by Lucy Dawson
There is a sudden rush of air in the otherwise silent room, and my eyes snap open again. The log that Mum put on the fire has just caught and fierce flames blaze in the grate behind the glass as the wood becomes engulfed, the bark lifting in the intense heat and peeling away from the grain below, like skin.
It dies back down surprisingly quickly and before long it’s only quietly glowing – little more than stubs of white ash and charcoal, flaking and wisping away into nothing.
I might have died had Charlotte not found me and called for help. She’s asked to see me.
Maybe it’s just as simple a choice as that?
I don’t respond to her email but I don’t think about much else. The weather has turned again, rain flattening against the windows daily, as storms blow through – on their way to Europe, according to Dad. I keep my position on the sofa, finally reading and then immediately rereading, Charlotte’s book.
It’s certainly a page-turner. I have no idea what is going to happen next and I’m quite good at seeing where things are heading normally because I read so many scripts… but I’m not sure I like the heroine very much. Like Jack said, she’s detached from her family and children in a way that’s unusual for a female character. She basically doesn’t feel part of her own life; she’s pretty unhappy and bits of it are so brutally honest and raw, it makes me cry, particularly because the underlying theme is clearly trust and betrayal – which just breaks my heart, for both me and Charlotte, really. I can even hear Seth’s voice in places – she’s obviously borrowed some of his phrases and mannerisms, as I suppose you do when you spend a lot of time with someone and become so familiar with their way of seeing the world it occasionally becomes your own. It’s both comforting and deeply disturbing to find him living within the words she’s written.
I thought I’d have all of that with him; a life spent together. I was so sure we felt that way about each other. It felt instinctively right. I don’t understand how I got it so very badly wrong. He put his hand around my neck… and yet I read the book obsessively, looking for him in every chapter, until I practically know it by heart, as the end of the week creeps ever closer.
Mum is surprised but delighted to see me dressed and in the kitchen for breakfast by 8 a.m. on Friday morning, which makes me feel both shabby and jittery for not being honest about the real reason behind my new lease of life.
‘Where’s Dad?’ I ask, glancing at the side to see if his keys are here. They’re not. He must be taking the boys to school this morning for Kirsty and Bill. I’m absorbing into the routines of my parents’ life with alarming ease. While it’s been a welcome release to pass all responsibility to someone else, I can’t stay anaesthetised forever. Today will be my baptism of fire.
‘He’s gone to meet Julia at the flat. We’ve decided to sell it and you know she’s always asked for first refusal to turn it back into one house. In any case, I think with everything that’s happened it might be a bit tricky selling it on the open market. It might be a little less exposing if Julia takes it, and I don’t think she’s the kind of person to be bothered about any of that in the slightest.’
They’re going to have to do this because of me. Yet more money I’ve cost them. ‘You don’t have to sell it.’
‘I want to,’ she says simply. ‘It has no place in our family’s future. It’s time to move on. So you’re going out?’ She stands up and reaches for the cafetière and two mugs, before returning to the table. ‘That’s good. It’s a much nicer morning today. It’ll do you good to get a breath of air.’ She nods at the freshly washed clouds through the window, scudding across a blue sky, for once.
‘I’m only meeting a friend for coffee near Charing Cross this morning, then coming home again.’ I look away as I speak and I feel her notice.
‘That’ll be nice.’ She asks me no questions after that, so I tell her no lies. Sometimes it’s just easier that way.
It’s harder than I thought it would be, being back among so many people, having been hiding for five consecutive days. The overland journey is bad enough, but I can feel the energy of people’s thoughts and the intent of their body language bouncing off the walls of the tube tunnels when we all descend underground to the platform – and the rush of hot air blowing dirtily through our hair as the train approaches. I don’t like the feeling of strangers standing so close to me in the carriage and having to touch the pole with my bare hands to steady myself when we set off makes me actively uncomfortable. I take a tissue from my pocket when I re-emerge above ground at Charing Cross station and wipe my palms repeatedly, but I don’t feel clean. Five days, that’s all it’s taken me to arrive back here again at… Nut Job Central. I breathe out and try to steady my mind, but it’s all too much: the echo of the tannoy announcing departures, feet striking the floor, voices, shouts, people getting too close, snatches of conversations as they pass. I’m shaking violently and have to lean on the wall outside the station entrance for a moment. It’s just a coffee.
Which could get you arrested.
It’s just a coffee.
After a few more breaths, I dig my hands deeper into my coat pockets and make my way over to St Martin-in-the-Fields and down the steps to the Crypt.
She’s sitting at the same table as last time, and I see her visibly jolt when she looks up and realises I’ve arrived.
‘You came.’ She gets to her feet, rolling up the sleeves of the same black polo neck as last time before reaching for her purse. She’s lost even more weight. Her wrists look like they might snap. I can see the sinews as she takes out a £5 note. ‘What can I get you? Tea? Coffee? A time machine?’
I must look astonished, because she immediately lowers her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she says briefly. ‘Forgive me. That’s not constructive, or funny. Tea or coffee?’
‘A cappuccino if it’s possible, please.’
