‘Got it,’ he said. He looked down and trod his foot into the ground.
‘Got what?’
‘The wasp.’
‘You got the wasp?’
He bent down. When he stood, she saw he held the curled-up corpse of the wasp by its wing.
‘You killed it with your hands?’
‘You have to do it quick.’
‘With your bare hands?’ Lizzie looked in wonder at Haydn.
He didn’t seem the tiniest bit flustered or pleased with himself. ‘It didn’t sting me.’
‘That’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen!’ And in the clap of hands, Superdad was no more.
‘You shouldn’t get so freaked out by them,’ he said.
‘I know, but,’ she paused, ‘I’m sort of allergic.’
‘Oh. I didn’t know.’ He paused. ‘Badly?’
‘They can kill me.’ She lifted her bag. ‘It’s why I carry this. It’s got adrenalin in it.’
‘You should have told me.’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not that good at talking when they’re near me.’
Haydn chucked the wasp on to the floor. ‘How about we get some food?’
Lizzie nervously eyed the wasp in case of resurrection. ‘That sounds good. I’m really hungry.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I thought you were in charge of today.’
He smiled. ‘I’m being polite. What do you fancy?’
‘Burger?’
He shook his head. ‘No beef.’
‘You’re vegetarian?’
‘Nope. I eat lamb, chicken, and fish fingers and that. Just not beef.’
‘How come?’
‘It’s the farting.’
Lizzie’s explosion of laughter blew the memory of the wasp stratospheric.
‘It’s not a laughing matter. Their farts are melting Antarctica, man. Cows are drowning the world.’
‘You mean the methane build-up?’
He nodded, his face deadly serious. ‘If we didn’t eat beef, you know, we’d save the polar bears.’
Lizzie giggled. ‘I’m sure if you boycotted long-haul flights and Kenyan runner beans you’d be able to have a burger every now and then.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s the farting cows. Dodo time. They gotta go.’
Then he pulled Lizzie towards him and draped an arm over her shoulder, and kissed her nose. ‘Let’s get pizza.’
It was all she could do to stop herself scaling the rafters and singing out from the rooftop.
What Rebecca Saw
Kate’s heart leapt into her mouth when she answered the door.
‘You can’t be here.’
Rebecca looked at the floor and shuffled her feet. ‘I need to talk to you,’ she mumbled.
Kate checked over her shoulder, then up and down the street, and rubbed a hand across her mouth. ‘You can’t,’ she said. ‘Look, Rebecca, you have to go home. Call your mum and get her to pick you up. I’m not allowed to see you.’
‘I thought you wanted to talk to me.’
‘I do. I did . . . but, no, Rebecca, you have to go.’
Kate was panicking. The policeman who’d interviewed her made it clear. She was to keep away from Rebecca. If she didn’t, if she tried to make contact, or was seen to be influencing the girl in any way, her situation could get an awful lot worse. She shuddered as she recalled his lack of surprise when he’d interviewed her. She’d expected him to look shocked, or even disappointed, but he’d obviously seen it all: friends shooting friends, ten-year-olds robbing booze shops, dads raping babies, middle-class mothers beating up other people’s children at memorial services. There were no surprises left.
Rebecca pressed her chin into her chest and kicked at nothing on the doorstep. She looked scared and ill, like she hadn’t slept for days. Part of Kate wanted to wrap her up in a hug, usher her inside and make her a hot drink. She wanted to tell her how sorry she was, hold her tightly until they both forgot what she’d done, then calmly listen to what she wanted to say. But then she heard the policeman’s caution again. She was in serious trouble. She had to watch her step. This wasn’t a joke.
‘Rebecca, did you hear me?’ Kate took a step backwards. ‘I’m going to shut the door now.’ Kate watched Rebecca, waiting, wondering, if she was going to speak before she closed the door. There was nothing. ‘Rebecca. I’m going inside. You need to go home.’
Then Rebecca jolted into life. She lunged for the door and pushed against it. They stared at each other. Kate knew she should push her away, but whatever it was that Rebecca knew was right there, hovering beneath the surface of her eyes, goading Kate to shun common sense. Kate fought herself. She conjured Jon and Lizzie in her mind, hoping they would make her see sense.
