A Broken Family (39 page)

Dark thoughts filled Jeremy’s mind, memories of the time when Tom had been so ill that he’d nearly died. Could it happen again? Would this bout of bronchitis turn to pneumonia, and if it did, maybe Tom wouldn’t survive this time. Amy would be free then, and surely she would turn to him? With a groan, Jeremy ran both hands over his face. What sort of man was he? He was wishing his brother dead, yet the thought of going on like this, of having to sit on the periphery of his son’s life and eventually hear Robert calling his brother daddy, was more than he could take.

With the tea made, Jeremy poured two cups, giving one to Amy and seeing her tight, tense expression as she continued to feed Robert. She murmured her thanks, but didn’t meet his eyes before he went upstairs. Tom was dozing, his face wan, and for a moment Jeremy just stood, looking down on him, wishing that Tom’s eyes would never open again.

Black thoughts filled Jeremy’s mind again; jealousy, resentment and hate. He put the cup of tea on the bedside cabinet and then his hands, as though acting under their own volition, reached out to pull one of the pillows from under Tom’s head. As his brother’s eyes opened, filled with confusion, Jeremy pushed the pillow over his face, pressing down and smothering Tom’s cries while hissing, ‘Robert’s mine! My son! Not yours!’

What he hadn’t expected was that Tom would have the strength to fight, but he did, clawing at the pillow as his legs flailed. It didn’t stop Jeremy. He felt distant, removed from the act as he continued to push down, impervious to the muted bellows he could hear, and though Tom’s arm was wildly flapping, knocking the cup and saucer onto the floor, he was barely aware of it.

‘What are you doing! No! No! Stop it! Stop it!’

Jeremy’s head snapped round and in seconds Amy was on him, pulling, scratching, yelling, tearing at his hands. It was only then that he came to his senses, and as he flung himself away Amy dragged the pillow from Tom’s face.

Amy cried out, while Jeremy, unable to look at what he had done, fled. He almost fell down the stairs, but moments later yanked the street door open, nearly colliding with Amy’s mother before he dived into his car.

Jeremy’s head was pounding, felt like it was going to explode as he drove off, accelerating dangerously. He had killed his own brother! He’d hang for murder!

Foot still down, Jeremy drove straight out onto the main road and into the path of an oncoming lorry. The crash of impact, the sickening crunch of metal on metal, searing, agonising pain and his own screams, were the last sounds that Jeremy heard.

For a few moments, Tommy had felt as though his life was slipping away, but then had come the blessed relief of air. He had drawn in a lungful, then another, his chest heaving while Amy clung to him, crying with relief. His head was all over the place, yet the words Jeremy had said while pushing the pillow down on his face kept going around in his mind like a loop. He’d said that Bobby was his; that he was his father – but it couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t.

There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and then Phyllis appeared, holding Bobby in her arms, her expression fearful until she saw him. ‘Oh, Tommy, thank goodness. When I saw Jeremy driving off like a maniac, for a moment I thought … well … that something h
ad hap
pened to you.’ She paused then, taking in t
he scene before saying, ‘I f
ound Bobby in his pram,
uncovered
, mewling, and you’re crying too, Amy. What’s going on?’

‘Oh, Mum, I had to put him down quickly,’ Amy sobbed. ‘I heard something going on, dashed up here and … and saw Jeremy trying to smother Tommy with a pillow.’

‘What! But why?’

‘I … I don’t know,’ Amy replied.

Still reeling with shock, Tommy croaked, ‘Can … can I have a drink of water?’

Amy poured it, her hands shaking as she held it out to him, and as he drank some she said, ‘I think I should ring the doctor.’

‘No … no, there’s no need. I’m all right now.’

‘I still don’t get it,’ Phyllis said. ‘Why did Jeremy try to smother you, Tommy? Was it some sort of game, the pair of you larking around or something?’

‘Some … something like that,’ Tommy replied, unable to believe that Jeremy had meant him any real harm, yet the things his brother had said still tumbled round in his mind. Bobby began to wail, and with his head thumping, Tommy wanted time to think, to make sense of it all. He wanted to be alone.

‘I think Bobby needs changing,’ Phyllis said. ‘I’ll take him downstairs and sort him out.’

