The skin on her hands had started to wrinkle by the time she got out and put on her robe, tying the belt tightly around her. After brushing her teeth, she scrubbed her face clean and patted it dry with a fluffy towel. Glancing at the mobile phone sitting on the edge of the sink, she noticed that it was still only 9 a.m. Opening the bathroom cabinet, she dug out a sachet that she’d recently picked up at the make-up counter at Selfridges and read the instructions on the back before slathering the thick lotion on her face. Sitting down on the small stool, she scrolled through her Twitter feed while the lotion did its job, trying to savour the tingling sensation and the tightening of her skin. But she couldn’t concentrate on what she was reading. Her mind kept going back to Miriam. The way she looked, how just a few words from her could destroy her life, mess with the future of her children.
Twenty minutes later she headed into the bedroom and stood in front of the open wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear. There were a few dresses that she’d bought recently, a celebration when the scales showed she’d almost lost the baby weight. She hadn’t even worn some of them; they still had tags on. She finally settled on a dark green dress with a wide belt. She put on a pair of dark tights and her favourite pair of black boots. The heel was high enough to look elegant but not so much that she couldn’t walk in them.
She was applying the finishing touches to her make-up when she heard the front door open, followed by high-pitched chatter and the rustling of plastic bags. Sandra took one last look at the mirror and walked downstairs, heading straight into the kitchen, where Louis was unpacking bags of vegetables. ‘We went to the farmers’ market,’ he said. ‘Got some beautiful tomatoes and a few other things. Cauliflower, cabbage, some red and green peppers, and the biggest onions I’ve ever seen.’
‘Good, thank you,’ she responded. ‘The sitter should be here shortly. Are you heading to Covent Garden with me or will you meet me at the restaurant later?’
Louis looked at his watch. ‘If you give me twenty minutes, I’ll take a quick shower and, if Rachel’s already here, I’ll come with you. I can go for a beer while you do your thing. Heavens know I need it after this morning.’
Stifling a laugh, Sandra cocked her head to one side. ‘Why, what happened?’
‘Julia’s getting fast. I can barely keep up with her. The second I look away, she’s sprinting off in the opposite direction.’
‘That’s what toddlers do,’ she said.
The melodic sound of the doorbell reverberated round the house. ‘That must be Rachel.’ Turning towards Louis, she said: ‘Go along, then, get ready so that we can leave.’
35
Bea’s leg throbbed. She could feel the fracture in her bone, her muscles ached. It always happened when the weather was this damp. One reason why she hated the winter months.
Sometimes she thought about leaving England and going to a warmer country. Spain perhaps, or Portugal. But she knew she’d never follow through. She’d miss the Stones too much. They were too big a part of her life for her to just pack up and leave.
It was still early, not even eight o’clock, but she was wide awake. Lying in bed wasn’t cutting it for her. Rolling to her side, she pushed herself to a sitting position before swinging her legs to the ground, staying there for a few moments before heading into the kitchen. Switching on the television, she made herself a strong cup of coffee, drinking it while watching the news.
After a shower, she looked through her crammed wardrobe and took stock of her clothes. She needed to get rid of some stuff, donate it, make space for new things. She stood there for a while, wrestling a hanger out, looking at the item, then putting it back. Finally, she settled on a pair of black skinny jeans and a blue knit turtleneck. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she tucked the trousers into knee-high black boots. Pulling a cross-body bag from a cabinet, she put her purse, keys and a few other items inside. Opening an app on her phone, she checked the temperature. She shuddered slightly when she realised that it was going to be cold throughout the morning, and selected a thick coat. Taking a final glance in the mirror, she walked out, hurrying towards the station, her breath creating a white cloud in front of her.
Covent Garden was as crowded as she’d expected it to be on a Saturday morning with people milling around, going into the already open shops. She popped into Balthazar and ordered a few coffees, glad that the barista remembered to put them in a cardboard carrier. Wrapping her coat around her, she walked towards St Paul’s Church and leaned against the wall, sipping her drink.
