by Lucy Diamond
‘Hereford,’ she repeated, her voice thick and slow-sounding. ‘That’s where I live.’
‘Fantastic,’ the nurse said. ‘I’ll pass that on to the police. They’ve been in touch again, wanting to know when you can give a statement so they can help us track down your details if need be. Unless you can remember anything else?’
Rachel thought for a moment, testing herself. Despite her grogginess, her mind seemed to have sharpened up since the operation. ‘I can remember,’ she said haltingly, feeling like a ventriloquist now that she could no longer move her mouth, and went on to recite what she now felt certain was her correct phone number. At last! In fact, she could remember all sorts of things, she realized: birthdays and the children’s shoe sizes and the fact that she was supposed to have reminded Mabel about her geography exam. Was that today? She leaned back on her pillow, aching to be with them again.
‘When can I go?’ she mumbled. It was really hard trying to speak with your jaw effectively clamped in place. She was reminded of Mabel as a stubborn toddler, when Rachel had tried to coax her into eating more. ‘Here’s a letter for Grandad to go in the postbox!’ she had cooed, pushing a forkful of mashed potato towards her daughter’s lips.
‘Postbox closed,’ Mabel had replied doggedly without opening her mouth, eyes glittering with mutiny. ‘Postbox CLOSED.’
‘When can you go home, love?’ the nurse repeated back at her, and pursed her lips. ‘I think they’ll want to keep an eye on you for a few days longer yet, I’m afraid. Just because you’ve had quite a nasty injury and you’re concussed. Obviously when the time comes you’ll need another adult to collect you and keep an eye on you for at least twenty-four hours. Is there someone at home who could do that?’
Rachel’s face burned. Someone at home to look after her? Not any more, she thought. Lawrence had gone, of course, and some of her friends had reacted very oddly to the break-up, silently dropping her from their social circle as if being a single mother was the equivalent of being a leper. One mum at the school had even laughed that they would be keeping their husbands on a short leash while Rachel was single – ‘Not that we don’t trust you, it’s them we’re suspicious of,’ she’d said when Rachel instinctively took a step back, stung.
‘Um . . . Not really,’ she confessed to the nurse.
‘Okay, not to worry, leave it with me,’ the nurse said, patting Rachel’s arm. ‘Let me try this number for you now, all right? I’ll be back in a little while to let you know how I get on, but until then, you just close your eyes and rest. Try and sleep.’
Rachel reached up gingerly to touch the cold metal grid in her mouth as the nurse bustled away. The other mums at school needn’t worry now about their philandering husbands lining up with their tongues hanging out at least, she thought miserably. Not when she must look part cyber-woman, stitched up and scarred. Lawrence, too, would probably smirk when he next saw her. Oh dear, she imagined him drawling. Not so pretty are we now, eh, Princess? Not so pleased with ourselves any more, am I right?
Rachel and Lawrence had met at a black-tie event in London when she was twenty-three. It was a cliché, yes, but their eyes really had met across a crowded room and she’d felt dizzy and all of a flutter for several long breath-held moments, until he strode confidently over and asked her to dance. Whirling around the dance floor together, his hand firm on her back, she’d had a strange sensation, as if she could see right into the future, glimpsing snatches of a possible life with him. The wedding. The honeymoon. The house . . . It was as if it was all there for the taking, if she wanted – and in that moment she was tempted. Wouldn’t anyone have been? He was charming and self-assured, handsome with his broad shoulders and swept-back dark hair. He had a strong face, was a good dancer, and the way he looked at her so intently made her insides feel as if they were sweetly dissolving. The only hint of things to come was later on, when he bought her a cocktail and asked her if she had a boyfriend. ‘Good,’ he’d replied when she’d answered no, ‘because I’d have had to kill him.’
Obviously, he was joking, but as time went by, she realized there was a deep seam of jealousy that ran through Lawrence. His jaw clenched if he thought another man was looking at her. His fist tightened if she mentioned previous boyfriends. Once he went into a cold, furious sulk for three solid days when he heard her laughing with her friends about how they all had pathetic crushes on George Clooney. Even on their wedding day – the day when she’d stood there in front of all their friends and family and made her vows of love and commitment to him – he was proprietorial, keeping one hand on her at all times, as if daring any other bloke to try anything. It was only because he loved her, she told herself each time, but all the same, she found herself learning to modify her own behaviour in the hope of pre-empting another stony-eyed meltdown.
