by Adele Parks
‘Really?’ Ben’s eyebrows shoot up to meet his hairline because this is news to him.
‘Yeah, she told me so today. That’s why we rowed.’
Liam nodded and observed, ‘I guess me being his biological son didn’t bother her as much as it bothered you, or else we’d never have become a thing.’
In that moment, I am so grateful for his uncomplicated, innocent, almost self-centred view of life. Liam has not considered that Abi might have had darker reasons for seducing him and his naivety will protect him, at least for a while. At least for tonight.
Then Ben asks, ‘What happened at the police station?’
‘It was surreal. I can’t believe I’ve been questioned in a police station about an actual crime. Me.’
‘Did they press charges?’ asks Ben, gently.
‘No.’ I don’t add, not yet, although that is my feeling, they might. This isn’t over.
‘Did they cuff you?’ asks Liam, with a hint of alarm.
‘No.’
‘Or put you in a cell?’
‘No, no, nothing like that.’ I want to reassure him. ‘They gave me a cup of tea but it was a bit frightening. An ordeal. It’s all a big mix-up. The photographer apparently thinks she saw me push Abi down the stairs.’
Suddenly, Liam stands up. ‘Look, I’m going to go up to bed. I want to have another go at getting through to Abi at the hospital, at least see if they’ll tell me anything more. And then I need to crash.’
I get it, he needs to be alone. He needs some space from me and even Ben. I’m scared that I’ve said too much, that I’ve upset him. ‘Are you OK, darling? Look, don’t worry about me. It will all sort out.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ Weariness has swallowed him. I can see it in his every movement. He looks as though he’s carrying a tank around on his back. We say goodnight. I resist jumping up and holding him again. Even though I want to sponge up as many hugs as possible, following the dearth of them over the past months, I understand that he needs his space.
Ben and I listen as Liam drags his feet upstairs. We hear the bathroom door open and close behind him. It sounds so reassuringly normal to hear him go about his ablutions.
‘So, he didn’t want to go back to his flat tonight?’ I ask.
‘No, I asked him. He said he wanted to come home.’
‘Did he say “home”?’
‘Yeah, he did.’ Ben smiles at me and we both sink into the moment, one of relief and gratitude. ‘Do you fancy a glass of wine now?’
‘I do, but I’m going to resist. I need to keep a clear head.’
‘In that case Ribena or elderflower cordial?’
‘Elderflower cordial, please.’
Ben stands up and while he has his back to me he says, ‘Your experience at the police station sounds awful.’
‘Well, it wasn’t a picnic and I don’t think it’s over yet.’ I accept the glass he’s handed me. ‘Did you notice that in all the questions Liam asked, there was one he didn’t bother with.’
‘Which was what?’
‘He didn’t ask me whether I pushed her.’
‘He’d never think that of you,’ says Ben reassuringly. Then after a beat he adds, ‘Did you push her?’
‘Ben! No.’ I’m not offended that Ben has asked this. I feel he’s entitled for the avoidance of doubt. His question is a consequence of me feeding him information on a need-to-know basis for over a decade.
‘Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t think you’d maliciously set out to hurt her, but I couldn’t rule out the possibility that she somehow had provoked you. I know you’ve been under a lot of strain and I know you’ll do anything for Liam, for any of our children.’
‘Well, she did provoke. She said she came here to get pregnant by Liam, as a sort of proxy to Rob. She said she was owed as much because I stole her opportunities to become a parent with Rob, when I fell pregnant.’
‘What? That makes no sense.’
‘She said she doesn’t love Liam, that she just wanted to steal him away from me and to destroy his opportunities, to get him to give up college and even leave the country. To punish me.’
‘Fuck. Are you sure you didn’t push her? I might have if I’d been there.’
‘No, I didn’t.’ I sigh. ‘But Tanya did.’
Ben is shocked, stunned. ‘Tanya?’
‘I hadn’t even realised she was there. I was too caught up with rowing with Abi, but she was there. She was the photographer’s assistant. Well, not really, but that’s who everyone thought she was, and I think the photographer assumed she was with the hotel.’
‘I’m not following.’
