Holly’s eyes flick to his.
Jason doesn’t say any more, simply shakes his head. It’s enough. Heeding his unspoken warning, Holly drags her disgusted gaze away from me and turns to flee up the stairs.
‘Come on, tiger.’ His voice strained, Jason turns his attention back to Josh. ‘Let’s go and get dressed, and then we can grab breakfast on the way, hey?’
Josh’s reproachful eyes stay on mine for a second, and then he permits his father to steer him away, guiding him up the stairs before him.
They’re on the landing when I hear Josh ask, ‘Do I have to go to school, Dad?’ His voice is tearful and anguished.
‘No, Josh,’ Jason says hoarsely. ‘You don’t have to go to school. Not today.’
The day I broke my babies’ hearts.I clamp my hands over my face and gulp back the wretched sob climbing my throat. He’s stealing them, stealing my babies away from me.
No, he isn’t.The voice that speaks the guilt I will carry forever echoes in my head.It’s you who’ll be to blame if you lose them.You’re driving them away.
Thirty-Six
KARLA
It’s not quite light when I hear the bedroom door open. Jason, I guess, bringing me tea. I’m not sure why, after the vile things I said to him – with my children in earshot. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that. I don’t think my children will either.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks, as he places the cup on the bedside table next to me.
His voice is soft, concerned, and my heart breaks a little bit more. I don’t answer. I don’t dare, in case it initiates another argument. I don’t want to fight with him any more. I’m not sure I have the will to. I haven’t had the energy to do anything but stay cocooned in my bed, trying to escape the dark mood that hangs over me like a heavy grey blanket. I have no idea how to speak to him now, in any case. No idea whether there’s anything left to say.
Jason has been awkward around me. Obviously, he would be. At one point, I felt like I wanted to die, but I don’t want to leave my children. When I imagined that, I cried tears of raw grief. Silent tears. Jason was in the spare room, but I didn’t want him to hear me crying, my children to hear my heart breaking. He would care for them if I simply ceased to be, I know this to be true. He would also have enough money from the insurance to provide for them until he discovered what he wanted to do with his life, now he’s selling the business that ripped us apart.
I’ve no doubt his future plans include his notion of the perfect woman. Does he really imagine she exists? That I’m really so imperfect, since I adapted who I am to become a wife and a mother? Or did he think me imperfect before then?
‘I’ve brought you some tea,’ he says tentatively.
I nod, but I don’t turn to him. I can’t bear for him to see me like this.Ican’t bear to see me like this. I will rouse myself. I have to get up today and function on some level. Try to repair the relationship with my children, whose behaviour around me now is stilted, their looks guarded.
Hearing Jason’s heavy sigh as he walks away, closing the bedroom door softly behind him, I close my eyes, burrow deeper into my cocoon and allow the fresh tears to fall.
My mind drifts for a while, searching for happier memories to latch on to. Try as I might, as horribly sorry for myself as I’m feeling, I can’t seem to find any that aren’t tinged with sadness. Somewhere between consciousness and slumber, I am in another time, another place, another bed, thin winter sunlight filtering through the gaps in the curtains. The house is quiet. Too quiet. I strain my ears for the sounds of birdsong, people stirring, the familiar soft sounds of my sister sleeping. Nothing. The stillness is profound.
‘Sarah?’ Glancing across to her twin bed, I whisper her name. She doesn’t respond, even to grunt moodily, as she usually does, and wriggle away from me. Pushing my duvet back, a shiver runs through me as the icy air greets me. I hitch my legs over my bed and pad towards her, my small feet making no sound on the thick carpet.
‘Sarah?’ Goosebumps prickle my skin, and I whisper more urgently. She doesn’t hear me. She is lying on her back, her eyes closed, her expression… serene. Her skin is pale, like alabaster. Obliquely, I’m reminded of the porcelain dolls we coveted when visiting a doll shop in Knightsbridge. Her lips are strangely blue.
‘Sarah, wake up.’ My voice is small. I’m growing scared, angry. I don’t like this game. ‘Sarah,stopit.’ I reach out to touch her, warm flesh against cold, and my hand recoils in an instant. And then someone is screaming, loud, long and piercing. Seconds pass – firm arms encircle me, a voice tries to shush me – before I realise that someone is me.
Then I am startled by a nearer sound: my children’s voices permeating the shrill noise in my head; the slam of the front door.
Hell!Panic-stricken, I throw back the duvet and stumble woozily to the window to see Jason walking our children to the car. Josh is lagging behind, as he always does, his eyes on his iPad. Holly has taken hold of Jason’s hand. She’s looking up at him, her little face serious, nodding thoughtfully as she digests whatever he’s telling her. Most likely he’s trying to reassure her about me. I’d overheard him telling them, ‘Mummy’s a bit poorly,’ after my deranged behaviour the other morning. What does he say to them in private, I wonder. How is he convincing them that this nightmare will have a fairy-tale ending?
I curse myself for going back to sleep. I should have been up, hugging them close, assuring them myself that I would be well soon, back to normal. Though, in truth, I don’t know that I ever will be. I feel as if I’m falling, that no matter how hard I flail out, there is no branch to hang on to, that when I land, the me I knew won’t exist any more.
Watching my babies climb into the car, I press the flat of my hand against the glass, as if I might draw them to look up at me. They don’t. They’re both too preoccupied with their father. I would never have disillusioned them about him, rubbished him in their eyes, had my grief and anger not driven me beyond rationality. I would have lied for him, whatever the future holds, because I love my children. Because I love him still. I can’t imagine a time when my heart won’t feel as if it’s bleeding steadily inside me. But the hateful words spilled from my mouth without process of forethought. Without a second’s consideration for Holly and Josh, who were just upstairs. What kind of mother am I, really? What kind of person am I?
Imperfect. A monster.
My mobile rings as I’m making my way back across the room, willing myself to shower and get dressed. I don’t want to answer it, but thinking it might be Mum, and knowing how worried she will be, I reach for it.
Not Mum. I note the number of the housing association I work for, and the knot of guilt in my stomach twists itself tighter. I’ve rung in, but I can’t bring myself to go back to work. A shudder runs through me as I recall my bitchy behaviour towards the girls in the admin office, who haven’t spoken to me since, other than out of necessity about anything work-related. I can’t face them, any of my colleagues. Not now. Not like this.
Reluctantly, I take the call, guessing they’re checking to see how long I might be off sick. Fervently, I hope it isn’t the girl I reduced to tears.Oh no.My guilt multiplies as I realise it’s the chief executive himself.
