Saving April

by Sarah A. Denzil

  Chapter Eleven

  Hannah

  I barely make it through the door before I throw up. My head is swimming with things I want to forget, but I can’t seem to block them out. I rush through into the living room and open the window to let out the stench of vomit. I need to calm down, but my heart is racing. I stagger back to the kitchen and run the cold tap, splashing my face and neck with water.

  Get through the next ten seconds.

  What was I thinking? I’m too messed up to start involving myself in other people’s problems. I’m hanging on by a thread, haunted by events I’d rather forget.

  Get through the next ten seconds.

  Stop thinking about it. I force my mind to shut down. My body is still full of nervous energy, so I grab a cup and fill it with water.

  Get through the next ten seconds.

  The water helps to soothe the panic. I sip it slowly, relishing how it slips down my throat. The tension in my chest begins to dissipate. I’m at home. It’s safe here. I can get through this.

  During my second glass of water I start to feel better. But I still have to worry about Matt Mason, and the way I followed him to that pub. What if he saw me? I know his secret now. Does that put me in danger? I could ruin his marriage, ruin him. I run my fingers through my damp hair and start pacing the length of the kitchen. I should tell Laura about what I saw, but I don’t know her, and I don’t know Matt, and I don’t know how either of them are going to react. I don’t know if it’s even safe to do so.

  I shake my head, and get the bottle of vodka out from the fridge, pouring myself two fingers into the same mug I drank water from. The time for water is over. I need a stiff drink. I need to decide what to do.

  But instead of deciding, I clean up the sick from by the door, wincing at the smell. By the time I’m done, my hands have stopped shaking and I can breathe again. I take another sip of vodka, enjoying the heat. Even though I had a terrible panic attack, I went outside and I talked to someone, and I even had a drink in a different place. How long has it been since I’ve done that? I take my mug over to the sofa and sit with my legs up beneath me. I shouldn’t have followed Matt like that, but it made me challenge myself for the first time in months. It made me try for a change. I sit up straight. This might be the craziest thing I’ve ever done. I’m talking about getting involved in someone else’s life. This isn’t right.

  All at once, the nervous energy is back. I find myself on my feet and pacing around the living room. If I can focus on the Masons, surely I can focus on myself, too. If I can go to such lengths as to follow someone, I can do the same thing for me. I can improve myself; finally start to get better instead of hiding away in my house. Even as I’m thinking this, the doubts creep in. I shut my eyes and I’m in that pub, with the buggy eyes of the barmaid watching me. In frustration, I throw the glass at my fireplace, letting out a scream as the glass smashes.

  That’s not me. That temper is not mine. I never do things like that. No, I have to stop. It’s time to turn my back on the Masons and forget about them once and for all. Matt Mason isn’t the first knobhead to have an affair, and their marriage won’t be the first to go tits up. It’s time to focus on my own life. And the first step to that is shutting the curtains, going upstairs, and catching up on my work.

  A weight lifts from my chest as I step towards the window. This is the right thing to do. But when my fingertips graze the satin of the curtains, movement from across the street catches my eye. It’s April. She’s standing there, right next to her window, dressed in bright red. I only see her to her waist, but the top half fits as though it’s a sundress, with bows on the shoulder. She’s wearing a light cardigan over the top. Something about her beautiful innocence forces a terrible sadness out of me. She will grow up to be a stunner, with that black hair and peachy skin.

  I go cold all over. Only now do I see it. The teenager having lunch with Matt, she looked so much like April. Not in a way that would suggest the two were related, but in a way that makes me wonder about Matt, and whether he chose his mistress for a specific reason. I’m a little appalled at myself for thinking it. My fingers close around the curtains, and I’m about to shut them for good when there’s more movement from April’s room.

  Suddenly her arms fly up and stay at chest height. I’m so taken aback by the sudden movement, that for a moment I concentrate only on the strange, drawn expression on her face. I don’t notice the paper in her hands. She presses a white sheet of A4 paper up to the window, and then I understand what’s happening.

  The blood drains from my face when I see the message printed there. One word. Four letters.

  HELP

  I stagger back from the window with a hand covering my mouth. I knew that there was something not right about that family. I knew that something seemed wrong with Matt Mason. He’s just… off. Someone who doesn’t act the way you’d expect from a man his age. I saw him with that girl in the pub. Can you really trust a man having an affair with a girl that young? No, I don’t believe that you can. April holding up this sign proves my suspicions. He’s hurting her.

  But what should I do?

  April lifts the sign higher. Then she takes it away and wipes tears from her eyes. God, this is too much to bear. I have to help this girl. I start towards the door so I can go over there, but then I notice a figure walking down the street. I hurry back to the window to check. Yes, it’s Matt. He’s returning from lunch with his mistress. I direct my gaze back to April and then point to the street. April sees her father, snatches the sign away from the window and nods to me. Then she smiles.

  I have to help her, but I need to think logically. If I go over there now, I can’t take April away, and I can’t physically stop Matt Mason from doing anything. He’s much bigger than I am. But I can phone the police. I grab my phone from the sofa and dial 999. It’s not the first time I’ve dialled 999. I’ve had to do it twice before. A shiver works up my spine, but I try to suppress the anxiety for April’s sake. This is about her, not me.

