The Fallout

by Rebecca Thornton

  The rest she can cope with. And Ella – well – their secret will bind them together and, in part, she feels relieved someone else is to blame too. If only she plays ball. It’s unsettling, being complicit in something so huge, with someone she barely knows. Never being sure whether Ella can be trusted to keep her mouth shut. It makes Sarah feel like the ground is about to be pulled from beneath her at any given moment. Yet today, she is going to force herself not to let that get in the way.

  On the bus on the way back from Camilla’s she runs through the list of things she needs to get done in the next few hours. If she’s lucky she might even have time to grab a coffee and bran-wheat banana muffin from Hollister and Tailors, on Turnham Green Terrace. They taste sugary enough, but she’s checked time and time again on the small, hand-written card stuck in a dish of pink Himalayan salt crystals. Home-made. Agave syrup. Her mouth waters. She’ll buy something for Tom too. Perhaps one of those Portuguese custard tarts he loves. And for Casper. She reminds herself to ask all the shops she goes into if they’d consider donating something for the school Christmas fair. She’ll have to start channelling Liza – who normally raises thousands for the school. It’s time to up her game. They don’t have long to get the sponsorship, after all.

  When she gets off the bus, it’s cold but the sky is a ferocious blue. The roads are empty. Everyone must have gone away for half-term. She spots a few West London Primary parents in the playground next to the High Road. She’ll say yes to Tom and her going to Oban – perhaps not now with all the furore, but maybe early next year, when things have hopefully settled. She inhales the wind. Something to look forward to. A long weekend. It’ll be so good for them. She’ll miss Casper, of course. But a long lie-in! She feels her body unwind at the very thought.

  Her phone rings; it’s her mother. Sarah contemplates answering – but she still doesn’t feel strong enough to pretend that everything is all right, so she sends her a text instead. Just busy at the moment. Is everything alright? Her mother replies that yes, everything is fine, and the slight feeling of panic that always arises when her mother gets in touch disappears.

  What would really make her day now, Sarah thinks, is if she bumped into Ella Bradby. She imagines how the situation might unfold. Ella! How are you? Yes I’m just doing some shopping and organising, because of course, Liza and the kids are moving in. Oh! She didn’t tell you? I guess she’s been so busy with Jack. She just needs to be around her closest friends right now. She wonders when the perfect moment might arise, in which to discuss Ella’s little secret with Liza. Or indeed, Ella herself. It gives her a delicious little thrill to know that she has some information on Ella Bradby. She’ll have to use it wisely, though. Keep it safe, in case Ella decides to pull any of her ridiculous one-upmanship tricks again.

  First, she skips into Nature and Beauty, a health food store in Chiswick. Camilla had texted her earlier and told her to get magnesium and zinc, and something called Agnus Castus – for fertility – which she thinks sounds like some sort of witch’s brew. She knows she definitely isn’t pregnant this month, but at least her horrendous PMT symptoms have abated. She’ll buy that and then she’ll whizz round and collect all the cleaning products she needs to make the downstairs flat sparkle.

  She picks up all her potions. Thirty-five pounds for the pleasure. Shit. Again. She tries not to gasp when the cashier pings the till. In fact, she lets out a small laugh. Pah. Thirty-five quid? Nothing! But really, she should have known. This is Chiswick, after all. She should have foreseen this and stopped off in Acton instead. She hands over the cash (she had taken out one hundred pounds – she couldn’t bear the dread of thinking her card might be declined every time it was put to use) and hums a song to distract herself from all the feelings that threaten to overwhelm her.

  ‘Thank you.’ She feels she should be well-disposed towards the moody shop assistant today, despite wanting to punch her lights out for charging her such a bomb. But she gets no response. So she huffs pointedly, picks up her bags and makes her way down the high street to Robert Dyas. She’s going to buy a hand-held vacuum to pick up all the corner dirt, some mould cleaner and whatever else she can find. By the time she gets there she’s feeling a little less energetic – the thought of cleaning the flat is a bit exhausting – but she still has her bran muffin to look forward to and one whole hour to go before she has to pick up Casper. She grabs all the stuff she needs and is pleasantly surprised to find she has more than enough cash left over to satisfy her sweet craving.