Sandra was the first to arrive. She walked towards Bea, teetering on high heels. ‘Going anywhere nice?’ Bea asked, handing her a cup of coffee.
‘Oh, just lunch at The Ivy,’ she said. ‘The kids are with a sitter and we’re meeting a few friends. This won’t take long.’ She took a sip of coffee, leaving bright red lipstick on the rim of the cup.
‘So, what happened?’ Bea asked.
‘Let’s wait for the others.’
‘Oh, come on, tell me.’ Bea grabbed Sandra’s wrist and the other woman flinched but didn’t pull away. Sandra took a deep breath in, then flared her nostrils and pinched her lips. But didn’t say anything.
Thankfully Bea didn’t have to wait long. The others arrived in quick succession.
‘I went to see Miriam yesterday,’ Sandra said when they’d said their hellos.
Bea spluttered, coffee coming out of her mouth. ‘Where? At the nursing home?’ she asked when she stopped coughing.
‘Yes, I decided to drive there, see what state she’s really in.’
‘When did you decide?’ Bea asked. ‘How could you go without telling us?’
‘I don’t know, it was an impromptu decision. I wasn’t sure I’d go through with it, to be honest…’ There was a short pause and Sandra looked at each of them, her eyes narrowing. ‘Did one of you go to see her? They said she got two visitors in a week.’
‘Not me,’ Bea said. ‘I’d have told you if I was planning to do something like that. And I don’t really want to see her anyway. Ever.’
‘I didn’t want to see her either. But I wanted to know how she’s doing, what’s the state of her health,’ Sandra continued. She turned to Helen. ‘Was it you?’
‘Yes.’ Helen’s voice was low, her head bowed. ‘I wanted to see her too.’
‘What did you think?’ Sandra’s attention was riveted to Helen.
Putting her coffee cup on the low boundary wall, Helen cupped her hands in front of her face, blowing on them before rubbing them together. Bea noticed that the skin around her nails was red and raw. ‘I don’t know,’ she finally said. ‘She was asleep, I only saw her from the doorway. Didn’t want to go in. Didn’t want her to see me.’
‘Did you see the breathing tube?’
Helen narrowed her eyes and slowly shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t remember.’
‘OK, can you tell us what’s happening, why you brought us here?’ Bea was tapping her foot on the pavement, feeling more and more irate by the minute.
‘She’s remembering…’ The pause seemed interminable and Bea mentally urged Sandra to continue. ‘The nurse said she was talking about her food being poisoned when her memory started coming back.’
‘Oh, my God!’ Helen was ghost white, her eyes shining with tears of fear. ‘We’re so screwed.’
‘She has a breathing tube,’ Sandra said, looking pointedly at each one of them.
‘What does that matter?’ Bea’s voice was raised, an edge of irritability that she didn’t bother to disguise. ‘I don’t give a shit about her health. She’s gonna ruin us. Just like she always wanted to.’
‘Don’t you understand?’ Sandra’s eyes were twinkling, a smile suddenly appearing on her perfectly made-up face. ‘She can’t talk. She can’t tell them what we did. What we tried to do. At least not until the tube is out. We have some time to dig out the sandpit.’
‘Oh, thank God.’ Helen’s hands flew to her face. She leaned towards John.
‘Are you still getting the keys for the house on Monday week?’
‘Yes, all’s going according to plan. I’ll go there as soon as I get them and take a proper look, see whether I can find it.’
‘Maybe we should come with you,’ Sandra said.
‘No, it’s better not to. We don’t want to attract too much attention. I’ll go on my own. It’s better that way.’
Sandra exhaled and pursed her lips. ‘All right, whatever,’ she said. ‘Let us know what you find. It’s really important that we get rid of that container now. I don’t know how much time we have before the tube is out and she starts talking.’
They made small talk for a few minutes before Sandra looked at her watch and announced that she needed to leave. They bid their goodbyes and dispersed, everyone going on their way, continuing with their day.
*
Bea left Covent Garden and started meandering round the narrow streets. She was unsure where to go. She could take a taxi and go to the hospital to see Sophia, but visiting times didn’t start for a couple of hours.
