Also by Dawn Goodwin
The Accident
The Pupil
First published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Dawn Goodwin, 2019
The moral right of Dawn Goodwin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788549349
Cover design © Charlotte Abrams-Simpson
Aria
c/o Head of Zeus
First Floor East
5–8 Hardwick Street
London EC1R 4RG
www.ariafiction.com
For my best friend
Also by Dawn Goodwin
Welcome Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
13 May 2012
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
September 1986
Chapter 3
October 1986
Chapter 4
November 1988
Chapter 5
December 1989
Chapter 6
July 1990
August 1992
Chapter 7
July 1995
Chapter 8
31 December 1999
Chapter 9
May 2005
February 2006
Chapter 10
February 2011
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
December 1989
Chapter 13
6 May 2012
13 May 2012 – 4 p.m.
13 May 2012 – 7 p.m.
13 May 2012 – 7.35 p.m.
13 May 2012 – 7.55 p.m.
13 May 2012 – 7.55 p.m.
Chapter 14
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Become an Aria Addict
The rain pelted against Vicky’s bedroom window, the storm outside in full voice, moaning and clambering at the glass and bricks.
She sat up in her bed, wincing as her brain thudded against her skull. She hadn’t realised she’d fallen asleep. An almost empty bottle of red wine on her bedside table glared at her accusingly. Next to it, teetering close to the edge, sat a half-full glass, the rim stained with lipstick.
She ran a hand through her matted hair. It was still damp from the rain earlier. Her face felt tight, her eyes dry, whether from the tears or the cold outside, she wasn’t sure.
She felt wrung out.
Her phone started ringing, the same insistent chime that had pulled her from unconsciousness moments ago.
The ringing stopped, then started up again almost immediately. She scrambled around for the phone. It was here somewhere. She must’ve had it in her hand when she fell asleep, but where had she dropped it? She felt around under her pillow and pulled out the vibrating mobile.
She expected to see Anna’s name on the screen, but it was a voicemail message. ‘Vicky, it’s David. You need to call me back. It’s Anna. There’s been—’
His voice sounded like it had cracked wide open.
But Vicky didn’t need to hear what he was saying. She knew.
The truth was out.
‘Sorry, I don’t want to tell you in a message like this. Call me back. It’s Anna. It’s Anna…’ His voice petered out.
Vicky listened to the message again, her body cold, her stomach hollow.
She scrolled through her recent calls. She had called Anna four times tonight, sent her countless WhatsApp messages. None of them had been read. No little blue ticks showing that she was just being aired.
She looked back through the messages. What had she said in them? Her eyes tripped over the typed words and emojis.
She had to call David back. It would look strange if she didn’t. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as she thought.
She drained the glass of wine, then refilled it with the last of the bottle. Guilt was giving her quite a thirst. A single, red drop of wine ran down the stem of the glass. Vicky watched its progress, then wiped it away with a trembling finger before it reached the bottom.
She hit redial. It rang for a second before David answered. ‘Vicky.’ He sounded strange, like a deflated balloon, his voice cavernous.
‘David, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say—’
‘You know already? Who told you?’
‘I – er…’
He cut her off. ‘What am I going to do without her? What are the kids going to do?’
‘We can work it out, David.’
‘I told her not to drive that death trap of a car. I offered to trade it in. But she wouldn’t listen. She kept saying it was the one thing her dad had given her in between stepmothers that she couldn’t part with. Now look. It’s killed her.’
‘What?’
‘With the rain and the terrible suspension, she must’ve – I don’t want to think about that. I have to explain it to the kids, call her father. Jesus.’
Vicky’s brain scrambled to hold onto the words he had said. ‘She’s dead?’
‘I know, I can’t believe it either. I keep expecting the police to come back and say it was a mistake. Someone else had been driving. Even that it was a sick joke. Anything but this.’
‘She’s dead.’
‘I have to go. I just… thought you should know. I’m sorry.’
‘David, wait! What—’ But he was already gone.
Vicky stared at the reflection looking back at her from the mirror across the room.
What had they done?
David opened the fridge and stared at the jars and bottles, bags of limp lettuce and neatly stacked Tupperware boxes. Casseroles, lasagnes, cottage pie, all donated with sympathy. Or pity.
He couldn’t remember what he was looking for. He stood, his mind blank, his hand clutching the handle and the cold air tickling his face. His eyes fell on a half-eaten jar of lemon curd on the top shelf.
Anna loved lemon curd on sourdough toast. He had always hated the texture of it. Now the jar would never be finished. He grabbed it and flung it hard across the room. It hit the blue mosaic tiles on the kitchen wall and shattered, the yellow gloop sticking like snot.
He sunk to the ground, his back against the fridge, as sobs wrenched from his gut.
The fridge began to beep, outraged at being left open for so long, but David stayed on the floor, his chest heaving, watching the lemon curd ooze down the tiles Anna had chosen.
Minutes passed and he knew he should get up but willing his legs to move was beyond him. His eyes flicked to the clock above the kitchen doorway. The kids would be home any minute. That thought alone propelled him to his feet, a little unsteadily. He swiped at his wet cheeks and sniffed loudly.