‘No,’ she struggled. ‘You have to go.’
But Rebecca grabbed hold of Kate’s jumper and pulled her close. She leant her face against Kate’s ear. ‘You were right. I do know something. I know something about Anna,’ she whispered.
Rebecca’s hissed words were like an electric shock. There was a malevolence in her that suddenly scared Kate and she pulled back as if she’d been hurt, but Rebecca held on. Her eyes stared right into Kate’s as if she were trying to burn holes in her. Then her face tore into a smirk. ‘It’s about her and Dr Howe.’ She kept her gaze bolted to Kate and leant close, her eyes now round and wide. ‘You want to hear, don’t you? Well, I hope you’re ready.’ She paused. ‘Anna and Dr Howe were fucking!’
‘What did you say?’
‘They were fucking. Like nasty, dirty rabbits,’ she leered. Rebecca moved away a little, then raised her eyebrows and smiled like she’d handed Kate the largest present from beneath the tree.
‘Get away from me.’
Rebecca fixed her eyes on Kate. Was that glee Kate saw?
‘I said get away from me.’
‘It was her idea, you know. She loved it!’
Kate was paralysed, as if she weren’t inside her body any more, but floating somewhere nearby, impotent and numb.
She closed her eyes to block Rebecca out. She tried to steady herself. Keep calm, she told herself, just get rid of her, then get to your studio. She tried to think of how she would paint Anna. As a child, definitely. Eighteen months old, maybe? Yes, eighteen months old and riding the little yellow tractor that Jon’s mother had retrieved from the loft. The tractor had been Jon’s. Even after two and a half decades it was in immaculate condition. It was sunny and Anna giggled as she scooted round Kate’s mind, her legs chubby and pink, tiny feet madly pushing herself along, her chestnut hair on fire in the brilliant light.
Kate opened her eyes.
‘You’re lying,’ she said, calm and steady. ‘And I want you to leave.’
The creepy smile fell off Rebecca’s face. ‘I’m not lying. He wasn’t her first. You don’t know. She thought it was hilarious you thought she was such a good girl. Such an angel. She laughed about it.’
Kate felt sick. She tried to bring baby Anna and the little yellow tractor back, but both had vanished. ‘Go away.’
‘Not until you say you believe me, that Anna was doing it with him.’
‘Why do you keep saying that? I thought you were her friend.’
At this Rebecca’s eyes filmed with tears and she looked away.
A laughing couple, arm in arm, walked down the pavement. They looked across at Kate as they passed and gave a convivial nod in unison.
‘Don’t move,’ Kate growled.
She turned and went back into the house, moving mechanically, her head a jumble. She needed to hear Rebecca admit she was making it up, then Kate could tell her to go home and keep the hell away from her and her family.
Jon and Lizzie were chatting as they made supper in the kitchen. Kate grabbed the car keys from the bowl on the side.
‘Going out?’ Jon called after her.
‘Yes,’ she said, without turning back.
She knew she should tell Jon. Even take him with
her. She could hear the voice in her head telling her she should pass this over. If talking to Rebecca on the doorstep was inadvisable, being alone in a car with her was plain moronic. Jon would be beyond angry. But there was nothing else she could do. She didn’t want any other person, especially not Jon or Lizzie, to hear Rebecca’s filthy lies. It would be like giving them poison. She wouldn’t do it. They didn’t need to have that image in their heads. She walked back down the hall, her heart racing so fast she could barely draw breath.
‘I’m going to get ice-cream.’
‘Great,’ she heard Lizzie call. ‘Cookies and cream, please!’
Kate closed the front door behind her and walked straight past Rebecca, who was hunched at the side of the path. ‘Get in the car.’
