Falling (19 page)

“I wanted to ask…”

She had glanced over her shoulder at Cecilia, then back at the printer, pulling free a small square piece of paper. Handing it to her. Image dark, ghostly. Her child.

“Yes?”

Cecilia had looked at the picture, staring at it for what felt like a lifetime. Then, feeling like she was floating, back at the woman with the little voice and the lesbian hair. “I wanted to ask how I go about getting an abortion.”

Chapter 31

Jim – Tuesday, 20th March – 9.26am

Jim hadn’t slept. Of course he hadn’t. How could he, when even the briefest fluttering of his eyelids brought with it the image of his dead daughter. He had let himself into the house after Tom dropped him off, hadn’t spoken to Ethan, even though Ethan hovered, a question half formed on his lips. Instead he had pushed past him, up the stairs, into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He had vomited, once, twice. Had sunk down onto the tiled bathroom floor and sobbed.

Wasn’t sure how long he had stayed in there. Had wanted to curl himself up like a foetus, bury his head in his hands, never get up. But he couldn’t stay there forever.

It was full dark by the time he came back out again, trudging slowly down the stairs. Someone had put the lamps on in the living room, had lit the fire. Jim had sunk onto the sofa, head dropping to his hands. Then he had heard slow heart-broken footsteps and he had wiped his eyes, and tried his best to straighten his back, had smiled even. Esther had hung in the doorway, scrutinising his face, then had started to cry again, because even without him saying it she saw it there. Had crossed the room to him, shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs, lifting his chin with her hands, and lowered her face to his.

“Thank you.” A cross between a whisper and a moan.

Then she had kissed him. He could still taste the salt. Wasn’t sure whose tears it was from.

Jim wasn’t sure how long they had stayed there, his head buried at her waist, how long it was before she sank to the sofa next to him, folding herself into his arms. How long it was before she fell asleep, breathing thick.

He knew that it was about nine when Ethan had looked in. Knew because he remembered looking at the clock.

“You should go home, boy. Isabelle will be waiting for you.”

His son hanging in the doorway, like there was something he wanted to say, just like he had a week ago, when he had come to break the news to his father. Could it really have only been a week? Just a week ago that it seemed that the worst thing that could possibly happen was the curvature of the spine, slight enough that none of them had ever noticed it, pronounced enough that the police force medical officer had. They said I’ll never be a police officer, dad. Ethan had cried that day too, weighted down with the crush of disappointment.

But now, a week later, he had simply stood in the doorway, watching his parents drowning in their grief. Had given a quick nod.

“You…you’ll call me? If you hear…?”

“I’ll call you.” Neither Jim nor his son putting it into words.

They hadn’t gone to bed. Had stayed like that all night, with the lamps lit, and the dancing flames in the fireplace that seem just too happy, as if they didn’t understand what had gone on here.

It was a little after 9am that the doorbell rung. It had taken him a minute, brain running slower than it should, to realise what that meant. Esther pushing herself up, looking around, confused for a moment as to where they are, why they are sitting on the sofa with the fire down to an ember. Then another looking taking over, realisation, and the colour draining from her face. Jim had kissed her, and she had clung to him, just for a moment.

“Tom. Come on in.” The wind was whipping around the detective, through the open front door, clawing at Jim’s legs. His mouth was stuffed with cotton, the stale taste reminding him that he hadn’t brushed his teeth.

“Hey, Jim.” He didn’t ask how Jim was. Jim appreciated that.

Esther was still sitting on the sofa when they returned, legs pulled up under her. She didn’t see them, or at least it seemed that she didn’t. She was staring, out through the patio doors, at the garden, trees drooping under the weight of snow. Watching as a bird launches itself into flight, branches bending, springing back, a flurry of snow falling to the winding path. There were fresh tears on her cheeks. The renewed pain of recollection.

“Essie?” Jim sank onto the couch beside her, one hand on her knee.

Esther turned, the image broken down into stop motion frames. She smiled, even though the movement looked awkward.

“Essie? Tom needs to speak to you.” There was a flash across her eyes, a quick spasm of fear, settling down into something else – resignation. What is there to be afraid of now when the worst has already happened?

