by Dani Atkins
*
‘Calm down, Beth. Take a breath and tell me again exactly what happened.’
‘A reporter tricked me into meeting with her this evening by pretending to be a client. I think someone at the Westmore Clinic must have tipped her off.’ I took a moment to swallow down my emotions before continuing shakily. ‘That’s probably where the leak must have come from.’
‘Actually, I don’t think—’ Liam broke off whatever he was about to say, and for a long moment there was silence on the other end of the line.
It made it harder to hide the fact that I was still crying.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Liam suddenly.
My head was frantically shaking from side to side, even while I was saying: ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
There was a pause, so long that for a moment I wondered if the connection had been lost.
‘No, you’re not,’ Liam declared in a tone I don’t think I’d ever heard in his voice before. ‘I’m coming over.’
‘No, really. You don’t need to do that. I’ll be okay.’
‘I’m on my way,’ Liam said decisively, hanging up before I had a chance to try to talk him out of it. I stared at the silent phone in my hand for several moments. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered softly into the mouthpiece.
26
Beth
‘I’m sorry, I don’t have any beer.’ I straightened up, not sure why I’d gone through the pretence of even looking. It would have been more of a surprise if I had found a forgotten six-pack lurking in my fridge, when it hadn’t featured on my shopping list in over five years. ‘There’s a 24-hour shop down the road, I could—’
‘Beth, it really doesn’t matter.’ Liam cut through my protests like a knife through butter. ‘I’m happy with wine,’ he said, his eyes dropping to the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc that I’d pulled from the fridge.
I liked the way Liam didn’t do the alpha male bit by offering to take over as I struggled with the mechanics of the corkscrew. At least it proved I wasn’t in the habit of solitary drinking, I thought, giving a small grunt of triumph as the cork was finally freed from the bottle. But tonight the wine was needed to dull the memory of Bridget’s beady gaze, and to disinfect the really bad taste that meeting the reporter had left in my mouth.
Liam took one of the two generous glasses I’d poured out and fell into step behind me as I led the way to the lounge. He paused for a moment after I invited him to sit down. I saw his unusual smoke-coloured eyes glance in the direction of the room’s solitary armchair (Tim’s chair, a voice in my head silently reminded me). After what seemed like a long moment of indecision, he moved to the three-seater and settled himself at one end. Leaving a vacant no-man’s-land cushion between us, I went to the other end, kicked off my shoes and curled my legs up beneath me. It was taking longer than I’d expected for the sanctuary of my own home to settle my jangling nerves.
‘Thank you again for coming over,’ I said, aware it was probably the fourth or fifth time I’d said that in the twenty minutes since he’d arrived. Liam must have literally dropped whatever he’d been doing and got straight in his car after my call to have got here so quickly. It had been a long time since anyone other than my family had cared that much about my well-being, and each time I thought about what he’d done I had to swallow down a huge lump in my throat. After Tim had died, there’d been no end of friends who’d pledged their support, but over time their numbers had slowly dwindled. And so too had the invitations, which I declined so often that eventually they’d stopped coming altogether. I didn’t blame anyone; life carries on, that’s how it’s supposed to be. It’s only the people left behind who can get caught in a groove, cycling in a loop between the past and the present.
Perhaps that’s why it was so easy to relax in Liam’s company, I thought, watching him now seemingly perfectly at home in a place he’d never been before. He was the kind of man who was comfortable in his own skin, and with his own company. Had he always been like that, I wondered, even before Anna had died? It didn’t seem like the kind of question I could ever reasonably ask, so I tried another.
‘Can we do anything to stop this from happening again? Can William or Edward protect Noah’s identity? What about a restraining order or something to stop them from tracking him down?’
Liam shook his head sadly. ‘Their feisty young lawyer will already have applied to keep her clients’ identity secret, but that’s not how I imagine the information will get out.’ My eyes searched his face for the answer. ‘Any number of clinic employees could have had access to the records. All it needs is for one friend, a partner, or a relative to be told in confidence, and then they tell someone else, and then they…’
I nodded bitterly, not needing him to explain any further. It was the answer I already feared he would give me. We were playing a dangerous game of Chinese whispers, and sooner or later someone was going to murmur something into the wrong ear. It was almost inevitable.
‘I know the intrusion is vile, but the press are just looking for their next big story. It’s what they do. And unless they break the law or openly harass you on private property, there’s very little we can do to protect you.’
‘Unless I drop the case,’ I said quietly.
I’m not sure which of us looked more shocked at the unexpected suggestion. Liam turned sharply to face me. ‘Is that what you’re thinking of doing, Beth?’
Is it? asked Tim from the numerous photo frames around the room.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, embarrassed to hear the crack in my voice.
I’m not sure how it happened. I certainly didn’t make the first move, but then I don’t think Liam did either. But one of us must have done, for our wine glasses to have been set down, and for Liam’s arm to be comfortingly around me, pulling me in. I leant into his shoulder, my lungs filling with the smell of him, even while my head and my heart were filled with another man. Tim looked down on us from a silver frame on top of his baby grand piano. As if he too suddenly felt the other man’s presence, Liam turned towards the polished black instrument and the picture upon it. I knew every pixel of that image: my face radiant; pieces of confetti still caught in my hair as I gazed lovingly into the eyes of my new husband. That couple had been so happy, so blissfully unaware of what the future held in store for them. It made me feel strangely protective of them, living in blissful ignorance inside their silver frame. I missed him, all the time I missed him, but it was quite a shock to realise that I missed her too, almost as much.
