Forget Me Not

by Luana Lewis

  ‘All this was supposed to be mine,’ she says, gesturing around her, at the family photographs lining the walls of the landing. ‘And it would have been, if not for Vivien. Now Ben has asked me to wait for him. And I won’t leave Lexi.’

  I’m tired of talking. Sick to death of this insane conversation. There is no point trying to reason with her. I know full well Cleo doesn’t understand what I’m saying to her, because she doesn’t want to. She is unable to live with herself, unable to find her own path. She is still envious of Vivien. She wants everything that Vivien took away from her.

  Without thinking, I grab hold of her arm. My fingers grip the cashmere jumper as I pull her with me, down the stairs. Cleo doesn’t resist.

  At the bottom of the staircase, I let go of her arm. She keeps one hand on the banister, as though she might rush upstairs again. We are wary of each other.

  If Ben walks in on us, there could be a very ugly scene. The truth is I have no idea whose side he will take. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if I was the one asked to leave. I doubt he will give me a chance to explain.

  I’m out of breath and I feel myself losing control. I remember Yusuf’s mother, the fear in her eyes. My need to protect Lexi has turned me into someone savage, someone with the potential for violence. I can feel this, I would do anything to protect her.

  I take a few breaths as I collect myself. When I speak my voice is calm and strong, as though I’m on the ward again.

  ‘Did Vivien know you were watching her? Did she see you?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Was Vivien afraid of you?’

  Cleo blinks. The ugliness inside her shows in her eyes, and on her kohl-stained face.

  ‘No,’ she says, ‘Vivien wasn’t intimidated by anyone.’ She spits her words at me, like bullets. ‘Vivien was the strongest person I knew. Your daughter, Rose, was a self-obsessed liar and a thief. She was always scheming to get something she wanted, usually something belonging to someone else.’

  In a perverse way it’s a relief to hear Cleo talking this way, to hear her admitting how much she hated my daughter, and how strong her desire has always been to take Vivien’s life. I only wish Ben was here to bear witness.

  I have to find a way to get him to believe me, to see what I see when I look at Cleo. Even if I am depriving him of his one last source of comfort, Ben has to see Cleo for who she is. A desperate woman.

  Cleo’s face is set rigid in anger. ‘I wanted her to suffer,’ she says. ‘I wanted her to feel pain, the way I did.’

  Any pity I felt for her has given way to something else, something hard and cold. Cleo is not only a victim, she has a nasty side too. She frightens me.

  ‘What did you do, Cleo, to make her suffer? Tell me.’

  She glances upstairs, towards Lexi’s closed door.

  ‘Stalkers want to get close to their victims,’ I say. ‘They act out when their feelings aren’t reciprocated. They become dangerous. You’ve been obsessed with this family for years. I’m going to make sure that Ben understands it’s not safe for you to be anywhere near his child.’

  I look around, peering under the mahogany hall table, trying to see where she’s left her shoes and her bag but there’s no sign of them. She’ll have to leave barefoot. I don’t care.

  ‘I’m not a stalker. And Vivien was not a victim. I’ve never done anything to hurt Ben or Vivien. It was the other way round.’

  Cleo seems to have calmed down, her anger has already dissipated. She takes a few steps forwards, so she’s that much further from the stairs, further away from Lexi.

  I move over to the front door and pull it wide open. I am strong enough to drag Cleo from this house and throw her out onto the street. A freezing, wet wind rushes in from outside. Cleo moves forward again and for a moment I think she’s given up and she’s going to leave.

  But that would be too easy.

  Instead, she leaves me standing at the open door and walks into the living room.

  I start to sense defeat. Even if I force her to leave the house, she may stand outside on the pavement, pounding on the buzzer at the gate. She might sit on the steps, waiting until Ben gets home, ready to tell him some twisted version of what’s happened here tonight.

  I walk over to the doorway of the living room. I watch as Cleo opens a bottle of wine and pours herself a large glass with unsteady hands.

  Something behind me catches my attention. A sound, perhaps, a rush of wind, or the creaking of a hinge.

