The Fallout

by Rebecca Thornton

  ‘Why are you so fidgety?’ says Tom, patting the cushion. ‘It’s like you’ve got ants in your pants.’

  ‘Don’t talk to me like I’m Casper,’ she snaps. She finds a position in which she doesn’t feel quite so sick. ‘I’m just so, so glad to see you both,’ she rolls over and leans into them. ‘So happy to see you.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Tom pats her head as if she’s a dog. ‘You’ve only been gone a couple of hours.’

  ‘Feels like an absolute lifetime. You’re watching Paddington Bear? Again? It must be the tenth time you’ve seen this film.’ She snuggles up into Casper’s warm body, feeling like she wants to sob. ‘So glad you are here.’

  ‘Me too,’ Tom grabs her hand. ‘It’s been a tough old week. Liza OK?’

  ‘Sure has,’ she says. ‘And yes. Liza’s OK.’ She’s too exhausted to explain what happened and she can’t bring herself to mention the investigation, the words strangling her. Tom closes his eyes.

  Sarah pulls out her phone. Now she has a minute’s peace, she’s going to face up to a few things. After that, she’ll cook lunch for them all and then she’ll tell Tom that Liza’s moving in. She shuffles her body to the side, so no one can see her screen, and she starts to do some searches.

  She types in The Vale Club first. That’s about the best she can do, for the moment. Slowly does it. She scans down the list of results. Nothing, other than links to the websites of all the different Vale Club clubs around England. She’s going to have to brave it. Go right in at the deep end. The Vale Club, boy fall, West London. Her finger hovers over the enter button. Can she do this? Yes she can. She presses the arrow key.

  When the page is fully loaded, she flicks down the screen. There are forums dedicated to Five-year-old fractures neck in West London’s Vale Club on just about every single parenting website there is – let alone the local West London forums. There’s chat on Mumsnet, Facebook pages, there’s even a piece about it in the West London Rascals Magazine, which she can’t bring herself to read. The Vale Club Loses Members After Five-Year-Old Boy Fractures His Neck.

  She thinks there’s something lodged in her throat, until she realises she’s choking on her own breath. Everyone is talking about it. How can she have missed all this? She scrolls down further to see all the other forums dedicated to the fall. She reads about how The Vale Club members are baying for blood. There’s even a Twitter hashtag #boyfallatTheValeClub. Oh good God. She hears herself make a spluttering noise. This is all her doing. She’s been burying her head in the sand for the last couple of days, keeping busy, consuming herself with Ella Bradby’s motives. But seeing all this online brings the cold truth firmly home. What will she do? She certainly cannot come clean now. She wants to. How she wants to. Maybe if she says something this minute, it will all go away. But then her imagination goes into full pelt. Headlines scroll across her mind’s eye. Best friend of mum to blame for boy’s fall. She imagines all the journalists outside her house waiting to catch her; the parents at school looking out for her to put any foot wrong. And then Liza – after everything Liza has done for her.

  ‘You OK?’ Tom leans over. She snatches her phone away from him.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘You’re making these weird gasping noises. Like you’ve got sleep apnoea. Whilst you’re awake.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she says again.

  She puts down her phone. Then picks it up again. She quickly types Ella Bradby into Facebook, careful to ensure she’s not inputting her current status. When she reaches Ella’s profile, she scrolls through her timeline and looks at her header. It’s her and Christian on some beach somewhere looking impossibly glamorous.

  She scrolls through all of Ella’s friends, feeling grateful that she’d had the guts to befriend her all those years ago. She remembers how her finger hovered over the request button. Should she? Shouldn’t she?

  Ella had posted a fair bit right up until Felix had been born and then it had all stopped. No one had commented on her page – nothing. Until very recently. Strange. Obviously Sarah had spent a fair bit of time stalking Ella’s photos after she’d first met her at NCT. Examining the people in them. Clicking on the tags, careful not to inadvertently ‘like’ an image, or befriend someone. But now, now she is going to do some proper detective work. She is going to delve deeper into Ella’s life and find out if there are any hints about her ‘big trips’. Just as she’s got about forty tabs open and thinks she’s getting somewhere, Tom’s phone pings.

  ‘Bloody thing.’ He opens one eye and shuts it again. But then he grabs the phone towards him.

