by Nikki Smith
‘I don’t think you should go on your own,’ I tell her again.
She presses my car keys back into my hand. ‘I’ll be fine, Jo. I’ll meet you back at yours. Thanks for offering to let me stay.’
I frown at her rejection of my offer of help and watch as she walks away across the car park, her handbag over one shoulder. As she reaches her car, the sun disappears momentarily behind a cloud, the only one I can see in the entire sky. The temperature drops and goosebumps rise up on my arms. I feel like I did almost twenty years ago when I’d left her to fend for herself, telling myself it was her choice to stay with him as I’d headed to Bristol University to get away from both of them and hadn’t come back. I have a sudden urge to rush after her, to insist she lets me go with her, but she’s already started her engine and is pulling away.
I arrive at Caroline’s two-thirty appointment and experience a flicker of annoyance as I realise the property she’s supposed to be photographing is vacant. We could have come at any time. I finish the job quickly, anxious to get back, hoping Anna has remembered to pick up the girls, and it’s not until I get in my car to drive home that I notice Buddy’s blanket is missing off the back seat.
FRIDAY
Caroline
I pull Buddy’s blanket out of my handbag as I walk through my front door, struggling to free it as I’ve stuffed it inside so tightly, not wanting Jo to notice I’d taken it. I rub the soft material over the towel in the cloakroom, covering every inch, the smell of something unfamiliar hanging in the air for a few seconds, as if it’s contemplating whether it wants to be there, before it decides to blend in with the other thousands of molecules and disappears.
I open the bin and find the remains of the onion I’d chopped up yesterday, brushing it with my fingers and then touching my eyes, blinking as the tears run down my face. I take the blanket upstairs and do the same thing to Rob’s T-shirt and trousers that are hanging over the end of the bed, making sure I press it inside every crease before folding it up and hiding it under my pillow. I check my watch; three-twenty. He’ll be back any minute.
My stomach doesn’t turn over at the sound of his key in the lock like it usually does. I check my face in the bathroom mirror. My eyes are still red and there are tear-streaks down my cheeks. I listen as he follows his usual routine, going straight into the downstairs cloakroom to wash his hands before he comes upstairs. I sit up against the pillows on the bed as he comes in, a pile of crumpled toilet-roll on the duvet in front of me. He pulls off his trousers and shirt, a faint smell of petrol clinging to his skin, before grabbing the clothes he was wearing yesterday off the end of the bed.
‘What a bloody nightmare,’ he says and I notice his hands are shaking as he pulls on his jeans. ‘The card payment system at the garage failed so I had to queue at the dispenser to get cash out and then . . .’ He trails off as he sees my face. ‘What’s the matter?’
I let out a choked sob. ‘Jo just called.’
He frowns and coughs, clearing his throat before he speaks. ‘What did she want?’
I stare at him, not attempting to hold back the tears that slide down my cheeks. ‘She called to say there’s been a fire.’
I don’t know your name as he never talks about you, but you weren’t what I expected. I came to your house and saw you through the window. You had such lovely long, red hair. I’ve always wanted red hair, ever since I was little. All the strongest women seem to have that colour; from Pippi Longstocking to Sansa Stark; the ones who burn brightest with a core of steel. I was going to ring the bell, to tell you what your husband, my boss, was capable of. But then he walked into the room with you and I realised you already knew and you couldn’t get away from him either. I saw the way you looked at him. I look at him like that now too. He’s killing us both, slowly, as effectively as if he was strangling us with his bare hands. I haven’t said anything to anyone; they won’t believe me. They’ll see my counselling sessions and think I’m making it up, that it’s all in my head. He cut me open and tore out my insides so there’s nothing of me left, just an empty shell. When I first met him, three months ago, he made me feel special. I bet he made you feel like that too. He agreed to hire me when so many others wouldn’t, my exam results and medical history providing a perfect get-out clause. He had a way of getting me to reveal things I wouldn’t normally show people, unravelling them all like a ball of wool, winding them around his fingers until he had too much of a grip for me to ever get away. You’re the only one who understands, the only one who has seen through the mask he wears to what lies beneath. Which is why I’m leaving you this. I couldn’t save myself, but perhaps I can save you.