Stepping over the mess, he headed into the hallway, then up the stairs, every step laboured. The sun streamed into the corridor at the top of the stairwell, pushing with insistence through the open door of the main bedroom, desperate for him to notice, but he merely walked through it and sat heavily on the bed. He needed to pull himself together, splash water on his face, plaster on a mask that would convince his kids he was in control. Someone needed to be – for them.
His eyes flicked to the bedside table. Anna’s belongings were neatly stacked next to her alarm clock. On the day after the accident, her alarm had gone off at 6.30 a.m. as it always did and he had simply lain in the empty bed after a sleepless night, letting the cheerful banter of the radio DJs wash over him, disbelieving, hoping she was already downstairs.
She wasn’t.
Now, his eyes ran over the box of tissues, the tiny china bowl where she put her jewellery each night, a couple of hairbands with strands of her dark hair clinging to the elastic, and the pile of books, neatly stacked, spines facing out the way she liked it. A complete contrast to his side where used tissues lay amid a jumble of magazines, pens, spare change and a book he had been trying to get into for months, lying open, face down, the spine cracked.
David picked up the book Anna had been reading and scanned the back of it. A woman with a secret who was trying to put her past behind her and make it as a writer apparently. He remembered Anna saying how good it was, her face a mask of concentration when she was reading. The corner of a page close to the end was turned over. She had almost finished it. Now she would never get the chance to see how it ended, what the big secret actually was. Maybe he should read it instead. He got to his feet and placed it carefully on his own bedside table, then straightened up the magazines, stacked the books, balled up the used tissues and scooped the spare change into his pocket, trying to mirror the other side of the bed where dust was starting to settle.
It had been four weeks since the accident.
Four weeks since he had lost his wife.
Lost was a funny word for death. He knew where she had been, but wasn’t sure where she had gone. She certainly wasn’t here. So yes, she was lost. And so was he.
He walked into the en suite bathroom and flushed the tissues away, then flushed the evidence of his tears away too, the water like a cold slap on his cheeks.
The doorbell chimed downstairs and he inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly and went to greet his children.
His mother had said it would be less confusing for them if they returned to school as soon as possible. A routine would help them cope, she’d said. He wasn’t sure if it was working or not. They were quiet a lot of the time. Understandable, considering the bottom had dropped out of their small world. The one constant, the woman who was their everything, was suddenly gone and, at the ages of five and seven, they were facing a future without her. The thought made him want to weep again, but he was now at the door and it was opening and they were in front of him, their eyes wide and their smiles a ghostly reflection of their mother.
‘Hi guys! How was school?’
He hugged them close to him before they dumped their book bags and headed into the kitchen, on the hunt for after-school sustenance. He followed them with his eyes, then turned to his mother. ‘How were they today?’
Louisa Price gently placed a warm hand on her son’s cheek. ‘They were fine, David, they were fine,’ she said before following her grandchildren down the hallway.
A moment later, her voice reached him where he was still standing, head down. ‘What on earth happened in here?’
*
David sat at the kitchen table, staring into a cup of coffee while his mother cleaned up the bits of broken jam jar. She was rambling away while she worked, the words a jumble of sounds and syllables without meaning. The kids had plonked down in front of the television in the lounge as soon as they’d shed their coats and the canned TV laughter now added to the white noise in his ears. They weren’t joining in the laughter though. Harper and Lewis hadn’t laughed in weeks.
‘Nanny, I’m hungry,’ Lewis whined from the other room.
‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ Louisa called back, wincing as she got to her feet, the wet cloth clenched in her fist. David could feel her eyes on the back of his neck, but carried on staring hypnotised into the coffee.
‘Did you hear what I said?’ Louisa said gently as she rinsed the cloth at the sink.
He looked up then. ‘Hmm?’
‘About the Olympics torches they have to make for school?’ Her sigh was almost inaudible. ‘Let me get them a snack, then we need to talk.’ She rummaged in the fridge, pulling out ham, cucumber and carrots.
David watched her for a moment, then got to his feet and headed towards the French doors and out into the lukewarm June air. He breathed deeply, feeling the weight of claustrophobia lift a little. Not for the first time, he felt the urge to run. He didn’t know where he would go, but his feet burned to start running and not stop, to keep going until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel any more. But a faint whisper in his ear told him he couldn’t outrun this.
Louisa found him there five minutes later, his hands clenched in tight fists, staring out at the grey sky.
She approached his rigid back carefully. ‘David?’
He didn’t respond, so she reached out a hand and touched his shoulder lightly. ‘Come. Come and sit with me a moment.’ She led him over to the patio table, ignoring the streaks of dirt and dead leaves that littered the glass surface, symptomatic of the hangover of winter. She pulled out a chair and dusted a cobweb from the seat before he fell into it, the weight on his shoulders dragging him down.
She paused, then crouched in front of him. ‘David, look at me.’
It took a moment before he met her stern gaze.
‘It’s time to pull yourself together.’
‘What?’ He moved to get to his feet again.
‘No, listen to me. You need to hear this.’
Her voice had that tone from his childhood, when he needed reining in for some misdemeanour or other. Except this time he hadn’t done anything wrong.
