,’ he said, his voice full and deep. His grip on her wrists slackened and he leaned forward as though to kiss her. But she quickly stepped backwards.
‘You’re outrageous!’ she said, her voice high-pitched and shrill. ‘What on earth are you doing? You HAD me, Mark. A long time ago, you HAD me. And you blew it. You ruined it completely with your selfishness, your complete lack of… of…’ She felt agitated, breathless, and sat down suddenly, putting her head in her hands, trying to resist the urge to sob. What the hell was going on with her life?
She heard the scrape of a chair as Mark drew his closer to hers. She could feel his breath on her face, even though she wouldn’t look at him. He was quiet for a moment, and she waited, every nerve primed for what might come next.
‘Chloe.’ His voice was a sigh. He wrapped his arms around her, and she held herself stiff but didn’t push him away. ‘I know I ruined it. I know. I just didn’t realise… what I had, how important it was, until it wasn’t there any more.’
She could feel his chin resting on the top of her head. It felt so nice to be held. She closed her eyes and imagined they were Alex’s arms wrapped around her, then wondered if that was what Alex did when he held her – imagined she was Julia – or if, at this exact moment, her husband’s arms were wrapped around a stunning brunette. For a second, hatred for Alex pulsed through her, and she gasped at the strength of it.
The noise made Mark move. He pulled back from her and looked into her face. ‘What are you thinking, Chloe?’ he asked.
She stared at Mark. She saw him every day. She thought she knew his every expression, but here, just at this moment, it seemed there was more kindness and concern in his features than she’d ever seen before.
He leaned towards her.
I don’t know where Alex is, she thought blearily. Or who he is any more. Or even if he cares. And Mark is here. He’s here for me, right now.
Mark saw how she was looking at him, and immediately pulled her close. As his lips pressed against hers, she blanked all other thoughts from her mind, just let herself feel his warm touch against her skin. As though brought back to life by it, heat was transmitted to her through that small, soft connection, and she felt herself stir, her own mouth beginning to respond in kind.
The plane journey was bringing back uncomfortable memories for Alex, of his journey from Australia ten years ago. Now he’d made another choice, and once again he was questioning the wisdom of it. Meanwhile, he was going through the motions, sitting as though in a cramped theatre, watching movies, sipping wine, eating questionable food, while they hurtled through the air in a reinforced metal rocket. He kept trying to focus on Amy and what she needed from him, but his thoughts reverted back to Chloe at every opportunity. Plus, now Mark was in their house, and he was helpless to do anything about that. And Chloe was vulnerable, and he had seen the way Mark looked at her – predatory – wolfish, almost, at times. Alex wasn’t blind to the truth, even if he didn’t always choose the best course of action in dealing with it.
He remembered the first time he had seen Chloe. It had been Amy he was looking for, but through the brief cloud of disappointment he had focused enough to see the possibility of something else – the emergence of a new fork in his path. And so he had taken it, and never regretted it. Even after the past week he had never once wished himself back to a time before Chloe; he had only wished away the pain of it all. How on earth had he got into this, and how was he going to get out?
The lights were dimmed so they could get some sleep. There were so many forms of entertainment to choose from on the LCD screen in front of him that he couldn’t seem to make a decision, but he knew he wouldn’t rest. Amy appeared to be sleeping, though he thought he knew better. She was a little too still. Her head had fallen towards his shoulder, but the only thing connecting them was a few fine wisps of her hair. A little earlier, as he glanced towards her, he’d thought he saw the damp course of tears on her cheeks, but had feigned ignorance. They were sitting too close to others to be able to talk.
He leaned his head back, closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the drone of the engines. He wanted the practicalities of the court case to take precedence in his mind, for he had the feeling that getting Amy and himself through the next few days was going to be quite a task. But one thing kept coming back to him: that this wasn’t over – and although he didn’t know exactly what would happen during the next few days and weeks, he was starting to dread it. If only this aeroplane could have flown him further away from the inevitable, but, like everything else in life, it was moving inexorably forward.
Chloe woke up with a start, a shiver of trepidation running through her before she even had time to think. She looked down to find herself sprawled among a heap of bedclothes that barely covered her. It was cold. She still had her bra on underneath her half-buttoned shirt, and her knickers. But that was all. And she could hear the radio playing downstairs. She shivered, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and sat up. Her head was pounding, though she didn’t remember drinking that much, and her eyes felt swollen.
A wave of queasiness washed over her as she thought about the previous night. Mark had kissed her, and she’d kissed him back. What a mistake that had been. After they’d broken apart she remembered bursting into guilty, hysterical tears, and ranting and crying while the expression on Mark’s face varied from sympathetic to shocked – mostly the latter. She recalled him helping her upstairs and cuddling her on the bed when she had finally calmed down, and then he’d started to undress her…
Shit! She jumped up and headed for the bathroom, confirmed briefly that yes, her eyes were red and half-shut, and grabbed her dressing gown, pulling it on in a rush as she ran down the stairs.
Mark sat at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper. He was wearing the shirt and jeans he’d been in the night before, but the shirt looked rumpled and creased now.
‘Morning,’ he said, looking up.
Chloe was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to be sick. She put her hand over her mouth with a squeak and ran to the kitchen sink, where she promptly threw up a watery mess. Acutely embarrassed, she avoided turning around as she ran water and rinsed the basin.
‘What a delightful effect I have on you, Chloe,’ Mark’s voice drifted over to her.
‘You stayed,’ she said uncomfortably, splashing her face with water and then turning around. She was remembering more pieces of last night and trying to block them out. She felt as though she’d had gallons of alcohol to drink, but knew she couldn’t have.
‘I couldn’t leave you, could I,’ he said, half-exasperated. ‘But I really should get going now. God knows what state my dad will be in after a night with just the whisky bottle for company. Hopefully not dead, is all I ask.’ He jumped up and came over to kiss her cheek. ‘I feel like a bloody nurse-maid at the moment. I’ll call you later.’
‘There’s no need,’ she began, but she didn’t have time to add anything before she was overwhelmed by the urge to be sick again. She turned back to the sink and felt Mark’s hands pull her hair back as she bent over double.
He reached across her to turn the tap on.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, feeling wretched and humiliated.
‘Don’t be,’ he answered. ‘Pregnancy looks like a blast,’ he added sarcastically.
She swung around, almost knocking him off-balance. ‘You know?’ she gasped.
‘Jesus!’ Mark held his hands up, a smile curving his lips although his eyes were solemn. ‘Chloe, how stupid do you think I am? You’re throwing up in the mornings, and you mumbled the word “baby” quite a bit last night – though it was hard to make out what you were saying at times – at first I thought it was an endearment.’ He mock-rolled his eyes at himself.
She could feel her cheeks burning. ‘You undressed me…’ she began.
He looked at her, and she saw his expression change to indignation as he realised what she was implying. ‘Last night…’ he began, then obviously decided to change tack. ‘I didn’t take advantage of you while you were sleeping, if that’s what you think.’ He snorted derisively. ‘I prefer my lovers conscious, and preferably not pregnant. Besides, I tried to help you but you wouldn’t let me near you – you took your own trousers off and then ordered me out.’
Chloe felt absurdly insulted and deflated by his words. ‘You kissed me,’ she added petulantly, berating herself as she did so. She sounded like a twelve-year-old in the playground.
‘Okay, Chloe, whatever.’ He held his hands up. ‘I really do have to go, you know. I’ll speak to you later.’ He came across and pecked her on the cheek, and she tried to avoid his gaze, feeling the intensity of it beating down on her, and leaving her more confused than ever.
By the time they reached Perth it was too late to do much except find their hotel and grab a meal. Alex had prebooked a twin room over the internet, but there was an embarrassing farce when they were shown to a double and he had to go back and request two single beds. The young man on reception kept his face a mask of politeness as he sorted it out.
Alex wasn’t even sure if sharing a room was the right thing to do, but he considered Amy a flight risk, with good precedent, so felt he needed to keep her close. She hadn’t said much for the whole journey, and after dinner immediately took herself off to bed. Alex’s mind was tired, but he still couldn’t sleep, so he set up his laptop and began checking things out online.
It wasn’t hard to find details of the trial. The local media had been reporting it faithfully, even if just a paragraph on dull days of legal procrastination. The evidence against the three men seemed substantial. He couldn’t see there was any way they’d be set free.
He had been so quick to get them here that it was only now, when they had flown halfway around the world, that he realised their plan was somewhat absurd. What if, somehow, these weren’t the three men they thought they were? What if this was the worst decision they could have made? What if, against all the odds, these men were found innocent? They would have to stand by and watch them walk free. Jesus, Amy couldn’t do that; it would break her all over again.
Plus there were smaller problems. He had presumed they could get into the public gallery, but what if they couldn’t? It was a high-profile case; why had they just assumed they would be able to do what they wanted, when they needed to?
He looked away from the lamp-lit desk to the sleeping bundle that was Amy, in the shadowy corner of the room. He wanted to wake her and tell her that he was hopelessly out of his depth, that every decision he had made since this nightmare began so long ago became flawed in hindsight, even if it seemed right at the time. He didn’t trust himself any more. She would be better off with Chloe, he thought, who would have some idea of how to get into a courtroom, how to follow legal proceedings. He had a pang of desire to reach out to his wife and appeal for help, but he felt that would be asking too much of her. And what if Mark were still with her? Could he bear to know that, as he sat here thousands of miles away? No, he decided – he would wait until tomorrow, when he could tell her more about the trial, before he called again. Although, in the future, would this be another regrettable choice of his – yet one more thing that he’d long to undo?
On the way home to find out if his dad was still alive, Mark couldn’t stop thinking about Chloe.
What a liar he was, cajoling her into thinking that friendship was all he wanted, when the more he thought about it, the more he felt she was right for him, always had been. He could see that Chloe was worried she was second fiddle to Alex’s affections for Julia; how ironic that the roles of the two women were reversed in Mark’s mind.
And now she was pregnant! Mark couldn’t get his head around what that meant for him. He tried to block out uncomfortable thoughts, but they kept sneaking back in again.
Bloody Alex. He hated that man.
When he got back to the apartment, to his surprise his father was actually awake and drinking coffee.
‘Didn’t come home last night?’ he said gruffly as Mark banged his briefcase down onto the table and headed for the bathroom.
‘Obviously,’ Mark replied.
‘Good night?’ his dad asked, still studying the paper.
‘Fine. Did you get anything sorted with Mum?’
‘That woman is a liability – haven’t heard from her since she stormed out. Too bloody emotional and hypersensitive, that’s her problem. She thinks the world revolves around her.’
Finally, Mark had had enough. He came back and threw himself down into the chair opposite his father. ‘You both need to grow up,’ he said bluntly.
His father looked up in surprise, mug poised against his mouth. He put his drink down slowly, his hand trembling momentarily so that the mug rattled against the table. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard me. Whatever is going on with you, sort it out. Mum might be like a bulldozer, but you’re just as bad. Otherwise, why have you run away from home, Dad?’
Henry’s face had reddened. Mark waited for the outburst, but instead, his father leaned back and sighed.
‘It’s complicated,’ he said, like a petulant child.
Mark leaned further forward. Now he had his dad on the ropes, he dared not let go – it might never happen again.
‘Try me.’
‘Getting older isn’t easy, you know,’ Henry said belligerently.
‘Don’t tell me this is your mid-life crisis!’ Mark snorted. ‘Bit late, isn’t it?’
Henry’s next verbal blast pushed Mark back with such force that their roles were instantaneously reversed. ‘You little shit!’ he shouted. ‘You think you’re so clever, sneering at your father because he’s old. Relative youth doesn’t give you any advantage, you idiot, except a false sense of security that is soon enough undone.’
‘Dad, I…’
‘DON’T YOU DARE,’ Henry growled, leaping up and heading for Mark’s bedroom.
Mark’s hands were balled into tight fists, but he kept them on his lap. He ceded this argument for now, and changed tack as he called after Henry.
‘Dad, I need to get ready for work.’
‘I’ll be out of this place as soon as possible, don’t you doubt it,’ Henry raged, slamming the bedroom door behind him.
Mark leaned back into his chair, looked down at his shoes, and sighed.
To get to the Supreme Court you had to walk through glorious lush gardens, where lemon gums and umbrella trees sheltered you from the fierce midday sun, and brightly coloured flowers lined your way. For Amy, it was like walking through the Garden of Eden to get to the Gates of Hell. She wondered if the gardens made it worse for all those who knew they walked this way in their last moments of freedom – a stark reminder of what they had forfeited their right to.
The court building itself was one of a cluster of historical buildings incongruously sandwiched between modern skyscrapers and laissez-faire pubs and sailing clubs by the river. Thick white pillars supported the porticoed entrance. It was at these pillars that Amy’s step faltered, and she would have stumbled if Alex’s hand hadn’t been there, grasping her elbow.
She hadn’t slept much over the past few days, but her brain seemed to have decided that now was a good time to shut down. Her mind was foggy, her eyes bleary, and all she really wanted was to go back to bed.
A couple of security guards turned suspicious gazes on her. She smiled feebly and righted her stride, allowing them to check her bag as she heard Alex asking in hushed tones for Court Number Two. The entrance hall was full of people, a babble of noise. The guard asked why they were there, and Alex quickly told him they were related to the victim. She supposed it wasn’t even much of a lie. They received instructions on general court etiquette, such as bowing to the judge, which her sluggish brain did its best to remember.
There was an extravagant staircase ahead of them, which, while more suited to the frippery of a stately home than the practical environment of a court of law, made the place seem all the more foreboding. Amy grasped the thick wooden rail tightly as they climbed. She felt as though she were hyperventilating. Her heart was beating erratically – strong beats staccatoing against her chest. She desperately sucked in air. The surroundings swam before her eyes and she thought she was going to faint, but the twisting molasses inside her head continued. Alex’s arm was firmly around her waist, and he was marching them on. There was no way he would let her back out.
When they got through the doors to the upper gallery, there were people already seated in the public viewing area: a middle-aged woman with tired, sad eyes; a quartet of girls in their early twenties; three police officers; and two court security officials. Amy was surprised. She’d thought there would be more people here. The press must be somewhere else.
Alex took her hand and guided her to seats at the front. She held on tight, feeling a small pulse throbbing through his fingertips and connecting with her own.
From where they sat they could clearly see the front of the courtroom. She took a tentative look down at the lawyers’ desks, vertigo like a slow spinning top in her head, but was then distracted as the jury filed in. They were followed by the judge, who strode confidently to his chair as they all stood for him. As he sat down, his expression was unreadable and Amy marvelled at how this could be. He reminded her of her dad – she’d be embarrassed to use a mild swearword in front of this man and yet he’d just spent days digesting the most obscene details of this case.
Before she sat down she automatically glanced over the railing again. And saw three men, besuited, standing in a line. As she watched, one of them turned briefly to look up at the gallery and she quickly strangled the squeak of shock that escaped her. The judge glanced up, and people nearby turned to stare at her. Alex’s grip on her hand tightened, but she sat down quickly, outwardly quiet, even though her heart was thundering.
It was overwhelming to see them in the flesh, she thought, trembling. They might be evil cloaked in skin and bone, but they were just three men. So ordinary, yet she had recognised the one who looked up as the man who had pinned her in the back of the van – Dregs, she’d never forget that name. He was a lot thinner now, and his hair was shorter, but his features were more memorable. She stared at her feet, trying to shake off the thought that they were so close to her.
Nevertheless, she didn’t last long after the first defence witness of the day was called. The man described seeing the victim, Vanessa, smiling at the men as they chatted to her in the bar where she had last been seen alive. He recalled that she didn’t look too worried. But under cross-examination, the man admitted that he played football with the brother of one of the defendants.
Amy was shocked. Surely no one would choose to defend these animals because of such a tenuous link with them.
And then she realised with a start that there might have been a trial like this for her own murder, but for their botched attempt at killing. If the knife had cut her throat as deeply as they had meant it to, then Alex would be here alone, her mum at his side, maybe her dad, watching on as people who had never known her talked about her. Or maybe her body would still be lying under the trees somewhere, like Vanessa’s had been for six weeks, decomposed, half-eaten by bush animals.
Her first retch was dry, because she hadn’t eaten anything that morning, but on the second she disgorged thick white sputum into her hands. She got up hastily, even remembering to make a weird attempt at a bow to the judge, who, she half-noticed, was looking up again, before hurrying towards the door, which a security guard opened for her. Although she had said nothing to Alex, she was certain he was behind her, and, sure enough, as soon as they were outside, his arm came around her shoulder, and she shrugged it off.
‘Amy!’
It wasn’t Alex who had just spoken. She was frozen like a hunted animal, fearing to look behind her, but her body responded like a reflex to her name and turned anyway.
Alex was turning too. And she was still registering the man’s face as he said, looking pale with shock, ‘I thought it was you.’
As she stared at the man, who was looking at her intently, it seemed she was destined to become Amy again. Everyone around her was forcing her back into her weak, tremulous body. It really was too much.
She recognised this man, but didn’t know from where, until Alex said, ‘Detective Thompson?’
The man turned to Alex. ‘Yes,’ he said, his features opening as he smiled, as though he were mightily pleased to see them. He looked from one to the other. ‘I didn’t expect to see you two here. Amy, the last time I spoke to your mother, you were still missing. Does she know you’re okay?’
Amy’s mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. She and Alex exchanged glances, each of them willing the other to talk, to tell the detective of their harebrained plan for her to find ‘closure’. It was ridiculous, Amy thought now – she would never find closure. She had done better in the last ten years through denial than she ever would by raking over the past again and again.
The detective looked at them and seemed to decide that they really shouldn’t have this conversation in an open space. They were quickly led down a labyrinth of corridors to a small, featureless room, with chairs around a meeting table and a water dispenser in one corner. Alex went over and filled two white plastic cups, returning to the table with them. Amy sat down and drank greedily, her throat objecting to the sudden coldness sweeping across it. Alex silently took her empty cup, got up again and refilled it for her.
The detective closed the door, and came to sit opposite them. ‘How are you, Amy?’ he asked. The concern on his face seemed genuine. ‘I’ve often thought about you, you know.’
She tried out a smile. It didn’t work. ‘I’m okay,’ she said quietly.
‘You’re here to see these men get put away,’ he said, a statement, not a question.
