Forget Me Not

by Claire Allan

  ‘I have children,’ I said. ‘You know that. I can’t walk out on them. Especially not now, when they’re both so scared. Beth’s at a vulnerable age. Molly’s just a baby still. I can’t walk out. I’ve thought about it and little else over the last twenty-four hours, Michael, and I can’t reconcile with that. No matter what I feel.’

  I stroked his face as I spoke, hoped he could see that losing him was far from easy for me, either. Tears welled in my eyes.

  He looked at me for a moment, his expression that of someone truly dejected.

  ‘But just now? What was that? If you didn’t want to be with me …’ He pulled back as I pushed myself to sitting.

  I blushed. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I just lost the run of myself when I saw you. It’s not that I don’t have feelings for you. I do. You know I do. But it’s more complicated than that.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be. Things are only ever as complicated as you make them. You deserve to be happy, you know. We deserve to be happy. You deserve not to have to watch your back. To not have to worry about every blue car that drives past you or whoever sends you flowers. You should be able to live a normal life. You should be able to live an extraordinary life. To be loved extraordinarily.’

  I let his words sink in for a moment. Tried to find a truth in them that was more important than the truth of my responsibilities to my family and my love for them. A love that was extraordinary in its own way.

  ‘That may be the case,’ I said, pulling my T-shirt over my head.

  It was startling how soon my skin cooled without the weight of him on me. How my body missed his. I put my hand to his cheek, tilted his head so he was looking directly in my eyes.

  ‘But I can’t put my happiness above that of my girls. I don’t think I could ever be happy without them. My marriage may have its difficulties, and it may well be over in all but name, but we have to try for them at least. I’m so scared that there are times when I feel I can’t breathe. But my girls, they didn’t do anything to deserve me suddenly disappearing from their lives. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in this world, but there’s one thing I know I’ve done right. I’ve been a good mother. A really loving mother. I can’t screw that up, even if it means …’

  He stared straight ahead, ran his fingers through his hair.

  ‘This is messed up, isn’t it?’ he said.

  I nodded.

  It was more than messed up.

  ‘But you understand? What kind of a person would I be to turn my back on my own children? Surely they’d see it as a rejection of them.’

  ‘So you’d rather reject me?’ he asked, his gaze still turned from mine.

  ‘It’s not like that,’ I said. ‘You know I care for you.’

  My voice was shaky now. I didn’t want to hurt him. He’d shown me nothing but kindness, and friendship and love.

  ‘Care for me? When I love you? You just “care” for me?’

  There was anger in his voice now. I couldn’t blame him. I felt wretched. I shouldn’t have come here. I certainly shouldn’t have had sex with him.

  ‘Michael, let’s not make this harder than it already is,’ I said, shuffling to move out of the car.

  He climbed backwards, stood in the warm evening sunshine. His clothes dishevelled. His hair messy. Sunlight shining directly on him. He was simply stunning and this, I knew, would break my heart.

  ‘I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I hurt them,’ I repeated. ‘When I became a mother I took on that responsibility. That I’d never hurt them. A mother doesn’t do that,’ I said, standing beside him.

  He moved away from me and I followed.

  He sniffed. Kicked at the parched ground beneath his feet, sending small clouds of dust billowing into the air.

  ‘You know what, Rachel. You live in a very privileged world. Some mothers do, you know. Some mothers reject their children, no matter what their children do. That’s what real life is like. It’s not all sunshine and roses and happy families.’

  ‘You’re telling me life isn’t just all sunshine and roses less than a week after my best friend was murdered? A year after my mother died much too young from a brutal disease? Do you think I don’t fucking know that life is horrific?’

  I was angry then. I knew he was hurting. It was written all over his face, but how dare he accuse me of coming from a life of privilege! Of living in some cosseted world where people didn’t get hurt! I knew people did. I knew people suffered terrible, awful things. I knew it and it made me want to scream at him.

  He was glaring at me, defiant. Like a child himself, about to throw a tantrum. It made me realise just how little I really knew him. It had just been a fantasy. Madness. None of it had been real life.