‘David, it’s been a month and I know that’s not long, but…’ She sighed. ‘Nothing I say is going to help you right now, but those two beautiful children in there need their father more than ever and you’re not here. I’ve been where you are. When your father died, I wanted to curl into a ball and shut everything out, but I couldn’t. I had you and your sister to think about and that helped me through, gave me the strength to carry on.’ She smoothed his hair like she used to when he was little. ‘I’m not helping you by being here. It’s time for you to start healing and getting on with the job of being a parent, scary as that is on your own. So tomorrow I’ll return home and you can start creating a new routine with the kids, maybe think about getting back to work, even part-time? Besides, Joyce next door has had enough of looking after Charlie and his smelly litter tray. She’s threatening to evict him. What do you say?’
He didn’t say anything at first, but a barrage of emotions flittered across his face. Then Lewis burst out of the open door, tears streaming down his face.
‘Nanny, Nanny! Harper says I can’t watch Peppa Pig!’
Louisa got to her feet, her knees creaking as she did, and hugged Lewis to her before heading indoors to resolve yet another situation, exhaustion evident in the wrinkles on her brow. David watched her go, his thoughts whirling.
A vibration in his pocket distracted him and he pulled out his mobile to read the text that had come through. Probably another message of condolence, people offering their empty wishes and shallow promises of ‘anything we can do to help’. There were less of them with every passing day.
Been thinking of you a lot lately and hope you’re bearing up ok. Was wondering if I could come and see the kids sometime? I’m always happy to help if you need some time to yourself. Call me? Vicky
He read the text again, then slipped the phone back into his pocket before following his mother indoors. She was sitting on the couch between Harper and Lewis, her arms hugging them close as they stared at an episode of The Octonauts, a compromise apparently reached. He watched her for a moment, suddenly realising how much she seemed to have aged in the last few weeks.
Hadn’t they all?
He returned to the kitchen, made a cup of Earl Grey tea in a fine bone china cup, added a spoon of sugar and a dash of milk, just the way she liked it, then returned to the lounge and placed the cup on the coffee table in front of her.
She smiled at him, her brow furrowed.
‘You’re right. It’s time. I can’t thank you enough for everything, for being here, but I need to start doing this on my own. So, Chinese for your last night?’
Her smile was full of pride, worry and love, and his gut clenched as he walked away to find a takeaway menu.
Vicky felt nervous as she rang the doorbell, which was silly because this house had been her second home for so long. But that was when Anna still lived in it. Vicky had known David a long time, but you could count on one hand the occasions they’d spent time alone.
She’d seen him at the funeral, of course. Not that she could remember much about it. She’d self-medicated with vodka in order to get through it. But she had been struck by how broken David had looked and she hadn’t known what to do with that. She wasn’t entirely sure what she had expected. He’d always been such a physical presence before, so to see him decimated, like an empty husk, had been a shock. Then her focus had shifted to Lewis and Harper, wide-eyed in their sombre, stiff outfits chosen specially for the occasion, and he had fallen out of her consciousness.
After that, it became harder to call him, ask him how he was, take that first step of reconnecting, especially as she was quietly battling with the gaping hole left in her own life. Anna had been her constant companion since they were thirteen years old, their only time apart being the university years when Anna had gone off to make something of herself (and meet David) while Vicky stayed behind and watched, an eyewitness to Anna’s much more exciting and privileged life. In those days, she had hoped that Anna would return to her; this time she knew without a doubt that she wouldn’t.
The only reason she had texted David last week was because the gnawing ache inside her couldn’t be ignored any more. She needed to maintain a connection to Anna somehow because without that, she felt like she was falling into a hole that she couldn’t claw her way out of, so she’d sent a tentative text. He hadn’t replied straightaway and she had tried not to read too much into it. But of course, she had analysed it endlessly, kicked herself for being too forward. The usual.
His reply came the next day. A simple message:
We’re okay. Kids would love to see you. David
She’d replied suggesting the following weekend when she didn’t have the dirt of a workday on her skin and they didn’t have the weight of school hanging over them.
And here she stood, her shaky knees clad in clean jeans that hung a little looser thanks to the most effective diet there is: grief. Anna would be pleased at that at least. Vicky’s hand hesitated over the doorbell, then she squared her shoulders, adjusted the heavy bag in her hand and pressed the buzzer.
The house next door had a Team GB flag attached to the aerial of their car. It flapped and twisted with the rise and fall in the breeze. Olympics fever was starting to grow, even though the opening ceremony was still weeks away. Vicky wasn’t all that interested and figured the excitement would peter out before long.
The door was flung open almost immediately by Harper, who rushed at her legs with force.
‘Hey, Bug! Wow, I’ve missed you! You okay?’ Vicky dropped the bag to the floor and knelt down to hug her back. As she released her, she felt a smaller body climb onto her back. ‘Lou-Lou! There you are!’ Lewis hugged her tightly around the neck, threatening to cut off her air supply, but she didn’t mind at all. She felt her heart lift a notch for the first time in a month as pure love flooded through her for her godchildren.
‘So am I coming in then?’ The kids squealed in delight and dragged her inside.
‘Daddy, Daddy! Vix is here!’ She followed their rushed footsteps into the lounge and pulled up short. David was sitting on the edge of the couch, his hair on end. He looked up at her with a wan smile and got to his feet, looking as though it was a feat of endurance to do so. ‘Vicky, lovely to see you.’ He approached her with his arms outstretched and she leaned into him briefly, then subtly pulled away before the coarse stubble on his unshaven face made contact.
