by Helen Lowrie
‘I’m Dr Riley; I’ve just been assessing Miss Reed’s condition.’
‘Yes?’
‘She’s been very lucky; aside from a mild concussion and a few bumps and bruises, she doesn’t seem to have sustained any serious injuries.’ I wanted to tell her to go on but my mouth had completely dried up with fear. After a pause she continued anyway, ‘I’m afraid the police will want to talk to her because her blood alcohol level is three times over the legal limit but you can go in and see her now if you like.’
‘Alcohol?’ I croaked, hoping I’d misheard. Kat’s hand tightened in mine and I turned to her, unable to organise a coherent thought. Kat sensed I was struggling.
‘What about the baby?’ she said, calmly turning to Dr Riley.
‘Baby? Sorry – you are?’
‘I’m family,’ Kat said dismissively. ‘What about Jasmine’s baby?’
‘I’m sorry, I –’ Dr Riley looked confused, ‘as far as I’m aware there was no baby in the car.’ I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her for prolonging the agony.
‘Jasmine’s four and a half months pregnant,’ Kat said, impatiently.
‘No.’ She looked at me, then back at Kat, then back to me again, her expression serious, ‘not according to her notes or her blood work.’
‘What?’ My shock came out as a whisper.
‘There is no baby?’ Kat said, her voice hard. ‘Was there ever a baby? Did she abort it?’ I flinched at her harsh tone as I tried to comprehend what was being said.
‘I’m sorry. I can’t discuss a patient’s history. You’ll have to talk to her yourself. Are you all right?’ she said, peering up at me through her spectacles. ‘Do you need to sit down?’ I let the doctor steer me towards a seat and I sat down heavily. ‘Let me get you some water,’ she said, moving away.
As the full weight of understanding spread through me I groaned, leaning forwards, bracing my elbows on my knees and taking my head in my hands. It was then that I realised Kat was no longer with me.
‘Kat?’ Looking up I scanned the waiting area. Dr Riley had filled a small plastic cup with water from a cooler and was making her way back towards me but Kat was not with her. I couldn’t see her anywhere. ‘Oh, shit,’ I muttered, rising quickly to my feet.
Chapter Forty-three
Pushing open the door to the private room I marched over to the bed. Jasmine lay on her back with her eyes closed, her hands folded neatly across her flat stomach, and her golden curls fanned out on the pillow around her head. She looked as peaceful and virtuous as an angel.
‘You selfish bitch!’ Her eyes flew open and she stared at me in surprise. ‘Do you have any idea what you’ve put him through?’ She looked fearful and confused as she tried to place me, which only made me angrier. ‘Was there ever a baby?’
Finally recognition dawned in her expression and her features hardened. ‘What are you doing here? Who do you think you are?’
‘I’m family, Jamie’s family, that’s who, and I care more about him than you ever will.’
‘Get out,’ she snapped. The door opened and I sensed Jamie entering the room behind me but I was too riled up to stop now.
‘No, not until you admit you’re a lying, manipulative bitch.’
Jasmine gasped dramatically for Jamie’s benefit and he gently placed his hands on my upper arms. ‘Kat, she’s just been in an accident.’ His touch and his voice were soothing but I knew he was ready to restrain me if necessary.
I snorted. ‘She’s fine, look; there’s barely a scratch on her – she’s just attention seeking.’
‘How dare you,’ she said.
‘I dare because it’s true – come on where’s this baby of yours?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ she said, flushing. ‘James, get her out of here or I’ll call security and have her dragged out.’
‘Answer the question first,’ he said quietly.
Jasmine spontaneously burst into tears, her voice changing to a pitiful mewl. ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this to me – I’m recovering from a head injury you know.’
‘A hangover more like,’ I muttered.
Jamie sighed. ‘Just tell us, Jasmine, and we’ll leave you in peace.’
‘I just wanted you to want me,’ she whimpered. Neither Jamie nor I spoke and she swiped her cheeks with her fingers, wiped her nose on the back of her hand and sighed heavily. ‘OK, I didn’t get pregnant,’ she admitted.
