The Fallout

by Rebecca Thornton

  She doesn’t care if Gav had heard her shouting. In a way, she hopes he had. But Tom – instead of reacting kindly, he’d just behaved as though she was making all this up, let alone said anything to support her, or Liza. After all she’s been going through. It’s like she barely knows her husband. Kind, supportive Tom who would normally by this point have scooped Liza up, brought her to the sofa, and offered her not only the clothes off his back, but his mattress for her to sleep on.

  Sarah feels like shouting at him again but she doesn’t have the energy. Today has taken absolutely everything out of her. She’ll wait for him to come downstairs before she has another chat with him. Maybe she had cornered him too quickly. She tells herself not to spiral. That she must focus on Liza and stay calm for her. Focus and work out a plan. She’ll ring for help. And there’s absolutely no way now that Liza can move out of the flat. She’ll lie down dead before that happens, before Liza is somewhere where she can’t keep an eye on her. She also decides she’ll march up to The Vale Club as soon as possible and give her statement. She’d had more missed calls from them earlier. She knows she’s been putting it off, but now she doesn’t need to any longer. She really has the bit between her teeth. The sooner she tells them that it was their fault – somehow they’d been negligent with the post – then Gav would leave Liza alone. Hell, he’d leave them all alone. It’s the best thing she can do. Not just for herself, she thinks shamefully, but for Liza too.

  Then she thinks of social services. The way she’d batted them off. Perhaps, perhaps she should tell Liza that they’d rung. Give her some hints that she had the help if she needed it. She would have to pretend she’d forgotten to mention it earlier. Oh hell – her brain feels like it’s in overdrive.

  She logs onto Airbnb and deletes the half-finished profile she’d started this morning. Then she texts Liza and tells her exactly what’s happening. Two weeks? Hell to that. She can stay a full year if she likes. She’s full of shame at what she’s done to her friend. It’s getting worse now she knows what Liza has been going through all this time – and now there’s the added guilt at the argument they’d had earlier. She can feel it permeating right through to her bones.

  She’ll go and apologise to Tom, too, for how she’s been handling things, but first she’ll check on Casper. He’s happily slumped on the sofa eating rice cakes. She suddenly remembers a headline she read the other day – something about rice cakes and arsenic. She whips them away from him, bracing herself for his whining. She’s going to stand firm now. And not just with Casper. Boundaries, boundaries, boundaries. It was all she’d been told about at her and Tom’s Relate sessions and now she realises exactly what the lady had meant as she’d poured them more tea and told them they needed to learn their own positioning in life.

  Sarah walks up the stairs breathing in and out slowly. She feels her fingertips tingle. She opens the door, fully prepared to tell Tom that she’s sorry. To say that she knows she shouldn’t have accosted him like that and that they’ll have to let Liza stay for as long as she needs. But when she opens the door, she realises something is amiss. Tom is doing something she’s never, ever seen him do before. Not in nearly ten years of marriage and five years of dating prior to that.

  Tom is sitting straight-backed, arms folded on the bed, tears running down his cheeks. Her Tom. Her lovely Tom is sitting on their bed, weeping as though his life depended on it.

  WhatsApp group: Renegades

  Members: Liza, Sarah

  Sarah: Hi, just to say that I’m sorry about earlier. I really am. I shouldn’t have acted that way. Especially when I think I know what’s going on. With Gav. I hope you can forgive me. And don’t worry. You’re safe. I’ve got your back. You can stay as long as you like. Alright? Until things are sorted. We’ll get through this. You and me. And the kids. But you have to get out of there. You have to get out. Ok? You can do it. With my help. With Tom’s help. You’ll be safe.

  Liza:??? Thanks! And no worries. Thanks for the apology. Me too. I’m sorry I snapped back. This isn’t us, is it? And are u talking about Jack or what? The Vale Club? They’re putting in massive safety procedures apparently. We’ll hear updates soon after they’ve finished talking to people. And I think they said they’d put something in their newsletter about the changes they made and what happened. So they’re dealing with it well, I think. Not trying to cover things up. Anyway – Gav here. We heard you shouting just now. All ok?

  Sarah: All fine! More importantly – stay safe, my friend. Stay safe. I’m just upstairs if you need me. Ok?