‘She sneaked in to Abi’s room. I’m not sure why, exactly. I imagine it was for some sort of showdown. I didn’t notice her, there was too much going on, but she heard everything Abi was saying to me. All the taunts and threats and accusations. She pushed Abi. I saw her do it. She was right next to me.’
‘You’ve told the police this, Mel?’
‘No, no, I haven’t.’
‘But you are going to.’ Ben is a picture of concern. I think he knows me well enough to correctly anticipate, and therefore dread, my answer.
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure I can let Abi draw another young person into this mess. Our mess. If I point the finger and they believe me they’ll charge Tanya. She’ll have a criminal record. Her life will be over before it’s begun. Ben, she wants to be a vet, with a practice in the country. That’s not going to happen if she gets charged with assault.’
‘But if they don’t charge her, then they’ll charge you.’
‘Maybe, but they have no evidence I did it, because I didn’t do it, so a charge won’t stick.’
‘I’m not sure that will be the case, Mel; things don’t always work out that way. And anyway, you said the photographer made a statement declaring that she saw you do it.’
‘Through her lens, yes, but she made a mistake.’
‘Then you’ll have to refute that.’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
Ben weighs it up. ‘And you think the charge will be assault?’
‘I do, but there are varying degrees of assault. A lot depends on Abi.’
‘Abi?’
‘How serious her injuries turn out to be and to what extent she wants to pursue the matter. I heard a lot of confusing things at the police station. Common assault, actual bodily harm. If—’ I break off. It’s too sad.
‘If what?’
‘If things go really badly for Abi and the baby, then the charge will be grievous bodily harm.’
Ben shakes his head, at a loss. ‘What can we do?’
‘We can hope. That’s all. Just hope.’
62
Abigail
Monday 25th June
It hurt, everything hurt. Her ankle, her ribs, her head. Those parts of her body throbbed, admittedly with an intensity that she hadn’t felt before, but at least the sensation was familiar. The pain between her legs was different. She felt tender, precarious.
She had told them that she didn’t want visitors, they were not to admit anyone. She had medical insurance and a private room. She didn’t want to speak to or see a single soul. They were not to discuss details of her condition, no matter who asked.
The nurses looked concerned when she issued this instruction. They believed visitors could be cheering, valuable. ‘People want to know you are conscious and comfortable. Your friend Melanie has called about half a dozen times.’
‘Tell her nothing, or I’ll sue you,’ snapped Abi. The nurses rolled their eyes, used to empty threats and worse.
Later, Abi was told, ‘There’s a young man here to see you. He says he’s your fiancé.’
‘He’s a fantasist. Don’t let him in,’ she commanded, then she turned her head away from the door, looked towards the wall. She didn’t move her body. Not an inch.
On the second day, Abi had called the estate agents who managed the apartment she was renting. She�
��d explained her circumstances and, for a fee, she secured their cooperation. Other people no doubt would ask friends to help out, but Abi had no friends here in the UK – there had only ever been Mel. The estate agent could delegate to professional removal people. They would pack everything up. Her clothes and possessions in one case, his in another. They had to clear the baby’s room. She told them what to bring to her, what to leave in the apartment. ‘You can do as you please with everything else.’
On the third day, when Abi was checking out, she decided she was ready to take Mel’s call; it came at ten a.m. Abi had just signed all the necessary papers for her release and was tentatively walking down the hospital corridor. She felt like her body was made of delicate glass.
‘What do you want, Melanie?’ she asked.
‘How are you, Abi?’ Mel’s voice was full of concern. It was peculiar, confusing. She had no right to be concerned. ‘We’ve been trying to get some news. No one would tell us a thing. Liam has been going out of his mind with worry.’ And yet, Abi noted wearily, it was his mother calling. Persisting. Abi sighed. Her fiancé was a boy, after all. ‘So, how are you?’ asked Melanie, again; breathless, anxious.
‘Hollow.’
Mel gasped, taking the meaning of Abi’s response just as Abi intended. ‘The baby?’ she asked fearfully.
‘Gone.’
