‘I just wanted them to know a bit about me and my family, make the letter more personal. We’re all so grateful. I hoped it might help you too. In some small way. I didn’t think…’
‘It’s not always easy to put yourself in someone else’s shoes, is it?’ The cushion I am sitting on shifts as Joe sits next to me. He smells of cigarettes. ‘I only thought about what we were losing, not about what some faceless person could possibly gain, but now I’ve seen you it’s hard to believe you wouldn’t be here without Callie, and I feel really proud of her. She was so kind. It’s what she would have wanted.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ His graciousness leaves me with a heaviness that feels a little like shame and I don’t know what else to say. I am glad when Tom returns.
I’m twisting around in my seat, waving goodbye. Tom is standing on his step getting smaller and smaller, and I don’t turn around until he is out of sight.
Joe’s car is old and tired. An ‘I’d rather be fishing’ bumper sticker peels from the back window. The interior is littered with McDonald’s bags and I kick one away, scrunching it against the footwell to give myself more room.
‘You’d think I’d know better, with Tom’s heart attack, but it’s the easiest option, sometimes, when you’re on the road. Feel free to chuck stuff in the back.’
He cracks open both windows and air streams in diluting the stench of stale smoke and fries. I press the button on the Garmin satnav Tom had pushed into my hands as we left, but nothing happens. There’s a charging wire and I push it into the cigarette lighter. The battery light on the side of the unit flashes green.
‘It’s too flat,’ I say.
‘I’m OK for a bit. There’s a pocket map in there if we need it.’
Joe nods towards the glovebox, and I pull the handle.
‘Jelly Babies?’ I lift out the bag of sweets.
‘I used to take the girls out a lot when they were young. Tom worked long hours and Amanda was fraught with two small children and no money to amuse them. We’d drive into the middle of nowhere and fly kites and have races up hills. There was always a packet of Jelly Babies in the car that I’d produce whenever the inevitable “are we nearly there yet” questions started. Over the years I seem to have developed an addiction to the red ones. Not very healthy when you spend as much time in the car as me.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I sell cleaning products to chains of hotels and large organisations. It’s as boring as it sounds but it’s not easy finding a job when you’re classed as middle-aged. After the business folded I wanted something less stressful. I’m told where to go every day and what to say. I don’t have to think but I do hate being away from Tom so much. He’s so busy looking after Amanda he doesn’t look after himself. If I had my way we would both sit by the river all day fishing, but you can’t make a living from that, can you?’
We make small talk until we glide down the slip road onto the dual carriageway. As we pick up speed Joe presses a button and the windows whirr closed, and I smooth my hair down.
‘Can I ask you a question about Sophie?’ I form my words as carefully as I can. ‘Did she die recently?’
‘Die?’ Joe looks at me in surprise. A car horn blasts to our right and his head snaps back to the road, and as he jerks the wheel sharply I fall against the door. We narrowly avoid being hit.
‘Sophie isn’t dead!’
‘Sorry. Amanda said “we lost her too”. I assumed…’ I can feel my cheeks burning. ‘I’m so sorry, I thought…’
‘Sophie’s in Spain with her boyfriend. She was on holiday when Callie had her accident. I had to break it to her over the phone but she said she couldn’t handle the funeral and needed some space to process what’s happened. We all thought she’d be back by now.’
‘Isn’t she in touch with them.’
‘No one has heard a word from her.’
‘Tom says she’s disappeared before?’
‘Yes. After Tom’s second heart attack she couldn’t cope and took off for months. She sauntered back in the door one day as if nothing had happened. It’ll be the same this time I’m sure. She’ll come back, she always does. I do wish she’d get in touch though. I’m not sure where we go after this roundabout.’
