The Guilty Couple(26)
Now here I am, hoovering under desks, wiping down surfaces and emptying bins. It’s good to be out of Ayesha’s flat and doing something useful instead of lying on the sofa, refreshing my phone.
The email Jack sent was short: I’m sorry for everything I put you through. J x
My reply was equally succinct – Where are you? – but I did consider sending: You are a cowardly, selfish bastard and I’ll never forgive you for abandoning me when I needed you most. Never contact me again.
How dare he get in touch with me now after five years of silence and so many lies?
If he hadn’t vanished the way he had I might never have gone to prison. We’d have had two defence barristers to prove our innocence and two alibis, not one. The arrest warrant was in both our names but, instead of choosing to fight beside me, Jack packed up his passport, wallet, toothbrush, laptop and a few clothes – and he fled. It was all over the papers, the lover who’d gone on the run. There were sightings of him in various parts of the country and, according to my solicitor, the internet was awash with theories that he’d smuggled himself on a ferry to France by hiding in the back of a van.
For the longest time I convinced myself that Jack was dead. His last text had said, I’m sorry, Liv. I love you but I can’t do this anymore. At the time I’d assumed he was ending our affair but what if it wasn’t that? What if what he couldn’t do anymore was live? There were moments, when we were together, when he’d go quiet, seemingly lost in thought, and his mood would sour. I’d tiptoe around him when he was like that and give him space. Then, all of a sudden, something within him would switch and he’d be the playful, laughing, joyful Jack I loved so much. Were the signs he was in a dark place always there but I’d chosen to ignore them? I wasn’t sure what was worse, believing that Jack had betrayed me or choosing to believe that he’d taken his own life.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket, making me jolt. It continues to vibrate as I reach for it; someone’s ringing me.
I abandon my hoover and hurry out of the room. ‘Hello, who is this?’
The sound of sobbing fills my ear and there’s no mistaking who it is.
It’s cold and dark in the stairwell but I don’t bother to turn on the light.
‘Grace? Take a deep breath, sweetheart. I can’t understand what you’re saying.’
There’s a pause, a sob, then a shaky attempt at a breath. I am simultaneously concerned that she’s upset and joyful that it was me she turned to for help. She must have taken my phone number from the umbrella after all. She’s had it all along.
‘M … Mum,’ she manages my name, then a sob steals the next word away.
‘What is it, sweetheart? You can tell me.’
‘I … I … I had to see my head of year today.’
‘Okay. What about?’
Her crying intensifies for a few seconds then she calms herself down again.
‘I’m … I’m being bullied. It’s been going on for ages but they’re too clever. They’re making it look like it’s me.’
‘That what’s you?’
‘That I’m the bully.’
‘Who’s they, Gracie?’
‘Ava, Daisy and Brooke. They’ve set up fake accounts on social media in my name and they showed Mrs Hargreaves all the horrible messages I was supposed to have sent. And she … she believed them. So did … so did Dad.’
A cold rage settles in my bones. Dominic is her father, he’s supposed to listen to her, to defend her, to keep her safe from the world. I’d do all of those things if she was living with me. I wouldn’t side with the bullies. I’d stand up for her. I’d do whatever it took to make her happy again. It’s all I can do not to drive my fist into the landing wall.
‘He was so angry with me,’ Grace continues. ‘He’s always angry these days. He’s on the phone now, shouting at someone.’ She pauses and, sure enough, I hear Dominic’s voice, raised in anger, ranting about having everything in hand. ‘I heard him say my name,’ Grace comes back on the phone, ‘so I came out onto the landing to find out what he was talking about. I think it might be Mrs Hargreaves. She’s probably going to exclude me and I haven’t done anything wrong.’
I memorise the name. I might be banned from contacting Dominic but my probation officer didn’t say anything about contacting the school.
‘I know you haven’t done anything wrong, Gracie. I believe you. I believe you, love.’
‘I don’t want to be here anymore. Can you come and get me? Please? I could share the sofa with you at Ayesha’s. If you ask her, I’m sure she’ll say yes.’
My heart aches, hearing the desperation in her voice. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. I can’t. I’m not allowed. I’m on something called a licence for the next five years. Because of the … because of the crime they think I’ve committed … I’m not allowed to live with you for a while. I have to stick to the rules about only having supervised visits. My social worker said they’ll review the situation regularly, and ask you what you want, and maybe then we can live together. But I don’t know when that will be. I’m sorry. We’ve got another visit coming up soon, sweetheart. I’ll give you the biggest hug then.’