Liam turned his head, and it felt as if a silent agreement had been reached between the two men, and a wordless deal struck. Very subtly, he withdrew his arm from around me and settled back a little further into his own corner of the settee.
‘Don’t make any decisions just yet, and certainly none based on what happened this evening with the reporter,’ he advised. ‘Give it a couple of days.’
‘But there’ll be more of them,’ I said sorrowfully. ‘They’ll keep on coming. You’ve all warned me about that. We won’t be able to keep this a secret. If one reporter has tracked me down, then another will too, and maybe the next one will be more successful at identifying Noah, Izzy and Pete.’ Liam was too wise to deny my prediction. ‘And let’s just say we do it anyway, and to hell with the press, and still lose our application. Then I’ll have put everyone through this nightmare for nothing.’
Liam reached for my hand, which was fidgeting anxiously on the seat between us. His palm pressed against mine, our fingers like steeple spires that slowly collapsed in on themselves. The silence stretched out, but it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. We’d finished the bottle of wine I’d brought from the kitchen, and made sizeable inroads into a second, and yet Liam still showed no desire to rush away. He was a stabilising anchor as my mind journeyed down endless pathways that all seemed to lead me back to exactly the same place.
‘Speak to William,’ Liam advised, as though he’d been able to follow every random meandering what if. ‘Discuss it with him a
nd see what he says. Cross each bridge as you come to it.’ My eyes widened as my husband’s favourite expression was spoken in another man’s voice. It was startling, like a glass of water thrown in my face. I tugged my hand free from Liam’s and he made no move to stop me.
‘Don’t worry about making an appointment,’ he said, getting to his feet and pulling out his phone. ‘Just call by the office any time over the next couple of days and I’ll make sure Bill finds time to see you.’
For a moment, I thought he might be phoning William right there and then, until I recognised Uber’s familiar logo on his screen. ‘You’re calling for a car?’ I asked, the wine making me slow in working out why.
‘I’ve had too many to drive,’ Liam stated simply.
‘You could always stay here, if you like,’ I said, blushing a deep red as I realised how easily my invitation could have been misconstrued. But not by Liam, who gently shook his head.
‘No. Thanks for the offer, but I can’t. I have to get back for Sally.’
I was suddenly very grateful that Anna had left behind one very needy and demanding terrier who commanded his return. Because I really didn’t know what I would have done if Liam had taken me up on my impulsive invitation and I was more than a little relieved that now I didn’t have to find out.
27
Izzy
‘It’s your son’s school.’
It’s amazing how four simple words, in precisely that order, can strike terror in the heart of any mother. In the space of time it took me to cross to the reception desk and take the receiver from the veterinary nurse’s hand, I’d already run through a whole list of possible scenarios. They ranged from Noah falling from a dangerously high climbing frame to nearly drowning while pond dipping. My imagination seemed capable of conjuring up only the most catastrophic or sensational options.
‘Hello, this is Izzy Vaughan.’ I could hear my breathing was a little faster than usual. ‘Is Noah okay? Has something happened?’
‘Noah’s fine,’ replied the junior class teacher who’d been assigned the task of making this call. I thought I heard an almost indiscernible sigh as she dealt with what I’m sure she thought was another overly protective mother. I guessed she had no children of her own. Wait a few years and see how it feels when you’re on the receiving end of one of these calls.
‘We’re calling because Noah’s been complaining of feeling a little bit “strange” all morning. We’re sure it’s nothing to worry about, but we thought we should let you know.’
‘Strange? What does that mean, exactly?’ From the moment I took the call I’d been calculating how long it would take me to get to the school; now I was working out how to do it faster.
‘He can’t really explain it properly. That’s why we thought we should phone you. Perhaps you’d like to pick him up?’
There was no ‘perhaps’ about it. ‘I’m on my way,’ I said, throwing a glance at the teetering stack of files on my desk, all of which were marked ‘Urgent’. Not as urgent as this.
Before hanging up, there was one important detail I needed to clarify. ‘Has Noah got his pen with him? There’s one in his bag, and another in the school office with his name on it.’ If she thinks I’m talking about a biro and not a life-saving injection of epinephrine, I might just lose it, I thought, as I gripped the phone a little more tightly. But the school was better than that, and so was she.
‘Of course. It’s the first thing we check on with any of our pupils with allergies. But it doesn’t seem to be anything like that. He’s just… not himself today.’
*
I exited the surgery car park as though driving a getaway car, and cursed like a marine at every red light I caught as I ducked up and down side streets to avoid the roadworks and diversions surrounding the school. It felt as if the local council were deliberately trying to keep me from reaching Noah. My hands drummed the wheel in frustration as I saw the gridlocked queue of vehicles in the road leading to his school.