  ‘Weird,’ he says. ‘Message from Gav.’ He re-scans the text and then looks over at Sarah. ‘He says – let’s go for a drink when Liza and the kids move into yours. Catch up mate, it’s been a long time. Thanks for having them by the way. I know they’ll be safe with you.’ He shifts his whole body weight up. Sarah can feel the energy around him shifting. Casper pulls the remote control towards him.

  ‘Daddy, be quiet,’ he says. ‘Mummy, can you turn it up?’

  ‘What does he mean?’ Tom’s voice rises a few notches.

  Sarah puts her phone down and bites her lip. What is she meant to say? She had planned it all carefully. She was going to ask Tom first how he felt that Liza was all alone. And then build herself up to come out with it. Now that’s all scuppered she has no clue what to do – and anyway, she’s still reeling from finding out how many people are talking about Jack’s fall. She just can’t be dealing with this too.

  ‘I … I was going to say something to you first,’ she stands up. ‘But you’d said no. You made it so difficult to even discuss it. Guilt-tripping me into agreeing with you. And, well, Liza is all alone. I was there, Tom. I saw the whole thing. But of course,’ she’s shouting now. She can’t stop herself. Casper turns up the volume. ‘Of course you got your way.’

  She wishes she could admit what’s really on her mind. That she has wronged her friend. She so desperately wants to rid herself of this ache around her chest. But she knows she cannot. She wants to cry. She wants to tell Tom that she knows he’s right.

  ‘Look. I’m sorry,’ she takes a breath and changes tack. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I was going to tell you.’

  ‘Well, un-tell them.’ He stands too, placing his palms flat against the wall. ‘Bloody well do it. Now.’

  ‘You know I can’t do that.’

  ‘You can and you will.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ she explodes. ‘It’s two weeks. That’s what I told her. Two weeks.’ A lie. She’ll have to remember to tell Liza. ‘Surely you can survive it for two weeks. I’ll start preparing the Airbnb listings now then, shall I? So you know there’s a cut-off point. So we all do. I’ll say that we will start taking renters in two weeks. And if you must know, she needs to get away from Gav. I think he’s dangerous.’

  Tom snorts in her face. He actually snorts. She doesn’t know where to start.

  ‘Gav? Dangerous? Gav? You must be off your head, Sarah. I’ve thought you’ve been acting a bit odd lately. But this? You’re positively deluded. And you know she’ll stay longer. Liza and the kids. She’ll rely on you. Of course she will. Just get a little bit cosy. Away from Gav. If you say he’s so dangerous. And I know what you’re like. You’ll get so wrapped up in trying to help and then we’ll never get on with trying for number …’ Sadness crosses his expression.

  ‘Three,’ she interrupts. ‘Number three.’ They both go quiet. ‘Of course she’s not going to stay. If she knows in advance. OK? Give me two weeks. Please, Tom. Please. I’ll do the listing on Airbnb today. So I’m on top of it.’

  She thinks about telling him about the appointment at the IVF clinic on Thursday to change the subject totally, but she knows that’s going beyond the pale.

  ‘Fine,’ he sits back down, crosses his arms and slumps back onto the pillow. ‘Do it now. I want the bookings coming in for two weeks’ time exactly. OK? So everyone knows where they stand.’

&n
bsp; Sarah breathes a sigh of relief. ‘Fine. I’m doing it.’

  She picks up her phone and opens up her browser. Screw him, she thinks. She’ll have to pluck up the courage to tell Liza she needs to move out in a fortnight. And that if that’s too short a time for her, then to stay at home. But Liza’s packed already and, oh God. How will she explain?

  She types Airbnb into the Google search bar. But then she remembers what she was doing earlier. She was in the middle of looking up Ella Bradby on Facebook. She’ll have a quick look at her profile again and then she’ll go back to the Airbnb listing. She flicks onto the familiar blue page and taps on Ella’s friends.

  There’s seven hundred and sixty-two of them. She starts slowly at first, skimming through each and every one. She recognises a few celebrities. TV presenters and the likes. But no one massive. There are pictures of Ella and her family. Sarah clicks on their links but they’ve all been totally closed off to the public. She sees a few of the school mums in the other class. How have they befriended Ella, she thinks. She carries on scrolling.

  There! There he is. The actor linked to Ella, Rufus North! It’s got to be. Something inside her takes flight.