  I was so focused on Cleo, on watching her, that I didn’t close the front door properly. Now it gapes wide open. I run halfway up the stairs and look up towards the landing. Lexi’s door is open too.

  Chapter 23

  Lexi is gone.

  Her bed is empty and the quilt with its little stars lies on the floor. I rush to her bed and run my hands over the rumpled white sheets, as if that might make her materialize. They are still warm to my touch, but she has vanished.

  I try to think, to cling to my rational self. Could she have slipped out of the front door while I was watching Cleo in the living room? It’s possible, but unlikely. And even if she did, she can’t have gone far, the front gate is closed and securely locked.

  Don’t panic, I tell myself. Do not panic.

  I rush upstairs, calling her name. I fling open the door to Vivien’s bathroom. I flip on the light. There is only an empty, quiet space. I cannot help but stare at the floor, but no body appears.

  I run down the passage to the master bedroom. I check Vivien’s bed. I throw the duvet to the floor, I search under the sheets and underneath the pillows.

  She is not here.

  This is insane. Already, I have lost her. She might have overheard my argument with Cleo. She might be afraid. She might be hiding.

  She could be outside, crouching down on the driveway.

  I am panicking. I can feel what it would be like to lose her and I could not bear it.

  Ben is going to kill me.

  I run all the way down two flights of stairs, past the ground floor where there is no sign of Cleo, and I don’t stop until I reach the basement. There, I stop dead on the bottom step.

  I have found her. Of course I have.

  Lexi is facing away from me. She’s at the window, in front of the row of potted herbs. Soil is scattered on the limestone floor, all around her small, bare feet.

  I stay still because I don’t want to frighten her. I watch as she pulls out each and every plant in turn, wrenching them out by the roots. She moves along the row of evenly spaced pots until she has ruined them all: basil, sage, mint and coriander.

  Soil spills onto her feet, onto the limestone floor.

  Then, when she has finished destroying her mother’s plants, she walks across the room, her steps slow and sleep-heavy. She stops in front of the sink.

  ‘Lexi?’

  She turns at the sound of my voice, but although her eyes are open, I’m not convinced she’s fully awake. I think she hovers in that space between dreams and reality.

  ‘Did you have a bad dream?’ I say.

  She looks confused, as though I’m speaking a foreign language.

  ‘Is Mummy here?’ she says.

  I imagine I see sadness spreading through her eyes, but then I look again and I can’t tell what it is she feels. She disappears inside herself and her eyes are dark and impenetrable.

  ‘Lexi, let’s go back to your bed.’ My voice is gentle and soothing.

  ‘Is Mummy here?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m here. Granny’s here.’

  ‘I saw Mummy.’ Her bottom lip trembles.

  I take a few steps closer, cautiously. ‘Are you thirsty?’ I say.

  She nods.

  There are so many drawers and so many cupboards and none of them have handles. I press my hand against smooth surfaces, which glide open. I find a pantry, filled with dozens of boxes of different teas and coffees, and next to that one, a cupboard full of different dinner services and a dra
wer with a set of copper pans. I leave all of the cupboards open behind me. Finally, I find the glasses. I fill one with tap water and I hold the glass to Lexi’s lips as she takes a few sips.

  She’s looking down, at the drawer next to the sink. She presses her hand against it and it slides open. She reaches inside and takes out a pestle and mortar, made of heavy black marble. She begins to grind, looking down into the empty bowl as though she can see something there.

  I begin to feel anxious. I grab the pestle and mortar out of her hands and shove all of it back inside the drawer. It closes with a metallic click.

  Lexi stands like a statue in front of me.

  I look around, at the carnage on the floor, the dying plants, the soil spread everywhere, and I know that something terrible is about to happen in this house.

  Vivien

  The day before she dies

  Isaac won’t tell me where we are going, because Ben wants to surprise me. But I guess anyway, since we’re headed towards Farringdon. And I guess right. Isaac pulls up outside Kestrel’s Antique & Vintage Jewellery.