  When she leaves the shop, her gaze catches on the IVF clinic opposite with its peppermint-green clapboard.

  Her earlier mood dips. She takes a step forward. She doesn’t want to get too close – she’ll leave that until Thursday when she’s got Camilla holding her hand – but she wants to read what they have to say about their treatment.

  Calm. Safe. Fantastic results. That’s good, she thinks. She needs all of those things. She’s been warned that it’s a long, hard road. But nothing could feel harder than what she and Tom had been through last year. Just as she’s squinting into the reception window, she sees a small, blonde lady with skinny jeans tucked into black ankle boots, coming out of the clinic. She’s struck by how poised she looks. Happy, almost. She’s turning her head, chatting to someone. Sarah hopes that she will be like that on Thursday, instead of the shaky wreck that she’s envisaging. But then she sees who is behind her. He’s holding a bunch of leaflets, sliding his wallet into his back pocket. She recognises his stance. The way he fills up the entire space. His leather jacket that’s such a part of him she can’t ever imagine him without it. She takes a step backwards. What the fuck, she thinks. Gav? Gav? She can’t quite believe her eyes.

  ‘Oh God, sorry,’ she mutters. She’s bumped into someone now, but she barely notices. She’s too busy watching Gav and the blonde lady as they hurry off down the road towards Gunnersbury. He bumps his shoulder into the woman’s body, the way he does when he’s making a joke and he wants to highlight just how amusing it is.

  ‘Sarah?’

  She doesn’t, or rather can’t, respond for a moment. She stands there, suspended in time.

  ‘Charlotte. Oh. God sorry. I’m not with it today. Just, you know.’ She holds up all her shopping with an apologetic smile. She knows she looks vacant but inwardly she’s panicking. Should she tell Liza what she’s seen? She should probably speak to Gav first. Come straight out with it. She’s good at detecting a lie. She’s known him for long enough. But recently he’s been so weird with her that she doesn’t know if she can face it. Or maybe, just maybe, she should pretend she never saw it. But if Liza finds out she’d known and hadn’t told her … Oh God. It’s starting all over again. She knocks her temple with her knuckles. Just shut up, brain, she thinks.

  ‘Hello Charlotte,’ she sighs. Charlotte G. The one person on the planet she can’t cope with seeing right now. Perky Charlotte, who’s been gunning for Head of the PTA position for months. Sarah braces herself – she doesn’t have the energy to escape.

  There’s nothing else for it. She may as well give in to whatever else today has to bring. But she has a feeling, from the smug look on Charlotte G’s face – the upwards curl of her pursed lips – that it’s not going to be good.

  West London Gazette editorial notes, October 2019

  J Roper interview transcript: Waitress Zara Hollis, witness, The Vale Club

  I’d been on the long shift. I’d left home at five that morning. The club opens at six, you see. For all the people who want to do their workouts before going to the office. I was a bit jittery. Had mainlined coffee in fact. So when I heard that scream, my heart was right up in my mouth. I knew something terrible had happened.

  Anyway – we had word that the club would close pretty quickly after the boy fell. Most of the mums and dads who were with their kids scarpered. I suppose they’d had a shock and didn’t want their children exposed to it all. I’m not surprised really. No one wants to see a badly injured child being c
arted off in an ambulance, do they?

  So anyway, there was this really strange atmosphere and I was closing up the tills and doing the last bits of clearing away. I had just scooped up all the last cups and saucers that were left on the tables. There were only about two people in the café at that point. Two women and their kids. One of them was like this supermodel. I remembered her because – well – she was just one of those types that look like they work out all the time. The other one seemed very upset. She must have known the boy or something because, come to think of it, she looked like she was in dreadful shock. I nearly asked her if she wanted a cup of tea. I stopped right behind her but they were talking so intently that I thought I would just let her get on with it.

