The Push

by Claire McGowan

  Jax – four weeks earlier

  The next thing that happened was the row. I called it that to myself to make it seem less what it was – disturbing and frightening. And shameful, of course. Let’s not forget that.

  I started it. Aaron, because of his upbringing, had deep wells of patience that I did not. Or he was just better at hiding things. It was early morning and I was in bed, feeling sour and fetid, watching him put on his tie for the office. I felt like his invalid mother. ‘Can’t they give you any time off?’

  He grimaced. ‘I asked but they really didn’t seem keen, sorry babe. I’ll get two weeks after the birth.’

  ‘There must be something statutory. I mean, I’m not supposed to stand up for the loo by myself, I need you!’

  ‘I know. But we need the money more.’ That was true, which irritated me. If I lost my job over these stupid messages, we might have to live off Aaron’s twenty-something salary, or even worse – ask my mother for help.

  ‘It’s not my fault. I really think – Aaron, don’t you think someone has it in for me? You know Minou’s still missing . . .’ Voicing my fears made them worse somehow. Was it real? Or could I no longer think clearly? ‘What if someone hurt her?’

  ‘Cats do run off, don’t they?’ He finished the tie and began to apply hair gel. He used cheap stuff, leaving his hair stiff and sticky. I kept buying him expensive clay and wax and he would keep it ‘for best’, carrying on with his 99p supermarket own brand. A surge of rage went through me. Easy for him to say cats run off, he’d never liked her. But she’d been my companion all these years, since my failed engagement, through flings and dates and break-ups.

  ‘What about the milk bottles? My car?’

  ‘That was just foxes I think. And the car – well, it’s old, babe.’

  Rage bubbled up in me. ‘The man said it was tampered with!’

  ‘Kids, probably.’

  ‘Why won’t you believe me? I’m so scared, Aaron. It’s alright for you, you’re not thirty-eight and pregnant and on bed-rest, with someone maybe coming round your house breaking your milk bottles!’ It sounded ridiculous, which made me even angrier. I reached for my more extreme weapons. ‘Just because no one’s being starved or beaten like when you were a kid, it doesn’t mean something’s not going on, you know.’ I should have told him about the emails, but I still couldn’t. When it came down to it, I was too ashamed.

  He blinked. ‘I know you’re cross being like this . . .’

  ‘I’m not cross. I’m scared. I’m angry that someone’s been able to ruin my life like this.’

  Aaron came and sat on the bed, and I smelled his aftershave and saw in the mirror the contrast between us. Him young, handsome, showered and shaved, fresh. Me old, grouchy, rumpled and bed-headed. ‘Babe, your life isn’t ruined. You’re having a baby. I love you, we own the house outright.’

  ‘I own it,’ I said, needlessly cruel.

  ‘Right. Of course. But that’s a lot, isn’t it?’

  I felt sobs in my throat. ‘Don’t you care? I’m alone here all day, scared and freaked out, while you get to go to work like everything’s fine. Someone was in the house yesterday.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I heard a noise downstairs.’

  ‘You didn’t go down, did you?’

  ‘Just a bit.’

  ‘Jax, you have to be careful! Was there someone?’

  ‘Well, no. They’d gone, maybe. But I heard it! And the bureau was open!’

  He sighed. ‘Babe, do you think maybe you’re just a bit . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was talking to Nina the other night. She said women can get a bit funny in the last few weeks. Paranoid. It makes sense, when you’re so vulnerable.’

  ‘You talked to Nina about me?’ I pictured them, her hand on his arm. Her tanned inscrutable face. Claudia Jarvis, pregnant and tired, walking across the pub to find her husband laughing with a young girl. I was her now, except Nina wasn’t an idiot like I’d been, she was a grown woman, one with depths and strengths I could only guess at.

  He hesitated. ‘I was worried. You seem a bit, I don’t know . . . not yourself.’

  He thought I was losing it. Unstable, confused. For a moment I felt it all, him talking to Nina, what Monica had said about young men needing excitement. My mother’s comments that Aaron might not stick around. It built up in me, the anger, the fear, the jealousy. I took a deep breath and went for the jugular. ‘Maybe you don’t care about the baby. Maybe you’d rather I lost it.’

