I’m aware of the tears leaking out of my eyes and running down my face, but apart from that, my body feels numb, as if it’s shut down. But then the adrenaline starts flooding my system and I’m on my feet, pacing up and down the room, breathing fast. I pick up my phone, then throw it down again. What would I even say? Those little snatches of conversation I overheard when they were talking in the kitchen earlier come back to me, and at last I understand. Luke was telling her I couldn’t be trusted. But Cass was defending me, because I definitely heard her use the words ‘not dangerous’. Although that obviously means Luke thinks I am dangerous – he said something to Cass about not taking a ‘risk’, presumably of leaving Ollie with me. Cass will have thought about it, considered potential danger, weighed up whether I was likely to hurt Ollie. Oh my God, that’s why she cancelled the babysitting on Christmas Eve, and why she’s been so distant. She has been avoiding me.
More tears come, great, wrenching sobs from deep down inside me, until I start to feel as if I’m choking. I know I need to calm down but I can’t seem to stop. I wish I still smoked. It’s months since I’ve even thought about it, but right now I feel desperate for a cigarette. I lift the back of my hand to my mouth and bite down, hard. Maybe physical pain will distract me from the emotional pain. At the same time, I try to consciously slow my breathing. As the sobs gradually subside, I look at the deep indentations my teeth have left in the skin of my hand. It seems to have worked, though, because although I’m still crying, I don’t feel quite so out of control. Taking a few deep breaths helps, too.
As I’m making my way downstairs for a glass of water, I remember there’s an unopened half-bottle of brandy in the dresser. Adrian’s dad gave it to me at Christmas. I’m not a huge fan of brandy, but I unscrew the lid and take a big swallow, feeling instantly calmer as the fiery heat burns its way down my throat and into my stomach. I pour an inch or so into a cup and take it back up to the study.
The photos they’ve used are quite grainy, especially the old one of me that they must have taken from the university website. As I lean in to look at the other pictures, my heart starts beating harder. Cass will have seen these; what if she recognised Adrian? I can feel the panic rising again. There are a couple of shots taken around the time of the trial, but you can’t really see his face. Surely she’d have confronted me if she’d made the connection? I scan the story again. The papers only referred to him as Clive, and come to think of it, he looks different here. His hair had grown longer by then and he hadn’t shaved since it happened, but by the time Cassie met him, it would have been six or seven months after this and he’d have been more or less back to normal. Then I scroll down to a photo of us on our wedding day; it’s quite blurry because we were both laughing and trying to shake off a snowstorm of confetti. I don’t know who took this shot; which one of our so-called friends gave it to the papers. I peer at the photo. No, she can’t have recognised him. She’d have said. If she knew I’d been deceiving her, lying to her for almost a year, there’s no way she’d have invited me over to lunch and defended me to Luke, and there’s no way she’d have given me that beautiful bracelet. But just because she doesn’t know now, doesn’t mean she won’t find out. More importantly, she does know what I did. And now she’s taking Ollie away from me.
It’s a few days into the new year, but I can’t settle to anything. I’ve barely slept since New Year’s Day, and I find myself moving from room to room, pacing the hallway, walking upstairs and then back down again. This constant movement is playing havoc with my back, but I can’t keep still. I go into Ollie’s room and lie down on the bed, looking up at the animal frieze that runs around the walls. The train set is still in the corner, its carriages parked in the sidings, waiting for him to return and weave a story around it. She can’t really think I would harm him, can she? I run my finger along the bracelet they gave me, she and Ollie, and I go over everything she said about when they move – we could FaceTime, talk on the phone; I could go down for a holiday. But will I ever be allowed to look after him again? And even if Cassie’s still speaking to me, even if she wants to stay in touch after they move, what about Luke? I can’t see him being happy about me going down there.
I read the reports again, trying to work out what they will have thought when they read them. Maybe they managed to get past the Mail piece that refers to me only as ‘Blackwood’ and read some of the more sympathetic reports in the other papers – Earlier stillbirth may have been factor in tragic mum’s breakdown, says doc . . . And in another: Lifetime of loss had ‘devastating consequences’ for loving Sheffield mother . . .
