by Kerena Swan
Maybe he can finally live his own life without the shadow of Ivy looming over him. Should he call the ambulance later or should he leave her for someone else to discover? Who though? Would anyone even miss her? Is this his chance to make something of his own life and find happiness at last or will his past deeds always be running to catch up with him?
64
Phew, at last. As much as I love Mia I’m relieved to settle her into bed tonight. She’s been so hyperactive I’m exhausted just watching her. She’s had all the party stuff out on the dining room table: paper plates, cups, napkins, and balloons covering the entire surface.
‘To count them, Mummy,’ she’d explained.
We’ve shared out the small toys and sweets into twelve party bags and wrapped pass the parcel presents. In between each activity, Mia has raced around the table chasing Welly and shown me how long she can hop on one leg. Tomorrow night we need to make a donkey poster for pin the tail on the donkey. We’ve got another two days for Mia’s excitement to escalate before the party and I wonder how I’ll find the energy.
It hasn’t helped that work has been especially difficult today. Nothing I do seems to be right anymore, and I’ve come to realise I really don’t want to be there. Karen snaps at me constantly and sighs when I try to explain stuff to her. It’s sapping my confidence.
Now that Mia’s asleep, I can finish my chores and check out the website that Anna gave me before Max arrives to help me and Tilly with our next project. Max has been very encouraging about looking for new employment.
‘You have too much potential to be stuck in a job with few prospects. You’ve got so much to offer,’ he’d said. ‘Go and find an employer who’ll appreciate you. Who’ll help you grow and learn.’
He’s right of course. Karen isn’t good for me and it’s obvious Sarah will get the promotion.
As I carry a pile of clean underwear into Tilly’s room, I decide to put it straight into her drawers. It’s annoying when she puts clean stuff back in the laundry basket. I open the drawer and dump it all in haphazardly, matching the disorder of the contents inside. I don’t have time to straighten it all and besides, she needs to learn to keep her belongings tidy. A pair of balled socks bounces off the pile and rolls under the bed. I bend to pick it up, mentally preparing myself for a view of dirty plates, clothes and books – and I’m right – when my attention is caught by Tilly’s diary. It’s covered in purple velvet and was a gift from my mother. She’s asked Tilly on a couple of occasions if she uses it and the response is an uncommunicative shrug.
‘You won’t regret it,’ Mum had said. ‘You’ll love reading it all again one day.’
My hand hovers over the book and I glance at the door. Tilly is downstairs at the kitchen table doing her homework. I suppose I could just check if she’s written in it. I don’t have to read the contents. I reach for it and stroke the soft cover then run my finger up the smooth gold sides. I can’t decide. My mum once read my diary and I was mortified and angry. I don’t want to push Tilly away when we’ve just grown so much closer.
The book is burning my hands now. I put it back and straighten up, proud of myself. I reach the door then stop. It would be wonderful to have a little insight into Tilly’s thoughts and dreams. Like looking through a magic porthole into her inner world. I may never get the opportunity again. It’s wrong to pry. But what about all the troubles with her dad? I’d really like to know what’s going on in her head. How much is she suffering from her dad’s rejection? If I know more I can help her to cope. Yes, it’s wrong to read her diary, but I’m her mum and I’m doing it because I care.
I scoot back into the bedroom and retrieve the small book then sit back on my ankles. I fan the pages and am impressed that she has written so much. Mum would be pleased. My brain picks out the odd words as I flick through to find the day she met her father. I’m also intrigued about what she thinks of Max. As I read the entry where she met Harry at the café my eyes blur with tears. Poor Tilly. My chest tightens with anger at his insensitivity. But I can’t cry now, Max will be here soon. Steadying myself, I find a recent entry where Max bought us a takeaway.
‘Max came for dinner tonight. He’s all right really. He bought us nice food and he’s given me his old phone. It’s not just that though. I like the way he plays games with Mia and he’s kind to Mum. She deserves a break after the last two disasters. I hope he doesn’t hurt her but if he does, I’ll look after her. She’ll always have me.’