‘We thought it would be a good idea,’ she replied, putting her head in her hands. It felt far from a good idea right now.
She looked up again and the detective was nodding, but he didn’t say anything.
‘Will they?’ Alex asked, urgency in his tone. ‘Do you think they’ll be found guilty?’
They both watched Detective Thompson intently. He nodded. ‘They will,’ he said, no trace of doubt showing on his face. ‘Of course, the law can be strange… unpredictable at times. But unless something happens that we haven’t anticipated, and I can’t for the life of me think what, then this case is cut and dried. They’ll be in prison till they’re old men, if not until they die. Amy…’ he reached across and put his hand over hers, and she concentrated on not snatching it away, ‘… I think you were right to come,’ he said.
‘I don’t think I can stay, though,’ she replied, still staring at his hand on top of hers. ‘I thought it would be good seeing them there, but… the details… I can’t…’ She took her hand from under his and smoothed her hair down over her ears.
‘Amy -’ Alex began, but the detective held up his hand.
‘I can understand that, Amy.’ He paused and appeared to be thinking. ‘But the case is nearly over. The defence has almost finished, closing arguments won’t take long. Why don’t you stay in Perth, rest a while, and when the verdict is announced I’ll make sure you’re here for it.’
This sounded like something she might manage. She nodded. ‘Okay. Thank you.’
‘Of course.’ Detective Thompson got up. ‘Just give me your number.’
Alex pulled out a business card. ‘My mobile works here,’ he said, handing it over. ‘And we’re staying at the Crowne Plaza.’
The detective nodded. They shook hands.
‘Thank you,’ Alex said.
‘No problem. I’ll be in touch. It’s good to see you.’ Detective Thompson put a hand on Amy’s shoulder briefly as he left. He turned at the door. ‘If you haven’t already, Amy,’ he said, ‘phone your mum, love.’
Then he was gone.
By the time they got back to the hotel it was early afternoon, and jetlag was catching up with them.
‘What do we do now?’ Amy asked.
Alex looked embarrassed. ‘I might sleep for a few hours, then see if I can reach Chloe – if I leave it till teatime here, it’ll be early morning there.’
Amy nodded, then watched him lie on his bed and fall asleep. She was tired too, but she knew she’d never drift off, not after today. She couldn’t stop thinking about the court. The horrible details. That stupid witness. Those men… their blank, unrepentant faces…
Before she knew it, the bottles in the minibar were all empty.
She was sitting on the floor beside her bed, unsure how she had ended up there. She reached to try to get up, and sent an object crashing to the ground. She put her hand back down on the floor and felt a sliver of glass biting into it. As she watched, a red stream began to course along one of the lines in her palm.
In no time, it seemed, there were arms around her, pulling her up. Alex’s hair was ruffled, his eyeballs pink with tiredness. She watched as he looked down at the shards of glass on the floor, and then he picked her up and carried her the short distance to the tiny cubicle of a bathroom.
‘Thank you,’ she said wearily, over and over.
‘It’s okay,’ he shushed her. He sat her on the toilet and pulled her arm towards the sink tap, within easy reach. He washed the blood off and took a good look at her hand. ‘It’s not so bad,’ he said. ‘I’ll wrap it up.’
Once he had wrapped it in a flannel belonging to the hotel, he carried her back to the bed. She noticed a smear of blood on his neck.
‘Rest, Amy,’ he told her.
She tried to sit up, but her head had drums inside that began a frantic banging in response to the movement. She quickly lay down again. The fog in her brain was welcome; she much preferred it to clarity right now.
‘Sssh, Amy.’ Alex was stroking her hair. His voice became sludgy as she began to drift towards unconsciousness.
And then she told him. Why at that moment, she didn’t know. But she just couldn’t continue holding on to it alone any longer.
‘I had a baby, Alex,’ she whispered, pausing. ‘And then I did a terrible, terrible thing,’ she added, just before the world went black.
Chloe was at the office and finally getting down to some work, grateful that when she’d woken that morning she had felt a little better. She started to believe that if she didn’t think too far back or too far ahead, she could do this, she could ride out this period of uncertainty without completely falling apart. In fact, she began to feel strangely empowered. The situation with Alex couldn’t turn her into a wreck. Work couldn’t break her. The baby was too important for her to come undone. No, when Alex returned, he’d be surprised to find her more confident, more self-assured, and more composed. No more doubting, no more worrying. She was done with that. She had found a way through.
And then the phone rang.
‘Chloe?’
It took Chloe a couple of seconds to place the voice. ‘June?’
‘Yes, Chloe.’ June’s voice sounded nervous.
‘Is it Mum?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. She’s in hospital.’
‘Oh my god,’ Chloe cried. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I’m not sure, they think it might be a heart attack,’ June whispered. ‘I’m so sorry, Chloe. We’re on our way there now.’
Chloe was already standing up, throwing things into her bag. ‘I’m on my way too,’ she said, ascertained exactly which hospital they were heading for, and hung up.
Even in the face of something so urgent Chloe baulked at telling Neil she was leaving the office again. The whole sorry mess of her life felt like it was crashing down on top of her once more. She fired off a brief email to Neil before she switched her computer off, then hurried out of the building after a quick word with Jana, praying she wouldn’t bump into anybody else, and grateful at least for that small mercy when she got outside unchallenged.
It took forty-five anxious minutes on the stop-start tube for her to reach home. At least once she was in her car and driving she felt more in control, with something practical to keep her occupied, although all road sense seemed to have deserted her and she had about half a dozen near misses. She was surprised there weren’t any blue flashing lights behind her yet, as she had taken no notice of any speed limits, going as fast as the traffic allowed. So much so, that now she had nearly reached Kendal, where the hospital was located, in what must have been record time from London.
Her phone began to ring as she negotiated a roundabout, and she pulled it out of her bag, her eyes darting back to the road and adjusting her steering as she veered towards the kerb, but not wanting to stop.
She snapped it open without looking at the caller. ‘Hi.’
‘Chloe, it’s June. Your mum’s been discharged. We’ve brought her home. Don’t go to the hospital, come to the house instead.’
‘Discharged? After a heart attack? That doesn’t sound right.’
‘Just come to the house, love – where are you now?’
‘Kendal.’
‘Great; well, we’ll see you soon.’
Chloe hung up, grimaced, and, without indicating, at the next roundabout went all the way round to go back in the direction she’d just come, causing an irritated motorist to honk his horn at her. She resisted the temptation to give him the finger.
It took her another forty minutes to reach the laneways near her mother’s house, and as she did so, the phone rang again.
‘Hi,’ she said, holding the mobile sandwiched between ear and neck to allow her hands to remain on the steering wheel.
‘Chloe, it’s Mark. What’s going on? Jana said your mum is ill.’
‘Yes, heart attack,’ Chloe replied, frantically turning the steering wheel at a tight bend. ‘I’m nearly there now.’
‘Where?’
‘Lake District.’
‘Christ. Chloe, I’m so sorry…’
Chloe felt tears welling again. God, she was so sick of crying. ‘Thanks, Mark. Look, I’m driving, I can’t really talk.’
‘Okay, but ring me later, won’t you? Let me know you’re okay.’
‘Thanks, I will.’
She hung up, gritting her teeth, and threw the phone onto the passenger seat. The conversation she’d just had should have been with Alex, not Mark.
June came out of the front door of Chloe’s mother’s house before Chloe had even stopped the engine. As soon as she got out of the car she was enfolded in a hug, and Chloe responded for a moment, before pulling back and looking at June’s face, reassured to see only concern there.
‘Where’s Mum?’ Chloe asked.
‘Right this way,’ June said, leading her towards the front door, when George appeared.
‘June -’ he said.
‘Just let her see Margaret,’ June replied, not looking at him, trying to usher Chloe inside.
Chloe stopped for a moment. This was a little odd. The two of them seemed tense, and terse with one another.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ June demurred in an overly bright voice, as George said, ‘Chloe, a word,’ and motioned her back towards the driveway.
‘George -’ June began, but he raised his hand to quieten her.
‘We’ll be there in a minute,’ he said.
June shook her head but went inside.
Chloe was alarmed by all the subterfuge. ‘What’s going on, George?’
He looked solemnly at her over his half-moon specs. ‘Your mother called from hospital this morning, saying she’d had a heart attack. So, June called you and we went down there, and waited while they did some tests… But, apparently, it wasn’t a heart attack after all, it was an anxiety attack.’
Chloe stared at him, dumbfounded. She was aching and tired from racing up to see her mother, thinking she was critically ill, to find out she had had an anxiety attack?
‘She seems fine now,’ George continued. ‘I just thought I should warn you, as I think June might have misled you on the phone this morning – unintentionally, of course. She was very worried at the time.’
Chloe nodded, still at a loss for words. She followed George into the house, and they walked through looking for her mother, who was eventually located in the kitchen.
Ironing.
‘Chloe, darling!’ her mother trilled as she broke off from flattening the sleeve of a blouse and came around the ironing board to embrace her. ‘You’re such a sweetheart to come. Silly me, thinking it was a heart attack, but I couldn’t breathe all of a sudden, and then I felt so terribly dizzy, it was like I was getting sucked into a big black hole, and so I called the ambulance. And they were ever so nice, in the ambulance, they figured out it was nothing pretty quickly, but they took me in and did all the tests anyway, and said that, actually, I’ve got a first-class ticker, how about that?’ She began to set about the sleeve with gusto. ‘June and George have been marvellous, of course,’ she said, finally pulling the blouse off the board and searching a nearby laundry basket for a hanger. She smiled across at June as she said this, and June, who was filling the kettle, smiled back.
There was silence as they all waited for Chloe to say something. George still looked sombre, while June was engrossed in finding tea bags, and Margaret was smiling beatifically at Chloe.
When Chloe finally spoke, it didn’t sound much like herself, but the words were definitely coming from her mouth in a stream of bilious abuse.
‘You selfish, selfish woman,’ she spat, watching the two women’s expressions become startled, and noticing somewhere in her subconscious that George was registering absolutely no surprise at her words. ‘I have driven five hours to come and see you; I have broken speed limits all the way here; I have come, despite being incredibly tired and nauseous, all the time desperately worried about you… to find you ironing, drinking tea, perfectly well, and completely oblivious to the effect you have had on me – to the kind of stress you’ve caused me today – when I’m, I’m pregnant -’ the secret was out of her mouth once again, and she registered the lack of shock on George’s and June’s faces with no real surprise – of course her mother had told them, her mouth was bigger than the Channel tunnel – ‘and when my husband is god knows where’ – at this, they did all look surprised ‘- but that’s okay, Mum, my life is going down the toilet, but as long as you’re fine…’
Margaret’s face was a picture of shock. Having returned to the iron, she put it down absent-mindedly, not noticing as June discreetly righted it so it wouldn’t burn a hole in the cover. ‘Chloe -’ she began.
‘Save it,’ Chloe said, holding up her hand. ‘I don’t want to hear it. Just stay away from me. Just leave me alone from now on.’
And she ran out of the room, down the hallway, and through the front door.
She was clutching her car keys, trying to find the right key on the fob, when she heard steps behind her. She swung round ready to launch into another tirade, to find George there.
‘George, don’t -’ she said.
He put his arm around her. ‘I’m not,’ he replied. ‘Just… don’t drive all the way back tonight,’ he said, pressing something into her hand. She looked down to see two fifty-pound notes there, and reacted by trying to give them back to him.
‘Chloe,’ he said, ignoring her and holding her shoulders gently. ‘I’m your uncle, or as good as. I’m paying for you to find a hotel for the night. Humour me. Okay?’
She nodded, looked quickly into his eyes and then down at the gravel drive.
He kissed her on the forehead. ‘We’ll call you,’ he said, walking back towards the front door as she got into the car, and stopping the two women, who had come behind him, from going any further.
‘Chloe,’ Margaret called, and her voice was high and unnerved. ‘Please.’ But Chloe was in her vehicle now, and she drove away without looking back.
As the sun cast the dusky pinks and mellow oranges of dawn onto the river, the first boats were already making their leisurely way along. The city was lazily yawning and stretching, preparing for another busy day. By contrast, as he stood on the hotel room balcony, Alex’s mind was frantic. He had given up all thought of rest some hours ago.
He was out of his depth here. How had it come to this? How come it always felt like he was on the back foot, desperately parrying what everyone else could throw at him?
In his hand was his plane ticket. He had been thinking all night of heading to the airport, catching a plane back to Chloe. He’d been intent on calling her yesterday evening, but Amy’s revelation had thrown him completely off-kilter again. He didn’t know how much more he could take; the whole thing was becoming a bigger and bigger mess. He tried to imagine how he would be feeling in Chloe’s position. He felt he had let her down, and for what? A girl from his past he thought he owed something to; a girl who this morning he didn’t feel he knew at all any more.
He was so angry with Amy.
But then, as always, his thoughts came back to the fact that nothing was her fault. She, more than anyone else, was the victim in this.
He was not that far away from the street where she’d been snatched. He wondered if it would be cathartic to go back there, or whether he would be torturing himself by retracing the steps of a journey that was immeasurably painful the first time around. He had no fucking idea. No clue about the rights and wrongs of any of this.
He leaned against the balcony railing and breathed in the fresh morning air, trying to think of the way forward. Maybe the problem was that he was letting things happen; the empathy he had for everyone else was colouring every action he thought about taking, converting them to inaction. In fact, his decision-making abilities seemed so far to have been paralysed.
But not any more.
He stood back from the railing, stretched, and headed inside.
Amy was asleep, a mound under the sheets, her face buried in the pillow. Alex grabbed his phone and went down to the lobby.
Chloe’s mobile rang until her voicemail cut in. He had forgotten it was late at night there; she might well be asleep. The soft, cheerful sound of her voice made him unbearably homesick. After the beep, he tried to leave a message.
‘Chloe, I’m so sorry about all of this. I -’ He paused, trying to think of what to say. ‘I want to explain, please give me that chance -’ He didn’t know what else to add, so in desperation he hung up and tried the number again, not expecting an answer, but then heard a click as it connected.
‘Alex?’ Chloe’s voice came on the line, low and cautious; for him it was like water on parched skin.
‘Thank god. Chloe, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?’ There was a pause. ‘No, of course not. Stupid question. Did you get any of the messages I left? I’ve wanted to talk to you so much; to explain. I shouldn’t have left like that -’
‘I deleted a lot of the messages, Alex. I was too upset to listen to them.’ She sounded weary and reserved. Not like her usual self at all. He cringed at having done this to her. To them.
‘Okay, then I need to tell you – we’re in Australia because there’s a trial – for the murder of another girl. It’s the same people, Chloe… Amy wanted to come back… she’s completely alone; I felt I owed her this. And it was now or never. Last time I let her down… this time I wanted to do something… These monsters need to get put away.’
‘And what do you think you’re doing to me now? For god’s sake, Alex – Australia?’
He didn’t know what to say to that.
‘Just how long are you planning to be in Australia? Why haven’t you called before?’ she said, still sounding tired.
‘I know, I’m sorry,’ he began. ‘It’s just, it’s hard to get a moment alone…’
He trailed off, but she didn’t miss a beat. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re sharing a room with her, Alex.’ There was an edge to her voice, and his mind was shouting, Lie, lie, don’t let her think this of you, but the words wouldn’t reach his mouth, so, stupidly, he paused for too long, until saying anything would have been worthless.
There was an almighty silence. Then he heard her voice again, and it was cracked with rage. ‘And what about a bed, Alex, are you sharing a bed too?’
‘NO! Chloe, don’t…’ he said, but the line was already dead.
He remained frozen for a moment with the phone dangling uselessly from his hand. Then a wave of weariness crashed over him, and he headed back to the hotel room, lay on his bed, and tried to rein in his rising emotions.
After what seemed like hours, sleep finally descended on him.
When he woke up, Amy was dressed and sitting by the window.
‘What time is it?’ he asked, trying to clear the fug from his head; remembering with a pang that his conversation with Chloe hadn’t been a dream.
‘Half-past twelve,’ she replied.
‘Bloody hell.’ He ran his hand over his face, slowly coming to. ‘How long have you been awake?’
‘A while.’ She wouldn’t look at him.
‘Amy?’
She remained stone-still.
‘Amy, look at me.’
Slowly, she turned her head. His heart sank. Her face was stricken and tear-stained.
He got up and dressed in silence, while Amy continued to stare out of the window. Then he put his hand on her shoulder.
‘Let’s go and get something to eat.’
She shook her head.
‘Amy.’ His tone lowered as he barked at her, his patience thinning. ‘It wasn’t a question. Come on, let’s go.’
When she lifted her head, she looked taken aback. But she did as he said, getting up and slipping her shoes on, and they headed out the door. This time, Alex was determined to excavate right to the bottom of all their secrets, and uncover some answers.
They bought sandwiches and drinks and headed down to the river, finding a spot on the foreshore away from people, listening to the raucous cockatoos flapping from tree to tree. They were alone, except for the occasional walker or cyclist briskly crossing their path.
‘Last night -’ Alex began.
Amy held up her hand. ‘I’m sorry, I was drunk.’
‘Yes, well, for a start that isn’t like you -’
She bit back, indignance hammering against her throbbing hangover. ‘Alex, really, how would you know what’s like me? You haven’t seen me for ten years! You’re now a married graphic designer; how the hell do you know what I’ve become?’
What on earth have I become, she thought as she finished, momentarily quaking inside.
‘Okay, point taken.’ He paused, took a deep breath. They both knew what was coming. ‘But, Amy, you said – you had a baby?’
She nodded, staring out across the flat water of the river.
‘So it’s true?’ Alex said softly.
She nodded again.
Another long, weighty pause. Then, ‘Was it mine?’
She shook her head. She wouldn’t look at him; she didn’t want to see his expression. She couldn’t believe there were more tears left in her, but here they were again, falling silently down her cheeks.
‘Amy,’ he said, and before he could ask any more, she was compelled to start talking.
‘You don’t understand at all,’ she said quietly. ‘Being… attacked like that… it causes scars that can’t ever fully heal. But it’s more than just a few marks on your body or in your head. In that one day, I lost everything. My self-confidence was gone. My trust in people was gone. I lost my parents, who didn’t see me as their innocent girl any more, but as their daughter “the victim”. I lost my friends, as I couldn’t face any of them. I felt like what had happened was written all over me, that people knew how disgusting and violated I was as soon as they looked at me. I felt worlds apart from everyone; I couldn’t even understand what I’d ever had in common with anyone.’
