Sworn Secret (26 page)

‘Only the Lord God himself knows the answer to that one,’ she said in her thick Gaelic drawl.

‘Do I have time for a breath of air?’

‘She’s only four centimetres. We’ve a while yet.’

He went back to Kate and kissed her damp cheek. ‘I need the loo; I’ll be two minutes,’ he said. ‘You’re doing so well.’

She smiled weakly and closed her eyes.

He had walked down to the corner of the street and back, reminding himself that women all over the world did this every second of every day, and most in considerably less safe environments than Queen Charlotte’s in west London. But it was only a few hours later, when Anna slid on to the table, her piercing healthy cry prompting Kate to call out with joy and relief, that his nagging fear left him alone.

Jon stopped walking and tipped his head back to look at the stars. He wondered which one was Anna. He saw a tiny bright one low in the sky to his left, and imagined her sitting on its edge waving at him. Her hair was loose and she was wearing a pair of clean white pyjamas and some pink fluffy slippers. He looked away from the star and saw how close he was to the bus stop with broken glass that he and Rachel had sat at after she bought him the milk. He owed her fifty-two pence; he mustn’t forget to give it to her. He thought of her then, asleep, close by, with her kind words and soft smile, and a warmth passed through him. He looked up the road towards her house and, as if dragged by a siren, he began to walk.

When he reached the front door he rested his palms flat against it, and wished, like Kate, that Rachel had locked it and hidden the key that night, perhaps just enough of an obstacle to keep Anna alive. He thought about knocking, about waking Rachel; maybe they could chat and drink hot milk. Then he thought of the kiss in the air. Had he made that up? Did he want to kiss her? He closed his eyes and thought about kissing her, and thinking about it made him want to be at home because he didn’t want to kiss Rachel; he wanted to kiss his wife. He turned away from the door and walked home in a daze, not seeing anything, not hearing anything, not even thinking any more.

He slipped into the house as quietly as possible. When he got up to their room he saw Kate asleep in their bed. His knees gave way and he grabbed at the doorframe. He walked to the bed and knelt beside her. She was sleeping heavily with gentle snores, and a pungent veil of alcohol clung to the air around her. Her head was half on, half off the pillow, an arm hung over the edge of the bed and her legs were sprawled beneath the duvet that was tied around her like an unravelled shroud. She looked so peaceful it tore Jon’s heart in two. He reached out and stroked the hair out of her eyes. She didn’t move a muscle. He breathed the air she breathed out, sweet and sickly with Dan’s whisky. He stared at her mouth, which was open a fraction. The thought of his brother kissing it cut him up. He leant forward and touched his lips to hers. She murmured something. Her head moved restlessly on the pillow then she turned away from him. He stood, pausing for a moment, wondering if he should wake her, wondering if they could talk things better. But maybe it had passed that point now.

He walked out of their room and down the corridor. He stopped at Lizzie’s door and opened it quietly. She was fast asleep. He heard her grinding her teeth. She’d never been a quiet sleeper. Anna had slept in their room for her first eight months, first in a Moses basket and then in an antique cradle his mother had given them. Kate would reach through the bars in the middle of the night and stroke her open palm as she lay, quiet as a mouse, sleeping as babies do with their hands thrown up in surrender. A year or so later they had tried the same with Lizzie, but the constant sniffles and snuffles, grunts and moans had meant she was banished after only a few weeks by a teary, exhausted Kate.

Jon stepped back and closed Lizzie’s door as quietly as possible. Then he moved on to Anna’s room. He reached for the handle and opened the door. He stood on the threshold like a nervous child and looked into the room. It was so peaceful. Kate had drawn the curtains for the night and Anna’s cuddly toys waited patiently for her at the foot of the bed. Gertie the porcelain doll was perched as always on the bookshelf next to a selection of Anna’s favourite books –
Little Women
,
Black Beauty
and a handful of trashy teenage novels with too much sex and weak moral messages about bullying and fitting in. He took a breath and stepped on to her carpet and then he walked over to the dressing table. He remembered her asking him for it.