His wife nodded slowly. “I understand.”

“Can you tell me when you saw Libby last?” Tom had perched on the edge of the leather recliner, notebook in his hand.

Esther started, like the name had stung her. “It was…Tuesday?” A question, a quick glance at her husband because she couldn’t trust herself, not now. A nod in reply. “Tuesday. She…we were all…dinner…” She shook her head, trying to shake the words free.

“How did she seem to you?”

She was watching his lips move, a native of a foreign tongue, lost in translation.

“I…okay. She was fine. Seemed fine.”

“Your husband” Tom nodded at Jim. “He said she seemed happier.”

Esther wasn’t looking at them, was staring into space, faint flutter rippling across her lips, the suggestion of a smile. “Yes.” The smile wilting as she remembered.

“Why was that?”

She stared at him for a long moment, then a brief glance at her husband. Jim squeezed her hand.

“Esther?”

“She was seeing someone.” Her voice so quiet it seemed like it would vanish when it touched the air. Talking to Jim now, not to Tom. “I wanted to tell you, but she asked…she was shy about it.”

A quick spasm of pain, another loss inflicted. Jim smiled. “It’s okay.” Because this was the way it was. This was why you had a mother and a father. A father to teach you to ride a bike, drive your first car. To help you when you apply for the police force so that you can be just like your daddy. And a mother to kiss the knees that have gotten scraped because you still aren’t that steady on your bike, to whisper secrets to about some man who would never deserve you. Another quick flash, this time Ethan, crying on his mother’s shoulder even though he hadn’t told Jim he was coming over and had told him was okay with never being a police officer, that he could move on. This was why they worked. He had his job, Esther had hers.

“Who was she seeing, Esther?” Tom asked. And Jim can hear it in his tone, the sound of a new line of enquiry opening up.

“I don’t know.” Esther shook her head. “She wouldn’t say.”

“Had they been together long?”

“I don’t know. A while, I think.”

“Okay.” Tom was scritching in his pad, frowning heavily. “So you think this was why she was happy?”

Another rough shake of the head. “No…I’m…I’m sorry. She broke up with him. That’s what she told me.”

“When was this?”

Esther rubbed her forehead, like the act of thinking was painful. “Last week…sometime. She didn’t go into details. Just said that it was over.”

“And it was her decision?”

“Yes. She said that the relationship had been a huge mistake.”

“Did she tell you anything else about him?” Tom asked.

“She told me that he was older.”

A pause for a moment, the detective’s mind working. Jim closed his eyes briefly. Knows what he’s thinking. Would have thought it too.

“Is there anyone who might know more?” Tom asked. “Anyone Libby might have talked to about this relationship? A friend? A colleague?”

“Hannah. She’s…you could talk to her. Libby…they were close. Maybe she’d…”

“And Hannah is a friend of Libby’s?”

“She lives near her. Couple of doors down.” Jim’s voice came out sounding strained. “I can give you her address.”

“Thanks, Jim.” Tom paused, so long that Jim wondered if that was it, if he was done. Then, “Esther, was Libby afraid of this man?”

A heavy silence.

“She…he kept calling her. After she ended it. He called her all the time. She said…she said that he was never going to let her go.”

Chapter 32

Cecilia – Tuesday, 20th March – 10.15am

Cecilia carried flowers, orange carnations wrapped in silver cellophane. She had almost bought roses, but with roses there were thorns, and she thought that perhaps life had thrown enough thorns their way for the time being. She had bought chocolates too, an overlarge box of quality street. As if that could make up for the answers she hadn’t been able to bring. She walked quickly, but was aware of the nurses watching her, the approving smiles, and she felt her head lift itself a little higher.

Maisie looked smaller if anything, hunched into a mound of pillows. She looked to be watching television, some property show, but her fingers were plucking at the rough hospital blankets, small rapid movements, her lips were moving in silent prayer. Didn’t see Cecilia until she was right alongside her, the crinkling cellophane announcing her arrival. She looked up. She smiled.

Cecilia felt her eyes pooling, a rush of warmth. Felt better than she had felt in days.

“Hello. Wasn’t expecting to see you.” Maisie tried to push herself up, but there were too many pillows and it was like watching someone push against clouds. “And you…are those for me?”