Her voice was unnaturally high, breaking as she spoke. Her throat felt heavy with the truth of what came next as she looked at Alex. ‘And I lost you.’
Alex tried to meet her eyes, but he could see too deeply into them. He flinched and bowed his head.
‘We lost each other,’ he said to the grass. ‘And I know that there’s nothing I can say to put that right.’
But she was not ready to be silent and listen to him.
‘When something so utterly vile happens to you, it feels like a new person has taken over your body – like you’ve been possessed by this stranger. And you’re forced to live with them and get to know them, and respond to their wants and needs and desires, because they are you… and yet, they are not you. And while this walking ghost takes over your life, you are desperately trying to find ways to exorcise it – but you never can, because a living, breathing memory has given birth to it, and unless you can get rid of every second of that memory, you can never regain full control of yourself. So I’ve been wandering like a lost soul within the confines of my own body, hoping beyond all reason that one day I might come back and be myself again. And I’m still waiting, Alex. I’m waiting and hoping and praying… I don’t know how much longer I -’
Her voice rose and was absorbed into the wind. She couldn’t go on.
Alex’s arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her close. She clung on to him desperately, crying, not noticing until her tears began to subside that his body was heaving too.
‘I’m so sorry, Amy,’ he whispered into her hair.
After what seemed like a long time, they were both calm and quiet again, staring out across the water. Something had shifted in Amy, and, remarkably, it felt a little like a brief snatched moment of peace.
‘Are you going to get in touch with your mum?’ Alex asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘I think you should.’
She looked at Alex. He was still watching the water. ‘I’m not sure she’ll want to talk to me after what happened with Dad.’
‘Amy, your dad was an old man -’
She interrupted, ‘Who had a heart attack because of stress. I’m sure of it. If I hadn’t – if it hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t have died.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘No, I don’t, not for sure, but I’m pretty certain. I ran away because I was desperate, but I was so selfish – I didn’t think about the effect it might have on my poor dad. I just knew that people love to gossip, and when you’re the victim everyone looks at you and feels so sorry and sad for you, and then they go home and curl up on the sofa and feel so grateful and smug that they’re so lucky. I used to do it – I didn’t know that what I was doing was so hurtful, but I did it. And I didn’t want the sadness of my life to be the prop in someone else’s self-esteem, for people to be looking at me and thinking, Well, it could be worse, I could be Amy Duvalis.’
She was expecting Alex to object to this, but he didn’t say anything for a while. The silence between them was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Finally, he said, ‘Amy?’
‘Hmm.’ She didn’t look at him.
‘Please tell me about the baby.’
She knew that there was no going back after she told him. She knew he might well judge her. But she also knew it had to be said.
‘I didn’t know for ages,’ she began. ‘My head was so messed up, I didn’t notice I’d barely had a period for months – I presumed it was all part of the trauma. There was no reason for me to think that… they had done a test in the hospital, and given me the morning-after pill. Twice, if I remember rightly, because I kept being sick and they were worried I was throwing it back up. Obviously, they were right. When I finally twigged, it was just from seeing myself in a full-length mirror one day – big boobs, rounded tummy. It suddenly dawned on me – it’s crazy, I know.
‘At first I wanted to get rid of it. I was in Thailand at the time, and I went to a doctor…’
Telling it also meant reliving it. The dirty waiting room. The wrinkled doctor touching her stomach, nodding, gesturing for her to take off her underwear. His impatience when she refused, grabbing her arm, causing her to run out of the place without even paying, the sounds of his unintelligible shouting chasing her down the street.
‘I was in denial till I was about six months gone. I was checking in with Mum and Dad most weeks, telling them I was okay, not mentioning it to them at all. I was bracing myself to come home, but also putting it off.’
She closed her eyes, remembering how her dad would plead every time for her to come back, or at least tell him where she was. How she wished now that she hadn’t refused him.
‘After I began to accept what was happening, I wanted the baby to be yours,’ she said, not daring to look at him. ‘I dreamed of presenting you with your child, and your overjoyed face when you saw us, and the dream sustained me. In fact, I was convinced it was yours – although I still wouldn’t come home. Looking back, I’m sure that somewhere in my subconscious I knew that if I did, I couldn’t keep alive the spell I’d woven around myself – there would be too many questions.
‘Then, when I was eight months pregnant, I called home…’
Another raw, crippling memory. Her mother, the calm, practical one, had been hysterical. Her dad had already been dead three days from the heart attack. Her mum was alone. She had begged Amy to come back.
‘In the emotion of it all I promised I would come home, but I knew I couldn’t. Even if I’d wanted to, no airline would have let me on a plane – I was enormous. I was in a state of terrible grief, I was inconsolable. And alone. I don’t remember much about the week after that phone call.’
Bangkok, a dirty, bare-walled room with a faint smell of sewage. A bed with a grey sheet, on which she had lain all week. The concerned owners – an old, hunched Thai couple – whispering whenever they saw her…
‘My waters broke one morning about a week after I heard about Dad, and the hostel owners took me to hospital. The wife even stayed with me, and held my hand, and gave me instructions in faltering English when I didn’t understand what was going on, and calmed me down when I tried to push doctors away from me.’
And cooed over the baby when it was born, and looked quite upset when Amy wouldn’t really look at the child.
‘The birth itself was horrific. But that night, after I had her, I couldn’t help myself. I looked at her, and, beyond my expectations, the whole mother-love thing happened. She was beautiful. Actually, I was enraptured for five whole days while I was in hospital…’ She paused; took a slow, deep breath.
‘Then, when we were leaving, they gave me her medical records.’
She had taken them so readily, just a form listing a few details. Her eyes had scanned once… and then again, more slowly, everything inside her shattering in a blast of grief as the truth had torn through her.
‘Do you remember my dad making us find out our blood groups before we went on our trip, just in case?’
Alex nodded. He knew what was coming, and closed his eyes as he listened.
‘She was A negative. We were both O. She wasn’t yours.’
Alex’s eyelids flicked open after she’d said it and he stared at her. She held his gaze.
‘I took her away anyway, but I was in terrible, terrible shock. I couldn’t live in denial any more – I couldn’t ignore such concrete evidence, I couldn’t un-tell myself the truth.
‘That night I tried to persuade myself I could keep loving her, but something had changed and I couldn’t turn it back. God, it was awful; in a way I loved her beyond anything I’d imagined, but I was in turmoil and I knew – I just knew – I couldn’t keep her. What if she looked like one of them? What if she asked about her father when she got older? It’s hard even to describe what was going on – it was like my head was full of demons whispering relentlessly, and I was just fighting to breathe. I was insane at the time, crazy with choices that all appeared to lead to terrible consequences.
‘I had a bath in my room. I hadn’t had a proper wash in the hospital. I filled it with water…’
Her voice was cold and almost alien to him.
‘Amy -’ Alex began, eyes widening in alarm. ‘Don’t. Please stop. I don’t want to hear any more.’
‘I thought about it,’ she said, ignoring him. ‘She was sleeping, and I thought about gently putting her in the water and letting her sink to the bottom. Only for a fraction of a second, but I was horrified at myself nevertheless. After that, I knew what I had to do. I couldn’t be trusted around her. And this beautiful little thing deserved a chance. But she couldn’t stay with me. I couldn’t even take her home to my mum and ask for help, not with every millimetre of that space screaming out the absence of my father.
‘So I did the only thing I thought of at the time.’
Trembling, the scissors on her penknife moving towards her soft, vulnerable head, taking a small lock of downy hair, a tiny keepsake.
Alex braced himself, tensed, waiting.
‘I wrapped her in a shawl, then put her in a cardboard box. And I left her on the doorstep of a nearby Buddhist monastery.’
The spot behind the wall where she had stood for what felt like hours – though it was probably only minutes – watching that box until the door opened. Stray dogs sniffing at it, chickens running next to it, her heart thundering.
‘So many times I nearly ran back. In fact, I was about to, when the door opened and a monk stood there…’
He had been blinking in the early light, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Wrapped in orange robes with his alms bowl under his arm. Middle-aged, bald, bespectacled. Kind-looking.
‘He just peered into that box, picked it up and carried it inside and closed the door, like he was collecting the post, no emotion showing on his face at all.
‘And then she was gone. And I left.’ Amy released all the breath in her lungs with a huge sigh, then covered her eyes with her palms and mumbled towards the ground.
‘And that was that.’
Alex had no idea what to say. Amy looked at his face and could see that he was stunned.
‘Amy,’ he breathed eventually, still incredulous about what he had heard.
She had been so calm as she told him all this, but now her voice cracked. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s awful. There have been so many times I’ve wanted to go back and ask about her, but I don’t dare. I abandoned my baby girl – the only way I can get through it is that in my daydreams she’s living a happy and secure life with people who love her. Otherwise…’
‘What did you do after that?’ he asked quickly to distract her.
‘I left Thailand. I went to Europe. I pretended it had never happened. It wasn’t too hard, in a way – my whole life became surreal very quickly. The baby began to feel like a strange dream. My nomadic existence became normal. And the years slipped by. I did lots of different things, went to lots of different places – hell, once or twice I was surprised to find I was beginning to enjoy something. Many times I thought about ending it, often just after an unexpected high, when the low that inevitably came next was all the more crushing. But I had made a promise to Mum and it stuck – something in me felt I owed it to her, I guess.’
‘Or maybe you just didn’t really want to die,’ he added.
Amy looked taken aback. ‘I wanted to die,’ she said.
‘Maybe you just wanted the pain to go away,’ he continued. ‘And it was the only way out of it you could think of. But it’s not the same thing.’
He could see she had never thought of it like that before. ‘Well,’ she said, after a pause, ‘now you know just how evil I am.’
Alex moved closer to her, and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Nothing you’ve told me has been evil,’ he told her. ‘Tragic, yes. But that’s all.’
‘I abandoned my baby, Alex,’ she said.
‘I know.’ He kissed her hair. ‘God, Amy, what you’ve gone through – it’s unimaginable. And I let you down, right from the start. I should have kept you close, helped you to -’
‘I don’t feel like that,’ Amy interrupted. ‘I’ve been angry at you, sure – when you walked out of the hospital, I felt I hated you for a while. But I’ve had a lot of thinking time since, and I understand. It wasn’t your fault either, we were both caught up by circumstance. If it hadn’t been for the baby, I’m sure I would have come back a lot sooner.’
Alex’s heart surged with affection for her as he took in her softly spoken words. ‘Well, everything is changing now,’ he told her. ‘It’s going to be okay. I already have a plan for what we should do.’
Amy rested her head on his shoulder as he talked, and together they watched the boats bobbing on the river.
Mark hesitated as he checked the screen on his mobile. He hadn’t seen his father since Henry had stormed out of the apartment. Yes, it was pricking at his conscience, but he easily put it to the back of his mind because, first of all, he was getting heaps of work done, and secondly, he’d been spending a lot of time with Chloe.
Finally, they were getting on top of the Abbott research. On Friday, Mark had been intrigued to see Chloe, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, walking hastily into her office and had followed her inside, closing the door behind him.
‘What’s going on?’ he’d asked, gesturing to her unorthodox officewear.
‘Don’t ask,’ Chloe had said, shaking her head, but then, as he sat in the chair usually reserved for her clients, she proceeded to tell him what her mother had done the day before.
When she finished, by saying ‘Can you believe her?’, Mark had shaken his head.
‘What’s wrong with our parents?’ he’d asked.
‘God knows,’ Chloe said, her own head shaking again in echo of his. ‘I’m worried Mum is losing it, and I can’t expect June and George to be responsible for her. But I also can’t race up there every time her heart skips a beat and she panics and phones an ambulance.’
‘It could be worse,’ Mark said. ‘She could be coming into your office wearing your clothes and trying to take over your cases.’
They’d looked at each other for a long moment, and Mark had laughed first. Chloe quickly followed, and for a moment they revelled in the release of it.
‘God,’ Chloe said, reaching for a tissue and blowing her nose. ‘I keep trying to think back over what I’ve done to have attracted such incredibly bad karma.’
‘Don’t waste your time,’ Mark said, sobering. ‘None of this is your fault. Sometimes life is just shite, I reckon.’
Chloe looked at him and sighed. ‘Yes, I know you’re right. To be honest, I’m fed up with going over and over every thing. I just want to forget about it all for a while and get on with this.’ She gestured to her paper-strewn desk.
‘Fancy a working weekend?’ Mark suggested. ‘I’m thinking we surprise Neil by actually displaying a certain degree of competency about the Abbott case by Monday morning.’
Chloe had smiled, then nodded. ‘Definitely.’
So they had worked on Friday night, over a Thai takeaway; then all yesterday, stopping only for a deli lunch break, and a fish and chip supper. Mark had slept on Chloe’s couch, and they’d resumed again in the morning. They hadn’t talked about anything awkward – certainly not the pregnancy, which Mark was doing his best to pretend didn’t exist – it was either the case, or irrelevancies like politics, TV or which films they’d seen recently. By lunchtime there had been an efficient pile of notes, and nothing much left for them to do, so Mark had decided to head back to his apartment, but not before telling Chloe he was taking her out for a meal later.
They were growing closer, he could feel it, and he was revelling in it. He’d never expected to have time alone with her like this again, but in the past week they had established a cajoling, easy banter that he didn’t even remember them having the first time around. His chest swelled with happiness whenever he made her smile. He was also boosted by the knowledge that each smile was a small victory over her undeserving husband, proving that Chloe might still be happy without him.
But now the phone was ringing, distracting him from these welcome thoughts, and when he saw who the caller was, it was with the greatest reluctance that he decided he had to take the call.
‘Hi, sis,’ he said.
‘Mark,’ came his sister’s no-nonsense voice down the line. ‘I’m calling a family summit.’
Mark rolled his eyes at her words. ‘Okay, Diane. Still the drama queen, I see.’
‘Well, you could try and wait for at least sixty seconds before acting like an arse, Mark,’ his sister said in reply.
They’d always been this way. Mark was fairly sure there was a mutual affection hidden under the surface somewhere, but he’d yet to locate it conclusively. He found his sister curt and condescending, and knew without a doubt that she had exactly the same opinion of him.
‘Go on then, let’s hear it,’ he said.
‘Well, obviously, it’s about Dad,’ she replied. ‘And since I know he’s been staying with you a lot recently, I’m surprised you haven’t been in touch.’
Mark tried not to be riled, but it was a losing battle. ‘What for?’
‘What for?! Well, perhaps because it’s bloody obvious from where I’m standing that Dad is having some kind of breakdown, and needs our help.’
‘He’s not having a breakdown, he’s just – he’s just having a rough time.’
‘It’s more than that, Mark.’
‘I know, Di,’ he said, allowing his exasperation to become evident. ‘He’s been lying comatose on my couch for a fair amount of time over the past week.’
‘Exactly. And yet, you didn’t think this was a problem.’
‘Jeez, Di, don’t play the doting daughter with me. It’s not you who’s had to put up with him.’
‘Er, actually, he’s been in my spare room since Thursday. Not to mention the fact that Mum is on the phone all the time, either pouring her heart out or ranting about divorcing him.’
Mark’s heart sank. So that’s where he’d gone. He felt pretty awful that he hadn’t checked – his father could have been lying dead in a gutter for all Mark knew – but he just didn’t want to deal with this. He wasn’t even sure why, but recently every time he thought of his dad’s troubled, decrepit face, it made him want to find something solid to hide behind.
‘Di, I don’t know. Mum and Dad have never exactly been open to us giving our opinion on things…’
‘Well, it’s about time they were, then. They’re both being daft. They are completely unsentimental, egotistical idiots, but I can’t believe they don’t care about each other. It’s up to us to bang their heads together.’
Mark snorted. ‘Okay. That’s a sight I’m curious to see, if nothing else. What’s the plan?’
‘Dad’s not going anywhere, he’s hardly left the spare room since he got here, and I’m doing far too good a job of waiting on him. Can you bring Mum down one night this week?’
Mark sighed. ‘I guess.’ The thought of travelling to southern Kent after work didn’t enthral him, but at least now he had confidence that he was back on his game as far as Abbott was concerned. ‘I can’t do tomorrow or Tuesday, but maybe Wednesday.’
‘Okay. Your job is getting Mum here. Then we’ll stage an intervention.’
‘A what?’
‘A family crisis meeting – we’ll force them to confront what’s going on.’
‘I can’t wait.’
‘Just call me back when you know for sure about Wednesday,’ Di said, hanging up.
Mark sighed again as he snapped his phone shut.
Amy ran out of the sea, smiling, water cascading off her smooth skin, and pushed her sodden hair out of her eyes, blinking the salt away. As she walked towards Alex, a wave rose up behind her, only just above the height of her knee, but with enough strength to knock her off balance. She staggered forward, arms in front of her, but righted herself before she hit the sand, and as she did she was laughing. Alex was laughing too as she caught his eye. And there she was again.
His Amy. The one he had fallen in love with all those years ago. The one he saw returning a little more each day.
They were only three or so hours’ drive from Perth, but it was as if they had been transported to another world. It seemed to Alex this might be one decision he hadn’t got wrong. Although, his plan hadn’t started so well – the drive down in the hire car, in the fading afternoon light, had been through deserted bushland most of the way, and Amy had been so pale he had worried he’d have to turn off course at any moment and find her a doctor.
They had arrived late. To a quiet, darkened resort, an empty reception area, then a girl handing them keys for a villa he had prebooked on the internet only hours earlier, which they had to walk down a pitch-black path to get to. By the time they had unlocked the front door and Alex had turned on the lights, Amy had been white-faced, silent, shaking, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and she’d gone and locked herself in the bathroom for over an hour, while Alex contemplated whether he was really up to this new, pro-active approach.
However, the next morning, when they had woken up to the sounds of the sea and the excited squawking of children and gulls, and headed out for breakfast to find themselves in a beautiful, bustling resort, he knew for sure that his idea had been a good one. Waiting it out here would be a completely different proposition to their small, claustrophobic hotel room in the city. In fact, as the days had gone by, they both seemed almost to have forgotten that they were waiting for anything at all. They had swum, and eaten, and read, and taken walks along the beach. Last night, on one such expedition at sunset, Amy grabbed hold of his hand and held it for just a moment, while Alex thought uneasily of his wife.
