I push the loose footplate with both hands and crawl through the gap. My body is free, my legs are still inside, when I hit against something solid. I twist my neck and look up. Legs. Amanda’s legs.
She puts both hands under my armpits and pulls, and I scream as I feel myself sliding across the dirt. I fumble around behind me with my hands trying to find something I can hang on to, but years of yoga have made her surprisingly strong. I’m almost out the gap and then I feel it. Something cool and metal. The thing I was kneeling on. A crazy golf club, and as she drags me out into the open, I manage to grasp the handle and tuck the club against my body.
The wind howls as she stands over me. We are both panting hard.
‘Why can’t you promise not to tell anyone?’
I can’t take my eyes off the gun. It bumps against her leg as her hand shakes.
‘Would you believe me if I did promise?’
It seems an age before she speaks. ‘When the girls were small they were having a cushion fight while I cooked dinner. I had told them a million times not to. There wasn’t enough room to swing a cat in our lounge. A vase got smashed. It had belonged to my grandparents and was worth a fortune. I was furious and demanded to know what happened and Callie stepped forward straight away and said “it was me, Mum”. And that’s what she was like. Honest and kind and you… you have her heart. You are the last part of her to live on and I want to trust you but… but you’re not her.’
‘I feel what she felt. The holidays. Coming here with you and Tom when her and Sophie were small. She was so happy.’
‘I thought they’d be happier with more money.’
‘You were happier with more money.’
‘I wasn’t though. Not really. It was a relief, of course. Tom wasn’t well enough to work and I don’t know what we’d have done otherwise. I hadn’t worked for years and even if I could have got a job I couldn’t have paid Sophie’s debt. But I’ve paid the price. The ultimate price, and I can’t go to prison. I really can’t.’
‘I won’t make that promise, Amanda.’ I’m dying anyway. My integrity is the last thing I have left.
‘Please, Jenna. Don’t make me hurt you. I really don’t want to.’
A click.
‘You are making me do this,’ she says.
The gun is cocked.
‘I’m so sorry, Jenna.’
I push myself to kneeling, to standing, and I swing the club. It hits her shoulder and knocks her off balance but I haven’t hit her hard enough and she rights herself and raises the gun.
I grip the handle of the club with two hands this time and somehow I muster the energy to swing it as hard as I can. This time it thwacks against the side of her head. She concertinas to the ground. There’s a sickening crack as her head falls onto a rock.
Silence.
I try to move but my legs don’t seem to work. My knees buckle, and I’m falling, lying on my back, the stars twinkling above me and as the black sky rushes down towards me I wonder whether it will be the last thing I ever see.
81
The beeping comes first, invading my ears, my skull. Pain throbs at my temples. Next is the feeling of warmth, uncomfortable and sticky. As I breathe in, I smell it. Disinfectant. I’m in hospital. I try to open my eyes but my lids feel heavy and it’s too much effort. There’s the sound of shuffling footsteps approaching the bed and I know I should speak, but my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. There’s a hand on my arm, fingertips on my skin, the feel of my pillow shifting beneath my head and I surrender to the blackness tugging me under.
I don’t know how much time has passed before my senses spark to life once more, but this time I force my eyes open. My room is cloaked in darkness but light shines in through the small glass window from the corridor outside, casting a rectangle on the floor. Two nurses talk outside, their voices low, and I try to reach the buzzer to let them know I am awake but the weight of the sheets on my body feels crushing. It takes all of my might to turn my head.
Curled up on a chair is Sam and I think I must be dreaming but, as if he realises he is being watched, he stretches, yawns and crosses to perch on the edge of my bed.
‘Hello, beautiful.’ His lips graze my forehead, cool and soft, and I want to cry, but I don’t have the energy.
‘Thirsty.’ My mouth feels like it’s been sanded, rough and dry. Sam presses the button by the side of my bed to summon the nurse and holds my hand until she pushes open the door. The room is flooded with brightness and I blink furiously as my eyes water.
‘You’re awake then? You gave us quite a fright. I’ll buzz Dr Kapur.’
‘Can she have some water?’ Sam asks.
