by Jo Bannister
Her voice was sharp. ‘I don't want to talk. Go home, Daniel.’
‘I can't. Brodie left without me.’
A pause. ‘Noah?’
‘He's with her.’
‘Then just – go.’
‘I can't. Marianne, I know why you sent Noah away. I know why you want to be alone, and I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you decide – whatever you do – I'm going to be right here.’
‘I don't know what you mean,’ she said roughly.
‘Yes, you do. There's only one reason for getting Noah out of the house.’ He wanted her to hear the anger in his tone. ‘I just hope he hasn't worked it out too.’
He heard an intake of breath, almost a sob, behind the shut door.
The thing to do with an advantage is press it. ‘He's an intelligent boy,’ Daniel went on brutally. ‘Clever enough to fool me. Clever enough to keep you safe, though you know better than anyone what it cost him. How's he going to feel when he realises it was all for nothing? That he lost you anyway. That if he'd spoken up sooner he mightn't have.’
He could have got it wrong. He knew she was desperate: if she was desperate enough he could push her over the edge. But he also knew she was a fighter: he was gambling on her wanting to come out and box his ears before killing herself.
He held his breath. But the silence stretched too far: he had to draw another breath and hold that.
When finally he heard the bolt slide back he could have wept with relief.
He knew what he'd interrupted. He didn't know how she intended to do it – with a gun, a knife, a bottle of pills – but he knew what she intended. Someone arriving now, though, would never have guessed from the indignation on Marianne Selkirk's face as she threw the door back hard enough to bruise the wall.
‘How dare you say that to me?’ she spat. ‘Do you think I don't care about Noah? That I'm doing this to make him feel bad? Noah is the only thing that matters to me, and this is the only way I can protect him. Now go away and let me do what I have to.’
Daniel clung on to his anger, which was serving him much better than empathy would have done. ‘Maybe you do care about Noah, but you're not the only one. He's the reason I'm here. You've put that boy through hell – and still he thinks the sun shines out of your left nostril. Beats me why, but he does, and he's willing to forgive you everything because of it. Except this. He won't forgive this.
‘At least, I hope he won't. Because the only way he'll convince himself it wasn't your fault is to tell himself it was his. Is that what you want, Marianne? Is that really a burden you want him to carry for the rest of his life?’
‘I don't want to hurt him any more!’ Distress made her voice climb like a wailing cat's.
I know that. But this can't possibly be the best way.’
‘It's the only way!’
Daniel wasn't sure she'd noticed, but they were talking about it and they weren't talking through a shut door any more. It was progress. ‘There's never only one way. I know – I know – right now you think you're out of options. That your life's a bad joke, and you can't change the punch-line – all you can do is deliver it and get off the stage. Marianne, I've been there – 1 know how it feels when you're scared of the dark but the day's even worse because you don't know what it's going to bring. When what scares you most is you. When you know you're out of control and you have no idea how to make some sense of your life, and you think probably the only way is to end it. When you honestly can't wait to be quit of the whole damned business.’
She was staring at him, her lips a whisper apart, her brows gathered in a tiny frown. ‘Yes, you do, don't you?’ she said softly. ‘Know.’
‘You thought you had a monopoly on pain?’ he demanded. ‘Marianne, there's more than enough tragedy in the world for everyone to get their share. You know that. You've seen the way some people have to live. Compared with that, nothing you or I have had to deal with is worth a damn.
‘All over the world people are dying who desperately want to live. In wars, in famines, in natural and man-made disasters. They fight for every last day, every last minute, and still they die. You can't decide your life isn't worth living. You betray every one of them if you do.’
‘I can't carry them all!’ she cried out in despair. ‘I can't care for them all.’
‘You don't have to,’ promised Daniel. ‘You've worked for them, you've saved a lot of them, you don't have to feel for them as well. They're not your children. Noah is. Care for him; feel for him. Live for him. That's a life worth fighting for.’