  There was a silence of a few seconds, enough for me to feel the damage I’d wrought. Then Aaron punched the wall, and left the room. I jumped at the noise, the sudden violence of the strike, like a snake. The cheap plasterboard wall had crumbled around the shape of his fist. ‘Aaron?’ I called, my voice wobbling. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.’ I heard the sound of running water. ‘Please, Aaron. Please come back.’ I was crying now. ‘It’s not fair, you know I can’t get up . . .’

  He didn’t come back. I sat in bed, weeping pathetically, while the sounds of water continued next door. I don’t know how long it was before the doorbell went. Aaron came back into the room. He was cradling one hand in the other, and I saw that it was bloody, oozing through the plasters he’d inexpertly pasted on to it. We looked at each other with guilt in our eyes. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not expecting anyone.’ I tried to think if I had a parcel on order, but couldn’t remember. I ordered so much out of sheer boredom. ‘Well, get it.’

  ‘I . . .’ He gestured to the blood.

  ‘I hardly can.’

  He sighed, then went downstairs, and I heard the door open. Then the buzz of a radio and I knew something was up. The sound of voices, Aaron’s rising in surprise, or anger, then falling. Then footsteps coming upstairs. More than one person. I saw the uniforms. The police were in my house, coming into my bedroom. I pulled the covers around me, shocked.

  Aaron said, ‘Someone called the police. Said there was a domestic disturbance.’

  How did they get here so quickly? Was someone listening to us? I followed the gaze of the police officers to the wall, the dent in it, the plaster crumbled on the carpet, and to Aaron’s injured hand. Oh God. How bad this looked. ‘We just had a row,’ I said weakly. ‘It was my fault.’

  ‘You punched the wall, sir?’

  Aaron appeared frozen, pale and green. He said nothing.

  ‘Sir?’

  I began to panic. Of course this would be traumatic for him, the police coming round, the shaky aftermath of violence. Too much like his past.

  I saw the police officers exchange glances, and knew they would arrest him next, given the circumstances. It was two officers, one an older white man, one a younger Asian man.

  I began to babble. ‘Look, I don’t know who called you, but we were just arguing, I was upset because I’m on bed-rest and I was taking it out on him, he didn’t do anything, he’d never hurt me, honest . . .’

  Still they spoke to him. ‘Sir, would you step outside while we talk to your wife?’

  I’m not his wife, I thought, but didn’t say, as it surely wouldn’t be helpful. ‘It’s fine, really. He hasn’t done anything wrong.’

  But Aaron was being escorted out into the hallway, letting himself be led. The younger officer stood by my bed, looking down at me. He was tooled up, outdoor gear, armour really, mud dropping from his boots to my carpet, and I was in bed, lying down, a mess. ‘Madam, I need to ask you if you’re safe? If you’re not, we can arrest your partner, get a restraining order against him.’

  Oh God. Here they were doing exactly what you’d hope they’d do in a case of domestic violence, except it was wrong, all wrong. ‘I’m fine. Honestly. It was just a row.’

  ‘But he punched the wall.’

  ‘I provoked him.’ Oh God, that was just what an abused woman would say.

  ‘Has he ever been violent before?’

  ‘No, never. And this wasn’t
violence.’ Or was it? I was panicking, not thinking straight. But he hit the table that time. That was nothing, I told myself. A moment’s frustration.

  ‘Are you aware late pregnancy is the most risky time for domestic violence?’

  ‘That’s not what this is. Aaron’s very gentle, very loving. He just . . . I pressed his buttons. It was my fault.’

  It took a lot of persuading, and the taking down of statements, before they would leave without arresting him. I knew there’d be a permanent record of the call-out, a stain on both our pasts, the hint of violence, a whiff of danger around Aaron. When the door shut downstairs, I looked across the room, strewn with crumbled plaster and splashed with blood, at Aaron. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I began.

  ‘I’m late for work,’ was all he said, and he left.

  Alison

  At the local offices of Dependent Insurance, they were met by a grey man (hair, skin, suit) who nervously asked if he could help them. Alison flashed her badge and watched him grow even more nervous. ‘Does Aaron Cole work here?’ The office was depressing, fraying carpets and flickering fluorescent lights. Not a fun place for a young man to work.

