The Fallout

by Rebecca Thornton

  ‘You,’ he says. ‘It’s you. I knew I knew you from somewhere.’

  The earlier exhilaration dissipates. This can’t be good. What can he know? Has she accidentally ‘liked’ one of his Facebook photos? Her mind jumps to and from every single move she’s made since Jack’s fall. And then she thinks of the accidental WhatsApp messages. She rubs her stomach.

  ‘Listen,’ she says.

  ‘No, you listen. I know exactly who you are.’

  Fuck it. She should have removed that ridiculous WhatsApp profile picture of her making that stupid face at the school social earlier in the term.

  ‘That WhatsApp message,’ his voice doesn’t change. ‘She’s not one to be easily upset, you know.’

  She does know. But she also knows that she’s played straight into Ella’s hands. That her majesty has used Sarah’s mistake to her advantage and is now milking it for all it’s worth. She thinks of the way all the other mothers and fathers (especially the fathers with all their tongues hanging out) would now be fawning all over Ella. Poor Ella. Slighted by Sarah Biddlecombe, of all people.

  ‘But I’m sure you had your reasons,’ Christian continues. He looks her up and down pityingly, which makes her feel a thousand, billion times worse. I know I’m no Ella, she wants to shout. ‘Ella said so anyway. That she thought you might be going through something. But just to let you know, my kids are good kids. So keep them out of it.’

  She nods, close to tears. Typical of Ella too, she thinks. Pretending to be nice even now. If only Sarah could tell Christian the real reasons. Lying about a child’s fall. And the rest of the stuff that she knows Ella is up to.

  She presses her hands on her cheeks and then her forehead. ‘I just need to sit down,’ she says. ‘Is she here?’

  ‘She is. Yes. I think she’s just finishing her yoga. She’ll be down when she’s ready. Drink?’

  ‘No. Thanks.’ She thinks of Tom in this situation. How he’d react if someone had slighted her, the love of his life. His wife with whom he’d chosen to spend the best part of fifteen years. He’d go mad. Flaming, apoplectic mad. She starts to well up at the thought. She’s got a cheek coming round here, he’d say, his voice getting all clipped, hand smoothing back his strawberry-blond hair. She’s not welcome in this house. His loyalty wouldn’t have wavered for one minute. Sarah looks around. All of Ella and Christian’s expensive things. The sculptures. The beautifully embroidered cushions. The photos of Ella and someone who looks not unlike her – both absolutely beautiful, laughing into the camera with their shiny hair and white teeth.

  ‘Just wait here, Sarah. I’ve just got a few bits to do. I’ll be in my office but Ella should be down shortly,’ he says. ‘Read the papers, make yourself comfortable.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She flicks through the Sunday magazines feeling blue. Various headlines catch her eye. Couple Tries MDMA Therapy. Woman Leaves City job to Become a Shaman. She feels totally pedestrian. But then she wonders how her own ridiculous life would be summed up in headlines. The four corners of her little West London world, which have actually turned into a festering, overflowing mess. She guesses they’d go something like this:

  Perimenopausal Woman Lies About Boy Falling off Post in Posh West London Members’ Club.

  Best Friends Torn Apart by Husband.

  39-year-old Woman Eaten Alive by Parents at the School Gates.

  She can’t focus on the words on the page. She flicks through, trying to breathe through her nerves. What’s happening to her? And then, as she’s rearranging the papers, an envelope falls out of the pile of magazines.

  It’s addressed to Christian Bradby. She clocks the logo on the top left-hand corner of the envelope. She’s seen that logo before – all green and white geometric shapes. Maybe it’s one of those famous ones she’s just never noticed. She can’t quite make the link, even though it’s at the forefront of her mind, but, with everything else going on, it’s just out of her grasp. Other connections spring to mind too. But no – she can’t get it. And before she can think any further, she slides the letter out, reads it and puts it back without anyone seeing. She can feel the thud of her heart. It’s so strong lights flash in front of her eyes. She tries to digest it but she’s suddenly panicked they’ve got some nanny cam in the house.

  She takes a deep breath and diverts her thoughts, focuses on the fact that they get the papers delivered to the house. Wow. They don’t even need to move a muscle on a Sunday morning. She pictures the scene. Ella wafting down in her short, silk dressing gown, her long bare legs gazelle-like around the house. Carrying up a wholewheat croissant, or some almond butter, spirulina, hodge-podge creation, on a lovely vintage tray. Papers underneath freshly squeezed orange juice.

