by Vivien Brown
happily ever after.’
‘Yes. Yes, I could, and I wish I had.’
‘Well, you didn’t have to stay with me. Nobody forced you.’
‘The baby, Sarah. I stayed for the baby we’d stupidly made together, the one you
couldn’t even hang onto, after everything—’
‘The baby wasn’t yours, Josh.’ I don’t know why I said it. Or spat it, more like. All I
wanted right then was to hurt him.
He turned to face me, the whites of his eyes bulging. ‘What?’
‘Did you think you were the only one, Josh? My first? My one true love. Huh! Don’t
make me laugh!’
‘Laugh? You tell me something like that and you think it’s funny?’
‘It wasn’t yours. I was already pregnant when you came along. Oh, not by much, but—
’
‘No!’
‘Yes! Did I ever actually tell you it was yours? Think about it, Josh. I was just a
schoolgirl – an innocent young thing – caught in bed with her sister’s boyfriend. Someone old
enough to know what he was doing. Old enough to know better. Of course everyone assumed
it was yours. Even you did. No question. No doubt. You were cast in the role of seducer and I
didn’t correct that. Why should I? Oh, I fancied you all right, like crazy, but you were also my very convenient way out.’
‘How could you do that? Make me believe . . . My God, you really are one cruel
heartless bitch, aren’t you?’
‘If you say so.’
‘So who was this other bloke then? The one who got away scot-free and left me to face
the bloody music? No, don’t tell me. I really don’t think I want to know.’
There was a long silence before he said anything else. I could see his hands clenched
white on the wheel, a little twitch in his neck, his jaw grinding as if he was trying to stay in control, biting back the words. ‘And Janey? Please tell me that she’s mine.’
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‘She might be.’ I was enjoying watching him squirm.
‘What do you mean, might be?’ He was yelling now, his head turned towards me, his
eyes all screwed up in anger. ‘You know bloody well that I love that little girl with all my heart.
So is she mine, or isn’t she?’
I didn’t see the lorry coming. Not until it hit us. Hard. Head-on, sending the car skidding
across the carriageway and spinning onto its side. I don’t think Josh saw it either. He was too busy shouting at me to concentrate on the road. Or to hear my answer.
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CHAPTER 31
EVE
When Dad called me that Sunday evening, I couldn’t take in what he was saying. He was
crying, something he never did, or at least not like this. A terrible accident. Sarah injured, taken to hospital. He was going there now, not knowing quite what to expect, picking up Janey on
the way. No, Janey hadn’t been in the car. And Josh, he wasn’t sure. Not next of kin, so they
hadn’t told him, wouldn’t tell him, but he’d been there too, in the crash, and it didn’t sound
good.
I should have been worried about my sister, been scared for her and for Janey, but all I
could focus on was Josh. I should go there, to the hospital, sit in one of those little relatives’
rooms, wait for news, but Dad told me not to. ‘She wouldn’t want you there, Eve,’ he said.
‘Not after what you’ve done.’ And I knew he meant it, and so did she. She had caught me at
Josh’s flat, running away, my clothes undone, and of course she had told Dad. She always did.
What were they meant to believe? But how could I explain, how could I tell my sister I was
not trying to steal her husband, when given half a chance I knew that was exactly what I would
have done?
I hated Josh, yet I loved Josh. I was angry with him, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about
him.
Whatever he had done, or whoever he had done it with, didn’t seem to matter anymore.
I just wanted him to be all right. And Sarah to be all right too. Why had they been together in the car? Why had Janey not been with them? The questions flooded in, but there was no one to
give me answers. I wished with all my heart that we could all just go back a day, a year, twenty years, and that everything could have been different. But that could never happen. Life didn’t
throw those kinds of second chances around. There was no magic wand, and this was all too
frighteningly real.
When Dad rang back, hours later, his words sliced through me like a hot knife through
butter. Josh was dead. Josh. My Josh was dead. Dad told me about Sarah too, although I was finding it hard to listen or to understand. My breathing was ragged, my heart pounding. I
thought I might be about to faint. Josh was dead. ‘She’s ruptured her spleen, and she’s covered in cuts and grazes,’ Dad was saying. ‘And she sprained her ankle, badly, crawling out from the
wreckage, but the most worrying thing is her hands. The car burst into flames, Eve.’
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Flames? Had Josh been burned too? Had he got out? Died there, or in the ambulance, or later on a hospital trolley? Had he known where he was? Had he been conscious? Afraid?
In pain?
‘They say she tried to wrestle with the driver’s door, tried to get him out, but the heat
was too much. It beat her back.’ Dad made her sound like a heroine, a brave woman desperate
to save her husband. The husband she had already thrown out, didn’t want anymore, didn’t
love . . .
Dad didn’t call again. This time he was definitely taking sides. I could hear it in the
coldness of his voice, giving me the facts but no love, no comfort. His priority now was Sarah, he said. And Janey. Not me.
