by Susan Lewis
Calloway put it down again. “Now for the second reason I am here,” he said, his voice icily calm. “I ought to kill you for even laying one finger on my daughter, but I have no intention of going to prison for filth like you. I just want you to remember this, don’t ever try to come near Kate again, do you hear me? Not ever. She is mine, and no one, no one lays a hand on my daughter without feeling the consequences.”
Joel looked at the older man and his lips began to quiver with disgust. “You’re sick!” he snarled. “I suspected it when I first met you, but I had no idea just how far the rot had set in. It’s not just me, is it? You can’t stand to think of any man touching your precious daughter, can you? The very thought makes you curl up and hate inside. It’s like a worm, isn’t it, eating away at your gut, Kate with another man. You’re in love with her, you perverted bastard, aren’t you? You’re in love with your own daughter. God, you’re disgusting! It doesn’t matter whose child she’s carrying, does it? All that matters is that it isn’t yours. You’re twisted, Calloway. Perver . . .”
The blow to his jaw landed so hard that Joel crashed to the floor. Calloway stood over him, his face twitching with fury. “I’m warning you, Martin! If I so much as even hear of you again, I’ll kill you. Do you hear me? I’ll kill you!” Turning abruptly he walked from the room.
So this was how it felt to have murdered your own baby. In fact it felt like nothing at all. Nothing. It was there one minute, the next it was gone. Nothing inside any more, no tiny whispering of life, just nothing. Empty and painless. There were no feelings, no care, no love, no hate. When they had taken the baby away, they had taken her soul away too. Her body was an empty shell now.
Sometimes she slept, but it didn’t seem like often. Sometimes she opened her eyes, but there was nothing to see. People came in and out from time to time, but she didn’t know who they were. They held her hands, kissed her on the face, and she felt she should know them, but they were strangers, and they frightened her. She didn’t speak to them, she had nothing to say, because there was nothing left to say.
But one thing puzzled her. Why wouldn’t the baby stop crying? Why were they letting it cry like that? Did no one care? Someone was talking to her. Couldn’t they see that she couldn’t hear them? Why didn’t they help the baby? Why didn’t they stop it crying? She knew that it was her baby. The one she had killed. It was dead, and it was crying because she had killed it. It would cry like this now for ever. There could be no comfort for her baby, no loving arms to hold it, no breast to feed it. There would be nothing for her baby now, only tears. Tears for the life that it would never have. The life that she had taken from it.
The voice went away, but the crying went on. She heard a door close, somewhere in the distance, but still she could hear the crying. A child’s cry, echoing through the hollow of eternity. Crying because its mother had killed it, had robbed it of life. But she would die soon, and then she could comfort it, then she could love it, and feed it the milk of eternal life. Yes, soon she would die, and then she could hold her baby.
“It’s no good,” said Ellamarie, going back into the room. “She still won’t say anything.”
Kate’s father looked up. His face was strained, and the lines around his eyes had become deeper these last two days. Ever since he had brought her home, Kate had simply lain on her bed, and said nothing. She didn’t eat, she didn’t cry.
He ran his fingers through his hair, and Ellamarie saw that they were shaking. “I don’t know what to do,” he said. “God help me, I just don’t know what to do.”
“I think we should call the doctor back again. She can’t go on like this, she must have some food.”
“OK,” he said wearily. “Where’s the number?”
“Don’t worry,” said Ashley, “sit there, I’ll do it.”
When she had gone, Ellamarie went to sit beside him, and put an arm round his shoulders. Bob went to the cupboard and took out a bottle of brandy. As he poured them all a drink, he noticed the barely started manuscript of Kate’s book, lying beside her typewriter on the desk. He was suddenly overcome with sadness, and wondered if she would ever finish it now. He handed the drinks round.
“It’s so good of you all to care like this,” Calloway said, very near to the end of his tether.
“We all love her,” said Ellamarie. “We want to help.”