I press the power button on the Garmin again and this time it switches on. It doesn’t take long to navigate the options. Buried in one of the submenus is ‘previous routes’. I glance at Joe, he’s leaning forward as he drives, concentrating deeply on the road ahead. Overcome with a desire to find out more about Callie I touch the screen. Where did she like to go? The last known destination is dated days before Callie’s accident. I press ‘go here’ and a map image is displayed. I zoom in. Burton Aerodrome. It’s in the middle of nowhere, and I know it well. For a time, when I was young, we had a German Shepherd, called Fox. She came from a rescue centre Dad had been called out to. Elderly, malnourished and partly bald, she was timid around humans but aggressive around other dogs. Dad was asked to put her down but he’d brought her home instead. Every evening after work Dad would bundle Fox into the back of his car and drive out to the airfield. It had been deserted for years and was so remote there was little risk of bumping into another dog walker.
What could Callie possibly have been doing there?
12
My flat is warm. A garlicky smell from last night’s lasagne hangs in the air. I clatter my keys onto the kitchen table and heft open the sash window, sticking my head outside to wave goodbye to Joe as his car crawls along the road. My head thumps with pent-up tension. It’s been a harrowing day. I’m home. I’m safe. Joe disappears around the corner and before I even take off my coat I sit at my kitchen table, turning my laptop on, blinking at the brightness of the screen as it whirrs to life.
Callie Valentine. That’s whose heart beats inside of me. Already I can’t stop thinking about her.
In the Google search bar, I type Callie’s name along with ‘car accident’ and the date it happened, almost compelled to discover every single detail I can. It strikes me if I am this desperate for information how utterly wretched Tom and Amanda must feel with so many unanswered questions. I could help them. The thought pops into my head unbidden. My fingers slip away from the keyboard and I lean back in my chair. It’s the not knowing. Tom’s words are sharp and pointed in my mind. What if I could find out why Callie left the wedding, and was alone in a car, miles from home?
Reading the online news report of the crash I don’t learn anything new. Callie wasn’t wearing a seatbelt at the time of impact. The roads were wet and driving conditions poor. It was ruled an accidental death and no other cars were involved.
I skim through Callie’s social media. There are no privacy settings on her Facebook account. She’s laughing in her profile picture, displaying straight, impossibly white teeth. She looks a million miles away from the pale, frowning girl photographed at the wedding. Her posts are infrequent and mundane, her photo albums full of pictures of her and Nathan. He is tagged as Nathan Prescott, and now I have a surname my fingers fly over the keyboard. A thumbnail of Nathan pops up, sombre in a shirt and pinstriped tie, dark eyes staring directly into the lens. He’s ridiculously handsome. His bio says he’s an accountant at Nash and Rogers. I yawn. My thoughts are jumbled and I’m squinting now with tiredness. Where do I even start trying to uncover what happened that night? All at once it seems impossible to even try, but I can’t give up. I can’t let Tom and Amanda down before I’ve even begun.
It might help to write things down. Since I’ve been taking medication my memory has been cloudy and I’m often confused, easily losing my train of thought. I pull a new sketchbook from the cupboard and I draw a box and write ‘CALLIE’ inside in black felt tip. I draw a line to a smaller box and write ‘NATHAN’. I used to create mind maps when I was studying for my exams, a way of untangling my thoughts. I’m at a loss to know what to do next when I remember her last known destination was Burton Aerodrome; it seem
s a strange place to visit. I Google it and the most recent report, and that was months ago, states planning permission for a new housing estate had been declined as the land was classed as a conservation area.
I take coloured pens and add squares containing facts I know. Callie at the wedding. Nathan leaving early. Burton Aerodrome. The accident. I already know from Tom and Amanda that Callie was a dental nurse and I uncover an old newspaper report, which is accompanied by a photo of a group of girls, perfect smiles and jet black tunics, holding up a giant cheque for five hundred pounds. It says the staff at Callie’s dental surgery had taken part in a fun run to raise money for Cancer Research, and I add the details to my mind map. When I’ve finished, I stick it to the fridge with the magnetic letters I used to spell out messages to Sam with, and I sit and stare at it for so long the white spaces between the boxes disappear. Shadows creep into the kitchen. A cold breeze drifts through the open window and goose bumps spring up on my arms. I pull the window shut. Outside the moon shimmers silver and is reflected in miniature in the water that pools in the bottom of the washing up bowl. I swoosh the water with my fingertips and the ripples snatch the image away. The sound of my mobile ringing breaks through my thoughts, and I wipe my fingers dry before picking up my phone.