  ‘You going OK?’ asks Tom. ‘With the listing? Make sure you show me later, yeah?’

  ‘Hmmm? Yes. Yes. It’s good,’ Sarah says, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. ‘Yup. I’ll show you later. But shhh, I need to concentrate.’

  She clicks on Rufus North’s profile. It’s got to be him. And of course, his profile is going to be blocked to the public. But when she opens it up, she sees that it’s open. Hurrah! And look! All those albums she can nosey into. There must be some information there on Ella. Some old photos. Look – there are even pictures of him filming that Merchant Ivory piece from the noughties. He did that film right at the time he was supposedly seeing Ella. Sarah remembers googling her right after their first NCT class in wonderment – staring at old pictures and footage of them both: of Ella’s forever legs on the red carpet, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, her smiling right into the camera. How she’d told people she sort of knew him after that.

  Maybe – just maybe – she’ll find out more of Ella’s secrets here. Maybe there’ll be some information about why Ella is taking these big trips now, because Sarah knows it’s all linked to her past. It all fits into the puzzle somehow, the mystery of Ella Bradby. Then she stumbles on some photo of a party from a couple of weeks ago. She scans the background.

  ‘Ella’s launch party,’ it says. She types in the company name that’s emblazoned on all the balloons with the green logo underneath it. Not one thing is returned on Google, except a link to Companies House. Echo Limited. Directors, Ella and Christian Bradby, it reads. How weird. And then she spots some of the school mums in the background and she forgets to carry on her search for the company, because she’s wondering how she’s got from Rufus North to Miriam and the other mums in one fell swoop. She cannot for the life of her work out how she’s arrived at this point. She’s trying to connect the dots. It’s all so strange. Do they all know each other? Is there some weird conspiracy going on? And is this company something to do with Ella’s big trip? She hadn’t thought so – she was sure it had been to do with the WhatsApp message she’d seen just before Jack’s fall. So many questions, so little time it seems, before the Christmas fair, before things really get hectic. She feels a slight swell of panic. What on earth is she going to do?

  And as she thinks about the fair, her to-do list starts creeping into her thoughts, before rocketing right through her brain – Casper’s homework, Liza moving in, renting out the flat when she moves out … But somehow, despite all of this, she still manages to be distracted and fixated by Ella Bradby. She doesn’t know why she bothers. Why she can’t just get her out of her mind. It isn’t as if she can ever bridge the gap between her and Ella from a superficial point of view. But Sarah’s entire being demands – no – craves Ella’s attention. It’s as though her entire identity has become embroiled in Ella’s approval, or something that to her is still indefinable. And if she gets it? Perhaps – then – she’ll feel good enough.

  LIZA

  ‘He’s doing so well,’ Jan, the physio, says as she packs her things into a small, black holdall and turns towards Jack. ‘The movement in his arm is picking up and I think his muscles are strengthening. You’re doing so brilliantly, aren’t you, young man?’ I notice Jack doesn’t reply. ‘OK then, bye.’ She ruffles his head and he scowls at her. ‘And that little cutie over there,’ she nods her head towards Thea, ‘is so well-behaved. Look at her just chilling in her bouncer.’

  ‘Yes she is. Gosh, sorry,’ I laugh. ‘It’s not like Jack not to say goodbye. But – he’s probably just exhausted. Aren’t you darling?’ I think about my own heavy limbs. I’m a bit stronger, but still feel like I could sleep for a decade.

  I show Jan out and then I come back into the room. The lights have been dimmed and there’s a soft sound of classical music coming from the other room.

  ‘You OK, J?’ I lean over and unclip Thea from her bouncer, kissing her soft cheek. ‘Not surprised you feel like this to be honest. You don’t need to put on a brave face at the moment, OK? I’m not saying don’t be polite. Just – if you don’t feel up to talking, don’t. Save your energy.’ I stand up and then Jack says something inaudible.

  ‘Sorry?’ I step towards him.

  ‘Milk,’ he says. ‘Or juice.’

  ‘No problem. Are we missing a word here, young man?’ I keep a lightness to my voice. He doesn’t need me haranguing him, after all. But he doesn’t say anything, just stares right at the ceiling.

