The Gift

by Louise Jensen

  ‘So the accident…’ I stumble over my words. Conscious I might sound insensitive. ‘It happened on their way home?’

  ‘No. When we couldn’t get them by phone we got a taxi to their house. There was no car but the light was on. Nathan answered the door. He said he’d come home in a taxi because he had a migraine. “I’m not surprised; the music was that loud,” I said. He’d left Callie the car as she’d said she wanted to stay with us. He called her but she didn’t pick up for him either.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Nathan was panicking. He wanted to go and look for her but I told him to stay put and ring any of Callie’s friends he could think of – that Sara and Chris she talked about from work, and the hospitals. He didn’t have the car and someone needed to be at their house in case she turned up. We got the taxi to take us home. “Perhaps they’ve had a row and Nathan’s not telling us,” I said to Amanda. “We’d better stay at home in case she comes to ours.” We didn’t know who else she’d have turned to. At school, she had loads of friends but since she’d been with Nathan she didn’t seem to go out much on her own. They were always together. Superglued, I used to say.’

  ‘Did they argue much then? Callie and Nathan.’

  ‘God, no. I had never heard him raise his voice, and I didn’t think they’d fallen out, but they were so quiet all evening, and we were trying to make sense of it, you see. Think of all possibilities.’ He pauses and when he speaks again his voice is quieter. ‘When the phone rang my blood ran cold. I just knew it wouldn’t be good news. It was the hospital. Callie had been found on a grass verge at Woodhaven. The car had crashed into a tree. She’d gone…’ his voice cracks ‘She’d gone straight through the windscreen. She was barely alive when we got to the hospital.’ He presses his fingertips against his eyelids as though he’s trying to force an image away.

  ‘Woodhaven? Is that where the wedding was?’ It is about forty miles away. Me and Sam had driven through it once on the way back from the coast. We had stopped for a cider at a thatched pub on the village green, its garden packed full of wooden benches and brightly coloured sunshades.

  ‘No. The wedding was in the opposite direction. She had no reason to be in Woodhaven. It’s not as if it was on the way home.’

  ‘Couldn’t Nathan throw any light on it?’

  ‘He was inconsolable. And just as confused as us. The police asked us about Callie’s state of mind. As if she might have driven into the tree deliberately.’ The colour drains from Tom’s face. ‘She wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, you see. Can you imagine anyone feeling so low they’d do that?’ He’s visibly shaking now. ‘“Not our Callie,” we said; she was happy. We’d have known if she wasn’t, wouldn’t we?’

  ‘Of course.’ I reach out and touch his arm.

  ‘I wondered if she swerved to avoid something. Some sort of animal that had run in front of her. That would be typical Callie. Never wanting to hurt anything. There weren’t any skid marks but the police said that’s not unusual when roads are wet.’

  Tom opens a brown leather album and flicks to the back and slides out a photo. He passes it to me. ‘This is Nathan.’

  I hold it at the edge before resting it on my palm, conscious of my sticky fingertips. Nathan is the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, and as I look at his chocolate eyes, his curly hair, I feel a fluttering deep in my stomach. In the picture, Nathan and Callie are standing on a lawn sprinkled with snow. Behind them is a tangle of plants and bushes, dotted with colour, despite it being winter. Callie’s cheek is pressed against Nathan’s chest as she gazes adoringly at him.

  ‘Are you still in touch with him?’

  ‘No. He was completely devastated. Afterwards, I spoke a bit harshly to him if I’m honest. I insisted he must have known Callie wasn’t with us. I practically accused him of lying. Everything got muddled with all the questions the police were asking.’ Tom shakes his head. ‘I didn’t mean it; I know how much he adored her but emotions were running high. I was looking for someone to blame, I suppose. It was awful. We didn’t speak at all at Callie’s funeral, and he didn’t come to the wake. I apologised afterwards. We had a cup of tea a few months ago when he dropped her things off but it was really awkward. He was like a son to me as well, before…’ Tom’s words wobble with emotion.

  ‘They look happy together.’

  ‘They were. He thought the world of her. That was their first Christmas together.’