‘I've tried,’ she wailed. ‘I've tried so hard. I can't… I can't…’
‘You're exhausted,’ he said. Suddenly he felt very tired himself. He slid down the wall and sat on the flag floor with his arms across his knees. After a moment Marianne followed suit. ‘You're all used up. You've no energy left for yourself and your family. But you can fix that today. Take a leave of absence. It's somebody else's turn to save the world. Concentrate on saving yourself.
‘I know you can do it. We'll get you some help to make it easier. It's like an addiction – like alcohol or drugs. It's hard to change something that's become a big part of your life. But you have the best motivation anyone could have, and you'll succeed. Two years from now you'll look back and this'll seem like a bad dream.’
‘Do you think all this is news to me?’ she demanded, furious with desperation. ‘That it never occurred to me that hitting my little boy wasn't a great idea and I should stop doing it? I can't. I've tried, and I can't. The only way he'll be safe from me is when I'm dead.’
Daniel shook his head. ‘You think it's harder than quitting drugs? Than stopping drinking? But people manage. They do find it hard – murderously hard – and sometimes they slip and have to start again. But they succeed. They take their lives back. And I bet every one of them, standing where you are now, thought they couldn't do it – that it would be easier to die.
‘There are high buildings, fast trains and cheap guns everywhere,’ he went on fiercely. ‘Do you know why they went through the misery of detox? Because their reasons to live were stronger than their reasons to die. They had families and friends, people who wanted them to succeed and helped them when the going got tough. The lucky ones had families like yours – people who cared so much about them they were prepared to pay whatever it cost to hang onto them.
‘Your son loves you so much he puts up with being hurt to keep from losing you. Your husband loves you so much he let himself be suspected of child abuse rather than explain what was actually going on. You have two people who love you that much, and you want to throw it away? Marianne, most people would kill for a family like yours!’
She gave a little snort that was half a sob, half a chuckle. Daniel winced. It hadn't been the most felicitous choice of phrase. He hurried on. ‘The hardest part is already over. The bit where you were trying to do everything that was asked of you and not let on it was too much. The bit where the house of cards was tottering and all that was keeping it up was the love of a twelve-year-old boy. Well, the secret isn't a secret any more. Now you can talk to people who can help and concentrate on getting better. You've had a breakdown. It wasn't your fault. Noah knows that, Adam knows that. Everyone's going to understand.’
Her head came up at that, her eyes wild. ‘That I beat my child rather than admit I couldn't do my job? I don't think so, Daniel!’
He tried to put an edge back on his voice. It was getting harder. He was running out of arguments, and he knew she wasn't persuaded. A lot of potential suicides are looking for an excuse to back out: telling them their hamster will miss them will do. But Marianne Selkirk had never backed away from a challenge in her life. She was used to taking hard decisions and then acting on them. He couldn't hold her either by strength or by entreaty. She believed, passionately, that the course she was set upon was best for all concerned.
All Daniel had left to fight with was the fact that she hadn't planned this. It might have been a last resort some
where in the back of her mind, but she hadn't meant to do it today. She hadn't meant to do it when she took this cottage. She'd believed, or at least she'd hoped, that time with Noah and away from her job and her marriage would help her regain control. Only when she learnt that her secret was out – that rather than leave his son and his wife alone together Adam Selkirk had finally told the truth – had the last resort come to look like the least worst option.
Perhaps that made it Daniel's fault. When he had time to think about it that might well be the conclusion he reached. But right now he was still trying to salvage the situation, and it was like running in treacle. Marianne didn't want to be saved. She wanted out.
But if she hadn't had the chance to rehearse her reasons, he might still find one that wouldn't stand up under pressure. If he did that the whole edifice of her intent might crumble.
‘Do you know what they won't understand?’ he said harshly. ‘That you let a child share your load and then refused to share his. It's cowardly, Marianne! I know there are difficult times ahead. But you have no right to walk away from the mess and leave your husband and your son to sort it out. The least you can do is stay around and help.