When they had first got there, he had used the hotel internet and sent a long email to Chloe. He’d tried to be honest about everything, but had realised as he was typing that there were things he would never be able to explain fully. How could he tell her about his confused feelings for Amy and ask her to understand? Plus, he couldn’t tell her about Amy’s revelation regarding the baby; that one really wasn’t his secret to divulge. So, even as he pressed Send, he’d felt it was a futile gesture; another way of disconnecting them while trying to bring them closer again. The only way he could really begin to make amends, he had come to realise, was to abandon Amy and go home. The thought nagged at him every time he checked his email. It had been five days and she hadn’t replied.
He hadn’t had any heart-to-hearts with Amy this week – it had been an unspoken agreement between them. They had talked a lot of baloney, really, about current affairs and other guests in the hotel. Of course, a lot of subjects veered towards uncomfortable territory, but they had both become adept at steering the conversation back on course. And they had been laughing, and teasing one another, and sometimes it had felt like they’d never stopped, and that was killing him.
This time together had made Alex realise how much he and Amy had been robbed by circumstance. Whenever he thought about it, his blood heated up with anger and injustice. He thought about his time with Chloe: Chloe laughing, dancing, cooking at home, heading off to work. He thought about Chloe in her wedding dress. Amy should have had that. If not for the twists and turns of fate, then Amy would have had it all – probably with him. How he wished he could make it up to her.
The sun had begun its descent as he watched Amy lean over him in her bikini, reaching for her towel while dripping water onto him. She had just begun rubbing her hair when Alex’s mobile phone began to trill. The noise stilled her hand.
‘You need to come back,’ Detective Thompson said, without preamble, when Alex answered the call. ‘The defence has closed. The jury are about to retire. I don’t think they’ll be out for long.’
Alex met Amy’s eyes. She didn’t need him to do anything further for them both to know that this halcyon period was over.
Chloe had woken up with the feeling that something was wrong. Given that everything seemed wrong these days, it felt strange to think that way, but this was different. More nagging. More troubling.
It wasn’t that she was trying to block out the thought of her husband sharing a room – and a bed? – with another woman, because she had been doing that 24/7 for the past few days. Nor was it the email that was sitting patiently in her inbox, full as it was of pleading and excuses and guilt, which she still couldn’t begin to think how to reply to – although that wasn’t exactly helping her in her endless quest for an uninterrupted night’s sleep.
Nevertheless, despite her fresh misgivings, she went to work. The Abbott countdown was now days rather than weeks. The atmosphere in the office was tense. Even the solicitors who had nothing to do with the case knew that the way it played out could have a dramatic impact on the fortunes of them all.
There was now a small scrummage of media to contend with outside the office, wanting the first sound bites, any insider knowledge. When they’d initially appeared, a couple of days earlier, Mark had described being harangued by them as he tried to walk inside; yet they’d left Chloe alone, seeming largely uninterested in her. They probably assumed she was a secretary. If so, it appeared that sexist assumptions weren’t completely dead, she thought, though media savvy possibly was – the secretaries knew far more than anyone else around here.
In the office, she munched her way through a packet of crisps as she read over what seemed like dozens of emails, mostly irrelevant, paying careful attention to all those marked Abbott. Her stomach was aching at the thought of their first trip to court – another time she might have found it exciting, but she wasn’t in the mood.
The morning dragged by. She didn’t stop for lunch as she didn’t have much of an appetite, and she couldn’t wait for the day to be over. Mid-afternoon, she made her way around the desk and headed for the toilets to splash water on her face. Her body felt sluggish, out of sorts, her feet a little unsteady.
In the bathroom she stared at her face in the mirror, eyeing the girl who stared back with the same suspicious eyes. She had just turned the tap on and leaned over when the first spasm rocked her, making her almost double up. She instinctively curled into herself, going to her knees on the hard floor, trying to steady her breathing, failing before the second wave of pain rolled in. She gasped, just as the door to the toilets opened, and there was Jana, her expression moving into shock, staring at Chloe on the floor.
‘Call an ambulance,’ was all Chloe could murmur, before the floor quivered like the shimmer of a heat haze, and she keeled forward.
‘You still have a life, you know,’ Alex said. ‘I think you’re just choosing not to live it.’
They were back in Perth, sitting in a bar near their hotel, and they had both had a couple of whisky chasers. That was probably why he felt emboldened to say such a thing, Amy thought.
She had just told him she had nothing. No direction. No purpose. No attachments. Nothing. She had just said she didn’t know what she would do if the verdict was not what they wanted it to be. And it had made him unaccountably angry.
However, his reply riled her.
Alex looked her in the eye and continued, ‘It’s beyond terrible what you’ve gone through. I know that. But…’ he paused, glanced down, then back at Amy, and there was a fierce glow in his eye as he stated firmly, ‘You have a life, Amy. You are choosing not to live it. And every day you do that from now on is another day you let them win.’
Her mouth fell open. The tears gathered in readiness. ‘That’s not fair, Alex. I can’t…’ she said, voice breaking. ‘I don’t know how…’
‘No,’ Alex replied, the lines of his tanned face softening as he reached for her hand. ‘It isn’t fair. And you couldn’t… and you didn’t… But think about why we’re here. Now, Amy, I think you can.’
Maybe he was right, she thought, seeing past her emotion for a second. It was why she had felt compelled to come this far – she needed to see them get what they deserved. She had to see them punished, because if she did, then another small chink of her ethereal life might crack and reveal something solid underneath that she had been missing. Something she could hold on to and tease out until it grew bigger.
Chloe braced herself as the doctor walked towards her, notes in hand, and reached her bedside. She’d been groggy ever since the ambulance ride a few hours earlier.
‘Good news, Mrs Markham,’ he said, looking down and flicking through a few sheets of white paper. ‘There’s no sign of any problems on the ultrasound and your bloodwork is as it should be. Your gall bladder looks fine too. However, since we’re not sure what this pain was, I’m recommending at least a good couple of weeks’ rest. We can discharge you when you’re ready, and you should come straight back if you have any more problems.’
Chloe nodded mutely, trying to be thankful that the baby was okay. But she wanted to cling to his coat and cry like a child, tell him how much she missed Alex and how she wished he were here to take her home.
He wasn’t. He still didn’t even know she was pregnant, for god’s sake. And she realised there was only one other person she wanted to phone.
After the doctor had gone, she used her mobile to make a call. She got an answering machine, so dialled Jana instead. The secretary picked up straight away with a practised ‘Lewis and Marchant’. Chloe tried to imagine the everyday happenings in the office going on as normal. It seemed so remote from where she was at present, even though she’d been a part of it a few hours before.
‘Hi, Jana,’ she began.
‘Chloe? Chloe, I’m so sorry, are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Can you put me through to Mark?’
‘Mark? Mark’s not here. I haven’t seen him all morning. Isn’t David still with you? He took a taxi and followed the ambulance.’
‘David?’ Chloe looked up in surprise and, sure enough, she could see her boss through a small window, standing outside the door talking to the doctor, his face grim. He glanced at Chloe as they spoke.
‘Yes, sorry, Jana, I’ve just seen him,’ she said.
‘Get well, Chloe,’ Jana replied. ‘Just let me know if you need anything.’
‘Thanks,’ Chloe said, hanging up and leaning back onto her pillow, not wanting to look in David’s direction. How embarrassing. Things were getting weirder by the minute.
David finished his conversation with the doctor, and then opened the door.
‘The doctor says you’re fine to go home, Chloe. I’ll take you there in a cab. Unless there’s someone else -?’
Absurdly, with Alex absent, it was Mark’s face that sprang again into her mind, but she could imagine David’s eyebrows never returning from his hairline if she told him that. So she shook her head and said, ‘Taxi’s fine.’
David disappeared, and Chloe nestled into the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Her womb still ached; the poor baby must be very uncomfortable. What had she done to cause everything that was happening to her? First Alex, and now this.
She thought back to Alex’s email. She wasn’t going to write back; what was there to say, as, while things were like this, the ball had to be in his court. She couldn’t beg – even if she felt like it, which she wasn’t sure she did – because if anything changed as a result, she’d always wonder if it had really been because he wanted it to, or if it were just because she had made him feel guilty.
And why did she want Mark right now? Heaven forbid, she wasn’t somehow, in some unbelievably stupid way, rekindling feelings for him? No, she reassured herself, it was because, even though Mark was completely annoying, he knew her. He could rile her, but he also understood how to comfort her. And he knew about the baby. And he was dependable. The thought surprised her. Yes, Mark was, for all his faults, dependable, if you really needed him. And, right now, he was pretty much the only person she felt that way about.
‘Chloe?’ A nurse’s head popped around the door. ‘The taxi your dad ordered is here.’
‘What?’ Chloe was taken aback. ‘He’s not my dad.’
The nurse shrugged, uninterested. ‘Well, whoever he is, he’s come to collect you. You ready to go?’
Chloe nodded. The nurse came in with a wheelchair, then helped Chloe off the bed and into it. ‘Remember, straight into bed when you get home, okay?’ she said. ‘Now, here are your ultrasound pictures.’
Chloe took the proffered envelope as though it might explode in her hand. Then, gingerly, she pulled out the contents, and stared at the black and white outlines of her baby. She could make out a nose, a spine, even fingers. She laughed in wonder as her eyes moistened. It was the first time she had felt anything like happiness in weeks. ‘Hello, little one,’ she said, stroking her tummy while staring at the irrefutable evidence that there was another life inside her to think about now.
She pushed the pictures back into the envelope as David came in and spoke to the nurses, then was given her belongings. He looked smaller somehow in the hospital, and his crisp pinstriped suit stood out incongruously against the white jackets. It was as if he’d lost the ability to frighten her here, like she suddenly saw through the whole charade of power that was behind labels such as ‘boss’ and ‘mum’ and ‘dad’ and ‘doctor’. It reminded her of the first time she’d seen her mother in this way, stripped of the thin façade of parenthood that maintained the proper distance between mother and daughter, realising she was fallible after all. The image was disconcertingly incomplete, and Chloe shrugged it away quickly.
David took the handles of her chair, and she let him wheel her to the entranceway, feeling mortified, the silence between them not helping. At the taxi’s door she got up, swayed slightly, and he put a steady hand underneath her elbow to help her rebalance. She was aware of the hand and held that side of her body stiff, wanting to pull away but keen not to appear rude.
The silence continued on the journey, until they drew up at the house. All Chloe wanted was to exit the car as quickly as possible and run inside, locking the world out. But as she made to get out, so did David.
He followed her wordlessly up to the front door. Her hands trembled as she twisted the key, and she left the door open, aware of his presence behind her as she made her way up the hall.
Once in the kitchen, she tried to appear normal. ‘Tea?’ she enquired breezily.
‘Sit,’ David commanded, pointing to a chair. ‘I’ll do it. You’re meant to go to bed.’
He moved deftly to the sink and filled the pot. Chloe watched him, marvelling at his ease in an unfamiliar kitchen. She always felt awkward when in someone else’s territory, never sure of the correct mix of etiquette between unobtrusive and helpful.
‘I’m sorry, David,’ she said. ‘This is a terrible time for you to be out of the office.’
He held up a hand, turning to face her. ‘Here’s what I know. We are expecting great things from you and Mark Jameson, and over the past ten years you have never let us down…’
Chloe thought back to the law ball dance floor and the look on David’s face as he’d chastised them in his office afterwards, but didn’t remind him.
‘… and yet in the past few weeks you have both become creatures of scarcity, shall we say. You each have a look in your eyes akin to battery-farm chickens trapped in cages waiting for the electric current to reach them, and now I pick you up from hospital, where your husband is conspicuously absent, and I am told that the baby you are carrying is absolutely fine!’
He paused and shook his head in incredulity as Chloe stared at him. ‘Chloe, they said you are over four months pregnant – when were you going to tell us?’ Despite the admonition, David’s tone was surprisingly gentle.
He paused, taking a breath as if what was coming next would be the crux of it all. ‘Chloe, is this Mark’s child?’
Chloe stared aghast at David, remembering Mikaela asking the very same question, then Mark’s lips on hers, then Alex’s tight, distant expression. Her husband was in another country with a woman she’d only set eyes on twice; and she remembered again the looks on their faces when they’d first seen one another.
Her mind swam. It was all too much.
She burst into unstoppable, uncontrollable tears. She bent double, her arms wrapped around her stomach, frightened that this outburst would be the last straw for the fragile being trying to cling on inside her, but unable to control the great well of emotion that suddenly breached the walls she had been building and fortifying for the past few weeks. She was so tired of being angry. So tired of feeling out of control. So tired of spending each day on the very tip of a knife edge.
So tired.
She had even forgotten that she wasn’t alone, until strong arms came around her and pulled her in. At first she resisted, but then gradually she let herself fall against him, allowing her weight to lean on these arms that held her, until, after an age, she subsided into smaller snuffling sobs, entirely spent.
‘Chloe, Chloe…’ As she grew quieter, David pushed her back so he could see her face. She didn’t want to look up, the first trickles of embarrassment now finding a route through her emotions, and kept her eyes on the buttons of his shirt.
‘Chloe, you must talk to us. Of course we would be concerned, perhaps annoyed, and yes, we do have the business very much at heart as well, but we are just like you at the end of the day – just as capable as you are of screwing up every damn thing.’ She looked up and he gave her a smile and raised an eyebrow, and appeared pleased when she couldn’t help but give a small smile back.
‘Besides,’ David’s jaw clenched, ‘Mark is just as accountable for this as you are, and, from what I can see, he’s not giving you much support.’
‘No, no,’ Chloe said immediately. ‘It’s not that.’ All at once she wanted to laugh. ‘Thank god it’s not that! My husband is, in fact, the father of my child!’
David looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry, that was most presumptuous -’
Chloe cut him off, waving his apology away. ‘Don’t worry about it. But as for Mark, did Neil not tell you about Henry?’ she asked.
David sat back and sighed. ‘Oh, so that’s it, is it? Do you know what’s going on with Henry?’ He sounded weary.
Chloe shrugged. ‘No, and I’m not even sure that Mark does.’
David nodded and looked at his watch. ‘I might try to find Mark, then, when I head back, and see what’s what. I seem to be spending the day ensconced in the mysterious subterranean world of my staff, so I may as well carry on.
‘Now,’ he continued, looking at Chloe. ‘I’m going to have to go, but I don’t want you to be on your own. I want you to call someone.’
‘I will,’ she said, with no such intention.
‘Now, Chloe, while I’m here.’
‘I’ll call someone, I promise.’ She looked up at him indignantly. ‘Don’t you trust me?’
‘No,’ David replied. She waited for a smile to appear, but he just stared at her expectantly. She could already feel his role changing from that of her confidant back to her superior, and she got up and went to the side table, where both the phone and her address book lay.
She paused over the address book, mentally riffling through lists of names without even opening it. Who could she call? She discounted friends with small babies, friends with work commitments, friends who lived too far away. She didn’t want to go to someone else’s house; she wanted to stay right here and rest among her own things.
In the back of her mind, despite everything, there was just one name. She picked up the phone and dialled. A voice answered after only a couple of rings.
‘Mum?’ Chloe said.
By the time Mark got onto the train, it had already been a long day – the court session had dragged on interminably with convoluted legal argument, then as the barrister had summed up the jury had looked at him like he’d just stepped out of a shiny silver spaceship and tried to talk to them in Martian. They had screw-all chance of winning this one. The only consolation was that, deep down, Mark knew his client was a wanker, and deserved what was coming; still, he hated defeat.
His mother was waiting in her car at the station.
‘Ready?’ she asked as he got in and leaned across to kiss her cheek.
‘Yep. What about you?’
‘I don’t know why I let your sister talk me into this,’ she said, pulling out into the heavy traffic.
They undertook most of the hour’s journey in silence. It was after seven when they finally pulled up, and Mark thought his mother looked as tired as he felt. He wasn’t sure exhaustion was the ideal prerequisite for a family showdown, but there was not a lot they could do about that.
No sooner had the engine gone silent than Di’s front door flew open, as though she’d been watching for them. She rushed out and hugged her mother, then Mark, though less enthusiastically.
Di looked nervous. Her face turned from one to the other as she said, ‘He doesn’t know you’re coming.’
Mark couldn’t hide his frustration at such pettiness. ‘Jesus, Di,’ he said, rolling his eyes.
‘Well, I didn’t think he’d hang around if I told him,’ Di shot back, annoyed.
Their mother looked at them both. ‘Stop bickering, you two. Come on, let’s go and get this over with.’
They trooped inside, following Diane down a narrow corridor to the sitting room. Mark briefly glanced at the magnolia walls and the worn beige carpet – he hadn’t been here for over eighteen months, but nothing had changed. It was still as drab and depressing as ever.
They all rounded the doorway to see Henry, dressed casually in cord slacks and a jumper over a buttoned-up checked shirt, watching the news on TV, with Diane’s husband, Sol.
‘What the -?’ Henry said, half-rising out of his chair upon seeing them.
‘We’re here to talk to you,’ Mark’s mother said snippily.
Henry sank back into his chair with a noticeable thump and a muttered ‘Christ’, defeated now he was cornered. Meanwhile, Sol took his cue and left the room without a word.
Diane strolled over to the remote and flicked the TV onto standby. The silence suddenly became apparent, like a fifth person in the room.
Mark and his mother were still standing in the doorway, neither of them making a move. Diane looked at them, shook her head, went over to sit on the sofa near to her dad’s chair and took his hand.
‘Dad, please don’t feel got at,’ she said, trying to look him in the eyes, though he couldn’t hold her gaze. ‘We’re really worried about you. What’s going on?’
Mark watched as Henry struggled between his soft spot for his daughter, which Mark had always found contemptible, and his rage at being outmanoeuvred like this. Diane was looking at Mark and her mother, her eyes imploring them to do their bit. His mother seemed frozen to the spot, so, reluctantly, Mark went and sat down on the sofa next to his sister, noticing the lack of support in it as he was swallowed up by the sagging cushions.
‘We just want to help, Dad,’ he said quietly.
Emily was still statue-like by the door, everyone watching her now. She had folded her arms and pursed her lips, and Mark was trying to quell his rising irritation. They’d driven all this way; she could at least try.
