All in Her Head: The gripping debut thriller that readers are going crazy for in 2020

by Nikki Smith

  THEN

  Jack – Five months after Tilly’s birth

  The flat is a mess. Not just a few pieces of paper lying around on the kitchen counter type of mess, but the kind where I don’t know where to start to clear first. A bundle of Tilly’s clothes lie in the washing basket, with another load waiting to come out of the machine. I forgot to remove them last night. Dried up leftovers from the ready meal I ate are stuck to the plastic container and the bin needs emptying. I’ve run out of washing-up liquid and have to take the top off to dilute the tiny amount left at the bottom of the bottle. It squirts out too fast into the sink, leaving a few small bubbles and iridescent patterns that whirl amongst the grease. My stomach curdles as I put my hands in the water and pull out the mug Ali always drank from. I thought I’d put that away at the back of the cupboard.

  Edward will be here at any minute and I’m not even dressed. Tilly’s in her travel cot I’ve put up as a playpen in the sitting room as I don’t like leaving her on the floor when the carpet needs hoovering. I pick her up and take her with me into our bedroom and put her on the bed, placing some pillows either side of her to ensure she doesn’t roll off. I scrabble around trying to find some clean trousers amongst the clothes that are slung over the bottom of my bed. The front door bell buzzes as I hunt for my belt. He’s early. I press the button on the intercom to let him in and put the front door on the latch as I put Tilly back in her playpen and fold up the blanket that’s slipped off the sofa, tucking it back on the seat. He knocks on the door, even though it’s already open, before he comes inside and stands awkwardly in the hall.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ I ask.

  He nods and follows me into the kitchen, standing close to the wall, trying to keep himself out of the way whilst I take the milk carton out of the fridge. It’s almost empty when I shake it, only a few drops left at the bottom. I make myself a strong black coffee, hoping it’ll ease the throbbing in my head. It’s a familiar routine when he visits every other weekend. I’d refused to see him at all after it happened until Em had persuaded me; she’d known how desperate he was to see Tilly. Our relationship now is fragile, an uneasy truce that’s stitched together with gossamer threads that fray at the mention of Ali’s name. I don’t like talking about her. He tries, but I don’t want to hear what he has to say. Coming here is a compromise for him; he gets to see Tilly, providing he doesn’t mention his daughter.

  He picks up the empty milk carton and goes to put it in the bin, hesitating as he notices the bottles in the recycling. I’d started having a glass every night since coming back from the hospital. The images of Tilly in intensive care had been etched permanently into my mind and alcohol had been the only thing that helped to numb the horror. Transparent tubes from various machines had been fed through the holes in the side of the perspex container where she’d lain, sedated. After a couple of weeks, I’d become accustomed to the bleeping noises the equipment made and hadn’t jumped to press the alarm every time one of them let out a shrill tone. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to touch her; she’d looked so fragile. I’d sat for days watching her tiny chest move up and down, wishing I’d been able to breathe for her. I hadn’t wanted to go to sleep in case something happened. Having failed to save her the first time, I’d refused to leave her on her own again.

  The consultant had said she’d been unbelievably lucky. He’d only heard of three other people who’d survived the fall from that bridge. The paramedic who’d brought them in had told me they wouldn’t have stood a chance if there hadn’t been a high tide and they hadn’t been pulled out of the water so quickly by the crew of the boat they’d landed next to. Ali had taken the brunt of the force of impact. He’d thought Tilly’s blanket had acted as a parachute, the windy conditions slowing their speed as they’d entered the water. Tilly had been put on a ventilator to support her breathing and a heat mat to raise her temperature back to normal. They hadn’t been able to give a prognosis as to the long-term effects, but I’d been told to expect the possibility of brain damage. She’d stayed in hospital for five weeks, but when she’d finally been allowed home I’d carried on drinking.

