Guilt

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  “Wait,” she bellows, taking both my hands. “He arrived home from Copenhagen sober, then he took the roofies, to kill himself?”

  “He made it look like an accident. He clearly didn’t want us to live with his shame. I nearly didn’t find the note. He’d saved it on his phone. It was like he didn’t want people to know… but he left me a sign in case I had more questions.”

  Hetty’s shaking her head. “Why didn’t he say something? How are any of us meant to know why he did this. I can’t wrap my head around it.”

  “I know. It would have been so awful. He would have felt so ill and then… just dropped off into a deep, deep sleep. He must have taken a lot. I know roofies pass through the system and leave only a trace behind, but knowing Gage and his strong constitution, he had a plan and he didn’t intend on it going wrong. He made it look like a lads’ weekend that went too far.”

  “He was pictured with another woman though, Liz?”

  “Yep, I know,” I say, having accepted it. “He did that in retaliation, I imagine. When he saw on his tracker app thingy that I was in Beverley for the whole night.”

  I look down at the ground and chuckle as the ducks begin eating all the Maltesers, crowding around us.

  “Let’s walk… what a waste,” I mutter.

  Hetty puts her arm through mine as we walk on, just wherever our legs take us.

  “It would have been a few things with Gage,” I muse, having had all last night to think about this. “His father walking out on him. He never talked about it with me, you know. The other night, Sam and I sat down and talked about his sister’s death and how his parents were so cold in the aftermath. Gage would never have opened up like that. I don’t know if it was a personality defect or perhaps his mother bringing him up to believe it was better to keep it all shut down.”

  “It’s tragic. Maybe he took the pills as a cry for help, and he didn’t really know if he was going to make it or not. Maybe the suicide note on his phone was for just in case he didn’t wake up. Maybe he intended to get your attention, that was all.”

  “We’ll never know, Het. I think that’s why I’ve been on shutdown mode. It’s been awful, you know. Feeling like something was behind all this, but not knowing what.”

  “Explains why he never managed it in the bedroom though, Liz. He wasn’t the talking type.”

  “I just don’t know, Het. Sam said it feels like Gage did this on purpose, to make me suffer and sabotage any future happiness. I could think of less wasteful ways of getting my attention, though.”

  “Oh, fuck. Liz. What the fuck are we going to do?” She’s looking at Rupert as she says this.

  “It’s simple. I’ll marry you and we’ll live happily ever after.”

  She loses a couple more tears before she grabs me around my shoulders and kisses my hair.

  “Fucking, stop,” she says, grappling with even more tears.

  We’ve done several laps of the park by the time I stop and turn to her. “Look, right. I think there’s only one thing we can do.”

  “Yeah? What?”

  “Get back to work.”

  She nods, but her head looks heavy as she does.

  We’re nearly out of the park when she says, “I stopped Joe going to Liverpool.”

  “I fucking knew it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ON TUESDAY EVENING, WE’RE ALL invited round to Jules and Warrick’s for dinner. The kids have theirs first before we have ours, then they’re allowed to play in the living room while we eat next door in Jules’ fancy dining room. She has very expensive taste. Either that or they came into some money at some point. Anyway, there are several pieces of extravagant furniture in the dining room, including some antique walnut cabinets which are probably worth a mint. Her and Warrick’s house is a massive detached character property in Cottingham and you could say they’ve done well for themselves despite their individual tragic pasts.

  Hetty is breastfeeding Elizabeth at the dinner table but nobody bats an eyelid as she shovels food with a fork in her free hand. It’s nothing unusual, after all.

  Joe is equally shovelling while Warrick and Jules sit side by side, exchanging quiet little murmurs about how their respective days went.

  I’m sat on my own, wondering if I should have asked Sam to join us.

  Yesterday, after I told Hetty about Gage taking his own life, I asked her not to say anything to anyone. Joe hasn’t acted odd around me yet, but who’s to say she hasn’t told him? Some couples tell each other everything, after all.

