by Luana Lewis
I can see by the blankness in her eyes that she doesn’t want to hear what I’ve got to say.
‘Ben doesn’t talk about you very much,’ she says. ‘I thought I’d see more of you at the house.’
The teenage girls arrange themselves across three tables, with their feet propped up on chairs. They’re becoming louder and louder, laughing and screeching. A paper cup lies on its side, the straw fallen to the floor and vanilla milkshake leaking across the table top. Cleo is staring at them.
‘What sort of relationship do you have with Ben?’ she asks.
‘It’s complicated,’ I say. ‘Things aren’t great, between us.’
‘Maybe I can help,’ she says. ‘I could talk to him.’
If what Cleo says is true, that she’s fond of me and always has been, then she might be able to help, in my quest to win Ben over.
‘It’s worth a try,’ I say. ‘I’d like to convince him to trust me more, with Lexi.’
‘I can tell him how wonderful you were to me when I was her age.’
Cleo is staring at me, watching the way I rub the side of my head. ‘Would you like another cup of tea?’ she says.
‘No, thank you.’
I glance over at the counter. Behind it, there are two women, both young, both attractive with fair skin and dark hair. They laugh as they share a joke. I think they are speaking a foreign language. I wonder if one of these women was the one who saw Vivien on the morning of her death.
‘Are you all right?’ Cleo says.
‘I get these headaches on and off,’ I say. ‘I think I need to walk for a bit, to get some air.’
Cleo holds the door open and I walk out ahead of her as we leave the café and head down the slope. In front of us, the BT tower rears up in the midst of the fading London skyline.
A wooden jaguar is poised above an empty bench, as though he’s waiting to pounce. I hear a lion roar.
As we walk, the fog creeps down around us, lower and lower, until I can hardly see anything but white mist. I don’t know if we’re alone on this path, or if there are people nearby. My daughter used to run this route, day in and day out.
‘It was like this on the day she died,’ Cleo says. ‘You could hardly see two feet in front of your face.’
Chapter 9
We arrive at the funfair early on Saturday morning, before it gets too crowded. Giant teacups swirl pink and yellow against the dull sky. Lexi is pulling us towards the twisted tracks of the rollercoaster which snake high above the river. Her ginger curls blow into her eyes and her already pale skin grows ever more pale as the wind coming off the river whips against her face. Ghost-like, Vivien used to say.
The grey coat she wears is so dour; I don’t understand why Vivien never dressed her daughter in anything bright, or why she kept Lexi’s hair so short when the colour is so lovely.
Maybe I’m holding her hand too tight. I ease my grip a little.
‘Thank you for inviting me today,’ I say to Ben. He’s holding on to Lexi’s other hand. Like the other night, he looks terrible, his eyes bleak.
‘You can thank Isaac,’ he says. ‘He seems to agree with you that Lexi needs her grandmother in her life.’
‘I’m glad.’
Whatever Ben may think, his daughter does need me. And I need her too. With her hand in mine, I feel a little stronger.
Isaac, as usual in his mackintosh, walks a few paces behind us. I feel reassured by his presence.
‘Have you been on a rollercoaster before?’ I ask Lexi. I have to raise my voice, because the wind drowns my words.
She shakes her head.
‘You’re sure you want to do this?’ Ben says.
Lexi nods, but her eyes widen as she looks at the tracks looming in front of us. But in the end, it’s Ben and I who are most nervous, and Isaac steps forward. He claims he’s not afraid of heights or speed, he took his stepdaughters on these rides often, he says. Ben gives him a grateful pat on the back.
Lexi lets go of our hands and she and Isaac take their places in the short queue. Ben and I lean against the railings and keep watch over them. As they inch closer to the front, Lexi grows more subdued. She tucks her hands into the pockets of her coat and her head droops down. I wonder if she’s going to be sick all over Isaac. I feel a little better when I see that children even smaller than she is have joined the queue. They all cling to their mothers’ hands.
