Because what if the next time she stopped concentrating, the other car didn’t swerve in time? Or what if the next time she threw something against a wall it rebounded and hit one of her kids? Or what if Ethan was being damaged because of the love she was incapable of providing him? Or Gracie was being disadvantaged because she wasn’t interacting naturally with her, or taking her out to the park or helping her to make friends with other children? What if she let Ethan drown in the bath, or lost Gracie at the shopping centre, or any one of a million different possibilities? It wasn’t safe for her to stay.
It was clear that she had no right being a part of these two amazing kids’ lives. She had to leave, had to get out of the way. Liam could meet someone else, find a new wife, a new mother for their children, a mother that would nurture and nourish them. Someone real. Someone alive. Someone who wasn’t made of broken spare parts. Of hollow wood. Of plastic and rubber and rusted metal cogs.
Last night she had packed a large backpack and hidden it around the side of the house. This morning was Saturday. She told Liam she was taking a quick walk, that she needed the exercise. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and then snuck into the kids’ rooms. Both Ethan and Gracie were still fast asleep. She paused at each doorway and gazed down at their sleeping forms. Her heart felt empty. A small part of her hesitated though, thought, Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I could still stay, maybe I could just be careful, try harder, concentrate more. But she remembered the risks, the danger to such innocence, and she hardened her bones, encased her heart in a stiff, mesh cage, closed her eyes and turned away. She left a note on the kitchen table and she walked out the front door.
The taxi had been pre-booked to meet her at the corner. As she lugged her backpack up the street to meet it, she thought these two things:
I am doing the right thing for my family, I am setting them free.
And,
I am an awful, evil person.
When Liam found the note, he knew before he even read it. I waited too long, he thought, I waited too long to talk to her. And he sat down at the kitchen table and cried.
She was using Facebook as an excellent source of distraction in order to delay writing her weekly email home. Riley knew she needed to get it done soon though. The Internet café she’d found had slightly more expensive rates than most. She was just about to close the window and open up her Hotmail account when she noticed a page called ‘Letter to Simon’ that a few friends had liked and shared. Wondering what it was, she clicked on the link and read the description first.
It had been posted by some guy called James who explained that he was searching for the right Simon that the letter he had reproduced part of was intended for. Apparently there was no address on the letter, just the words Simon and ‘The Aella’. Riley frowned. That name – ‘The Aella’ – was very familiar. She scanned the contents of the letter and then gasped. She quickly re-read it and found that her chest was thudding. While there were hundreds of comments from other people claiming they knew who Simon was, Riley was certain that she knew who the real Simon was: her brother.
Her fingers trembled as she hurried to write a private message to James to find out if she would be able to get hold of the entire letter.
PART THREE
London once more
CHAPTER TEN
India arrived at Hannah’s building just as an older man was heading out the front door with his two small terriers on leads. She caught the door just before it banged shut and then began to climb the stairs to Hannah’s flat on the top floor. When she reached her door, she began to knock, and then she knocked again, and again. No answer. Was she out? But an anxious feeling was creeping over her. Instinct was telling her that something was wrong. She tried the handle and found it unlocked.
When she stepped inside, what she saw took her breath away. On the other side of the room, the window was open wide, and crouched on the windowsill was Hannah, just about to jump. India’s stomach turned and she launched herself across the room. In four wide strides she had reached her, and just as Hannah began to lean forward, as she was reaching the point of no return, India’s hand closed around the back of her shirt. Summoning all of her strength, she yanked her sharply backwards. Hannah’s head slammed against the top window pane above her, and then her knees buckled and she folded in on herself as India dragged her roughly back through the small opening of the window and into the flat. They both fell to the floor and lay still for several seconds; then India rolled over and slapped Hannah hard across the face.
‘What the fuck was that, Hannah, what the hell were you doing?’ India spat the words out. She was kneeling in front of Hannah now, her eyes wide with terror as she clasped her hands onto Hannah’s shoulders and shook her frantically. ‘FUCK!’ she screamed and specks of salvia landed on Hannah’s cheeks. India let her go then, collapsed back onto the floor, put her head into her hands and started crying.
‘Jesus,’ breathed Hannah. They both lay on the floor like this, flat on their backs for at least five minutes, catching their breath, trying to understand what had just happened.
Eventually Hannah spoke. ‘You just saved my life, India.’
‘And you were just about to throw it away,’ India responded. She was furious with Hannah. Didn’t she realise just how precious life was? Did she know that for just a second when she had stepped into Hannah’s apartment and seen her out there on the ledge, she had thought, There is no way I am going to be able to cross that room in time?
‘I’m so sorry, India,’ said Hannah. ‘I’ll tell you everything, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.’
India stood up shakily. She looked down at Hannah with contempt in her wet, puffy eyes and wiped the back of her hand across her nose, sniffing noisily.
‘Don’t bother,’ she said and spun around, then strode from the apartment, slamming the door behind her.