  I shook my head. I had nothing more to say. I just wanted to go home.

  ‘You’re as selfish as you ever were, Rachel!’ he spat. ‘A spoiled, stuck-up bitch who doesn’t care who you hurt. You only think you know horror. I’ve seen it,’ he said. ‘I’ve caused it. And it was all that she deserved. Another stuck-up bitch. Oh! her face, Rachel, when she realised. It was almost as priceless as yours is now …’

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Elizabeth

  ‘Some memory loss is to be expected with a stroke of this magnitude,’ I heard the doctor say. ‘We’re confident that thrombolysis was carried out in a timely enough manner to minimise long-term damage, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a long road ahead of you, Elizabeth.’ He perched himself on the end of my bed, as if settling himself for a long chat. ‘We’ll be looking at a holistic approach. You’ll require an assessment from the occupational therapist, and physio, of course.

  ‘We’ll see how things settle or improve over the coming days and check what other support we can offer. See if you need speech therapy. You know we’ll be appointing a social worker, don’t you? We’re aware you live alone and your son-in-law tells me that his house wouldn’t be suitable for you as it is, so we need to look at the best options going forwards.’

  I took a breath. Every word required effort.

  ‘Want to go home,’ I stuttered.

  ‘I know that, Elizabeth,’ the doctor said. ‘That’ll be our aim, but we have to be practical, too. We have to make sure you’re looked after. Is there any other family we should be in touch with? Siblings, nieces or nephews?’

  I shook my head. My only sister had lived in England for the last forty-seven years and we saw each other once a year at most. Her family were grown, lived in England, too. I didn’t have a big family to fall back on. I didn’t even feel it fair to worry her by calling. Although my son-in-law had overruled me on that and had insisted she was told anyway.

  ‘She’s booking a flight,’ he’d told me when he was in earlier. ‘Her daughter’s coming with her. She wondered, could she stay in the farmhouse?’

  I’d nodded, although what she’d make of my ramshackle home was anyone’s guess. It had been in a much better condition the last time she’d been over. For Laura’s wake and funeral. I suppose I’d let it go since then, even more so since my accident.

  Lying in my hospital bed, I couldn’t get Laura out of my mind. She was in my thoughts, more so than before. I kept getting a feeling there was something about her that I needed to tell someone. I was sure I’d seen her in the house, when my head had started to spin, even though I knew that wasn’t possible. Ever since, I’d felt her with me. Close by. But not close enough to reach.

  Maybe it was that life-flashing-before-your-eyes thing people talk about. I’d had patients swear it to me before, when they’d had a scare. That they could see their loved ones waiting for them on the other side. She was there, I was sure of it. Waiting for me.

  I wished I’d gone to her. Instead, here I was, the left side of my body numb, more useless than it had been before; the nurses having to feed me and change me and my memory sketchy at best. And what did I have to look forward to? Life in a care home? Old before my time. Or alone, in an empty house, with just the occasiona
l visits from Max and Ava to keep me going.

  I was aware they were growing up. In time their old granny, in her fusty old home, would become less and less appealing. They’d be making their own way in life and it wouldn’t involve me.

  I wished I’d died. I know that’s a sin even to think, but it was how I felt. I gave in to self-pity, felt a tear roll down my cheek.

  ‘I know you’ve been through the wars,’ the doctor said, his voice soft. ‘Finding that poor girl and now this. DI Bradley filled us in on everything. You must feel overwhelmed! But you’re strong, Elizabeth. You’re a legend around these parts, and you can and will get through this, and we’ll help you do it. The staff think very highly of you; after all, you were one of us for so long. So it’s our turn to give back to you now and take care of you as well as you took care of all the patients who came through your care here.’

  He couldn’t have known I wasn’t crying because of how I felt physically – I was crying because I missed my daughter so badly that I didn’t think I could endure another day without her. And I was crying because I wasn’t a legend at all. I may have been a good nurse in my day, but that didn’t make me anything special. I was as flawed, if not more so, as anyone else.