“It’s only depression,” said Calloway. “She’ll get over it. She just needs time. She will get over it, you know.” He looked at Bob and his eyes were pleading.
Bob smiled, trying to give him the assurance he needed. “Of course she’ll get over it. These things always take time. But she’ll be fine again, soon.”
Ashley came back into the room. “The doctor’s on his way.”
Calloway reached out for her hand. “Thank you, my dear. You’ve been so kind. I don’t know what I’d have done without you all.”
Ashley pressed his hand to her face. “We all care about her a great deal, Mr Calloway,” she said. “I only wish that there was more we could do.”
There was a long silence which was finally broken by Kate’s father. “Did you see Jenneen earlier?” he asked, looking back to Ellamarie and Bob.
Ellamarie looked at Bob before turning back and nodding.
“How was she?”
“Not good, I’m afraid,” said Bob. “She still blames herself. She thinks it best that she stays away for the time being. That coming here will only upset Kate more.”
“Please tell her, she really mustn’t blame herself. It wasn’t her fault. She mustn’t hold herself responsible. Kate is a grown woman, she can make up her own mind.” But there was no conviction in his voice. He blamed himself.
“To tell you the truth,” said Ellamarie, “we’re not sure that it’s only Kate that has made Jenneen like this. There might be something else.”
Calloway looked at them, the question in his eyes giving voice to his need to think of something else, if only for a moment.
“She won’t tell anyone,” said Bob, “but she was depressed before all this happened. I spoke to her editor today, and apparently things haven’t been going too well for her at work either. Bill was really quite worried about her.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Calloway asked.
Bob shook his head. “I think you’ve got enough to do here. Kate needs you now. We’ll look after Jenneen, don’t worry.”
Finally the doctor arrived. He went straight in to Kate, and again they waited, saying nothing, until he came out. None of them were surprised when he said he was taking her back into hospital. She needed the kind of care that she couldn’t get here.
Calloway carried his daughter down the stairs to the car, and sat her in the back seat. Ellamarie got in beside her, taking her hand and telling Bob she would see him later.
“Please God,” she prayed silently, as they passed through the busy streets of Kensington, “please God, let her be all right. Help her to get over this.”
NINETEEN
Jenneen finished reading the letter. It had been a long time in coming, she had been expecting it for weeks. She read it again. Irony, pure irony. It contained nothing of what she had expected, nothing at all. But she didn’t feel the relief she should feel, only the realization of what she should have known before, if only she had thought.
Her mother had begun her letter in the usual chatty way. Gran had had a win on the bingo. Fifty pounds, so she was planning to take a short holiday in Skegness at Easter. Dad was well, so were her brothers; as usual, her mother said nothing about herself. Then she had gone on to tell her that young Maggie Dewar had never returned from London, and had telephoned her mother to say she was staying with a friend, called Matthew Bordsleigh. Wasn’t he the actor that Jenneen used to know?
That was really all her mother had to say, except that she loved her very much and hoped she would be able to get up to see them again soon. And she had enclosed a tatty little photograph Gran had found of Jenneen playing on th
e sands at Blackpool, aged four. Jenneen turned it over, half expecting something to be written on the back, but it was blank. She tucked it back inside the envelope and turned to the letter again. There had been no other mention of Maggie or Matthew, so obviously they hadn’t carried out their threat. Of course, it all fell into place now. The demands for money had increased. Matthew was no longer asking for twenty, maybe fifty pounds at a time. No, now he was asking for a hundred, sometimes even two hundred pounds. And it made sense. He was supporting Maggie as well. Correction, Jenneen was supporting Maggie as well. Such twists and turns in fate. She had brought them together, and now, together, they were bleeding her dry.
Blackmail. The cruellest torture known to mankind. You never knew that, of course, until you were the victim. The terror you had to live with, each day, all day. To dread the wrath of your persecutor, never to know if he would keep his word, and not tell. Never to know when he would show; to live in fear of the door, the phone, the mail.
