by Lucy Dawson
But I did know and look at what I’ve done.
I tell Clara and Teddy after breakfast, Flo sitting on the opposite sofa for support. I explain that sometimes – not often, but sometimes – grown-ups get ill and the doctors can’t make them better and that’s what’s happened to Daddy and he’s died. Clara goes very quiet and immediately buries her head in my arm, clutching onto me, frantically. Teddy stares blankly and asks if he can watch a film now?
I get up to put something familiar and comforting on in the background while we talk, but I don’t know what to choose, realising suddenly with a jolt quite how many Disney movies start with parents dying. I opt for Aladdin. I answer Clara’s questions truthfully and honestly, including: ‘Yes, Daddy is in Heaven, but I don’t know where it is because I’ve never been there… he’s absolutely safe, but no darling, he’s not coming back.’
The door goes again, making us jump – another journalist – and Teddy pushes his snack bowl away announcing his tummy hurts.
‘That’s OK, Teddy. You don’t have to eat anything.’ Flo takes it away from him gently. ‘Come and sit on my lap.’
The doorbell goes again and, unable to stand it, I get up. ‘Come on. We’re going to Nona’s for lunch.’
The house is full of music and the comforting smell of a cooking roast when we arrive. Mum has got the dressing-up box down: a treasure trove full of odd hats, jangly beads, scarfs, high heels, white evening gloves that go up to the elbow, fur stoles, clip-on diamante dangly earrings. She begins to make the kids up, laughing delightedly when Teddy pouts at her in bright pink lipstick, and clicks away with her IPhone. I watch them carefully. Clara is laughing too. I’m shocked and worried at this until it dawns on me that, far from being nonplussed, what I’ve told them is so big and overwhelming they simply can’t make sense of it in what is their version of devastation.
I take a moment to slip out into the garden before we leave, making my way across the soggy tufts of grass, right down to the river. I slide Tris’s laptop from under my arm and look around, but it’s a cold day. No one is watching me lean over the top of the picket fence and drop it, side on, into the water. All the evidence of him having written the book slips beneath the surface rather elegantly, with barely a splash. I look out over the water and as the cold breeze lifts my hair, I swallow down a nauseating wave of déjà vu. I can hear my mother saying the words to me that I repeated to Clara this morning… Daddy isn’t coming back.
It was not supposed to happen like this. None of it. My God – it was not supposed to happen like this… the damage…
‘Charlotte.’
I whip round at the voice behind me. My father is standing there. For a moment I think he’s going to ask me what I’m doing fly-tipping computers over his back fence. He walks down the garden until he’s standing alongside me and we’re both staring at the water, neither of us saying a word.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ he says eventually, and my eyes cloud with tears as I nod. I don’t trust myself to speak.
‘I cannot bear watching Clara and Teddy in there.’ He turns his head away from me, so I almost don’t catch what he says. ‘I look at them and I see you and Flo.’
Shocked, I stare at him. Even during his father-of-the-bride speech on my wedding day he made no mention of my childhood. All of the anecdotes were carefully selected as being post his return. Anger and sadness rushes up within me but I choke it back down, gripping my hand into a tight fist, feeling the nails dig into the palm of my hand until it hurts.
‘They will survive, just as Flo and I did.’
‘Yes, they will, but they shouldn’t have to and neither should you.’
‘Ohhhh!’ I hear myself give a strange sort of cross between a gasp and moan of pain as my head falls back in disbelief and I stare up at the sky ‘Go on then, Dad! Let’s hear it. Obviously the day after my husband has died is the perfect timing for this conversation, having kept me waiting for thirty-three years.’ I turn to face him.
‘It’s because I can see it in front of me!’ Dad has tears streaming down his face. ‘I look at those two little children and they’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing! But I swear this isn’t history repeating itself.’
‘Really? Then who was the woman I saw you kiss in the car.’ I have nothing more to lose. I feel empty. ‘The one who told you she loved you?’