The David she knew was a man of substance. Anna used to joke that he had more potions and oils in their bathroom cabinet than she did. He was always impeccably groomed and dressed neatly, with a heady scent of aftershave swirling around him that made you want to lean in and breathe deeply.
The man standing in front of her now looked like he hadn’t set foot in a shower for days.
‘Coffee? Tea?’ he asked before retreating in the direction of the kitchen, his bare feet shuffling beneath his tracksuit bottoms. She watched him go, open-mouthed.
The kids jumped around her excitedly, talking at once, wanting to show her stuff, asking if they could play a game.
‘Hey, hey, guys, slow down! I’m here for a while, so cool your boots. Now, I may or may not have some stuff in this bag for you.’ They launched at the bag in her hand, but she held them back. ‘But… let’s help Daddy with the tea, then I’ll show you, okay?’
The kids charged into the kitchen. Vicky took a breath and looked around her. Every surface seemed littered with mugs, plates, abandoned socks and empty food packets. There were crumpled beer cans lying on the coffee table and a pizza box in the corner of the room, greasy with cheese. The air was musty and stale.
She followed them slowly into the kitchen, noting as she passed the dining room table littered with rice-crusted Indian takeaway containers, some with fat flies the colour of fresh bruises feasting on the remnants.
The kitchen was no better. David had his back to her and was rummaging in the cupboards for a clean mug.
‘Why don’t I wash us a mug each?’ she said cautiously.
He had the good grace to blush as he looked around. ‘I’ve been a bit busy. It’s kinda full on around here,’ he said in a low voice. He fell into one of the brightly painted wooden chairs at the round kitchen table in the corner of the room and pushed away a used cereal bowl. Milk slopped over the rim.
‘I can see that.’ She looked around again, then said to the children. ‘Right, you two. It’s never too early to learn how to load a dishwasher. If you want to see what’s in my bag of tricks, then you need to help Daddy by bringing all the dirty dishes you can find and helping me to put them in this dishwasher, okay? Think of it like a little treasure hunt and whoever collects the most gets a special prize from the bag.’ They looked at her eagerly and nodded, taking the bait with gusto.
‘But carry everything carefully. No prizes for breakages! Start in the lounge. Ready? Go!’
They dashed away. David watched wearily.
‘So….’ Vicky said as she ran the hot water tap over the sink and grabbed the two mugs nearest to her. ‘I won’t ask how you’re doing.’
‘Yeah, best not to.’
‘I thought your mum was staying with you?’
‘She left last week; told me it was time for me to start getting on with things myself.’ He looked around unenthusiastically. ‘Doing well, aren’t I?’
Lewis returned with his little hands full of plates, the top one threatening to topple from the pile. Vicky grabbed them quickly. ‘Keep it up, big guy!’ Vicky dumped the dishes on the counter, then high-fived him. He beamed in delight and rushed off again.
She plunged her hands into the hot water and scrubbed the coffee stains from the mugs, unsure what to say next. What came out was, ‘I miss her.’ She swallowed back the wave of emotion that rushed over her.
‘Yeah,’ he replied.
She finished rinsing the mugs and grabbed a dishtowel from the counter as Harper appeared with more glasses and cups.
‘Right, Bug, Dishwasher Class 101.’
For the next fifteen minutes, Vicky showed the kids how to load the dishwasher, washed more dishes that wouldn’t fit, and got Harper and Lewis to collect the takeaway containers into a large rubbish bag. Once everything was cleared and the countertops wiped down, she put the kettle on and called the children over to the table.
‘So the results are in… and I can now reveal that the winner of the Chores Challenge is…’ She rapped her hands against the table in a mock drumroll. ‘Both of you!’
The kids beamed from ear to ear and Vicky noticed out of the corner of her eye that even David cracked a small smile.
‘What do we win?’ Harper shouted.
Vicky rummaged in the bag at her feet and pulled out two wrapped packages. The one wrapped in Marvel superheroes paper she passed to Lewis and the other, wrapped in bright red watermelon paper, she passed to Harper. They immediately ripped into the parcels, revealing sticker books, colouring pens, modelling clay and craft packs – enough to keep them occupied for a while.
‘What do you say, kids?’ David said quietly.
‘Thank you,’ they chorused and rushed at her again for hugs.
‘Ah, but there’s more…’ She reached into the bag again and brought out a bakery box. ‘I have afternoon tea for us all! You know how much your Aunty Vix loves cake. Now, how about you head into the dining room and start on those sticker books and I’ll get some plates?’
She watched them go with a smile.
‘You’re always so good with them,’ David said.
‘Well, the way things are going, they’re the only kids I’m going to have and I love them like my own. Now, how about that cuppa?’
She busied herself with making the tea and putting out plates, feeling the silence stretch and mould heavily around them and wondering how best to fill it once the roil and bubble of the kettle had stilled.