And so I was left alone, to think, to cry, to grieve. A big deep pit of darkness seemed to
open out in front of me and drag me down inside it. There was no one to hold me, or to
understand my pain, or to try to pull me out. Perhaps it was what I deserved.
***
I couldn’t go to work, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop blaming myself, and Sarah, and the mystery
woman he’d been seeing behind both our backs. Who was she, and what did he feel for her?
Even now, I was jealous. Of a woman I couldn’t put a face to and probably never would. If not
for her, I would not have run, could have kept him with me, kept him safe . . .
I kept reliving that morning in my mind, so sorry I’d flounced out, sorry I hadn’t stayed
to hear what Josh had to say, stayed to set the record straight with my sister, to support Janey as she told her dad her news, as I’d promised her I would. If only I had done that, perhaps none of them would have had to go out, the car might never have been on the road . . .
But I hadn’t, and now he was dead, and even in his last moments it had been Sarah there
beside him, not me. The deadly game of bat and ball we had been playing all our adult lives
was finally over, and Sarah had won. And come out of it as a heroine, selfless to the last. No, how could I think that way? How could anyone be a winner when the man in the centre of it
all was gone forever? Wild, crazy, mixed-up thoughts, that lacked any sense of reality, kept
creeping in. I felt dizzy, sick, exhausted, but if sleep was to keep evading me, then I needed a drink, some way of inducing oblivion, to stop the memories and the recriminations haunting
me.
I poured myself a large whisky, took one gulp and threw the rest down the sink. It tasted
vile, burning its way down my throat, reminding me of Sarah’s burnt hands, of Josh’s face, his
body, engulfed in fir
e. I closed my eyes and tried to blot it out. Drinking wasn’t going to help.
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Nothing was. Even if I went to sleep, I knew I would dream, and the dreams would be just as horrifying as reality. Probably worse. All I really needed was Josh, alive and well, his arms
around me, laughing as he claimed a fifty-pence piece every time I said I was sorry. He’d be a
rich man these last couple of days, the number of times I’d thought it. But none of that was
going to happen. Not now. Or ever again.
I felt adrift, with no one there to turn to at the absolute lowest and most devastating
point in my life. Lucy was still living in her new-motherhood happy bubble and I didn’t want
to be the one to burst it. Dad was distant, pouring all his sympathies in Sarah’s direction, and she was still ignoring me. But there was always Simon. Simon was the only person I could call
who would listen, and care, and not even think to judge me.
I didn’t invite him to come running, and certainly hadn’t expected him to, but there he
was, standing on my step, with a small overnight bag and a massive box of man-size tissues in
his hands.
‘Come here.’ That was all he said, dropping his stuff on the mat, then opening his big
arms wide and engulfing me inside them. ‘I remember we did this once before, didn’t we?
When your mum was ill, and we ate curry – or was it kebabs? – and drank wine and . . .’
‘I’m not sure that would solve things. Not this time.’ I emerged from the warmth of his
jumper, wiping my runny nose on it as I moved, and looked up through the mist of my tears
into his gentle, caring face.
‘You really did love him, didn’t you?’
I nodded. ‘You know I did. Still do . . .’
‘Oh, Eve, what am I going to do with you? The man was a cheat, an adulterer, a chancer.
Okay, I know, I know. That’s not what you want to hear. Grief is a terrible thing, and it’s taking you over right now. You’re only going to remember what you want to. The good times, the
person you wanted him to be. And you’re going to be sad for a long time to come. But you will
come through it, my lovely. And out the other side. It just might take a bit of time, that’s all.’
We snuggled up on the sofa, with a cuddly blanket over our knees and a takeaway pizza
I was sure I wouldn’t be able to eat, but remarkably my long-lost appetite seemed to come
flying back with a vengeance, and I ate almost as many slices as Simon did.
‘I think you needed that.’
‘Probably did. Thanks, Si. I’m so glad to see you. I presume it’s just a flying visit? You
must have work to get back to?’
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‘Feigned a shoulder injury. Well, it’s easy enough to do when you teach PE. Told them I’d need at least until Monday before I’d be back.’
‘Simon. You sneaky liar!’
‘I wouldn’t do it for just anyone, you know. So I can stay a while. Long enough for you
to wash your snot off my jumper at least.’
I laughed for the first time in days. ‘Thank you. I’ve missed you. So much.’
‘You too, Kid.’ And he kissed me on the nose, but not before giving it a good wipe with
a tissue, to make sure it was clean.
***
Something drew me to the scene of the accident. It was easy enough to find out where it was.
The local news had been there like a shot, cameras, reporters . . .
It was Sunday afternoon and I was on my own again now that Simon had gone. I was
due back at work the next day. There was only so much compassionate leave a boss was
prepared to allow when the deceased was simply a brother-in-law, and trying to explain that he
had been so much more than that wasn’t an option.
Josh had been gone a week. I had called Dad, asked after Sarah, who the nurses kept
telling me on the phone was not willing to let me visit, tried to make peace, but she wasn’t
having any of it. And nor was he. The funeral was being delayed, he told me, until Sarah was
well enough, but I would not be welcome anyway. I should do the decent thing and stay away.