  Then Sarah thinks of her own Sunday morning ritual. The way she preps herself the night before to get up, put on her gym kit and do some exercise. The way she opens her eyes and the first thing she does is inwardly beg for some illness to ravage her body so that she can lie underneath her duvet for hours, away from the world. She’d want something that would disappear quickly – of course. Nothing too bad that Casper would think his mummy was dying. Nothing too mild that she’d have to get up and go about her business regardless (because of course that’s what she normally has to do, whereas Tom lies in bed whimpering at any sniffle). But no – this morning, for her sins, she’d felt as well as anything and still hadn’t got to the gym. Just as she’s thinking about other types of illness that she could have, the door swings open.

  ‘Hi, Sarah.’ Ella leans against the doorframe, her head nearly reaching the top. ‘I see you’ve made yourself at home. I’m glad. Can I get you a drink?’

  With a glimmer of satisfaction, Sarah notices Ella looks tired. Distracted. She’s twisting the huge diamond around her finger. She certainly doesn’t look as though she’s been doing yoga.

  ‘Hi. Ella – I just wanted to say sorry.’ Sarah speaks fast, before she loses her nerve. ‘For that WhatsApp. I was just trying to be funny. Make Camilla laugh. It wasn’t meant to be personal.’ She’s half standing. She doesn’t want to be sitting down, giving her apology. But halfway up, she’s paralysed.

  ‘It didn’t come across that way, you know, Sarah.’

  She nearly laughs. You can say that again, she thinks, but she keeps her mouth shut.

  ‘I’d worked really hard to get those funds together for the school. For our children. I want my kids to have the best opportunity, whilst experiencing,’ Sarah holds her breath, ‘real life. And just so you know, they’re amazing little people. I very much doubt they’ll grow up to be bullies, as you so kindly put it.’

  Sarah feels like a bully herself, caught somewhere between shame and indignation. ‘Real life? You think that by sending your kids to the local primary you’re …’

  She throws her hands in the air. Jesus wept, she thinks. Why on earth has Ella Bradby sent her kids to the local primary anyway? If Sarah had all the money in the world, a private education would be the first thing they’d spend it on.

  ‘Forget it. Listen. I need to talk to you. Firstly, I’ve given my statement. To The Vale Club, I mean. I didn’t mention your name. Just told them what we’d discussed.’

  ‘You didn’t mention my name? But we were together?’ Ella puts a hand on her hip. ‘Why did you do that? It looks weird.’

  ‘I don’t know. I just did. I thought I was doing a good job. Keeping you out of it.’ Bloody hell. Can she do nothing right? ‘But anyway, there’s something else I need to speak to you about. I’m sorry. I don’t know where else to turn.’

  Sarah explains about everything that has happened in the past week. The woman she’d seen Gav with. The therapist. The SOS text message from Liza. She thinks about the phone call she’d made only yesterday.

  ‘Good God,’ says Ella. ‘Are you sure?’ And then she slumps onto the sofa. ‘Oh my God,’ she says. ‘You think he’s been hurting the kids too?’ Sarah watches tears film over those grey eyes. ‘It all makes sense now.’ What makes sens
e, she thinks. ‘We have to do something. Oh, Sarah.’

  ‘I already have,’ she says. ‘I called them. Social services.’

  ‘Without … wait, you didn’t talk to Liza?’ Ella leans forward. ‘She’s never going to forgive you for that, you know.’

  Sarah opens her mouth but quickly shuts it again – for all Ella’s confidence, it looks like she’s momentarily broken. She wants to ask her how she knows this. Is she playing games again?

  ‘I don’t mean to hurt you. But she won’t. Forgive you, I mean. Or at least, it will take years.’ Ella’s speaking more fluently now, her eyes flickering over her nails. ‘So, be prepared. Or just make sure you never, ever tell her it was you that put that phone call in.’

  ‘They won’t tell her who called them, will they? Social services? I mean, it’s all anonymous, isn’t it? So it’s fine. She’ll never know.’ Sarah starts to panic. ‘I was doing what I thought best.’

  ‘Perhaps. But, well, I think she’ll feel very angry. Want to lash out. She’ll feel distressed that she couldn’t sort this out alone. All sorts of feelings.’ Sarah watches Ella clamp her mouth shut. ‘Not that I’d know,’ she snaps. ‘It’s just that.’ She shakes her head.