But Luke won’t be swayed by any of that.
I find myself trudging up the narrow stairs into the attic. For a while, I just stand at the window, looking out at the trees. This is where it happened. I still can’t recall it properly, only snatches of the hours and minutes leading up to it. I remember bolting the door downstairs and being aware of Diane next door shouting through the letter box, then Adrian, too. The doorbell ringing and ringing, my phone going constantly, and that frantic pounding on the front and back doors. At the time, all that noise and commotion only served to convince me that I was right, that they were coming for Harriet. The last thing I remember about that day is hearing the glass smash downstairs as they broke the kitchen window to get to me.
My phone rings and for a moment, I think it’s part of the memory. Then I come back to the present. As I reach for my phone, I know there’s no point in me hoping it’ll be Cassie. In fact, it’s Judy. I remember saying I’d call her in the New Year, but I can’t face talking to anyone, so I ignore it.
It’s completely dark outside now, so I go around the house closing curtains and blinds and switching on lamps. The heating has been on all day, but I’m cold; cold inside, as if my bones have chilled. I put my dressing gown on over my clothes, but it doesn’t help. Maybe I should eat something, but the thought of food makes my stomach churn. I had toast this morning, but nothing since. Did I eat last night? I can’t remember. I make a mug of tea, take it into the sitting room and huddle by the fire, but the only warmth that spreads through me is an unnatural heat, almost like a fever. I give a little shiver, enough to make me spill my tea, and after another ten minutes or so, I give up trying to stay upright and curl up on the sofa, where I stay until morning.
When I wake, my back is more painful than it’s been for ages and I’m aching all over from sleeping scrunched up, so I need my stick to help me walk up the stairs. I run a hot bath, and soaking in it for a while eases the pain, but I still feel cold and shivery. It’s only as I’m dressing afterwards that I remember that the holidays are over and Ollie will be back at preschool today, which means Cass’ll be back at work. Tomorrow would be my usual day to go to the café. Should I just go? Pretend nothing’s happened? No, idiot. Maybe I should text her, tell her I know that they know about me, offer to meet up and discuss it, try to explain. Not that I’ve ever been able to explain. But I’ve got to talk to her somehow, on her own, away from Luke.
I feel a yawning ache deep inside me as I wonder what will happen now, when I’ll be able to see Ollie again – or if I’ll be able to see him again. If Luke has his way . . . It comes back to me how he tried to stop Ollie taking me up to his room on New Year’s Day. Oh God, if Cassie listens to him . . . And why wouldn’t she? He’s her partner, after all. I think back again to what she said about staying in touch, and visiting after they move. What if Luke persuaded her to fob me off? What if it was a ploy? Or maybe it was genuine on her part, but once they’ve moved, Luke will talk her into cutting off contact with me. What if . . . Oh my God, what if they’re planning to just move one day, to just disappear without telling me? No; I shake away the tears that start to bubble up. No, I can’t let myself think that. Ollie . . . but the cruel truth is, Ollie would forget about me.
As I move around the kitchen wiping down surfaces that are already clean, I become more and more agitated. So much of my life has come to revolve around Ollie and Cass; so
much of my life is Ollie and Cass, I can’t picture a future without them in it. I should be thinking about work, getting on with some planning – teaching starts again at the end of January – but I can’t concentrate with all this going on. How can I even think about anything else? How can I possibly care? Maybe I’ll drive out to the preschool after lunch – at least I can talk to Ollie through the fence. He’ll mention it to Cass, but what else can I do? I have to see him; I have to think of something.
It’s only when I’m walking down to the Spar to buy some cat food that an idea begins to nudge its way into my thoughts. It’s vague and ethereal, rolling across the back of my mind like a fog. But by the time I’m on my way back home, the idea is beginning to take on a more clearly defined shape. Could I really do this? A quick glance at my watch tells me it’s already past midday. And that’s when it clarifies in my mind; this is my only chance, my only opportunity. I have three hours.
