Look What You Made Me Do

by Nikki Smith

  I wonder what would happen if I stayed underwater. Could I hold my breath long enough to pass out? Would I float away in the water to another life? The fire in my chest builds, a furnace now, a pressure I can’t resist; it pushes me to the surface and I break through with a gasp, filling my lungs with air. My skin has adjusted to the temperature. The human body can adapt to most things, given time, but it’s turned a pink fleshy colour that reminds me of raw meat. The chrome tap at the side of the bath is covered in condensation. I turn it on again, very slightly, to keep the water topped up, watching the small rivers disappearing out of the holes in the overflow beside me, wishing I could go with them. I try to think about what it would be like without him; the thought of coping on my own still too frightening to contemplate. It’s not until I notice the goosebumps on my arm that I realise the water dribbling out of the tap has gone cold, the hot water tank in the airing cupboard finally empty.

  I stand up very slowly, holding onto the edge of the bath. I fell once, stumbling as I put one leg down onto the bathmat. Luckily, I hadn’t hit my head when I landed; only bruised my shoulder, a mark he’d noticed a couple of days later, pressing his finger into it curiously as he watched the reaction on my face. I’d told him I’d caught it on a door, but it had taught me to be more careful.

  I start to dry myself with the bathroom towel and then stop, dropping it on the floor as I go and get a fresh one out of the airing cupboard, not wanting the smell of his aftershave on my skin. I rub it gently over my body, looking down at the stretch marks on my stomach that appeared when I was carrying Adam. They run silvery white across my red skin like branches, the tips growing and spreading as he’d got bigger. I think of Jo’s announcement yesterday and wonder if this will happen to her, too. I have a feeling it won’t, years of practice with Rob have made me very good at spotting when someone is lying and her eyes hadn’t reflected the words Paul had said. They’d seemed empty, not full of that secret delight I’d been expecting to see. She hadn’t kept her pregnancy a secret when she’d found out she was carrying Grace or Livvi; she’d told Mum and I before she’d got to her twelve-week scan, her announcements cutting into me like a knife, the champagne my mother had forced me to swallow after Jo’s phone calls tasting like cotton wool in my mouth. I don’t understand why it would be different this time. And if she’s not pregnant, I wonder why Paul thinks she is.

  I open the bathroom cabinet and move Rob’s asthma inhaler, a tube of ‘Deep Heat’ and a box of plasters to one side on the narrow shelf, making room for my bubble-bath that I pick up from where I left it next to the taps. I’d decanted it out of its original container into an old bottle of Calpol so it doesn’t look out of place as I put it back in the cupboard, arranging the other things in front of it. He doesn’t like me spending money on anything he considers unnecessary. I stare at myself in the mirrored doors. The colour of my face looks scarlet beneath my short hair – as if I’ve been lying in the sun all day without any cream on. But I know it won’t last. In an hour or so it’ll fade to its usual pale milky-white and by the time I get to work, Jo won’t notice. I turn the extractor fan on as I leave the bathroom, shutting the door behind me so the steam doesn’t make the bedroom walls damp.

  Seeing Livvi on his screen like that had made me realise what he’s capable of. My whole body had frozen in a state of disbelief at the video of her moving around, playing with her toys, oblivious to the fact that her every move was being recorded. He’d told me he’d put something in their house so he could record what they were saying and play it back later. Listen to their conversations in case Jo mentioned where she’d put the filing boxes with Dad’s things. I wonder how many times he’s been into their house, taking the set of spare keys Jo had given me in case of emergencies. He keeps them with him now; I’ve seen the keyring in the drawer of his bedside table. He claims the SD card had got hours of footage on it, enough to give him the information he’s so desperate for. He hasn’t explained what he’s looking for and I haven’t asked. He won’t tell me anyway. But I have a horrible feeling it has something to do with what’s hidden under our spare-room mattress.

