Am I Guilty?

by Jackie Kabler

  Isla had been sitting at the kitchen table, nibbling crisps, filling me in on her week, trying as always to distract me from my thoughts, cheer me up, make me laugh. I’d nodded, struggling with the cork.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I know. And?’

  ‘Well, I suggested we do it outside in the garden set, stick a bouncy castle behind him, have some kids on it, you know, for atmosphere? Light it up all spooky. It’ll look good, I think. Except, of course, the show goes out live, and at eleven o’clock at night legal won’t let us use kids, child employment laws, can’t allow them to work after 7 p.m., blah blah …’

  I’d turned and raised an eyebrow at her.

  ‘I’m not surprised, Isla! Did you have to scrap the idea, then? Pity …’

  ‘Och, no!’ She’d slapped a hand on the table, a triumphant look on her face. ‘Because I, my dear, am a genius. I’ve hired a load of midgets instead. They’ll just be in the background, dim lighting, so nobody will notice the difference – brilliant, eh?’

  I’d stared at her, aghast.

  ‘A load of … do you mean dwarves? Little people? Seriously?’

  She’d nodded, eyes bright, and held out her glass for a refill.

  ‘Aye. Dressing them up in kids’ clothes. Hey – you don’t have any spares knocking around I can borrow, do you?’

  I’d laughed out loud then, long and hard, laughed so much I’d first doubled over then slid slowly to the kitchen floor, tears running down my cheeks. Isla had watched me, slightly bemused, for a minute, then joined in, the two of us shrieking like hysterical banshees. She could do it, even now, in these days of such dark despair – make me laugh until I cried, and last night I had needed to laugh, needed it so desperately. Needed it to numb the pain, if only for a few moments. And I needed to do it with Isla, with the friend with whom I had shared so much. So much laughter over the years, so much happiness.

  And now, so many tears, so much pain. So much guilt. Oceans of it, guilt so vast and deep and choking that sometimes I could barely breathe. Guilt that I know Isla felt too, just a little. It wasn’t her fault – it was me, all me. But she was with me, you see, that day. The day it happened. And we were drinking that day too. The day Zander died. Or, I should say, in the interests of accuracy, the day I killed my baby.

  9

  ANNABELLE

  The sound of pounding feet on the stairs, accompanied by shrieks and giggles, made me look up from my laptop and smile. I usually tried not to work on the rare Saturdays when I didn’t have any events to worry about, but I was just finishing a quote for a short-notice Valentine’s Day party at the home of a young footballer and his wife in Winchcombe. Dan Foster plays for league two Cheltenham Town – or The Robins, as they are known, due to their red strip – but his wife, Lara, clearly has her eyes fixed on a premier league lifestyle. It was the third event she’d asked me to organize for her in as many months, and with less than four weeks to go, I needed to get started on planning the evening as soon as possible.

  ‘You two OK?’

  I smiled again as Millie skidded into the kitchen, Nell Ashfield close behind her.

  ‘Fine. Nearly finished. We just need a drink. Can we have some apple juice?’

  Millie was already heading to the fridge.

  ‘Of course. I made some of those crumbly cookies you like too, look, in that tin on the side, if you want a couple? Take a plate though, Millie. I don’t want crumbs everywhere.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum!’

  Nell smiled shyly at me and followed Millie across the room. Rupert, who always had her at weekends now, had dropped her off just after lunch, Millie and Nell needing a couple of hours together to finish a school photography project. Between them they had managed to take some rather lovely photos for the ‘winter scenes’ themed assignment, and today were arranging all their pictures on a large display board, ready to take to school on Monday.

  I watched as the two girls poured juice and selected biscuits, chatting happily, Nell’s dark curls in stark contrast to Millie’s golden blonde bob. It was nice to see Nell smiling, especially as Millie had told me she’d been horribly upset earlier in the week, after another episode of verbal abuse at the school gates.

  ‘It was awful, Mum,’ Millie had said, her dark blue eyes narrowing. ‘Mrs Ashfield just shouldn’t pick Nell up from school, especially when she’s doing that weird thing with the pram. It’s not fair. It’s so embarrassing for her.’