I wasn’t sure I could. Not even for Dad.
I parked some distance away from the crash site and walked, wrapping myself up in a
long coat, a scarf pulled up over my mouth and chin. The vehicles had been taken away but I
could still see skid marks on the road, the remains of some sort of powdered stuff which I
assumed they must have used to put out the flames, a thin strip of tape tied around a damaged
tree, maybe to protect the evidence or to keep people away because the tree was in danger of
falling down. It looked solid enough though, despite the split in its trunk. There were slivers of glass and a mangled wing mirror still lying in the earth at its base. Several people had left
flowers, and I bent down and added my own bouquet to the pile. White roses, the first flowers
he had ever bought me, that day he’d turned up in Cardiff and our affair had begun.
‘Hello, Auntie Eve.’
I turned quickly, and there was Janey, just a few feet behind me. Her eyes were red and
puffy and she too had chosen to envelop herself in the biggest and baggiest of coats. We stood
and stared at each other. There were no words.
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‘Mum says she hates you. She says it was all your fault. Was it?’
‘No, I don’t think so, Janey. Accidents happen, and we don’t know what caused this
one, do we? It could have been anything. Brakes, a slippery road . . . Maybe your dad just lost concentration for a moment.’
‘Mum says they were arguing.’
‘In the car? I don’t know about that. I wasn’t there, and nor were you, so maybe we’ll
never know for sure. Grown-ups fight all the time.’
‘But you were all fighting about me, weren’t you? Mum didn’t like it that I told you
first. Probably that’s what they were fighting about in the car too. Me, and the baby. So if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.’
‘Oh, no, Janey. None of this was your fault. The problems we had, your mum and dad
and me, they went back years, Love. Long before your pregnancy.’
‘I told him, Auntie Eve. The father. That afternoon, the day it happened, while Mum
and Dad were out. I rang and told him.’
‘Did you? And what did he say?’
She looked up at me, tears welling up in her eyes, and I felt her small hand slip into
mine. ‘He was angry. He said he didn’t want it, that he’d pay to get rid of it.’
‘Oh, dear.’
‘I thought he cared about me. I thought he’d be pleased.’
‘Boys aren’t usually pleased when they make babies they hadn’t planned to have, Janey.
Look, you really do need to tell me who he is. How this happened. It’s the only way I can help
you. I know it’s hard to talk to your mum right now, while she’s so poorly. And your dad . . .
well, he . . .’
‘Go on, say it. He’s dead. My daddy’s dead.’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t want him to be dead,’ she sobbed, pulling her hand away from mine and
wrapping herself tightly around me, her arms finding their way inside my coat.
‘Nor do I, Janey.’ It was all I could do not to break down completely, but this child –
Josh’s child – needed me, and I needed her.
‘And I don’t know what to do. Whether I want to have a baby on my own.’
‘You’re not on your own, Sweetheart. You’ve got me.’ I wiped the tears from her cheek
; and tried to force a smile. ‘You’ve always got me.’
‘I know, but I just need a bit more time. So I can decide . . .’
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***
The funeral finally took place three weeks after the crash. I had taken more roses – big white
ones that smelt wonderful – but I couldn’t do it, couldn’t put them down on the wet ground
with all the other tributes, as if I was just one in a long line of friends, acquaintances, colleagues, leaving little cards with their scribbled clichéd messages. They – he – deserved more. I left
them in the car and took just one rose into the chapel, clutching it so tightly it more or less disintegrated in my hands.
I knew I wasn’t welcome, that Sarah had decided this time she could not, or would not,
forgive me. But it didn’t matter. I was there for Josh, and for all that he had meant to me, and still did.
Janey looked so scared, so lost, and I wondered if she had made any decision yet about
the baby. If she’d spoken to a doctor, been to a clinic? Time was ticking by. Time she didn’t
have. Keeping it wouldn’t be easy, but getting rid of it would be pretty hard too. She hadn’t yet come back to school, so I’d had no chance to get her on her own to see how she was or what
had been decided. My heart went out to her, but I knew better than to try to approach her, or
any of them. Sarah would make damn sure she kept us apart. Making a scene in public, and in
the midst of everyone’s grief, was not my style, so I sloped away straight after the service. I knew it would probably be the last time I saw any of my family for a while. Dust would have
to settle. Wounds would have to heal. But perhaps I was better on my own. I needed time to
heal too.
I drove about for a while, aimlessly, windscreen wipers swishing out a regular rhythm,
like a heartbeat, and with no destination in mind.
I pulled up in a gravelled car park surrounded by trees and closed my eyes, expecting
to cry, but I didn’t. Perhaps I was all cried out, like the rain, because that had finally stopped too. There was a burger van parked over by the gate that led into the woods, and I walked over
and bought a coffee, with lots of sugar, and a Kit Kat. I hadn’t eaten all day, but the smell of the greasy meat and the sight of all those slimy onions turned my stomach. I wondered what