  ‘Jack? Like I just said, I know you are feeling bad, but just say please.’ I stand there, waiting for his usual little voice to pipe up. Please Mummy. But it doesn’t come. I’m torn. Set the boundaries, or just let it go. I tell myself to stop. That I have to let it go and that I just need to get through this. Jack can forget his manners today.

  ‘OK. I’m going to get you some milk. But when you’re feeling up to it I want a please, or thank you. Can you manage that?’

  Silence.

  ‘Jack,’ I snap. I feel bad then. I turn back to him. ‘Jack. Are you OK? Sorry. I didn’t mean to … I just – are you feeling OK?’

  I rest my hand on his forehead. He feels normal.

  ‘Just feeling down, are you? I’m not surprised, my love. I’ll be back in a sec.’

  I tell myself to keep calm. That Jack needs peace and quiet. I bring him a cold glass of milk, but when I try and angle the straw into his mouth, he resists.

  ‘I’ll leave it just by you. Please tell me when you want some. I’m just going to quickly feed Thea.’

  By the time Gav arrives, Thea is screaming to high heaven, Jack is listening to The Twits on audio book and I’m clenching my jaw tight.

  ‘Where have you been?’ I ask lightly, although it feels like my insides are being boiled. ‘Just that you said you were coming back.’

  ‘I nipped into The Vale Club on my way home.’ He pats Thea on the back. ‘Tired, are you?’

  ‘She’s had her nap.’ I try and keep the triumph out of my voice. ‘Why did you stop there?’

  ‘To meet Arlene, the manager of the whole club. She’s having a meeting with the staff first thing tomorrow. I wanted to make sure she’s on it and going down the right route. Everyone’s up in arms about it too. So they’ve got to do something.’

  ‘Up in arms?’ I had heard bits and bobs – but I suppose with looking after Jack so intensely, I’d totally stayed away from all forms of social media.

  ‘Yup,’ he nods his head but doesn’t say any more. I wonder if he’s protecting me from something.

  ‘Are you sure it’s wise? Chasing it up with the club? I mean – as you keep telling me – I should have been …’ I fumble for the right words. This is only going to highlight the fact I was inside the club, and not outside watching over Jack. ‘I mean – you know – I was inside. When it happened.’ I had
n’t even felt bad about it until Gav had brought it up. I had been keeping an eye on Jack after all. And of course, Sarah had checked on him. She said so.

  ‘But there still needs to be an investigation into what actually happened. That area is meant to be a safe zone, isn’t it? I mean, who knows if the post was unstable, or anything like that. They’ve taken it down now. Not before health and safety did a check though.’

  ‘I see what you mean. Oh, by the way,’ I say, eager to change the subject, ‘I’ve got some reading practice for Jack from his teacher. A few school projects they’re doing in class, that are meant to be fun. She said he can do them from his bed if we help him. So that’ll be good for him to do the same things as his friends.’

  ‘Fine,’ Gav says. ‘I saw his teaching assistant earlier today, she said they all miss him a lot.’

  I feel like I need to get some air into my lungs. ‘I’m going to head out for a quick stroll,’ I say. I need a breather, the house suddenly feels claustrophobic. I hand Thea to him, grab my keys and run before he can even question it.

  By the time I get back, Thea’s gurgling and hungry. I don’t have the energy to feed her myself right now.

  ‘I bought formula.’ I hand him the orange bag. ‘Can you feed her?’

  ‘You aren’t feeding?’ He takes the bag but doesn’t open it. ‘How come?’

  ‘I’ve got mastitis.’ I don’t want to explain but I’m feeling tired. Guilt rips through me, but I need a break. I think about Jack and the time I’d stopped feeding him myself. The constant undercurrents of recriminations. You do know that breast is best? But – at that point, for me – it hadn’t been. My mind starts to spiral.

  ‘If you must-itis know,’ he replies.

  We both laugh and then I stop, waiting for some sort of grenade to be thrown into the conversation. It’s the first time he’s made one of his awful jokes for a long, long time and it’s caught me totally off guard, this glimpse of the old Gav. My stomach sinks, wondering what’s coming next – if this is the calm before the storm, and whether he’s prepping me for something much worse. I feel wobbly. Or maybe he genuinely is feeling happier. Less stressed about something. Perhaps he’s actually relieved that I’ll be moving out; realising that some space between us can only be a good thing. That he can still watch the kids growing up from afar and that I am, despite his thoughts, despite the things that have happened, a good mother.