The Fallout

by Rebecca Thornton

  ‘I wish you’d stop that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Making light of everything.’

  I try and act all cross but I’m so pleased that there’s been some shared camaraderie that it’s virtually impossible. Gav looks pleased too, at his own crappy joke and the fact it’s been appreciated. I look over at Jack, he’s smiling as well now, his little molars gleaming in the light. With Gav appeased, and Thea about to have some milk, it feels to me, for one tiny moment, that everything has been forgotten. Like we are a real family again.

  West London Gazette editorial notes, October 2019

  J Roper interview transcript: Callie Simcha, witness, The Vale Club

  I’m twenty-six years old. I’ve got a boyfriend but we haven’t even discussed having kids. In fact it’s the furthest thing from my mind. I think we’d both freak out at having that conversation. Especially when we go to The Vale Club together and we see parenting in its full glory. It’s like the mums and their prams rule the world there. Or they think they do anyway. The dads are often even worse in truth. They pretend they’re all, like – oh sorry we’re in your way, are we? But then they don’t move a muscle.

  They come barging into me, without even noticing I’m there. I understand it must be difficult to be lugging a pram along with screaming children – but we exist too, you know. Us child-free people. The other day this woman bashed me in the head on the bus with her kid’s scooter, which she had slung over her shoulder. I flipped. It fucking hurt! She was carrying her other kid and looked really harassed. You know, the type of mum that will never wear make-up again.

  I swore at her under my breath. I’d had a bad day too. My mum’s in hospital with early onset dementia. My job is full on. Yet of course why should that matter? This mum can’t get on the sodding bus properly with all her shopping and she can’t even muster up the decency to say sorry. And then her kids were screaming, and she was getting more and more stressed. She was obviously one of those women that would sit at a wedding with the kids rioting through the service – not thinking that anyone else might like to hear what’s going on. It’s like – just leave. Just take your screaming brats outside.

  Anyway, when she heard me muttering to her that she should have bloody well apologised, she had the absolute cheek to say to me: ‘Just you wait until you have kids. You’ll see what it’s like then.’

  I wanted to go mad at her there and then. I was thinking: how do you know I can even have children? I could be infertile, for all she knew. Or not want them at all. I wanted to say, you aren’t reinventing the wheel you know. Millions of mothers have done this before you. Some with no money. Some under awful circumstances. Yet you think that for some reason, the world owes you a favour – you with the nice house and perfect kids, because you feel a bit stressed on the bloody bus.

  Phew. Sorry. I didn’t mean to let off such a rant. I’m sorry. It’s just that if she had behaved like a normal human being, I might have thought a bit differently.

  Anyway – all of this meant that I didn’t realise at first what had happened when that little boy fell at The Vale Club. All I saw was this woman running – she was sitting in the soft-play area and then she suddenly got up and barged past me as I was leaving the club. I swore at her then too. But she was doing this weird jagged breathing thing, like she was about to freak out but trying to stay calm. So she definitely wasn’t with him at the time. Which is another thing – why are these mothers so bloody stressed out if all they’re doing is drinking coffee whilst they aren’t even with their kids?

  But anyway – I just thought, oh, another mother, pushing into me – not even giving anyone else a second thought. But then this weird atmosphere settled just as I was leaving – and I stuck around for a bit in reception just to see what was going on. I heard them on the phone to the ambulance, saying something about the boy falling and that it was serious. I had a horrible taste in my mouth for the rest of the day because I mean – they may be annoying – those mums and dads, but obviously, no one deserves something as awful as that.

  SARAH

  By the time Tuesday rolls around, Sarah is feeling more positive. In some part it’s down to where she is in her monthly cycle. In other parts it’s down to the fact that Tom has come round to Liza and the kids moving in – for just the two weeks, mind – and of course her own role that she has to play in making things up to her best friend. At least she can get moving on that now. At least there’s no more dreadful waiting, the itching sensation that she needs to do something but she just doesn’t know what.