‘I think it’s quite sexy when a husband goes all jealous and territorial,’ another mum from school, Karen, had sighed one evening. There was a group of them out together for Karen’s birthday drinks and Rachel had got tipsy and haltingly confessed to Lawrence’s behaviour. ‘Pete probably wouldn’t even notice if I flashed my tits at the postman.’
‘Nor Andrew,’ agreed Diane, who was married to a stockbroker and had once admitted to loving her horses and dogs more than him. ‘I’d have to be practically straddling another man on the living-room floor to drag Andrew’s attention away from the Ashes.’
They’d all laughed. ‘Neal, too,’ Jo said, her glittery eyeshadow winking under the bright lights as she leaned forward. ‘I mean – it’s great to be trusting but sometimes . . .’ She had lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘I kind of wish he’d be a bit more possessive, to be honest. Growl under his breath and go full caveman when I mention another bloke’s name. At least it would show he cared.’
No, Rachel had thought, sliding into drunken gloom, it wouldn’t. It would show he was insecure and unpredictable. And you’d soon get ground down by the walking on eggshells too. God knows she had.
Still, not any more, at least. Lawrence had gone now, moved on, somehow escaping a hefty fine and possibly prison after poor Craig Elliot decided not to press charges, and was now being waited on hand and foot by his old dragon of a mother in her draughty Builth Wells house, which smelled of camphor and lavender bags – and now, presumably, of Harvey their golden retriever, too. (She should never have agreed to let him take the dog. You said WHAT? Scarlet had shrieked, horror-struck at the announcement.)
‘Good news!’ The nurse was back already, a cheerful smile on her face. ‘You were right second time. I called home and spoke to your sister – Rebecca, is it?’
Rachel gulped – or at least she would have done if her jaws hadn’t been wired so tightly together. Had she heard that right? ‘Becca?’ she croaked in disbelief.
‘Yes, she was really pleased to hear that you were safe, and going to be okay. She said to tell you that the children are all fine, and that she’ll come and pick you up whenever you’re ready to go home; I told her it would probably be after the weekend.’ The nurse’s nose wrinkled as she smiled again. ‘So that’s nice, isn’t it? All’s well that ends well, as they say.’
Rachel just about remembered her manners in time to say a strangled ‘Thank you’, but her mind was whirling. Sara must have got hold of Becca somehow, she guessed, when she hadn’t made it back in time for the children yesterday. Oh God. Of all the people. No, she wasn’t sure this was ‘good news’ at all. Her stepsister was trouble, plain and simple; not to be trusted. And after what she’d done with Lawrence, she was never to be forgiven either.
Chapter Thirteen
Becca burst into noisy tears of relief as soon as the Mancunian nurse told her that Rachel was with them, that she’d just undergone an operation but was doing well, given the circumstances, and could hopefully come home in a few days. ‘Thank you,’ Becca sobbed, emotion pouring from her. ‘Oh my God, I’ve been so worried, thank you so much, that’s wonderful. And of course I’ll let the children know, absol
utely. Yes, I can pick her up next week, no problem.’
Even after she put the phone down, the tears kept coming, the anxiety she’d felt catching up with her in a huge wave, along with the lack of sleep the night before. Thank goodness, she thought, wiping her eyes and hiccupping as she eventually calmed down. Thank goodness, she would be able to look the children in the eyes that very afternoon and say, ‘It’s all going to be okay. Mum’s safe and coming home soon.’
She blew her nose and heaved a deep, shuddering breath. Rachel was somewhat battered about, according to the nurse, and would need a bit of TLC. Her bag had been snatched, which was why they hadn’t been able to identify her immediately, and she was concussed too. Poor Rachel, it all sounded horrible. But she was alive, that was the main thing, Becca reminded herself. Alive and recovering. Soon she’d be back here, in her home, and then everything could return to normal.
Pulling herself together, she fired off a few texts, wanting to spread the good news to everyone else. First on her list was Mabel.
Just heard – your mum is ok. Up in Manchester after bad fall, broke wrist and jaw but WILL BE FINE and home in few days. xxx PS Come home straight after school btw. No snogging with boyf on my watch. Otherwise will grass you up. Got it??!