‘Hi, Rach.’
‘Are you home?’
‘I’ve just this minute got in,’ I lie. I’d forgotten I had promised Rachel I would call her the second I got back. ‘Have you had a good day?’
‘I’ve been stuck in all day. I’m skint and Liam has the chance of a residential trip at school, so that’s something else to fork out for.’ Since Rachel’s mum left, her dad has been too drunk to hold down a job for long and Rachel has shouldered the responsibility for her brother. ‘Anyway,’ she says, ‘how did it go today? Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine. They aren’t though. Tom and Amanda. Her parents. Callie’s parents. That was her name. Callie. She was only twenty-four.’ Words torrent and I take a breath.
‘Well, no,’ Rachel cuts in. ‘They wouldn’t be fine, would they?’
‘I know but I hoped seeing me and knowing part of Callie lives on might comfort them.’
‘I’m sure it does in some way but they’ve lost a daughter, Jen. Not a lot is going to help with that. Only time.’
‘There is something I think might help.’ I tell Rachel about the circumstances surrounding Callie’s death. ‘If I could find out why she left the wedding and where she was going it might bring them some closure.’
‘Closure?’ I can hear the scepticism in her voice and I can almost tell she’s raising an eyebrow.
‘I don’t mean they’ll forget her. But it’s the not knowing. That’s what Tom said. It keeps him awake at night. It seems odd, don’t you think? Her disappearing like that?’
‘Not really. We don’t know anything about her. I’m sure if there was anything strange it would have been investigated at the time.’
‘But listen.’ I read from the newspaper article online. ‘Callie was driving without a seatbelt on. Who does that?’
‘She did.’ There’s a pause. ‘Look, Jenna. Why are you Googling her? You’ve met her parents and said thank you. Isn’t that enough? For months, you’ve been obsessing…’
‘Hardly obsessing…’
‘You’ve talked of nothing else, and you said once you’d found out whose heart you got you’d be able to move on. Put it behind you.’
‘I know but…’
‘Look. I know how hard it’s been. I do. And these past few months without work, without Sam to occupy your time, it must have been easy for you to become fixated on the donor, but things are changing now, aren’t they? Getting back to normal. You’re starting work again on Monday and there will be lots to occupy your time.’
‘But I feel I owe them.’
‘You owe it to yourself to live a normal life. Besides, how can you possibly find out what happened?’
‘I thought I’d ask Nathan. Don’t you think it’s strange he said he didn’t know where she was? He must have. Say she ran away because of him?’
‘Thousands of people have rows; it’s not a big deal.’
‘But her face was so bruised. What if he hit her?’
‘And this is what Callie’s parents think, is it?’
‘No. They say Callie and Nathan were really happy together and they never argued but…’
‘There you go then. Just drop it, Jen. It’s not as if you know where he lives anyway, and if he was responsible for her bruises then he’s dangerous and you shouldn’t be anywhere near him.’
‘I’ve already found out where he works.’
‘Christ.’ Rachel snaps and I feel my earlier excitement begin to ebb. ‘Are you just going to walk up to him and say: “you don’t know me but I have your fiancée’s heart, and could you please tell me why she left the wedding on her own?” He’ll probably tell you to piss off. I would.’ There’s a beat. ‘Look.’ Her tone softer now. ‘Why don’t you talk it through properly with Vanessa and see what she thinks?’
‘She’ll say it’s a bad idea.’
‘Probably because it is.’ There’s the sound of beeping in the background. ‘Sorry, Jen, that’s the smoke alarm. I’ve got to go before that brother of mine burns the house down. Honestly, you’d think making beans on toast would be easy. Promise me you’ll forget this and move on? Promise me, Jenna.’
But I can’t promise and so I don’t say anything, and the line crackles with static and disappointment before Rachel ends the call.