She stopped for a second at a junction, taking stock of the familiar surroundings. Two couples were walking in her direction, the men wearing suits under their open coats and the perfectly made-up women in polished high heels. Probably going to lunch and then the theatre. She felt a stab of jealousy. Everyone seemed to have plans, others to meet, to spend time with. Except for her. She would go home and be all alone, in her small apartment.
As she was coming to meet the others this morning she’d thought that maybe they’d spend some time together. Maybe someone would suggest going to lunch. They’d scramble to find a place to go, poke around on Open Table for a reservation. They’d laugh at their attempt to get a table at the last minute and end up in some fast-food chain, eating greasy hamburgers, catching up on old times.
But no. Once they’d said what needed to be said, they’d all gone in different directions. Helen hadn’t seemed in a hurry and Bea had been about to ask whether she wanted to go for another coffee, or to the pub, but for some reason she was embarrassed to reveal her true loneliness.
She continued walking, trying to disregard the pain in her leg. She needed to get more comfortable shoes. But all of them looked so unflattering. Needing to sit down, she started heading towards a familiar destination. The Lamb and Flag was just opening. She walked inside and removed her coat, using it to reserve a stool while she ordered a drink at the bar. At least she could spend a few hours here, maybe get lunch. She could gather her thoughts, clear her jumbled brain. Lose herself among strangers. But at least she wouldn’t be home on her own.
*
Hours later Bea walked into her apartment, the post in her hand, half opened. She put the envelopes and her keys on the table and opened the fridge. She stared inside for a few seconds, even though she knew exactly what she was looking for. Finally, she took a bottle of beer from one of the shelves and closed the door. Opening the beer, she threw the cap on the counter and sat on the sofa.
For a while she just stared into space, taking one sip of beer after the other, not really thinking about anything. Until her mind wandered back to Miriam. To their lives before the accident. It had been so long that sometimes, when her mind was fuzzy with alcohol, she wondered whether things were as bad as she remembered, why they couldn’t have endured it for a little longer.
‘What were we thinking?’ she said aloud. ‘Sebastian, you were supposed to be the smart one. How could you let us do this? Now you’re gone, but we’re left to explain everything.’
And then it struck her. The answer to their problem. Sebastian. He was the one to bury the container every single time, get the powder out. If there were still any fingerprints on it, they would be his. If it came to it, they could deny they were involved, say he had been the one to acquire the poison, the one to put it in Miriam’s oatmeal. They could say they didn’t know what he was planning. Nothing could happen to him. Not any more. He was gone.
Tears sprang to her eyes as the thoughts unfolded. She knew that this was the ultimate deception. Sebastian had paid the dearest price and now his memory would be tainted, to save the rest of them. ‘It’s the only way,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘Hopefully it won’t come to that.’
Grabbing tightly at the sofa armrest, Bea hoisted herself up. Opening the freezer, she took out a bottle of vodka and poured a generous helping in a glass, not bothering with any ice or mixers. She raised the glass in the empty room. ‘To you, Seb,’ she said in a cracking voice. Before even sitting down, she brought the glass to her mouth and took a big swig, focusing on the burning sensation as the liquid went down her throat.
Her thoughts wandered to her mother. She remembered her lean frame and long brown hair. How she’d expertly pull it away from her face in a tight bun, her fingers nimble as she used pins to secure it in place. Bea remembered the soft music as her mother would practise for hours, until she was too tired to hold herself up. Sometimes she’d ask Bea to remove her shoes, unwrap the bandages from round her feet. They’d be soaked with blood from the numerous blisters. But her mother still danced through the pain, her face devoid of expression. ‘Pain is part of the job,’ she’d told Bea. ‘A ballerina never complains, never shows that she’s in pain. We’re tough. Even though we might not look it.’
She remembered the first time her mother had taken her to the ballet studio, how she had encouraged her to take small steps, telling her to be graceful, to hold her chin up, her arms just so. Bea had followed every instruction, basking in her mother’s pride, seeing her eyes sparkle. She’d hugged her so tight that night. ‘You have it, Bea,’ she’d said. ‘You have what makes a good dancer. You’ll be a fantastic ballerina. People will come from miles around to see you.’