  ‘Where was it taken? It looks lovely.’ I flip the photo over but there is nothing scribbled on the back.

  ‘It was taken at home. It was lovely. Callie used to do our garden. She loved being outdoors. Amanda and I were never green-fingered.’

  I look towards the small stone courtyard, visible through the patio doors.

  ‘Not this home, obviously.’ Tom notices my confusion. ‘We used to live in the city centre too. But after Callie, when the business went under, we couldn’t keep up the mortgage payments and we had to move here.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ I can’t believe how much they have been through this past year.

  ‘There are worse things to lose than money.’ Tom touches my arm. ‘And we do OK. We have a policy from my insurance days that provides a small income, and we had some savings. We get by for now but fifty is too young to retire really, isn’t it? I’d like to go back to work if I could find a job that isn’t too stressful, but I’m considered a dinosaur at my age. I don’t like to leave Amanda on her own either. She’s so fragile.’

  Tom takes back the photo, and I turn to the first page of the album. Callie and Sophie, much younger this time, pose on golden sand. The sea sparkles behind them and a burnt orange sun beats down. The sisters could be twins. Shimmering blonde bobs and jade green swimming costumes.

  ‘They loved the beach. Sophie couldn’t swim but she liked to paddle. They’d bury me in the sand every year.’

  The next picture could easily be lifted from a greetings card. Mum, Dad and two gorgeous teenage daughters pose in front of a Christmas tree. White fairy lights glow and silver decorations hang symmetrically from its branches. Callie and Sophie are holding out a plate of gingerbread men.

  I can see from the picture that Tom hasn’t changed much. He is a lot thinner now and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes any more, but you can tell it’s him. I have to bring the photo closer to my eyes and scrutinise it before I’m certain it is Amanda. Her face in the photo is fuller, smoother. Her hair rich with honey and caramel highlights. Around her neck, a pendant shaped like a star catches the light; rubies and diamonds sparkle as brightly as Amanda’s smile. When she’d answered the door, I thought she must be in her fifties but I think she must be at least ten years younger than I’d thought. Grief has sucked the life from her.

  The last photo in the book is Callie and Nathan. Nathan is wearing a lemon cravat and a cream carnation buttonhole and Callie is elegant in a long red sequinned dress that should clash with her dyed crimson hair, but somehow doesn’t. They’re sitting at a round table. An elaborate floral display stands in the centre but it’s Callie’s face that draws my attention. I look up at Tom in surprise.

  He sighs. ‘Her poor face. It’s not very flattering, is it? She’d walked into a cupboard at work earlier. She would have deleted it if she’d seen it but it was the last one we took of her.’

  ‘This was taken the night she died?’

  ‘Yes.’

  In the picture Callie is angled away from Nathan and her forehead is creased as she stares into space, either lost in thought or looking at something the camera can’t see. Her make-up is thick but it doesn’t disguise her black eye or the angry bruise that covers her swollen cheek.

  10

  ‘Callie never regained consciousness you know,’ Tom says.

  The sentence sits between us. It could so easily have been my dad reciting those words about me. I look Tom straight in the eyes. ‘What you did. Signing the donor consent form…’

  ‘It’s what she would have wanted. H
onestly, Jenna.’ He touches my arm and squeezes and a feeling of warmth spreads through me. ‘It’s a comfort knowing Callie saved your life. Really. And I think you being here will do Amanda good. Might shake her out of her blackness a little. More than those blasted pills the doctor gives her anyway. They seem to make her constantly exhausted, but don’t seem to lift her mood at all. She never talks to anyone, and she never goes out. Meeting you though and knowing that a part of Callie lives on…’ He pats my hand. ‘I’m glad you came.’

  ‘Me too,’ I say, and I am.