He closes his eyes, scrunches them up so tightly. ‘My wife.’
I step back from him in shock and confusion.
He turns to face me, frightened. ‘I was still married to someone else when I met Mum, although we’d been apart for a while. I left her. She was a violent woman. She used to…’ he swallows, ‘slap me, pinch me, pull my hair… it sounds like little kid stuff, I know, but… she burnt me once with the back of a hot spoon of all things,’ he laughs flatly and pulls up his sleeve to reveal the dark patch of rough skin on his forearm I’ve noticed a hundred times before but always assumed was a birthmark. ‘I feel stupid saying it like this now, but back then there wasn’t really very much you could do for things like that. There wasn’t anyone I could tell. I did try. I had a mate who was a police officer. He told me to give her a slap back and that’d sort her out. I didn’t want to do that – so I left. Just walked out. I shouldn’t have, but there you are. She had plenty of money in her own right; I didn’t leave her destitute or anything. The house was hers anyway. Her parents bought it for us outright when we married.’ He shrugs and breathes out deeply, looking up the river. ‘Anyway, I met Mum and I just didn’t tell her. We fell in love, we got married and had you two. We were very happy, but yes, you’re right,’ he says, before I can speak, ‘all that time, I was married to someone else too.
‘And eventually she came for me. It had been years, I thought it was done, but she appeared in the car park – you and I had gone shopping. I thought I was hallucinating. She just climbed into the car, and I didn’t want a scene, I didn’t want to frighten you. She told me I was to come back with her or she’d tell everyone what I’d done. I’d have gone to prison for bigamy, Charlotte. I’d have lost my job; we would probably have lost the house because the mortgage was completely in my name. Again, that was just how it was then. I told your mother, and we agreed I should go. It was for the best. We didn’t want that woman anywhere near you. She was pure poison. So I left. I still looked after you all – financially I mean – I just wasn’t there, and that broke my heart.’
He clears his throat. ‘When she died, eight years later, I asked your mother if I could come home and she said yes.’ His lip trembles again and fresh tears run down his face. ‘I’m not asking for forgiveness, but that’s the truth. We obviously never talked about it with anyone. I don’t know where it would all stand now, you see… if we’re legally married since my first wife died. She didn’t leave me anything – I didn’t benefit from it in any way; she left the house to a cat rescue charity. Anyway, Mum and I act like it’s not a problem, so no one questions anything. No one ever has. Everyone thinks I had an affair and just came home in the end.’
‘Mum didn’t see it in my diary then?’ I say faintly.
‘See what?’ he says, confused.
‘I wrote about the woman kissing you in my diary. I thought Mum had seen it and thrown you out.’
He shakes his head, not understanding the implication of what I’m saying, that this is something I held to my chest for years. ‘No love, it was nothing like that. There was no anger. Mum loved me. She’s always loved me, as I love her.’
I’m so overwhelmed I feel light-headed. I cannot process any more. This is too much. He stares at me, worried, then quickly continues.
‘But sweetheart, what I’m trying to say is you’ve been let down so badly by me and Tris and I’m so very sorry. Just because someone tries their best doesn’t mean it’s good enough. I want you to know, though, that I am here now. I can’t make up for what you, and now they, have lost – but I’ll be alongside you every step of the way to help hold you up, if you’l
l have me?’
I don’t say anything. I simply can’t and he nods quietly, to acknowledge he understands, before turning on the spot and walking back up to the house.
I stare unseeingly at the river as the wind blows, forming ripples on the surface of the water. Come on! Come on! I hear Tris’s voice in my head. It’s time to go. Long journey ahead…
I turn and go to find my children.
TWENTY
MIA
The first phone call comes at 11 a.m. on Monday lunchtime while I’m curled up on Mum and Dad’s sofa, staring mindlessly at an old episode of Friends on TV:
AGENT!!!
I ignore it.
The phone goes again at lunchtime:
AGENT!!!