It was a relief when she left, and wanting rid of Amy too, Tommy sought an excuse. ‘Amy, I could do with a cup of tea.’

‘Yes, all right,’ she said, bending down to pick up the shards of broken china on the floor before leaving.

Tommy sank back, and though he didn’t want to believe what Jeremy had said, he began to work out the dates. He’d come home from convalescence in May and Bobby had been born in January, early because Amy had fallen down the stairs.

There was a twinge of doubt then, but Tommy fought to push it away. Amy would never betray him, never; and anyway, he would never forget how he’d felt when Bobby was first placed in his arms, the overwhelming love and joy as he’d gazed in wonder at his son. Surely it wouldn’t have been possible to feel like that if Bobby wasn’t his?

Yet still there was that niggling doubt. Why did Jeremy think that he was Bobby’s father? Why would he think that if there had been nothing between him and Amy? It just didn’t make sense.

Amy went downstairs, still shaking with shock. Tommy had denied it, but she was sure that Jeremy had intended to kill him. She would never forget the horror of thinking that she’d been too late when she’d dragged the pillow from his face. She had cried out in fear, but only seconds later Tommy had heaved in a huge lungful of air, life returning to his body as she had clung on to him, sobbing her relief.

‘It still seems like a funny business to me,’ her mother said as she deftly changed Bobby’s nappy. ‘And how did that cup and saucer get smashed?’

‘I … I don’t know, Mum,’ she said, ‘but for now Tommy wants a cup of tea. Do you want one?’

‘Yes, all right,’ Phyllis agreed.

As Amy put the kettle onto the gas ring, her stomach was churning. She had seen the madness in Jeremy’s eyes, and what if he tried it again? What if in his obsession to possess her and Bobby he made another attempt on Tommy’s life?

With the tea made, she gave a cup to her mother and then carried one up to Tommy. His eyes were closed and as she placed the drink on his bedside cabinet, her eyes alighted on his prescription as she said softly, ‘Tommy, here’s your tea.’

He was asleep and didn’t respond so Amy picked up the prescription and crept out again, unaware that as soon as she left the room, Tommy’s eyes snapped open.

For the next half hour, Amy just watched, her mind still tangled with thoughts as her mother bathed then dressed Bobby. She’d insisted on taking the day off, and Amy was too emotionally drained to argue, just relieved to let her mother take over for a while.

‘There, now who looks like a proper Bobby dazzler,’ Phyllis said as she held Bobby out for inspection before putting him in his pram. ‘It’s gone nine fifteen and the chemist will be open now. I’ll take Bobby with me, as a bit of fresh air will do him good.’

The telephone rang and Amy rose to answer it, hardly recognising Celia’s voice. She sounded hysterical, babbling, her words disjointed, but upon hearing them, Amy’s knees almost collapsed from under her.

Somehow she managed to respond, and when someone else came on the line to say that Celia needed someone with her, Amy knew that with Tommy too ill to go, it would have to be her. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ she said, and then replaced the receiver.

‘Amy, what’s going on?’ her mother asked anxiously.

Somehow Amy managed to say the words; saw her mother’s face drain of colour, and then with her feet dragging she went upstairs, knowing that before making arrangements to leave, she now had to tell Tommy that his brother was dead.

Celia had at last stopped crying, but there was a knot of pain in her stomach, as though a part of her had been ripped out. She didn’t look up at the sound of footsteps, but then heard Amy’s voice as her daughter-in-law said softly, ‘Come on, let’s get you home.’

Like a child Celia held Amy’s hand and allowed herself to be led outside to a waiting taxi, her eyes barely taking in her surroundings as they drove off. There was no sense of time passing, or distance, and Celia only became aware that she was still clutching Amy’s hand as they drew up in Lark Rise. Had Amy spoken to her in the taxi? Celia didn’t know, and then the next thing she knew she was in Amy’s front room.

‘Celia, I’m so sorry.’

It was Amy’s mother talking to her, but Celia found that she couldn’t respond. She walked past her and up the stairs, but then seeing Thomas the tears came again, flowing unchecked down her cheeks as she sat on the side of the bed. She leaned into Thomas and his arms wrapped around her.

‘Mum, how did it happen?’ Thomas asked when she was at last slightly calmer. ‘I only know that there was a crash.’