Kate drove to the end of the road, turned the corner, then parked opposite the block of high-rise council flats, next to the wheelie bins and cardboard boxes that were forever piled up. She cut the engine. All she could hear was Rebecca’s uneven breathing. She hated her right then. She thought of the history they shared. She and Rachel keeping each other sane in the mundane world of newborn babies, then the girls starting at the same nursery, then school. Listening to Anna nattering away to Rebecca behind the closed door of her room, wondering what on earth the two of them could possibly talk about for so many hours on end. Then all those times she’d driven the girl around, dropped her at the cinema, taken her shopping, welcomed her into her home, Christmas presents, birthday presents, hugs and kisses. Ignored her own prodding jealousy at how close Anna was to this monosyllabic girl.
Kate turned in her seat to face her.
‘Right. Listen to me. I’m not interested in why you told me those awful lies about Anna. I don’t know why you would want to hurt her. But if you ever talk about her like that again, or mention anything to her dad or sister, God help me for what I might do.’ Kate hoped she sounded convincing.
‘I’m not lying.’ Rebecca spoke so quietly Kate could hardly hear her.
‘Of course you’re bloody lying,’ Kate said, desperately fighting to keep her voice level.
Rebecca shook her head. Kate noticed she had begun to cry. ‘I saw them,’ she whispered. ‘I saw them.’
‘For goodness’ sake! It’s all in your head. You’re making it up, to get back at Anna because you’re jealous or something, because she had other friends and you didn’t. Or maybe because of what I did to you. I don’t know, whatever it is, you’re making it up!’
Rebecca’s crying turned to racking sobs that heaved her shoulders up and down. Kate stared at her. The anger, frustration and loathing raged inside her. She had flashes of the memorial, of Rebecca’s eyes as she hit her, the acceptance in them, the admission that she deserved it. Kate gripped the leather seat and dug her fingers into it. She had to keep calm. She had to. She closed her eyes and breathed, the type of breathing she’d practised in her antenatal classes. In through her nose and out through her mouth, in through her nose and out through her mouth. Then, when she felt her vehemence fade, and though it was totally repulsive, she reached out and laid a hand on Rebecca’s shoulder.
‘I can see how upset you are. But these stories, about Anna, they won’t help you.’
‘She . . . made me . . .’ she said between sobs. ‘They were doing it and making so . . . much noise . . . I didn’t want to . . . I didn’t . . .’
Everything flared, pushing past Kate’s flimsy barricades. ‘Shut up!’ she shouted. Rebecca recoiled against the passenger door. ‘You bloody little cow! Get out of my car. Just get out of my car.’ She leant over Rebecca, pulled on the door handle and shoved it open. ‘Don’t come anywhere near me again. You hear?’
Rebecca didn’t move. They both sat still, both breathed heavily. Kate fixed her eyes on the windscreen and concentrated on deciphering the noises from the street. Rebecca pulled her bag on to her lap, but still didn’t make a move to get out of the car. Kate saw her out of the corner of her eye; she was looking right at her. Kate turned her head and stared out of the side window. She heard rummaging. Rebecca was looking for something in her bag.
At last Rebecca unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car. Kate waited for the door to close, but it didn’t.
‘So you know,’ Rebecca said. ‘I’m not pressing charges. The man at the police station said that’s what I needed to do to make sure you didn’t get into trouble. I don’t want you in trouble; my lip only hurt for a few hours anyway.’ Then she threw something back into the car. ‘And I’m not lying. There’s videos.’
Kate watched Rebecca moving away down the street, clutching her bag against her chest, tucked close to the wall, shuffling along with her head bowed and back bent, like a homeless pensioner. Kate waited until she disappeared out of sight, then she glanced across at the passenger seat.
Lying on the grey leather upholstery was a pink mobile phone with cartoon stickers all over it.
The Horrors of Modern Technology
‘What flavour did you get?’ Jon called when he heard the front door.
Kate walked straight past the kitchen and disappeared upstairs. His heart sank. He turned to Lizzie and tried to smile. ‘Maybe she’s tired,’ he said.
