The Dilemma(66)

Then it comes. Me too.

And now it’s real. I have to tell Livia. But how? How do I get past the Livia, I need to tell you? How can I say the words I can’t even say in my head: Marnie has died. It’s too brutal, too inhumane. I need more words – Livia, I need to tell you. Marnie and I had arranged a surprise for your birthday – I stop, because I can already see her face lighting up. Maybe it would be better to go straight to the truth: Livia, I need to tell you – you know the plane that crashed yesterday on its way to Amsterdam? Well, Marnie was a passenger on it – and then add something to help ease the pain. But don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine, we’re going to come through this, you, me and Josh. Because grief makes us say the stupidest things.

And I realise that there are no words to tell a mother that her child is dead.

I get to my feet. This is it, this is the moment I tear Livia’s world apart.

Mechanically, I leave my shed, walk across the lawn towards the house, down the steps onto the terrace and into the kitchen. But then I see my bike keys lying on the side where I dropped them a lifetime ago and instead of carrying on upstairs to the bedroom, I grab the keys and walk back through the kitchen and down the side path. I’m running now, no longer thinking about how I’m going to tell Livia, but about the time I picked Marnie up from a party and instead of coming home, we drove all the way down to Southampton and went for a walk along the beach. I reach the garage, take my helmet from the top case, get on my bike, start the engine and roar off down the road.

I race along deserted streets, scattering a scavenging cat, cutting a corner too tight, shattering the night’s deathly silence with the roar of my bike. Ahead of me, the slip road to the M4 looms. I open the throttle and take it fast, screaming onto the motorway, slicing in front of a crawling car. My bike shifts under me as I push faster.

The drag of the wind on my face is intoxicating and I have to fight an overwhelming urge to let go of the handlebars and freefall to my death. Is it terrible that Livia and Josh aren’t enough to make me want to live? Guilt adds itself to the torment of the last fourteen hours and a roar of white-hot anger adds to the roar of the bike as I race down the motorway, bent on destruction.

Then, in the mirror, through the water streaming from my eyes, I see a car hammering down the motorway behind me, its blue light flashing, and my roar of grief becomes one of frustration. I take the bike past one hundred mph, knowing that if it comes to it I can get to one-twenty, because nothing is going to stop me now. But the police car quickly closes the distance between us, moving swiftly into the outside lane and, as it levels with me, my peripheral vision catches an officer gesticulating wildly from the passenger seat.

I add more speed but the car sweeps past and moves into my lane, blocking my bike. I’m about to open the throttle and overtake him, pushing my bike to its maximum, but something stops me and he slowly reduces his speed, bringing me in. I’m not sure why I let him. Maybe it’s because I don’t want Livia to have even more pieces to pick up. Or maybe it was Marnie’s voice pleading, ‘Don’t, Dad, don’t!’. I swear I could feel her arms tightening around my waist for a moment, her head pressing against the back of my neck.

My limbs are trembling as I bring the bike to a stop behind the police car and cut the engine. Two officers get out, one male, one female. The male strides towards me.

‘Have you got a death wish or something?’ he yells, slamming his cap onto his head.

The second officer – the driver – approaches. ‘Sir, step away from the bike,’ she barks. ‘Sir, did you hear me? Step away from the bike.’

I try to unfurl my hands from the handlebars, unstick my legs from the bike. But I seem to be welded to it.

‘Sir, if you don’t comply, I’m going to have to arrest you.’

‘We’re going to have to arrest him anyway,’ the first officer says. He takes a step towards me and the sight of handcuffs dangling from his belt shocks me into speech.

I flip up my helmet. ‘Wait!’

There must be something in my voice, or maybe they read something in my face, because both police officers pause.

‘Go on.’

‘It’s about Marnie.’

‘Marnie?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who’s Marnie?’

‘My daughter.’ I swallow painfully. ‘Marnie’s my daughter.’

They exchange a glance. ‘Where is your daughter, sir?’





Livia


I stand at the bedroom window and watch Adam walk across the lawn. He has his head down, as if he can’t bear what he’s about to do. Is he really going to call Marnie? Or Rob, even? I feel suddenly sick at the thought of Jess finding out now, in the middle of the night. But then I remember how he asked Cleo not to say anything, because if it was true, he wanted to tell me first.

That’s why he didn’t want Amy to stay the night, I realise. He doesn’t want her here tomorrow morning, when we’ll have to tell Josh about Marnie and Rob. We need to face this as a family.

Adam disappears from sight and I imagine him squashing his way through the gap to his shed. Now that everyone has gone, the garden looks strangely abandoned, the marquee moored in the middle of the lawn like a huge white ship lost at sea. A few white napkins, missed by the caterers, lie on the ground like discarded flags that might once have SOS’d for help. Burst balloons hang sadly from their strings and the ‘Congratulations’ banner has come unstuck at one end. The scene looks like the aftermath of some kind of disaster and a shiver goes down my spine.