India spent the entire night walking the streets of London – probably not the safest thing she had ever done, but she didn’t care. She was fuming, she was confused, but most of all, she was terrified. Hannah’s problems were much, much worse than she could ever have imagined. What if she couldn’t save her? What if Hannah’s issues were beyond her? Obviously the girl needed help – professional help. What if she tried to hurt herself again? God, what if she had climbed right back out on that window ledge as soon as India left? As the sun rose and the hazy light began to filter between the buildings that surrounded her, India began to feel guilty. She probably shouldn’t have left Hannah in that state. What she needed was compassion – not judgement – but India hadn’t been able to help it; she had just been so angry that Hannah had been preparing to toss her perfectly healthy body out of the eighth floor of a building.
India started to head back towards Hannah’s flat – even if she had no idea how to handle this, she needed to make sure Hannah was okay. She would figure the rest out as she went along. As she passed a pub, India caught sight of herself in the large front window. Her short blue hair was sticking out at odd angles, her clothing looked crumpled and dark crescents accentuated her eyes. Her arms and legs felt weak from the constant walking through the night.
When she reached Hannah’s place and pressed the front door intercom, she stood waiting, smoothing her hair down in a nervous gesture. She’d better bloody well be there. Hannah buzzed her in almost immediately, and India climbed the stairs feeling wary. When she reached Hannah’s floor and knocked, the door was answered within ten seconds; Hannah stood in front of her looking like hell – she looked like India felt.
When India spoke her voice was stiff, formal. She said the first thing that came to mind. ‘I just came to see that you’re okay. Didn’t know if maybe you had concussion from banging your head. Couldn’t live with myself if I’d left you to die on your apartment floor, especially after . . .’ her voice trailed off.
Hannah nodded then lifted her hand to gingerly to
uch the back of her head. ‘Um sure, yeah I’m fine, thank you. Just a lump and a bit of dried-up blood. Least of my worries . . . Look, would you please come in, let me explain?’
India hesitated – she was still feeling angry – but then curiosity won and she relented. She stepped inside and walked over to the window; it was still open. She peered outside, reliving the previous evening, and then she reached up, placed her hand on the top of the window frame and forcefully slammed it shut. Then she sat down at the small table where Hannah rarely ate her meals. She rested her chin on her hands, her eyes blinking rapidly, fighting to stay awake.
‘You didn’t sleep much last night?’ Hannah asked.
‘Didn’t sleep at all,’ said India. ‘Been walking around the streets all night. Thinking. When I came in last night and saw you,’ India shuddered, ‘I’ve never moved that fast in my entire life. Didn’t know I was that strong either, strong enough to catch you and pull you back in – even if you are stick thin.
‘So,’ India continued, ‘what were you doing out there?’
Hannah paused. ‘The truth is I don’t really know what I was doing. I didn’t climb out there with the intention of jumping – at least I don’t think that I did. I was just trying to escape, trying to find my way into another world. And then I started thinking, about everything, and the next thing I knew, it seemed like letting go would be the only choice.’
India frowned at her. ‘Go back to the beginning, Hannah,’ she said, her voice quite hard. ‘I need to know from the start. Why are you here? What made you come to London?’
Hannah looked down at her hands. She took a deep breath and then, finally, she told India the truth. ‘I left my family, India. I abandoned my children. I have a three-year-old daughter and a baby son. Just under two months ago, I walked out on them and my husband and I came here to London because that was the first flight available when I arrived at the airport.’
India stared at Hannah, her eyes burning with accusation. ‘You left your children? Why? What possible reason would you have to do that?’
Hannah began to cry. ‘I don’t know,’ she started to say, but India reached out and grabbed her hand.
‘No,’ she said angrily. ‘You don’t get to cry. You don’t get to sit there and expect sympathy from me. Pull yourself together and enlighten me, because I don’t get it.’ She knew she wasn’t being compassionate, but she didn’t care. All she could feel right now was empathy for those children – and the familiar sting of abandonment that she had felt all her life.
Over the next couple of hours Hannah did her best to explain to India how she had come to leave her family. She told her how she had found motherhood to be such a shock when she first gave birth to Gracie, how she had struggled at times, but Liam had supported her through it and when things were finally going along fine, she had fallen pregnant again. How she had been terrified of another big change, but that she had been determined to succeed. How at first she had thought she was doing okay, but slowly things had started to crumble around her and still she continued to deny that anything was the matter. Because to admit that there was a problem would mean admitting that she was a failure as a mother. She tried to make India understand that in the end leaving seemed to be the best decision, for the sake of her children. They weren’t safe with her. She had done this for them.
When she finally finished India narrowed her eyes at Hannah. In a flurry of movement she slammed her fist down on the table between them. ‘BULLSHIT, Hannah!’ she said angrily. ‘You think you did them a favour? You think they’re better off without you? Well you’re wrong. You think your little girl isn’t crying herself to sleep at night, wondering where her mummy has gone? You think your baby boy isn’t desperate for you to hold him in your arms? You think they’re not wondering: what did I do wrong, why doesn’t she love me, why doesn’t she want me? That little girl is probably spending hours, sitting by the river, wondering about her mum, trying to figure out why she didn’t care enough to stick around, or why her dad didn’t even want to meet her, didn’t want to hold her in his arms, see what she could become. Why she wasn’t worth it.’ India hadn’t meant to turn this into something about her own past; she barely even realised what she was saying until the words tumbled out.