  ‘Really?’ Sarah starts to cry. ‘You think? I mean, she’s my best friend.’ Ella’s at it again. She’s playing her. Pitting her and Liza against each other. That’s exactly what she’s doing. Freaking her out that Liza will never speak to her again. Then Ella will be free to swoop in. Peck at Liza’s carcass, what’s left of her after all this, and fly off without any squawking from Sarah.

  ‘No.’ Sarah slaps her hands on her thighs. ‘Look. That’s not why I came. But it’s one of the reasons. Liza and I will be fine, our friendship will survive anything.’

  Ella raises her eyebrows.

  ‘Listen. I need your help about something else too. The therapist, Katy.’

  ‘Liza told me. What about her?’

  ‘She’s going to do this thing with Jack. Scrambling, it’s called. For PTSD. You play back the events of your trauma and then replay them in your mind. Set to funny music or something. The body lets go of the trauma and it all begins to lose its potency. Apparently. So they’re going to do it with Jack. Apparently he’s been acting really bad. Unsurprisingly. But, well, you know.’

  ‘You know?’ Ella leans forward, seemingly scanning her face for clues. ‘What do you mean, you know?’ Sarah wonders now if she is being deliberately obtuse. ‘It’s a great idea. I mean, whatever helps Jack, right?’

  ‘Right. It would be a great idea. If it wouldn’t come out that I hadn’t actually been anywhere near him. Have you forgotten your role in all of this since, what, three minutes ago?’

  She mimics the way Ella had been standing when she’d been reading The Vale Club menu back in the soft-play. Not looking anyone in the eye. She tries to stretch her legs so they’ll vaguely approximate Ella’s but she feels like some sort of baby elephant.

  ‘Yes. She checked on him. He’s fine.’ Her imitation of Ella’s voice sounds disastrous. Flat and monotone like a kid learning to read. She hears Ella make a noise. She’s laughing. The bitch is laughing! It’s certainly not what Sarah expected.

  ‘You know, that has nothing to do with anything.’ Ella looks down at her fingernails. ‘I don’t know why you’re here. I really don’t. I think you’ve forgotten that the most important person in all of this is Jack. Then Liza. And all this time you’re just thinking of …’ Sarah hears herself gasp. Don’t you dare, she thinks. Don’t you dare.

  ‘I am thinking of Liza.’ She should have stopped. Let Ella finish her sentence, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to. ‘I’m thinking of Liza and Jack. And how best to move on from this awful thing. And you aren’t helping me. You were there. You told Liza that I’d seen Jack. I hadn’t. You knew that. You were trying to distract me from your bloody secret.’

  She wipes her mouth. ‘Speaking of which, you think I said a lot on that WhatsApp? I’ve got a lot more in that arsenal, my friend.’ She feels like she’s about to start rocking back and forth in hysterical, witchy laughter. Get a grip, she tells herself. Why can’t she own what she’s saying, instead of all this nonsense coming out of her mouth?

  ‘Look. Just calm down. Let’s just focus here.’

  ‘Focus? You were the one who said Liza would never check the security cameras. All of that. Remember? You were complicit too, or have you already forgotten? Only trying to hide the fact that you …’

  ‘You what?’ Ella’s eyes take on a fiery look that Sarah hasn’t seen before. ‘Go on. If you know so much about me. What is it?’

  ‘Oh please.’ There’s a triumphant tone in her voice, but only for a second until she feels the tremble of her chin and she thinks she’s about to cry. She knows full well that Ella has her over a barrel. Ella knows that the likelihood Sarah will ever own up to the fall is slim. And that even if she does, Ella can easily deny everything. ‘Don’t pretend you have no idea what I’m talking about. Your little disappearing act, about … what was it, nine years ago now? Rufus? I’ve worked it all out.’

  Ella looks up at the ceiling as though trying to recall exactly what it was that had happened nine years ago.

  ‘Oh stop it. I’ve got this on you, Ella. And you may think you are in the stronger position here – that you could tell Liza you really did think I had seen Jack. Or that I’d told you I had. But you aren’t this all-perfect, all-singing, all-dancing being. And then you disappeared again after Felix was born. I wonder what you were up to then too?’

  Ella’s face takes on a different look suddenly – one that Sarah’s never seen before. Sadness. Anger? She doesn’t know what.