  “Emergency. Which service?”

  “Hello, erm, I need the police. I think a little girl is in danger.”

  “What kind of danger? Can you give me the address?”

  “Physical danger from her father. I think her father might be hurting her, but I… I don’t know for sure. She put up this sign asking for help. The address is 72 Cavendish Street.”

  “Thank you. Now, can you talk through exactly what happened?”

  “I’m sorry, there’s not much more to say. The little girl seems very subdued and withdrawn in general. But today she put a sign in the window of her house saying help. I saw her screaming in the street a few days ago, too.”

  “Have you seen her father hurt the child?” the operator asks.

  “No, nothing like that. Just what I told you.”

  “Okay, don’t worry. We’re going to send someone over to the house to find out what’s going on.”

  “I don’t want them to know I called. I’m their neighbour.”

  “I understand that, and we will not pass on your name. But I do need to take your name, phone number and address so we can contact you.”

  I give the woman my details and hear typing on the other end of the phone. The hard and tight feeling in my chest is back. Matt must be inside now. The thought of him near that child makes my insides squirm.

  “How long will they be?” I ask.

  “Ten minutes. They’re on their way now. You sit tight, Miss Abbott." she says.

  I hang up the phone and stand by the window, keeping my body angled so that I’m out of sight. My mind is racing with all kinds of thoughts, such as Matt Mason finding out who called the police and breaking into my house in the night. Or the police pulling a raging Matt out of the house and him going crazy with a gun. Don’t be stupid, Hannah, I tell myself. This isn’t America. No one has a gun here. Not even the police, which I can’t decide if I find it reassuring or worrying.

  My thumbnail is bitten down to the
skin by the time the police arrive. They didn’t take much longer than ten minutes as the operator suggested. They pull up in a patrol car with the flashing lights. There are two of them, one woman, one man, and they are in their uniforms with big, clomping boots. They stride up to the front door and knock loudly. I can almost feel the vibration from the knock travelling across the street.

  Matt opens the door. He’s in the same clothes as before, but his feet are bare. His expression is pinched and worried when the police introduce themselves. In fact, his body language is defensive, with his arms folded and his back leaning away from them. I can’t help it, I smile. There you go, Matt. You can’t get away with everything. Things do catch up with you. But the smile fades. Things catch up with you. The same can be said for my life.

  second draw down The police go into the house and the door shuts. I’m left on the outside looking in.

  Chapter Twelve

  Laura

  For once in my life I’m home at a reasonable time. I tried so hard to make sure all of my work was finished by five. I raced down all the back streets I could find to avoid the main traffic. But as soon as I set foot in the door, I felt a creeping sense of unease. Matt was being unusually nice, for one thing. He hasn’t snapped at me once, and so far I’ve burnt the garlic bread that I insisted we had to have with the pasta salad, and I spilled red wine on the new sofa. But rather than fly off the handle, he’s been more than reasonable. He’s been understanding. That makes me think that something is going on, and I can’t stop thinking about last night.

  I caught a flicker of apprehension in his eyes when I found the receipt and accused him of cheating. It could be nothing, but then it could be more. My cheeks flush when I think of what came next, and then my stomach starts to hurt. I gulp down a little more wine.

  “I’m plating up,” Matt says.

  We’ve pulled out the fold up table and perched it in the middle of the living room. April is already sitting on one of the chairs, and is scribbling in the little diary she keeps. Whenever I see her doing it, I get this irrational need to know what she’s writing in there. Twice now I’ve lingered in her room, wondering if I could do it without her noticing. I found it under the bed once when I was hoovering. I was so tempted to open the cover, but I didn’t want to be that kind of parent. I don’t want to end up like my mother. An involuntary shiver passes over me just thinking about it.

  “You cold, love? I can switch the thermostat up if you like,” Matt offers.

  The man likes it on 15 and won’t have it any higher. He radiates heat like a walking hot water bottle. I do a double take when he offers to adjust it. “No, that’s all right. I’m not actually cold. April, why don’t you put your diary away now, chicken. Daddy is fetching tea.”

  April does as she’s told, which I’m relieved about. There’s a definite moodiness brewing, and God knows she’s withdrawn and quiet, but at least she still does what she’s told. I can’t help but wonder how long that will last for. As soon as she hits the teenage years, things are bound to change. I’d better savour it while it lasts.

  Matt sits opposite me, blocking the telly. For some reason we’ve left it on, even though none of us are watching it. The background noise is nice. It fills the silences.

  “So what did you two get up to today?” I ask.

  Matt glances at April. It’s a quick, furtive look, almost like a warning. April pushes her food around her plate, scraping the porcelain in frantic motions. Her shoulders are hunched and tensed. Matt also appears on edge, but then he says, “April was helping me with the car. I’ve been changing the fan belt…” he drifts into car speak that I don’t really understand. I try to listen, I really do, but then my mind drifts off to thoughts of work. Matt knows straight away that I’m not listening, because his jaw clenches. This is usually where he rolls his eyes and lets out a long sigh, but not this time. “Sorry, honey. I’m boring you to death with all this car speak. How was work?”