I watch her walk to the counter as I take off my coat and hang it over the back of my chair. She stares straight ahead as she waits in the queue, arms folded. She’s clearly exhausted. As she would be. Having ordered and paid, she carefully carries my drink back, without spilling any in the saucer, and places it down in front of me.
‘How are you?’ She sits down.
‘Right now? Nervous.’ I immediately spill some of my drink on the table as it slips in my grip. ‘Oh no! I’m so sorry.’
She grabs a napkin and efficiently wipes it away. ‘It was an accident, it doesn’t matter at all. And don’t be nervous. I’m not going to tell anyone we’ve met today. It was a big ask. I didn’t think you’d come, so thank you.’ She reaches into her bag and pulls out a tissue to blow her nose.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ I say in the uncomfortable conversational pause that results. ‘And for Clara and Teddy’s loss too.’
She freezes for a moment; her eyes don’t leave my face. ‘Thank you.’ She puts the tissue back in her bag.
‘All I knew was that he had two children and was divorced. I’d been seeing him for little more than a couple of months. Had I known he was married, I would, of course, never have begun anything with him.’ I blurt it all out, then sit there, unsure what to say next.
‘It’s all right, Mia. I know he lied to you too. I’m sorry for your loss as well.’
There’s another awkward silence. ‘Do you want to know what happened on Friday night?’ I say tentatively, a little confused. ‘Is that what this is about?’
She holds up a hand. ‘It’s OK. Tris told me everything just before he died.’
The noise of other people’s chatter, chairs scraping, cutlery on plates fades away. I’m only aware of the shapes of bodies moving around us.
‘He said that you were about to have sex when you changed your mind,’ she looks down at the table, ‘so he put his hand on your neck and tried to “persuade” you. You understandably took action, which necessitated hitting him forcibly over the head.’
I’m not sure I’m breathing. That’s not true. I know, I was there.
She swa
llows before continuing. ‘You may like to know that he very much regretted his actions and was aware that there was no excuse for them, regardless of the fact he was drunk. This is the information I gave to the police in an interview on Monday.’
I just stare at her. I see myself hitting him hard and him falling to the floor. What she has just said makes no sense. ‘Seth was furious with me about something when he arrived, like, raging.’ I can’t think of any other way to describe it. ‘Did he tell you why? Or what he thought I’d done?’
She takes a deep breath. ‘He’d seen the book announcement in the press. He recognised my plot and thought that you had somehow stolen it from me. He panicked really – he knew we were about to find out about each other, or already had. He was very shocked when I told him about our deal and that we had no idea we were already connected – through him. Where are we with all of that, by the way?’
I blink, thrown. ‘The deals you mean? You still want us to work together?’
‘I can’t afford not to. I have two young children to support. They need the income from the sale of that book. My share of a million quid is money I can’t walk away from. I very much hope you don’t want to either.’
My heart plummets. She’s going to be devastated. ‘I’m not sure we have a choice. I’m on bail until the police tell me they’re taking no further action. I told Jack on Monday when he rang to tell me it’s sold in the States for two million dollars—’
‘Shit!’ Charlotte breathes in disbelief.
‘But,’ I hold up my hands, ‘he basically told me the deals will be off if the editors know about the charge.’
‘What?’ She is devastated. ‘I told the police on Monday what he admitted to me. You had marks all over your neck. I saw them. This wasn’t your fault!’
Ah – now I get it. This is what’s behind Seth’s ‘confession’. He said no such thing; she has lied to the police.
‘When you take on an acting job, you have to sign a contract that says you won’t do anything that will embarrass the studio publicly – that includes allegations of offensive behaviour,’ I tell her. ‘They’ve always been there, but post #MeToo they’re huge. I’m guessing book contracts are going the same way and I’m pretty sure “offensive behaviour” includes being charged with manslaughter. My solicitor told me on Monday that this case could take months to conclude. I’m meant to call Jack this afternoon and give him an update.’
Charlotte looks up at the ceiling and I’m stunned to see that she is trying not to cry. I don’t know why that’s such a surprise, she’s just lost her husband and her children have lost their father, now this. I can’t imagine what his children are going through. Seth talked so proudly about his kids. I had always assumed they would come to play a huge part in my life too, that I would help look after them. I was very ready for the reality of that responsibility. I was excited to meet them.
‘I won’t walk away from the deals, I promise you,’ I tell her truthfully. ‘But I just don’t know that it’s all going to happen now. I’m so very sorry, Charlotte. I’ll keep everyone hanging on as long as I possibly can. I promise. I read it, by the way.’ I wait for her to look at me. ‘Several times. It’s a really great book – I can see why they all want it.’
She exclaims and wipes her eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she whispers.
I take a deep breath. ‘Charlotte, who is Florence to you? How do you know her?’
She jerks back away from me like I’ve struck her face.
‘I saw her waiting for you in the car at the hospital. That’s how you found out where I live, isn’t it? Florence told you.’
I watch her gape at me, like a fish out of water, struggling for air. ‘She’s my little sister.’
Her sister? I feel faint and start to tremble again. She notices and reaches an urgent hand out across the table, placing it over mine. I flinch at her touch but she’s right to try and anchor me. She’s still wearing her wedding and engagement rings.