  Come on, she thinks. Come on. Find her Achilles’ heel. She looks around the room again. The artwork. The magazines fanned out on the coffee table. The letter addressed to Christian that she still can’t get a grasp on. Even that looks expensive, the white paper thick and lustrous. Ella catches Sarah’s gaze and, without a moment’s hesitation, she snatches it away from her eyeline. As though she’s some sort of Peeping Tom going through their private things.

  ‘You’re mad and I have absolutely no idea what you are on about. But by the way,’ Ella says after a festering silence, ‘how do you know? That Gav’s been … did Liza say something? Or you saw something?’

  ‘She’s never said anything to me.’ Sarah shrugs, feeling stung even as she says it out loud. ‘Not even hinted at it. I mean, sure – she tells me about Gav’s controlling behaviour. But not this.’

  ‘So how do you know then?’ Ella sounds slightly impatient. ‘I mean, it’s such a big thing.’

  ‘She asked me to watch Jack the other day. She was being so secretive and weird when I asked her where she was going. I knew something was up. Normally she’d have told me every planned second of her journey.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And …’ Sarah feels a bit shifty – that she’d been poking around in Liza’s phone. But things have got so bad lately that she knows it’s the least of her worries. ‘Well, I looked at her phone. Saw where she’d been in her Uber.’

  ‘Do you mean you opened up her Uber app?’ Ella looks taken aback.

  ‘Yes. I mean, I just wanted to know she was OK.’ Sarah tries not to sound so defensive. ‘But anyway, it’s bloody lucky I did. Isn’t it? So I found out her route and looked up where she’d been on Google Maps. It was the Hilda Zettenberg Home.’

  ‘Off Marylebone High Street?’ Ella nods. ‘The film production offices I do some consulting for are right past that building. It’s a beautiful old street. Lovely houses.’ Sarah wants to ask Ella why she’s frowning and pulling at her bottom lip. ‘But what makes you jump to that conclusion? That Gav’s beating her? I mean – it’s pretty odd?’

  ‘Odd? Really? Considering what the place is for?’

  ‘Well, it isn’t really in use any more. They do some therapy sessions there. For post-partum mums who are struggling with some issues – or who have had birth
traumas. In fact, I know that because there were leaflets about it in my office. I remember the name. Hilda Zettenberg building. And I remember thinking what a good idea it was. So, what made you jump to the conclusion that, because she went there, she’s now married to a wife-beater? I mean, have you ever even seen any bruises on her?’

  ‘It’s a house for domestic abuse.’ Sarah’s cross now. Ella always has to take the other side. But come to think of it, she’s never seen anything untoward on Liza’s body. ‘The Hilda Zettenberg Home. For women.’

  ‘Er, yes.’ Ella pulls out her phone. ‘Like, over a hundred years ago. Back then it was a sanctuary for abused women. But look.’ She passes the phone to Sarah. ‘Now it’s for therapy.’

  ‘But Liza’s not …’

  ‘Struggling?’

  ‘Yes, she’s so pulled together. Even with Gav on at her. And Thea’s birth was easy. Why would she …’

  ‘Need to go and talk to someone? Get some support? It’s not that weird. I know Liza’s had some issues.’

  ‘Like what?’ Sarah looks up. ‘Like, what?’ she softens. But Ella shakes her head as though remembering something she doesn’t wish to discuss.

  ‘I know more about Liza than you think,’ she carries on. Sarah opens her mouth and shuts it again. ‘She never said anything to you at all?’ Ella asks. ‘About the time with Jack?’

  ‘Said anything about what?’

  ‘Oh. Never mind. If she didn’t tell you.’ Ella stretches out an arm as though looking for blemishes. Sarah feels black in her stomach. No. Liza had never told her. What the hell does Ella know that she doesn’t? And now she’s only gone and accused her husband of beating her best friend up. Has in fact called social services.

  Social services.

  Oh, God. What if Jack gets taken away? And Thea? And Sarah had put them off when they’d rung the other day. They must have thought that was suspicious too.

  She’ll go around there now. Despite Ella’s opinions on it all, she’ll admit everything. Warn them that social services will be paying a visit. She’ll go and sort it all out. Say it was a massive mistake. That she had been drunk when she called. The therapist is going over too today – her brain is scrambled but Liza had definitely mentioned she was coming on Sunday. Lunchtime. Sarah doesn’t have long. Gav was going to be there too for the initial PTSD scrambling session for Jack. She’ll send the therapist away and tell Gav and Liza she has an extremely important announcement to make.