  I walk into our bedroom and open the window that looks out over the driveway to get rid of the familiar musty smell with the slight tang of ammonia that lingers on the sheets. One of the many ways he marks his territory. I strip the pillow cases and pull off the duvet cover, leaving the duvet itself in a pile on the floor at the bottom of the bed. It looks naked – the wrinkled grubby bundle no longer hidden beneath clean white cotton. I shut my eyes briefly, holding back the tears that threaten to fall, not wanting to be reminded of what happened last night. I rip the sheet off the bed, squashing it into a ball. I don’t think about the way he did the same thing with my pyjama top whilst I’d still been half-asleep. I open the airing cupboard and get out a set of new linen, reassured by the smoothness of the ironed material under my fingers. I make the bed, adjusting the covers, so that by the time I’m finished everything looks tidy and pristine. I get dressed and do my make-up, glancing at my reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe door before I go downstairs, satisfied that anyone in the office who sees me will think exactly the same thing.

  You offered to give me a lift to work yesterday. I mentioned the office was quite a walk from the station and you said you were passing, anyway, so could pick me up, starting tomorrow. I didn’t even have to ask. I’ve seen your car in the office car park. It’s a BMW. A black one, sporty. I looked through one of the back windows on my lunchbreak; it was difficult to see much as they’re tinted, but I know you’ve got leather seats and satnav and an air-freshener shaped like a dog that hangs from the rear-view mirror. Dogs are my favourite animal so I think it’s got to be fate. Some kind of sign. Not like horoscopes – they’re a load of crap. It doesn’t make any sense to me that six hundred million people all have similar character traits. I hope being in your car with you on our own will give us some time to really get to know each other properly. There are so many things I want to ask you, but I think I know your answers already. We have so much in common. You are the last thing I think of at night and the first thing my mind turns to when I wake up, but I never dream about you; I can’t make you stay in my head when I’m asleep. My subconscious blanks you out, as if it needs a break. I wish I could keep you with me, that I could reach for your hand to hold in the dead of night. I don’t think I’ll have long to wait; once I’m in your car I can find out so much more about you. Little things that are so important. Like where you live.

  FRIDAY

  Jo

  I’m lying on a towel in the garden, the afternoon sun heating my skin to the point where it’s almost uncomfortable, a tingling on the cusp of pain that tells me it’s time to move, but I can’t be bothered. Paul’s just cut the grass and the smell is intoxicating, a drug that encapsulates everything about summer, one that I can’t get enough of. I sense someone walking towards me and open my eyes a crack, raising my hand up to my face to shield my eyes against the brightness as a familiar silhouette heads across the garden. Anna sits down beside me.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’ she asks.

  ‘Not today,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve got a day off.’

  She rolls out another towel next to mine, laying it down so the edges touch. I don’t understand why she can’t put hers somewhere else – she’s got an entire garden to choose from. I’m going to have to get up and I don’t want to, as I know it’ll sharpen the lovely blurred feeling I have at the moment. I try shuffling surreptitiously to one side but she keeps moving with me. I’m about to ask her what she’s doing here when the ground moves beneath me, as if there’s an animal trapped underneath my towel, trying to get out. I sit up with a jerk.

  ‘What?’ Anna rolls lazily onto her side and looks at me.

  ‘I felt something move,’ I say. ‘Under my towel.’

  I retreat, onto the grass, about to lift up the dark blue material to look underneath it.

  Anna puts her hand on my arm. ‘
Are you sure you want to do that?’ she asks. ‘If you lift it up, you can’t put it back.’

  I frown at her and pick it up to see the undisturbed lawn below, the blades of grass flattened from the weight of my body, knotted together in intricate patterns that don’t seem to start or finish in any particular place.

  ‘There.’ Anna points but I can’t see anything, the sun is so bright. ‘Can’t you see it?’ she asks. I want to go inside to sit in the shade but Anna has pulled herself up onto her hands and knees in the space where my towel used to be.