‘You think it'll all be over when you're dead? It won't. There'll be mountains to climb. The only one who'll be spared is you. I wouldn't have thought it of you, Marianne. I never saw you as a woman who'd take the easy way out and leave others to struggle with the consequences. I thought you were stronger than that.’
‘I'm strong enough,’ she gritted. ‘This is the right thing to do, and I'm strong enough to do it. And if you're not strong enough to watch, you'd better leave now.’
He shook his yellow head. ‘I can't.’
‘Daniel, you must.’ There was something like compassion in her voice. As if she knew he'd put his heart and soul into saving her, and it would be like another little death when he failed. ‘This is my decision. You have to accept it. Accept that I don't want you here, and go.’
‘I can't,’ Daniel said again, pale and stubborn.
Marianne's eye kindled at him. ‘Why not?’
‘Lots of reasons,’ he mumbled. ‘The most immediate one is I can't get up. I'm bleeding.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘Oh, dear God!’ exclaimed Marianne impatiently, as if he'd done it to annoy her. ‘Where…? What…? How long?’
‘How long have we been talking?’ Daniel countered weakly. ‘I got some glass in my arm when I broke in. I didn't realise it was still…’ He shrugged, one-shouldered, helpless.
Marianne was bending over him, peeling his jacket back. ‘Lord almighty, you're soaking!’
‘Can you – I don't know – tie it up with something?’
‘Daniel, I moved in here yesterday! I don't have an operating theatre – I don't even have a first aid kit.’ But she was on her feet, gathering towels from the bathroom, scissors from the kitchen. ‘I suppose we can tie you together long enough to reach hospital.’
He went to ease out of his shirt but Marianne shook her head. ‘Don't disturb it. I'll bandage over the top.’
She cut a bath towel into three strips. The first turned an instant vermilion with his blood. The second, bound tightly on top, held out a little longer before the blood soaked through. Marianne tied on the third and sat back on her heels, watching intently. For perhaps a minute neither of them spoke. Then Marianne gave a disappointed little cluck. ‘It's no good, it's not stopping. We'll have to get you to A&E.’ She stood up again, looking for her car keys.
Daniel said nothing and didn't look at her. He was wondering how long it would be before she saw the snag with that, and what she would do when she did.
She took his good hand and pulled. ‘On your feet, Burglar Bill.’ And then she froze.
Here it comes, thought Daniel.
‘You have to promise me something,’ said Marianne, her voice an odd mixture of command and supplication. ‘You have to promise me you won't send the police here. To…you know…stop me.’
‘Don't ask me that,’ he whispered.
‘I have to,’ she said doggedly. ‘And you have to promise.’
‘I have to promise to let you die? Or you'll let me die?’
‘No!’ she said indignantly; then, on second thoughts, ‘Yes. Yes, I will, Daniel. That's how desperate I am. I'll watch a good man bleed to death if it's the only way I can be sure of putting an end to this tragedy. Don't think I won't. Don't count on me to come over all sentimental at the last moment. You have a choice. I can have you at Dimmock General in fifteen minutes and they'll sort you out in another five. It's that easy. All I want in return is the freedom to make the right choice for me and my family.’
‘You're asking me to keep quiet while you kill yourself,’ Daniel said baldly. ‘Knowing the hurt that's going to cause to people who don't deserve it. Knowing that today you're desperate – but you weren't desperate enough to kill yourself yesterday, and the chances are you won't be desperate enough to do it tomorrow. Give yourself a chance, Marianne. Wait till tomorrow and see.’
She shook her hair, tendrils the colour of winter sunshine escaping the scarf. ‘Tomorrow they'll be watching. Tomorrow I'll be the new fish in the aquarium, and every eye will follow my every move. All the ologists you ever heard of will be queuing outside my door. When I said I wanted this finished, Daniel, that's one of the reasons. To avoid the ologists.’
‘Even ologists have a purpose in the grand scheme of things,’ suggested Daniel. ‘And as purposes go, saving the life of a young woman with a devoted husband, an adoring son and a million strangers’ lives to her credit is a pretty good one. Me, I'm with the ologists.’