That night Bea had dreamed of tutus and pointe shoes and pirouettes. She’d wanted to be exactly like her mother. She had to make her proud. She could not think of anything that she wanted more. She’d practised hard, gritted her teeth through the pain, made sure that she perfected every move. The look on her mother’s face when she’d get a new move right was worth all the pain, the hours practising.
When her parents died in the accident, Bea didn’t really understand. At least not at first. Sebastian held her close as the social worker explained in slow, simple sentences that her parents would not be coming back, that they were gone for good. Slowly, it started to dawn on Bea that this was it, that she’d never see them again. And that was when she remembered the promise she’d made to her mother, that she would become a ballerina just like her. During the years that she was with Miriam, that was her driving force. She looked forward to ballet lessons and the extra sessions her gym teacher gave her during the lunch break. She’d known Bea’s mother, had seen how talented Bea was and wanted to help. And Bea didn’t disappoint. She practised hard, late at night in her tiny room, using the bed’s footboard as a barre.
And then, puff, it all disappeared. In one moment everything that she had worked for was gone.
Gemma really tried to help, taking her for private physiotherapy sessions, trying to give her every opportunity, but her leg was simply not strong enough. It did not matter how many hot compresses Gemma wrapped around her calf, how many times Martin rubbed her leg, it still hurt with every step. Finally, Gemma took her aside.
‘Bea, I’m so sorry, but I think it’s time we faced reality,’ she said. Bea bit hard into her lip, trying to keep herself from crying. ‘I’m really, really sorry, honey, but you’re obviously struggling and I can’t see you in pain any longer. It’s just not right.’
‘But…’ Bea didn’t know what to say. She knew that Gemma was right, that this was an exercise in futility, but, still, she wanted to keep going. She would try harder, work through the pain.
‘I’m worried that you will hurt yourself, that there will be more damage, that you’ll have a setback in your recovery. You’ve worked so hard to get your mobility back; I don’t want you to lose that because you push yourself too hard
.’
Bea lowered her head until her chin rested on her chest. She knew that Gemma was right, that, as much as she pushed herself, she would never be a ballerina. She simply didn’t have the strength. Her shattered femur was too fragile, her ripped muscle too weak.
Gemma sat down next to her and pulled her close. Bea was not one for hugs, but this time she didn’t pull away. She allowed Gemma to hold her tightly against her chest and put her head against the woman who for the past months had been nothing but supportive.
Try as she might, Bea couldn’t hold back the tears and started crying, softly at first but as Gemma rubbed her back, stroked her hair, whispered in her ear, the sobs became more powerful, shaking her body.
‘What about piano? Would that interest you?’ Gemma asked when Bea had stopped crying.
Bea wrinkled her nose.
‘Chess?’
‘Meh.’
‘Take some time, think about what you want to do, and we’ll try to make it happen,’ Gemma said, standing up. ‘Remember, Bea, we’re here for you. You’re part of our family now.’
She tried to find other interests, something else to occupy the time. But nothing really took her fancy. She couldn’t focus on anything. Instead she buried herself in books, wanting to at least excel in school if it was the last thing she did. She wanted to make her parents proud. And more so every day, she wanted to make the Stones proud.
36
The brightness was blinding. Reginald opened his eyes and quickly closed them again. Shutting them tight, he tried to clear the confusion in his brain. Where was he? Why was it so bright?
He tried to remember. Anything. Something familiar. What was he doing before he fell asleep?
Then it all came rushing back. The police coming to get him, being questioned about the accident and thrown into a cell. The horrible pain in his chest.
Suddenly he opened his eyes wide. That was it, the pain, the last thing before he lost consciousness. He remembered knocking on the door and calling for the guards and falling to the ground. The fear that nobody was going to find him, come in time to save him. He remembered his last thoughts were about Tanya and the boys. Who was going to take care of them now?
We All Fall Down Page 20