Next she called the primary school and spoke to a nice lady in the office – definitely not the arsey secretary from earlier, thank God – who promised her yes of course, she could let Scarlet and Luke know that Mum was all right, she’d do that right away. Was there anything that the school – the woman paused tactfully – should know about?
‘No,’ Becca assured her firmly. There would be enough gossiping about Rachel, thanks to the likes of that awful Sara over the road, no doubt. She would not fan the flames any higher. ‘Everything’s fine.’
Her phone buzzed with a new text as she ended the call to the school. It was from Mabel.
Manchester??? Er . . . WTF?!
Hmmm, thought Becca, frowning. Her niece had a point. Somehow, in her huge surge of relief, that particular detail had escaped her attention. Why had Rachel gone to Manchester in the first place? There was the Didsbury Library site that she’d visited online, but Becca had no clue what that could be about. And it was odd that she hadn’t mentioned details of the trip to Sara, or the rest of the family, either.
Turning the matter over in her brain, she wondered if there was a mystery attached to it or not. Their dad had been from that neck of the woods, of course; maybe it was some kind of grief-inspired pilgrimage. Well, she’d find out next week anyway, she supposed.
Then she sent one more text.
Meredith! Huge dramas in the shire but think all okay now. Prob will be here a few days though, just fyi x
A reply came back two minutes later.
Sounds alarming! Hope everyone all right. PS *selfishly* BUT WHAT ABOUT MY DIADEM?? Kidding. I’ll sort something out. x
Shit. The diadem – or crown, if you were a normal person – was for a medieval banquet Meredith was attending on Saturday night, a big do out in Rutland, and she’d been planning her outfit for weeks. Having worked her way up through various lowly roles within the historical re-enactment society – serving wench, peasant, etc. – Meredith had been given the honour of dressing as one of the princesses on this occasion. Oh yes. This was a big deal, all right, and Becca had been quite chuffed when her flatmate had asked for her help with her jewellery. It would be the first time she had actually unearthed the soldering iron and silversmithing kit she had stashed in the cupboard since the heady days of her and Debbie’s business empire. And Meredith had said she’d pay Becca’s share of the gas bill in exchange. Now that she’d lost her job, she could kind of do with the financial help.
Soz – forgot. Let me see what I can do. Will come back if I can, she typed, wondering if now was the right time to tell Lawrence what was going on. She probably should have filled him in from the start, let’s face it. Maybe he could look after the children for the weekend? She would check in with Mabel first, she decided, and gave a yawn. God, she was worn out after so much emotional tumult. Maybe she would just have a little snooze, she decided, before she had to pick up the children. Just for five minutes.
With that excellent idea, she stretched out on the sofa and shut her eyes.
‘Is it true? Is it true?’ cried Luke, barrelling straight into Becca, waiting in the busy playground amidst a sea of parents and crowds of children clutching paintings and lunchboxes and strange wonky constructions of egg-boxes and straws. He had practically exploded from the school building in his haste to get to her. ‘Is Mum back? Is she okay?’
Becca hugged him. She was sweaty and unkempt from an enforced jog the entire way to school, having fallen into a deep sleep on Rachel’s sofa, woken only by the sound of the local newspaper dropping through the letterbox. ‘Mum’s going to be absolutely fine and she’ll be back next week,’ she said, feeling her nephew go limp in her arms with relief, before he recovered himself and jigged about joyously. Scarlet too came out of the building smiling, and hugged Becca very tightly. ‘We had to go and see Mrs Jenkins – she’s the head-teacher – and she told us about Mum,’ she said. ‘And she let us have one of her biscuits and it was really bloody nice.’
The mention of biscuits prompted a new question from Luke. ‘Did you bring a snack? Mum always brings a snack.’
‘Oh,’ said Becca, just as she caught sight of Sara Fortescue across the playground. Of course Sara was producing a Tupperware container with what looked like carrot sticks and grapes for her children, while all that was in Becca’s bag was her phone and Rachel’s spare door keys, and a ton of junk she had been meaning to clear out for the last six months. Hold on a second, though, she might have . . .
She rummaged hopefully and brought out her emergency Snickers bar, slightly squashed and battered in appearance but no doubt still perfectly delicious. ‘Ta-dah!’ she said triumphantly, holding it aloft.
‘Chocolate!’ Luke cheered, looking as if he couldn’t believe his luck.
‘Luke shouldn’t have that,’ Scarlet said primly as Becca tore open the wrapper and broke the bar in half.