  Liza: er … you too? Thanks!

  LIZA

  Shit. Thea. Jack. I sit upright in my bed, paralysed with fear that if I get up and see the kids dead in the bed, my life will change forever. Fragments of last night’s nightmare start replaying in my mind. Jack screaming for me, his body broken on the floor. I remember briefly coming to in the night, wondering if it was real – whether it was happening all over again. Mummy. Mummy. Help me. And every time I tried to reach him, his hand would pull further and further from my grasp.

  I don’t know what’s better – the rampant insomnia, or the terrors that plague my mind when I do sleep. It’s eight o’clock in the morning and I haven’t tended to them once during the night. It feels like the moment I relax, something bad will happen. Better just stay here and not move. Then I realised that was stupid. They were fine. I was just having flashbacks from Jack’s fall.

  Until now I’d managed to stop thinking about it for a while. Managed to keep an even keel. I mentally run through the things that happened last night. Did anything go amiss? Did I do anything I wasn’t supposed to? Nice supper. Nice chat with Gav. Weird, weird shouting from Sarah and then those peculiar texts about me staying safe … Not to mention the row we’d had. I’ve begun to feel sorry for her. She looks like she’s totally on the edge; pale skin, trembling hands and constantly watering eyes.

  But last night had been a haven from all of that. The telly-watching after supper with Gav, laughing together like we used to. As I slowly recall everything, the strangled feeling loosens. All is OK. I had done nothing wrong.

  Gav had stayed on the pull-out bed next to Jack. ‘I think I’ll just kip on the truckle,’ he’d said, scraping our plates clean and loading the dishwasher before I’d gone to sleep. ‘Is that OK?’

  ‘Of course,’ I’d said. ‘Jack will be so happy.’ Then I’d fallen asleep straight away – how alien that is to me these days.

  I hear the sound of laughter. It’s Jack. I walk into the other room.

  ‘Gav, thanks for being here this morning. Wow. I haven’t slept in this late since, well, I can’t remember.’

  ‘I know. I realised last night. I just want to say sorry to you that I haven’t been here for you more in the nights. For the kids’ sake, I should have at least helped you, rather than just sitting and watching that you’re doing the right things.’ He trails off.

  ‘No worries. Not even a tiny bit for my sake too?’ I laugh to try and keep the neediness out of my voice. And of course, I can’t expect everything to be OK after one nice supper.

  ‘I suppose. You’re still my family, you know.’

  I want to tell him sorry too. Sorry for the things I’ve done. Sorry for the awfulness of everything we’ve been through. That I’ve never allowed him to share his fear too. Instead, I’ve taken the brunt of it. Insomnia. Not being able to deal with it. Going underground in the way I’ve been doing for weeks on end.

  ‘Coffee?’ I take a breath, trying to hold onto the positives. ‘I’m putting on the kettle.’

  ‘Nah. Had two cups already. Thank you. Thea went straight back to sleep last night. I gave her some formula. Conks her right out, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It does.’ I think of my own milk. How quickly it had dried up after Jack’s fall.

  ‘It’s good for you,’ he says. ‘To have a break from feeding her.’

  ‘Thank you. I was finding it difficult. With the both of them. Jack needing m
y attention. I couldn’t do it.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I wonder where all this has come from. Gav’s kindness. I’m pleased he’s trying, but I also can’t help feeling unsettled and unsure as to when his next ‘temper’ is going to arise. It’s also strange, I reflect, that as Gav’s behaviour has calmed, Sarah’s totally gone off on one. Gav and I have bonded whilst mine and Sarah’s friendship has started to fracture. I wonder whether the two are connected somehow. My mind is spinning with it all, a darkness descending on me with all the possibilities.

  I think about Sarah’s screams and shouts. He’s here now. He’s in the downstairs flat. As though Gav is some sort of monster. The more I think about her behaviour lately, the more I wonder whether she’s having some sort of breakdown. I had waited for it, last year. After the week of horror as she referred to it. But it never came. She’d in fact carried on as normal. Even more sprightly than normal. The minute we left the hospital together, she’d pulled herself upright and told me there’d be no more tears.