  One large glass a night had crept up to two or three. I rely on them to get any sleep at all, but they don’t block out the nightmares that continue to haunt me. Tilly sealed inside a plastic coffin. Hospital tubes writhing like snakes around her, strangling her whilst I watch, helpless to do anything, unable to break into the thick sides of the box. Finding myself on the bridge, either stuck in a car watching them, or worse, climbing over the barrier to reach them, then falling myself. I always wake with a jolt the moment before I hit the water, my heart pounding, covered in a slick layer of sweaty fear. I roll over and look at Tilly lying in her cot beside me, consumed with guilt that I hadn’t seen it coming.

  I hand Edward a mug and he sips slowly, the liquid still too hot to drink.

  ‘I’m sorry the flat’s in a bit of a state,’ I say. ‘I’ve been so busy at work, I haven’t had a chance to clear up properly. I didn’t collect Tilly from the childminders until six-thirty last night and by the time I got back …’ I let my explanation trail off. ‘Do you want to sit down?’

  He smiles. He’s so scared of offending me that our conversation is stilted. I’m the one who always has to take the initiative. He puts his drink down on the coffee table and hovers over the travel cot, turning around to check I don’t object to him picking her up. I don’t speak, but he waits for my brief nod before he goes ahead. I wish our interaction was easier, but Ali’s taken that away from us and I’m not sure how to get it back. Em says I need to give it time.

  When we’d returned from travelling, Ali and I had stayed with him as we hadn’t been able to afford to rent our own place. I hadn’t known him that well before we’d moved in, but after a few weeks of living together we’d bonded over awkward encounters outside the bathroom in the mornings. We’d stayed up talking after Ali had gone to bed, a couple of empty bottles of beer on the table beside us. I’d regarded him as the father I’d never had but hadn’t appreciated we only had that relationship because of Ali. Now she was gone, I felt I’d lost him, too.

  We treat each other politely, almost as if we’re strangers, our whole history together seemingly eradicated by what happened a few months ago. There’s an ache in my chest when I watch him with Tilly. His mannerisms remind of me of things Ali used to do. Of what Tilly could have had if Ali had still been here. There are so many things I want to say to him, but I don’t know where to start.

  ‘We’re going to meet Em and Harry in a bit,’ I tell him. ‘They’ve got tickets for a visit to Father Christmas. It’s only at the local garden centre, it’s not far.’ The thought of spending all day in the flat, analysing every sentence before it leaves my mouth is unbearable. The conversation is already uncomfortable and he’s only just arrived.

  ‘That’ll be nice,’ he says, cuddling Tilly. She puts her arms round his neck and giggles when he pulls a face at her. I find it easier when Em’s with us. She manages to find the right words. Her presence stops Ali sitting on the sofa next to me, watching me struggle to pretend she doesn’t exist.

  ‘Are you OK looking after Tilly in here for a minute?’ I ask.

  He nods.

  When I come back, he’s propped her up against a cushion as she stuffs the pages of a fabric book into her mouth.

  ‘She’s enjoying that,’ he says.

  I smile, swallowing what I really want to say. Yes, she is. But how can you look at her without being constantly reminded about what Ali tried to do? If she’d succeeded, Tilly wouldn’t even be here. I tell myself I’m being unfair. It’s not his fault. He’s done nothing wrong, but I want to find someone to blame. Someone to share the burden of guilt. Someone who’s buffeted by the same waves of overwhelming sadness when I look at my daughter that leave me gasping for breath.

  ‘I’ve tidied up a bit,’ he says, pointing at a pile of papers on the table. ‘Hope you don’t mind.’

  I nod, picki
ng them up and a few pieces fall on the floor. We both lean down to retrieve them and a couple of newspaper cuttings slide out of an open envelope. Edward unfolds them, staring at the black and white print. I thought I’d put them away. I must have got them out of the drawer again last night. He’s scanning the pages, his face creased.

  ‘Don’t read them, Edward.’ I hold out my hand to take them.

  ‘It’s … it’s about Ali,’ he says, looking at one.

  ‘Yes, they’re just press reports.’

  He doesn’t pass them to me and continues scanning one of the carefully cut out articles. I wince. He looks up, frowning, and his voice quavers as he speaks.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  I lean over and take it out of his hand.