  I love Kestrel’s. I love the windows crammed with diamonds and emeralds and rubies, all of them afloat on a sea of velvet. I love the hush inside, the thick carpets, the leather-topped desks and the crystal chandeliers. I love that each piece of jewellery is unique.

  I also love the fact that antiques hold their value. A part of me is always focused on making sure I’m never, ever going back to that dank bedroom in Cambridge Court. The more diamonds I have, the further away I am from all of that, and the happier I feel. That is simply the truth.

  Ben is waiting for me. He’s standing outside, takeaway coffee in hand, early as usual. He rushes forwards to open the car door. I step out and tilt my face up to his for a kiss. As he rings the doorbell, we reach for each other’s hands.

  Kestrel’s is a father-and-son business and we are good customers. Mark, the son, rushes over to open up for us.

  ‘Lovely to see you again,’ he says. He is a softly spoken man in his twenties, tall and blond with a certain awkward manner I find endearing.

  We follow him through to the back, past the matching father-and-son desks. Paul Kestrel, the father, is sitting at one of these and he glances up as we pass, still wearing his eyeglass. He smiles at us. He has the same shy demeanour as his son.

  Mark shows us through to a private room, where we are seated in leather armchairs. Oil paintings of bejewelled Victorian women hang on the walls and the room has the musty smell of old money. In the corner there is a massive steel safe. Mark opens it, using one of those old-fashioned dials he has to turn back and forth. He pulls out a tray, then locks the safe again. Ben keeps hold of my hand. I sense he’s nervous. He’s been planning this.

  ‘I know you don’t like surprises,’ he says, ‘but I took a chance and picked out a few things I thought you’d like. The final choice is yours.’

  With a flourish, Mark places a velvet-lined tray in front of us. Three pairs of diamond earrings are laid out in a row. Two pairs are studs, one set in platinum, the other in yellow gold. The third pair is set in rose-gold shepherd’s hooks and I imagine they’ll hang down a little below my earlobes.

  Mark explains about the provenance of the stones, the cut and the colour. The carats. I reach for the platinum studs. I knew straight away these were the ones I would have. I lean forward so I can see my reflection in the oval standing mirror on the desk and I slip the earrings into my pierced ears. I make sure they’re fastened tight, I tuck my hair behind my ears and then I turn to Ben, so he can admire them.

  ‘Perfect,’ he says. He reaches out to brush my cheek softly with the back of his hand. I notice he doesn’t smile.

  ‘You’re sure?’ I say.

  He nods. ‘Mark, could we have the room for a few minutes?’ he says.

  ‘Of course.’ Mark leaves, closing the door behind him. The diamonds remain, strewn in front of us on their soft velvet tray.

  Ben turns his green leather chair slightly, so it faces mine. I can see he’s preoccupied, concerned about something other than jewellery.

  ‘Are you worried about tonight?’ I say.

  He nods.

  ‘Everything is going to be perfect. The caterers arrive at six. They’re bringing extra tables and chairs and they’re going to set up in the basement. We’ll roll back all the sliding doors and open out all of the basement rooms into one large space. It’s a bit early but I’ve chosen a Halloween theme, because the kids will love it. I’ve ordered Halloween crackers, Halloween witches’ pumpkin soup and ghost cupcakes. I’ve bought dressing-up costumes for all of the kids. And a photographer’s coming after dinner so we can send everyone pictures and videos afterwards. It’s going to be spectacular.’

  ‘You’re incredible,’ he says. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So why do you look so unhappy?’

  He reaches for my hands. ‘Well, it’s only a small matter of securing the multi-million-pound deal that’s going to ensure my company stays afloat. But more importantly, it will mean I can cut back on the travelling. I can be home more to give you a hand with Lexi. I know you’ve practically been a single parent, the hours I’ve worked, the amount of time I’m away from home.’

  ‘The investors adore you,’ I say. ‘And tonight you’ll charm their wives and children and it will all work out.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  He leans forward to kiss my lips, but there’s a telltale crease in his forehead that I know means trouble. People always have an ulterior motive for buying excessively expensive gifts. Even my adoring husband.