  ‘Yes. I feel fine,’ she had said to everyone that had asked, a big grin stuck on her face a second or two longer than was natural.

  I think about the way she’s been unwilling to praise Ella for the things she’s done since Jack had been unwell. I think about whether I’d missed some signs before Jack’s fall. If we’ve both been so entrenched in our daily lives in these four small corners of the world that I’ve missed something monumental unfolding right in front of my very eyes.

  ‘I’m just going to get ready,’ I shout into the living room.

  ‘No worries at all. Take your time. I’ll get lunch sorted,’ Gav shouts back.

  I put on the same jumpsuit I wore last night. Gather my hair into a top-knot and put on a smudge of blusher and mascara. I don’t know why. Gav’s behaviour has triggered some sort of self-imposed expectations. I’m just about to walk back into the kitchen when I see him hunched over the sink. He’s talking on his phone, using that soft voice he used to save only for me. I stand stock still. I don’t know what to do. I stand there, listening to the low hum of conversation. When he puts down the phone he starts to sing.

  ‘Gav?’ My voice is shaky. ‘Who was that? On the phone?’

  ‘On the phone?’ I will him not to lie. ‘I was talking to Katy. She’s the … I told you about her. The woman who specialises in PTSD?’

  ‘But it’s a Saturday?’

  ‘I told you.’ Thea starts whining. ‘Shhhhh, it’s OK, little one,’ he whispers before looking back up at me. ‘She owes me a favour. She’s all booked out for months. So she has to do it on the weekend.’ His lips curl upwards, as though he’s thinking of some shared joke, or secret. I’m trapped. I can’t say anything. After everything I’ve put him through. And if I want my family intact, I need to stay calm.

  ‘Right. Fine. OK. Well,’ I push back strands of hair off my face.

  ‘She’s coming here. Today.’

  Surely he wouldn’t dangle a new love interest in front of me?

  ‘Today? But … I’ll go out. OK?’

  ‘Out? Why would you do that?’ He drums his fingers on the sideboard. A sign he wants to wrap up the conversation and move on. ‘She’s here to help you and Jack.’

  ‘OK. Fine.’ I try and keep the hurt out of my voice. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Katy. Loftman.’

  ‘Fine. And you say you know her from where?’

  ‘I told you.’ He frowns, unaware that isn’t actually the question I’m asking. ‘Didn’t I? Or am I going mad? You know, through Gordo?’

  ‘Yes. Yes you did. Just watch the kids for a minute, will you?’

  I leave before he can answer. I sit on my bed. I knew it. I damn well knew it. The way things are going. Gav coming and helping. Telling me he’s sorry? I always have a go at Sarah for thinking like this but, this time, I know exactly how she feels. I feel like he’s manipulated this whole situation on purpose. That he’s adopted a ‘good guy’ stance before turning around and saying, Hey! Look at me, I’ve got a new girlfriend but you can’t go blaming me because I’m an amazing ex-husband and father. Maybe I’m paranoid. Maybe Sarah is right after all. Maybe.

  SARAH

  Sarah had spent the previous night avoiding Tom. They’d gone to bed in silence and she still hasn’t said anything to him this morning about the crying episode. What she wants to be is a good wife. A good person. She wants to take Tom into her arms and tell him that, whatever is the matter, they will sort it out together. But, her mind is elsewhere. She’s just had a text from Liza, who thinks Gav is seeing someone. And she also dropped the bombshell that Jack is going to see a therapist. Scrambling, or whatever it is she’d called it. Liza must be trying to get their friendship back onto an even keel. Sarah’s glad, but she’s also shaking from head to toe, struggling to put one foot in front of the other. It’s one thing telling a lie to The Vale Club. It’s quite another to think that it might come to Jack’s word against hers.

  ‘Tom?’ She decides to focus on her husband.

  ‘I …’ He says nothing else from beside her on the bed.

  ‘What is it? You can talk to me?’ But he doesn’t reply.