‘I had such a funny thing happen to me this morning. I was in New Look trying on a jumpsuit and it had this long zip up the back. Anyway, I should’ve gone for a size bigger than I did, but I’ve lost a bit of weight, so I thought I could squeeze into it.’ She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t help it. ‘It was too small, of course, but when I tried to take it off, the zip was stuck and wouldn’t go down. I wrestled with it for a good ten minutes, sweating like mad, and thought I would have to call someone to help me. Mortifying! Luckily, it came open in the end, but if Anna had been there, she’d have killed herself laughing…’ Vicky’s voice trailed off and she cringed into the mugs she was filling. She put the kettle down and turned back to David. ‘Oh god, I am so sorry, bloody insensitive. I just… she would’ve liked that story.’
David looked tortured for a moment, then a smile ghosted across his lips. ‘You’re right, she would’ve laughed. You’re not being insensitive. That’s the thing. She’s still everywhere. Everywhere I look, every cupboard I open.’ He looked around the room as though he could see her.
‘And will be for a long time, maybe forever. I feel it too. I keep wanting to text her or call her and then I remember and—’ She stopped and turned back to the tea. ‘Of course, it’s harder for you than anyone else.’
‘You look good though, Vix.’
The compliment warmed her from her toes. ‘From the neck down, maybe,’ she replied with a chuckle.
She carried the mugs over to where he was sitting, his eyes vacant. Pulling out a chair, she said, ‘How are you really doing?’
He didn’t answer, just stared into space, as though he could see Anna standing in front of him, could reach out and touch her.
Vicky went to speak again, but he said, ‘It’s like I know I should be doing stuff, you know? Like cooking, making sure they’re eating right, washing, tidying up, because I know that’s what she would’ve wanted me to do, but I can’t. My brain is telling me to get up and do it, but my body is refusing. But I also don’t want anyone else doing it. I got rid of the au pair because it felt wrong having her here. It felt intrusive. Does that make sense? Or do I just sound like a man who is slowly losing it?’
‘No, you sound like a man who has just lost his wife. I know it’s hard. I feel like someone has ripped off one of my limbs.’ She looked at him closely. ‘Maybe you need to talk to someone?’
He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. ‘I’ve been given information on support groups, therapists, all of it, but how is talking about it, about her, how I’m feeling, how sad I am, going to bring her back?’
‘It won’t, but it will help you feel less… lonely, I guess?’ She reached out and placed her hand on his arm. ‘Look, none of this is easy and I’m no expert, but I do have an inkling of what you’re feeling because I feel it too. I’ve known Anna longer than I’ve known myself really. She was a constant for me since we were teenagers and …’ She swiped at her nose, not wanting to start crying in case it set him off, conscious of the little people in the dining room who didn’t need to see the grown-ups in the kitchen falling apart. ‘You can talk to me, if it helps? We used to spend hours talking and, well, just because she’s gone, it doesn’t mean you’ve lost me too. I think—’
She was interrupted by Harper and Lewis rushing into the kitchen, sticker books flapping.
‘Is the cake ready?’ they chimed in unison.
She watched David closely for a second, then said, ‘Coming right up.’
She placed the bakery boxes in the middle of the kitchen table, along with the plates. The boxes were full of brownies, custard slices, gingerbread men and iced buns – enough sugar to help them momentarily forget the sourness in their lives. ‘What do you fancy? A little bit of everything?’
The four of them sat together, the only sounds coming from licking lips and fingers. Vicky noticed that David hardly touched the brownie she had put on his plate. She pushed her own custard slice away, Anna’s voice echoing in her ear. A moment on the lips, Vicky…
‘So how is school going, guys?’
‘Fine,’ Harper replied. ‘Our teacher is reading Charlotte’s Web to us in class.’
‘I used to love that one. What about you, Lewis?’
‘Okay.’
‘Just okay?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You must be getting excited for the Olympics. Are you doing lots of stuff about it for school?’
‘Yeah, we made torches last week,’ he replied unenthusiastically.
‘Sounds fun.’ Vicky frowned. ‘Has something happened that you want to tell me about?’
Lewis prodded at the icing on his bun, making it squish under his finger. Vicky waited, watching him closely. Eventually he said in a mousey voice, ‘Connor’s mum helped him make his torch. It was really cool, with bright orange flames and gold paint and everything. Mine was rubbish and he laughed at it. Then he asked me why I don’t have a mum any more.’
Vicky flicked her eyes at David, but he was glaring at his plate.
‘Well, it’s not that you don’t have a mum. You will always have a mum. It’s just that she’s not able to be here with us right now, but she’s with us in our hearts and our memories and in a million other little ways.’ She paused, considering his small, round face. ‘Sometimes, I think that I can see her when it’s raining and there’s a rainbow outside, or when I hear the ice cream van tinkle down the street and it sounds like the way she used to laugh. Or when I hear the EastEnders theme tune, because she used to hum it to you when you were a baby. So next time Connor asks something like that, you tell him that your mum is the most special one of all because you carry her with you in your heart.’
David launched to his feet, propelling his chair onto the tiles with a clatter, and stalked from the kitchen.
Vicky watched him go, feeling her cheeks burn. Had she said too much? Gone too far? She should’ve let David answer. He was probably pissed off at her for stepping on his parenting toes.
She reached out a hand and caressed Lewis’s cheek, then said, ‘Those buns won’t eat themselves.’ He smiled, his moment of sadness dissolving into the icing on his lips. She watched the two of them for a moment longer before saying, ‘Back in a minute.’