  ‘It’s not Christmas and it’s not my birthday,’ I say, ‘so why are you buying me jewellery from Kestrel’s?’

  He squeezes my hand. ‘I wanted you to have a gift,’ he says, ‘not a birthday present, or a Christmas present – but a gift purely because I love you. And I want you to remember I said that.’

  ‘Now you’re making me nervous.’

  ‘I wanted to say thank you,’ he says. ‘I have everything I’ve ever wanted, you and Lexi. I want to make sure you know how much I appreciate you.’

  Ben closes his eyes and presses my fingers to his lips. The sight of his gold wedding ring reassures me. He grows more attractive year after year; as he becomes more successful, so he relaxes into his own skin. People love him. I love him, more than I’d anticipated.

  ‘Are you happy?’ he says.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Our daughter is eight years old,’ he says. ‘She’s not a baby any more.’

  ‘I know how old our daughter is.’

  ‘She …’ He hesitates. ‘She’s smart and sensitive.’

  I pull my hands away from his. She’s told him something.

  As long as I remember, I have always, always felt cold. Except when I’m with Ben, then it’s as though I have a warm blanket tucked around me. I’m safe. But not today. Today I sense we are on dangerous ground.

  ‘Viv, she says you put medicine in her milk, because she’s overweight. She said you warned her to not to tell me.’

  The temperature has dropped in here. I feel myself shivering.

  ‘Is this true, Viv?’

  ‘Yes. It’s true.’

  ‘Why would you do that to her?’

  I draw my legs up on to the chair underneath me, I curl up, my arms folded.

  ‘You don’t understand, Ben. You have no idea what it’s like to struggle with your weight every single day of your life.’

  ‘Alexandra is eight years old. She’s a separate person from you, Viv. You don’t need to worry about her, she’s perfect. You shouldn’t be putting these ideas into her head. You’re setting her up to be unhappy.’

  ‘She’s not perfect, Ben. You see only what you want to see when it comes to your family. She’s ostracized by the other children. She’s being bullied. I’m in the head teacher’s office at least once a month. She has no friends. I managed to scrape together those four kids at her birthday party
because I know their mothers and they took pity on me.’

  ‘I phoned our GP,’ he says. ‘She has no record of prescribing any weight-loss medication for our daughter.’

  ‘I consulted someone else. A specialist in paediatric obesity.’

  I jump as he slams his hand against the desk. ‘She’s not obese!’

  I shrink further into the chair. I don’t dare say anything. I don’t like the way he looks at me. Like I’m shallow, or crazy, or not to be trusted with his precious daughter who can do no wrong.

  He’s shouting now, and the fury in his voice terrifies me. ‘You shopped around until you found some arsehole who’d prescribe whatever you wanted them to if you paid them enough, didn’t you?’

  ‘Ben that’s not true. He’s a qualified doctor and it’s a low dose. These days you don’t even need a doctor, I could have bought anything I wanted over the internet. But I’d never do that.’

  Ben looks away as he tries to calm himself down. When he speaks again, his voice is more measured.

  ‘Mrs Murad phoned me a couple of weeks ago,’ he says. ‘She was worried you’d developed some distorted ideas about Lexi’s weight. She told me you’d asked about medicating Lexi, and she was concerned, because Lexi is still so young. She was worried enough to break confidentiality. So I talked to Lexi. At first she refused to tell me anything, but I kept asking. A few days ago, she opened up.’

  ‘You don’t trust me. You think I’m a bad mother.’

  ‘That’s not true. But I’m devastated that you would ask my daughter to keep secrets from me.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. I lean forward, putting my feet down onto the floor, and I try to take hold of his hand. He pulls away.

  ‘Viv, I know you’re doing your best. We all know how traumatic the last ten years have been, all the doctors, all the failures, our lost baby. Mrs Murad worries about you and so do I. She’s been your doctor for such a long time and she thinks you need psychiatric help. She says she’s told you this herself, but she didn’t think you were listening. I have to make sure you get the help you need.’