Cross Her Heart(31)

Now, in this rage, now that she knows, she is all mine and it breaks my heart all over again.

At first there was too much happening to talk, we were stunned zombies as Alison and the others swept in moving us like mannequins – What’s going on, Mum, why are they calling you Charlotte, who’s Charlotte – bundling us out in separate cars, blankets over our heads, our lives evaporating in the darkness, and then, finally arriving at this small damp flat which reminds me of the first one, the past all jagged edges cutting into me from all angles.

I stand still as she screams at me. I wish I could cry. They’ve told her what I did. How can I explain it to Ava when I can’t explain it to myself? I think of my fairy tale, my shed cells, my new me, and I almost laugh hysterically. The dirt. The guilt. Charlotte can never be shed. She’s there, always, under the layers I’ve housed myself in.

‘You disgust me!’ Ava is crying, but these tears are something feral and wild, her face blotchy red and her hair, still bed-scruffy, like brambles around her beautiful head. ‘How can you say you love me? How can you love anyone? You disgust me! You make me disgust me! Why didn’t you abort me?’

I take a small step forward into the gale of her fury. I want to hold her. I want her to punch me. I want to do something, anything, to try to make this easier for her.

‘Don’t come near me!’ Her shriek makes me flinch. Alison hovers in the doorway. They know Ava needs this. I know she needs this. ‘Stay away from me! I hate you!’ And then she’s gone, storming away, a door slamming.

I don’t move. I can’t. Is this my justice at last? My baby, my one good thing, my chance at a small redemption, hates me. She wishes she hadn’t been born because of me. I have ruined her life. I ruin everything. How can I tell her how I wish I could unravel it all, take it back? To stop myself. To kill myself before. How can I tell her how I dream of him, always, and each time it destroys me? How can I tell her anything without it sounding like a pathetic attempt at an excuse? A plea for forgiveness, even though I know there can never be any forgiveness. I will never want forgiveness.

I don’t mind so much that she hates me. I have always expected that to come one day. All those fears, the worry, knowing how easy it is to be found, it was a fantasy to think Ava would get through life blissfully ignorant. I hoped it would come later. When she was grown and had a life of her own that couldn’t be taken and changed just to protect me. I hate that she hates herself. I can’t bear for her to hate herself. Was I so wrong to have a child? To want someone to love? To be loved by? Oh selfish, Charlotte. Always wanting.

‘She’ll calm down,’ Alison says, coming in and turning the TV on as if this can distract me and establish some kind of normality. ‘We’ll get her some help. Help for both of you.’ She looks at me with pity, but I barely see her. I’m already drifting deep inside myself. My own personal hell. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ she says.

I don’t think Ava will calm down. I know this rage. It reminds me of Charlotte. She’s my girl after all, and that terrifies me more than anything. I know how that rage can lead to terrible things. Can leave someone with regrets like tombstones which have to be carried through life, back-breakingly heavy and deserved.

It all has to come out somehow.





27


NOW


MARILYN

The bright office lights have given me a headache and my sleepless eyes throb. It isn’t a migraine – I haven’t had a real one of those since I was a teenager, whatever I tell Penny when I need a day or two off – this is complete emotional exhaustion. I feel numb, as if the synapses in my brain aren’t quite connecting and I have a constant queasiness in the pit of my stomach.

I turn the radio off and drive in silence. Sitting here in the traffic is the closest I can get to some actual peace and quiet. Some alone time to breathe. To try to process everything. Even when no one was actually speaking at work I could feel the hum of it. All the news tabs open behind work documents. These youngsters who can’t even remember 1989 poring over every detail. The whispers. The gasps. The sideways glances at each other when they found something new. This horrible piece of history that is now part of their lives.

No one sent me the links, of course. I imagine Penny told them not to. She probably meant well, but it’s only made things worse, separating me from the crowd. And it’s not as if I haven’t searched it all myself at home, scouring the Internet until my eyes burn. It’s different though – Stacey, Julia, those new staff, and even Toby just have the thrill of excitement. It’s not real to them. Lisa – I must stop calling her Lisa – wasn’t real to them.

Still, I didn’t let any of them see how terrible I feel. Years of practice at hiding things. I look the part. Always together. Nothing fazes Marilyn. Skin of steel, that’s me.

The only glitch in my armour was arriving late this morning, but they hadn’t expected me to turn up at all. The news had hit us all, but it had frozen me. Then I’d thrown up. I have a vague memory of crying almost hysterically and trying to ring Ava – Oh God, poor Ava – before Richard had realised what I was doing and pulled my phone from me. It was going straight to answerphone anyway. I heard it click in before he hung up. By the time we’d finished discussing that, I was over an hour late, didn’t get Penny’s message to take the day off if I wanted it, and when I got there she’d already briefed the office in no uncertain terms not to speak to the press when they inevitably started calling, to pass any concerned clients her way, and to try to carry on as normal. I came through the door in time to hear her final remark that she would not tolerate anyone bringing the company into disrepute.