  ‘I’m feeling …’ he says eventually. He shrugs his shoulders and looks down. ‘Like I can’t breathe.’ She wants to tell him she feels like that too. ‘By the way, I know,’ he says. ‘I know you were going to do the IVF thing without me. I found out just yesterday. On my way home. I bumped into Camilla and George. George let it slip. That Camilla was going to go with you for your first appointment. She nearly murdered him. Told him it was under the radar and that I didn’t know. Why? Why didn’t you tell me? Why were you going without me?’ He’s looking over at his top drawer. And then he puts his head in his hands. ‘Oh God.’

  She walks over to the drawer and takes out a small silver box.

  ‘Here,’ she says. He takes it and holds it tight. ‘Have a look.’

  He shakes his head but she goes right ahead anyway, pulling out photographs and the small cast of a footprint. She squeezes it tight, in an effort to try and do something with the all-consuming pain inside her chest.

  ‘I didn’t tell you because I’m scared. I am desperate for another child. But I’m also scared. Of having to go through this again. I mean, we’ve been wanting another child since Rosie and nothing’s happened and it just felt like less pressure if you weren’t there. Like I couldn’t take on your sadness and stress too.’ She knows she’s missing out the part about the stress of Liza, but she feels too sad, too weak, to say anything else.

  He takes her hand. ‘Then, do you think we’re ready for this?’ He covers his mouth in a bid to stifle his own emotion. ‘Maybe we need to speak to someone again. Maybe we need some support. We went to Relate but you never got any help for yourself and for your own feelings about …’ He can’t bring himself to say her name.

  ‘I don’t want to wait around much longer, Tom. It’s time.’

  He steeples his hands and takes a deep breath. ‘OK, OK. Let’s work it out. God. That was hard. Camilla and George. I had to talk to them as though I didn’t mind you going to the IVF. Like I didn’t care you hadn’t told me. I couldn’t let on that I was totally broken inside.’

  He picks up one of the photographs. ‘But all that time I wanted to rush back here, and I was just thinking about the minute I came back from the plane last year – that journey was the worst, not even knowing if you were OK – and then I found you on our bed.’ His voice breaks. ‘The way you were just curled up whilst Liza was downstairs.’ She jolts at the mention of Liza. ‘I’m sorry. I wish she was here now. Our daughter. She should be here now. And I never even got to meet her.’

  Sarah looks down and gives his hand a squeeze. And then she feels her phone buzzing again in her pocket. That fucking Christmas fair, she thinks. It has to be. Who else would be so insistently trying to get hold of her at such a bad time? She reaches into her back pocket and presses the mute button, whilst trying
to silence the sound of her own sobs.

  ‘But thank God you had Liza. She was so good to you.’ He puts the photograph back. ‘Wasn’t she. You – you wouldn’t have got through it without her.’

  Sarah’s crying even more now – grief, overlaid with guilt. She wants him to stop. She’d always asked him to discuss Rosie in isolation. She never wanted the memory of her child tarnished by anyone, or anything else. But how was he to know that this also included Liza – the very person who had helped her the most? The person who had run straight to the hospital and galvanised the doctors and nurses into more action, who had called the necessary people and held her hand through the torturous eighteen-hour labour that Sarah had wanted to be even more painful to distract her from her sadness. How was he to know that she was also the person who was causing her the most horrifying guilt?

  WhatsApp group: Private chats

  Members: Ella, Charlotte G

  Ella: Charlotte, can I pick your brains?

  Charlotte G: Go for it.

  Ella: What do you make of this text from Sarah? She sent it during the Christmas fair meeting. I just wondered if you thought she was all right? I’ll forward it to your email. Read it and get back to me.

  Charlotte G: Oh. My. God.

  Ella: Don’t tell anyone though.

  Charlotte G: Of course I wouldn’t tell a soul! You can trust me with your life, Ella.

  WhatsApp group: Mums on the wine

  Members: Charlotte G, Shereen, Minnie

  Charlotte G: Guys look at this! Don’t tell anyone but look at this – Sarah! She’s lost the plot! Look at the text she sent Ella by mistake. Ella screenshotted it before Sarah deleted it. And look what she says about all of us! Ps don’t tell anyone. I told Ella I’d keep schtum.

  Shereen: OMG!

  Minnie: OMG – what is she on?

  Actually I saw her today looking tearful at drop off. Maybe there’s something wrong?

  WhatsApp group: Year Four mums