My hair blows across my face as I smile and wave at my granddaughter. I take out my phone and ready the camera. When their turn comes, Lexi shuffles in to the small carriage first and Isaac follows close behind her. The attendant has a downy black moustache and his hair is tied back in a ponytail. He looks much too young and too careless to be in charge of safety issues. Disinterestedly, he clicks the harness bar into place. Lexi feels for it and pulls it back and forth several times, checking it’s secure. I take a photograph, but she’s not smiling and the shot is blurred. Isaac whispers something in her ear.
I wave as the little cart trundles away but they don’t see me. Slowly, they climb. Higher and higher. Lexi’s body is pressed up right against Isaac’s side. Their cart stops for a second or two at the highest point on the track. It sways in the wind and I hold my breath, then it pitches forward and down, as though flying straight off the edge of a cliff.
‘I had tea with Cleo yesterday,’ I say. ‘In Regent’s Park.’
Ben is looking up at the rollercoaster as it begins the next climb.
‘She’s been a great support,’ he says. ‘Vivien and I made a few friends in the area, through the school, but it’s not the same. In a weird way, having Cleo around is like having a piece of Vivien back with me. She knew Vivien inside and out, I don’t have to explain anything. I suppose that sounds odd.’
‘I’m glad for you,’ I say. And I am, truly.
Ben’s vulnerability does not come as a surprise. I see this every day at work; the way trauma opens a person up, and pulls down their defences. I only hope Cleo doesn’t take advantage.
The ride is mercifully brief. And a rip-off, considering the price. Isaac and Lexi pull in to the start position in their little cart and the disinterested employee unlocks the bar and sets them free. Lexi runs over to Ben and pulls at his arm, she’s insistent, jumping up and down and pointing at the ticket booth. Ben is laughing and it is a pleasure to see them happy, free of their pain for even a short time. He goes to buy them another set of tickets.
The cart sets off again, Lexi gripping the safety bar and grinning as Ben and I wave goodbye. I feel my heart contract. She looks like any other normal child, I tell myself. She can recover. Once again, the rollercoaster begins its slow, suspense-filled ascent as Ben and I stand side by side at the railings. Lexi is already a seasoned rollercoaster fan, and this time her screams are more for show. She pitches down towards us, her arms in the air. Isaac, on the other hand, looks a little greyer and less enthusiastic.
‘Has DS Cole been in touch with you again?’ Ben says.
‘Yes. She was at the hospital.’
He turns to face me. ‘What did she want?’
I hesitate. Things are tentatively good between us. Here I am, a normal grandmother on a normal family outing. I don’t want to talk about Vivien and Ben’s argument or the night he spent in a hotel. I don’t even want to think about it. But I have no choice, because I’m not about to lie to him.
‘She asked if I knew about an argument, between you and Vivien, the day before she died. I told her I didn’t know anything about it. Which I didn’t.’
Ben nods. His jaw clenches. I reach out and give his shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘I’m sorry, Ben. I can imagine how you feel.’
I’m desperate not to say the wrong thing, not to make his guilt worse, and so I say nothing more. I feel as though I’m walking a tightrope, trying not to make things worse for Ben, and between us. Though he doesn’t look at me, he reaches up and pats my hand, which still rests on his shoulder.
‘I worry about the press,’ Ben
says. ‘You need to be careful what you say, I don’t want any gossip being leaked. Our story is a lucrative one and Met officers are only human. Isaac said he had several police contacts who used to feed him information.’
I’m shocked by what Ben has said. I had assumed he would be consumed with regret, not concerned about gossip. Because the last time he ever saw Vivien, he was angry at her. He abandoned her.
My hand slips from his shoulder. My skin is mottled from the cold. ‘I answer her questions, that’s all. I don’t embellish.’
‘Good,’ he says.
The Lizard Man is coming closer, he’s bare-chested, covered in green scales from head to toe. His forked tongue flickers as he calls out, offering us tickets to the freak show. I can’t look at him, at the grotesque damage he’s inflicted on himself, the tattoos, the spliced tongue, the protuberances along his eyebrows.