‘Please dad,’ she begged in that cutesy whine she saved just for him. ‘I
really
want one, an old-fashioned one with an oval mirror that I can hang necklaces and scarves and stuff on. And it needs a stool with pretty material on it. Like pink velvet, but dark pink not baby pink.’

He turned on the chain of fairy lights that hugged the rim of the mirror and trailed his fingers over the smooth glass top of the dressing table. Not a speck of dust. Just as if she were still alive. He lifted the lid of her jewellery box. The tinny music broke into the silence and he gazed at the plastic ballerina twirling her repetitive dance. Then he closed the lid and sat down on the stool. The scarves and necklaces hung as she’d promised, and the dressing table held open boxes of make-up and other bits and pieces. He picked up a pot of nail varnish then carefully placed it down. He saw her bottle of perfume. Kate had chosen it for her. It was Chanel. Coco Mademoiselle. Anna loved it. She unwrapped it the Christmas before she died, jumped up and bounded over to them, smiles and sparkles and too many
thank you, thank you, thank yous
. She kissed them both then ripped open the packaging, casting bits of cellophane and torn cardboard like confetti. She pulled out the bottle and grinned at them as she sprayed too much of the scent on her wrists and neck. Then she skipped back to her father and gave him her neck, tipping her head to allow him to smell.

‘Beautiful, my darling. You smell beautiful.’

She grinned and kissed him again.

Now Jon reached for the bottle. Half empty. He pulled the lid off. Lifted the perfume to his nose and breathed in. It smelt exactly of Anna. Then he held out his wrist and sprayed. One spray on one wrist, then he swapped hands and sprayed the other. He put the bottle back on the table, lifted his hands and held both wrists together beneath his nose then closed his eyes and breathed her in. He saw her skipping over to him. Tilting her head to let him smell her. Her eyes gleamed, the coloured lights of the Christmas tree reflected in their shining brown.

Jon opened his eyes and stared at his face in the mirror. He didn’t recognize the man who stared back. Even in the dim fairy-light glow he could see the dark rings that surrounded the eyes. The man’s hair stood up all over and his clothes were ruffled and creased. He was unshaven, and appeared not to have had a shower in days.

Jon broke the stare-off with the man in the mirror and reached for the purple make-up bag that sat next to the music box. He unzipped it. Rooted through. He found a lipstick. He opened it and lifted it to smell its oily waxiness. He looked back at the man in the mirror and put the lipstick to his mouth. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he pushed it on to his lips. The lipstick that had last touched Anna’s lips. He stared at himself again, and watched his newly scarlet mouth twist into an angry snarl. His eyes narrowed with hatred. Then he reached out and scrubbed the lipstick into the mirror, scribbling over the reflection of the pathetic man until the lipstick was used to the nub.

Jon pushed away from the dressing table and went over to her bed. He pulled off the freshly laundered duvet and grabbed her pillow, and then he lay down on the floor and wrapped himself up in a tight cocoon to hide himself from the shit that stank up the world outside her room.

Graffiti

i bet you’re not here :p xxx

bet i am . . . xx

you’re mad!! :O xxx

She peered out from behind the edge of a curtain and there he was, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the road, just outside the circle of light from the streetlamp. He looked up and she jumped away from the curtain and leapt back into bed, her heat racing.

Oh my God
, she thought.
He’s outside my room! He’s actually there!

She wanted to go down to him but she could hear her mum was up and about. So she decided to text him instead. Then the phone rang and for a dreadful moment she imagined he’d lost all sense and called the house. Her heart beat almost out of her chest. And then her dad had come into her room. She’d only just managed to grab a book in time. He had looked so upset she thought for another dreadful moment it was Haydn on the phone. She braved asking him who it was, but he didn’t know.

are you still there? did you just call our home phone!?
she typed when her dad left. She pressed send and waited, her stomach thundering with nerves.

yes still here and no didn’t call . . . xx

He was still there!

She jumped out of bed again and looked out of the window. He was standing on the wall, his arms thrown out wide. She laughed and waved at him. He blew her a kiss and then another. Lizzie put her hands against the window and kissed the glass.