I can’t stop the tears now. Tilly is such as wonderful daughter. And to think Harry wanted me to have an abortion. I can’t imagine a life without Tilly and my heart aches afresh for Lydia’s mother. The poor woman. I must call her and see if there is anything I can do to help.
I wipe my eyes and flick through to today’s entry. A current of shock runs through me.
I took the letters from the postman today. For the first time ever there was one for me. I opened it at the bus stop before the others got there. I can’t believe my dad has written to me. I never thought I’d hear from him again. I’m scared and excited at the same time. I’m not sure if’
The entry ends abruptly. Did she stop when I called her down for dinner? Why hasn’t she told me about the letter? And what do I do now? I can’t ask Tilly about the letter because she’ll know I’ve read her diary. Maybe she’s been waiting for Mia to go to bed before telling me. Where is the letter? I glance around the room searching for possible hiding places. I’m desperate to know what Harry said but there’s no time to look now. I put the diary back exactly as I found it and hurry out of the room.
We have a busy evening ahead of us. We’re going to build our own doll’s house. Mia’s been looking on the Internet with Tilly and said she wants a big doll’s house. She’d stood circling her arms to demonstrate. Unfortunately, the ones she likes are way outside my budget as she also wants lots of furniture and fittings. I’ve been to the hobby shop instead and bought paper designed with bricks and roof tiles and I’ve printed miniature flowered wallpaper off the Internet. Gwen helped me when Karen wasn’t in the office as our old printer at home has run out of red ink. I know a cardboard house won’t last forever but Mia will enjoy decorating it and we can always make another one of a different design. At least she won’t get bored with it. I’ve also managed to find flat pack furniture made of balsa wood which we’ll build together, and she can paint. It’s going to be fun.
Before I go downstairs, I brush my hair and check my mascara hasn’t smudged then spray a squirt of perfume to my neck. The bruise on my head doesn’t look as angry now but I still can’t fathom out what happened. As I turn I see Tilly leaning on the door frame, eyeing me critically. ‘You don’t want to try too hard, Mum. Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen and all that.’
My heart leaps in alarm. I didn’t hear her coming up the stairs. What if she’d caught me reading her diary?
‘I didn’t think anyone used that saying nowadays,’ I say with a bright laugh that I don’t feel. ‘I agree it may be useful as bait, but I hope I’ve already landed my fish.’
I walk past her with my chin up and grin at her bemused expression. I’m desperate to ask her about the letter and know I’ll feel hurt if she doesn’t confide in me. I suddenly feel weary. I try so hard to keep the lines of communication open with her, not pushing her too much to tell me stuff but letting her know I’m here if she needs me. But our relationship is unpredictable. We’re like two planets in different orbits that bring us closer together for a while then send us spinning thousands of miles apart. I’m making the most of her proximity while it lasts.
The doorbell rings and Tilly pushes past me, running lightly down the stairs. ‘I’ll get it,’ she says.
I’m not sure if she’s trying to wind me up by depriving me of the pleasure, but I think she’s actually pleased to see Max. He’s on the doorstep in track suit bottoms and a hoodie, his brown hair still wet from the shower. He looks more tired than I feel. There are dark circles under his eyes and, th
ough he’s smiling, he doesn’t hold my gaze as usual. I feel a frisson of unease. Perhaps he’s growing tired of me already.
‘You look knackered,’ Tilly says with all the grace of a teenager. ‘Been doing a long workout?’
‘Something like that.’ He brushes his lips across my cheek then goes to the lounge door. ‘OK, what are we doing with this?’ he asks, staring at the huge box and heap of cardboard.
I explain to him and Tilly how we need to make floors, a roof, chimney, and a staircase out of the loose cardboard. He doesn’t look convinced but sits down and sets to work. There’s something different about him tonight. It’s as if someone has turned a dimmer switch on his inner light. I can’t work out if it’s because his interest in me is waning or if there’s some other cause. A problem with Ivy perhaps. I’d like to try to get him to open up, but this isn’t the time. Not with Tilly here and a doll’s house needing to be made.