  I’d nodded, agreeing with her. I knew Thea didn’t often do the school run now, not unless she had to, but Millie was right. Nell was a sweet little thing, but she clearly wasn’t the same child now as she had been before her baby brother died. I’d watch her sometimes, when she was here with Millie, and it chilled me to think about what she had been through, and how it was affecting her. She was quieter now, less raucous than she had been before, although I wasn’t sure Millie had noticed. Nell still put on a good act, still played the part of the fun best friend, but I could see it. I’d seen it last weekend when the two of them were sprawled on the sofa watching a DVD, a cartoon baby cooing on the TV screen, and I’d felt an ache in my throat as I saw a shadow suddenly cross Nell’s face, pain flashing in her eyes, as if a memory had just surfaced. I wanted to wrap her in my arms, tell her everything would be OK, but I never did, knowing instinctively that what this damaged child needed was what I tried to make sure she got here – normality, ordinary, dull, family time, with no mention of her mother or her brother whatsoever.

  I wondered, sometimes, if they still talked about what had happened – Millie and Nell, I mean. Because Millie had been there that day too. She hadn’t seen much, though – Greg, who’d been there too, had whisked her away as soon as it had happened, although that hadn’t stopped Millie crying for days afterwards. It had been her first experience of death, and it had hit her hard. She hadn’t even wanted to see Nell for weeks, told me she couldn’t face her, but I made her eventually. Her friend needed her, I insisted. It’s not about you, Millie. Harsh maybe, but then life can be, can’t it? And she was glad, when I finally insisted and made her invite Nell round. They locked themselves in Millie’s room, and came out an hour later all smiles, back to normal. Well, as normal as anyone could be, after that …

  ‘Where are Olly and Sienna, Mum?’

  Millie turned to look at me, and I blinked at her, slightly startled, then tapped save on my keyboard, not wanting to lose the email I’d started to compose.

  ‘Ermm … Daddy’s taken them into town – Olly needed new school shoes and Sienna went along for the ride,’ I said. ‘They should be back soon though. Why?’

  ‘No reason,’ she said breezily. ‘It’s just nice and quiet without them. Nell and I have actually had peace to do our project …’

  ‘FLORA!’ There was a sudden yelp from Nell as the door opened and Flora wandered in, wearing orange patterned leggings and bright coral trainers, a black fleece zipped high under her chin and her nose pink with cold. Nell barrelled across the kitchen and flung her arms around Flora’s waist.

  ‘Hey, Nellie-bells! Didn’t know you’d be here today. I was out running, I’m freezing, feel!’

  Flora flattened her palms against Nell’s cheeks and the child squawked.

  ‘Urrrgh, get off!’

  Flora laughed, and Nell laughed with her. She stepped back, brushing an errant curl from her forehead, and looked Flora up and down.

  ‘I like your leggings. And your trainers,’ she announced.

  ‘Well, thank you very much. Ooh, I’ve missed your little face.’

  Flora reached out both hands as if to squeeze Nell’s cheeks, and the little girl ducked.

  ‘Get off!’ she said again, but her eyes were shining. They definitely had a special bond, Flora and Nell, and it made me happy to see it, to know that Nell had Flora here in my home as well as Millie. Millie and Flora got on well too – once or twice when Millie had seemed a little down, I’d seen Flora take her to one side, for a stroll around the garden or a chat upstair
s, and soon Millie would be smiling and bouncing around again. I felt a little guilty sometimes – it wasn’t Flora’s job, after all, was it, to counsel my children – but when I was so busy, and she was so good at it …

  ‘We’re back!’

  I started slightly again as the front door slammed and Greg’s voice drifted down the hallway.

  ‘In here!’ I replied and shut my laptop with a sigh. I clearly wasn’t going to get this finished now, and I needed to start thinking about dinner. There were some nice steaks in the freezer – maybe those with some baked potatoes? Or possibly a moussaka?

  ‘Mummy! Daddy bought me a new colouring book!’

  Greg appeared in the doorway, rubbing his hands together, and Sienna pushed her way past him and leapt onto my knee, waving a brown paper bag, her pink woolly hat askew on her head.

  ‘Lovely, darling. Did you get Olly’s shoes, Greg?’