FRIDAY
Jo
I pull into our driveway with my phone on the seat beside me, the photos of the rental property ready to be uploaded when I get to work tomorrow. I walk across the road to Anna’s house, my top sticking to my skin in the humidity, the sun’s rays lighting up the edges of the dark clouds that have been absent for weeks. The weather forecast on the radio said there’d be a storm this evening, the first time it’ll have rained in over a month. The garden needs it; even the grass is beginning to die off in brown patches. I knock twice before she answers.
She smiles. ‘Hi, Jo.’
‘Sorry I’m late. My appointment took a bit longer than I thought it would.’
‘No worries. It’s probably a good thing. Gave the girls a chance to chat. Do you want to take Grace’s stuff ? They brought their PE bags home today so it’s going to be a fun weekend of washing.’ She hands me a large blue kit bag.
‘Great. Do you want to give me Livvi’s as well?’
Anna tilts her head as if she hasn’t heard me properly. ‘Sorry?’
‘Livvi’s things?’
The crease in Anna’s forehead deepens. ‘I don’t have her bags, Jo. Livvi isn’t here. Her form teacher said she’d already been picked up. I presumed Paul had collected her.’
‘What?’ We’re both staring at each other as if we’re speaking different languages. Acid rises up in my throat. I fish around in my handbag, trying to find my mobile, not sure what it’s going to tell me. I glance at my screen which doesn’t show any missed calls and dial Paul’s number but there’s no answer as it goes straight to voicemail.
‘He’s not answering,’ I say, my voice sounding as if it doesn’t belong to me. My legs start to tremble and I have to hold onto Anna’s front door for support. Grace appears in the hallway; she’s overheard our conversation.
‘Where’s Livvi, Mum?’
‘I don’t know, Grace, just let me think.’ The man’s face from Parkstone Losey House swims into my vision. Please not that. Please don’t let him have found out where she goes to school.
‘Andy!’ Anna shouts in the direction of her kitchen as she slips on her shoes. ‘Can you look after Maddie and Jess for a minute? I’m just going over the road with Jo.’
She holds my arm as I stumble down her drive. ‘It’s probably just a misunderstanding, Jo. We’ll sort it out.’ I can’t breathe properly, the acid now burning in my chest. What was it he’d said when they’d been looking at those china figures? Something about how fragile they were? We get to the front door as Paul pulls into the drive, the colour draining from his face when he sees me.
‘Where’s Livvi?’ I shriek, but I can already see his backseat is empty and the way he grips his keys, his knuckles white, confirms he has no idea where she is either. Grace slumps down onto the stairs by the coat rack, her face white.
‘We’ll find her,’ Paul says, putting his hand on my shoulder. ‘There must have been some kind of mix up.’
‘Really, Paul? Or is this down to you?’ Grace and Anna stare at me, taken aback by my tone. Paul rubs his face.
‘We need to check she’s not in the house,’ he says. I know logically he’s right; it’s the first thing the police will ask, but Livvi has never used the spare key to let herself in; I’m not even sure she knows where we keep it. Grace starts to cry and I loo
k at Paul, his eyes wide, realising in that moment his agony mirrors my own and no matter what his faults, there will always be a connection between us. I pray to an entity I don’t believe in to bring her back safely, not to punish her for the things Paul or I have done.
Paul notices it first. I’m too busy darting from one room to another trying to find her, anxiety expanding in my chest like a balloon, making it hard to breathe. She isn’t in the kitchen or the lounge. Or behind the sofa in the snug, although, with the various toys lying discarded on the floor and felt-tip pens and colouring books littering every surface, I have to look twice to double check. I run upstairs, two at a time, my heart pumping, and throw open her bedroom door. The room is empty. Dropping down on my hands and knees, I peer under her bed.