  I’d not done things right and I had a feeling all this could be karma catching up with me. I was reaping what I’d sown and I had no one to blame but myself.

  ‘Now, you get a good sleep, Elizabeth. You need to conserve your strength. Physio will be around later to have a little chat with you and no doubt your son-in-law will be in this evening, too. He’s very devoted to you, Elizabeth.’

  The ward sister who’d been standing at the end of my bed watching the exchange nodded.

  ‘You’re lucky to have him. Now, Mrs O’Loughlin, looking at your file, I see your daughter, Laura, is listed as your next of kin.’ She spoke so softly, with a look of sympathy that everyone I’d ever spoken to about Laura had worn over the last two years. ‘Should we update it? Maybe to your son-in-law?’

  I nodded. There was no point in updating it to anyone else. Michael was the closest family I had left. Everyone else had left me.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Rachel

  It didn’t make sense. What Michael was saying. I looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. My brain was processing his words but surely he couldn’t have really said what he did? Could he?

  ‘You look confused,’ he said, taking one step closer. ‘I’ll spell it out for you, lovely, stupid, selfish Rachel. I killed your friend. I slit her throat while she was looking directly into my eyes. I stood and watched her bleed for a while, flounder around on the ground like a fish. I was the one who left her to die, on the roadside. I didn’t expect her to last so long. That she did, that she suffered, just made it all the more rewarding.’

  I was frozen to the spot by his words. Paralysed by what he was saying. My brain struggled to reconcile his admission of guilt with the Michael I knew. The Michael I’d fallen in love with.

  ‘No!’ I muttered, shaking my head.

  The movement seemed to release a burst of adrenaline in me, a surge of fear. His expression was now changed, as if he’d taken off a mask. Grisly, horrid, gruesome. In that second, I knew he was showing me the real him for the first time and it terrified me.

  The adrenaline coursing through my veins propelled me into action. I had to get away. The fight or flight response was screaming at me to flee. As fast as I could.

  I turned towards my car, only to feel his hand grip my arm and try to spin me back towards him. I pulled as hard as I could, feeling his vice-like grip twist my skin, burn it. The strength of his hold made me fear he could simply snap my arm in two if he wanted.

  All I had to do was get to my car. Hit the button on the phone. Signal to the police that I needed them. My location would be sent directly to them. I pulled as hard as I could, even though I could feel my muscles screaming at me to stop. I tried to scream for help, but even if I’d managed it, what good would it have done me?

  We were here, miles from anywhere, in a car park barely used by anyone any more, along a quiet country lane.

  ‘Let me go!’ I managed, my feet losing their purchase on the dusty ground.

  I could feel his body pressing against mine – not in passion this time. No desire. No need. No love.

  I felt his arm snake around my chest, pull me backwards towards him. Away from my car. Away from the SOS call of the alarm. There was no tenderness. No love in the way I felt his breath, hot and heavy, at my ear.

  ‘You don’t get to reject me, Rachel!’ he spat, drops of spittle hitting my skin, making me recoil. ‘Not before I’ve done what I set out to do.’

  I felt his hand on my throat and his grasp tightened; the air squeezed from my lungs, my head tilted backwards. I tried to kick out, but my feet were sliding on the ground, my shoes being pulled from my feet, falling off as he dragged me towards his car.

  ‘The more you struggle, the more it’ll hurt, or maybe you’d like it to hurt?’ he sneered.

  I shook my head, again trying to pull away from him. I tried to claw his hand from my throat but he was too strong, using his other arm to immobilise my arms. All the kicking and flailing in the world had me going nowhere. Achieved nothing.

  ‘Please, let me go,’ I gasped. ‘I’ve got to go home. They’re expecting me. Paul will send the police out if I’m not back. They’ll be on their way.’

  ‘Then we’d better get out of here,’ he said, reaching his car and pulling open the passenger seat. ‘Get in.’

  I shook my head, struggled more.