  ‘Well, he did.’

  ‘Did?’ said Diana, the most glamorous thing in the entire place.

  ‘I’m afraid we had to . . . let him go. There were some issues with timekeeping and absenteeism, and he lost his temper with a customer on the phone. He was only on a two-week notice period, and opted not to work it, so.’ The man shrugged.

  ‘He might be at home,’ volunteered a young woman who’d come up, dunking a herbal teabag into a chipped mug. She wore an unflattering grey skirt and a striped blouse, but was pretty underneath it, with a blonde bob. The kind of young woman who might have admired Aaron Cole, and perhaps been admired in return.

  The man scowled at her. ‘Don’t interrupt, Cassie.’

  ‘No, please do, Cassie,’ said Alison, pointedly. ‘Have you been in touch with Aaron? Only we’ve not been able to track him down at home.’

  ‘Oh, he moved out,’ said Cassie easily, and Alison mentally punched the air. Jackpot. He wasn’t living with Jax, and she hadn’t told them. She had lied.

  ‘You’ve got the details?’ said Diana.

  ‘He gave me them so we could send on his P45. I can get the address for you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Diana, flashing a glance at the unhelpful manager. ‘That’s very kind of you.’

  Cassie printed it off for them, an address about ten minutes away. ‘Is he alright?’ So the contact between her and Aaron wasn’t that close then.

  ‘As far as we know he is.’ Not that they knew much.

  ‘Only I know it was hard on him, the baby coming and dealing with his girlfriend and that.’ There was a definite contemptuous stress on the girlfriend.

  ‘Dealing with what?’ said Alison casually, taking the address from the printer.

  ‘Oh, you know. She went kind of mental. Postnatal depression, I guess. She’s not been right for months, Aaron said.’

  Diana was driving today. Something about the way she did it made Alison feel judged, hands perfectly in the ten to two position, performing a smooth mirror/signal/manoeuvre each time, checking her blind spot. She’d pulled the car seat way up so her chest was almost on the wheel, her ponytail swinging. ‘Interesting Jax didn’t tell us her and her partner are living apart, isn’t it?’ said Diana.

  ‘It is interesting, isn’t it?’

  Diana parked – again, flawless – and they went into the block of flats, ex council, outdoor stairs that echoed with footsteps and the shouting of children. Aaron was apparently staying in one on the fourth floor. As Diana bounded up, Alison found she had to lean on the handrail and gasp for breath. God. Her body was literally breaking down.

  Aaron Cole opened the door with a wary look on his face, dressed in the same grey tracksuit most of the young men round this area liked to sport. He was a handsome lad, his eyes very blue, but he didn’t look happy, or healthy. There was an ashy pallor to him, and his eyes jittered everywhere. He didn’t offer them a drink or a seat, so Alison plonked herself firmly down at the small Ikea table. There were only two chairs, so Aaron sat on the edge of his bed, which was about two metres from the kitchen.

  ‘So. This is where you’re living. Not much space for you, is there?’

  He fiddled with his hands. ‘All I could afford. Lost my job.’ It was clearly a dodgy sub-divide of what had been a council flat, just a strip of kitchen and then a carpeted area to serve as bedroom and living room. Alison looked around but couldn’t see a door that might be a bathroom; probably he was sharing. She thought of Monica Dunwood’s house, the surplus rooms, the acres of lush carpet.

  ‘Why aren’t you living with Jax and the baby, Aaron?’

  ‘Um. We just – it was hard, with the baby coming. We weren’t getting on that well.’

  Diana glanced at her; Alison caught the flick of shiny hair. He had brought it up – perhaps he would be the weak point in the wall this group had built, the one to finally tell the truth. ‘Nina. Were you close to her?’

  He stared at the bare floor. ‘No. Just knew her from the group, that’s all.’

  ‘Aaron. We know the police were called to the house you shared with Jax, a few weeks ago. Can you tell me about that?’ This had been Diana’s idea – searching not just for previous convictions, but any contact with the police at all.

  He dipped his head. ‘I lost my temper. Hit the wall. Not her. I’d never hit her, or hurt her in any way. I love her.’