Lizzie nodded. The look on her face made his heart clench. Resignation, compassion, disappointment, covered thinly with a forbearance he recognized from his mother. It had to be almost impossible for Lizzie, what with Kate’s emotional dips and plateaux, and his inability to make things any better, all this heaped on top of losing her only sibling. Lizzie’s loss was badly overlooked, overshadowed by Kate’s and even by his. Anna had brought so much light into their lives, but especially Lizzie’s. Always making jokes, laughing, waltzing through life free-spirited, full of verve. In recent years, with Anna, Lizzie seemed to be finding the confidence to come out of herself. Then Anna was snatched away and Lizzie was plunged back into her shy and studious self. She relied on Anna, they all did, and with her gone it was as if their engine room had been destroyed. He could see how alone Lizzie was, and he wished he could make things lovely for her. He remembered the first time he held her, fresh out of Kate’s body, wrapped in a scratchy hospital blanket. Anna was in his other arm gently batting her new sister with perfect podgy fingers. He promised them everything that day, a safe and happy world, tinted pink at every turn. But a terrible accident had taken one of those girls and left the other suffocating in the mess left behind. It wasn’t the promise he’d whispered.
‘I was rather looking forward to pudding,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry,’ Lizzie replied. ‘There’s tinned peaches. We’ll have those. And I’ll make some Bird’s. We haven’t had that for ages.’
He walked over to Lizzie and kissed her head.
He was surprised to find Kate in their bedroom. He expected her to be in her studio painting Anna with that frantic desperation that terrified him, convinced as he was that the behaviour was the outward manifestation of some morbid insanity. He had raised his concern once. It was five weeks after the funeral, and Kate had shocked him with her calm and reasoned response. She didn’t shout or cry, she just explained in even tones that it helped, that painting had always been a form of self-help for her, ever since she was a child. She described the panic attacks that took her. Told him how painting eased them, and that it was her alternative to medication and, far from being detrimental, it was a positive vent for her grief until she eventually came to terms with Anna’s death. But it had been over a year and Jon could see no sign of his wife coming to terms with anything. She was shutting herself away more and more. The painting wasn’t working. If anything it was holding her back. She needed something else. Maybe Rachel’s insinuations were right; maybe Kate needed a doctor, but he knew if he brought it up again, she wouldn’t be reasoned, she’d be angry, defensive, like a wounded tiger. She’d shout, question his love and support, his patience. Then she’d say that painting was the only thing that helped her, and he would feel bleak with inadequacy.
He sat beside her o
n the edge of the bed and stared out of the window as she did.
‘Did you forget the ice-cream?’
She didn’t move.
‘It doesn’t matter. Lizzie’s making custard. Would you like some?’
‘I lied. I didn’t go out for ice-cream. I was with Rebecca.’
Kate’s voice was expressionless. Her eyes were fixed. She looked numb, just like she had after she’d lost it in the playground. Panic surged, and he gripped the bedstead.
‘Please tell me you didn’t do anything. You’re not allowed anywhere near her. Kate, what did you do?’
‘I didn’t do anything.’
Jon breathed again.
‘She’s not pressing charges.’
‘What?’
‘Rebecca isn’t going to press charges.’
‘Oh, my God, Kate! That’s fantastic news!’ He sat next to her on the bed. ‘So that’s it? Nothing’s going to happen to you? No charges, no courts, no nothing?’
Kate shook her head.
‘Thank God! Thank God, thank God,’ he said. He put his hands on his hips and blew against his fringe. Relief washed through him, flushing out the anxiety that had dogged him since the memorial. ‘I’ve been so worried, Kate. I don’t think I even knew how much until just now. Christ, the thought of you going to court, maybe even—’
He stopped short of prison and looked at his wife. He noticed, then, how pale her face was, pale with tight lips, body rigid like stone.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘Aren’t you relieved?’
Kate didn’t look at him. She stretched out her hand and opened her fingers to reveal a phone. It wasn’t hers. Jon assumed she meant him to take it, so he did.
‘I need you to see if there are any films on it.’
‘What?’
‘She said there’s proof.’ Kate nodded at the mobile in his hand as if it smelt of shit. ‘On that phone. I need you to look. She told me things about Anna. Lies.’ Kate’s voice began to drift away. ‘I know she’s lying . . . I need you to check.’
‘What lies?’ Jon didn’t understand. ‘What did Rebecca say? You shouldn’t have talked to her . . . you know—’
Sworn Secret Page 12