Fresh anger swept through me making my fists tremble at my sides and my newly healed wrist ache. Jamie’s grip tightened on my arms. ‘Let’s go,’ he said in a low voice at my ear.
‘But I could have been pregnant. I mean, it could have happened.’ I glared at her and allowed Jamie to manoeuvre me towards the door. ‘Wait, James, I know I’ve made mistakes but she’s not perfect either. Did she tell you that she kissed me?’ I froze, mid-step, shocked at Jasmine’s audacity and instantly shamed by the memory. ‘I bet she never mentioned that, did she?’ Jasmine taunted.
Jamie had gone ominously still and quiet behind me but I couldn’t turn around; I knew he’d see the truth of it in my face and I didn’t want to give Jasmine the satisfaction of a response.
‘I’ve called your parents. They’re on their way.’ Jamie said evenly, releasing his grip on my arms and holding the door open for me while resolutely not looking at her. ‘I suggest you change your medical records, Jasmine. I’m not your next of kin.’
Jamie ushered me through the door then turned back. ‘And you’d better arrange for somewhere else to stay when you leave here. The flat is going on the market today and I’m having the locks changed. Text me an address and I’ll forward your stuff on to you.’
She started to cry again as the door closed behind us and I almost pitied her. Almost. As we left I surreptitiously glanced up at Jamie; his expression was impassive but he took my hand as we walked away.
I hated Jasmine Reed for everything she’d put Jamie through and was glad he’d finally stood up to her but wondered what her parting shot might mean for us. He was tense and distracted and kept a firm grip of my hand but he didn’t mention Jasmine’s accusation – didn’t ask me if it was true that I’d kissed her or why it had happened – and I worried in silence about what might be going on in his head, too afraid to ask.
True to his word Jamie called an emergency locksmith and we travelled straight from the hospital to his flat in Willesden Green, still not talking.
The two-bed flat, the converted first floor of a Victorian terrace, was tastefully decorated, with high ceilings and large windows, but very messy indeed. As the locksmith set about replacing the locks on the front door, Jamie stalked about the flat unceremoniously stuffing Jasmine’s strewn belongings into black bin bags, while making phone calls to estate agents – discussing valuations, marketing strategy and viewing arrangements. At a loss for anything better to do I set about clearing up the kitchen – disposing of the array of fast food containers and tackling a pile of washing up. Jamie told me not to – that it was the last thing I should be doing on my birthday – but I insisted since I couldn’t leave without him and needed to keep busy. By the time we returned to Wildham, late in the evening, everything was organised and the London property was ready for sale, if not yet devoid of contents.
Now I lay beside Jamie in bed listening to his even breathing but unable to sleep. What Jasmine had told Jamie about me still rankled. It wasn’t even a proper kiss; just Jasmine’s evil attempt at manipulating Jamie through me – and I had far worse secrets – but I wished Jamie had said something about it. The longer Jamie and I spent together, the more he lavished me with kindness and attention, the greater my own inadequacies seemed. I would never be the person he wanted me to be. Nothing he said or did would change my past and tonight the pain, as I pinched the underside of my arm with my fingernails, was doing nothing to alleviate my anxiety.
Quietly slipping out of bed, I crept down to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of red wine. I
wasn’t a big drinker as a rule; tonight I simply needed something to help me sleep. Downing half the glass in one go I topped it back up again and sat down at the kitchen table, my head in my hands. Why was Jamie so bloody good to me all the time? Taking me to all these amazing places, teaching me stuff, encouraging me to try new things. What did he hope to get in return? My friendship? Sex? Despite my body’s extraordinary yearning for his, I still didn’t want him to see me naked; I didn’t want to have to explain my past to him. And that was wrong. If nothing else Jamie deserved some honesty. He’d put his trust in me time and time again and I was completely unwilling, incapable, of returning the compliment.
The wine wasn’t strong enough to prevent a familiar and deeply rooted sense of self-loathing from unfurling inside me. Almost without thinking I went upstairs to the bathroom and retrieved my old hospital bracelet from its hiding place, along with a disposable plastic razor, before bringing them back to the kitchen table.