  Strange conversation they were having. Something about the security cameras here and whether she could have done anything to stop the fall. I mean, how could she have done? She’s not God or anything, is she. The only way that that fall could have been stopped was if the post had never been there in the first place. I wanted to tell her that. But my arms were aching and I thought all the china was about to slide off the tray. She shouldn’t have worried though. It’s not as if she was responsible, is it?

  LIZA

  Gav’s right. Jack is being discharged. I hadn’t really believed him yesterday – had assumed he’d misheard, got it wrong, even though he’s prone to checking things three or four times when it comes to the children. I want to be happy about it. I am happy about it. Of course. But the idea that Jack is here, in the hospital where he can be looked after, where there are people around if anything goes wrong, is more comforting than I’d possibly realised. I feel better after texting Sarah and letting her know we are coming home. I know that seeing her face will make it all easier for us. It’s ten thirty in the morning by the time Dr Qureshi comes to see us for her ward round. Jack has fallen back asleep.

  ‘You managed to get some rest?’ She looks over at the table, cluttered with the hospital-grade pump and two freezer bags of milk. ‘Looks like you’ve been busy.’

  ‘I slept OK actually.’ My headache has finally subsided. I squeeze the back of my neck, grateful to Ella for her herbal sleeping tablets. ‘My husband,’ I stutter, realising he’s anything but at the moment, ‘he got the good shift. But I went home for a few hours last night and had a good rest then, before I came back here. Thank you. Is everything all right then? Any updates?’

  She looks over at Jack’s sleeping form. ‘He’s a strong boy. Luckily. And the fracture will heal well. If you stick to what we told you. Keeping him still and well hydrated. We need you to see the physio this afternoon. You can liaise with her about appointments at yours but, for now, we need you to keep him lying down. Until then, you can get ready. To go home.’

  I nod, only just grasping the gravity of this – how on earth I’m going to keep a five-year-old still.

  ‘Books,’ she reads my mind. ‘Audio books. Telly. Lots of it. There are some forums online that will be able to help you. And soft foods. He’ll be able to sit up a bit. But we’ll go through all this with you anyway before you leave.’

  ‘Right. Thank you.’ I feel so unprepared. How will I know if there’s something wrong? If anything happens, who will I call?

  ‘Can I put together a list of questions?’ I say. ‘Before we go home? I just feel – I don’t know.’

  ‘Of course you can. I’ll leave you for a bit until he wakes up then I’ll come and see both of you. A nurse will be over soon to do his observations but everything is in order at the moment.’ She looks at me, and then at Jack. ‘He’s a very, very lucky boy. Things could have been a lot worse.’

  As she leaves our hospital bay, I try and focus on what’s happening around me. I try not to let her words affect me. I try not to imagine the ‘what ifs’. I try to keep my mind on the here and now. What help will catastrophising do? That’s Sarah’s bag, not mine. I let out a small chuckle and mentally remind myself to call her and make plans for us moving in. And then I text Gav. He’d told me he’d be in earlier. It’s late now, almost ten forty-five. I jolt as I realise he’s now nearly four hours late. What is he doing? What on earth can he be doing that’s more important than our son? He’s never been late before. Always hovering, waiting when I’m meant to bring the kids back for him. Pacing the hallway, the kitchen. Again, I steel myself against the rage, and try and focus on my little boy, whose eyes have started to open. He blinks three times in quick succession before looking at me.

  ‘You OK, love?’ I lean over and stroke the underside of Jack’s good arm. ‘Good news by the way. Home time soon. We’ll be back before you know it. And I want to talk to you about something.’

  ‘What?’ he stares up at the ceiling. ‘I know Father Christmas is not real.’

  ‘Oh,’ I laugh. I’m always surprised by how quickly he wakes up. ‘Erm, no. It’s not that. Something else.’

  ‘Am I in trouble?’ He looks scared, his gaze focused on the same spot above him. I shield his eyes so he doesn’t stare directly into the bright glare of halogen.