‘A few sips – don’t overdo it.’
Sam cradles my head and holds the glass against my lips. The water is warm and musty but I’ve never tasted anything so good.
‘Sophie?’ It’s an effort to speak.
Sam takes my hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Jen. She didn’t make it.’
Sadness swells and sleep tugs me under once more.
When I wake again I lie still at first, focusing on the thump-thump-thump inside my ribcage; it feels different somehow. Sorrow squeezes me tightly. Rolling onto my side, curling into a ball, I grapple for breath before I lock eyes with Sam. He’s here. He’s still here. The effect is instantly calming.
‘Am I dying?’ I whisper and even though I’ve been half-expecting my body to reject Callie’s heart, I still feel an unimaginable sadness that this could be it. The end. I’m not ready. And I berate myself for all the chances I never took. The life I never lived. Sam stretches out his hand – the hand I never should have let go – and our fingers entwine and every cell in my body weeps for the time I’ve wasted.
82
Stars dot the inky black sky and waves lap against the shore. The swooshing sound lulls me as I sit and wait. I know you’ll come. We once played hide-and-seek among these sand dunes. You’d clasp your small hands over your eyes and count to ten but as soon as I turned to race away you’d splay your fingers and peek. You thought I didn’t know how you always found me straight away but I knew. I always knew.
I draw my knees up to my chest. The wind whips my hair and saltwater kisses my lips and I strain my eyes in the blackness wanting to catch the first glimpse of you.
The sky pales and a soft apricot glow tinges the clouds lavender as the sun rises. It’s beautiful. The sky streaks purple, orange, red before settling on its usual self-conscious blue as if it could never be more than that. But we’re all more than we think. Than we feel.
I see you now. Further down the beach. Your movements are slow, uncertain, and I raise my hand to wave and your face lights up, shining more brilliantly than the sun.
I wrap my arms around you. It’s been so long.
‘You’re here,’ you say as if I’d ever be anywhere else.
My fingers lace through yours and we turn and watch the waves crashing into white froth. Soon the beach will be full of chubby toddlers, ice cream dripping from chins. Racing dogs, tongues lolling to one side, and sisters playing just like we used to.
‘Ready?’ I ask, and you swallow hard and nod and together we walk into the light.
83
When I wake again, the overhead hum of the fluorescent tubes is the first thing I hear. The room is too bright and I roll over to bury my face in the pillow, but the sheets catch the cannula that is taped to the back of my hand and I let out a small sound.
‘Are you OK?’
Sam is still here and I wonder as I look at his wrinkled clothes, the shadow around his chin, when he last went home.
‘I’m still alive?’ It’s more a question than a statement.
‘You’re going to be fine, Jenna,’ Sam says and I scan his face, looking for the tell-tale way he sometimes screws his eyes up if he’s not being entirely truthful – of course your bum doesn’t look big – but I can’t see any sign of a lie.
I give a small shake of my head. ‘But…’
/> ‘You have a bacterial infection. If you hadn’t got here when you did… ’ He squeezes my hand. ‘Dr Kapur is pleased with the way you’re responding to treatment. He’ll tell you himself when he does his rounds. Trust me,’ he says, and I do. I’m not feeling quite as hot as I was. My muscles aren’t as achy.
He sloshes water into a glass and cradles my head as I sip.
‘I’ll call your parents; they’ve nipped home for a shower and a change of clothes.’
‘You don’t have to stay,’ I say when I have drained the glass.
‘But I want to. Jen. I nearly lost you. Again.’
My throat swells and eyes sting. ‘I’m sorry. For everything. I thought I was doing the right thing. After I lost the baby I felt I’d really let you down.’
‘It wasn’t your fault. You could just as easily blame the doctor you saw after we had flu who told you your lack of energy and dizziness was a normal symptom of the first trimester. He couldn’t envisage what was to come and he was a doctor. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, Jen.’
‘I couldn’t bear to look at myself. I didn’t know how you could stand to look at me.’
‘I love you,’ Sam says. The simple truth.