‘Don’t you think you ought to answer that?’ Mum nods at it, able to see the screen from the other end of the sofa, where she’s sitting reading yesterday’s Sunday supplements, my untouched sandwich on a plate between us. ‘I know you don’t feel like it now, but there’s going to come a moment when you’ll be grateful for a new project to focus on.’
‘I don’t know what to say to them.’
‘You tell them the truth. You’ve done nothing wrong, Mia.’
My eyes well up for the millionth time today and the call goes to voicemail again. Mum puts her magazine down and moves over to hug me, as I lean on her and sob, the sleeves of my jumper pulled down over my hands.
The phone starts to ring again.
AGENT!!!
She picks it up and holds it out to me. ‘It’s obviously important and you can’t run away forever.’
I take a deep breath. ‘Hello?’
‘Mia!’ Jack sounds delighted. ‘I’ve tracked you down! I’m sorry – you must be feeling hounded. I called you earlier this morning and Cary is trying to reach you, too, I think. Don’t panic, it’s all good. We’ve just concluded your American deal. There was a feeding frenzy, but we have arrived at a neat two million dollars with a very nice publisher. Huge congratulations! Our book-to-screen agents also want to talk to you about a couple of producers who want to option the film rights. I’ll let them discuss that with you though.’
‘I can’t make any sense of this,’ I whisper.
He laughs then says soberly: ‘I know. You’re right, it is surreal and this certainly doesn’t happen to everyone. Talk to me if this starts to feel a little too much.’
‘Jack, I was arrested for manslaughter over the weekend.’
There is a stunned silence.
Mum places a gentle hand on my arm for support.
I take a deep breath. ‘I was attacked by my boyfriend. Everything went a bit wrong.’ I clear my throat and try not to start crying again. ‘I’m currently on bail waiting to see if I’m going to be charged.’
Another long silence.
‘Jack?’ I pause. ‘Are you still there?’ Has he hung up on me? My heart starts to pound.
‘Hello? Hello? Mia? This is such a bad line. I didn’t hear a word you said just then.’
I close my eyes. I’m going to have to repeat it all? ‘I said that over the weekend I was arrested for manslaughter.’
‘Nope – still nothing, I’m afraid,’ he says firmly. ‘Ah, you’re back! Now Cary mentioned that over the weekend you were taken ill.’ He speaks pointedly. ‘You poor thing.’
I look at the phone in confusion. What?
‘You had to miss the last show and will likely be out for the rest of the week, I gather? It’s such a common reaction to the end of a run. Your body just says enough is enough, doesn’t it? I think that’s a very wise decision. Shut yourself away for the week, don’t talk to anyone and when everything is back to normal, we’ll hit the ground running again. Why don’t we check in at the end of the week to see where the land lies?’
The penny finally drops. ‘I think I really do need to take the rest of this week out to recover, yes.’
‘Good,’ he says. ‘That’s settled then. You can’t mess around with health. I’ll tell Cary and we’ll carry on this end, minding the shop. It’s going to take a little while to sort contracts, in any case, and I daresay Hollywood isn’t going anywhere either. You take care. Proper flu is a nasty business.’
‘OK. I’ll be in touch.’ I hang up and stare at the phone. Finally I turn to Mum. ‘I think I’ve just been told in so many words that the deals will be off if everyone finds out about this. He’s going to carry on in the meantime but I’ve only got about a week.’
‘A week?’ Mum exhales. ‘Well, we travel hopefully.’
I’m not really listening to her. Charlotte will never be able to resell this book now. Not after every publisher has already read it and thinks I wrote it. She must curse the day she laid eyes on me. I lean my head on the side of the sofa and stare into space. This is all such a mess. I curl up a little tighter.
Mum takes the sandwich away, untouched.
‘Why don’t you call the solicitor and ask her the time frame you’re looking at?’ Mum appears in the doorway a couple of hours later to find I’ve barely moved. She walks across the room and puts another log on the woodburner that she lit earlier when I couldn’t stop shivering. ‘Forearmed is forewarned.’