‘Livvi?’ My voice wavers and I clear my throat. There’s no answer and nothing to see on the cream carpet apart from a thin layer of dust, the grey fluff forming thick circles round the bottom of each wooden leg, as if attracted by a magnet. I stand up and wince, biting my lip as a burning pain shoots through my toe. I’ve caught it on the edge of her chest of drawers. Cursing, I hobble into Grace’s room, pulling open her white-painted wardrobe doors covered in half-torn Disney Frozen stickers that she’s tried to peel off now she’s outgrown them. The rows of clothes hang motionless, no pairs of small legs protruding underneath.
‘Livvi? It’s Mummy,’ I shout into the silence, trying to ignore the throbbing in my foot. ‘You need to come out if you’re hiding. I promise I won’t be cross.’ I listen intently, praying for the sound of a creaking floorboard, a muffled giggle, footsteps scuttling across the carpet. Nothing.
Our bedroom is at the other end of the hall where our duck-egg-blue throw lies undisturbed on top of the duvet, in exactly the same position I’d left it this morning. There’s no sign of any obvious tell-tale lumps that I pretend not to spot during one of our games of hide-and-seek. Oh God, where is she? Our wardrobe is locked. The bathroom’s empty. I wince as I swallow the metallic taste where I’ve bitten the inside of my cheek, running back down the stairs to the kitchen.
‘She’s not upstairs. I’ve searched everywhere,’ I say. Paul glances over my shoulder whilst I’m speaking, staring out through the patio doors across our lawn. He’s not listening to me. I grab his arm to get his attention, wondering if he can feel the same ice-cold fingers that are squeezing my lungs, the same weight that has sunk to the bottom of my stomach like an anchor, preventing me from moving. ‘What are you looking at?’ I ask, trying not to shout. ‘We’ve already checked outside.’ I can’t keep the edge of hysteria out of my voice as I pull on the sleeve of his shirt, urging him to do something, anything, to find her. He shakes my hand off roughly, pushing me aside as he twists the door handle and realises it’s locked, his gaze still fixed on the bottom of the garden.
‘What? What is it?’ I screw up my eyes against the brightness and blink away the tears that blur my vision. ‘She’s not out there, Paul.’ Two swings dangle limply beneath a metal frame and the trampoline is empty, the canvas mat stretched tight, waiting expectantly for the next jumper.
‘Get out of the way,’ he yells. I stagger backwards, shocked by his unexpected aggression. ‘Are you blind, Jo?’ He jabs his finger repeatedly towards the end of the garden as he struggles to get the key off its hook on the wall and into the lock. I can’t see what he’s pointing at. ‘There!’ he shouts. ‘Look!’ I can hear the panic in his voice as he fights to open the door. At first all I can discern through the faint patterns of small handprints smeared on the pane of glass is his office at the end of the garden, the timber structure silhouetted against the evening sun. He finally manages to turn the key before I notice the faint haze around the bottom of the building that is spreading slowly across the grass. It drifts in swirls and the smell hits me the moment Paul flings open the patio door. Smoke.
‘Have you searched in there?’ He glances at me and I don’t need to answer. He sprints across the lawn, screaming her name, as I sink down onto the tiled floor, unable to move as I watch the flames appear. Their red and orange tongues are initially hesitant, contemplating the taste, but once they realise it’s a meal to be savoured, they rise up and devour the whole building in a matter of minutes.
FRIDAY
Caroline
‘What do you mean, a fire?’ Rob struggles to get his T-shirt over his head. He likes them to fit snugly. He thinks it shows off his figure.
‘Jo said Paul’s office caught fire.’
He hesitates. ‘Was there much damage?’
I watch as he rubs his hand across his beard, wondering if he’s going to admit what he’s done.
‘It’s Livvi,’ I say. He coughs again, a couple of times, and I hear his breath catch in his throat. Tiny beads of sweat appear along his receding hairline, the first sign his body is in distress.
‘What about Livvi?’ His forehead creases.
‘She was inside the office when it caught fire.’
‘What?’ He steadies himself on the bedrail, the colour draining from his face.
‘Livvi was in Paul’s office,’ I say. ‘She was playing in there after she got back from school.’
‘Christ.’ His breathing is more laboured and his knuckles turn white as he grips the rail. ‘Is she OK?’
I stare at him and slowly shake my head. ‘The fire-brigade pulled out her body.’