I know I have to tell Sam about me and Nathan. But it’s not the right time. Not here. Not now.
‘I love you too, Sam.’ And at this moment it’s the only truth that matters.
He strokes my arm with his thumb. ‘I’d best make some phone calls in a minute. Everyone has been worried about you.’
‘Everyone?’
‘My mum’s been frantic.’
‘Has she? I thought she’d never forgive me after Harry going missing.’
‘You might have some making up to do. But not for Harry going missing. She knows that wasn’t your fault.’
‘What for then?’ I can’t think of what else I might have done.
‘Because she was so relieved Harry was OK she caved and adopted that stray dog he kept wittering on about. Lavender. Mum is walking her twice a day. Grumbles, but I think she loves it really. She met a widower on the common yesterday with a boxer dog called Johnson. They’re meeting again. He’s got a son around Harry’s age who is mad keen on Star Wars Lego too. Might be the start of something?’
Mr Harvey from the vet’s!
‘Rachel will be here later too.’ Sam notices the look of surprise on my face. ‘She’s resigned, you know. I think her exact words to Linda were “go fuck yourself”.’
Sam fiddles with his phone before placing it on my bedside cabinet. ‘Kiss Me’ streams from the speaker and, as Ed Sheehan sings, Sam swings his legs onto the bed and I shuffle towards the wall making space, and we lie together, his arm around my shoulders, my head on his chest, the rise and fall. I’ve missed this so much. It isn’t until the song is over that Sam speaks.
‘I was so scared when I got your phone call, Jen. I didn’t know what was going on and the thought I might never see you again terrified me. This isn’t the most romantic of settings. Again.’ His hand reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring box. ‘But, marry me?’ He flicks open the lid and there it is. His grandmother’s ring, and my throat constricts.
‘I can’t pass it on.’
‘Pass what on?’
‘The ring.’ I sniff hard. ‘You said your grandma wanted to keep the tradition going. I’ll never have a granddaughter to pass it on to.’
Sam pulls his arm from underneath me and rolls onto his side and stares deep into my eyes. ‘Jen, none of us know what’s going to happen. How long we’ve got.’ He brushes a tear from my cheek with his thumb.’ We might decide we want children, to adopt, to foster; we might not. But if you don’t take this ring, it’s not going anywhere. I love you. Only you.’
There’s a flutter in my chest and I wait to see if the feelings I thought I once had for Nathan resurface, but there’s nothing, except a burning love for Sam that eclipses my doubts. I know that no matter what the future holds, he will be there by my side, and I’m determined to make the most of every single second I have left.
‘Yes. I’ll marry you,’ I say, my voice strong and certain, and Sam bends his neck so our foreheads touch.
And we stay that way until a trolley clatters into the room and Sam is offered a drink and a newspaper. He digs some change out of his pocket and buys two cups of tea.
‘Not exactly champagne but do you want a strawberry to go with that?’ He rolls open the drawer of my bedside cabinet and pulls out a punnet of fruit.
‘Your mum brought them in. She said they are your new favourite thing?’
My stomach turns at the thought of the taste, the texture.
‘Nope. Still hate them.’ I am so relieved.
Callie’s gone and there’s me. Just me.
And Sam.
Our own little family of two.
Epilogue
ONE Year Later
Light pushes its way through a crack in the curtains. I roll onto my back, sinking into the sunken mattress as I starfish my body, stretching out my aching muscles. My feet hang out of the end of my single bed and an early morning chill nips at my toes.
From down the hallway I can hear Mum clattering around the kitchen, the hard spray of water as Dad turns on the shower. You can hear everything in a bungalow.
I prop myself up on my elbows and my mouth stretches into a wide smile as I look at the oak wardrobe I’ve had since I was a child. It used to be my school uniform hanging from the smooth, round handle. Shirt starched, tie pressed. Today it’s my wedding dress. Folds of cream silk and hand-stitched pearls that shine pale pink in the half-light. Happiness skips around my stomach as I think of Sam, and I wonder how he’s feeling, waking up alone in our bed in our new three-bedroomed house. It was a relief to move. Joe’s face was full of shame as he told me it was him who had broken in to the flat and sent me the text to deter me from my search for Sophie. Although I understood he was trying to stop me finding her, in case I found out what Amanda had done and told Tom, it never felt quite like home again. Harry has his own bedroom with us and he stays often. It took a whole weekend to hang Star Wars wallpaper onto the walls, smoothing out the bubbles, but it was worth it to see his face light up.