‘Oh, a bit of chocolate won’t do any harm,’ Becca replied, handing them a gooey portion each and smiling as Luke bit into his with gusto. Honestly, Rachel had really brainwashed Scarlet with this healthy food obsession; it was ridiculous. The quickest way to give someone an eating disorder. ‘And anyway—’
‘No, because he has a nut allergy,’ Scarlet said, trying to snatch it from him. ‘Luke! Spit it out. Now!’
Oh Christ. Oh no. Shit! ‘Luke, I’m sorry,’ Becca gulped, as he spat the wet chocolate onto the ground. A crowd was gathering. Let’s all gawp at the failure aunty, for a lesson on how not to look after small children. ‘What do I do? What do I do?’ she panicked.
Luke started to cry. ‘My mouth feels funny,’ he said.
‘We need the EpiPen. Mrs Keyes has one. This way,’ Scarlet said urgently, dragging her brother along. ‘Don’t worry, Luke.’
‘Take him to the office,’ a nearby mum called.
‘Should we ring for an ambulance?’ asked another.
Becca rushed after Scarlet and Luke, feeling absolutely awful – frightened for her nephew’s wellbeing and racked with guilt at her own casual irresponsibility. Scarlet had even said the words, Luke shouldn’t have that, and she’d completely disregarded her. Useless, Becca. Useless! ‘We need an EpiPen,’ she said as they burst into the reception area. Oh great. And wouldn’t you just know it, Mrs Keyes turned out to be the secretary she’d encountered earlier, the one who looked as if she had a poker up her jacksie. There was karma for you. ‘Have you got an EpiPen for Luke? Please?’
Mercifully, Mrs Keyes knew exactly what to do. Within a minute she’d opened a medicine cabinet, whipped out an EpiPen and jabbed it into Luke’s leg with devastating efficiency. Head bowed, an arm around Luke, who was still sobbing, Becca vowed there and then that she would never slag off school secretaries again. This
one had turned out to be an utter hero.
‘I am so sorry,’ she said, struggling not to start sobbing herself. ‘I’m such an idiot, Luke, that was all my fault. And thank you, Mrs – Mrs Keyes, was it? – for being so brilliant and coming to our rescue.’ Her voice shook. ‘I’m officially the worst aunty ever.’
Perhaps Mrs Keyes had got wind of the news that Rachel was in hospital, or perhaps saving a small boy’s life was enough to defrost her icy demeanour. Perhaps she’d even been a crap aunty herself once upon a time. Whatever the reason, she chose to respond with benevolence rather than criticism, thank goodness. ‘That’s quite all right. I’m glad I was here to help. Luke, would you like one of my lollipops? You were ever so brave.’
‘Should we . . . I mean, will he be all right?’ Becca asked tentatively as Luke nodded, tears still clinging to his dark lashes. ‘Do I need to take him to A&E or anything to get checked over, or . . .?’ She pressed her lips together, shock still thudding through her. Things could have gone so dreadfully wrong.
‘It’s probably best to,’ Mrs Keyes said, picking up her handbag and pulling out some car keys. ‘I’ll drive you.’
It was like a bad dream as they drove the short distance to the hospital and got out at the A&E entrance, thanking Mrs Keyes for her help, before hurrying inside. Shock and guilt tortured Becca in equal measures. How could she have been so thick? Wake up, idiot! Pay attention! Children’s lives in your hands, here! She wasn’t up to the job, simple as that. How did anyone manage to be up to the job of looking after kids all day, every day? It was terrifying!
Will be a bit late home with S and L, she texted Mabel faux-breezily, feeling like a hypocrite. Will be a bit late home because I nearly killed your brother was more like it, but perhaps not the best thing to say in a text. Hope you had a good day. See you soon xxx
The only crumb of comfort was that Luke and Scarlet seemed to have been here, done this, a number of times before. Once inside the children’s waiting area they both made a beeline for a big doll’s house in the corner, as if it was a familiar friend by now, and one of the nurses even greeted them by name. So there had obviously been other occasions of accidental nut ingestion before this. Other fuck-ups, hopefully by Rachel, if that wasn’t too horrible a thing to think. Even so, she was dreading having to own up to her sister what had happened. You did what? You gave him what?! Hmm, maybe she’d save that confession for when Rachel was feeling much better. Like in six months’ time, or something; preferably when Becca was a safe distance away.