  ‘You need to dig,’ she says and I see my mother’s teeth as she smiles at me, whiter than white, a flash of brightness that makes my head hurt. Anna puts her hand into the earth and I don’t understand how she manages to get through the grass, but it’s too late to ask. Now she’s making a hole and I don’t want her doing this to my garden and try to get her to stop but she won’t listen. She grabs my arm, her fingers black with earth.

  ‘Look,’ she says, pulling me closer. ‘There.’ The dry soil is crumbling where she’s dug into it, little rivers of dirt that run down a slope to the bottom, a landslide in miniature and my head sings like it did when I had gas and air giving birth to Grace. Suddenly I can see what she’s looking at as it emerges from the earth, like a plant reaching for the sunlight. First a nose, then a mouth and then the rest of my father’s face. I scream and grab my towel, trying to cover it up, pressing down on whatever it is that Anna’s uncovered but she’s laughing as she knows it’s impossible and I wake up with a jolt, slicing through the cord that links me to sleep with one swift motion.

  I throw off the duvet, my chest covered in sweat, gasping to catch my breath as my brain catches up with reality. My fingers come away wet as I touch my face and I shiver in the dark, waiting for my breathing to return to normal, Paul’s familiar shape a mound beside me that I can’t bring myself to disturb to share my burden.

  My nightmare lingers all morning, like a hangover, and I feel as if I’m trying to work through a dull fog in my head. Alice puts a call through to me just before lunch and as soon as she says the name my heart sinks.

  ‘Mrs Lawrence?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s Mrs Kennedy from the school office. There’s been an incident with Grace.’

  ‘Is she OK?’

  ‘Yes, she’s fine. She’s with the school nurse. Are you able to come and pick her up?’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘She fell over and says she feels a bit dizzy.’

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ I call Paul’s mobile. He mumbles something unintelligible when he answers. ‘It’s me,’ I say. ‘Grace isn’t well. We’ve got to pick her up. Are you busy?’

  He clears his throat. ‘Can you go? I’ve got some stuff to do for a client.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t have much work on at the moment?’

  ‘Someone’s contacted me today and I want to look keen.’

  ‘Right,’ I say stiffly. ‘I’ll need to drop her off with you as I’ve got to go to Mum’s with Caroline. I don’t really want to take Grace with me. She can sit on the sofa and watch TV, she won’t disturb you.’

  There’s a silence on the other end of the phone.

  ‘How long will you be?’ he asks.

  ‘At my Mum’s? I don’t know. A couple of hours maybe?’

  ‘No, now. Getting Grace.’

  I look at my watch. ‘If I leave now, I should be home by one.’

  There’s another longer pause. ‘OK. I’ll see you then.’

  I half run, half walk across the tarmac towards the door of the school office, catching a glimpse of a reflection I barely recognise in the glass window of the door as they buzz me inside. My hair lies in damp strands around my face, and I run my hand through it in an effort to look presentable. The school nurse ushers me into a small room where Grace is sitting on a bed, sipping a plastic cup of water. I give her a hug, feeling her body crumble beneath mine.

  ‘You’re all right now, Grace, aren’t you?’ the nurse says, looking at her before turning her attention to me. ‘She had a bit of a falling out with a couple of other girls. There was a bit of pushing and shoving and Grace got knocked over. I’ve put a plaster and some antiseptic on her knee but she says she feels a bit dizzy. She didn’t hit her head as far as we’re aware, but perhaps to be on the safe side she’d be better off going home for the afternoon so you can keep an eye on her.’

  ‘Pushing and shoving?’ I say. ‘You mean she was fighting?’

  The nurse hesitates. ‘I think it would be better for you to talk to the Head about it, Mrs Lawrence. But I can assure you that Grace has been checked over and she’s fine.’

  ‘Is the Head around now?’ I ask.

  ‘She’s in a meeting at the moment. But she did say she’ll call you later.’

  I weigh up whether to demand a meeting now, look at Grace and decide against it.