  ‘It’s just what they write, Edward. It’s better to ignore it.’

  I put it back on the pile of correspondence, where he continues to stare at it.

  ‘Were you sent it?’ he asks.

  I could lie. I could tell him I’d cut it out. But I’ve lied to him enough already.

  ‘Someone put it through my door. Anonymously. I should have just put it in the bin.’ I don’t tell him I’ve had many more like it. Stuck under the windscreen wipers on my car. Sent to my work. That I’d heard people whispering as I’d walked past in shops. Messages that had been left on my answerphone. My first childminder had told me she couldn’t take Tilly anymore after she found out who I was.

  Edward looks at me, not speaking, and slides his hand a few inches closer across the arm of the sofa towards mine. I can tell he doesn’t know what to do. We’ve had no physical contact since Ali left. He’d always used to give me a hug when he arrived at the flat, but now he keeps his distance, any affection reserved for Tilly. Perhaps he thinks I’m too brittle, that I’ll break if he touches me. Sometimes I think I will.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jack,’ he says.

  ‘It’s fine.’ I rub my forehead to try to ease my splitting headache.

  Edward starts to speak. ‘Your family are …’ I look at him and he pauses, staring at his hands. ‘I have regrets too, Jack. I wish—’

  My mobile bleeps and I pounce on the interruption. I don’t want to have this conversation. It’s easier to keep him at a distance. I pick up my phone and read the message.

  ‘Em’s going to meet us in twenty minutes. I’ll get Tilly’s car seat if you can get her coat on? She needs to be wrapped up as it’s chilly out there.’

  I stand up and walk away from the sofa before he can say anything else.

  The build-up to Christmas used to be my favourite time of year when I was younger. The lights, the chocolate advent calendar, the excitement. My dad had always been away at his annual work conference, so my mum and I had been able to decorate the tree together without him. We’d spent hours hanging up the delicate ornaments. I’d always saved my favourite red and silver glass bauble until last, unwrapping it from the safety of its tissue paper to put on one of the tallest branches. My mum had put the angel on the top, a tiny plastic one with a glitter halo. Then we’d opened the French doors at the back of the sitting room and turned all our house lights off so the tree had been the only thing lit up against the black sky. We’d stood in the cold darkness with mugs of hot Ribena, each of us making a wish. It had taken years for mine to come true.

  We arrive at the grotto, which has been set up in the local garden centre a few minutes after eleven. Harry’s holding Jessica whilst trying to stop Josh swinging himself round his legs. A tinny version of ‘Jingle Bells’ rings out every time the automatic entrance doors slide open. Em hugs Edward, who’s pushing Tilly in her buggy. I envy them. I’ve never asked whether they talk about Ali. It’s easier not to know.

  ‘You’re late.’ Harry’s breath puffs in clouds around him as he laughs. He enfolds Edward, clapping him on the back. ‘Jack being a Sunday driver again, was he?’

  We go in through the doors, handing the tickets over at the kiosk, where the person in the booth asks if we want to pay extra for a personalised photo and a cuddly toy. Harry shakes his head, complaining it’s cost him a small fortune already.

  I walk over to a display of giant animated teddy bears that are singing and moving in time with the music. I ignore them, my attention focussed on the families here. So many mothers holding hands with their children who are giggling with excitement as they watch the display. I should have expected it, but there’s a physical pain in my chest, as if someone is wringing out my heart. Ali’s absence couldn’t be more visible. I swallow the lump in my throat. Harry must notice as he asks if I’m all right. I’m not sure why everyone says it, and what they think my response will be. I tell him I’m fine. One of my many standard answers.

  There’s a small booth selling coffee and I order a cup, waiting with Em in the queue. They don’t sell proper food. I haven’t had breakfast this morning and am beginning to feel a bit queasy. I pick up a couple of chocolate muffins for Edward and myself whilst I rub my temples.

  ‘Headache?’ Em asks.

  I shrug. ‘Kind of.’

