Читать книгу The Fallout - Rebecca Thornton - Страница 17

She wants, desperately, to go to the soft-play at The Vale Club. She’s trying to plan the day as best she can so that she’s busy but stress-free. After Tom had left for work, she’d managed to get Thea asleep, whilst Casper had been absorbed in endless rounds of that ghastly PAW Patrol. (She’d tried over and over to get the theme song out of her head but it’s there, like a sore tooth.)

She’d signed Casper up for a mini football class, giving herself at least an hour to concentrate on Thea, without Casper mooning all over her pram. And Sarah needs time with her own thoughts. Predominantly, in a moment of self-flagellation, to replay in her mind the events of yesterday.

She has enough sense to know that it isn’t going to help matters. She had thought, at six o’clock this morning, that it might go some way in soothing her twitching limbs, her thumping heart; but every time she revisited the look on Liza’s face as she realised her small boy was on the floor, Sarah started to feel as though she might pop. Ha! Perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Perhaps then all her innards would slide out and she’d shrink to her ever-elusive target size ten – since Rosie, she’s managed to totally change shape. As she drinks her lukewarm tap water, she imagines herself back at the club. She should go now. Strike whilst the iron is hot. Get her fear over and done with, but she cannot. When she thinks about stepping foot into the place, her hands start to shake.

The idea of the investigation lingers on the periphery of her thoughts. She hasn’t been able to bring herself to look on The Vale Club Facebook group, to see what everyone is saying. People must be going mad. The group is active enough at the best of times – constant grumblings about the food taking too long, the towels being too scratchy, the lockers not being big enough. She can’t imagine what people would be saying about this.

She also can’t bring herself to tell Casper he’s not allowed outside. That she never, ever wants to see that wooden post again. Even if they removed it, the empty space would be a stark reminder of what had happened.

‘Casper?’ She walks into the living room to find him slumped on the sofa like a teenager. ‘Five minutes. OK?’

As the words fall out of her mouth, she knows full well she doesn’t mean them. Five minutes, in television time, would actually translate into an hour or more. Especially on days like today.

‘Where we going?’ he asks, eyes locked onto the screen.

‘I don’t know. Where would you like to go?’ She tries to leave the decision up to him, but he doesn’t answer, just plucks the material on his jeans. She doesn’t bother pushing it and leaves the room to check on Thea. She’s in her buggy, fast asleep. She remembers this time five years ago when Casper used to have his morning nap, manically using the precious moments to swipe crumbs off the counters, do a quick floor-sweep and hastily shove a piece of half-burnt toast in her mouth. She takes a picture of Thea’s heart-shaped face with her spiky black hair and sends it to Liza. She looks so peaceful. So like Jack had when he was that age. She wonders with a shrinking heart if Rosie would have looked like her brother.

All happy here, don’t hurry. Thinking of you. Her friend is offline. She scrolls down to Ella’s WhatsApp. Online. Her heart thuds. Should she? It’s a better option than going to The Vale Club. Yes. Why not? After all, they are tied now. Bound together in complicity.

Ella. Just wanted to check in. Wondered what you were doing today? Whether you wanted to meet up. Her hand hovers over the keyboard. Should she add something extra? Something about yesterday? No. Don’t be foolish, she thinks. She stands and stares at her phone, waiting for the message to be read. Two blue ticks appear on the screen.

‘Mummy,’ shouts Casper. ‘Mummy change the channel.’

‘Wait, darling,’ she shouts, shaking her handset in the hope it might elicit some sort of response from Ms Bradby. Her teeth clamp together. Nothing. But then she has an idea.

Or – just thinking. Don’t suppose you’d like to come with me to do a shop for Liza? It isn’t that she wants to deliberately trap Ella into replying. But she had planned to buy stuff for when Liza and Jack got home.

Can’t today, comes the reply. Got plans, but I’ve sorted something for Liza. Perhaps we could meet up tomorrow. Sorted something for Liza? What on earth does she mean by that? And there she is, dangling herself so self-importantly in front of her. Tomorrow indeed. Sarah’s had enough, the weight of disappointment nearly crushing her bones. She resolves to put this all to the back of her mind. And with that, she claps her hands together and gets to work.

Firstly, she changes into her best jeans. The ones that she has to squeeze closed but that look good with the right jumper. She’s going to get Ella out of her mind. Go shopping for Liza. Get Tom to agree to let them stay and, in the meantime, she’ll think about the Christmas fair. She’ll boss it with both Casper and Thea. There’ll be no screaming tantrums in the supermarket. She’ll be a fully present and loving mum towards her son. No raised voices. Empathy. Compassion. Kindness.

She feels her blood pressure rising.

‘Right, Casper darling. Telly off.’ She looks at her watch.

‘Five more minutes,’ comes the wail.

‘No,’ she says. ‘Listen, darling, I thought since we’ve got Thea, we’ll go to Sainsbury’s. Have a really fun trip there. You can steer the trolley? Be like Captain … America, is it?’

‘Nooooooo Mummy. Noooo. I want telly.’

She inhales. Kindness and calm.

‘No. We’re going to Sainsbury’s. Like I just said. And please. You’ll wake Thea.’