There’s a little garden too, and I grow mint and rosemary for our potatoes. I often stand outside feeling the wind in my hair, the rain on my skin, the sun warming my bones and I feel thankful for everything I have. Of course, it’s impossible sometimes not to think of Amanda cooped up in a tiny cell, and I feel sorrow tempered with anger. Sadness mixed with hope. Despite the awful things she’s done she took responsibility for everything and pleaded guilty to all her charges, leaving Tom and Joe free to start again. I am still aware that without her I wouldn’t be here. I am still grateful to her. We all have our reasons for doing the things we do, don’t we? The lies we tell. We are all a mixture of good and bad, and I don’t think anyone is entirely one thing or the other. That’s what I like to think, anyway.
There’s a tap at the door. Mum places a steaming mug of coffee on my bedside table.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Excited.’ And I am. My medication and my check-ups have been reduced and I am no longer seeing shadows in every corner, eyes watching my every move. I felt like any other bride-to-be as I’d tried on dress after dress, loving them all, as Mum watched, tears sliding down her cheeks. There must have been times she thought she’d never see this day.
‘This is for you. I was under strict instructions not to give it to you until today.’ She places a cardboard box on top of the duvet, and she swishes back the curtains before she leaves the room.
I prop myself up with pillows and open the flaps of the box. There’s something wrapped in tissue paper, a white envelope nestled on top. I slice it open and unfold the piece of paper and my heart lifts as I recognise Tom’s handwriting.
Dear Jenna,
I am so sorry Joe and I can’t be with you today but it’s our first trout season in Scotland and we are hoping our
fishing business makes us enough to live on through the winter. It can be bleak here, colder than I’d thought but more beautiful too. I thought I’d feel isolated but there’s a steady stream of tourists and I feel content. The fresh air and exercise has done me the world of good. I’ve lost weight and am feeling fitter. Joe does all the manual stuff with the boats and I potter around with the rods and lines. It’s a life that suits us both.
Anyway. You’re getting married today! We are both delighted for you. I do think of you often, Jenna. I remember Callie fizzing with excitement when she told me she was engaged to Nathan (he’s coming to visit soon by the way!). Callie never got as far as booking a venue or choosing a dress but she did buy this and I think she’d really like for you to have it.
Lots of love,
Tom xx
I gently unwrap the tissue paper, swallowing hard as I see the silver tiara Callie never got to wear. I cradle it in both hands. The sun streaks through the window, reflecting off the tiny diamonds, sending rainbows bouncing around my walls.
My door swings open.
‘What are you doing still in bed?’ Rachel yanks back the duvet. ‘You getting married in your pyjamas or what? As bridesmaid, I order you to get your arse into gear.’
I laugh. ‘You look great.’ My eyes sweep over her lemon dress. It’s designer. She’d insisted on paying for it herself.
‘I know!’ She twirls. ‘Nothing but the best with the extortionate wages your dad pays me for being senior veterinary nurse.’
‘You deserve every penny.’ And she does. I work for dad too now but only three days a week. In my spare time, I’ve taken up art classes and I’ve made the box room in our new house a studio. I’m trying new things. ‘Living my life to the full,’ Vanessa said. She was thrilled. It’s different painting in oils to sketching and I haven’t yet made the girls on the beach I paint come to life, but I will.
‘Nervous?’ Dad asks.
‘A little.’ I peek my head around the door to the church. They are all there; Kathy holding hands with Mr Harvey – I still can’t get used to calling him Simon; Harry, one hand clutching Lavender’s lead. She has a huge pink bow tied around her neck. Mum is dabbing her eyes already and, at the front, Sam. He turns and our eyes lock and my nerves melt away.
The Gift Page 27