‘I’m sorry,’ Hannah whispered, biting her lip to stop the tears from starting again.
‘Yes, well, I’m not the one you need to say sorry to, Hannah.’
Hannah nodded. ‘I know. I know that you’re right, but I can’t go back now. I can’t ever go back. I don’t deserve them and they’re better off without me. I know you think I’m just making up excuses, justifying what I’ve done, but I’m not. They’re not safe with me.’
‘You can get help, Hannah. See a psychologist or a psychiatrist or someone. You can come back from this; you just need to be prepared to help yourself first. You realise there’s a simple answer, don’t you? You’ve got postnatal depression – obviously. That’s all. No big deal, you idiot. Isn’t there something like one in four women who get it? Or I don’t know – I’m not sure what the stats are. But the thing is, you can fix this. Start by calling them. Now,’ she added firmly.
Hannah looked back at India warily. She shook her head. ‘I can’t,’ she said desperately. ‘I’m not ready for that.’
‘You can and you will,’ said India firmly. ‘Your little girl needs to hear your voice. It’s the least you can do. You can tell her that you love her, so that she knows.’ India folded her arms and stared at Hannah.
Hannah hesitated, and then she shook her head. ‘No, I heard from Liam last night, a text message. He hates me. He never wants to see me again.’
‘Hang on, take me back a step here. You’ve been in contact with your husband? How is that possible?’
‘When I first got here I sent him an email, trying to explain what I’d done. I told him I was overseas, but not where. I gave him a contact number, but I said it was just for emergencies, you know, for in case something happened with the children. I guess I should have known that he would ignore that. At first he used to call me over and over, every day. I stopped picking up the phone most times. But once or twice I gave in and I answered.’
‘Wow. You’re not really very good at running away, are you, Hannah?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? Hannah, this just proves to me that you need to go home to your family. You never meant to stay gone, did you? It was . . . I don’t know . . . a cry for help or something, wasn’t it? You didn’t know how to tell anyone you were in trouble, so instead you made one dramatic, attention-grabbing gesture. You wanted them to see how bad things were, but you also wanted to be found. Otherwise you would have never made contact. Think about it – how many people have you heard of who disappear from their family, only to send an email with a contact number for “just in case”?’
India laughed then, suddenly and loudly. ‘Hannah, you’re a walking contradiction. You think that leaving was the right thing to do, that you were doing it for your family, while at the same time you hate yourself for doing the unthinkable. But here’s the good news – you can come back from this. You just have to listen to me. Okay?’
Hannah felt her resolve collapse under the weight of India’s stare. She nodded miserably.
‘Good,’ said India. ‘Then here’s what you need to do. If you don’t think you can have this conversation over the phone then you need to book yourself a flight to Sydney. You need to GO HOME. Go back to your family. Yes, it’s going to be hard, yes it’ll be a shock when you turn up on that doorstep – but they need you, babe.’
India waited for a few minutes, watching Hannah sit chewing her fingernails, considering everything that she had just been told – and then she exploded. ‘For fuck’s sake, Hannah, it’s your family. It’s a no brainer.’
Forty minutes later, India had helped Hannah pack all of her belongings into her
backpack. They booked the flight over the phone for later that afternoon and India took the keys to the flat, promising to drop them off to Hannah’s landlord and explain why Hannah was cutting the lease short. Then they stood out the front of the building waiting for the taxi that would take Hannah to Heathrow.
‘I have to say, when I imagined all the reasons why you were here in London – what it was you were running away from – I never thought it would be this. I can’t believe you’re a mum, Han.’ India stood with her arms wrapped around herself, her foot scuffing against the ground.
‘Most days I can’t believe it either,’ Hannah said in a sad voice.
India grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her so they were face to face. ‘I know you think you’re a bad mother, you think you’re a failure – but I’d put money on it that you’re not. One day all of this is just going to be a ditch in your past, a time where you hit bottom, ended up in your own personal hell. But when you come out the other side, things are going to be good. Okay? Trust me.’
Hannah nodded; once again she was fighting back tears. As the taxi pulled up to the curb, they each leaned in and hugged one another, hard – and when they finally pulled apart, India was crying too.
‘Tell your family hi from me,’ said India, as Hannah climbed into the taxi.
When the cab pulled away and Hannah was gone, India stood still for a few minutes. For the first time in weeks she was feeling sort of lost. For the past few weeks, figuring out what was wrong with Hannah had been her driving force. What would she do now? She supposed it was finally time to leave London.
As she walked away down the road, heading for the tube station, she reached into her pocket and her fingers closed around the piece of paper with Hannah’s address in Sydney that she had given her, asking her to promise to stay in touch.
I’ll try, Han, she thought a little sadly.
Paper Chains Page 12