She found David in the lounge, sitting rigidly on the couch, his hands clasped into fists between his knees and his jaw tense.
‘I’m so sorry, David. I shouldn’t have jumped in there with Lewis.’
He looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. ‘No, no, you said all the right stuff. I’m just… I was supposed to help him with that stupid torch project and I didn’t. Harper did it with him on her own. How shit is that?’ He stared down at the floor. ‘I wish I knew what to say like you do. I don’t know what to say to them. I can feel them pulling away from me. Anna would be fucking furious with me.’
‘She’d be more furious with me for letting them eat all that sugar and fat in there!’
He smiled a little. ‘I’ve missed having you around, Vix.’
‘Me too.’ She sat next to him. ‘Listen, I’ve been thinking. I’ve got loads of leave to take at work – if you need help with the kids, I could take some time off, come and help you, get them off to school, help around the house, that kind of thing. For a little while, anyway.’
‘Thanks Vix, but I need to do this, I need to sort myself out. Anna would want me to step up.’
‘Okay, well, if you change your mind, you know where I am. Why don’t you go and lie down for a bit and I’ll entertain the kids? Go on, you look like you need it.’
She watched him as he dragged himself from the room.
Vicky spent the rest of the afternoon doing crafts with the kids, her fingers sticky with playdough and her sleeves dabbed with paint. David reappeared some hours later when she was reheating a casserole she’d found in the freezer.
They had a quiet dinner together, then she bathed Lewis and Harper and put them to bed. David remained in the lounge; his vacant stare fixed unseeing on a football game.
‘I’m gonna go, but if you need anything, just shout, yeah?’ she said from the lounge doorway as she shrugged into her coat.
‘Thanks, Vix, you’ve been a godsend today. It’s done wonders for the kids.’
She came over to him, hesitated, then gave him a light kiss on the cheek. ‘Anytime. Anna would expect nothing less of me.’
As she closed the front door behind her, she paused, chewing on her lip. Then she headed off in the direction of the train station.
Dear Anna,
It’s weird to write that. We haven’t written letters to each other since you went to university. I suppose it’s not the done thing any more. We’ve certainly sent enough texts and emails to each other – lots of emojis, single lines and abbreviated words, which I used and you hated. Always such a stickler for good grammar.
And now we’ve come full circle, back to letter writing, but only because I really want to talk to you and can’t think of another way of doing it. Because you’re not here any more. You’re at best floating around, looking down on us and probably laughing at how badly we’re getting on with things. If you’re up there, of course. No guarantees on that.
At worst, you don’t know anything about this because you’re in a box, feeling nothing.
Who knows? Death is funny that way. We don’t know what we should be afraid of, but we are.
I hope you’re not afraid any more. I imagine you were that night. The night you died. I imagine you were terrified.
So to make me feel better – less guilty? – I’ll write everything down for you, so that you can finally get an inkling of what it was like to be ‘Anna’s friend’ for all these years. Since no one will read these, I can be as brutally honest about Perfect Anna as I want and say all the stuff I wish I’d said to your face all this time. What’s the worst that can happen? Are you going to haunt me?
You see, being your best friend was hard. It was the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. You could make me feel a million pounds, then cut me to ribbons with one withering comment.
You knew you could do that. You enjoyed it.
And I let you because there was always the chance of a high. Those chances were few and far between towards the end though, weren’t they?
I went to see David today. I left it a while, I know. Four weeks. But I wasn’t sure if I should get in touch with him or if it would be weird, seeing him without you. It was awkward to start with, but you’ll be pleased to hear the kids are okay. Well, as much as can be expected. He’s fired the au pair, so no chance of him shagging her in your absence.
He’s not okay. The place was a mess. Takeaway boxes piled up, dishes unwashed – he looks unwashed, to be honest. Smells a bit too. You’d be horrified. I swept through the place as best I could and spent some time with Lewis and Harper. I said I’d go back and see them again because I think you’d want me to keep an eye on them for you. Wouldn’t you?
On the way home, I went past your grave and left some carnations for you. I know you hate carnations, but that’s why I did it. Because you’d hate it.
Because the truth is, I’m fucking angry at you.
I told you what would happen. I warned you. But you wouldn’t listen.
Vix xx
Vicky pulled at the fraying sleeves of her jumper, trying to tuck the edges in so that no one would see the damage to her second-hand uniform. Everyone else looked immaculate. It was morning break on the first day of term and she was still trying to find her way around the girls’ school without drawing attention to herself. There were students everywhere, chatting, laughing, running, shoving. She stood alone in the corner, watching from beneath her lashes.
How the hell had she ended up here? It was the local comp, but from a different world to what she was used to. She had moved to Twickenham with her dad over the summer to be closer to her nan after her mother had died, but the girls here spoke with rounded vowels and had clean, neat fingernails instead of long, painted talons and a predilection for profanity.
She needed to pee, but couldn’t remember where the toilets were. She recognised two girls from her class walking towards her. ‘Excuse me, um, can you tell me where the toilets are please?’ she asked quietly, red warmth spreading over her cheeks.