The man in Halfords shows me how to fit the child seat. It’s much simpler than I thought; just a question of feeding the seat belt through the back, then using pressure to set the base properly and pulling the seat belt in tight to secure it. Back home, I start to pack, but I’m not really concentrating on what I’m doing, just rushing around throwing random items of clothing, toiletries and food into bags. Then I load up Spider’s dish with food and fill his water bowl. I feel a pang about leaving him, but the cat flap isn’t locked, so he’ll find someone else to feed him quickly enough. I’m working feverishly, aware of the clock ticking.
It’s only when I’ve half-filled the boot that I realise it’s pointless. As soon as Cassie reports us missing, every police patrol in the country will have my registration number. Idiot. Idiot. How could I not think of that? I’d planned to head for the motorway, but maybe a train is better all round. If I’m not driving, I’ll be free to reassure Ollie. I’ll tell him it’s a little holiday at first. It’ll seem normal, but it all depends on moving quickly. Preschool finishes at three fifteen, but Cassie’s never there until almost half past, so we should get a good head start. I take everything out of the car and repack a rucksack and a couple of bags, then I check train times. There’s nothing from Dore until almost four o’clock, so I’ll have to drive to Sheffield. With a bit of luck, Cassie’ll come to the house first. In fact, she’s bound to, which means there should be time to park the car a little way from the station so it won’t be spotted immediately. By the time anyone works out that we’re on a train, we’ll be miles away. My hands tremble as I turn the key in the ignition.
I join the group of parents who always arrive early. One of the dads presses the button and speaks into the silver box, then the metal gates swing open immediately and I follow them in. I feel a flash of anger at how lax they are about opening the gates without checking each person, but I smile as naturally as I can at the teacher and hope she recognises me from when I’ve collected Ollie before. The woman returns my smile, so my intentions can’t be scrawled on my face in fluorescent ink, which is how it feels. When Ollie sees me, he runs and throws his arms around my legs. I bend down and hug him tight, lifting him off his feet and wondering if he can feel my heart thudding through my ribs. ‘Have you had a lovely day?’ I ask, setting him down again. ‘What did you do today?’ I ask the same questions every time, and every time he shrugs and says he can’t remember. ‘Where’s Mummy?’ he says as I zip up his anorak.
‘Mummy’s still at work.’ I take his hand and steer him towards the door. ‘Say bye bye to Miss Taylor.’
‘Bye, Miss Taylor,’ he says, skipping along next to me.
‘Bye, Oliver.’ The teacher waves. ‘See you tomorrow.’
‘Guess what? I’ve bought you your own car seat to keep in my car.’
He grins in response. Then, just as we get to the car, he suddenly pulls his hand away and starts to run back towards school. ‘Ollie! Where are you going?’
His head whips round at the tone of my voice. ‘I forgot my lunchbox.’ He looks a little scared.
Be calm; breathe. ‘We’ve got to hurry today, Ollie. We’ll leave your lunchbox until tomorrow.’
‘But I need it for—’
‘Tell you what, how about we buy you a brand-new one?’
He appears to weigh this up.
‘Only we really do need to hurry now. Bet you can’t get into my car and into your new seat before I count to ten. One . . .’
It works. He runs, laughing, towards the door I’m holding open and starts to clamber into the new seat. ‘Two, three, four, five—’
‘I’m in!’
‘My goodness, so you are! Let’s get you strapped in, then.’ My trembling fingers fumble with the clasp but eventually I work it out and click it into place. ‘There. All done. Let’s go.’
‘Will Mummy be at home?’ he says as I start the engine.
I glance up and down the road; still no sign of Cassie’s car. ‘How would you like to go on a train, Ollie?’
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
THEN
The crows came as it started to get light, their thoughts crowding in through the open window and surrounding me. As I sat up in bed feeding Harriet, I looked at Adrian sleeping next to me and I tried to remember what I used to feel. Whatever it was, it seemed to have gone. I kept wondering if I was in the wrong life, if Harriet and I belonged somewhere else. It was confusing. I couldn’t explain it. I couldn’t talk to Adrian about it because he already thought there was something wrong with me. He wanted me to go back to the doctor’s and I told him I would, but I wasn’t going to, because sometimes I wondered if there was something wrong with me, and if there was, they’d take Harriet away, and then I’d die.