  ‘I said get in!’ he demanded loudly, forcefully. His face contorting in front of my eyes to the point that I no longer recognised him as the man he’d been to me just minutes before.

  ‘No!’ I shouted as loud as my burning lungs would allow. ‘No! I won’t. Let. Me. Go!’

  ‘Do you really think anyone’ll hear you?’ he sneered, pushing me towards the car, trying to force my body to fold into it.

  I fought. I fought with all of my might. My heart pounding, my body slick with sweat, pulling against him, using every ounce of my strength. I could feel the gravel on the ground tear at my feet. Had Clare fought this hard? Had she been this scared?

  A punch to my stomach folded me in half, drove the air from my body until I was gasping for breath I couldn’t find. I looked up at him, at his green eyes that had looked down at me with such love just a short time ago, trying to find some trace of the man I thought he was.

  It was gone. There was nothing there to hope for or to cling to. I felt bile rise up and I didn’t have the strength to swallow it down. I threw up, my own vomit spattering the ground, his legs, my legs. It came in shuddering explosions of acidic liquid that I couldn’t stop.

  I felt the car door crunch against my legs as he tried to force me further backwards onto the seat. I saw the shadow of his hand, raised against the sunlight. Tried to move my head as I saw it come at me …

  Then my head was thrust backwards so forcefully, I felt the grinding and tearing of muscle, could taste blood in my mouth as my teeth slammed into my tongue. The impact of the back of my head hitting the top of the car was the last thing I remembered. That and the feeling of my body giving way beneath me.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Rachel

  The first thing I was aware of was the pain in my head. It was unlike any headache I’d ever had before. I felt as if my eye socket had been crushed. Even in my half consciousness, I knew something was badly wrong. I felt sick with the pain and there was a foul taste in my mouth. Vomit mixed with blood. My head spinning, I opened my eyes, but it was so dark, I couldn’t figure out where I was.

  Except I knew he was beside me. I could hear his breathing. Smell him. We were still in his car, but we weren’t moving. I tried to orientate myself but wherever we were, there were no streetlights, no sound of passing traffic. We were alone. But as my eyes adjusted I could see we weren’t in the car par
k at Ness Woods any more.

  ‘You’ve been out a while,’ Michael said. ‘I was starting to wonder if I’d hit your head too hard before.’

  There was a flare as a match was struck and he lit a cigarette. From the brief glow of the flame I could see we were surrounded by buildings.

  ‘Do you not recognise it?’ Michael asked, blowing smoke in my direction.

  The acrid smell of it made me choke. I needed to run. I needed to get my bearings. I slid my left hand to the door handle and pulled at it, but the door wouldn’t open.

  He tutted. ‘Child lock,’ was all he said.

  ‘Please,’ I said, my mouth parched. It was still so warm even though it was dark. There wasn’t a breath of air in the car. ‘Please, just let me go, Michael. I’ve the girls to get home to. They need me.’

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t you know where you are?’

  I could see shadows, shapes emerging in the darkness. It was starting to look familiar.

  Michael flicked on the headlights of the car for just a few seconds. Long enough for me to see exactly where we were and to know that there’d be no one within hearing distance. Set back from the road, the abandoned school site at St Catherine’s – where Clare, Julie and I had been pupils – had long been boarded up, the grounds left to rot and let nature reclaim while decisions were being made about a new purpose. It had been at least ten years since any pupils had walked through these corridors.

  A hotchpotch of buildings of different ages, different designs, now silent and empty of the 1,200 girls who used to walk the corridors daily between lessons. It had been an impressive site in its day, sitting proudly on the banks of the Foyle, but now it felt claustrophobic, creepy, isolated.

  ‘Why?’ I asked him.

  ‘You’ll find out,’ was all he said, getting out of his car door and walking round to me.

  I didn’t know what to do. Should I refuse to move, force him to pull me out of the car kicking and screaming? Would anyone hear my screaming, anyway? Would it use up whatever energy I had left? Should I try to negotiate with him?