"I can understand that. By the time I was that age, we'd had Marie."
She left the silence for a few minutes. "You don't need to tell me if it's too difficult. I understand."
I waited, pushing the cold away. I never talked about her, not even with Claire and Max, and never, ever Callum. "I can give you the short version now. Maybe more another time. It's not something we talk about."
"Whatever you're comfortable with." She moved the back of her head under my chin, her whole body against mine, still both fully clothed.
"Our mum committed suicide after Callum was born. She'd suffered massive post-natal depression after Claire, and probably me, probably before. Max and I woke up one day with no sign of her around," I took a deep breath, knowing Vanessa could feel how tense I was. "We played outside, got out our own breakfast but by lunchtime we needed Mum. She was in bed, so sound asleep. Claire was lying next to her, talking to her and trying to wake her up. She had Callum with her and had tried to change him and had fed him. Mum had made up a load of bottles before."
Vanessa said nothing, just turned around and moved up the bed, holding me, pulling my head into her chest as if she knew I couldn't look at her.
"She'd taken pills. Her friend was due round just after lunch, the cleaner should've been round early on, but she'd not arrived because her daughter had gone into early labor. Our mum had planned everything for us to be looked after, including letters for all of us apologizing. We didn't see ours until we were old enough and Marie had spoken to us so much about it when we needed to talk," I said, ignoring the wet that came from my eyes.
"I'm sorry, Jackson," she said, holding me. "I want to say that your mum loved you, which I know she did. And I want to say that it wasn't your fault, because it wasn't, and you know that. Mental health, which we all have, is a complex entity and I don't want to try to compartmentalize and explain it because I can't. Just know that although none of us can understand – both her and what you went through – I empathize and know what it's like to lose a parent. And I'm glad you've trusted me enough to tell me." She kissed the top of my head, wrapping herself around me fully and I let my eyes close, leaning into her and knowing that as much as I wanted to protect and defend her, she would do the same for me.
***
After a great weekend, one that had left me feeling as if nothing could bowl me over, Monday morning provided its usual storm of flying feces. It began with a reporter contacting me just after I'd got to my desk after working whatever emotional residue had been left at the office gym. It was one I'd known for a few years, having supplied her with information on a dodgy supplier of goods who was known to the opposition some years ago. Jeanne and I had gone out for drinks and I'd acted the part of a possessive boyfriend when her rather nasty ex-had crawled out of his cesspit. Every so often we'd met up, always platonic.
"Jackson," she said. "I've had a tip-off. Or rather, one of my colleagues did, but passed it over to me."
"And you want to check its validity?" I said. "Interesting. Go on."
"Katie Worthington. She was being beaten by her ex. We've been given photos – they were scanned in and sent from a random Gmail account. I'll forward it to you, but as far as I'm concerned this could be evidence used in court and publishing it could jeopardize any outcome," Jeanne said.
"And your morally adept compass is pointing which way?" I said, feeling slightly twitchy, but unsurprised. Shit like this was going to happen all the way through Claire's case.
"They were sent to Louisa Hoffman, whose ex is currently serving time for abusing his wife. She will deny all knowledge of receiving them, as will I, if some scumbag needs prosecuting. If that's not going to happen, I'd rather have your assurance for the story when it's available before any other publication," Jeanne said, giving nothing else away. I knew the score and was happy to abide by it. We had a good relationship and she was a good person, not like some journalists who could be nothing short of piranha-like.
"Done," I said, knowing the full extent of what I was agreeing to. "Don't know how those images are going to be used yet, or if our client is pressing charges. Clearly, we have a leak in the office. Any identification on the email?"
"Yes. Vanessa Moore. There's an offer of more information if money is sent to an account, the details of which will be given if we respond to the email. In all honesty, Jackson, the pictures could be found via other sources. Alan Lacey's been linked with assault on his partner before, this is just a picture we haven't seen and could be attributed to Katie having surgery," Jeanne said. "The sender might not be from your office, but the email does say that Callaghan Greene are acting for Katie Worthington with regards to her divorce. I know Vanessa Moore is behind your upcoming marketing campaign and your dad's ball. I've met her a few times and this does not seem like something she'd pull."
"It isn't. But I think I know who it might be. Can you forward me the email?" I could feel anger knotting in my chest, the exercise in the gym now negated completely.
"Sure. But you must promise to give me a story or the hook for one when this is done. Especially if I can nail Alan Fucking Lacey to the wall. He's the scum of the earth and should be sent down for something," Jeanne said, hatred in her voice.
"You know I'll do what I can. In the meantime, if you catch him with any other women let me know," I said as the email pinged through.
"Will do. Let's catch up soon. I need to bitch, moan and whine about life in general."
"I'll bring Claire. She's got that down to a fine art," I said, opening the email and looking at the forwarding address and the time it was sent: Friday night at nine-thirty pm. I said goodbye to Jeanne and locked my computer, heading to find Max.
His response was what I expected. "Hand it over to IT," he said. "Get them to look at what was scanned in after work on Friday. We know who it is: who else would put Van's name in it and we know it's not her as she was drinking with us at Dad's."
"She wouldn't do this anyway," I said, anger eating into me. "I can't be involved in it. If it's Kirsty, I can't be trusted to not say something unprofessional."
Max nodded. "Hand it over to IT and HR. We'll get her off the premises pending investigation as soon as we've evidence that she scanned that picture. Go do what you need to. I'll see Gino." Gino was our IT guy, a tattooed biker who would lift weights with us and keep our systems secure and working efficiently. He also had the patience of a saint when PCs didn't work and had learned to avoid telling the associates and secretaries to switch it on and off again. He followed me out of his office, ignoring Seph who was just making his way in.
"What's up with you two?" our youngest brother asked. "He looks like he's on his way to war and you look ready to start a battle."
"You'll find out soon enough. How's your diary today?" I said, trying to take my mind off Kirsty and the shit storm she could've created. There was the worry that she would've sent the photo to other papers, which meant we were playing a waiting game to see if anyone else got in touch with us. If so, we'd have to take out an injunction, which wouldn't be a problem. The next issue would be letting Claire know.
"Morning!"
I turned around to see Kirsty arrive, all smiles and over-styled hair.
"Do you want me to run out and get you coffee, Jackson?" she said when I didn't respond.