Feeling low I pull a tub of salted caramel ice cream out of the freezer and I yank open the cutlery drawer. Nestled with the knives and forks is the wooden spoon Sam used to pretend was a microphone as he sang along to Ed Sheehan’s ‘Kiss Me’ as he cooked his signature dish – his only dish – of beef chilli. It was our song. Was Callie as happy with Nathan as I was with Sam? Whatever Rachel thinks, I know on Monday I’m going to meet Nathan. It can’t do any harm, can it? After all, if he were dangerous, Tom and Amanda would know. Wouldn’t they?
13
Rain pitter-patters against the window drawing me from sleep. Callie is the first thing on my mind, thoughts jostling for my attention before I have even opened my eyes. Rolling over, I check the time. It’s not yet eight. Sunday stretches before me with endless hours to fill. It’s far too early to ring Rachel; I’ve always been an early riser but she never surfaces before eleven at weekends. I think of our phone conversation last night, and the frustration I had heard in her voice still stings, and I’m not sure whether I want to talk to her today. Meeting Tom and Amanda has stirred up so many emotions; things I thought I’d got over. Rachel has never felt the crushing weight of loss, and I am pleased she hasn’t, but that means there is sometimes a divide between us. The things we can talk about and the things we can’t.
I throw back the covers. It is chilly. I slip my feet into fluffy socks before crossing the room. I slide the wooden box out from the bottom of the wardrobe and place it on the bed. Sitting cross-legged on the mattress I wrap my duvet around my shoulders like a cape. It’s so quiet. I open up iTunes and set the music onto shuffle. The Goo Goo Dolls sing ‘Iris’, and I place both hands on the lid of the box, but I still don’t feel ready to open it. I’m never ready to open it. Instead, I run my fingertips over the ornate carvings of the elephants that adorn the box. Confronting the past is the best way to step into the future, Vanessa says, but what if I’m not ready to let go?
My phone begins to buzz and a photo of Sam flashes up, and I think it’s because I’m feeling so lost and alone I answer it rather than diverting it to voicemail, as usual.
‘Hey,’ he says, and the sound of his voice snatches my breath away. I try to keep our contact to text or messenger. Hearing him is so bloody hard.
‘I thought you’d be awake. What you doing?’
‘Nothing,’ I say.
‘I wanted to check how it went yesterday?’
‘OK,’ I say but the catch in my vo
ice betrays me.
‘Shall I come around? Do you need to talk?’
‘No.’ Having him here, in the space we once shared, would be unbearable. We don’t speak for a moment. I hear him breathing. Remember the time when I’d lie in this bed with his arm around my shoulder. My head on his chest. The rise and fall. ‘Sam,’ I say. ‘There’s somewhere I want to go. Will you please take me?’
I’m hovering in the porch, shielded from the rain. Sam’s cherry red Fiat turns into the road and I dart towards the kerb, feet splashing through puddles, hood pulled over my head. My body moulds itself into the passenger seat I’ve sat in a thousand times before. My legs stretch out, my feet in the footwell, and it seems the seat hasn’t been moved since I last sat here. The floor is littered with discarded plastic wrappers from the humbugs that Sam always crunches when he drives. The smell of mint has embedded itself in the interior. We don’t speak, as if Sam senses I’m not quite ready to talk about yesterday, but the silence is comfortable, familiar, and after a quick stop we’re here.
Thunder rumbles and lightning illuminates the church in front of me. The churchyard is empty. The light rain of this morning is now torrential and the sky a mass of darkened clouds. We trudge between the gravestones. There’s a smell of rotting leaves, and the bushes rustle with an unseen animal. My trainers are soaked, and the bottom of my jeans cling to my legs. Sam is carrying the silk flowers we’d called into Asda to buy, and as I suddenly stop he walks into me.
‘This is it.’ The headstone is black and shiny. ‘Callie Amanda Valentine’ etched in a swirling font. This is where she rests, and as I think of her body lying there, her heart inside of me, my knees buckle and I sink onto the wet grass, overcome with the enormity of it all. Sam lays down the flowers and steps back, resting his hand on my shoulder. My fingers trace the inscription – ‘Once Met Never Forgotten’– and although I never met her, I know I will think of her every single day for the rest of my life, this girl who gave me a second chance.
The Gift Page 6