  And then there’s Ella. Sarah had spent the best part of nine hours stalking her on Facebook. Oh, the things she’d managed to glean from doing her extensive search! She’d found some old photos of Ella and Rufus North, tucked away in one of about four hundred albums on Rufus’ profile. They hadn’t been easy to find. But she’d stuck to her guns and kept going and the rewards had been great and she thinks she has a surer idea now of what is going on. Except there is still the missing period from after Felix had been born, when Ella had gone totally silent. She’ll have to find out about that another way.

  Tom leaves for work humming and singing. Thank God he’s in a good mood this morning. It’s OK for him, she thinks. Going off to George Jones’ new restaurant for lunch with a client.

  ‘Any more thoughts on your birthday?’ he says, as she unloads the dishwasher.

  ‘Hmmm. Yes. Anything,’ she replies. ‘Although nothing big actually. I still like the idea of Oban. Just you and me.’

  She can’t think of anything worse than having to put on a cheery face in front of a crowd at the moment. Then it crosses her mind she still hasn’t told him about the IVF appointment. Maybe she’ll mention it in the morning on Thursday, after she drops Casper off and before the morning meeting about the Christmas fair. That will be a busy day and so there’ll be no room for discussion about the whole thing, which is exactly how she wants it; fair, then lunch then IVF appointment then pick-up.

  And there are a million and one other things she has to do in between. Help buy Liza’s shopping. Type up the agenda meeting from the fair. She wants to be on it. She had to be. After all, she’d become detective, helper, PTA organiser, mother and all the rest in the space of about two weeks. She isn’t used to all this. And then she remembers Liza’s contact. The one from the old people’s home that she’d tried to link her up with for work. Shit. She needs to ring them too – she’s been meaning to. They’d left a message just before the weekend that she’s only just picked up. She’s got to do that before Liza moves in and asks her. It’s OK, she thinks. The busier she is, the more she’ll forget about the incident with Jack.

  And then she wonders why she hasn’t told Tom about the IVF appointment. He’s agreed to let Liza move in, so she no longer needs it as leverage. Is she scared about it? Or is it something else? She can’t quite put her finger on the feeling.

  ‘Oh, by the way.’ She hands Tom his keys from the kitchen sideboard. ‘Before you go,’ she leans down and shuts a drawer that Casper is opening and closing. ‘Don’t do that, darling, you’ll trap your fingers. I said, don’t do that. For God’s sake.’ She sighs; she doesn’t need more stress this morning. ‘Before you go, have you spoken to Gav lately?’

  ‘Gav?’

  ‘Er. Yes. Gav. You know. One of your best mates? Lives two roads from us?’

  ‘Right. Casper, what did Mummy say?’ Tom leans down and presses his foot against the drawer. ‘Sorry. What were you saying? Have I spoken to Gav?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh – I’m seeing him tonight actually. Liza’s moving in with the kids today, right?’

  Casper starts to whine and moves over to another drawer that he starts slamming open and shut.

  ‘Yes. Today. Look, can you ask Gav what he’s been up to? Anything unusual? You know. Just see if there’s anything that strikes you as odd.’

  ‘You think he’s seeing someone?’ Tom turns back to face her. ‘Seriously? Alr
eady?’

  ‘Who knows? Liza thinks something is up.’ She throws him off the scent. She doesn’t want to have to explain that she saw him at the IVF clinic. And then have to go into the discussion about their own attempts at having another child. ‘He’s just been a bit, well, AWOL recently. It’s not like him. Being late when he’s said he’ll be there for Jack. That kind of thing. He’s normally so on it. So onto Liza, as I’ve been telling you.’ But Tom doesn’t pick up on her pointed comment about Gav’s controlling behaviour.

  ‘Hmmm. That doesn’t sound like him at all. Weird.’

  They both go silent. And then there’s a great slam, followed by piercing screams. For a minute, Sarah is reminded of Jack. The fall. She’s right there, back at the club. Her anxiety rockets and she turns to shout at Casper.