  I struggle through a particularly large bite of burnt garlic bread. I hadn’t expected the conversation to come back to me so quickly. Matt usually talks about the car stuff for ages before getting to me. “It was good, thanks. They’ve decided to put the accountants on probation. The board is pleased with the decision and the company is moving forward. Crisis averted!” I laugh a little and Matt smiles along with me.

  “That’s great, babe.” He reaches across and squeezes my arm.

  My first instinct is to pull away, but I let him touch me. Matt notices my reaction, because a shadow of anger crosses his face, but then he breaks into another smile. One that doesn’t reach his eyes. For a moment, we meet head on. We’re both seeing each other, and we both know that our relationship isn’t right. It’s the kind of moment that creates a sudden urge to burst into tears. But I don’t. I swallow them back down.

  “Did you enjoy helping Dad with the car?” I ask April.

  She looks up from her food and nods her head. I hadn’t noticed before, but she hasn’t touched most of her pasta. She’s eaten the vegetables around the pasta, but only a third of her plate is cleared. And she’s not touched the garlic bread at all. But then it is burnt, so I can understand that. I rack my brain, trying to think whether she’s lost weight. Am I feeding her right? Am I failing as a mother for not noticing things? She’s in a cute red dress with two bows on the straps, and a white cardigan. I remember buying the outfit. We were together in Marks and Spencer and for once both liked the same thing. It makes her come across as frighteningly mature and yet completely innocent at the same time. Looking at her, I’m overwhelmed by protective love. She’s my little girl, the only child I have. That urge to burst into tears comes back again.

  I wash the dishes, seeing as Matt made the tea. But I decide to pour myself a third glass of wine while I do it. As I plunge my hands into the hot water, I realise I’m a little lightheaded. I can’t handle my wine like I used to. Not like when I was twenty, anyway, but I am starting to develop more of a tolerance again. I suppose like all parents, I had a break from drinking a lot when April was younger. We were both so wrapped up in our family life that we didn’t go out much. Matt especially. He started to believe that going out with friends was a waste of time, that we should be home with April, getting to know her and appreciating her growth into a person. But what I didn’t realise, was that we were slowly isolating ourselves from our friends. As time went on, I lost touch with nearly all my old uni friends, and even a lot of Mum friends. Now I’m drinking again, but it’s all at home. I’ll open a bottle of wine at night and find myself finishing it before I go to bed. Matt disapproves. He says it’s making me flabby.

  I let the pots dry on the draining board, empty the sink, and quickly wipe down the surfaces. April is already back up in her room again. Matt isn’t in the living room, which is where I thought he was, watching football on TV.

  I make my way upstairs, seeing as I need the loo anyway—wine gives me a weak bladder—to hear low voices coming from April’s room. It’s odd for Matt to be in there at this time. Unless we need to talk to April, or need her to come downstairs, we tend to let her be, just popping our head in the door around nine to say goodnight before she goes to sleep. It’s very rare that we sit and have a conversation with her. She hates us being in her room.

  I move closer so I can hear a little better.

  “… I think it’s best we don’t tell Mum about today, all right? You know what she’s like.”

  April doesn’t answer.

  “You’re a good girl, April. I know you’ll do this for me.”

  I burst into the room. “Do what, Matt? What aren’t you telling me? What is going on?”

  April turns to Matt, with her eyes large and pleading. I notice then that they’re quite red around the edges. She’s been crying.

  I sit down on the bed next to her. “What’s happened? Have you been upset?”

  “It’s nothing,” Matt says. “We’re just feeling a little guilty.”

  “Guilty ab
out what?” Alarm bells are ringing in my mind. I feel rigid with worry.

  “April and I ordered pizza for lunch,” Matt says. “April was feeling a bit sad about moving away from the old house, so we got it to cheer her up.”

  “Why would I be angry about you ordering pizza?” I ask. Matt’s story doesn’t add up at all. There’s something else going on.

  “Because you came home early to eat with us and we weren’t that hungry,” he says with a laugh. “We’ve been trying to pretend all night, haven’t we April? We just wanted it to be a special night, that’s all. For once we’re having family time, and we went and ruined it all by stuffing our faces at lunchtime.”

  “But I thought you didn’t like pizza anymore, April?” I ask my daughter.

  “I do.” She nods.

  Matt shrugs. “I thought so too, but I guess kids change their minds all the time.”

  Matt leans against April’s chest of drawers as though he’s completely relaxed. I can’t put my finger on why I believe he’s lying, but the truth is, I don’t want to pry any further. I don’t want to deal with Matt when he’s angry, and if I press this any further I’ll make him angry. The thought makes my stomach churn. I can’t go through it, not tonight.

  “So that’s why you didn’t eat your pasta, hmm?” I pull April closer to me and squeeze her shoulders. “If you’re not happy, you know you can talk to me, don’t you? About anything. I’m your mum, but I’m your friend, too.” I cringe at the cheesy saying. Are parents ever friends? Is it even possible? I’m spinning a lie that has been told for generations. But we do it out of desperation, because the alternative—being kept at arms-length, never told anything—is too terrifying to contemplate.