She picked up her coat, and left the flat. She would be late if she didn’t hurry, and she had been late too often these last few weeks. The crew were meeting at nine thirty at Earls Court. The London mid-season fashion shows were well under way.
They were waiting for her when she arrived, sitting in the coffee bar, having breakfast. She looked at her watch. It was twenty-five minutes past nine. Good, she wasn’t late. The director was sitting with his PA at a separate table. After saying good morning to the crew, Jenneen went to join them.
“Morning,” she said, sitting down beside Patsy.
They both greeted her with what to her seemed to be an unusual amount of warmth, and immediately, as she so often did these days, Jenneen began to panic. Why were they being so kind? Did they know something she didn’t? Was that pity she could see in Patsy’s eyes? Matthew must have broken his word – where were the morning papers? But Brian, the director, started to talk to her quite normally about the day’s shoot, and Patsy went off to fetch her a coffee, as usual. Gradually Jenneen began to relax again.
The morning dragged and she ran up to eight takes to do her opening statement to camera, before she finally managed to get it right. Although he didn’t remark on it, she knew that Brian was surprised; it wasn’t like her to need more than two takes as a maximum, for anything.
At lunchtime she decided to go for a walk. She was too on edge to sit with the crew and make idle chat about putting the company to rights. The letter this morning had disturbed her more than she had realized. Matthew alone she felt she might be able to control. But Matthew egged on by a scheming young twenty-year-old, that was a different matter. And with Maggie coming from her home town, it was all too close for comfort. What was she going to do? But no matter how much she thought about it, she knew that she was at their mercy.
She thought about the last time she had seen Matthew, when he had forced his way into her flat. She had been crying and, desperate to talk to someone, she had tried to tell him about Kate, tried to find that other side of Matthew that had seemed to care for her once. But he had laughed at her and ridiculed her. He told her that perhaps now she could see herself for the selfish bitch she was. She had even betrayed her closest friend. Why? And he had answered the question. Because she was jealous. Because in her perversion she lusted after Kate, and a mind sick like hers could only think of that one, all-consuming perversion.
She had begged him to stop, pleaded with him to understand and help her, but there had been no pity in his eyes, only scorn. Finally she had given him the money he had come for, and he had left.
And now, as she walked, she found herself thinking about Kate. More than anything else in the world, she wished she could be with her, to see for herself how she was. She wanted to hold Kate, and tell her that she was sorry, and to ask for forgiveness. She longed to hear her soothing voice, telling her that it would be all right. That things were never as bad as they seemed to be, and that she no longer blamed Jenneen for anything. But Kate was in no state for Jenneen.
Looking up, Jenneen found herself outside of the Cromwell Hospital. She studied the aquamarine blinds at the windows, and wondered which one Kate was behind. She wanted to go in, she longed to go in, but she couldn’t. Each night she rang Ashley or Ellamarie to find out how Kate was progressing, but she never visited her herself. It wouldn’t be long now, Ashley had told her last night, before Kate would be going home again. The progress was slow, but what there was of it, was good. Jenneen didn’t ask if Kate mentioned her, she already knew the answer.
And the bitter irony of it all was that if there was anyone that Jenneen might have been able to talk to, go to for help, and hopefully understanding, it would have been Kate. She was surprised to find herself thinking that. Normally they all turned to Ellamarie for strength and courage, but there was something in Kate that Jenneen knew was as confused and lonely as the emptiness she felt inside herself.
She turned away from the hospital, and back along the Cromwell Road towards Earls Court. Several passers-by threw her odd looks as she brushed past them. She didn’t realize that tears were streaming down her face.