Then Emily began talking and Mark wished she hadn’t. ‘Look at you, Henry, your children fawning over you like you’re an infant. What’s all this nonsense about? Is it retirement, is that the problem? Because no one asked you to retire, you can head back to work if that’s what’s making you behave like a fool.’
Now Henry was riled. He sprang to his feet. ‘I didn’t ask you to come. You can sod off if this is how much you care.’
‘Dad!’ Di interjected, shocked, but now their father was on a roll.
‘So you want to know what’s wrong, eh?’ he said, marching across to his wife and spitting the words right into her face. ‘Well, all right then, I’ll tell you. I’ve got bloody Parkinson’s, that’s what’s wrong. Instead of living a full life of retirement on the golf courses and with my friends, I’m going to be turning into a stuttering, shaking fool. That’s what’s bloody wrong,’ he roared. ‘That and the fact that I’m married to a woman with not a scrap of compassion in her body.’
Emily stood her ground, their faces only inches apart. ‘The compassion drained out of me somewhat after you went out whoring,’ she replied.
Henry threw his hands up. ‘One time, woman,’ he barked, ‘one little dalliance, years ago, and you can’t bloody let it go.’
‘One time I actually caught you with your trousers down, don’t you mean,’ Emily retorted, arms folded, lips pursed.
Mark was gaping at them, lost for words, and a quick glance at Di’s stunned expression told him he wasn’t the only one. The sagging sofa didn’t seem so bad now; in fact, he wondered if he leaned back a little further, whether it might swallow him whole. If they weren’t blocking the doorway, he’d have made a dash for it rather than have to listen to any more of this.
Di recovered first. ‘Mum, Dad, stop it,’ she said firmly, going over and tugging on their arms as they glared at one another. ‘Sit down, both of you, and keep it down, you’ll wake the kids.’ She pushed them in the direction of vacant seats, and then went and shut the living-room door before sitting again.
Now there were three of them in a squashed row on the sofa, like a jury appraising Henry in the adjacent armchair.
‘Parkinson’s, Dad,’ Di said softly, reaching for his hand again, though this time Henry was quicker and moved it out of the way.
‘Well, Claire’s husband has had Parkinson’s for years,’ Emily put in after a pause, though her voice was less strident, ‘and he’s not too bad.’
Mark was still assessing this turn of events, and trying to ignore the revelations he’d just been privy to. Alzheimer’s had been his diagnosis, he realised, surprised that his subconscious had thought this way all along but he hadn’t really acknowledged it. ‘Dad, what’s with all the drinking, and the weird behaviour then?’ he said, before he could stop himself.
Both his father and Di glared at him.
‘I may have been on the sauce rather heavily of late,’ his dad replied huffily, ‘but I have been coming to terms with things.’
‘I see,’ Mark said, not knowing how to follow this up.
‘Typical,’ Emily snorted, still with no apparent sympathy in her voice. ‘Always thinking of yourself – oh, what does it mean for me – never mind what it means for the rest of the family. We’re the ones who’ll end up nursing you and putting up with your moods.’
‘It’s hard to tell that you even care, Emily,’ Henry said sarcastically.
‘Of course I care,’ Emily snapped, sounding anything but sympathetic. ‘Although you make it mighty hard at times. But if you want my support, you have to earn it – if you want to have a little self-pity party, then you’re on your own.’
Henry opened his mouth to reply, then seemed lost for words. This shocked Mark as much as any of the other revelations of the night. He was also reeling from the dawning comprehension that his mother and father didn’t really seem to like one another much. Why hadn’t this registered with him before? Thinking back on it, he’d never seen them being loving. They were merely civil – in fact, the times they seemed most together were when they held court in front of others at dinner parties, or at family gatherings. Then there was a united front, but he hadn’t thought that behind it they were actually miserable. However, judging by what he’d seen tonight, a front was all it really was. Was this the end for them, now things were out in the open? Divorcing parents, at his age. How embarrassing.
‘What do the doctors say?’ Di asked.
‘A lot,’ Henry said, turning to her. ‘I’ve got a specialist. I’m only in the early stages, and they’ve got various medications they can try nowadays, apparently.’ He sounded disgusted at the thought.
‘Dad,’ Di said, sounding upset now. ‘That’s good. You know, you’re not in this alone.’ She reached across and stroked his arm, since Henry had kept his hand tucked away.
‘I’d be better off in a home out of everyone’s sight,’ Henry mumbled. ‘Less embarrassment all round.’ He looked pointedly at his wife.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Emily said. ‘Come home, Henry. Go to the doctor’s. Get on with your life. Stop all this silliness. You said yourself that it’s been caught early. It’s not the end of the world.’
Henry flared up again, but the spark of it was diminished now. ‘Easy for you to say,’ he said wearily. ‘Wait until you get a diagnosis like this.’
Emily looked like she was about to snap back, but then Mark’s phone began beeping. He pulled it out of his pocket. Neil’s name was flashing on the screen.
‘I’ve got to take this,’ he told them, pushing himself up off the sofa with an effort, and hurrying out of the living room. ‘Neil,’ he said, while going outside, not wanting to be accused of waking Di’s boys.
‘Mark,’ Neil sounded weary and tense, ‘have you heard about Chloe?’
Mark felt his heart do a quick, painful tremble in his chest. ‘No? What’s happened?’
‘She collapsed at work, and was taken to hospital. Turns out, she was pregnant. Now she’s been consigned to bed rest for two bloody weeks! Mark, I need you to help me handle everything she’s dropped, this is the worst possible time -’
Neil sounded almost frantic now, which temporarily turned Mark’s mind from worrying about Chloe.
‘Of course,’ Mark said. ‘Surely the family law can wait for her, or one of the legal officers can help out there? It’s only really Abbott that’s urgent…’
‘Only Abbott!’ Neil replied, his voice rising. ‘I could have the whole firm working on this case and still not feel prepared – it’s a nightmare.’
Mark was surprised to hear Neil sounding out of his depth. ‘No problem, Neil,’ he said. ‘I’ll get in touch with Chloe and get everything we need from her, and liaise with you tomorrow on what else we need to do. Okay?’
‘Fine.’ Neil still sounded somewhat panicked. ‘Thank you. Good night.’
Mark snapped his phone shut and walked back towards the house in the dark, his feet sinking on the dewy grass. He felt he was missing something. He’d never heard Neil this stressed. Then he stopped in his tracks by the door. He’d said Chloe was pregnant. Did that mean…?
Surprisingly, he didn’t feel the relief he had expected upon thinking the baby might not have survived. He had thought of the baby as an encumbrance he would have to take on if he were to have a chance with Chloe, but he realised now that, deep down, he had imagined being part of a family, the three of them, and it had felt all right. Better than all right, even. Much better.
Di met him at the door and interrupted his reverie. ‘I’ve just left them for a minute,’ she told him, looking worried, as though they might hear a scuffle break out at any second.
‘Okay,’ Mark said. ‘Look, I can’t stay too much longer.’
Di nodded. ‘I’ll take Dad back home tomorrow. Let him pack his stuff and get himself organised.’
‘Right.’ Mark was still distracted by the tone he had heard in Neil’s voice.
‘You should come more often,’ Di continued quietly. ‘The boys would love to see their uncle a bit more.’
‘Hmmm,’ Mark replied, then registered what she’d said and looked around. ‘Yes, I -’
But Diane had turned away and was heading for the kitchen. ‘Tea?’ she called over her shoulder.
‘Please,’ Mark said in reply. He walked towards the living room. He would have a quick drink, then get away. He wanted to sit in silence for a while and process everything he’d heard tonight. His Dad. Parkinson’s. Neil. Abbott. And he wanted to call Chloe.
There was just a chink in the living-room door where it hadn’t quite been pulled to. Mark headed to open it, then stopped as he saw his mother and father. His mother had moved to the end of the sofa nearest Henry and taken hold of his hand. They were whispering to one another, and the conversation still looked animated and not totally friendly, but their hands were firmly linked, and gripping on tightly.
Mark moved away from the door and headed to the kitchen to have tea with his sister.
Something was banging but Chloe didn’t want to acknowledge it. She pulled a pillow over her head, but it wouldn’t stop. Sighing, she flung the pillow away and then listened again. Silence.
She lifted herself on to her elbows and looked at the clock. Two thirty a.m. It must have been neighbours coming home late, banging doors. She collapsed back onto the bed again, closing her eyes.
A sharp crack against her windowpane startled her.
Chloe threw back the bedclothes, padded quickly to the window and opened the curtain.
She hadn’t dreamed it. There was a crack in the glass. Heart thudding, she looked down to the pavement, and saw a familiar face with a hand pressed to her mouth; whether suppressing shock or a smile, it was impossible to tell in the dark.
‘I’m so sorry, darling,’ her mother said when Chloe got downstairs and opened the door. ‘I’ll get it fixed for you in the morning. You should really get a bell, you know.’ She began to move bags from the doorstep into the hall. Chloe counted one, two suitcases, and some smaller luggage. How long was her mother planning on staying? she thought with alarm.
‘What are you doing here?’ she said.
Her mother looked up at her sternly, as if she were stupid. ‘You called me, Chloe, don’t you remember?’
‘Yes, but,’ Chloe stammered, ‘I didn’t mean you had to come immediately.’
‘Well, I didn’t come “immediately”, did I – I tried to get a train but I couldn’t get one until tomorrow morning, and I didn’t want to wait that long. So then I called June, because I was worried about my car lasting the distance, and so I’ve swapped and they’ve got mine and I’ve got George’s…’ she gestured behind her at a pristine BMW standing proudly against the kerb, ‘… it was lovely to drive. And I have to say that – no, don’t lift that, dear, I don’t want you lifting anything for now, I’ll do it myself in a minute – yes, I have to say that even without much traffic, it seemed to take forever. I hadn’t realised just how long you would be spending in the car, because although the train takes a long time, well, that’s just because it’s the train, isn’t it -’
‘Mum, stop!’ Chloe was feeling giddy from the torrent of words rushing from her mother’s mouth so quickly there was barely time to digest them. ‘But you never drive on strange roads?’
‘My daughter needed me,’ Margaret said, reaching forward to kiss Chloe’s cheek as they stood crowded against the cases in the hallway. ‘And so I’ve come.’
Margaret was still wired from the drive, and Chloe was wide awake, so she let her mother make them some tea.
‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that Alex has gone,’ her mother said. ‘You should have told me, Chloe.’ She looked reprovingly at Chloe over her glasses.
‘I didn’t want to make it real by telling anyone,’ Chloe replied, her voice soft. ‘I thought if I kept it to myself…’
‘He might come back and you could pretend it never happened?’
‘Well… yes,’ Chloe said, thinking it now sounded a bit daft. ‘But things have changed – I’ve made a decision after today – it’s me and this baby first, and everything else second.’
‘Why do you have to do that?’ Margaret moved across the room and sat down on a chair.
‘What?’
‘Come to a momentous, entirely narrow-minded decision, and close the door to all other possibilities. I swear, it must be a lawyer thing.’
‘How can it be narrow-minded? I just can’t continue letting him rule my life, Mum, my emotions, everything.’ Chloe gestured manically as she spoke, almost spilling her tea. She was unnerved – she’d felt much better since making that decision, and didn’t want to change it.
‘He doesn’t have to, Chloe.’ Her mum moved the mug a little further from the table edge, and sighed. ‘Why do you try to see things in black and white when there’s a whole kaleidoscope of colour in between?’
‘What are you saying?’
‘That people do things for all sorts of reasons – whether good or bad, right or wrong, misguided or not – and that to have any hope of understanding what’s going on, you need to find those reasons. You don’t have to agree with them, or accept them, but you need to know what they are. There’s no difference between living a life based on lies that other people have told you and living one that’s based on a lie you’ve told yourself.’
Chloe had to stop herself from laughing at her mother’s brief turn as a sage. ‘Okay, Mum,’ she sighed. ‘Well, if he ever gets back, I’ll hear him out.’ She took a sip of tea and slammed the mug back onto the table.
Her mother put a hand on her arm. ‘Calm down, Chloe love.’
‘It’s just…’ Chloe rubbed her neck. ‘I’ve finally decided to move forwards. I don’t want anything to get in the way – to make me feel like I’ve felt for this past month.’
‘Chloe, you’re not moving forwards. You’re running around closing doors as fast as they open until you’ve only got one direction to go in. But you’re still frightened of what’s behind all those other doors. If you’re not prepared to take a look through them all, and accept what’s there, then you’ll never be able to move on. You’ll always be scared of what’s chasing you.’
‘How do you know all this?’ Chloe was startled. Her mother never talked this way.
‘Because I think I do it myself, every day, with you,’ Margaret admitted, holding her daughter’s gaze. ‘It’s why I prattle on at times. If I leave too much of a silence, I worry what that might mean – what you might say to fill it that I don’t want to hear.’
Chloe just stared at her mother, open-mouthed. ‘What could I possibly -’ she began, then stopped herself. She was realising that her mother hadn’t always been so twittery and fretful; that when she thought back to being a little girl, her mother had always seemed so strong and self-assured. She’d noticed the change in her teenage years, and it had become more obvious since then, but she had decided her mother had always been like that and as a child she had just been too young to notice it properly. But maybe this wasn’t the case.
‘Look what happened with Anthony.’ Her mother gave a sad smile. ‘I feel… oh, Chloe, now is the last time I should be talking to you like this. You should be up in bed, and I should be looking after you, not bringing up all this baggage.’
‘No,’ Chloe said, ‘it’s okay. Go on.’
‘Well…’ her mother began softly. ‘I feel like I failed Anthony, but I look back and I can’t see where I made the wrong turn. Of course, I could have never married your father – but then neither of you would have been brought into the world, and I wouldn’t like that at all either.’
Chloe was beginning to feel uncomfortable. ‘I don’t think you failed Anthony,’ she said.
‘We’re in an awful deadlock now,’ Margaret replied. ‘I don’t even know my own grandchildren.’
‘Well, America’s a long way away.’
‘It’s not that,’ Margaret said. ‘It’s that for Anthony to understand, I have to be honest with him about his father. And I can’t do that.’
There it was. Margaret had laid the subject on the table. Chloe knew she was meant to ask about her father, but she didn’t want to.
‘Mum, surely honesty is the best policy. This is exactly the problem I’m having with Alex. Why can’t people just be honest with one another?’ Her voice began to rise.
‘Chloe,’ Margaret said, looking alarmed. ‘Don’t get yourself worked up, love.’
‘Why not?’ Chloe banged a hand on the table, and tea slopped over the edges of both their mugs. ‘Why the hell not, Mum? Why couldn’t he have just told me the truth from the beginning?’
‘Chloe,’ Margaret said, leaning forward. ‘What if he felt that the truth might be the most painful thing you could hear? Yes, Alex is being quite unfair on you now, but does he want to be? Probably not. Even I know Alex well enough to say that. He may not be making good decisions, but you don’t know what his motivations are. And yes, it’s difficult for you, I’m not denying that, but maybe Alex is trying to protect you, had you ever thought of that?’
Chloe was taken aback. ‘From what?’
‘From his past? From the parts of himself that might make you doubt him, or make you love him less? From pain? From involvement in something that will only cause you grief?’
‘By going off with another woman? More likely, he’s trying to protect himself from the consequences. Running away is never the right thing to do.’
Margaret shook her head sadly. ‘Don’t you remember, Chloe?’
‘What?’ Chloe said, unease beginning to stir within her.
‘We ran away once. We had to. And I think that, somewhere inside you, you remember everything. That’s why you can’t bear to speak with me about your father. It’s so much easier to pretend you don’t know.’
‘How do you find?’ the Judge’s Associate asked the foreman after reading out the first charge of murder. ‘Guilty or not guilty?’
The pause seemed to last forever. How could there be so much time between a question and a reply? Alex glanced at Amy, who was hunched over, trying to hide her face, staring at her knees. He couldn’t begin to imagine her torment. The whole court was silent, expectant, the ordinary-looking man in a dark grey suit about to utter the response that would have a great bearing on the lives of so many in the room.
‘Guilty.’
Chaos erupted. There was a babble of chatter in the general arena, and at the front of the gallery a woman screamed, then began sobbing, held in the arms of a younger couple.
Alex had jumped up before he realised it, punching the air with a loud ‘Yes’. His reaction was so reflexive he couldn’t stop himself, causing quite a few at the front to turn and stare at him, their expressions ranging from sympathetic to angry, but all looking curious as he sat down again.
The judge restored order and the associate continued reading out the charges against the men. To each one, the response was ‘guilty’. To Alex’s right, Amy was breathing hard, still staring at the floor. He put his arms around her, unable to remain still, anger coursing through him, causing him to shake. He whispered into her hair, ‘It’s over, it’s over, Amy,’ and felt a hand on his shoulder, looking up to see the detective beside them, his face sombre but his hand giving Alex a squeeze, trying to convey what scrap of comfort he could.
The jury was dismissed and then the judge began to speak again, setting the date for sentencing. Amy remained huddled within Alex’s arms, leaning into his chest, breathing heavily. They stayed that way until people began getting to their feet, then stood up to watch the judge leave the courtroom.
‘Let’s go, Alex,’ Amy whispered to him. ‘I just want to get away from this now.’
Alex kept his arm around her as they made their way downstairs. ‘I just need to nip to the bathroom,’ Alex said, when they reached the ground floor.
‘Me too,’ Amy replied. ‘I’ll meet you back here in a moment.’ She gave him a long look, as though she were trying to tell him something, and let go of his hand.
Alex pushed through a door into the bathroom to find it surprisingly empty. He made his way over to a urinal, relieved himself, and turned to go, heading towards the door as another man entered, wearing a dapper navy pinstriped suit and a bright yellow tie. His face was stricken, his dark eyes tormented, and Alex asked instinctively, ‘You okay?’
The man nodded, at first unable or unwilling to speak. He murmured what sounded like ‘A terrible day.’
Alex grimaced. ‘I know, mate,’ he said, as he made his way back outside.
At first Alex didn’t panic when he couldn’t see Amy. But when after a few minutes she still didn’t appear, a small, insidious roiling began in his gut. He walked up and down the corridor, looking for her familiar dark head.
Ten minutes went by, then another five. He was biting down the urge to shout her name, walking frantically back and forth.