‘Abi, I am so—’
‘Don’t say it. Just don’t fucking say it, Melanie. You are not sorry.’ Abigail could hear Melanie’s breathing down the phone; it was jagged, ripped, but she didn’t say a word. Abi kept walking. ‘This is what you wanted.’ Her tone was accusatory, angry.
‘No, it isn’t. I didn’t want any of this and I am sorry for you.’ Mel sounded almost calm, certainly controlled. It was infuriating, insulting.
‘The police have been here, questioning me about what I remember. I get the feeling they think my fall down the stairs wasn’t accidental. Your name came up.’
‘Really.’
Abi had expected Melanie to sound more desperate, to deny it more vehemently. She was usually so panicked, so apologetic and therefore easy to manipulate. Abi was disappointed by Mel’s reaction, strangely hurt by it. She tried to goad her. ‘They seemed very interested in the fact that we were rowing and they wanted to know where you were standing when I fell.’
‘You can’t remember, can you?’ Mel asked.
Abigail wondered how to answer. She could lie. Finish this. Finish Mel. Blame someone for her hurt, for her pain. However, the truth was, no, she couldn’t remember. The last thing she remembered was kneeling down to pick up her photos of Rob. She’d had a concussion. People often lost a few moments of their life after a concussion, especially those leading up to the injury. Maybe it was the body’s way of dealing with trauma; it blanked out the horror, to enable healing. Still, there would be nothing easier than saying she could remember the feel of someone’s hands on the base of her back. No one could prove otherwise. If she closed her eyes and concentrated she could imagine the feeling of being shoved. Hands giving her a jolt, leaving an imprint that scorched her, as though she was branded. Yes, she could easily imagine that. Almost remember it. She didn’t know if Mel had pushed her, but she wasn’t an idiot, she had gathered from the police officers’ questions that they thought maybe someone had. Mel deserved to be blamed and Abi had never been overly attached to the truth if it wasn’t expedient for her.
But then, if she told the police that, there would be a court case. She’d have to stay around here. She didn’t want that. She wanted to get away. Far away, as quickly as possible.
‘Liam wants to see you, Abi.’
Abi strode down the corridor, pressed the button for the lift. ‘I don’t want to see him. You have to tell him about the baby.’
‘Oh Abi, I will if that’s what you want, but the two of you need to work through this loss together.’
‘No, that’s not what I need. I’m leaving.’
‘You’re leaving?’
‘I want to get away from here.’
‘What do you mean? Where will you go?’
‘I might go back to the States, I might go to Australia. I just need some space. Will you tell Liam?’
‘You must to talk to him. He should hear it from you.’
Abi was surprised. She’d thought that Mel would do anything to stand between Abi and her precious boy. She had not expected Mel to dignify their relationship, not even the end of it. She’d expected to be able to ring the death knell without any resistance. Impatiently Abi said, ‘For fuck’s sake, Melanie. It’s not much to ask, is it? It’s what you wanted. I’m going away. I’m not taking your son with me. Isn’t this all your Christmases at once?’
‘But why go?’
‘I don’t want him anymore.’
She hung up.
63
Melanie
‘Liam, get your coat,’ I scream up the stairs.
The urgency of my voice grabs his attention immediately – he knows I’m not going to ask him to pop out for a carton of milk. He shoots his head out of his bedroom door, concern making his brow furrow. ‘What is it?’
‘We need to get to the hospital, now. Abi needs you.’
I drive as fast as I possibly can; Liam keeps asking me what is going on. ‘I spoke with Abi.’
‘What did she say?’ He looks apprehensive. ‘How is she?’
‘You need to see her. I’ll explain when you see her. Or she will.’ I can’t say anything more. I screech my car to a halt outside the hospital doors and tell Liam to get out. ‘I’ll move the car and catch you up.’
I park the car as quickly as I can, cursing each second that’s ticking by as I queue for a parking ticket, scrabble in my purse for the right coins and then run to the hospital reception. I don’t know if this is the right call; maybe I should have simply passed on Abi’s message, let her disappear from our lives, just melt away, but I feel my son is owed more than that. He ought to have the chance to say goodbye to Abi and to their baby. It’s his right and while Abi might not want to give him that level of respect, I do.