  ‘No, of course not.’ I squeeze his hand. I don’t want his mind going back to the fall. I know I’ll have to talk to him about it at some point. Just not now. ‘Don’t be daft. I wanted to tell you that we’re going to move in with Casper for a little bit. And Sarah and Tom. How nice will that be. Your best mate. Just until you get better.’

  I wait for his reaction. Thank God. Something to lift his spirits. But he doesn’t say a word.

  ‘Jack? Love? Did you hear me?’

  ‘Yes.’ But his little face stays focused on the lights. I start to panic. Perhaps his cognitive function has been affected by the fall? Perhaps I should ask for a brain scan? My body starts to tremble.

  ‘Jack? Are you OK?’ I move to shake him a bit then realise this is the worst thing I could do. ‘Jack. Listen,’ my voice gets louder and louder. And then I sit down. Stop it, I tell myself. Trust the doctors. ‘Sorry. Sorry love. Are you OK?’ I don’t want him to see me worried. I don’t want him to absorb all my panic. ‘Just want to make sure you’re OK.’

  ‘Yes Mummy.’ I think I see his eyes fill with tears.

  ‘Oh love. Are you not pleased?’

  ‘I am. But what about Daddy?’ he says.

  ‘Daddy is going to be with us too.’ I don’t go into the business of the spare key. Jack has never asked why Gav had moved out of the main bedroom. Just jumped up and down that he was going to have his daddy closer to him. ‘He’s going to basically be living there too. But this will just be a chance to have some extra hands with Sarah and Tom, whilst we make sure you get better. And company with Casper. Sound good to you?’

  ‘Can we play superheroes?’

  My heart squeezes.

  ‘Phew.’ I kiss his hand. ‘That’s good. Because I was thinking, we could set up the telly so that you can watch it from your bed. And you and Casper can have superhero bedtime feasts together. OK? How does that sound?’

  ‘Good,’ he says, but his voice goes all quiet. He’s just feeling weak, I tell myself. Poor little thing. Of course he’s not going to be jumping up and down for joy. How could I ever think he would be? Not even six years old. A fractured neck and a broken wrist? Give him a break. ‘It’s all going to be OK, little one. It’s all going to be OK.’ But I don’t know who I’m trying to convince. Him, or me.

  WhatsApp: Jack and plans

  Members: Liza, Gav

  Liza: Gav?

  Gav: What is it?

  Liza: Just wondered where you are? It’s past ten thirty. I thought you said you were going to be back at seven this morning.

  Gav: Seven?

  Liza: You said you’d be here first thing and we’re meant to be getting out today.

  Gav: First thing? Well, it’s still first thing. I’ll be there in twenty. Just leaving home.

  Liza: You call this first thing? Where have you been? I’ve just tried your landline. No answer. You’re normally so *exacting* about time – especially mine – I just
thought you might deign to be here at a normal hour. How do you know we haven’t been discharged already and are waiting for you?

  Gav: Don’t start, Liza. Don’t even go there. I wouldn’t, if I were you.

  Liza: I’m not starting. You said you’d be here for when he woke up. And you aren’t. You are every other time. Except when we really need you.

  Gav: It was just a figure of speech Liza. You have to take everything I say so literally. I’ll be there soon.

  Liza: But where have you been? What could have been more important than being here for your son?

  Gav: I had a doctor’s appointment this morning.

  Liza: Doctor? You had a doctor’s appt? You couldn’t cancel?

  Gav: No. See you soon.

  WhatsApp group: Renegades

  Members: Liza, Sarah

  Liza: RANT ALERT. Fucking Gav. The fucking, fucking fuckwittery arse-wipe. Said he’d be here at the hospital first thing this morning. For Jack. It’s now ten-fifty and he’s still at home. Said he had a fucking doctor’s appointment. And we’re meant to be getting ready to leave.

  Sarah: Typing …

  Liza: Sa? Where are you? I’m fucking furious. Twat. Absolute, fucking arsehole.

  Sarah: Shit, Liza, so sorry. Hang on. Just trying to get rid of Charlotte G. Just bumped into her. Ring you in two, I promise.