  Anyway, dinner passes amicably, even if a little lonely, for me. I spend my time around the dinner table enjoying Jules’ pork casserole and listening out for the kids, trying to figure out what it is they’re all playing together.

  When Jules passes around tea, coffee and dessert, I watch Hetty’s eyes light up. This is the point where the men leave for the living room and allow us ladies to enjoy the sweeter things in life.

  “Give her here,” I say to Hetty, when she finally finishes feeding.

  She tosses me a muslin square and I burp Elizabeth over my shoulder. Hetty needs two hands to enjoy cake.

  “Ooh, you’re getting to be such a solid little girl, Elizabeth. You’ll be as tall as your Mummy and Daddy,” I coo, because I do love babies. I love the smell and the feel of them. I love how they fit so beautifully inside your arms, like they’re that missing piece of you.

  I gently sing and rock her in my arms, walking back and forth around the room. She’s soon burped and fast asleep.

  “Yeah, yeah, show off,” Hetty groans, as she watches me place Elizabeth in a Moses basket Jules evidently keeps here for Hetty’s use when she comes over.

  “Shan’t let you enjoy your cake then next time,” I fire back, with a wink.

  I plop myself back into my chair before Jules pours me some more tea from the pot, holding out the plate of cakes towards me.

  “Please, Liza. You need to regain some,” asks Jules, guilt-tripping me.

  “Fine.”

  I take a few of the miniature cakes she has arranged on a china plate – another item which probably cost a bomb. With two small kids, I’ve never bought anything fancier than a Debenhams dinner service on sale.

  “So, are you going to tell me what this Sam’s like?” asks Jules, having heard a rumour, for sure.

  I shake my head slightly, catching Hetty’s guilty look at the same time.

  “He told me you’d met?”

  “Yes, I spoke with him briefly, although Warrick got on with him better.”

  “Well, if you’re fishing for the gory details, my lips are sealed.” I don’t think either of them could imagine what it’s like to be with a man like Sam. I certainly had no idea what a man could do to a woman’s body before I was with him.

  “That good is it?” she says, grinning.

  “Better.”

  Jules presses her lips together, trying to suppress a big smile. She looks at Hetty, who shrugs. I think she’s a little jealous, being on the mend still, as it were.

  “Better than when he spread you across his kitchen counter?”

  I shake my head much more obviously in response, covering my mouth with a hand. She does make me laugh with her downright forward approach, but in reality, she’s so right.

  I look behind me to check the door to the living room is pulled to, then I lean in towards Hetty and Jules, who also lean forward, eager to hear what it is I have to say.

  I can hardly stop myself giggling as I think of it. I have to control myself.

  “The other night we tried something I’d never tried before. It was… illuminating.”

  Hetty and Jules look at one another. They book shake their heads, as if communicating neither of them have ever…

  “But, didn’t it hurt?” asks Hetty.

  “A bit, but not really. He makes me so het up… I would probably do anything he asked. Have you seen his body? It’s better beneath the clothes.”

  After I’ve admit
ted how I really feel, I find my conscience checking itself. I shouldn’t be this pleased with myself, not after Gage’s death.

  In another respect, however, I can’t help but think that Gage only ever stayed with me out of guilt – and was just waiting for any excuse to punish me.

  I’m suffering with these ongoing, complex feelings, and I’ve spent every minute of my life recently wishing I wasn’t such a deeper thinker and a cogitator. If I could be like other people and not think very deeply about anything, I’d live with so much less guilt, but I would also not be me anymore.

  “What’s the sad face for now?” Jules leans across and covers my hand.

  “Whenever I feel even slightly happy, I feel guilty, because of… you know.”

  “It’s only natural,” Jules assures me.

  I catch Hetty’s eye and we share our unspoken knowledge with our eyes alone. I don’t think she’s told Jules about Gage’s suicide note, even though she’s wanted to. Jules is like Hetty’s adoptive mother so it’s only natural she’d want to talk about it with her.