When Ben speaks, his tone is bitter, even as he smiles and waves at his daughter as the little cart trundles back to the starting point. ‘Don’t forget,’ he says, ‘that anything reported in the press will be all over the internet. It will stay there, in perpetuity. And it will hurt Lexi when she’s old enough to search for information about her mother’s death.’
‘Ben, I understand.’
There hasn’t been as much in the papers about Vivien’s death as I had expected. Perhaps this reflects the extent of Ben’s influence, or the rarefied community they live in where their neighbours and friends are wary of gossip and the impact of such reports on house prices. In any event, my daughter remains as private in death as she was in life.
Isaac helps Lexi to step down from the rollercoaster and they walk through the barriers and back towards us, hand in hand. They are both smiling, at ease in each other’s company.
‘I haven’t said anything to anyone,’ I say. ‘There’s nothing to say. I knew nothing about the argument, and Vivien never talked to me about your marriage, if that’s what you’re worried about. I have no intention of ever compromising my daughter’s privacy. I was surprised to hear you walked out on her, because that’s so unlike you. But my only concern is Lexi’s well-being, and yours, too.’
Ben has turned his back on me and I’m not sure if he’s heard me. He holds out his arms and Lexi runs towards him. He swings her up into the air and then clasps her close to his chest.
The wind doesn’t let up, and silver-blonde strands blow around my face as I try in vain to pat them down into some kind of order.
I notice that as Isaac draws closer, he pats Ben on the back. It is a gesture of warmth and of familiarity. It makes me think of a father’s touch.
At around eight thirty that night, my mobile rings. I can barely hear what Ben is saying because of the noise in the background. Lexi is screaming.
I can hear he is desperate and even before the brief call is over, I am grabbing my coat and pulling on my boots. The door of my flat slams shut behind me and I run down the stairs. I flag down a passing cab and I tell him to hurry.
I know it’s wrong to feel this way but I am pleased. Pleased that Ben called me; pleased to be needed.
When he opens the front door, Lexi is in his arms, barely, and he’s trying to restrain her. She twists her body back and forth, her fists pound at him and her legs thrash. She is red in the face.
She is shouting No. Over and over again. No. No. No.
I push open the gate and rush up the stairs towards them, and I hold out my arms for her. Ben stumbles, as she slips from his grasp and I am there to grab hold of her. She pushes me away at first, but I manage to catch both of her wrists. She’s a solid little thing, but I’m much stronger. I kick the front door shut behind me.
Ben takes a few steps away, looking shell shocked.
My surprise appearance seems to have done the trick, because Lexi has stopped shouting and she’s no longer struggling. I loosen my grip on her wrists and wrap my arms around her middle. I sit down on the floor, pulling her onto my lap, and I hold her tight.
Ben stands over us. His T-shirt is damp and creased and there are sweat stains under his arms. He’s barefoot and unshaven and I think I catch a whiff of alcohol. There is an angry red mark on his left cheek, under his eye.
I don’t say anything. I sit on the floor of the hall, my arms wrapped around Lexi, and I simply hold on. Gradually she settles. I notice the unusual coldness of her skin. Mine is the same, as though, since Vivien died, our bones have turned to ice, freezing us from the inside out.
Ben walks away, into the living room. I can see him through the doorway and I watch as he pours himself a glass of whisky.
‘What’s the matter, Lexi?’ I whisper, my mouth against her damp curls. Her hair smells sour, as though she’s been ill. Her eyes are red and puffy and snot streams from her nose. She looks wretched.
I keep hold of her with one hand as I reach into the pocket of my coat with the other, and take out a tissue. I wipe her cheeks, her nose, her mouth.
‘Mummy,’ she says.
I think that’s what she says.
She lays her head back against my chest. Ben is watching us again, from the doorway of the living room, a glass in his hand. Father and daughter are the same shade of ashen.
I carry Lexi up to her bedroom. It takes all my effort, but I manage. Her head lies heavy on my shoulder. When I lay her down on her bed, she turns away, onto her side. Her eyelids droop as I lean over her to smooth her wild curls away from her face. I pull her duvet around her, and tuck the quilt down under the edges of the mattress.