  ‘I’d best check on Amanda.’ He crosses the lounge, no longer with the purposeful strides he had earlier but with small, slow steps, dragging his heels as though there’s something else he wants to say, and as he reaches the door he turns, leaning back against the frame. ‘It’s the not knowing,’ he says quietly. ‘All the questions. At night, Amanda’s knocked out by her medication, but I lie there and I wonder why. Why did they leave the reception? Why was Callie in Woodhaven? Why wasn’t Nathan with her? We talked about it once afterwards, Nathan and me, as we were arranging her funeral. He cried and said I had to let it go or it would drive me crazy but I couldn’t cry. I was so bloody angry. I know he’s right. Knowing won’t bring her back, but if we had the answers.’ He raises his palms to the ceiling as if the answers might drop into them. ‘If we understood why she died.’ He shakes his head. ‘I never knew what the blasted Americans were on about when they talked about closure but— Sorry.’ He toes the carpet.

  ‘No need to apologise.’

  ‘It’s just that Amanda won’t talk about it. Can’t talk about it. She says knowing won’t bring any peace. Nothing will except Callie coming back and that can’t happen. Maybe she’s right. I don’t know. It’s just so bloody agonising. The not knowing. I even went through her iPhone when Nathan brought her things around looking for… I don’t know what I was looking for. Maybe she’d just fancied a drive. I’ll never bloody know, will I?’ The corners of his mouth downturn and for a horrible minute I think he’s going to cry but instead he bends and picks up an invisible piece of thread from the floor. I watch his defeated shoulders slink into the hallway, and I wish more than anything I could help but I’m at a loss to know what to do. What to say.

  ‘You never think you’ll have to do it. Bury your own child.’ The statement tumbles from Tom’s mouth as he comes back into the room, as though he can’t contain the words any more.

  ‘It’s not right, is it?’ I begin to answer but he starts to talk again as he sits.

  ‘The church was packed. Funerals for the young always are, I suppose. Amanda wanted it to be family only. Intimate. Neither of us wanted to make small talk afterwards but word gets around, doesn’t it? In the end, I’m glad so many came to pay their respects. Her colleagues. Even some of her old school friends had heard. I thought she’d lost touch with most of them after she got serious with Nathan but there were so many people. We didn’t recognise all of them, not that I could tell you who was there now, it all passed in a bit of a blur really. We played “I Have a Dream,” by Abba. It was Callie’s favourite song. Not many came back to the wake at the pub and those that did only stopped for one drink. It was a relief when the last person left.’

  ‘I can’t imagine how you felt.’ I have only been to one funeral, my nana’s, and that was when I was small. I have never forgotten the chill of the church. The smell of beeswax.

  ‘It was such a godawful day. When we got home, someone had broken into the house. Completely ransacked it.’ The muscles in his cheek tic. ‘The police said it’s common. Can you believe it? There are people who make a career of targeting properties when they know the occupants are at funerals. There are some sick bastards in the world. Amanda was distraught. We were moving anyway and we decided it was the right time to pack up and leave the city. A fresh start. But memories? Well, they follow you wherever you go, don’t they?’

  ‘I’m so sorry. Did they take much?’

  ‘The cash we kept in the safe. Jewellery. Amanda had some lovely pieces. There was a star we commissioned made of rubies and diamonds that was worth a bomb, but it didn’t seem important at the time. Possessions you can replace. People…’

  We fall into silence. In the distance a dog barks. Tom stifles a yawn. The sun has shifted around the back of the house, and a warm golden glow breaks through the grime-coated patio doors, pooling over the sofa where he sits, silent now. In the sunlight, his scalp is visible through his thinning hair. His skin appears looser. Paler. He looks older than when I’d arrived, somehow, and my heart goes out to him. Losing two daughters. I can’t imagine, and although I want to ask what happened to Sophie, he has clearly been through enough for one day. I stand.

  ‘I must make a move. Can I use your bathroom or will it wake Amanda?’

  Tom straightens his spine and stretches his neck. ‘She’s had a pill. It would take an earthquake to wake her. It’s the door opposite the top of the stairs.’

  Upstairs, I creep past what must be Tom and Amanda’s bedroom. It’s cloaked in darkness and a sour smell exudes from the open door.

  ‘No. No. No,’ Amanda murmurs, and I instinctively go to her.

  In the shadows, I see her collarbones jutting out under her nightie, and she looks even thinner than she did downstairs, swamped in her cardigan. It seems she’s only woven together by threads of grief, and as she thrashes her head from side to side I worry she’ll soon unravel. Soothing her with words she cannot hear I brush away the damp hair that sticks to her hollowed cheeks.