  ‘I told you,’ she shouts. ‘I told you to stop.’ She knows she shouldn’t be raising her voice so much. But her heart is threatening to burst out of her chest in fear and Jack’s small body keeps looming in her thoughts. The strange angle that he’d been lying at. And then the memory of him halfway up the post.

  ‘Sarah,’ Tom says, dragging her back to the present. ‘Stop it. He’s just being a child. What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she whispers, her heart going at full throttle.

  ‘OK.’ Tom leans down to peck a crying Casper on the head. ‘Just chill out, will you.’ She watches him walk down the hall and pick up his briefcase that she’s forever telling him to put away.

  ‘And wait,’ she shouts out as she hears the door go. Her anger is rising up, like a wound she needs to scratch; she wants to get back at him somehow for telling her to chill out. ‘You’d better be back,’ she shrieks. ‘For bedtime. You can go out with your friend Gav afterwards.’

  ‘Fine.’ She sees Tom’s shoulders slump as he leaves the house.

  Once the energy of their row has dissipated and Casper is settled playing with his Lego, she gets a cup of very strong coffee and goes back to her computer to look at all the information she’s found on Ella. She’s still trying to work out timings – events. What the hell is Echo Limited? And just as she’s scrolling down further into her rabbit hole of stalking, her email pings. She reads it once, then twice. There are only two words going through her brain at this point. Holy. Shit. She looks at the sender: J Roper. A journalist.

  She types out a reply. Just leave me alone. Her eyes feel all blurry. And then she realises she shouldn’t engage. That anything she says will be written down. Shit. She can feel sweat pouring down her back. She doesn’t know if her body can take this much longer. Her fight-or-flight response is going to go into overdrive and she thinks she might combust. But then she thinks of Liza – how their friendship would be destroyed if she admitted the truth. She thinks of all she’s going through with Gav. She needs to be there, to protect her from him. And then she thinks of how everyone would react to her, knowing what she’d done. The flurry of whispers at the school gates. Walking the plank to the classroom to drop off Casper. She shudders. And then she thinks about Charlotte G and how she’d pretend to be taking the upper hand in all of this. Oh, Sarah, what a terribly awful thing to happen. You must feel so dreadful – what with Liza being your best friend. She simply can’t even face the idea of it.

  The squirming feeling in her stomach is getting worse by the second – like there’s a wild animal inside of her, clawing to get loose. The only way she can stop it all is by shutting down this communication. By doing what Ella told her to do. Just stick to your story and all will be fine. Sarah replays Ella’s voice in her head – for all her faults it calms her down, knowing she’s not in this alone. Her thoughts follow into actions and she decides once and for all what to do.

  Spam. That’s what she’ll say. She never got the email. She reads through it one last time, committing the words to memory.

  Gav Barnstaple said you’d talk to me … She skims through the rest of it. No. She’s not going to talk. Not to a soul. And with one swift stroke, she hits the delete key, and slams shut her computer.

  The Vale Club Official Facebook Page

  Post: We’d like to alert you to our new EARLYBIRD Christmas offer of THREE personal training sessions for the price of 2!!! Get ready for those festive parties!!!! Sign up at reception.

  Lara Keystone: Hey – @Valeclubofficial – instead of pulling the wool over our eyes with crappy offers that you run all year, can you tell us what is going on after that boy’s accident? Lots of us aren’t bringing our kids until we get some word or reassurance that this won’t happen again. I know loads of people are blaming the mother but still – this SHOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED.

  Clemmie Brigstocke-Mathers: I heard something truly awful the other day from a mother at the little boy’s school. Apparently there is a chance that someone could have pushed him. I really don’t want to believe this. But please clarify and tell us what you will be doing about it and the safety in the rest of the club. We’re meant to trust you with our kids! And for those who don’t have children – I’m sure they’re pretty horrified too. Sort it out, Vale Club!

  Georgina C: Pushed? And @Valeclubofficial, you haven’t told us or sent your members a letter? DISGUSTING. Aren’t you meant to report all of this or at least let your PAYING members know?

  Tom Hoopman: haha – PC, you’re really messing about with the wrong clientele here!!!