Gently I stroked my thumb over my name and the date printed on the admissions bracelet. The flimsy bit of plastic was physical, tangible proof of a life that was never meant to be. My baby was never born; I never knew its gender and it never had a name. But it was not an imaginary baby like Jasmine’s; it was real enough to leave me with an acute sense of grief. Grief based on little more than an idea, a notion; my chance at a family dismissed – but it was grief nonetheless. I reminded myself, for what felt like the millionth time, that it was for the best. Vic and I would not have made good parents – the life we shared was not conducive to a happy childhood and it would have been selfish to imagine otherwise. But that knowledge didn’t lessen the pain.
Setting the bracelet aside I picked up the razor. With practised ease I snapped the casing apart, carefully extracted the blade and placed it on the surface before me. Staring at it I took another sip of wine while calculating how many years it had been since the last time I’d needed to do this. Seventeen. It had been seventeen long years since I’d lost the baby I hadn’t known I was carrying. Where had the time gone? Back then it was grief that had eaten away my insides until I felt so numb that I wasn’t sure if I was alive or dead. And now it was shame and guilt gnawing away at me. I would never be safe from my past. How could I go on hiding from, and lying to, the only person I’d ever loved? Just one small cut was usually enough to get me through, to release some pain and make me feel better for a while. And Jamie would never have to know…
‘Kat?’ I woke with a jolt, my neck stiff and cheek sore from the grain of the table top and my eyes squinting against the glare of the overhead light. I must have fallen asleep.
‘What time is it?’ I croaked.
Jamie was crouched beside me in boxers and a T-shirt, his eyes unnaturally wide with fear. ‘It’s one in the morning. What are you doing?’
As I glanced in horror at the items on the table before me I was fleetingly relieved that I’d not gone through with it. ‘It’s not what you think,’ I said, the hackneyed phrase grating as I pushed back my chair, snatched up the blade and deposited it in the pedal bin. Jamie took my arm and turned me to face him with none of his usual hesitation.
‘Explain, Kat, please – you’re scaring me.’
‘Fuck, I’m sorry –’ I wrenched my body away from him just in time to throw up in the sink; wine the colour of dried blood splashed dramatically against the white ceramic. Quickly turning the cold tap on, I washed away the mess and gulped down water from the cupped palm of my hand. I could sense Jamie standing beside me, radiating tension. How could I have been so stupid? So careless? Worry Jamie when he had already been through so much? I felt utterly disgusted with myself. ‘I’m sorry,’ I started again, ‘I didn’t mean to; I wasn’t –’
‘Tell me you weren’t going to; surely you wouldn’t even consider – not that – you wouldn’t leave me like that; not after everything we’ve –’
‘No! No! Of course not!’ Throwing my arms around him, I pressed my face to his warm chest, squeezing him tight. He remained heartbreakingly frozen and unyielding in my arms. ‘I wasn’t; I wouldn’t; I promise.’
Shrugging out of my embrace Jamie stepped back away from me, his jaw taut with emotion. ‘Is this about Jasmine – is there something between you two?’
‘God, no! That – what she said – it was her that kissed me, Jamie; she was trying to get back at you or something and I – no this is nothing to do with Jasmine, honestly.’
‘Then what, Kat? I thought you were happy or at least happier – I thought things were getting easier.’
‘I am; they are. It’s just that you, you’re so good to me, so generous and honest and I – I owe you some honesty in return. And I want to tell you, I want to tell you everything,’ pathetic, self-pitying tears threatened to spill down my face, ‘but I can’t, Jamie, I just can’t do it – I’m a fucking coward, I’m sorry.’
‘Then don’t, for God’s sake!’ he said with exasperation. ‘It doesn’t matter! You’re not a coward; you’re just not ready. There’s no rush. You don’t ever have to tell me if you don’t want to – I’ll still be here for you; I still need you in my life, Kat.’
‘I need you too,’ I admitted, the words heavy on my tongue.
Jamie exhaled and crushed me to him in a vice-like hug. ‘Promise me you won’t do anything like this ever again.’
