But I have to see her first and I’m so scared.
It’s the last thing I need to do before I leave it all behind.
Sadly, it’s also the hardest thing.
Because how can you face a person knowing you destroyed their life?
The Manor looks like a luxury hotel surrounded by miles of nothing, but it’s really an expensive and exclusive institution for rich young people who, for various reasons, cannot care for themselves. I could never afford something like this, but I guess the girl’s father can. His job must pay pretty well. I’ll never forgive myself for what happened to Gabriella. I have relived it over and over since, and spent the rest of my life trying to do the right thing to make up for the worst thing I ever did.
I still remember everything about that day as though it were yesterday, because it changed my life, and hers, forever. I had just been promoted and was on my way to becoming the UK’s youngest DCI. I was on top of the world and then, because of the accident, I hit rock bottom. What I did ruined her life, so I ruined my own in a feeble attempt at justice. I didn’t want to ease my guilt, I wanted to live inside it. I abstained from joy. Deprived myself of hope. And denied myself love. All because of what happened to Gabriella.
She’s eighteen now. Her father can’t stop me from seeing her.
I just want the chance to say sorry. For all of it.
I have to show my ID, along with the relevant paperwork to prove who I am, to be allowed into The Manor. I instantly hate theplace. It reminds me of a prison. I am shown to Gabriella’s room by a woman wearing a white uniform. Her name badge saysMARY. She has very long blond hair, and she seems kind. She says that Gabriella hasn’t been here long, and to try to not be upset when I see her, which makes me feel even more anxious. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I don’t know how to feel about any of this. Lately I think I just don’t know how to feel. Maybe feeling things is something people can learn to forget.
“You know that Gabriella can’t speak?” Mary says and I nod. “She was in an induced coma for six months after the accident—by all accounts nobody thought she would survive—but here she is. The most important thing in cases like this is not giving up hope. Broken wings can still fly if given time to heal. She’s a tough little girl, resilient, and she’s in there somewhere, trapped inside herself. The doctors say her brain function is normal but she still hasn’t spoken a word since the accident ten years ago. Not even a whisper. She’s painting—just childlike pictures—but at least it’s a way for her to express her feelings. When she’s sad she paints a wolf. When she’s scared she paints a fox. And when she’s happy she paints a bird. We’re all secretly confident that she might speak again one day, sometimes it just takes a trigger. There can be a person or an incident that unlocks what got locked.”
Gabriella has been trapped inside herself for ten years.
Because of me.
My heart breaks a little bit more when Mary says that.
The guilt I feel is all-consuming. When we reach the door I have an almost overwhelming urge to run in the opposite direction, but Mary opens it before I can escape. I’m frozen to the spot and speechless myself when I see someone painting a picture by the window. The person I came to see isn’t here. The eight-year-old girl I remember has transformed into an eighteen-year-old young woman.
I barely recognize her.
But it’s clear when I walk into the room that shedoesrecognizeme, even after all these years of not speaking and no contact. She looks in my direction and the paintbrush falls to the floor. I feel devastated all over again. Dismantled. Destroyed. My face is wet with tears. I shouldn’t have come here. But then, despite everything I’ve been told about her not speaking for ten years, Gabriella opens her mouth and whispers one word. It’s so quiet I barely hear, but I didn’t imagine it. Mary hears it too and gasps. It’s a word I haven’t heard for a very long time.
Gabriella stares at me and whispers the word again: “Mummy.”
I run to my daughter and hold her, wishing with all my broken heart that I had never let her go.
65CARTER
November 2
“You have to let me go,” I say, but DCI Bird does not answer. It sounds like she is crying on the other side of the door. “Are you okay?” I ask.
Because I’m not. The tunnel is cold and dark. And my head hurts.
She still doesn’t answer so I try a different question.
“Why did you hit me? Were you trying to protect me from something?” For a moment I think she might have gone, left me here, but then I hear her voice again.
“You can’t protect people, not even the ones you love,” she says. “Everyone thinks that dying is the worst thing that could happen to them, but they’re wrong. The worst thing in the world is notdying. Something terrible happening to your child is worse than dying, but that’s not the worst thing either. Something terrible happening to your child and it being your fault is the worst thing in the world.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Marriage is a myth. A lie handed down from generation to generation, because someone somewhere decided that two people living together was a good idea. That’s what I think now. And we do it because we think we’re supposed to. Because it’s what everyone else does. But the truth is some people are better off alone. I was marriedonce, and I think it bent our love out of shape. All the things I found charming about him at the start of our relationship were the things I couldn’t stand about him in the end. The things we had in common became the things I most wanted to change about myself. Funny that. I think love is a filter that turns everything ugly about a person into something that appears beautiful.”
“Fascinating stuff, but what has this got to do with anything?”
“Everything. Because once upon a time I was married to Harrison.”
What the actual fuck?