  ‘Have you got your bag and anything else you need?’ Grace nods, her lip trembling. ‘Let’s go, then.’

  I usher her out of the office and across the playground, glancing from left to right over the empty space, biting the skin at the side of my nail. It doesn’t feel right to be trespassing in a place that should be filled with noise and laughter. The tarmac smells like it does when it’s first been laid; a burning that sticks in the back of my throat. Cracks have appeared in the previously smooth surface, bisecting the yellow lines that mark out the netball court. Grace screws up her eyes against the sun as I open the passenger door, and I hurry around to my side, telling myself to stay calm.

  ‘Fighting?’ I say, as I start the engine, handing her my mobile. ‘What has got into you? Can you call Dad, please? I said we’d let him know you’re OK.’

  She sits with the phone on her lap and dials the number, putting it on speaker. I can hear a rustling in the background and a noise I can’t make out before the line cuts off. I frown, but before I have a chance to say anything he rings back and Grace answers. His voice sounds strained as it echoes through the car speakers.

  ‘Not sure what happened there.’

  ‘It’s just me, Dad,’ Grace says. ‘Mum wanted me to call to let you know I’m OK. We’ll be home in about fifteen minutes.’

  ‘OK. See you then.’

  ‘Is someone with you?’ I ask. There’s a beat before he answers.

  ‘No,’ he says, ‘I’m in my office. Just trying to get stuff done so I can look after Grace when you’re back. I’ll see you in a bit.’ He hangs up and Grace glances at me as my shoulders stiffen.

  ‘What happened at school?’ I ask her.

  She shrugs, staring straight ahead. ‘It was nothing.’

  ‘The nurse said you were fighting.’ I try and concentrate on the road to avoid eye-contact, remembering how much I hated conversations like this with my mother, feeling as if I was backed into a corner.

  ‘It wasn’t a fight,’ she says quietly. ‘Maddie and I were just –’

  I interrupt, not able to stop myself. ‘You were fighting with Maddie?’

  ‘If you’re not going to let me explain, Mum, then there’s no point in talking to you.’ She turns her head away from me to look out of the window and I notice her fingers tighten their grip on my phone in her lap.

  When we get back, she runs upstairs to her room and slams the door without stopping to take off her shoes. I can hear Buddy whining when I walk into the kitchen and open the back door to let him inside. He dashes past me and I hear him going up to Grace’s room. I glance at my watch. I need to get to Mum’s. I make up a glass of orange squash, grab a cereal bar from the snack cupboard and walk quickly up the stairs, knocking on Grace’s door.

  ‘What?’ she asks. I grit my teeth as I put the drink and biscuit down on her dressing table. Buddy is lying next to her on the bed and I can tell she’s been crying.

  ‘If there’s something you want to tell me, Grace, I’ll listen,’ I say. ‘I’m worried about you.’

  ‘I’m fine,
Mum. It wasn’t anything. Maddie and I just got into a stupid argument as she told Katie something she’d promised me she wouldn’t.’

  ‘Is it something I should know about?’ I ask.

  She shakes her head.

  ‘Secrets always have a habit of coming out in the end,’ I say. ‘That’s what Grandpa always used to say.’ The words escape without me thinking and as soon as I’ve said them, I want to take them back. The feeling of guilt returns; like a buoy that’s suddenly been released underwater, shooting up to the surface. I hear the back door open and shut downstairs. Paul must have come in from his office. Grace puts her hands over her face as Buddy tries to lick her fingers. I put my arm around her.

  ‘Are you sleeping OK?’

  She hesitates before nodding and I want to tell her that the dark shadows under her eyes tell a different story. ‘I know how much you miss Grandpa,’ I say carefully. ‘We all do.’ I’m conscious my words sound inadequate. Hollow. They’re not what I want to say but I can’t find the right ones. She shakes her head, not able to speak through the sobs. I sit with her until her body stops shaking.