  View 567 more comments.

  LIZA

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ I try not to look at Sarah’s face as I drag the last of the storage boxes down into the basement.

  ‘Yeah, don’t worry,’ puffs Gav, ‘she’s not moving in permanently or anything.’ I’d received Sarah’s text telling me that we’d need to limit our stay for two weeks, just after I’d packed ninety percent of the boxes. ‘Liza, I’ll grab that and you go and check on Jack.’

  ‘Fine.’ I go down into the living space that Sarah’s created for us. She’s done it beautifully. I barely recognise the place. A large, divan-type daybed that has a pull-out single truckle bed underneath it, and she’s even put a brand-new bedpan in the corner of the room.

  ‘I got the pull-out,’ Sarah says. ‘So Casper can lie with him and watch films.’ ‘Wow, this is amazing.’ I look around. Everything looks so easy. The kitchenette is just to the side of the living space with a small bathroom and my bedroom is at the end of the corridor. ‘This is just going to be so much easier than sleeping on the blow-up bed. Thank you so much, Sa. I don’t know how we are going to repay you.’ A funny look crosses Sarah’s face.

  ‘No need for that,’ she says. ‘No need for that at all.’

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Oh God. I’m fine.’ She’s clutching her phone and she keeps looking down at it, as though she’s expecting some big news or something. ‘It’s just – yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘Good. You sure this is OK?’ I look around the room, at all the bits and bobs stacked up. ‘Bit late now, really, though,’ I joke.

  ‘What is all this stuff anyway?’ she laughs but I detect a note of panic in her voice.

  ‘God only knows. I just overpacked. I kept thinking we’d need everything in the house.’

  ‘OK. Maybe I’ll just push it all to one side. Just before Tom gets home?’

  ‘Fine. No problems. Jack, you OK, darling?’ He scowls at me. ‘Nice to see Aunty Sarah?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh God,’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry. He’s happy to be here. Excited to see you and Casper. He’s just struggling at the moment.’

  ‘Of course, I understand that. Jack, would you like Casper to bring down his monkey fingerling that he got for his birthday?’

  ‘No,’ he snaps. Sarah looks over at me, her mouth pulled into an O-shape.

  ‘Ignore,’ I mouth over to her. I walk over to my little boy and sit next to him. I don’t say anything at all. Just make sure that my presence is known and that I don’t expect anything of him. ‘He’s very up and down,’ I say softly.

  ‘Shit. I’m so s
orry, Liza. It’s going to be OK. I’ll get Casper down here. He’s with Helen.’

  ‘Oh my God. It’s not Friday, is it? I don’t even know the days any more. Wait. It’s Tuesday, right?’ I feel a pang of nostalgia as I say this. That I know Sarah so well I know when her cleaner comes. I know when she skips breakfast. I even know when she and Tom have got some nookie in, but lately, after Jack’s accident, everything seems so strained. I can’t quite put my finger on her behaviour. It’s not her usual anxiety. I know those moods as well. It’s something else. Like any wrong word could shatter her brittle façade in one fell swoop. Maybe she’s been traumatised by Jack’s fall. Perhaps I’ve underestimated the impact it’s had on everyone.

  Then I remember the way she had looked at Jack the other day. The way she had looked so sad when she’d asked if I thought he remembered it at all. I don’t have it in me to discuss it with Sarah and to help her too. But soon, when everything is settled, I’ll look after her. I’ll tell her that it’s all OK. She can move on.

  ‘I just got Helen in for a few hours extra this week to give us a hand. Here,’ Sarah beckons me to follow her. ‘Let me show you your room. I’ve made the bed and I’ve used the double tog duvet but if you need more, there’s blankets in this cupboard here.’ She waves me over to the room. It overlooks a small lightwell, under the main garden. She shuts the door. ‘How are you and Gav getting on?’ she whispers. ‘Is it affecting Jack whilst he’s so vulnerable?’

  ‘We aren’t really fighting at the moment actually. And Jack’s absolutely fine when me and Gav are together. It’s so weird.’