  “You know I never liked Gage,” Hetty contributes, “and you know why.”

  “No, why? Please… remind me.” I sound more than a little sarcastic.

  Hetty holds her fist at her mouth, pausing for a moment to pick her words carefully.

  Then, to my shock, she turns to Jules and nudges her, “You tell her.”

  I stare at Jules, wondering what on earth Jules could have to say on the matter. Jules never even knew Gage. My husband never tried to get to know any of my friends – but Hetty was going to be in my life no matter what, so he knew her a little bit, at least.

  Hetty nods at Jules, who scratches her nails along the tablecloth of her extending dining table before conceding, “You remember that time when you left him? It was when Joe and Hetty had first got together.”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “Warrick told me in confidence…” Jules lowers her voice to barely a whisper. “He said he’d been on your behalf to chat to Gage at your house. You were at your mum’s, obviously and Gage had the run of the house because you’d left him.”

  “Yeah, yeah, get to the point…”

  Hetty is sitting back in her chair, eager for Jules to spill the beans. I feel murderous that they’re obviously in possession of some information I’m not.

  “Warrick found the house in a state. There were beer cans everywhere, takeaway boxes… foil trays full of ash.”

  “Ash? What?” I feel my nose wrinkle disbelievingly, of its own accord.

  “There were partygoers lying about, on the stairs, on the landing. In beds, even the kids’ rooms.”

  Now all I’m doing is shaking my head. I turn to Hetty, “Did you know about this?”

  Hetty has a face like thunder. “Jules only told me after he was dead. Warrick swore her to secrecy.”

  “So, why did you have such an intense dislike of him?”

  Hetty’s shaking her head. “Because I had a feeling I knew what he was capable of, that’s why… and I wasn’t wrong. I’m never wrong about people, Liz,” she retorts, getting all up in my face.

  “Tell me everything, Jules,” I demand, going over Hetty’s head.

  “Warrick arrived and performed his whole cop routine, clearing the house of druggies and layabouts. He made Gage help him clean the whole house, top to bottom. He sat Gage down and gave him a thorough talking-to, which seemed to make Gage realise the error of his ways. That’s why Gage came crawling back to you, because Warrick had intervened.”

  “Oh my god, I feel sick,” I groan, covering my mouth. “He would’ve gone on like that, wouldn’t he? Living recklessly… if Warrick hadn’t intervened.”

  “I think so,” Jules whispers.

  “What else haven’t you told me?” I plead with Jules, wondering if this anecdote could get any worse.

  Jules looks vacant and sad when she says, “Warrick found himself deep undercover when he was in the police. As a result, he was into drugs and all kinds of stuff. He’s not proud of the things he did, but I know that because of his past, he has a certain sympathy for people in need. People who require being brought towards the light… I know he tries to help those who don’t really want to be helped.”

  “What are you saying?” I almost raise my voice, then cover my mouth so the kids won’t hear in the next room.

  “What she’s trying to say,” Hetty butts in, “is that Gage was a lost cause. He made his choices years before now. His recent death is not coincidence. He set out on a collision course with death years ago, if you ask us. I also think if he was a decent man, he’d have held his hands up and admitted your marriage wasn’t right. He would have let you go. Warrick maybe shouldn’t have intervened, but he was only doing what he thought was right – trying to stop a young man making the same mistakes he once made himself. You had the courage to leave Gage having decided you’d had enough, but when he came back to you saying he was going to try harder, he hadn’t really made the decision of his own volition. He’d had encouragement from a much more decent man.”

  I swipe at tears on my face, hating the fact that I’m crying again.

  I turn to Jules once more. “What if Gage did this on purpose? To punish me. If he was so careless that he had druggies and people like that in our family home…”

  “There are two possibilities,” Jules says, coming to sit by me, holding her arms around me. “He was either clinically depressed, perhaps bipolar, or he was undeniably selfish and a pig.”

  I turn to Jules, because if anyone can help steer me towards the light, she can. She pushes strands of damp hair away from my face and looks deeply saddened as I cry right in front of her.