  Em looks down at her hands. ‘You shouldn’t drink when you’re looking after her.’

  ‘I only had a couple of glasses after she’d gone to bed,’ I say. ‘She sleeps straight through now.’

  Em reaches out and puts her hand on my arm. ‘What if she woke up, Jack? What if something happened to her and you needed to drive?’

  I don’t reply, savouring the aroma as the rush of caffeine cuts through the pain in my head.

  ‘I’d get a cab if I thought I was over the limit. And something did happen to her,’ I say. ‘I’m already responsible for that.’

  ‘Of course you’re not. We’ve been through this.’ We had. But despite her reassurances, and those of the counsellor, I know it’s true. They think I’m punishing myself for not seeing what was going to happen. They don’t know the things I’d done had pushed Ali to it.

  I wrap my hands round the cardboard mug to squeeze out the last of the heat.

  ‘Why don’t you go and see her?’ Em asks.

  I shiver. I can’t tell Em it’s because I’m scared. I can’t bring myself to face her. I don’t want to look into her eyes as she asks why I hit her. They’ll take Tilly away from me and she’s the only thing I have left.

  ‘Edward says she doesn’t remember what happened,’ I reply. ‘He thinks I should wait until she’s better.’

  Em opens her mouth to say something, sees the look on my face and then changes her mind. The giant teddy bears stop singing and a door opens behind them. We form a queue and are ushered a few at a time into the next room by a large elf.

  ‘Not exactly aiming for realism, are they?’ Harry mutters, looking at the elf. ‘He’s taller than I am.’

  I walk next to Edward, letting him push the buggy through the open doors. We’re directed in front of a bearded man, dressed in red, who keeps adjusting his hat to stop it falling over his face.

  ‘Huddle together please!’ Someone points a camera in our direction. We attempt to get ourselves, the children, Santa and the buggy into some kind of order. ‘Smile!’

  I grin, despite not feeling remotely like smiling, and wonder why I thought this would be a good idea. Another photo where I’ll have to explain to Tilly why her mother isn’t with us. You should be here, I think. You should be the one pushing Tilly in her buggy.

  ‘Thank you, everyone.’ The elf claps his hands. ‘Now, if we can move on to let some other people in? Happy Christmas, folks.’ He opens another door and ushers us out into the gift shop.

  I take the pushchair from Edward to manoeuvre it through the narrow gap. The place is swarming with visitors.

  Harry grabs Josh’s hand and looks at him. ‘Stay next to me, OK? Don’t wander off.’

  I glance over to where Edward is talking to Em. ‘I’ll meet you by the exit,’ I say to Harry. I need to get out. Crowds make me uncomfortable. I push the buggy through the hordes of people, aiming to reach the doors without knocking any
thing over.

  It catches my eye as I walk past the rows of Christmas cards. A black and white photo of the suspension bridge, snowflakes falling softly around it. I stop and lift it out of the rack. The room quietens. I stare at the massive chains that stretch between the two towers fixed to the road that runs below by snow-covered iron poles that gleam like colossal icicles. I glance at Tilly reclining in her buggy. Will she remember? Was she asleep? Did Ali let go of her before they hit the water? I have so many unanswered questions.

  I drop the card into the hood of the buggy, overcome by a desire to look at it, to study where she’d done it. I’ve deliberately avoided going anywhere near the bridge since it happened.

  I walk through the tills without paying. I don’t want to admit to anyone, including myself, that I’m going to take the card home. I wait for someone to stop me, to ask what I’m doing with it so I’ll be forced to put it back, but no one does.

  I lower my shoulders in an attempt to ease my aching neck muscles. The counsellor had taught me some relaxation exercises, but I hadn’t been doing them as much as he’d said I should. Sometimes I make a half-hearted effort last thing at night as I drift off to sleep, her face the last thing I see before me in the dark.

  Em and Harry are waiting by the exit.

  ‘Shall we go?’ Em asks. ‘We’ve bribed Josh with the promise of a biscuit in the car. Want to come back to ours for a cup of tea?’