He staggers onto the bed, his body crumpling as he sits down. ‘Oh, God. Fuck. What the hell was she doing in there? I checked . . . when I smashed the window there wasn’t anyone . . . I don’t understand how . . .’ He’s gasping for breath now, grabbing handfuls of the duvet in a vain attempt to anchor himself to the reality that is unravelling around him.
‘She must have been hiding,’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry. I know how much she meant to you.’
He points frantically at the bathroom. ‘Inhaler.’ The word comes out as a wheeze, difficult to make out.
‘What?’ I ask. ‘Are you OK?’
He grabs my hand and squeezes it, staring into my eyes.
‘In –haler. Or Epi – Epipen.’
I can barely hear him as he fights to get the words out.
‘You want me to get your inhaler?’ I climb off the bed and walk over to where he’s dropped his trousers, taking his phone out of his pocket and entering his pin. I dial my own number, picking my mobile up off the bedside table and letting it go to voicemail when it rings, before hanging up.
I walk slowly to the bathroom, taking his blue inhaler out of the cabinet where I’d left it yesterday, having pressed it two hundred times whilst I’d sorted out all the labels for the flowerpots in my greenhouse, counting each puff of white gas as it had disappeared into the air. He turns his head towards me, his eyes wide, watching as I open his bedside drawer, unable to move as he struggles for breath.
‘I can’t seem to find your Epipen,’ I say, handing him the inhaler. ‘I know you asked me to put it in here when we were clearing out your old car, but it doesn’t seem to be there now.’ I think of it sitting in the kitchen cupboard downstairs where I’d put it earlier, wondering if an epinephrine shot at this stage would be enough to save him. It’s possible.
He scrabbles to put his inhaler in his mouth, pressing the button over and over as he waits for it to dispense relief that never arrives. He lets go of it, eventually, realising it isn’t helping, and shuts his eyes, focusing what little energy he has left on getting the increasingly small amount of oxygen into his lungs as he falls sideways onto the bed, the noises coming out of his mouth reminding me of a new-born puppy.
I lift his head, taking Buddy’s blanket from under my pillow and sliding it underneath him, his eyes fluttering helplessly. Watching my bedroom clock, I wait for the second hand to pass twelve; once, twice, three times.
I lie down on the duvet so we’re facing each other. ‘You deserve this,’ I say. ‘Do you remember Lauren, Rob? I never met her, but I know what you did to her. We were away the weekend she took her own
life. You took me to that hotel in the New Forest. It was so out of character for you to take me anywhere, but I naively hoped you were trying to make an effort with our marriage.’ He brings one hand towards my face but I push it away, putting it back by his side. ‘Now I realise it had nothing to do with us. It was because you felt guilty about what you’d done.
‘When they found her that morning, I thought something about it didn’t quite make sense. The fact that she worked for you and was found in one of the vacant properties you were interested in buying. What did you do to her?’ I look down at him but his eyes are shut and I don’t think he’s capable of telling me, even if he wanted to. ‘My dad knew as well, didn’t he? That’s why he left the business to Jo. He knew that if he’d left it to Mum or me you’d have found a way to get your hands on it.’ I tap his face and his eyelids flicker, briefly. ‘Dad found something that proved what you did and you can’t find it. You thought it must be in the files that Jo took home and if you burned down Paul’s office, you’d get rid of it for good.’
Rob’s making very few noises now and doesn’t put up any resistance as I remove Buddy’s blanket and roll it up whilst I look at him, his left hand clenched into a fist, his wedding ring just visible above the faint white scar where he’d told me he’d fallen off his bike when he was little.
I feel as if I’m standing outside reality, in a space where I can see what we might have had if things had been different. ‘I don’t know how Dad found out, Rob, but he wasn’t the only one. I know too. And you might have burned down Paul’s office, but a secret always finds a way to come out in the end. It’s been here all this time.’ I touch his hand, wanting him to know I’m saying goodbye, but he doesn’t respond. I pick up the pieces of toilet roll off the bed and flush them down the loo as I walk out, catching a whiff of smoke from his jacket that’s hanging over the bannisters as I shut the front door.