  ‘That’s a shame you’ve split up then. Especially as rent must be tight on two places.’

  ‘Jax owns hers. Her dad left her some money.’

  ‘But the baby – Hadley? Don’t you think she needs you around?’

  For a moment, she thought he might cry. ‘I’m no good for her. I don’t know what to do with a kid – I never had my own family.’ He’d grown up in care, she was aware. ‘I try to help out. It’s hard.’

  ‘Tell us about the day of the barbecue,’ said Diana.

  Aaron recounted a familiar story. Ed had taken him and Jeremy to his shed, and while he was gone, Kelly had lifted Hadley from where she sat in a bouncy chair and taken her to the park behind. Just a misunderstanding, all sorted out quickly. ‘What did Ed have in the shed?’ Alison asked casually.

  Aaron was not a good liar. He flushed. ‘Er . . . just stuff.’

  She had a strong hunch. ‘Porn?’

  ‘Not really. Sort of erotica. Japanese and that. He said it was worth a lot.’ Of course he did – Monica and Ed were people who knew the price of everything and the value of nothing, Alison’s mum would say. ‘It’s nothing dodgy,’ he said quickly.

  ‘And later? After you got the baby back?’

  ‘Well, it was sort of confused. Jax was upset, and we were going to go home, when we heard a scream and we looked and – Nina – she fell. Off the balcony.’ His throat worked. ‘It was horrible.’

  ‘Was anyone out there with her?’

  ‘Not that I saw.’

  ‘We heard from Jax you were both downstairs at the time, you see. Where you wouldn’t have been able to see the fall.’ What he’d said, we looked, that sounded like they had witnessed it. Like they’d been upstairs near the balcony, as Chloe Evans had said.

  His eyes twitched. ‘I don’t know. I can’t remember every minute of it, like.’ He was lying. Bless him, he was very bad at it. The question was why. He was hardly the only person there that day to have misrepresented exactly where they were when Nina died. It was this, the obvious lies, the evasions, that had kept her digging into a case that everyone else thought was an accident. Rahul and his financial problems. Monica and whatever was going on with her daughter. The tension between Cathy and Hazel. Was it possible Nina had found out some of their secrets? Was that the motive Alison had been searching for?

  ‘So you think she just fell?’

  ‘I guess so. She must have gone up to see the rockery from the top,
Monica was banging on about it all day. The balcony had just been cleaned, she said. Maybe it was slippy.’ The balcony had just been cleaned. It was slippy. Alison had heard some variation on that from several people now. Which was almost more suspicious than everyone having a different story. But how was she ever going to prove they were lying?

  Easily, she said, ‘You know, Aaron, you were the only one there with any history of violent behaviour.’

  He looked up, panicked.

  ‘So if it wasn’t an accident, if she was pushed, and we were looking for obvious suspects, that’s where we’d start. With you.’

  She could almost see his brain working, but the reply it came up with was not the one she’d expected. ‘If you arrested me – or someone – for killing her, would you end the investigation?’

  Weird question. ‘Of course, if we thought we could secure a conviction. What I don’t know is why. Why any of you would want to push your antenatal group leader off a balcony? Anything you want to tell me, Aaron?’

  A long pause. ‘No.’ She almost heard the addition – not yet. What was he up to? Protecting someone, maybe? Jax, the obvious person? She had seemed a total state, but that could just have been the baby.

  Diana stirred, she must have felt they’d pushed him far enough for an interview. ‘Thanks for your time, Aaron. We may need to talk to you again, so don’t go anywhere, alright?’

  Another hesitation. ‘Alright.’

  They stood up. Alison knew she had set something in motion with her visit here today, but she just wasn’t sure what.

  The day of – Cathy

  2.50 p.m.

  ‘Cathy? Sausage or burger?’ Ed was waving a piece of meat at her. Cathy shook her head, distracted. How could she eat when she had that message on her phone, glowing like radiation? She should have just deleted it. She should ignore him, hope he went away. After all, he couldn’t prove anything, not without her consent. It was almost worse when she’d forgotten about it for a moment, watching Arthur wave his hands around or successfully grab her finger, because then it all came crashing back. The terror. The guilt. What if she got caught? What if she never did – could she live with herself for the rest of her life?