They stopped and stared, their eyes drawn to her fraying cuffs. One of them, her hair pulled so tightly into a high ponytail that her eyes looked taut, scowled at her. ‘You’re that new girl, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Vicky stared straight back at them.
The two girls shared a look, then ponytail girl said, ‘Sure, you just go along that main corridor through there and all the way to the end, down the stairs and then follow that corridor around to the right. You can’t miss it.’ Then they walked away, giggling behind their hands.
Vicky frowned, not sure whether they were winding her up or not, but the pressure on her bladder decided the matter for her.
She walked quickly along the corridor against the flow of traffic streaming into the playground. No one took any notice of her. Ahead of her she could see the stairs the girl had mentioned. She clattered down them, ignoring the fact that it was getting darker and quieter the further she descended.
She reached the bottom, trying to remember which way they’d said to turn. She turned right. The corridor was deserted, and smelled damp and musty. Maybe she’d gone the wrong way. It was really dark too, with no windows to break up the cold, bare walls. Just as she was about to turn around and head back, she noticed a small doorway at the end. She pushed it open and peered into the half-light. It was a bathroom, but it looked derelict. The sinks were yellowing, a tap dripped continuously, and the air smelt of mildew and urine.
Wow, they could really do with updating the toilets at this school.
However, she didn’t have much of a choice but to rush into one of the cubicles, her bladder now straining to let itself go. She slammed the cubicle door behind her and locked it hastily. There was no toilet seat, but she didn’t have time to try the next stall along. She hoisted up her skirt, dropped her knickers and adopted a hovering squat position just in time, sighing audibly with relief.
What she hoped was dirty water pooled around her new school shoes and the base of the toilet. The cubicle walls were covered with the usual graffitied filth about teachers, schoolgirls long since gone and rude suggestions. The obligatory spitting penis drawing; initials in crude hearts; and someone called Sharon taking the bulk of the vitriol in this stall. She was clearly popular with the boys. Vicky wondered where Sharon was now, if she was still a student or if she had been driven out by spiteful tongues.
Vicky finished just as her thighs were beginning to burn. Morning break wasn’t long and she could hear the bell ringing for them to return to class. She tugged on the lock, but it was stiff. Putting some muscle into it, she tugged again, but it refused to budge. Using both hands, she pulled and pushed in case she was turning it the wrong way, but it was stuck tight.
Panic started to itch at her throat. She looked around frantically. There was no gap above the door and the gap below was too small to crawl under. No window either.
No way of escape.
She hammered on the door with her fist, pushing and punching as though sheer brute force would make a difference. Sweat soaked into her blouse and she started to cry in frustration.
What felt like a lifetime passed. She couldn’t even sit on the toilet lid because there wasn’t one. Instead, she rested her forehead on the dirty wooden door, ignoring the splinters of wood pricking her skin as the tears subsided. Crying wouldn’t help, but shouting might, mortifying as it would be if someone found her in such a state.
‘Help, is anyone there? Help!’
Then she started to scream. Maybe that would bring someone running.
After five minutes, her throat was red raw and she was starting to think she would be here for the rest of the day. Surely someone would need the toilet soon?
Just as she was about to resume shouting, she heard the bathroom door creak open.
‘Hello?’ she shouted. ‘Is anyone there? I’m locked in!’
‘Are you Vicky?’ a voice replied.
‘Yes!’
‘There’s a trick to the latch. You have to push the door up and back while pulling the lock hard to the left. That should do it. Not that anyone uses these toilets any more because they’re so disgusting.’ Her voice was lilting with a posh twang.
Vicky did as she was told and yanked on the door as the lock flew open. Standing in front of her was a tall, pretty girl who she recognised from her class. She was smiling sympathetically.
‘Thanks,’ Vicky mumbled.
‘No problem. Mrs Babel sent me to look for you when you didn’t turn up for registration. I overheard that bitch Sophie telling Tracey that she and Maya told you to come down here. They are such cows, those two. They know that no one uses these loos. I’m Anna Maxwell, by the way.’
‘God, I’m so embarrassed,’ Vicky said as they made their way out of the bathroom and back along the corridor.
‘Hey, don’t worry about it. We’ll get them back. I’ve been looking forward to getting one over on those two witches for ages. Let them laugh at you today, but revenge is a dish best served cold.’
‘Huh?’ Vicky stopped in the corridor.
‘Meaning we let them have their fun for today, but just when they think we’ve forgotten all about it, we’ll get them back when they least expect it. You’ve got me on your side now.’
Vicky studied the slim, leggy girl next to her, with her beautifully glossy dark hair and clear skin. ‘Why?’
‘What?’
‘Why would you be on my side? You don’t even know me.’
‘I may not know you, but I hate them. So I’m gonna side with you on this one. Besides, it’ll be fun getting them back. I like a bit of drama.’ Her eyes were glinting like steel. ‘What do you say, Vicky?’
She held out a tiny hand to Vicky, who hesitated, then smiled and shook it. ‘I say you’re on.’
*
Three months later, Sophie and her friend Maya were expelled for putting laxatives in Mrs Babel’s coffee during breaktime, resulting in her having a particularly embarrassing toilet accident during afternoon registration. Although they both denied any wrongdoing, empty laxative packets were found in their schoolbags – and the final nail in their coffin was the witness statements from both Vicky and Anna, who apparently saw them stirring something into the teacher’s coffee and laughing when it was left unattended on Mrs Babel’s desk. No one thought to check Anna’s bag for the rest of the box of laxatives or the receipt from the chemist.