I make him coffee and tidy away the party things then check their progress. Their heads are together bending down to peer inside the box. Max has cut the front so that it opens up and they’re fixing the floor with tape and glue. I stand watching them for a minute. It’s lovely to see them doing something together. I only hope Max isn’t going to walk out on me just as Tilly is warming to him.
‘Are you sure this is going to work, Mum? Won’t Mia think it’s rubbish? Maybe we should just buy her one.’ I can see Tilly open her mouth to say more then close it again. I suspect she wants to mention the five hundred pounds but doesn’t like to do so in front of Max. I haven’t mentioned it either. It’s as if we’re both ashamed of it.
‘She’ll love it,’ I promise.
Within half an hour the roofs done, windows are cut out, and the cardboard staircase is in. ‘We’ll do the rest with Mia on Sunday,’ I say. ‘I’ll wrap her other presents for Saturday.’
I carry it to the attic room so that Mia doesn’t see it and I’m surprised and disappointed on my return to see that Max is preparing to leave. I’m sure I’m not imagining his remoteness. ‘I’m really sorry to rush off, Sophie. I feel absolutely shattered. I need an early night.’ He opens the door and steps outside.
‘How’s your nan?’ I ask. ‘Did you apologise for me?’
A flash of something crosses his face but too quickly for me to identify it. ‘She’s fine,’ he says, but something’s going on.
With Ivy? With me? I wish I knew.
‘Bye, Tilly,’ he calls, then leans towards me and hugs me. ‘See you tomorrow for lunch,’ he whispers in my ear then he’s gone.
So, he wants to see me again. Or is it only to dump me? At least I can try to put things right if I’ve upset Ivy. I’ll phone her, but I’ll have to do it tomorrow – it’s too late now.
I sit beside Tilly who’s watching a programme about teenagers trying to survive on a desert island. I duly gasp in horror or laugh in disbelief at their antics but my thoughts ricochet between Max and Harry’s letter. Eventually I can bear it no longer. I have to do something positive. I reach for Tilly’s laptop to look up the children’s agency website. It isn’t at the top of my list of priorities, but it might stop me from howling in frustration.
65
Max opens his car window and turns up the music – anything to keep himself awake. He’s so exhausted he feels sick. His mind is clouded, and his senses dulled. He probably shouldn’t be driving. His reactions would be far too slow in an emergency. He’s sure Sophie has noticed there’s something wrong. He could see in her eyes that she hadn’t bought his excuse of tiredness. She probably thinks he’s not that interested in her any more, but she couldn’t be further from the truth. She and her children are the only beams of light in his dark world.
He hasn’t actually been to the gym this Thursday evening. He just wanted to look like he was living a normal kind of life. In truth, he’d spent the time after work staring at a blank wall, trying to straighten his head out. Before he left the house, he’d changed into gym clothes and dunked his head under the tap to give the impression he’d showered.
He arrives home without incident, which is surprising, and goes straight upstairs. Not only has he got demons haunting him at night but his mind keeps replaying, over and over, what must have been his nan’s last hours. Maybe her hip was broken like she’d said. How much pain had she been in? Max is appalled to think that he’d knocked her to the floor and caused her death because he hadn’t helped even when she’d called out to him. Is he no better than she was, after all? A cold-blooded, heartless killer?
No! Max does have a heart. He cares that Ivy died suffering. He cares about the people she killed. She didn’t think twice about the lives she took and ruined by her deeds. He never intentionally killed anyone. Yet he dumped those bodies for her. Those women, rather. He dumped those women and left their relatives, friends, and colleagues to worry and feel distraught by their absence. He’s wicked. A terrible person. But he has love to give. Love that can bring light out of the darkness of his soul and bestow happiness on others, especially Sophie and her girls. He needs to fight for the freedom to shine that light. But he’s exhausted. Too exhausted to think. He quickly brushes his teeth and drags off his clothes then falls into bed and shuts his eyes. The room spins as though he’s had too much alcohol then his brain gradually sinks into darkness.