‘Then let them analyse you,’ she said briskly, ‘because I think they'd find it quite rewarding. More than the odd paper to be written on you, I imagine. But I don't want to be studied. I just want peace. I want out. And I want your word – your word, Daniel, and I know what that means to you – you'll do nothing to stop me.’
‘That's blackmail,’ he said weakly.
‘Maybe it is,’ she allowed. ‘I don't care what you call it. I don't care what you call me. This is the right thing for me and my child, and I don't care what anyone else thinks. Your word, Daniel.’
He shook his head. ‘I can't.’
She stared down at him as if she couldn't believe what he was saying. As if she wanted to slap some sense into him. ‘What do you mean, you can't? This is your life we're talking about! You're bleeding a river. You need to get it stopped, quickly. You don't have any choice.’
‘It's your life we're talking about as well,’ he pointed out. His voice was growing breathy. ‘I'm not going to help you die. I don't think you'll let me die either.’
‘Don't bet your life on it,’ she shot back in anger, and Daniel gave a little chuckle that ended in a cough.
‘I have to. It's all I have.’
Brodie Farrell had known Daniel Hood for two years. She knew him intimately. Not by virtue of sharing her body and his bed: that was something she'd never wanted and even now, knowing what it would mean to him, knowing how much she too stood to gain, she couldn't make herself want it. She could pretend, but she knew in her bones it would be a terrible mistake, not a beginning but an end. She wished with all her heart that this was something she could give him, but it wasn't and she wasn't going to lie. Not to him. She had too much to lose.
But whatever the tabloids tell you, sex is a comparatively small part of most people's lives. Sometimes it's entirely incidental. Twice in her student days Brodie had found herself heaving and sweating with someone she didn't know well enough to put a surname to. She wasn't proud of that. These days, unlike in the early days of her marriage, she wasn't particularly ashamed of it either, but it did serve to underline that sex and intimacy are not the same thing. She knew Daniel as well as she knew herself. She knew – even if she didn't always understand – how he thought, how he felt, what mattered to him. Even when he managed to surprise her it was in entirely predictable ways.
>
And one of the very first things she'd learnt was that there was a reason for everything he did. It wasn't always a good reason, but at least in his own head, in that moment in time, it made sense. He did nothing for effect. If he hurled himself out of a moving car and hared off back down the road, he had a pressing reason. Brodie spent the next minute working out what it was.
When she had, the breath caught momentarily in her throat. The question now was what she should – what she could – do about it. One thing she couldn't do was turn and drive back to the cottage with Noah in the car. If Daniel had been successful Marianne Selkirk would be in a state of such distress that, for both their sakes, her son should not see her. And if, despite his best efforts, Daniel had arrived too late it was imperative to keep the boy out of the house.
Brodie needed more information, and she needed to get it without the child – this smart, astute child who knew more about his family's problems than she and Daniel did even now – realising what she was asking. She cleared her throat, tried to keep her voice light. ‘Last time I was out this way was for a pheasant shoot. Those woods over’ – she hunted desperately, pointed with relief towards a little copse to the west – ‘there. Do your parents shoot?’
‘No,’ said Noah. ‘Mum says, once you've seen people shooting other people it doesn't seem much like a sport any more.’
‘Mm.’ Brodie was still walking on eggshells. ‘So there are no guns in the house.’
Noah shook his head. ‘My dad says it's asking for trouble, having a gun and a boy in the same house.’
‘I can't argue with that,’ said Brodie. She felt a little of the tension easing from her muscles. There are a lot of ways to commit suicide. Most of them require a little time, but a bullet in the brain requires only one long moment of desperation. If Marianne didn't have a gun some of the urgency was gone from the situation. If she'd taken sleeping pills Daniel would have an ambulance on the way by now. If she was screwing a hook into a ceiling beam he'd have confiscated the step-ladders. There was time to get Noah off-side and then to get help.