Of course she had gone. The court case was over, the verdict announced. In Amy’s head, all that was left now was to watch him walk away, back to his old life, leaving her to try to pick up some semblance of the pieces of her own. Of course she would have decided to leave first, sometime when he wouldn’t be expecting it; of course she wouldn’t want to go through such a painful goodbye.
He felt desperate. He didn’t want it to end like this. How could he have been so stupid as to let her slip out of his grasp again?
When Chloe woke up, it was all there in front of her as though she had never pushed it away; as clear as the daylight pouring through the crack in her curtains. She choked and spluttered at the intensity of it all, unable to believe she had kept this thing buried in her subconscious for so long.
As she tried to calm herself, she could hear her mother humming in the kitchen. She couldn’t make out the tune.
Fractured images paraded past her like a police-station line-up. First, there were the three of them, Mummy, Daddy and little Chloe; a storybook setting, the trees green, the sky blue, the sun yellow, and life rosy. Then came the baby, Anthony, and nothing changed, it all just glowed that little bit brighter. They lived in America. There were fourth of July parties, with shrieking fireworks and dancing. Chloe could remember her mother in beautiful dresses, kissing her shyly in the early evening, and hugging her tightly later at night when it wouldn’t matter what stains Chloe could transfer onto the silken material. Her father, ruffling her hair, kissing her forehead, swinging her up onto his shoulders. He was godlike, the world bending to his will. Chloe and her brother watching their parents in awe as one shimmered and the other commanded.
Then, during the night after one such party, Chloe had been disturbed by a noise. It had scared her too much for her to stay in her room so she went looking for comfort.
And, eventually, she had found her father wrapped around her brother, his face turned away, but small movements shaking his body.
Too much flesh. Anthony’s eyes vacant. Chloe peeping in, her small fingers clutching the door.
Running to her mother, asleep in a chair downstairs, putting a tiny finger to her lips, and her mother, thinking it was some kind of child’s game, unfurling in easy delight like a cat, and letting Chloe lead her to Anthony’s room.
Standing together at the doorway. Margaret dropping Chloe’s hand.
Tears streamed onto Chloe’s pillow, helpless from gravity’s push. The humming from downstairs sounded like a child’s, and it was ceaseless. She wanted to turn it off, or tune it out, while she gathered together the broken threads of her memories and turned them over, trying to repair them to become something she could use.
That was how she had last seen her father. Through a crack in a doorway. His face turned away from her. Her mother had also turned away then, in silence, and Chloe had watched her begin to walk off, sliding along the floor, her whole body stiff, ghostlike. Then Margaret had remembered her small daughter. Had padded back, scooped her up. Chloe had been laid on her bed, then, a while later, Anthony was brought into her room and put into the bed with her, and her mother lay down next to them in the long, cramped space, and put her arm across them both.
In the morning, Chloe had woken of her own accord, which was unusual. Her mother was normally already in her room and flinging back curtains, chattering merrily. That morning there had been nothing; Anthony and her mother were no longer with her. She had arisen in her nightie, and wandered around the house looking for Margaret. In her parents’ room she had found her, frantically packing, shoving everything into cavernous suitcases. ‘We’re going on holiday, to England,’ her mother had said in a strange singsong voice. ‘It’s an adventure, honey.’
Chloe knew England – it was where her grandparents lived. They came to visit now and again, and Chloe had seen pictures of herself there when she had been a baby. So she had packed for a holiday, leaving behind the doll’s house; her special light that, when switched on, showed small furry rabbits living inside; her collection of seashells. And all the rest that she wouldn’t need for a holiday.
Anthony had been quiet all the way to England. He sat on his mother’s knee and stared resolutely ahead. Her mother sat in perfect imitation of her son, her eyes fixed forward, responding to Chloe when she felt a pull on her sleeve, but otherwise letting her be, even when she drew in crayon all over the pull-down table in front of her.
Chloe had been five years old when they’d stepped off the plane onto English soil. She remembered her grandparents’ delighted, surprised faces when they opened their cottage door to find their daughter and her children waiting, and how their smiles had faltered slightly as they’d looked at Margaret and then been pinned back in place as they turned to Chloe and Anthony. The children had been told to go into the garden to play, and they moved off holding hands. Chloe looked back as her grandparents turned inwards, a carapace for their daughter, and saw her mother’s head go down and her shoulders sag as she made it to the doorway, then slid down it to become a shaking, wailing heap, Chloe’s grandmother quickly going to her side.
In the garden, Anthony had let go of Chloe’s hand. The trees were bare and brown, and thick white cloud blotted out most of the leaden-grey sky.
Chloe raced downstairs as though the hounds of hell were chasing her, and burst into the kitchen, where her mother seemed to be in the process of emptying a cabinet of glass-ware, washing it all and putting it back again.
Margaret turned around in surprise at the sudden sound, and took one look at Chloe’s face, then said, ‘So, you do remember.’
‘Mum!’ Chloe was forcing herself to stay still, to keep her hands at her sides, though she felt like moving across the room and throttling her mother. ‘How could you -’ She registered her mother’s shocked face as she said the words. ‘How could you let Anthony go to America like that? You should have told him. You should have. What if…’ Now she was registering her mother’s expression becoming one of relief, and then Margaret said:
‘Chloe, you underestimate me. I’ve known where your father was all along. Anthony was never in danger, you needn’t worry about that.’
In the bathroom, Amy splashed water on her face, bracing herself for everything that must come next.
Guilty. They were going to prison.
She was so relieved. But what this meant for her life, she really didn’t know.
As she turned to grab a paper towel, two women came through the door; one her mother’s age, the other probably a little younger than Amy. She didn’t recognise them, but was all too familiar with the hollow look in their eyes.
She threw her paper towel in the bin, keen to leave, when the older woman began speaking to her.
‘Excuse me… Did you know my daughter? Did you know my Vanessa?’
Amy was so shocked that she began speaking without even thinking about it.
‘No, I’m sorry, I didn’t. But I’m so, so sorry.’
The woman came over and took Amy’s hand. ‘Then what happened to you?’ she asked softly.
The woman’s gaze was boring right through her. Amy felt almost transparent, like the woman could see into her brain and out the back of her head. Slowly, she unwound the scarf around her neck to show both women the scar that sliced across her skin.
‘I’m pretty sure I was meant to die too,’ she said.
The younger woman gasped. The older one took a long, appraising look at Amy’s neck, the rest of her body completely still.
Amy didn’t know what she was expecting the woman to say, but she felt immeasurably guilty, as though she could have done something; perhaps stayed and hunted down these men before they had preyed on someone else. She was expecting harsh words, a slap to the face, and was waiting for but not shirking from them; in fact her mind was inviting them to confirm everything that she knew she was.
So, the words that finally came shocked her more than anything she had imagined. The woman leaned forward, her arm stretching out towards Amy’s face. Amy instinctively recoiled, but there was something gentle in the movement that slowed her backwards arc, and the woman’s hand connected with Amy’s face to stroke her cheek, just once, with the lightest of touches. Like Amy’s mother used to do.
‘I am so very glad that you didn’t die,’ she said, with both sadness and kindness in her eyes.
Amy let out a sob and then collapsed into the woman’s arms, as a torrent of emotion gushed from her. The younger woman came and joined the embrace, and the three of them were locked together for what might have been seconds or hours, Amy couldn’t tell, though she vaguely registered the bathroom door opening and closing more than once without anyone coming inside.
When the woman stepped back, she said, ‘I’m Vanessa’s mother, Jean, and this is her sister, Natalie.’
Amy took her hand.
‘I’m Amy,’ she said, first of all. And then, ‘Thank you.’ They smiled at one another, but there was nothing else to be said.
‘Look after yourself, Amy,’ Jean added, as Amy turned to go.
‘You too,’ she replied, without looking back.
The peacefulness that had temporarily overcome Amy was blown away by Alex’s anger when he saw her.
‘Where have you been?’ He wiped his brow and agitatedly ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere.’
‘I met Vanessa’s mother and sister in the bathroom,’ she replied, surprised at his agitation.
Alex looked bewildered for a moment, and then understanding crossed his face. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said, his shoulders slumping, the fight leaving him.
Amy was confused until he added, ‘I thought you’d gone.’
Another time, she might have been affronted, but now she wasn’t. Instead, she gave him a small smile. ‘Well, I didn’t,’ she replied.
‘No.’ He looked at her, his face relaxing, and then said, ‘Okay then, let’s go.’
As they headed for the door, Detective Thompson approached. ‘Just what we hoped for,’ he said, shaking Amy’s hand and then Alex’s, but Alex’s attention was caught elsewhere for a moment, and she followed his gaze.
The detective’s words faded away.
Time drifted, then slowed, then fractured.
A navy pinstriped suit teamed with a trendy yellow tie. Dark hair, a thin face, a vertical scar slicing his cheek just beneath his right eye.
Two black eyes were staring back at her. Spittle on her cheek. A body bearing down, violently crushing air from her lungs.
And then she was screaming as loudly as she could, because this time she didn’t have a petrol-soaked rag blocking her throat.
Chloe was frustrated. She had thought that last night she and her mother had broken through some kind of communication barrier, but today it seemed as if it had only been temporary, as her mother was back to fussing at every opportunity. Margaret had refused to enlighten Chloe further on the subject of her father, saying that first and foremost she needed some rest. She had insisted Chloe go back to bed, had brought up breakfast on a tray, and, unbelievably, chattered on about her journey and the latest gardening club gossip. When Chloe remained morose and uncommunicative, Margaret eventually left her alone to ‘rest’.
Chloe tried to settle down with her book, staring unseeingly at the pages. She dozed every now and then, intermittently hearing her mother banging around downstairs, presumably checking out where different things were kept. She tried not to think about what was getting rearranged or thrown out, or silently noted as inferior.
She had intended to get up and cajole her mother into explaining things properly, but after a while found that tiredness descended upon her like a thick blanket.
At lunchtime, hungry, Chloe wandered downstairs but couldn’t seem to stand up for long. Margaret made her some sandwiches, and urged her to lie down and not fight the tiredness. Chloe lay on the sofa this time, flicking through TV channels and then dozing off again.
When she came to properly, the curtains were closed and a small table lamp was the only light in the room. Margaret sat next to it, leafing through a magazine. She looked up and saw that Chloe was awake.
‘How are you feeling, darling?’ Margaret immediately enquired.
‘Tired!’ Chloe said, amazed that she could still feel so weary after sleeping all day.
‘You’ve got a fair bit of rest to catch up on, I would imagine. Can I get you a drink?’
‘Just a glass of water would be lovely.’
Margaret hurried out of the room and Chloe heard the gentle tinkling of glasses and a trickling of liquid before she returned, one hand bearing a glass of water and the other holding a glass of white wine.
‘I didn’t know I had any wine,’ Chloe said.
‘You didn’t. I went and got some,’ Margaret replied.
‘I must have slept more deeply than I thought.’
‘You were out like a light. Cheers.’
They clinked their glasses together and both took a gulp. Chloe settled back against the soft sofa cushions, and pulled the blanket up to her chin. They sat in silence for a while in the soft light; then Margaret spoke while looking down into her glass.
‘I was surprised it took so long to drive here. It must be awful on a Friday night, never mind having to do it all again two days later. Thank you for coming to see me so often.’
‘That’s okay.’ Chloe immediately felt guilty at the amount of times she and Alex had moaned about the trip.
‘I think I might come down a bit more from now on.’
‘Of course,’ Chloe replied.
‘Besides,’ her mother continued, smiling, ‘you’ll need help when the baby arrives.’
Chloe felt a pang of discomfort. She took a breath and bit the bullet. ‘I will, Mum. But I might also need some space.’ She looked across at her mother, waiting to see her reaction.
‘Oh, I see,’ Margaret replied, leaning around and plumping the cushion behind her. ‘Well, if you don’t want me, I -’
‘Mum! Will you listen properly. I’m not saying I don’t want you, I just want you to respect my right to a little space – surely that’s not too much to ask.’
‘Okay, calm down, Chloe,’ Margaret said snippily. ‘I’m just saying that when – if – you need me, I’ll be here. It’s just… I’d like to be useful to somebody, at least.’
‘I’m really not saying -’ Chloe began immediately, but her mother raised a hand to stop her.
‘It’s okay, Chloe. I know just what you’re saying.’
Chloe gave up; whatever she said seemed to be wrong. There was an awkward silence, before Margaret finally sighed and said sadly, ‘I envy you, you know.’
‘You do?’ Chloe asked, surprised.
‘You have it all ahead of you.’ Margaret nodded her head towards Chloe’s stomach. ‘So much joy, so many surprises…’
‘Is that how you felt?’
Margaret looked taken aback at the question. ‘Of course. Well, actually, I was scared rotten during my whole pregnancy with you, desperately praying you would be okay. But seeing you for the first time was the happiest moment of my entire life, even though I’d just been through fifteen hours of hell!’
‘Don’t tell Anthony that!’ Chloe laughed.
‘I don’t think Anthony would care,’ Margaret said sadly. ‘He’s always been so independent-minded – so determined. Whereas you, you were my little girl, and you would look at me so openly, so trusting. In fact,’ her voice cracked, ‘sometimes I would give anything to see you look like that again.’
‘Mum, I’m…’
Margaret shook her head. ‘Don’t, Chloe. Life moves on.’
Chloe felt tears smarting. ‘Mum,’ she said softly, ‘I’m so sorry about what happened… if I hadn’t – with Dad – then…’
‘Don’t you ever say that. Do you realise how silly that is? Thank god you did take me up there. You saved Anthony, Chloe. You saved us all, I think.’
Chloe mulled that over for a while. ‘Mum, did you really think you were having a heart attack?’
Margaret nodded, and cast her a quick, embarrassed glance. ‘Yes, for a little while – you have no idea how silly I felt when the doctors told me that it was just my nerves!’ She shook her head. ‘But Charlie… his began innocuously enough, so we didn’t ring the ambulance straight away, and by the time we did, then got to the hospital, well, it was too late. So I think I panicked, presuming it was going to be the same with me. I know it sounds silly now, though. I am embarrassed about it, if that makes any difference.’
‘Mum, I don’t want you to be embarrassed – it’s just that – well, it feels like, although we talk a lot, we don’t really talk, do we? I’m sorry I blew my top when I got up to see you; it’s just I was so worried, and I’ve been so stressed out about -’
‘I shouldn’t have made light of it,’ Margaret interrupted. ‘But I felt silly and I didn’t want you to worry and start fussing. It was a genuine mistake, Chloe, and I was pleased to see you – I’m very lucky to have a daughter who will drop everything for me in times of need, I realise that, especially with what you’ve had to contend with recently. I know it might have looked a bit selfish…’
Chloe was about to accept the invitation of the ensuing silence to tell her mother, no, of course it wasn’t selfish, when she stopped. From now on, she was going to be honest. From now on, she wasn’t going to accept excuses from anyone, including herself. From now on, she was going to do exactly what she thought was right, without being trapped by indecision because of worry that she might make a mistake. If she did veer off course, she’d just have to sort it out as she went along.
The weight that lifted from her as she had these thoughts was so enormous she felt almost faint from the release. She smiled, and her mother looked bemused.
‘What are you thinking?’ she said.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Chloe replied. ‘But I want you to tell me about my dad.’
Margaret looked worried, but she didn’t try to hedge. ‘Okay, Chloe,’ she said. ‘But I’m afraid it won’t be nice to hear.’
Chloe pursed her lips. She was determined to know every thing. Margaret saw the gleam of her eyes and said, ‘Right. Well. After we left, there was quite a bit of contact with your father – my dad took most of the calls, it was pretty nasty. We threatened to go to the police if he didn’t leave us alone, but since he was in the police force over in America, things were a bit tricky. But I felt terribly guilty about just leaving – I couldn’t see a way out, I thought we’d have to inform the authorities because I couldn’t let him get away with that – I mean, what if he… there were plenty of children around. But then… things were taken out of our hands. He went out on patrol one night a few weeks after we left and caught two youngsters stealing from a garage. He chased and caught one of them, beat the boy in a rage, even though it was basically food they were stealing… beat him so hard that the boy later died in hospital.’
Chloe’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh my god.’
Margaret nodded. ‘His defence tried to get the charge down to manslaughter – irony of ironies, part of their argument was that his wife had just left him and taken his kids, and he wasn’t of rational mind – but he still got convicted in the end. Which was a real relief. I knew which jail he was in to start with, but then I lost track of him. When Anthony went over, I tried to do some digging. It turned out he’d been released, and searching for him took about a year, and a fair bit of money – but I found him.’ Margaret moved across to the sofa, then reached out and put a hand on Chloe’s knee. ‘He died, love. Around the time Anthony left for America. He had a stroke.’
Chloe’s hand was still covering her mouth. She didn’t know what to think. It seemed – surreal. She didn’t really feel anything on hearing he was dead, which, in itself, felt wrong. She thought that perhaps she’d known all along the story went something like this, and she’d just put off having to hear it spoken aloud.
‘Poor Anthony,’ she said eventually. ‘When did he find out?’
‘A few months after he got married,’ Margaret replied sadly. ‘He rang one night, sounding like he’d had a few to drink, and told me I’d denied him the chance of ever knowing his father. He knew about the prison sentence before that, I think, but he said he still wanted the opportunity, that I should have let him make up his own mind before it was too late.’
‘And you didn’t tell him anything,’ Chloe said; a statement rather than a question.
Margaret shook her head, biting her lip, her eyes dewy. ‘I’ve always been so grateful that he was little when it… when we left America. It gave him a chance to forget. I don’t want to take that away from him, ever, even though he’s a man now.’
‘Oh, Mum.’ Chloe put her hand on top of her mother’s. ‘This must all have been so hard for you.’ She paused, thinking; then, curious, asked, ‘Did you love our dad?’
Margaret nodded. ‘I did – well, I thought I did, but I think I was also hypnotised by him. He was a powerful man, with a cruel streak, and it took what happened with Anthony to bring me to my senses. I have always felt guilty about putting both of you through that. Yes, you too, Chloe. You should never have had to experience that. You were a child. I was your mother. It was down to me.’
‘Mum, you didn’t -’ Chloe said automatically.
Margaret moved even closer to Chloe on the sofa, and began to stroke her daughter’s hair, pushing loose strands back behind her ear. ‘Thank you for saying that,’ she whispered. ‘However, although I may come across as a silly old fool at times, when I think of you and Anthony, in my heart I am a lioness, and you will always be my cubs. I want to roar at anyone who threatens you and tear the heart out of anyone who hurts you.’