With a squeal that probably meant I’d left rubber on the tarmac, I braked sharply and peeled out of the queue. I executed an impressive U-turn in a road that forbids them, and swung down a side street to park the car. I was still some distance from the school, but it would be quicker to walk from here. I was driven by a burning need to keep moving, and get to Noah without delay. Like most mums, I’d been called to collect my child from school or nursery on numerous occasions over the years. But this felt different, although I couldn’t put my finger on why. Was it the looming court hearing that was making me feel this way? Would I always trace every horrible thing in our lives back to that, as though it was a curse we couldn’t outrun?
I hurried along the pavements past the line of idling cars, my sandals making sharp slapping sounds as they connected with the concrete, only just managing to restrain myself from breaking into a run. I recognised the middle-aged secretary who buzzed me into the school, although for the moment her name escaped me. She was small, plump and kindly, wore colourful Dame Edna Everage glasses, and had bosoms that looked like pillows. ‘Noah’s been waiting for you in the office with me,’ she explained, leading me down a short corridor to that room.
I’m not sure what my imagination had been expecting, but a torrent of relief gushed through me when I saw my son sitting at a vacant desk, his legs swinging as he spun the swivel chair from side to side. It was only as I crossed the room that I noticed the telltale signs that all was not right. The smattering of freckles across his nose was now the only splash of colour in a face devoid of its usual healthy glow. Noah wasn’t a crier, but I could see the tracks of dried tears on his cheeks; his eyes were puffy from them. I was suddenly very, very glad I was there.
‘Not feeling so great, kiddo?’ I asked, bending to kiss his forehead, which doubled up nicely as a means of assessing if he had a raised temperature. He didn’t.
‘Tummy ache? Do you feel sick? Have you got a headache?’ He shook his head in response to every symptom I fired at him. The Dame Edna lookalike gave me a comforting smile from across the room. I scrutinised Noah’s face carefully, trying not to frown as I noted its overall puffiness. Noah’s allergies had returned with a vengeance over the last few weeks, and despite two visits to the GP and numerous different medications, nothing had helped.
‘I have all of his things here,’ the secretary said, passing me a bundle of Noah’s belongings. My brain was busily leafing through every page in my encyclopaedia of childhood ailments as I automatically checked in his school bag that the EpiPen was within easy reach.
‘Shall we go then?’ I asked, holding out my hand to Noah, and watching him closely as he got to his feet. Was he a little more sluggish than usual? ‘I’m afraid I’ve had to park a little distance away.’
*
‘Can’t you give me something more to go on than just feeling “icky”, sweetheart?’
We were walking back to the car – frustratingly slowly, as Noah kept casting wistful glances over his shoulder at the sound of his friends in the school playground.
‘Not really,’ he mumbled, and looked so miserable I decided not to push it further until we got back home, which wasn’t going to be for quite some time at our current snail’s pace. ‘My shoes are hurting,’ Noah moaned, when I tried to hurry him along. ‘They’re too tight. I think I need new ones.’
‘Well, they were fine yesterday,’ I reasoned. ‘Feet don’t grow overnight – unless you’re turning into a hobbit.’ I expected him to laugh, or at least crack a smile, but he did neither. Instead, he came to a sudden halt, looking so small and vulnerable I immediately retraced my steps to stand beside him.
‘Is something else worrying you, honey? You know you can tell me anything.’
Noah shook his head, but his lower lip was trembling with the weight of whatever he wanted to say. ‘Roland Carter said my eyes looked weird. Like I’d been crying,’ he whispered. I bit my tongue on my knee-jerk reaction to say something mean right back about Noah’s bullying classmate. ‘
And it made me so sad that I did cry. And he just laughed.’
He was about to cry again, I realised, and before I could defuse his misery, the first tears were already squeezing their way past his puffy eyelids. I threw open my arms and he catapulted straight into them. His belongings fell to the pavement where I mindlessly dropped them, but neither of us even noticed, much less cared.
Even as I soothed him with ‘Everything will be better soon’, a worried voice in my head was asking me how sure I was about that. This was so un-Noah, so unlike his usual behaviour. The old paranoia was like a hopeful snake, looking for an easy chink in the wall to slither through. When I eventually lifted my head from where it had been buried in Noah’s thick dark hair, the queue of cars and vans beside us were blurred by my own fear-fuelled tears.
‘Why don’t we go for ice creams and not bother with boring old lunch?’ I suggested, which sounded much more like an idea Pete would have come up with than me. It was met with an instant smile, which only faltered slightly when I added, ‘And then I’ll see if we can get a doctor’s appointment for this afternoon.’
*
I might have taken the fresh-faced young woman for a work experience student if it hadn’t been for the stethoscope looped around her neck. This was our third visit to the GPs’ surgery in as many weeks, and we hadn’t seen the same physician twice. Today’s doctor was a locum who looked barely old enough to have a driving licence, much less one to practise medicine.
‘What seems to be the problem, young man?’ she asked jauntily, directing her question to Noah. In normal circumstances I’d have let him speak for himself, but there was something about how he was acting today that prevented me from keeping silent.