In no time it’s kicking back to the surface. His leg won’t stop twitching and he’s too hot. He throws the cover to one side and his brain begins to sink again.
It’s dark and he’s sitting on something hard. There’s a smell. A terrible smell. No! Please God no! He’s back in the under stairs cupboard with the stench of stale urine in his nostrils. He looks down and can just see the whites of the eyes on the Henry Hoover beneath him. He tries to stand, to open the door but something is holding him back. Looking down again he sees puffy white arms across his chest, pinning his own arms to his sides. Bloated, pale legs stretch out alongside his own limbs. The smell makes him gag and heave. It isn’t urine now but rotting flesh. He can feel mice crawling in his hair and over his face. He can’t brush them off. He clamps his lips shut to stop one running in his mouth and whimpers like a kicked dog. His terror is so overwhelming that he releases a warm stream of urine down his leg. Then his breathing stops.
With a huge gasp for air Max awakens and stares, wide-eyed, at the ceiling. His heart is thundering, and he’s soaked in perspiration. Has he wet himself? He puts his hand under the duvet and gingerly pats his boxers. No, thank God. He turns on his side and shuts his eyes, willing his mind to close down. He desperately needs to sleep in order to think. To plan. He tries to think of white, empty space but his mind still races. Lying on his back again he tries a relaxation technique. Tense the calf, relax it, tense the thigh, relax it. Tense the stomach …
It isn’t working. His whole body is as taut as a bow string. He needs a stiff drink to knock him out properly. He needs Sophie.
Max stumbles downstairs, the bright lights hurting his gritty eyes, and heads for the small stash of alcohol in the kitchen cupboard. He’ll have a couple of large whiskeys to knock himself out and tomorrow he’ll get up and go to work, then prepare Sophie a simple lunch. She’s the path to his redemption. She has to be.
By six o’clock, he’s given up on sleep and decides to use his time to make a start on the day. He heads for the 24-hour Tesco in town. Something very simple for lunch is needed. Max doesn’t want to waste precious time standing in front of a cooker. He wanders the aisles looking for inspiration. A simple Italian salad. That will do. At the till his fuddled brain struggles with selecting the right payment card and he presents a reward card instead.
‘Wrong card,’ the bored looking woman sighs.
Max presents another and she gives him a pitying look. He’s making a fool of himself now. Get a grip for Christ’s sake!
Max just has time to return home and put the food in the fridge before going to work. He’s bought fresh coffee – he needs a hit of caffeine – and a couple of cans of en
ergy drinks. They taste disgusting, but they might help him through the morning.
He’ll have to visit his GP for sleeping tablets soon. If only he could conceal his exhaustion with a bit of make-up like women do. They’re lucky having all those creams and potions to disguise what they really look like, though Sophie is beautiful without it. Thinking of Sophie means he’s smiling as he walks in the office. Joyce smiles back.
‘You’re looking better, Max. Have your headaches gone?’
He thought he looked like shit when he checked the mirror.
‘I’m a lot better, thanks.’
Max sits at his desk and switches his computer on, relieved that Michael is out this morning. He can take it easy for a bit. He checks Outlook for appointments and is pleased his diary is still clear then adds a fictitious visit for lunchtime and sends Joyce a copy for her calendar. He needs to be more careful from now on. Max is sure Michael and Joyce have noticed something’s wrong. He can’t miss lunch with Sophie though. He isn’t sure how much time he has left with her, so he needs to make the most of every precious minute.
Joyce answers the phone, but Max doesn’t listen to what she’s saying until she covers the mouthpiece with her hand.
‘It’s the tenant at Jubilee Villas, Max. He says there’s a problem with their outside drains. A terrible smell from the patio area, apparently. Do you want to speak to him or shall I call the landlord and tell him to get a drain company in to have a look?’
66
‘Are you up, Tilly?’ Sophie calls.
Tilly doesn’t answer. She’s drifting in and out of blissful sleep and is too warm and snuggly to even think about getting out of bed.
‘Come on, get up. You’ll miss your bus.’ She walks into the room and shakes Tilly gently by the shoulder.