‘I’m fine,’ I promised Adrian.
‘It’s just that sometimes, you seem . . . I don’t know, not down exactly, but not yourself.’
His face was clouded with concern, so I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Yes, I’m sure. Now go to work or you’ll be late for your meeting.’
‘All right.’ He kissed me. ‘Look, try and take it easy today, okay? I’m not sure these very long walks are a good idea. It’s less than two months since you had major abdominal surgery, after all.’
‘Exercise is good for me. And the fresh air—’
‘ . . . is good for Harriet. Yes, so you keep saying. But . . .’ He was frowning. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Leah, but I’m worried about you. You’re starting to sound a bit, I don’t know – obsessive about it.’
I had to be careful, because whatever I said, he could twist it so that it made me look bad. ‘She likes being outside,’ I said eventually. ‘It calms her.’
‘Yes, but not for hours on end. And it’s still only March, don’t forget.’
‘It’s April in a few days. And anyway, so what? It’s mild and sunny – look.’ I pointed towards the window.
He glanced outside and sighed. He couldn’t argue with that.
Finally, reluctantly it seemed, he left the house. I waited until I heard the car pull away and then I hummed to myself as I tucked Harriet into her pram, which instantly relaxed her because she knew it meant we were going outside. It was a beautiful day, and as we took the path into the woods, I saw that not only were the primroses along the bank flowering, but the daffodils were starting to open, too. As we went deeper into the wood, I noticed the colour of the grassy areas, a brilliant emerald green, sharp and vivid in the early spring sunshine. I heard a woodpecker in the distance, as well as the usual twittering birdsong, but most of all I could hear the crows. They were watching me, I knew they were, because I could feel their chatter poking into my head. I took Harriet out of her pram and put her on a patch of soft, tickly new grass so they could see her, and she lay there, moon eyes blinking up at the trees.
For a moment, I saw myself out there in the middle of the woods with my seven-week-old baby and I wondered what I was doing, whether I’d misunderstood something, got it all wrong. But then Harriet – my clever little daughter – said that
as long as I trusted my instincts, kept her by my side the whole time and listened to what the crows told me, everything would be all right. I looked as hard as I could into those sharp, coal-black eyes and I promised that I would keep her safe, that I would protect her from people who didn’t understand her, that I would die before I let anyone take her from me. Harriet smiled. A fleeting, lopsided ghost of a smile, but definitely a smile, and then she closed her eyes, ready for her nap.
She was sound asleep when we got home so I left her in the pram, and as I stood there gazing down at her and trying to work things out, there was a knock on the back door. Diane. I tried to fix a smile on my face as I opened the door.
‘Hello, love.’ Diane smiled.
I waited for her to tell me what she wanted, but she just stood there, grinning. I realised she was expecting me to invite her in, so I opened the door a little wider, and sure enough, in she came. I folded my arms and leaned against the sink.
‘I thought I’d pop in to see how you were getting along.’
‘Fine, thanks, Diane. I’m fine.’
‘You know, I’ve hardly seen you since the baby was a few days old.’ She paused. ‘But I suppose you have a million and one things to do.’
‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘I’m quite busy.’
Her eyes were roving around the room. ‘Baby asleep?’
I nodded.
‘Good timing on my part, then.’ She gestured towards the kettle. ‘How about a quick cuppa? I’ll make it – give you five minutes to put your feet up.’
‘Well . . .’ I knew it would look odd to refuse, and she might tell Adrian, which would only give him more ammunition. ‘A quick one, then.’ I pulled out a chair and sat down, allowing her to bustle around my kitchen.
‘So how are you coping?’ she asked as she set the two mugs on the table. ‘Are you getting much sleep?’
‘Not much at first, but it’s better now.’
‘That’s good. Still feeding her yourself?’
The Flight of Cornelia Blackwood Page 24