After a while she stopped and looked around. She was dimly aware that her heart was beginning to beat faster, and her mind was slowly starting to whirl. Then, strangely, she could see Matthew’s face, laughing at her. Then she saw Kate’s face, and she could feel all that Kate was feeling. And there was Mrs Green, ruthlessly pushing her into acts so degrading Jenneen could never bear to think about them. There were her parents, and she could see that they knew; their faces were full of anguish and pain at the shame and humiliation she had caused them. And there was Kate again, and Matthew, and then they were all there, watching her with still faces, watching and waiting. Those whose lives she had already ruined, and those whose lives she was yet to ruin. And it was too late now to change anything, there was nowhere left for her to turn.
The lorries thundered by, and the cars speeding at sixty maybe seventy miles an hour blew gusts of wind around her which floated away in clouds of dust. She closed her eyes, and the faces were still there, watching and waiting, and she listened to the traffic. Slowly she opened her eyes again and the pounding of her heart pushing her blood round her body cleared her mind; she was no longer afraid. Everything seemed so very simple.
She felt she was moving in a dream, slowly and deliberately; the noise around her became a cacophony of mystical, sublime and ineffable sounds, as if it was all happening above the surface of a deep, deep pool, far away, too distant to hear. Yet it was there. And it was like drifting off into an unsteady sleep, where far-off sounds grew and faded in volume.
There was a softness, a strange beckoning, that pulled her forward, telling her it would be all right. And then she was standing, as if apart from her own body, watching herself and what she was doing, smiling that soon it would all be at an end. Just one final step, and it would all be over. No more Matthew, no more Mrs Green, no more rejection, no more loneliness. Just one final step.
There was a deafening screech, and the sound of an angry horn. She expected pain, she wanted the pain; it would be over quickly – very soon now. Her shoulders were squashed, pushed together so hard she could hardly breathe. She rolled over and looked up at the sky, and watched the clouds passing overhead. Everything was silent.
She continued to watch the clouds, so peaceful on their celestial journey. The unconquerable sky mountains, some grey, some white. And then there were faces, worried, anxious, and hands pulling at her, voices speaking to her.
She blinked, confused; she tried to focus her eyes, but the faces kept fading away, slipping from her, then returning. Then there were soft hands on hers, and a warm, comforting voice crept into her mind. She turned her head, and she saw a woman kneeling beside her. She felt she should know her, but she couldn’t think.
“Call an ambulance,” she heard someone say. And the spell was broken. She struggled to get up. “No,” she wheezed. “No, please.”
The woman was holding her
again, and Jenneen leaned against her. Was it Kate?
“Jenneen?” said the woman. “Jenneen?”
Jenneen turned to look at her. Yes, she did know her, but who was she?
“I’ve got to get back to work,” said Jenneen. “They’ll be waiting for me. I mustn’t be late again.”
“Ssh. We’re calling an ambulance.”
“No,” Jenneen cried. “Please, don’t. I’m all right, honestly, I’m all right.” She tried to get to her feet.
Her legs were weak, but they supported her, with the help of this woman, whom she should know. She allowed herself to be led to the pavement.
Everything started to spin, and she thought she was going to pass out. But she couldn’t pass out. She must hold on.
“Take me home,” said Jenneen. “Please, take me home.”
She saw the woman turn away, and then was vaguely aware of her talking to a man. Jenneen looked at his face. It was white with fear, and shock, and he kept looking towards her. Finally he went away. She wanted to call out to him, and say she was sorry, but she couldn’t find the words. The woman turned back to her, and gently, very slowly, led her back down the street and round the corner. She stopped and, taking out a key, let them into a big house.
It must have been several hours later when Jenneen finally woke. It was dark outside, and she could see the moon through the open curtains. She looked around at the strange room, and wondered where she was, how she had got there. The bed was comfortable and warm; she turned over, and closed her eyes again.
She lay quietly, listening to the sounds from outside. A dog barking, someone hammering in the distance. Footsteps and the sounds of traffic. Traffic. Her eyes flew open as it all came flooding back. She turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. She had tried to kill herself. She had tried to take what she thought would be the only way out. Suicide. The most selfish act open to mankind. Suicide and blackmail. What had happened to her life? Where had it all gone wrong?