Mrs Babel was too traumatised to return to work.
‘Fuck!’ David shouted as he stood on a stray piece of Lego lying abandoned in the middle of the lounge carpet. He threw himself onto the couch, muttering under his breath and waiting for the nausea to subside.
He shouldn’t have had all that whiskey last night. The bottle was still sitting on the coffee table, its emptiness taunting him. But once the kids had finally gone to bed, not without a lot of shouting from him and a few tears from them, that was when the silence got to him. The unmoving air of the empty room pressed down and cloyed at him, no matter how loud he turned up the television. So he’d filled a tumbler with whiskey and let the alcohol create the illusion that she was here with him, sitting beside him with her cold feet tucked under his legs, passing scathing criticisms of the reality TV fuckwits on the screen in front of them. It was like a poor CGI imitation of the real thing flickering in front of his eyes, but growing in clarity with every shot of whiskey, until one too many had knocked him into a blissful, unconscious sleep.
Now he was regretting it. He held his throbbing head in one hand and rubbed the sole of his foot absently with the other. He could hear cartoons screaming from the TV in the kitchen, Harper and Lewis quiet for now, their eyes glued to animated characters hitting ten bells out of each other against a background of fake laughter.
He rested back in the seat and caught a whiff of grease that made his stomach lurch. The coffee table was littered once again with empty takeaway boxes. He looked away, disgusted, but couldn’t summon the energy to get up and clear them into the bin. He closed his eyes and let the noise lull him into a thin sleep.
He woke with a start. Lewis stood in front of him, poking him with his finger. ‘Daddy.’
‘Yeah, what is it?’
‘I’m hungry.’
‘You’re always hungry.’
Lewis stared at him with wide eyes.
‘Fine. Let’s see what I can find.’ He struggled to his feet, the nap having done nothing to alleviate the banging behind his eyeballs.
At least he remembered to step over the Lego this time.
He peered into the fridge, found very little that was edible apart from some mouldy cheese, wrinkly apples and bottles of beer, then rummaged in a cupboard.
‘Spaghetti shapes on toast do you? What time is it anyway?’
He looked over at the clock above the oven. 12.04 p.m. Bloody hell, where had the day gone? How long was he asleep? The kids had been watching TV since they’d got up at 7am.
He needed to give himself a shake, get to the shops, find some proper food, at least get them out into the fresh air. Maybe he should take them to McDonalds for lunch on the way to the supermarket.
‘I know, let’s go out for lunch. How about chicken nuggets from McDonalds? I’ll even spring for a milkshake.’
Lewis’s face lit up. ‘Harper! Harper! We’re going to McDonalds!!’ He rushed from the room.
‘Get your shoes and coats on. Chop, chop!’ David shouted after him.
He wandered back into the lounge, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
‘FUCK!’ he screamed as he stood on the Lego again. He picked up the offending weapon and threw it hard across the room. It pinged harmlessly off the wall. Anger seethed through him. He grabbed the empty whiskey tumbler and pitched that after the Lego, the glass shattering into tiny fragments.
‘Why can’t you pick up after yourselves? You lazy little sh—’ He stopped as he saw Harper’s face cowering in the doorway, her eyes wide and fearful. He took a shaky breath. Then another.
‘I’m sorry, Daddy is just a little cross right now because I’ve stood on that piece of Lego twice. And it hurts. A lot.’ He exhaled again, plastered a rictus smile on his face. ‘Ready to go?’
‘What about the glass, Daddy? Mummy would—’
‘Yeah, well, Mummy’s not here, is she? Come on, let’s go.’
Before I change my mind.
The kids were quiet in the car. David drove white-knuckled, silently admonishing himself, the look on Harper’s face tattooed into his brain. God, he was a mess.
I smell too. Whiskey and sweat. Jesus.
He pulled into the McDonalds car park and waited for a van to vacate a space in front of him. Rummaging in the glove compartment, he found a can of Lynx, gave himself a generous spritz in each armpit, ignoring the coughs from the backseat, then pulled into the now vacated parking space.
Plastering that same smile on his face again – the one he had come to adopt like a permanent mask, a bit like the Joker in the Batman films – he got out of the car and opened the door for the kids.
The addictive smell of chips and fried onions made him feel instantly more human as they pushed into the noisy interior of the restaurant. Kids shouted, parents looked glazed and the staff yawned, but there was an underlying energy to the place, probably from all the preservatives in the air. Who said junk food was bad for you?
‘Right, what’ll it be?’ David said, rubbing his hands together.
He recited their order to the disengaged kid working behind the counter. Collecting their tray of boxes, they made their way over to a vacant booth. The kids tucked into their food as though they hadn’t eaten in days, as did David, his hangover demanding something salty and greasy. The two Big Macs he’d ordered hardly touched the sides. No one said anything. When every last French fry and nugget was consumed and David had wiped the ketchup from their hands and cheeks, they made their way back to the car and drove over to the supermarket.
David hardly noticed the silence or the tiny voice in his head telling him that it wasn’t normal for two small children to be this quiet.