  I pulled my daughter’s hat off, smoothing her hair down, and looked at my husband, who was glancing round the room. His eyes rested on Flora for a moment, then he spotted Nell and winked, and she grinned back at him. He was dressed in a tight blue sweater under a navy quilted gilet, and he looked fit and toned.

  Greg is a few years older than me, in his early forties, but he still has a full head of hair, flecked with silver now at the temples and swept back off his smooth forehead. He has a strong jawline, with a hint of stubble, his weekend look.

  He looked good, healthy, handsome, and I smiled.

  Greg is the only man I’ve ever loved – the only man I’ve ever slept with too, something I’m not sure if I should be proud of or slightly embarrassed by. We met at university, and I knew I certainly wasn’t the only woman he’d slept with. It hadn’t bothered me back then, his obvious popularity, the envious looks from other girls when they’d see us out together, arm in arm. I’d enjoyed it, if I was honest – enjoyed the fact that he’d picked me, over everyone else, when he could have had anyone. But as the years had passed it had begun to worry me more. It made my anxiety go into overdrive sometimes, having a husband who looked like this, who was attractive and clever and nice and successful, crazy as that sounded.

  I worried, frequently, about the women who might want to steal him from me, and I wondered sometimes if my fears were justified. There’d never been anything concrete – a hint of perfume, maybe, on a sweater, a musky scent wafting from the laundry basket as I crouched in front of the washing machine, stuffing the clothes in, trying to pretend I couldn’t smell anything. Or the occasional boys’ night out which ended in the early hours of the morning, Greg stumbling in through the front door, crashing out on the sofa downstairs instead of coming to bed, a vagueness the next morning about where he’d been until so late when all the bars closed at eleven.

  I never pushed it, though, never asked. Greg worked hard, very hard, and he needed a release sometimes, just as we all did. He was moody sometimes, distracted, distant, but that was just how he was.

  Recently though, things had been good. Great, in fact. And it was another good day. Today he’s here with me and the children and life is good and there’s nothing to worry about. I chanted the phrase in my head like a mantra, supressing a tiny tremor of anxiety, and smiled at my husband again. Me and my bloody insecurities.

  ‘Got them, yes. And he’s actually happy with them, amazingly.’

  ‘They’re cool, Mum! I put them upstairs, I’ll show you later. Is there anything to eat? Oh, hi, Flora.’

  Oliver appeared, stomping across the room, heading for the biscuit tin, the laces of his high-top trainers trailing, jeans so baggy half of his bright purple underpants were on full view. Flora glanced at me and grinned, knowing what I was thinking. I’d moaned to her more than once about my son’s scruffy dress sense.

  ‘Hi Olly,’ she replied. ‘You’re seriously going to trip over one of these days you know. Ever think of actually tying your laces?’

  He looked down at his feet with a puzzled expression, then back at Flora.

  ‘I forgot. Sorry.’ He crouched down, fumbling at the laces, tying them, and I looked at my assistant in amazement.

  ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Now that’s a first. Look, Greg. Or even better, take a photo, go on. Our son, Olly, tying his shoelaces, live right now in our kitchen. It’s a miracle.’

  ‘It is. Good grief. Are you feeling OK, son?’ Greg’s voice was full of mock concern.

  ‘Oh shut up, parents.’ Oliver straightened up again, cheeks a little pink, and everyone laughed. Flora beamed and poked him teasingly on the shoulder, and he shrugged her off, his face growing even redder. Sienna wriggled on my knee then buried her face in my chest, joining in with the laughter even though she clearly didn’t understand what was so funny.

  ‘And you shut up too, brat.’

  Oliver had directed the comment at Sienna, but she ignored him, as usual. My son and Millie had always rubbed along all right – well, as all right as a brother and sister three years apart in age generally could be expected to – but it was a different story with him and Sienna. It wasn’t even just that he had little interest in her: he seemed to actively dislike her, and it bothered me, my concern about it only slightly lessened by the fact that she in return cheerfully disregarded his presence, his verbal hostility towards her mostly going unnoticed.

  ‘Oliver, don’t talk to your sister like that,’ I said wearily. ‘Go on, help yourself to some biccies, if Millie and Nell haven’t scoffed them all. And stick the kettle on, will you? I’m sure Daddy and Flora would like a coffee.’