There was silence for a moment, and then Chloe looked up at her mum, a soft smile on her face. ‘Poor Alex,’ she said.
‘Quite,’ Margaret replied, and smiled back.
The last twenty-four hours had been crazy.
When Amy had begun to scream, the man had bolted out the main doors of the courthouse. Alex had been transfixed by both things, but Detective Thompson had set off in pursuit like a cheetah after prey, as did half a dozen court security guards.
They hauled him back in moments later; Detective Thompson coming first, wiping his brow, shirt half-untucked and tie askew. He straightened his clothing and flattened his hair as he walked towards Alex and Amy.
As Amy saw the security men bringing the man back in, she moved closer to Alex and buried her head in his chest, and he put his arms around her.
The detective moved around so Amy could see him without having to move her head.
‘Is that one of them?’ he asked her gently.
Amy nodded.
‘I’m sorry, Amy, but I need you to look at him quickly and make a positive ID,’ the detective said softly.
Slowly, Amy turned her head. The man stared right back at her, remorseless; sneering, almost.
Alex watched Amy as she nodded.
Before he could think, Alex had thrust Amy out of his arms towards the detective. He heard himself screaming obscenities at the cocky monster in front of them, determined to rip him apart. He had almost reached him when one of the guards grabbed Alex’s arms. He writhed to be free and more guards came over. He was bundled outside as he fought back, and they pinned him on the ground.
‘Pull him up,’ a voice said.
As they hauled him to his feet, Alex could feel his face still distorted with the rage that consumed him. When he was upright, Detective Thompson stepped forward until he was so close their noses were almost touching.
‘I know you want to,’ he said, his eyes boring into Alex’s. ‘We all want to. But it won’t help. So calm down. You need to look after Amy.’
As soon as he said her name, Alex spotted her, standing behind them, her face tear-streaked, her expression distressed, and the fight began to drain out of him. He held his hands up in acquiescence, and muttered ‘Sorry, sorry’ as the officers gradually stood back. They didn’t go far, in case, he guessed, he ran indoors again to find the bastard and kill him. Instead he went over to Amy, and put his arms around her once more.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, pulling her close and stroking her hair, whispering against it. ‘It’s all right.’
She pulled back. ‘I thought I didn’t recognise all of them,’ she said, alternately looking at the detective and Alex, her voice shaky and high. ‘But it’s been ten years and I -’
‘The man we just arrested was the brother of one of the men convicted today,’ Detective Thompson informed them. ‘We had some issues with whether the third man belonged to your case as well, as he had an alibi, but it was only a wobbly one; and his brother would have been only eighteen when they attacked you, so we weren’t sure. Without you we had no way of checking.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ Amy asked, horrified that one of her attackers had been wandering freely so close to her.
‘I’m sorry.’ The detective looked ashamed. ‘I didn’t want to frighten you, as you were already so distressed when I last saw you. I thought that when today was out of the way, we could talk properly.’
Amy looked astounded for a moment. ‘Did you just set that up, so I would see him?’
‘No, of course not.’ Detective Thompson seemed affronted. ‘I’ve never seen him at court before; if I had, I wouldn’t have let him near you. He must have just come in for the verdict, and I’m surprised at that, as, unless they’re in the dock, his family usually stay well away from anything involving the law.’
‘Oh.’ Amy looked at her feet.
‘So what now?’ Alex asked, suddenly aware that this was a very public conversation. People were passing them on the way to and from court, many eyeing them curiously, probably having just witnessed the scenes inside.
‘For now, we detain him for questioning,’ the detective said. ‘You two head back to your hotel, and I’ll come and see you later.’
They returned to their hotel in silence.
‘I’m sorry, Amy,’ Alex said at one point.
‘Don’t be,’ she replied. ‘I wish they’d let you kill him. I would have watched.’
They didn’t say much after that and spent the next few hours feeling restless. The hotel had an outdoor swimming pool so they swam for a while, then came back to their room. Alex was just wondering how long they’d be climbing the walls for, when the phone rang and the receptionist informed them that Detective Thompson was in the lobby.
They headed downstairs and sat with him in the large open-plan reception area.
‘He’s practically confessed,’ the detective said. ‘We’ll be able to charge him, I’m sure. I’ll take a statement from you both about what happened today, and then, further down the line, we might need you back again, Amy.’ He looked at her seriously. ‘Is that okay? Without you, if he decided to try to get off, we wouldn’t have much of a case. I’m hopeful he might spare us all and go with guilty, but we just don’t know what will happen once the lawyers have had their hands on him for a while.’
They all knew he was asking Amy if she was a flight risk.
‘I can do what you need me to,’ she answered, meeting his eyes. Alex believed her. From the look of it, the detective did too. In fact, Alex thought, it looked as though Amy believed herself as well.
‘Well, let’s go down to the station now, and do the statements, and then you’re free to go,’ Detective Thompson said. ‘No point in keeping you here longer than needed.’
The next morning, Alex woke up before Amy, and lay staring at the patch of blue sky he could see through the window. He heard her stirring sometime later, and turned around and smiled at her. She smiled briefly back, then got up, headed for the bathroom and got dressed. When they were both ready, they went down for breakfast.
‘What do you want to do today?’ Alex asked, munching on a mouthful of toast.
Amy looked at her plate, thinking.
‘I want to leave,’ she said, looking up. ‘To find a flight and go – back to England, or anywhere else, I guess; just away, for starters. Is that okay?’
Alex nodded. He knew there was no point remaining there any longer, but leaving meant taking the next step. It meant he had choices to make. And he didn’t feel ready. He didn’t think he would ever feel ready.
Early on Friday morning, Mark was on his way to see Chloe with two things on his mind. He had to make sure he collected all her Abbott notes and picked her brains. And he was also going to tell her how he felt about her.
He’d been going over and over the family meeting in his head. A number of things had unnerved him.
First, of course, his dad had Parkinson’s. He’d spent the past twenty-four hours swotting up on it when he could grab a spare moment, and none of it had made pleasant reading. He kept trying to imagine how his dad would cope when the symptoms became obvious. So far, Mark hadn’t even noticed him have a tremor; he wasn’t looking forward to the first time he did, sure that he wouldn’t know how to react.
He was discomfited by the relationships in his family. He knew Henry had always had a soft spot for Di – different things were expected and hoped for from a Jameson daughter. But he had been touched by the rough affection he had seen between his mother and father when they had thought no one was looking. And he was also surprised at how strong and unshakeable his mother was – while Henry was barking out commands, it was easy to believe he was the linchpin of the family, but, perhaps, all the time his mother had been stealthily doing that job herself.
So where did he, Mark, fit in to all this? He was an absent brother and a pretty crap son, with little idea what to say to any of them, and even less notion of how he could take charge. Out of everyone who had been involved in the family counselling session, he had been the limp lettuce. It made unpleasant thinking.
But here was one thing he could do something about. Chloe meant a lot to him, and he had to tell her before her husband came back. Alex had been gone for a while now – really, how would those two ever get back on track after this? Whereas he and Chloe might just be able to… The last time, they’d been young, inexperienced, ambitious. This time Mark felt more confident that he could settle down, and that his career wouldn’t suffer unduly.
And if she’d lost the child, as Neil had implied, he could tell her now without there being anything in the way. There could be other children for Chloe. Mark had no objections to starting a family sooner rather than later. It might be better if Chloe left the firm, anyway; there could be problems if the two of them continued to work together.
Chloe’s mother opened the door.
‘Mark, it’s been a while,’ she said, civilly holding out a hand.
‘Hello, Margaret,’ he replied, shaking it. ‘Is Chloe up and about?’
‘She’s in the sitting room.’
Mark went on ahead and rounded the doorway into the lounge. He stopped in shock. Chloe’s face was pale, her eyes had dark circles underneath them, and she was nestled under a duvet surrounded by pillows.
‘Bloody hell!’ he said.
Chloe smiled. ‘Did you just think I was skiving?’ she asked. ‘Nope, I am actually not feeling so great.’
‘I can see.’ Mark sat down opposite her. It wasn’t quite how he’d imagined pouring out his heart – he’d have preferred her well and seated opposite him in a restaurant somewhere so that it felt more romantic – but she didn’t look like she’d be going out any time soon, and this couldn’t wait.
‘I’ve put all the Abbott papers over there.’ She indicated a pile on the table nearby. ‘Do we need to go through anything?’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll call you if I have any questions.’ Mark paused. ‘I also came to find out how you are.’ He moved closer and took her hand. ‘I’ve been really worried about you.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Just got to take it easy.’
‘So,’ he began, nervous of the answer to the question he was about to pose. ‘Did you… are you…?’
Chloe looked puzzled.
‘I got the impression, from Neil, that you might have lost the baby,’ Mark blurted.
Chloe looked surprised. ‘No! And thank god! I don’t know where he got that from.’
As he watched her rubbing her belly, Mark tried to take in this information, and what it meant for them. What should he do now?
‘It gave me a scare, but I’ve just got to rest up a little and it should all be fine. I’m really sorry about the Abbott case, though, leaving you in the lurch,’ she said.
Mark’s mind had wandered. ‘What?… Oh, don’t worry. I can handle it.’
‘I’ve no doubt about that,’ Chloe laughed. She paused, and looked at Mark curiously as he sat awkwardly opposite her. ‘Is there something on your mind, Mark?’
Mark looked down. He still had hold of her hand. She was watching him, meekly, sweetly. She was waiting. Could it work with a baby that wasn’t his? Should he speak? He had an innate feeling that this was his one opportunity, right here and now.
‘Chloe, I’ve been thinking…’ he began. He cleared his throat. ‘About us.’ He cleared his throat again and patted his chest. Get a grip, man.
Chloe was looking a little uncomfortable, he noticed, but it was too late to back out now. He ploughed on desperately. ‘These last few weeks I’ve come to realise -’
‘Mark, don’t.’ Chloe put a hand on his arm and shook her head as she looked at him. He fell silent, appalled at how this seemed to be unfolding.
‘I have really enjoyed spending time with you recently. You have been such a good friend -’ she paused, seemingly lost for words, while Mark stared down at the slick lines ironed into his trousers.
‘Mark,’ she tried again, ‘I’m so -’
He knew for sure that he didn’t want her pity. ‘Forget it,’ he cut in, more abruptly than he intended, and waved his hand dismissively. Chloe reached across to touch his arm again, but he moved away. ‘No need to feel sorry for me, Chlo,’ he said, a slight coldness to his tone. ‘It’s not like anything has changed. Friends?’
He held out his hand formally, and ignored her amused expression.
‘Friends,’ she smiled, taking his hand and giving it an agreeable shake.
‘And perhaps not so much criticism of my husband in future?’ she added.
‘Actually, he really does deserve it at the moment,’ Mark retorted.
Chloe opened her mouth and then closed it again. Because, unfortunately, Mark was right.
There seemed to be little else they could find to say. Mark was about to make his excuses when Margaret came in with tea, so he was forced to sit in excruciating awkwardness and try to sip it down quickly while it was still scalding hot. He was relieved to be finally given a reprieve from this torture by his ringing phone. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, rummaging in his pocket. He flicked open the lid without even registering who was on the other end; he was just grateful to them for buying him some thinking time.
The voice that began speaking was frazzled with worry. Mark listened, his eyes widening.
‘Oh, Jesus,’ he eventually spluttered.
Chloe’s eyes were saucer-wide as she watched his expression change. ‘What?’ she asked. ‘What is it, Mark?’
The flight home had taken Amy and Alex into a kind of limbo-land. They hadn’t talked much during it. There was either too much or too little to say, and neither of them knew where to begin.
Amy had spent a lot of the time remembering the idyllic few days at the beach – just them, together again, something she’d had only in her dreams for ten years. They were still good together, she could tell. So right for each other. If only…
When they had cleared customs at Heathrow, neither of them knew what to do next.
‘Shall we go for a coffee?’ Amy asked eventually.
Alex nodded, his face weary.
They collected watery coffee from a kiosk and found a table free of debris. Alex stared into his cup, brooding, as though looking for answers in the brown murk.
‘Al,’ Amy tried, gently.
Alex just shook his head. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes.
‘What am I meant to do now, Amy?’ he asked. His voice was an entreaty, a plea for an answer she couldn’t give him.
She reached over and grabbed his hand. ‘Al,’ she took a deep breath, ‘I still love you. I can’t change that. But I understand the situation you’re in. And I won’t hold your decisions against you.’
Alex shook his head, his eyes growing tearful. ‘Fuck,’ he growled, banging his fist on the table and looking down at his steaming coffee as it slopped over the edge of his mug.
‘Look,’ Amy said, wondering where she was summoning her words from. ‘Just listen to yourself. That’s all you can do. You and I – we’ll -’ she had to fight through her own emotions to say it ‘- we’ll never be history, it’s not possible.’
Alex looked up, his face wretched, listening to her intently.
‘You and I,’ she continued, ‘we share something, something that I don’t think can be broken. But it’s not just about us any more, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about that.’
‘Amy, I don’t know what you’re saying.’
She tried out a quick laugh, but there was no merriment in it. ‘Neither do I, really. But, Al, if you can take your guilt out of the equation for just one moment, if you can bring yourself into the here and now, don’t you know what you want, really – don’t you know, deep down, what you’re going to do next? Aren’t you holding yourself back because of the pain you might cause, or experience, not because you don’t know?’
She could see in his eyes that he knew exactly what she was saying. She held her breath, because this was it: she had pushed him to this point, and couldn’t undo it, but she was also terrified of what would come next.
Suddenly he got up, came around, pulled her out of her chair and cupped her face in his hands, and his mouth met hers in a passionate kiss that she melted into, heart and soul.
‘We stand before you today on behalf of a young girl who was unable to defend herself. A young girl whose life ended just when she should have been reaching her prime, because of the cruel, callous, unendurable acts of a few, and because of the wilful negligence of the school to provide crucial, fundamental support to her – support which, as one of the bastions of our education system, this institution was morally and socially and legally obliged to provide…’
Mark ran through the victory speech in his head, the one he would give to the press outside court on behalf of his client when the case was over. He wouldn’t be delivering it for a while, but he was confident that, in the end, he’d get a chance to do so. He could already see himself standing on the steps, surrounded by cameras and tape recorders, all eyes on him as they devoured his every word. His time had come – the legal world wouldn’t be able to stop talking about him when this case was finished.
They couldn’t lose – they had Carl Blaine, the best barrister in the business, on their side; it was only day one and already the defence looked rattled. Mark had watched in admiration as Blaine railed at poor Kara’s fate and the blocked avenues of support that had led her to such drastic action – vowing that such a tragedy should never happen again, and so it was critical to make those responsible accountable for their role in events. Now, walking alongside Mark as they faced the media ruckus, Kip Abbott was holding his head high, looking far less nervous than when he’d arrived at court.
‘I should never have asked Neil to do this,’ Kip had said when they’d shaken hands earlier in the day. ‘He’s been so hyped up about it. It’s been far too personal for him.’
Yes, it had been, Mark had thought grimly. But a good lawyer, a Jameson lawyer, could put aside emotions, knew that doing so was critical, in fact. Not that they didn’t ever emote, sometimes it was called for – but it was all scripted to perfection.
Mark still couldn’t believe that Neil, so strong and fit on the squash court, had had a heart attack, and he did feel a little guilty that it was his boss’s illness that had provided him with such a huge opportunity.
Henry had been sticking to Mark closer than his own shadow in recent days, going through the papers, supporting him, moulding him, encouraging him. Mark had had a thrill running through him the whole time. This was what he’d been waiting for – his big chance. There was no way this one was slipping away from him; he would grab it with both hands, make his father proud, people would pay thousands to have him working on their cases.
Neil was still critically ill in hospital, wired up to machines. He’d had to have a triple bypass over the weekend, and the recovery time was predicted to be months. David was already in the middle of another important case; and while there were other partners and senior solicitors at Lewis & Marchant, no one knew the Abbott case like Mark did. Henry had lobbied for his son to take charge even before Mark had found out about Neil, and so, by the time he’d picked up the phone at Chloe’s, he was on the biggest fast-track ever heard of in Lewis & Marchant, or probably any other London firm. This case would see his name well and truly made.
As Mark neared the car, he remembered that he’d seen Henry today, standing at the back of the public gallery, his legs casually crossed as he leaned on a wall. After the close of the afternoon session, Mark had looked at him and Henry had given him a brief nod. Mark’s chest swelled at the memory of his father’s acknowledgement; of his respect.
They had reached their vehicle. He opened a passenger door for Kip, then went around to the other side, ignoring the shouted questions from the media, shut the door and felt the adrenalin buzz still coursing through his veins in the sudden silence of the car’s interior. As they pulled away, he rested his hands across his stomach, a studied pose of concentration, but in the lull his mind didn’t hesitate to drift back to Chloe’s small, vulnerable face. Instantly, he simply felt tired. He sighed. This case could be a welcome distraction, if only he could stop thinking about her. He was trying to tell himself that it would never have worked, but he could only hope that his career was about to go stratospheric, and the whole thing would be some kind of blessing in disguise. He studied his short fingernails and tried not to think of Chloe and Alex together – the way Chloe’s face softened and brightened as she looked at Alex – a look Mark had only witnessed, never received. Surely Alex couldn’t be so stupid as to give that up?
He leaned back in his seat and stared sombrely out at the traffic as they edged their way forward. He knew it was nothing to do with him now. Finally, after all these years, it was time to let her go.
Chloe was fed up. She wished her heart would stop pounding every time there was a knock on the door or the phone rang. She felt pensive, uncomfortable. The day seemed somehow pivotal, and she wasn’t sure why. After a weekend resting, she felt more alert, and was having to force herself into inaction. Her mother wasn’t helping. She was mostly back to her twittering self and was beginning to get on Chloe’s nerves with her constant fussing.
Her first surprise visitor of the day had been Jana. Chloe had felt uncomfortable being caught by her secretary makeup-free and wearing a grubby old tracksuit, but Jana hadn’t shown any sign of noticing, and simply said she’d taken a long lunch hour to come and offer her support.
‘My sister almost miscarried,’ Jana announced, ‘and the whole family was a wreck. I just wanted to encourage you to rest and to let you know that she now has a healthy baby – a girl – and so will you.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ Chloe asked quietly. ‘I feel I hardly dare move in case I dislodge the baby inside me.’