Cecilia smiled. Was surprised to realise that she meant it. “Of course. Thought this place could do with brightening up.”

“Well. Isn’t that just lovely. And chocolates. Well. Gosh, aren’t I spoiled. Sit down, my love. Go on, sit.”

Cecilia set the flowers down. She’d have to ask for a vase, make sure they had plenty of water.

“Well…” Maisie folded her hands across her lap. “This is just lovely. You shouldn’t have come. You’re a busy girl, with your family and everything.”

Cecilia played with the cellophane, trying to get it to lay flat. A spurt of guilt. “Oh, well.” Tried to laugh although it came out false. “I’d rather be hanging out with you anyway.”

Maisie was watching her, eyes squinting. “You okay, love?”

Cecilia tried a smile. “Sure.” Couldn’t stop the tears though, they sprang up whether she wanted them or not.

The abortion had come about a week after the scan. She had floated aimlessly about London. Hadn’t gone to work, hadn’t been near the place. Not since Eddie. They had called, once, twice, must have been a dozen times in the end. Red light blinking messages demanding to know where she was. She had deleted them. Had never called back. Her notice of dismissal had come in the post finally. She had read it, had crumpled it up, throwing it in amongst the skeletal remains of week old takeaway cartons. She hadn’t told anyone about the pregnancy. Had spent her days drifting, unnoticed, through crowded Hammersmith streets, stopping to stare at women with prams, the baby clothes shops that seemed to occupy every corner. Changed her mind a thousand times.

Maisie had reached out, folded Cecilia’s small hand into hers. Cecilia stared at it, veins blue and proud. “You can tell me, you know. It’s okay.”

Cecilia looked away, out of the window. The sky was blue today. “I keep remembering. All the time. Everything.”

“You mean, the plane?”

Cecilia shook her head. “No. I mean, everything.”

She could keep it. After all, wasn’t it hers as much as his? Would occasionally slip, allowing herself to spin out this little fantasy where she kept it, raised it on her own, a young single mother. I mean, people did it didn’t they? Youngsters with belly rings, cigarettes hanging from their thin lips, grubby baby resting on their narrow hips. If they could do it then she could do it. She could be a yummy mummy, a career woman with a roll-on bag in one hand, a car seat in the other. Then she would remember the letter from the airline, balled up on the floor. Her dismissal. Would remember that even if she still had the job, she would never be here, because wasn’t that her life, wasn’t that what she had loved about it? The chance to escape. And how could you raise a baby when you were always running away from it?

And then, tumbling after, would come the other fantasies. The ones she tried to push down, that only broke through at night when she was drifting into an uneasy sleep. Of Eddie, his hands tugging at her, a pain that crumbled her. And this baby, a mirror image of his father. She would dream of giving birth and looking down and expecting this rush of love, but instead recoiling in horror because she had given birth to a monster.

Then the day of the appointment had come, tumbling fast on the heels of a turbulent night full of evil dreams; babies that clawed their way out of her womb, dead eyes looking at her with loathing and triumph. And she woke wanting to climb out of her skin, just so she could get away from this thing that was inside her.

So she went.

Another sterile room, a hard faced nurse, a sharp pain. And then blood as the little life leeched out of her. She had gone to bed, a hot water bottle pressed against her abdomen. Had pushed her face into the pillow and cried and cried and cried. Because now all she could see was the perfect little baby and the family that she had flushed out of her. Had clutched the scan photo in her fingers, letting the image scald itself into her memory. That way she would never forget what she had done.

“You’re having nightmares, love?”

Cecilia felt a tear spill. “Yes. But it’s not just that. It’s like I have no filter now. All of the things that I try not to think about.” Looked down. “The bad things. It’s like they’re coming back for me. It’s like they’re all I can think about. The crash and…other things. They’re all around me. All the time.” She was crying proper now. “I just…I just want to lie down. To stop thinking.”

Cecilia had never forgotten. Couldn’t even if she wanted to. Because every time she saw her son, she also saw the child she killed. And, in her darkest moments, she found herself wondering if it would have been easier with that one, if she would have been a better mother, if she could have given that one more.