  It’s hard to tear myself away from Amanda but eventually I tiptoe back out onto the landing. As I glance in the next room I notice it is full of boxes. The walls are pale pink and a bunny rabbit border is peeling off in several places. Lilac curtains that don’t quite meet in the middle hang at the windows, but they’re so thin they don’t block out the light. The last occupants must have had a baby girl, and I can’t imagine how Amanda and Tom can bear to come in here. It must bring back so many memories. On top of one of the boxes is a doll and I wonder if it was Callie’s or Sophie’s, and although I know I should carry on to the bathroom, I’m drawn towards it. I touch its wiry hair, rough beneath my fingers.

  My hand hovers over the cardboard box. I really shouldn’t snoop but I can’t help opening the flaps.

  ‘Are you OK up there?’ Tom stage whispers. The stairs creak with his steady footfall.

  I dart into the bathroom and stand with my back against the door, breathing hard. I can’t believe I’ve almost been caught poking around in Callie’s things.

  The doorbell rings, and Tom’s footsteps grow fainter, and I flush the chain and run the taps. I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear angry whispers coming from the lounge.

  ‘She can’t find out,’ Tom almost hisses, and I freeze, hovering mid-step.

  ‘You know how I feel about it,’ a man replies, his words are coated with resentment.

  ‘What’s done is done. It’s too late for regrets.’ Tom’s voice is firm.

  My bag is in the lounge, I can’t exactly slip away and so I exaggerate my steps as I descend, warning them of my impending arrival.

  The room falls silent as I push open the door and Tom steps away from the man he’s squared up to.

  ‘Jenna,’ he says evenly. ‘This is my brother, Joe.’

  The man swings around and as he glares at me I feel my skin crawl with a million invisible ants.

  11

  ‘I must go,’ I blurt out, skirting around Tom and Joe. I pick up my bag from the floor and loop it over my shoulder.

  ‘Jenna, I’m so glad you came.’ Tom takes both hands in his. ‘Now, you must let Joe drive you home. It’s such a long way on the bus and you’re looking really tired.’

  ‘It’s fine, I don’t—’ I step towards the door.

  ‘No. Really. He only came to drop off Amanda’s repeat prescription. You don’t mind do you, Joe?’

  There’s a pause as Joe studies me, and there’s nothing
to hear but the ticking clock before he eventually says: ‘Of course. You’ll have to direct me though.’

  ‘I don’t really know the way from here.’ There’s no way I’m admitting to having Google Maps on my phone. I don’t want to sit in awkward silence with Joe in the car. ‘It’ll be easier on the bus.’

  ‘I think there’s one of those satnav thingys in one of the boxes of Callie’s upstairs. We bought her it for Christmas,’ Tom says. ‘I’ll nip and fetch it. I need to check on Amanda again anyway.’

  ‘No, please…’ but he’s gone, and my stomach tightens as I wonder whether he will notice I’ve opened a box and I try to remember whether I pushed the flaps back down again. Lost in thought I jump as Joe speaks.

  ‘I don’t know how much you heard. Before.’ He gestures towards the lounge door, and as his stare penetrates me I can’t help telling the truth.

  ‘Someone said “she can’t find out”. I wasn’t eavesdropping.’ My tone is defensive. ‘It’s none of my business.’

  ‘We were talking about you,’ Joe says, and I am momentarily thrown.

  ‘Tom didn’t want you finding out I didn’t agree with you coming here. He didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. It’s just…’ He glances at the floor before raising his head. ‘I wasn’t keen, I have to be honest. When I heard… you know. The thought of Callie being all cut up. I was furious when Tom got your letter. It felt really selfish you contacting them, without their consent, especially when they are so deep in grief.’

  ‘I am so sorry.’ I sit down heavily on the sofa and drop my head into my hands.

  ‘It seems to have given him a lift though. Hearing from you. Growing up, I always tried to protect Tom, and I’ve felt so helpless watching him go through this. It feels like I’ve failed as a big brother,’ Joe says. ‘When Tom received your letter it was easy to direct some of my anger towards you.’