‘After what you’ve been through – if that baby wasn’t determined to be born, it wouldn’t be here now,’ Jana said firmly.
It turned out that David’s secretary had taken less than twenty-four hours to spread Chloe’s problems around the office. Chloe had sunk back into the pillows once Jana had gone. How was she capable of scandalising the office on a regular basis when she thought of herself as a very uninteresting person? Still, it had been lovely of Jana to pop around, she thought. She should probably give her an easier ride at work; she realised that she’d unwittingly been treating the new secretary as suspiciously as she had Charlotte, whereas she had a feeling that Jana might make a very good confidante and ally.
Barely an hour had passed before there was another rap at the door. Chloe’s heart began to thump as she heard Margaret pad down the hallway, but then sank as she heard Mikaela’s horrified-sounding voice saying, ‘Auntie Margaret, I didn’t realise you were here.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t, Mikaela,’ she heard her mother retort primly. ‘But come on in.’
Mikaela had appeared in the lounge doorway brandishing flowers. Chloe had told her about the baby scare via text, but she hadn’t expected her cousin to make an unannounced visit.
‘How are you, Chlo?’ she asked.
‘Getting there, thanks,’ Chloe replied.
Margaret had come in behind her niece, and there was an awkward silence before Mikaela looked between them and said, ‘Look, I’m going to go. Sorry.’
‘Oh, sit down, Mikaela,’ Margaret had replied, irritated, from behind her. ‘I’ll go and get you a drink.’
Mikaela had sat obediently, and pulled a face at Chloe as they waited for Margaret to return. When she did, to the other women’s surprise, she was carrying two large white wines on a tray as well as a water for Chloe.
Mikaela mutely took the wine, and Margaret sat down. Then Margaret looked intently at Mikaela, and Mikaela reddened. She was about to speak when Margaret said, ‘For god’s sake, Mikaela, just phone your mother.’
Mikaela looked down. ‘I can’t. She told me never to contact her again.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ Margaret snapped. ‘She’s always been a drama queen, your mother, you know that.’ Chloe bit back the temptation to point out that it obviously ran in the family, as Margaret continued, ‘but she loves you, Mikaela, and she misses you.’
‘I’ll only put my foot in it again,’ Mikaela argued. ‘And pee them all off. Really, what’s the point?’
‘Look -’ Margaret put her wine down with some force so that liquid sloshed over the top of the glass and ran down the sides – ‘I can’t bear it any longer. Where do you think you get it from, Mikaela? Your mother is no saint; nor am I, for that matter. I ran off to America when I was barely eighteen, and your mother was barred from St Michael’s Church for life when she was still a schoolgirl, after she was caught doing something obscene with one of her boyfriends in the church hall toilets. Our mother despaired of us, I can tell you.’
Both Mikaela’s and Chloe’s mouths had dropped open.
‘Honestly,’ Margaret said, grabbing some tissue and wiping her glass, then picking it up and heading out of the room. ‘You lot imagine you are pioneers of being young and reckless. Well, think again.’
Chloe and Mikaela had watched Margaret leave, still dumbstruck. Then Mikaela turned to Chloe and wrinkled her brow. ‘That is one image of Mum that I really don’t want to hold on to,’ she said, then cracked one of her trademark grins.
Mikaela had stayed for what seemed like hours, a captive audience for Chloe’s mother, who wittered away, filling her niece in on every tiny development in the extended family over the last few years, while Chloe closed her eyes, tried to tune out the relentless voice and pretended to doze, beginning to think of ways that she might get her mother to leave, now she seemed to be getting her strength back. She definitely appreciated her mother the most in small, albeit regular, doses.
However, there was one thing she really wanted to do for her, and sooner rather than later. As evening fell, she had begun working on a letter to her brother. It wasn’t easy, but she wanted Anthony back in her life, and for him to understand their mother better too. She tried to explain everything as best she could, and, as she sealed the envelope, she hoped that was enough.
She smiled grimly as she thought of her closing line. ‘And in a few months you’ll have a new niece or nephew to meet,’ she’d written, while thinking that Alex would soon be the last person in her life to know he was going to be a father; but, when all was said and done, he only had himself to blame for that.
Before Alex’s lips even left hers, Amy knew he was saying goodbye. She pushed every ounce of herself into that kiss, wanting it to last forever, holding on to him, feeling the heat of him. Knowing it was for the final time.
Even though both their eyes were moist by the time they pulled away, Amy noticed that Alex’s face had lost a little of the haunted look. He was making the right choice. And, really, they both knew it. It was time for each of them to move on.
But actually walking away was never going to be easy. They were stuck now, staring at one another, drinking in their last few moments together, knowing there was so much still to say; so much to be left unsaid.
‘Thank you,’ was all Amy could manage.
Alex shook his head, his eyes still fixed on hers, unwavering. ‘There’s no need.’
Amy shrugged; then they were back to standing in excruciating silence. Before long she couldn’t bear it.
‘Make it quick, if you’re going,’ she said, trying to smile.
Alex nodded. He didn’t seem able to speak.
‘Go on,’ Amy persisted, the smile pinned to her face, betrayed by her eyes.
‘I still want to help,’ he said finally, his voice choked with emotion. ‘There will be another court case now, and you might decide you want to… you still need support…’ His voice trailed off.
Amy knew what he was referring to. In the darkness of the plane, he had asked her whether she would go looking for her little girl, and she had told him that at some point she probably would.
‘Al,’ she put a hand on his arm, ‘you can’t be all things to all people. Besides, I think that’s something I need to do on my own.’
He looked momentarily hurt at this, but nodded, went back to his chair, picked up his bag, and slung it over his shoulder. Then he came across to her again, and brushed his palm against her cheek, their eyes drinking one another in.
‘You’ll be okay?’ he asked in the same wracked voice.
‘I will.’
‘I think you will, too,’ he agreed, nodding, looking at her with such intensity that she had trouble holding his gaze.
He began to walk backwards a few steps, still watching her. She held her breath as she registered his every movement, praying for him either to come back or turn around. His last look was so passionate and lingering that she wondered if he were about to change his mind, but then he turned quickly and almost jogged away.
She sat down and stared at Alex’s half-drunk cup of coffee, the only sign now that he had been there. She had thought she would collapse at this point. But she didn’t. Her body felt surprisingly light.
She picked up her own bag, turned away from the table, and set off in the opposite direction.
She knew exactly where she was going next.
As soon as Alex was away from the airport concourse, he took out his mobile phone and speed-dialled the familiar number. He was relieved when the call was answered, but that quickly turned to alarm when he registered the voice that had just said hello.
‘Margaret?’ he began, his concern increasing by the second, knowing that her visits to the south were extremely rare. ‘What are you doing there? Where’s Chloe?’
‘Chloe hasn’t been well,’ she replied curtly. ‘I’ve been looking after her.’
‘Well… thank you,’ Alex said, embarrassed. ‘What’s happened? Is she okay?’
‘What do you think has happened, Alex?’ Margaret answered, then continued snootily, ‘Do you want something?’
There was no point, Alex thought, in letting his hackles rise at her tone, for her anger was completely justified. She had been looking after Chloe when that was his job.
‘Can you tell Chloe I called? Please ask her to call me on my mobile.’
‘Okay,’ she said, as if she were going to hang up, before he cut in.
‘Margaret, please tell her… tell her I love her.’
‘I’ll pass the message on, Alex,’ she replied neutrally, and then the line went dead.
After checking into a hotel, Alex spent two days trying to steer around Margaret before Chloe came on the phone, and it was another twenty-four hours before she agreed to see him. In one way he found it agony, having her so close and yet being so far apart, but it was also a relief to be able to focus all his energy on putting this right. Why, at the start of all this, had he shut out the person who had brought him back to life; who, since they’d met, he had never doubted was the future he wanted?
They arranged to meet at a café not too far from home, but far enough that they were unlikely to bump into their neighbours. Alex was there three-quarters of an hour early, and soon realised that it was a mistake to sit and wait for so long, as his nervousness quadrupled every minute that went by.
Then Chloe arrived. She looked thin, and tired, and beautiful. They stared at each other, Alex trying to transmit all his apologies and love to her; while she looked like she wasn’t sure whether to leave or sit down.
When she finally pulled out a chair, she said in a monotone, ‘So, you’re back.’
His heart sank. Her voice had no relief in it; the tone was more like resignation.
He nodded. ‘It’s over.’
She picked up a menu. ‘Great,’ she said as she looked at the food on offer, nonplussed.
He took a deep breath. Although he’d had a wild daydream that she might fall into his arms, he was sadly aware that this cold reception was no more than he deserved.
‘Have you been ill?’ he asked.
‘Just a bit under the weather,’ she replied, waving her hand as though to dismiss his concern, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
‘Chloe,’ he said, touching her arm to try to get her to look at him. ‘I’m so sorry about everything I’ve put you through. I really am.’
Her eyes locked with his, and they were angry. ‘It’s too late, Alex. You should have explained yourself from the start – if not years ago.’
Upon hearing her say those three little words – it’s too late – he felt more wretched than he ever had in his life. He bowed his head and quickly wiped his eyes.
‘So why didn’t you tell me any of this at the beginning?’ she asked, her voice softening slightly.
‘I should have. But one of the biggest regrets of my life is that I abandoned Amy when she needed me most. I was too ashamed to tell you. And when she turned up, I felt she needed me again; and that this time I owed it to her to put things right. And it meant a lot to me, too, to see those men get caught. I thought I’d laid it to rest, but once Amy came back and we found out about the trial, it was like it had never gone away. I needed to see them convicted almost as much as Amy did, I think.’
‘But I’m your wife, Alex. I needed you too.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
‘You know one of the things that hurts the most?’ Chloe said. ‘What makes you think that if you’d told me everything to begin with, I wouldn’t have understood? Why did you think that the only way through this was shutting me out, treating me like I was invisible, as though I couldn’t help you at all?’
He was dumbstruck. She was right. And he was just beginning to understand how big a fool he had been.
‘… Unless you still love her?’ she finished, still watching him closely. ‘And this trip, for you, has been about making a choice?’
He paused. The moment was pivotal, he knew; the answer critical. How could he be sure of getting it right?
He couldn’t, he realised. So he went for honesty, fervently hoping that this would fill rather than deepen the rift between them. He started from the beginning, explaining everything to her: the events that had taken place; the choices he had made; and the reasons behind them.
Chloe listened to it all, nodding now and again, emotions passing over her face like heavy clouds, intermittently closing down her features before they opened again a little as Alex continued.
She took her time when he had finished, letting everything he’d told her sink in.
‘Was I ever a replacement?’ she asked finally.
‘Never.’ He looked into her eyes, unflinching as she held his gaze.
‘When we met… at the station… you thought I was her…’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘I thought you were Amy at first. Until you lifted your head. And then I saw you. And, Chloe, I haven’t stopped seeing you since, not for a second. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Amy was my first love. She and I were caught up in a disaster; and it didn’t work out for us. But you are the love of my life. You are my future. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you right at the beginning what was going on. It was selfish – I was worried that if I told you what happened back then, the mistakes I made, then you would see me differently, and I would see myself differently too – and I love our life, I love us.’
‘This is… a lot to take in…’ Chloe said eventually. ‘But I’m sorry about what happened back then – to both of you – I just wish you hadn’t shut me out.’
‘I’m hoping you can forgive me for that,’ he told her, ‘and giving you a promise, here and now, that it won’t ever happen again.’
Chloe nodded. Smiled at him for a moment, then seemed to think better of it. But still, there was a light in her eyes, a fire and energy that Alex wasn’t sure he had seen before. Just having her in front of him and not being able to hold her was torture.
‘It’s going to take time, Alex,’ she said eventually. ‘If we’re going to try to get back to normal. We need to take it slowly and see what happens.’
‘Okay,’ he agreed. His whole focus from now on would be to spend every minute of every day putting this right. He was going to try to make Chloe happier than she had dared dream she could be. ‘Where do you want to start?’
She looked at him as if coming to a decision, then took a deep breath and said, ‘Right here, I think.’ To his surprise, she took his hand and pulled it forward, placing it over her stomach. She looked at him intently, conveying a knowledge that made his skin prickle as he realised there had been far more going on back home than he had ever imagined.
‘Alex, I have something to tell you,’ she began, and, in astonishment, he watched her lips moving, before there was a quick, shy flash of that lovely smile of hers, in answer to his own.
When Tess Duvalis opened the door, her expression was a blank of shock. She briefly put a hand out against the doorframe to steady herself, and then her face filled with joy and she moved swiftly towards her daughter, whispering, ‘You’re alive, you’re alive, thank god, thank god’. She caught Amy in a hug so fierce that it crushed the breath from her, leaving her gasping for air, as they sobbed their relief into one another’s shoulders.
Eventually, Tess let her go, and they moved into the house. Amy felt light-headed, floating.
There was so much that was unfamiliar, but the totality of the place was achingly like home. Although everything Amy was seeing was answering her questions, it was not until she made her way over to the mantelpiece that it sank in. There were old pictures of her on the wall – various school photos showing her metamorphosis from child to adult.
And on the mantelpiece, another photo – Amy, and yet not Amy.
A single photo. But it answered the one big question she hadn’t dared face for all these years.
Tess came up behind her. ‘She’s at school,’ she said.
Amy turned around and saw everything in her mother’s eyes – frustration, sadness, understanding, concern, love.
Amy’s voice was a sob. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Tess came and held her. ‘What for, my darling?’
‘I left her. I just left her.’
‘Yes, you left her. But you left her with a way home.’
A letter in the blanket. A number scrawled on her tummy in eyeliner, just in case the letter got lost. Such precarious links, but at the time it was all she had been capable of.
‘Listen,’ Amy’s mother said as she held her. ‘As soon as I got that call, I understood. I’m so sorry, Amy.’ She stroked her daughter’s hair.
Amy could barely get the words out through her grief, but gradually stuttered, ‘I’m the one who should be sorry.’
‘What for?’ Tess asked. She moved Amy away from her, holding her by the shoulders. ‘She was never a burden, Amy. She was a gift. I have been able to do things for her even if I couldn’t do them for you. It has been a precious, precious link between us while you’ve been gone.’
‘What’s she like?’
Her mother smiled. ‘Cheeky. Moody. Funny. Actually, she’s pretty much like you.’
Suddenly Amy forgot how to breathe again. ‘I need some air,’ she gasped, and rushed for the back door. She flung it open and sat on the steps, her eyes closed, concentrating on the in and out of her tired, aching lungs.
Her mother sat down beside her, putting her arm around Amy, staring into the distance. When Amy looked over, she saw Tess was crying silently. She rested her head on her mother’s shoulder as they sat there and let their feelings flood out of them.
After a while, in a small voice, Amy asked another question she hardly dared hear the answer to. ‘Mum, did Dad die because of me?’
Tess took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. ‘Amy, of course your dad was very upset by what happened to you. But any number of things could have triggered the heart attack. He never ate very well, he drank, he’d only given up smoking a few years before. And although he was sad when you left, and wished he could have supported you more, he was always optimistic when he spoke of you. He knew you loved him; he understood why you left, even though he didn’t like it, and he was sure you would come back.’
‘That’s the crazy thing, Mum. I was on the verge of it all the time until he died. And then I just couldn’t.’
Her mother rubbed her back in reply.
As Amy looked down the garden, her gaze caught on something at the end. She jumped up and ran, until there it was.
Her garden. Their garden – in a tatty wicker basket, with new patches of moss and a few tiny flowers.
Tess came and stood behind her. ‘Beth thinks she looks after it,’ she said, a wry smile on her face.
Amy smiled back, overwhelmed just by hearing that name. Beth. Her daughter.
She fished around in the inside pocket of her jacket until she found what she was looking for, and then placed the wishing well back in the centre of the tiny garden. It settled snugly into the space it had been taken from nearly ten years ago. It looked like it had never left. She glanced briefly to the sky, then both she and her mother stared silently at the wishing well.
‘I’m scared to meet her,’ Amy whispered eventually.
‘I know, you’re bound to be,’ Tess replied. ‘Although, to be honest, she’s like a mini-whirlwind most of the time, full of questions and energy and activity – I’m sure she’ll suck you up into the madness straight away.’
Amy managed a small smile, then asked another of her endless awkward questions. ‘What does Beth know about me?’
‘That you’re her mother. That you had to go away and you will be coming home as soon as you can. That you love her.’
‘And what about… her father?’
Her mother sighed, tears shimmering at the edges of her eyes. ‘I’m afraid I’ve told her he’s in heaven. I didn’t know what to do – I thought that might be best.’
Amy nodded. ‘I think it was, at least for now,’ she said.
Tess continued quietly, ‘I prayed every day that you would call, so I could tell you I had got her. So you didn’t have to worry.’
Amy shook her head. ‘I should have, Mum, I know. But I didn’t dare. I always wanted her to be here, with you, but when I let myself think about it – that letter; the phone number – they were such tenuous links to you. What if the letter was lost, or not read properly – it was a foreign country, after all. What if the number was smudged, or they didn’t understand what it was? I knew if I contacted you and you didn’t have her, she would probably be lost forever. And if that had been the case, it would have truly, finally broken me; I would never have found my way back from it. So it was better to be in the dark and to hope. I’ve only really stopped blanking things out in the past few weeks, because I’ve been forced to confront them.’
Then she told her mother about meeting Alex again, and the court case. Tess just listened, her eyes conveying the emotions she felt about everything Amy had been through.
When Amy had finished, they stood there in silence again, looking at the miniature garden. Then Amy asked, ‘Wasn’t it risky to tell her anything about me when I might not have come back? You could have told her I was dead too. Or pretended she was your own.’
Her mother’s gentle hand was resting against Amy’s back, as though she needed the touch to confirm all this was real. It felt heavy, but Amy didn’t mind the weight.
‘I never lost hope, Amy,’ Tess said.
Amy looked into her mother’s steadfast eyes, and saw, without the tiniest thread of doubt, someone who had never stopped knowing her or loving her or having faith in her. And, instead of drowning in each and every moment, she felt propelled at speed towards a glassy surface, gasping as she broke through. Drawing in huge lungfuls of fresh, clean oxygen. And finding, at last, that it no longer hurt to breathe.