The Forgetting(28)

Zahira’s words expose an issue I’ve been trying to repress for the past six days, but now that she’s articulated it, I can no longer delude myself that it doesn’t exist. ‘I do. I just haven’t felt able . . . I need to ask Stephen.’

Glancing down at my watch, I see that it is almost midday and feel a stab of panic. I have been out for over an hour. There is every chance Stephen will ring soon and that I will miss his lunchtime call. ‘I’d better get home. I’m not used to being out alone for long stretches of time.’ I look across the playground, towards the entrance to the park, silently reassuring myself that I know the way back. I have my map, it will tell me the directions.

‘Will you be okay?’

I nod, even as I know that one wrong turn could be disastrous. ‘I’ll be fine, thanks.’

There is a momentary pause. ‘Elyas and I are here most Tuesday and Friday mornings, so if you’re at a loose end, we’re invariably around.’ Zahira smiles with complete openness, and I find myself imagining it: meeting her here twice a week, tentatively beginning a friendship. And then I feel embarrassed by my sense of yearning for it to come to pass.

‘That’s really kind of you, thanks.’ I get up from the bench, say goodbye, begin to walk away. At the gate, I glance back over my shoulder, see Elyas run into Zahira’s arms, feel something pull taut in my chest.

Turning right out of the park, I head for home, taking out the piece of paper, following my meticulous instructions: turn left on the main road, walk over the railway bridge, turn left again onto the street with pedestrian-only access. Buoyed by my conversation with Zahira, I know that tonight, when Stephen gets home, I need to ask him about the rest of my family. I’m ready to find out more about who else was in my life before the crash.





LIVVY


BRISTOL

‘She followed you to the farm? And then asked you to persuade me to go to my dad’s funeral?’

Dominic ran his fingers through his hair, picked up his glass of red wine, swigged a large mouthful. On the table in front of them, plates of arrabbiata pasta remained untouched.

‘I’m sorry. I probably should have told you as soon as you got home, but you’ve had so much to deal with lately.’

‘It’s not your fault. It’s my bloody mother. I can’t believe she did that to you.’ He shook his head, drank another gulp of wine. ‘What kind of crazy person harasses their daughter-in-law and grandchild at an urban farm, for god’s sake? It’s genuinely mad.’

Livvy pushed her plate to one side. ‘I guess she was desperate and grief does strange things to people.’ She paused, knowing she had to ask the question. ‘So did you know – about your dad?’ She was aware of gauging her way through the conversation as though walking across a frozen lake, unsure if the ice was thick enough to hold her.

Dominic nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I know I should have told you, but I just don’t want them in our lives.’

There was ferocity in his voice, and Livvy had never seen him like this before: jaw tensed with bitter resentment, face tightening like a fist. She rubbed the back of his hand, his knuckles rigid beneath her fingers. ‘You don’t need to apologise. I know what a difficult situation this is for you.’ She hesitated, knowing she should mention it, uncertain whether now was the time. ‘But in all honesty, your mum’s behaviour was pretty strange. It was obviously the first time she’d seen Leo properly, and there was something about the way she looked at him—’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know how to explain it. There was a kind of single-mindedness about her, as though Leo was the only person in the world and she just had to get close to him. Maybe that’s what some grandparents are like. But she seemed . . . fixated on him. I can’t really describe it. It was just really unnerving.’

‘Right, that’s it.’ Dominic stood up from the table, strode towards the stairs.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m going to email my mother. She has to be told. I don’t want her anywhere near you or Leo.’

‘Do you really think that’s wise? I thought you said we shouldn’t give her the oxygenation of contact.’

Dominic shook his head. ‘This has gone far enough. I’m not having her hassling you and Leo like this. It’s got to stop.’ He didn’t wait for a reply before bounding up the stairs, two at a time, in search of his laptop.

At the kitchen table, Livvy looked at the plates of congealing pasta, wondered whether Dominic would want his heated up when he came back down. Glancing at the baby monitor, she watched Leo sleep in his cot, her heart buckling with a desire to protect him, and felt a wave of relief that Dominic was emailing his mother, drawing a line, instructing her not to contact them again.





ANNA


LONDON

Stephen slices the last of his steak in two, forks one piece into his mouth, chews with visible effort. The steak is overcooked, griddled not for the two minutes on either side Stephen had advised but for significantly longer because my thoughts were elsewhere, rehearsing one side of a conversation I know we need to have.

‘Aren’t you hungry?’

I look down at my plate: the steak barely touched, sautéed potatoes still heaped in a pile, only a few florets of broccoli missing. ‘Not really.’