I sit on the edge of the bed and hold her hand and watch her as she drifts away. I hope my touch might give her some sense of comfort in a world that has become so unsafe. I feel helpless, looking at her.
Ben has not come up to check on her.
Lexi seems to be fast asleep, and so I walk back downstairs. I pull my boots off, leaving them under the round mahogany table. I drape my coat over the banister. I could do with a whisky myself.
‘Ben?’
I peer inside but the living room is empty. The drinks cabinet stands wide open and the whisky bottle is gone. I return to the entrance hall and peer down over the banister, into the basement, where there is only a thick and silent darkness. I walk up again, to the first floor, and pop my head round Lexi’s door. She’s sound asleep.
The lights on the landing seem too bright. It’s eerie, standing here, surrounded by these photographs, by the ghosts of a happy family.
‘Ben?’
There is no answer.
I climb up to the second floor, gripping the banister for support. By the time I reach the top of the staircase, I feel drained and my legs have grown weak, as though they no longer have the strength to hold me upright. I stop.
My favourite portrait of Vivien hangs here, on the landing. Her wedding veil covers her face, softening her features as she gazes out at me. Her eyes still burn, intense and alive. She is my exotic princess, my sleek, dark-eyed panther.
My daughter always stood out. Not quite Asian, not quite Caucasian, her features shifting and blending. There was something arresting about her, something that made people want to stare; the almond shape of her eyes, perhaps, or the way she held herself.
I reach out and place my hand against the cool glass that covers her skin. Then I turn away and I step into the master bedroom.
On my left is a dressing room lined with tall oak wardrobes. The lights are on in here and I catch sight of myself in the standing mirror placed at the far end of the room. I look as haggard as I expected, my face is crumpled, my hair lank. There is something eerie about my reflection. I am drained of colour, as though I’m looking at myself in black and white, as though I’m looking at my own ghost.
I see Vivien, as a toddler, staring at herself in the mirror, pouting and smiling and pleased with what she saw.
I walk deeper into the room, and I open each of the cupboards in turn. The first two are filled with suits, shirts and ties. They smell of leather and vetiver, of Ben. But when I open the t
hird one, Vivien’s scent floats out, her sweet, floral perfume. Her clothes still hang in neat rows, as though she might return. My fingers close around a soft crêpe dress. I pull it out and hold it against my face. I breathe her in.
When I open my eyes, Ben is standing in the doorway. Embarrassed, I push the dress back into place, and close the cupboard.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude. I came up here to look for you.’
He gestures towards the cupboard behind me. ‘Did you want to take something of hers?’
‘No. Thank you. But I’m sure Lexi will want to have her things, when she’s older. You won’t throw them away, will you?’
‘No. Of course I won’t throw them away,’ he says.
‘Lexi’s fast asleep.’
Ben seems disoriented. ‘I meant to lie down for a few moments and I passed out.’
‘I’m glad you called me. I’m glad I could help.’
‘Thank you. You were a lifesaver tonight. I think all the excitement this morning must have been too much for her. She fell asleep at around five, in front of the television, and I carried her up to bed. Then a couple of hours later she woke up, and she was in a state. I couldn’t get her to calm down. She’d been hysterical for half an hour before I phoned you. I thought I was going to lose it.’
‘But you didn’t. You did the right thing in calling me.’
‘She’s always been a terrible sleeper,’ he says. ‘She’s always had nightmares and tantrums. And Vivien had to deal with all of it on her own. I was never home for bedtime, for any of it. And since Viv died, she wakes almost every night. Sometimes I hear her crying in her bed, other times I find her wandering around the house. It’s never been as bad as it was tonight.’
There is a sheen of sweat on his face, and the smell of body odour and alcohol is strong in the small dressing room.
‘She was calmer with you,’ he says.
‘She was worn out by the time I got here.’
‘No,’ he says. ‘You’ve always had a way with her, ever since she was a baby. I’ve noticed it before, the bond between you. That’s why I’ve never understood why you stayed away.’