‘She told me on Saturday it was a question of waiting until the police have prepared an advice file, or something, and that they would be in touch with me to let me know what happens next, if I’m going to be charged or not.’
‘I still think it’s worth asking.’ She takes the blanket from the other sofa, comes over and puts it round me, tucking my legs in as if I’m an invalid. ‘It would be so very unfair if these opportunities were to disappear because of what happened.’
I look up at her, wondering if I should just tell her the truth about the deal with Charlotte: By the way, Mum – I didn’t write the book at all – and now I’ve fucked it all for Seth’s wife, having already fucked her husband. Instead, I pick up my phone and call the solicitor. ‘Can I speak to Penny Osbourne, please?’
Mum looks relieved and sits down on the arm of the sofa to listen.
‘Mia. Hello,’ Penny is brisk when I’m put through. ‘How can I help?’
‘I was just wondering how long you think it will be until the police make a decision one way or the other? We didn’t really talk specifics on Saturday; I should have asked. I’m sorry.’
‘That’s fine. Sadly I don’t have a concrete answer to give you. The police are still evidence gathering and waiting for items like the post-mortem results. Once that has concluded, they prepare an advice file which is passed to the Crown Prosecution Service for review. That process can take days, sometimes it sits on various desks for months. Just a waiting game now, I’m afraid.’
‘Months?’ I repeat incredulously. ‘It’s just I have a work situation that this is going to affect.’
‘Well, you’re under no legal obligation to tell an employer that you’re on bail – unless they specifically ask or a contract requires you to disclose that sort of information.’
Pretty much exactly my situation then.
‘Do contact me in the meantime if you have any other questions, won’t you?’ She waits for me to get off her phone. I can hear the suppressed impatience in her voice. I doubt she means to be rude, she just has more important things to do.
‘I guess you heard. Worst-case scenario – months,’ I tell Mum once I’ve hung up. ‘Could you just give me a minute, if that’s all right? This is all feeling a little bit much.’
‘Of course. Come through into the kitchen when you’re ready. I’ll make a cup of tea.’
I am swimming in tea and tears. I know I shouldn’t be, but I miss Seth. I have no rational explanation for how or why he was that person I didn’t recognise on Friday night. I don’t understand. Was he always like that and there were signs I didn’t see? Was he waiting until he felt comfortable to show his true colours? I have never had a boyfriend be violent with me, ever – but I’ve always said that if someone did, it would happen once and we would be over. He hurt my neck.
Drunk or not, he hurt me. I was terrified.
I stare out of the window and rub my head with my hand. I am starting to feel uncomfortable in my own skin. This all feels horribly reminiscent of when I had my breakdown, sitting around in the house for days after my biological father’s death, while the world carried on as normal, on the other side of the window. Sometimes I would lie in bed for so long, unable to get up, that my shoulders would ache from lying on my side so much. I don’t want to go back to that place, ever again. And now to cap it all, my being on bail is going to take away everything that Charlotte has left. She must be going out of her mind with grief and anger. I would have so many questions in her shoes:
How long had it been going on?
Did I know she was his wife when she offered the deal to me?
What really happened on Friday night?
I watch a mother walking slowly down the street, past the window, holding the hand of her small toddler. She waits patiently as he bends to inspect something on the ground, before gently urging him on their way. I exhale then jump guiltily although it’s only an alert pinging in on my phone. An email from… I glance at the banner on the screen listlessly…Charlotte Graves?
I sit up in shock and fumble to open it.
Meet me in the Crypt again, Friday at 11 a.m. Please?
That’s it. Nothing else. But that ‘Please?’ poleaxes me. It sounds so desperate, so unlike her. So she does have questions. Of course she does. I have plenty of my own.
She must know that I can’t, though? It was one of my conditions of bail. I’m not allowed to meet with her. I could be arrested again if I did. I know I owe her, but I just can’t. I put the phone back down on the sofa, close my eyes and see Seth inches from my face shouting LIAR!