Celia saw that his cheeks were wet too and said, ‘I know little more than that; only … only what the police told me, that … that it seems Jeremy drove into the path of a lorry.’

They held each other again then, and Celia could feel Thomas shaking with emotion. He was all she had left now, her only son, and she clung to him as though she was drowning.

Phyllis had never thought much of Celia, but her heart went out to her now. Ten days had passed since Jeremy’s tragic death, and there had been a small article about the fatal accident in the local paper.

Celia was inconsolable. She spent a lot of time with Amy and Tommy now, and clung to her surviving son as though he were a life raft. Tommy had recovered from his chest infection and owing to pressures at work he’d had no choice but to return, though like Celia, his grief at the loss of his brother was weighing him down.

‘It’s only me,’ Mabel called as she came in through the back door, bringing Sandra, the little girl she was fostering, with her.

‘Hello,’ Phyllis greeted, smiling at the child. She was a pretty little thing with blonde hair and blue eyes, sadly handicapped by a heavy built-up shoe that caused her to walk clumsily. Mabel had only been fostering her since Monday, and after being institutionalised for so long it was going to take time for Sandra to settle. The signs were good though, and Phyllis felt sure that in time Mabel and Jack would apply to adopt her.

‘I won’t stop,’ Mabel said. ‘I know you’re off to work soon, but I just popped round to see if there’s any news about the funeral. I’d like to send some flowers from me and Jack.’

‘There’s been a bit of a delay because of the police investigation, but as no medical reason was found they’ve put the crash down to reckless driving. At least the lorry driver wasn’t badly hurt, and now Jeremy’s funeral is being arranged for Monday, a week from today,’ Phyllis told her, glad when shortly afterwards Mabel left.

Since the accident and Jeremy’s death the incident when he had put a pillow over Tommy’s face had never been mentioned again, seemingly forgotten, but Phyllis still found it strange. Not only that, she was worried about Amy and wanted to pop round to see her before she left for work. Of course Amy was upset about Jeremy’s death too, but there was more to it than that
–
more to the anguish she had seen in the depths of her daughter’s eyes.

Later that morning, Celia saw Amy as she walked past her window. She was pushing the pram, her head bent against a chill wind, and Celia wished that instead of just passing by, Amy had called in. Maybe she’d stop by on the way back. Celia hoped so.

With tears in her eyes, Celia turned away from the window, knowing that despite the way she had treated her, Amy in return had shown her nothing but kindness and sympathy since Jeremy died. She had thought that Amy wasn’t good enough for Thomas; that she was common, but all the things that Celia had once coveted, status, money, and material things, meant nothing to her now.

He was there again, filling her thoughts as he did every minute of the day. Jeremy … oh … Jeremy. If it wasn’t for spending time with Amy and Robert during the day, and most evenings with Thomas too, Celia felt that she wouldn’t be able to carry on. They were all she had left now, and she clung to them.

The doorbell rang and Celia, uncaring of her appearance, went to answer it. It was Libby Willard, her next door neighbour, mouthing sympathies, yet with avid eyes. ‘Celia, my dear, I would have called round before this, but I didn’t like to intrude. How are you?’

‘How do you think?’ Celia replied bluntly. She had lived next door to this woman for years, had even considered her a friend, but when George had left, Libby had shown her true colours. She had made Celia feel like a social outcast, and nowadays they only spoke when they saw each other in passing, Libby’s dinner party invitations and coffee mornings a thing of the past.

‘It was such a dreadful accident and you must be totally devastated,’ Libby said.

Celia just nodded, unwilling to open up to this woman who had waited ten days to call round with hollow condolences.

Libby hovered on the doorstep, but then seeing that she wasn’t going to be invited in, attempted a dignified departure. ‘Well, as I said, I don’t want to intrude, but if there’s anything I can do …’

‘Thank you, but there’s nothing,’ Celia said bluntly and with a brief goodbye she closed the door. There was nothing Libby could do – nothing anyone could do to ease her pain.

When her mother had called round before she went to work, Amy had forced a smile that she hoped masked
her true
feelings. In reality she was almost going out of her
mind, desperate to confide in someone, and as Carol already knew the truth about what Jeremy had done it was her friend that she turned to.