At the hospital reception, I give Abi’s name but before the receptionist can tell me which ward she is on, I feel someone tap me on the arm. I turn and see Liam standing next to me.
‘She’s checked out,’ he says. ‘I’ve already asked about her. They said she checked out.’
‘We’ll try your apartment.’ I grab his arm and start pulling him back towards the car. ‘You’ll regret it if you don’t try to find her,’ I insist.
We drive to their apartment. Liam has to give me directions as I’ve obviously never visited. He still has his key and so we don’t knock but let ourselves in. The minute I enter the flat I know all I need to know. It is beautifully furnished, tasteful, and plush, yet it feels empty, deserted. There is a suitcase parked in the middle of the hall. Liam opens it. I can see over his shoulder; I recognise the T-shirts. He stands up, shakes his head with incomprehension. I move into the sitting room. It’s immaculate and impersonal. A show home. I don’t spot a single personal possession or any sign that anyone lives here. There are no stray trainers, no discarded video games spilling out of their boxes as I might imagine, no headphones, books or magazines. It seems that all Liam’s clothes and possessions have been packed.
He now walks into the bedroom. I watch as he opens the wardrobe, it’s empty except for coat hangers. Perhaps I imagine it, but I think they are still moving. Most likely a breeze, but it feels like we’ve only just missed her, I shiver, although I don’t believe in ghosts. Liam walks back into the hall and then heads into another room, I follow him. The walls are painted mint and white. There are silver stars painted on the ceiling and walls, clustering in one corner where there is also a moon. On one wall, written in gold paint, the words, Loved to the moon and back. There is nothing else in the room.
‘The cot? The changing mat? There was a mobile hanging here. It’s all gone,’ he says.
I realise that Abi could no
t have had time to pack everything away since she called me. She must have had help, or possibly checked out of the hospital before she rang me today. For all I know she was calling from the airport. She might be on a flight now. A flight to goodness knows where. Once again, she had everything planned. Once again, she is a step ahead of me. I can’t lie. I’m glad to see the back of her. I won’t miss her. But Liam?
‘She’s gone?’ he asks. I nod. ‘My baby? Gone too?’
‘The fall.’ My voice cracks.
Liam turns to me and we drop into each other’s arms. I hold tight to my baby as he mourns the loss of his. We cling to each other until my arms begin to ache, until my tears make his T-shirt damp.
Liam pulls back. Nods his head as he takes one last look around. ‘Let’s go home.’ He picks up his suitcase and then he slams the apartment door shut behind him.
64
Tanya
Saturday 30th June
My mum wants me to stay in bed. She thinks I’m having a breakdown. Maybe I am. I certainly do not feel anything near normal. Whatever that is. I suppose it is what I used to feel when I worried about exams, or whether I could afford a pair of shoes I didn’t need, whether I should or should not have eaten a second piece of cake. I can’t imagine being concerned about anything so mundane anymore. Those everyday matters were forgotten when Liam split up from me and they were obliterated on his wedding day. My doctor says I’m suffering from nervous exhaustion. A break-up and sitting important exams, like A-levels, can cause that; witnessing a traumatic accident triggers the sort of shock which may very well exacerbate a nervous condition. That’s what my doctor thinks. She’s recommended rest, quiet for a few days.
My diagnosis is that committing a crime can send you nuts.
I killed a baby. I didn’t mean to, but it’s my fault the baby is dead. I told my mum as much and she says I’m confused.
I’m not confused. I’m disgusting.
My mum tried to keep the news of Abigail Curtiz losing the baby from me but it’s all over social media. Of course it is. Some people have been sending their condolences to Liam – sad-faced emojis and things like that – others have just been gossiping about the whole mess behind his back. Mum does not want me to call Mrs Harrison – she’s said so three or four times, in fact she says so every time I suggest that I should. Mum does not want me to speak to anyone connected with what she calls the ‘whole terrible business’. Not even the police. Especially not the police. Even though they’ve asked for me to go into the station to make a statement about what I recall of the events. Mum told them I would, once I was up to it. I’ve told her I am up to it and she’s told me that she knows best and she’ll decide when I’m up to it.