His voice starts to rise, his legs thumping into the sofa.

‘Fine,’ she snaps. ‘Just turn off the telly. I’ll buy you a toy if you come with me now.’ She regrets the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth; she’s already gone way over budget this month and she had to teach Casper to do what he was told without a bribe. But with a tiny zing of relief, she watches as he leaps up off the sofa.

After she’s been to Sainsbury’s (thankfully, Thea had remained asleep) and thrown anything and everything sugary that Casper wanted into the bottom of the pram, just to shut him up, she decides to go straight to Liza’s.

She always has her spare key which Liza had handed to her when she and Gav had separated. She’ll open up, organise everything in the fridge, put the fish pie she’s bought into a Le Creuset and trim and arrange the bunch of purple lilies she’s bought in preparation for their homecoming.

Casper can hang out in the playroom and she’ll feed Thea and pray she lies there quietly whilst she gets everything done. This will be the start of everything, she tells herself. The start of making it up to Liza. She’ll need a morning or two to sort out the flat if she and the kids are to move in. But that’s OK. She’ll make up the beds, check everything is in order. She’d started doing it last week, after all, when they’d planned for Airbnb renters. And then she’ll get Tom to come round. He would soon enough. They’ve had such a difficult time this last year. It would be a chance to start afresh.

‘Casper? Go to Jack’s playroom when we get in. And don’t start pulling everything out.’ She pulls out her key and struggles inside with the pram. ‘Thea, I’m coming. Time for food.’

She’s always been envious of Liza’s house. The sleek, marble open-plan kitchen. The black barstool and the big island with the copper drop lighting. It even has three holes in it in which you can drop different types of rubbish. There is also the abundance of unlit Jo Malone and other smart looking candles (Liza thinks it a dreadful waste to ever use them), soft, fluffy cushions and sharp lines that draw the eye to the end of the house. But today, without Liza, it feels cold. Today Sarah sees it for what it is – which is a place totally at odds with her friend’s laid-back, slightly chaotic, down-to-earth character. It’s all Gav, she thinks, totally up his street. Liza must be more beholden to him than Sarah ever realised. She thinks about her strong, feisty friend. How recently she’d agree with Gav in front of his face – whatever he said – and then afterwards, she’d say something totally different. It’s almost as if she’d do anything to get back with him. It hadn’t been like that when they’d first met. In fact, it had been Gav doing all the running. His tall frame, following Liza around the room, eyes sparkling at the sight of her. What the hell had happened?

‘There, there Thea.’ Sarah makes a token effort at spinning some coloured beads on the bar of Thea’s bouncy chair. She empties the dishwasher (that’s more like Liza, she thinks – everything thrown in higgledy-piggledy piles), cleans out the fridge (also more like Liza – wilting coriander stalks, broccoli stems and soggy aubergines: evidence of her failed weekly good intentions) and puts two loads of sheets in the wash.

She transfers the fish pie into a dish, cling-filming the top. She writes a message on a small, pink notepad. Thirty five mins @180, and she tears off another piece and writes a list of what she’s done and what food she’s bought. She’s starting to feel a little better. Thea starts to whine. Sarah makes up her milk and goes into the playroom, where Casper is building Duplo.

‘You OK, darling? Mummy’s just going to feed Thea now. OK?’

‘Can you help me Mummy? I want to build a space station.’

‘Of course. Just tell me what you want.’ She rests Thea’s bottle in her mouth and uses her elbow to keep it upright. ‘Here.’

She passes her son a plastic cube, in an effort to look as though she is engaging with him. Be present, as all the Mama blogs say. This time goes much too fast. Before you know it, they’ll be teens and they’ll never let you kiss their sleepy heads again. (She’d always silently told the authors of these blogs to go fuck themselves at three in the morning when the prospect of sleep was impossible, and then felt teary-eyed and guilty about that too.)

He takes it without looking. Thea sounds content. Phew. She’s done it. She can do this. Breathe. Just as she’s starting to feel on top of things, she hears a key in the lock. It must be Gav, or Liza. They have no parents between them, and she knows Liza’s cleaner is not due today.

‘Hello? Liza? It’s me, Sarah,’ she shouts. ‘I let myself in.’ No answer. Weird. Despite the surge of adrenaline, she doesn’t move. Thea’s too settled – better Sarah gets hurt than wake the baby – and she’s quite frozen.

‘Liza?’ she shouts.

‘Oh!’ says a voice. ‘Someone’s here,’ and then another, quieter voice in the background. ‘Hello? It’s Mary O’Sullivan here. I’ve come to help out.’

There’s a rustle of plastic bags and more footsteps and then the living-room door opens. The bottle of milk falls out of Thea’s mouth and she starts to cry.

‘Oh hello.’

Sarah looks up at a short-haired lady dressed in full Norland Nanny uniform.

‘Like I said, I’m Mary,’ she smiles. ‘Oh, and look at that delicious, gorgeous little bundle. Here, let me.’

And before Sarah can say another word, Mary has whipped Thea out of her arms, bottle and all, and is cooing in her ear. ‘There, there. Is this Thea then? I’ve seen a picture. Isn’t she gorgeous. Aren’t you gorgeous?’