‘Yes, she gave me your address when he didn’t come home on Friday night. Teddy was ill; it wasn’t like Seth,’ she says his name awkwardly, ‘not to call me back in those circumstances. I was frightened. But she didn’t tell me anything else, certainly nothing private or… intimate that you might have disclosed to her in confidence. I promise you. Whatever you have told any counsellor has stayed there in that safe space.’
‘You swear?’ I whisper.
‘Yes.’ She takes her hand back.
‘But she also told you who I was to Seth? So you’d contacted me to be your debut because of Edinburgh,’ I’m trying to piece it all together and she looks away uncomfortably, ‘and when Flo realised what you’d inadvertently done, she warned you? That sounds like the sort of thing my sister would do too.’ I give a funny little laugh. It sounds weird, slightly disturbed. ‘I honestly didn’t know he was married.’
‘You don’t remember speaking to him at that talk of mine you came to?’
‘No!’ I’m astonished. ‘Did I?’
She nods. ‘I saw you.’
‘I swear I don’t remember that at all. You must have felt like you were falling apart.’
She swallows and I can see she’s trying to keep a check on her emotions.
‘I saw you, in my flat, when you were resuscitating him,’ I say suddenly. ‘I saw how distressed and angry you were when you were trying to get him to breathe.’ I wasn’t planning to tell her this. I’ve buried the memory all week, along with several other aspects of that night. ‘I’m so sorry for how shocked you must have been. You had every right to be angry. I also understand why you told the police he assaulted me, because I don’t believe Seth said that at all; mostly because it never happened. I told the police it did so I had the right to remain anonymous. I honestly have no idea why he was half-naked. Charlotte stop! Don’t panic – I’m not going to tell anyone you lied to the police, I’d be dropping myself in it too, wouldn’t I?’ I feel dreadful. She looks as frightened as I imagine I did when Seth burst into the flat almost exactly this time last week.
‘Are you going to tell anyone about Flo breaking your patient confidentiality? Is this about the money, because if it is, you can have it all.’
‘Of course it’s not about the money!’ I’m completely bewildered. ‘As if I’d ever blackmail you! And there might not even be any money: you got all of that – what I just said about the bail, right? I’m telling you I know everything so that we can both… let go of it all? I understand how you’re feeling. You’re not in this alone.’
She does a strange gulp. ‘When you’re hypothermic, your heart slows right down and becomes very faint. If you try to resuscitate someone too quickly when they’re like that, it can catastrophically alter their heart rhythms…’ She starts to tremble violently and I’m worried that people are going to start staring.
‘You didn’t know any of that when you found him though, did you?’ I lower my voice. ‘You did your best, Charlotte, and he was alive when he arrived at the hospital, so it wasn’t anything you did and it wasn’t anything I did either…’ I sigh shakily and sit back. I really want a cigarette.
‘Do you know that some people also have an extraordinary reaction when they are close to dying from the cold?’ she continues. ‘They voluntarily remove their clothes. It feels to them as if their skin is burning hot and they strip off. People have been discovered dead in the snow, up mountains, quite naked. They also have an overwhelming compulsion to hide beneath something – to crawl into a small dark space when they are ready to die.’
‘Oh!’ I gasp aloud. My hand instinctively flies up to cover my mouth. That’s why he was half-naked? He must have been so frightened.
‘I only know this because it’s in a forensic pathology book I use for research.’ Charlotte fumbles for another tissue. ‘I guess because our version of events correlated enough they didn’t consider it a possibility. I’m very distressed to have lied and made him into that man, but I’m also very glad lots of detail stayed out of the press, th
ings that my children will now never have to read about when they’re older, so perhaps the end justified the means. Either way, I’m grateful to you.’
‘At least we don’t have any more secrets.’ I give her a sad half-smile.
‘You know what? I’m sorry.’ Her chair scrapes back suddenly and she stands up. Her skin has turned pallid, with a slight sheen to it. ‘I can’t do this, Mia. Maybe it’s a good thing that the deal has been taken out of our hands but I should have told you it was off before now. You need to walk away from me.’
I’m completely confused. We’ve just laid everything bare. I want to help her, and Clara and Teddy. ‘But, Charlotte…’
‘We both need to make a fresh start, to leave behind everything that’s happened. Take care of yourself, Mia.’ She grabs her coat and bag. ‘None of this is your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong, please know I mean that sincerely – but I can’t see you or speak to you again.’
Before I can say another word, she hurries from the room.
‘Charlotte?’ I call after her desperately and people around us look over, but she doesn’t stop, disappearing up the stairs to the street above.
I feel like a naughty child, deliberately left behind when I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. My eyes fill with tears and as I turn back to the table two older women are already hovering in front of me, clutching trays, ready to swoop in case I decide to leave. They don’t ask me if I’m OK, just watch, beadily, like magpies as I get shakily to my feet and reach for my coat – taking our seats before my back is even turned.
I automatically feel for my phone and purse in my pockets as I make my own way to the stairs. Glancing at the screen I discover I’ve had two missed calls. One ‘No Caller ID’ and the other is a London number I don’t recognise. There’s very little signal down here.