I love you
, she mouthed, but she knew he couldn’t read her lips from where he was.

i love you :)! xxx.
She pressed send and stared at him. She giggled when he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. She saw him typing and her tummy fizzed. It was like every Christmas, birthday and New Year rolled into one spectacular moment.

i love you too more than youll know . . . you are my world xx

She kissed the window again, closing her eyes and letting the smooth, cold glass be Haydn’s lips. Then she heard a noise downstairs and sprang away from the window and jumped into bed, pulling the covers over her head, her heart smacking against her chest. Nobody came into her room. She lay in the warm, dark den and thought about Haydn kissing all over her body. It was just too heavenly to imagine! Then her phone beeped a text.

your mums just come out xx

can she see you?! xxx

i dont know :L xx

dont let her!! xxx

shes looking this way :s xx

OMG!! :s :O xxx

ah its ok shes got in a car :) xx

wheres she going?? xxx

how the fuck shd i know?? i wish you were here with me . . . x

me too :(. . . are you leaving?? xxx

no i want to be here while you sleep xx

i really love you . . . xx

Lizzie checked he was there twice more that night. She didn’t let him know though. It felt special to know he cared, that he was just there because he wanted to be near her, outside her house, as close to her as he could get. When she checked at two he was sitting on the pavement with his back against the wall, a dark shadowed figure, the orange glow of his cigarette flaring as he inhaled. She climbed into bed and pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them to her. This was amazing. She wondered how many other people in the world were as lucky as she and Haydn. Not many. She actually felt sorry for everyone else; to live and not experience what she was experiencing was a tragedy.

She was woken by her phone bleeping a text. She fumbled in her sleepy haze and grabbed at the phone on her desk. She squeezed her eyes shut and open to try to get them to focus on her phone.

i need to see you

when?? xx

asap fucking shit here :L i shd have stayed outside your house . . .

leaving now whats happened?? xxx

wait and see

i’ll be 10 mins xxx

As Lizzie turned into his street she was met by chaos. People were standing around the Howes’ house. There was a police car. A man was taking photos on his phone. Some kids were laughing. Women and men looked shocked, their hands covering their mouths, shaking their heads, whispering. A mother held her child on her hip, a protective hand placed against his cheek. Her face was ashen.

When Lizzie saw what was causing the commotion, she stopped in shock and amazement and stood bolted to the pavement beneath her.

Graffiti.

Black, red, navy blue. Across the front door and the up-and-over garage. Splashes of paint slashed the front lawn and over the brickwork of the house.

Paedophile. Child abuser. Bastard pervert.

Lizzie didn’t want to go any nearer. The scene scared her. She hung on the corner of the road and texted Haydn to tell him she was there. She waited, but there was no reply and no sign of him. She shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether to go or to stay. Then there was a hand on her shoulder.

Haydn stood beside her. He wore a hooded top with the hood pulled over his head. His shoulders were hunched and his hands were thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans.

‘I snuck out the back and jumped over the wall. Let’s get the fuck out of here.’

With their heads low and feet moving quickly in time, they walked hand in hand without talking. When they were clear of the road they broke into a run in the direction of her grandparents’ house. They didn’t stop until they got there so that her lungs burned as she tapped in the entry code and tried to catch her breath.

As soon as the shed door was closed behind them, she curled her arms around Haydn and held him until he stopped crying.

Shepherd’s Pie

‘Hello?’

As soon as Kate answered the phone she wished she hadn’t. Her head pounded and she felt as if she might throw up at any moment.

‘Kate, it’s Marlena.’

Marlena Sanders was the mother of a child in Anna’s class at school. Her daughter, Emmie, had joined primary school with Anna and the two girls had not been friends ever since. Marlena used to run the PTA, but quit because she fell out with three of the governors. She baked a cake every Thursday, and passionately loathed dogs, travellers, modern art,
Big Brother
and the homeless ‘who will insist on lingering around looking dirty’. She was, to all intents and purposes, a pain in the arse. The last time Kate had heard from her was a trite sorry-for-your-loss card that gave the impression Kate and Jon were burying a gerbil in a shoebox rather than their eldest child.