  “Tell me what you think, Jules. I know Hetty, but she’s so harsh… I need to know what you think.”

  “Thanks a bunch,” I hear from Hetty, in the background.

  “I think,” she says softly, “that he couldn’t see what was right in front of his eyes, which is a very beautiful, exceptionally talented, wonderful young woman and mother, who has yet to tap into a tenth of what she’s capable of. He couldn’t see what he had right in front of him because of his own plain self-obsession. Some of the best people I know are depressed and yet they go out of their way, bend over backwards, tear themselves apart trying to help other people – and more importantly, when they think they’ve hurt someone else, they agonise over it for weeks and months, sometimes even years – no way do they behave so recklessly, just to get revenge. I think he was psychologically damaged and needed a lot of help, but none of it was your fault. You tried your best but even your best wasn’t good enough, because he didn’t want to be the man you needed. Warrick offered to help him get therapy, but he threw it back in Warrick’s face, a number of times in fact, on separate occasions following that one time he went to your house and found it the way he did. The most awful thing to come to terms with in these instances is that some people we love struggle more than others to flourish in this world, and it’s none of our making. It’s just the way it is. And it’s the hardest sort of death to come to terms with, because it’s such a loss, such a waste… and the most difficult thing to accept is that there’s nothing whatsoever we could have done. We’re human, too. We’re not miracle workers. You just have to hope that in the beyond, he’s better off, and that’s all we can hope for.”

  I cry softly in Jules’ arms, because I don’t think any amount of words from her – no matter how beautiful – will ever take away this overwhelming feeling of guilt, sorrow and shock.

  How could he do this to me?

  Each and every time I ask myself this, I decide I must have done something to deserve it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  THE KIDS ARE IN THEIR seats, buckled up inside my car on the Joneses’ driveway, when the man of the house pops his head around the door to bid the kids goodnight. I was hoping to make a quick getaway after getting so upset tonight, but Warrick has popped outside unexpectedly. I close the door on Em
ily’s side and stand with Warrick, knowing he has questions.

  “I’ll see you, then.”

  “Wait,” he says, unsurprisingly.

  “What now?” I fold my arms. I don’t think I can take anymore tonight.

  “How do you know you can trust Sam?”

  I stare at him with the fury of a volcano about to erupt. “Hetty told you all everything, didn’t she?”

  “Yep.”

  I thought as much. The way Jules tried to comfort me tonight… as if she’d been illuminated on the whole suicide thing before my arrival.

  “I don’t have to explain anything to anyone. I’m a grown woman.” My shoulders jump up as I speak.

  “You’re right, but he must have spun you some story?”

  I shake my head. “Fine, he said his parents told him his sister ran away. They probably didn’t tell him what had really happened because he was too young. He was home schooled so he was ignorant to the outside world and then a few years later, they sent him to boarding school and practically disowned him because they were living with the guilt of it all, obviously.”

  Warrick scratches the back of his head, obviously not that convinced. “It smells fishy to me. Even if they didn’t tell him what had happened when he was young, you would have thought they would tell him once he came of age. Like eighteen, maybe even twenty-one, would be acceptable. So that if someone did happen to say to him one day, ‘Oh yeah, your sister was murdered, wasn’t she?’ – he would at least have a heads up.”

  “Back off, Warrick,” I growl, displaying a side to me he has never seen before. “I thought you were concerned he wasn’t trustworthy, but actually you’re insinuating he might be a murderer, aren’t you? That a boy of seven could murder his own sister—”

  Then it’s as I’m staring at Warrick that I realise something. He’s clutching at straws because he doesn’t want to embrace the truth about Gage. Even Warrick has to sometimes admit he can’t save everyone. He’s trying to find previous to incriminate Sam, because he just doesn’t want to accept that Gage took his own life. Warrick doesn’t want to have to contemplate the actual reality of that, so he’s projecting all these weird, fanciful theories onto the whole scenario.