‘How could I know any of those things?’ Clara frowned.
‘Exactly. How could anybody know those things?’ Madeleine shuffled forward on her seat. ‘That’s what I’m trying to say. Nobody could know those things were going to happen, in exactly that way, at exactly that time, could they? Not you. Not Mike. Not anyone. Because it was an accident. Anaccident, Clara.’
Clara shook her head. ‘No, he wouldn’t have gone if I hadn’t insisted. It’s my fault.’
Madeleine raised an eyebrow. ‘What if he’d chosen a different route to the supermarket, been quicker, or slower getting Poppy ready? What if he’d stopped for fuel, or been ahead of the lorry in the fast lane, or stopped in a lay-by because Poppy needed something? What if there had been roadworks and the road had been single lane that morning rather than just busy?’
‘But none of those things happened. And it doesn’t change the fact that they were there because of me. Please stop it, Madeleine. I will always feel it was my fault.’
Madeleine nodded. ‘I understand that. I don’t want you to feel that I don’t get what you’re saying. You will always feel a sense of responsibility, I get that. But it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. And that will always be the case, too.’
Clara sank back against the pillow, her eyes tracing a path back to the ceiling, to the spider’s web crack in the grain above the doorway, allowing Madeleine’s words to percolate. She’d always imagined how the expressions on people’s faces would alter when she told them, the hooded look of disgust descending as they realised the part she’d played in that morning’s events. How they would confirm her guilt. Her selfishness. Had she got that wrong?
‘I’m sorry I was never lucky enough to meet Mike, or Poppy,’ Madeleine said. She reached out and took hold of Clara’s hand, an action that surprised her, until she saw the tears building in the corners of Madeleine’s eyes. ‘And I can’t express how awful it is that they’re gone. But, Clara, there’s no way he would have wanted you to have succeeded tonight. You must know that.’
‘I just want them with me, Madeleine. I want them back.’ Clara kept her eyes on the crack in the ceiling, watching as it blurred and then refocused as tears formed and fled from her eyes.
‘Of course, you do.’
‘And I can’t have them back, so the next best thing is to go to them.’
‘No, it isn’t. The next best thing is to keep them alive through you. Nobody knew them like you did. It’s your job to explain to us just how great they were. Was Poppy blonde, like you?’
Clara nodded, unable to stop the hint of a smile raising the corners of her mouth.
‘Was she as sassy as I imagine her to be?’
‘When she didn’t think anyone was looking, she used to drag a kitchen chair to the worktop and climb on it so she could get herself a biscuit. I could hear her huffing and puffing with the effort of moving it, the chair legs scraping on the floor.’
‘Did she put the chair back afterwards? I always did.’
Clara laughed. ‘No. And she would point blank deny she’d moved it. “My not move the chair, Momma. A ghostie did it.”’ The smile stayed put on her face at the memory of Poppy, flecks of chocolate around her lips, a look of absolute sincerity on her face.
‘A girl after my own heart,’ Madeleine said. ‘I’ll do almost anything for a biscuit, too.’
A knock at the door took both of their attention. Rose pushed through the door, a couple of mugs in one hand.
‘Is she awake?’ she whispered. ‘I brought hot chocolate.’ She drew closer to Madeleine and said, ‘I couldn’t sleep without you.’ She sank onto the second chair which had been placed beside Clara’s bed at some point that evening. Clara stayed quiet and still as Rose leaned forward and kissed Madeleine softly on the lips.
‘About time,’ Clara said.
‘You’re right,’ Rose said. ‘None of us are allowed to waste any more time.’
The smile that lingered on Madeleine’s lips buoyed Clara and she shuffled herself up until she was sitting, accepting one of the mugs from Rose.
‘Clara was about to tell me all about Poppy and Mike,’ Madeleine said, turning in her direction again. ‘Weren’t you? I want to know everything. Tell me all about them, Clara.’
So, she did.
Chapter 41
The storm had lost most of its intensity by sunrise. It must have, Tania thought, because she could no longer hear the force of the gusts of wind striking at the window. Traces of weak light extended their way past the edges of the heavy curtains, like slithers of the future pushing their way into existence. Undaunted and undiminished by the night’s events.
She sighed and shuffled under the covers. Even though her eyes were grainy and sore, and her body ached and complained with every movement, she supposed that she must have slept, for a while at least.
Slipping out from the covers, she abandoned the layers of warm fleeces and thick socks she’d worn throughout the night. She gave a cursory glance over the beginnings of the bruising on her hip and knee, was relieved to see that her feet looked normal, then pulled on some different clothes and headed along the corridor. She poked her head around Clara’s door. Lysander sat in the chair, his head lolling to one side as he dozed. Clara was curled up in a ball, her breathing rhythmical, sleeping deeply. Tania eased the door closed again and headed upstairs.
Tom was already busy in the kitchen, the aroma of freshly baking pastries filling the space.