  ‘Oh, thanks, Annabelle, but I’m OK. I’m going for a shower. I’ll grab one later.’

  Flora smiled at me, waved a hand vaguely at everyone else in the room and left. Millie waited until she’d gone then bounded over to Oliver, a cheeky grin on her face.

  ‘You like Flora! You like Flora!’ she chanted.

  ‘Shut up, Millie. I do not. You’re an idiot.’ Hands full of biscuits, he pushed roughly past her and she giggled, Nell grinning broadly by her side.

  ‘Geez. What is it with you kids?’

  Greg rolled his eyes.

  ‘Leave him alone, Millie. Go on, thought you and Nell had schoolwork to do? Get out of here.’

  He clapped his hands then gestured towards the door with his thumb and, clutching their drinks and balancing biscuit plates, the two girls followed Oliver to the door, still sniggering. I raised an eyebrow at Greg, shifting Sienna into a more comfortable position on my knee, and he winked, then left the room too, taking his gilet off as he went.

  I sat for a moment, arms wrapped around Sienna, thinking. Olly probably did have a bit of a crush on Flora, but that was pretty normal, at his age, and she seemed to take it in her stride, if she’d even noticed. We’d been so busy recently there was every chance she hadn’t though, and I suddenly decided I needed to do something to thank her for all her hard work. I’d take her out for dinner, one night this week, somewhere nice in town. Our midweek schedule wasn’t looking too bad, so a night out would be nice, and Greg would be happy to stay in with the children.

  I might finally ask her, too, I thought. I might ask her if she minded telling me about what happened at Thea’s – what happened the day Zander died. I knew a bit, of course, the basics. Millie and Greg had been there, after all, and then there had been all the stuff in the papers. But to hear about it from somebody who was there all the time, living with Rupert and Thea when it happened … oh gosh, was that really horrible of me? Why did I want to know so much? Why did I have such a morbid fascination with Thea, think about her so often? OK, so I’d think carefully about it first, that’s what I’d do. I’d only ask Flora if it felt right, if I could find the right moment …

  ‘Mummy? I want to colour a picture. Where are my pens?’

  Sienna was sitting up straight again, face upturned to mine. I kissed her forehead and gently lifted her off my knee and onto the floor.

  ‘They’re in the living room, darling. You go and get them and start, and I’ll b
e in in a few minutes. Daddy will help if you can’t find them, OK?’

  ‘OK.’ She scampered off, and with a sigh I stood up and started thinking about dinner.

  10

  FLORA

  The closing titles of Made in Chelsea rolled and I yawned and picked up my phone to check the time. Just after nine o’clock. I could definitely fit in another couple of episodes before bed, I decided. The show was my guilty pleasure – the antics of rich kids in the wealthy west London borough made me laugh, but it was also aspirational. I wanted that sort of life one day – the carefree existence that money seemed to bring, the endless travel, the designer clothing, the casual sipping of champagne in exclusive clubs.

  I picked up the glass of sparkling water from the table in front of me and took a sip of that, instead, for now, wondering how long it would take before I could work my way up into the sort of income bracket that would allow me to afford the Chelsea lifestyle. Or even the Cotswold lifestyle, come to think of it. Houses like the one I was currently sitting in didn’t come cheap. Six bedrooms, acres of gardens … I’d checked online on one of those property search websites, just out of interest, shortly after I’d moved in with the Garringtons, and guessed that this place was worth at least a million and a half. Maybe more.

  Still, Annabelle and Greg deserved it. They were both locals, from modest backgrounds as far as I could gather, and they’d worked hard – she with her business, him advertising director for a major London agency, running their Gloucestershire branch – and I had no problem with doing the same. I’d get to where they were, one day, and in the meantime Annabelle paid me well, and this room was all I needed, for now at least.

  It was at its nicest tonight, curtains snugly drawn against the January cold, a couple of fragrant candles – lime and vanilla, my favourites – flickering on the little side table, and me cuddled up on the sofa with a faux fur throw across my legs and trashy telly to watch, my belly full from the luscious moussaka Annabelle had insisted I share with the family downstairs earlier, the taste of the cinnamon-spiced lamb, aubergine and creamy white sauce still lingering on my tongue.