‘I promise,’ I said over the thunderous racing of his heart. Pressed close together we just stood there, the heat of his body seeping into mine and warming me as his heart rate and blood pressure gradually evened out.
Eventually Jamie released me. ‘It’s late; will you come back to bed?’ he said, rubbing his eyes.
‘Yes.’
Without another word he wearily motioned for me to go before him. As I passed the table I subtly palmed my hospital bracelet and he followed me out, in silence, switching off the light.
Chapter Forty-four
At five thirty I left the stuffy confines of my office to walk the shop floor. It had been a weird day; the sky dark and oppressive with cloud that refused to release any rain and only a handful of customers through the door – the type who spent a long time browsing but purchased little. Some brought their elderly relatives to the garden centre and wheeled them round the plant area at a leisurely pace so that they could savour the flowers and fragrances. Others brought their kids and let them loose to race up and down the aisles, burning off surplus energy. One regular, an unobtrusive Eastern European-looking fellow in his forties or fifties, visited at least a couple of times a week but bought random token items such as carrot seeds, protective fleece or the odd marigold. Perhaps he was lonely and simply used a visit to Southwood’s as an excuse to leave his house. Either way all our customers were welcome and we did our best to keep them happy, regardless of how much, or how little, cash they parted with.
I’d spent most of the day cooped up inside, researching alternative plant suppliers and weighing up the pros and cons of importing more stock from abroad, but I would much rather have been doing something physically active. There was always plenty to do: whether it was restocking, watering or simply keeping the place tidy. The land behind the garden centre also belonged to the business and, although a local farmer rented the fields for grazing his cows, it was down to me to maintain the boundaries. Up near the tree line a section of fence was in need of replacing and I was keen to tackle the job myself rather than pay someone else to do it. But it was difficult finding the time.
In the outdoor pot area someone had been searching through a selection of glazed blue planters and had left them blocking the path. As I lifted them back into position I idly wondered if I would find Kat working in among the herbaceous perennials. She’d taken well to working in the public areas – the customers enjoyed chatting to her and she was fast becoming an expert on the plants she tended. Manoeuvring the last pot into place I yawned widely. Despite a day spent sat at my desk, I was shattered; I was having trouble sleeping.
I’d grown used to Kat sharing my
bed each night; it was comforting. Even when I’d lain awake worrying about a baby who never existed I’d been reassured by Kat’s presence at my side. But since the early hours of Tuesday morning, since discovering her slumped over the kitchen table with an empty wine glass and a razor blade at her elbow, I could no longer relax at all. I woke in the middle of the night with panic chasing through my chest like a scared animal. I’d been afraid of losing Kat since the moment I’d found her and the more time we spent together, the closer we became, the bigger that fear had grown. But it had never crossed my mind that she might leave me like that – kill herself. Now the nightmarish thought tormented me relentlessly.
Every time I’d woken up since Tuesday, Kat had been right there beside me. She’d promised that she wouldn’t do anything stupid, and I wanted to believe her, but it wasn’t enough to dispel my worries.
The fact was I had no idea how to best help Kat. She had an old hospital tag with her name on it, which clearly held significance for her, but was it from when she had had her kidney operation or from something else? I wanted her to share her story with me, as much as she wanted to be able to. Obviously I was apprehensive about what she might tell me but I couldn’t imagine her saying anything that would make me care about her any less. The not knowing was worse.
Despite her general aversion to physical contact, Kat didn’t seem to mind me touching her and in the dead of the night, while she was unconscious, I couldn’t help reaching out and holding her hand. Lately it was the only way I could sleep at all.
‘James?’ Barb was hurrying breathlessly towards me. ‘Is Frank burning rubbish or something down on the nursery?’
As soon as she spoke I could smell smoke. ‘No – he’s unloading a delivery with the forklift isn’t he? I was already turning in the direction of the nursery and my scalp prickled as I spotted the plume of grey smoke, almost camouflaged against the leaden sky. ‘Where’s Kat?’ I said, leaving Barb behind and starting to run towards the plant area. Stay calm; it’s probably nothing – just a bonfire or something, I told myself, not Kat, not Kat – anything but that.
