Blood Sisters(90)

Besides, that wasn’t all. When Baby was coming out, Kitty had been certain she’d recalled everything that had happened on the day of the accident. But now, she couldn’t help thinking that there was something else which had happened. Something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

‘It’s no good,’ she heard one of the nurses say. ‘We’ll have to give it a bottle.’

Then they went away. And it was quiet again. Apart from the screaming in Kitty’s head.

‘Just one more thing, love.’

Was this the same day or the one after or the one after that? It was hard to tell. The days seemed to merge into one. They’d bring Baby to her. Sometimes Kitty felt like feeding it. Sometimes she didn’t. Sometimes she wanted to hold it on her lap with her good hand and one of the nurses supporting her. And sometimes she wanted it to go away and leave her alone.

‘We need to think of a name.’ Friday Mum had that forced jolly voice on which pretended that everything was all right. ‘I’ve found a baby name book. Look! Do you think you could point with your good hand to the one you like best? If you can’t, that’s OK. We’ll just think of one for you.’

Suddenly Kitty was wide awake. A for Amanda. B for Beatrice. C for Carol …

‘Carol?’ questioned her mother. ‘That’s pretty.’

‘No, you bloody idiot. Keep turning the pages.’

‘I think she wants you to go on,’ says the nurse.

At least somebody understood.

Yes! Friday Mum had got to the Vs. She was stabbing the page with her good hand too to make sure she got it.

‘Vanessa? Are you sure? It won’t upset you?’

Kitty shook her head. But it came out as a nod. So she nodded it. And it came out as a shake. ‘Touch it again if that’s what you want, love.’

There was a catch in her mother’s throat. ‘That’s very sweet of you.’

And then the screams began again. Not from Baby. But from inside that bloody head of hers. Still searching for that final piece. The clue that would explain everything.





70


November 2017


Alison


‘I wasn’t sure that you’d see me,’ says the chiselled-jaw man opposite me. He is attracting a good deal of attention from neighbouring tables. One of the girls whose pad is next to mine has already been reprimanded by an officer for wolf-whistling at him. This is either going to give me currency on the wing or make me a target. I suspect the latter.

‘I was curious.’ I force myself to look straight at him, even though it hurts like mad. I can still see him above me, looking down intently, the way he always did when we were making love. It had made me feel special. How ironic.

What does he think of me now, I wonder. Personally I try not to look in the mirror too often. When I do, I see a woman whose previously elfin hairstyle has gone straggly without a decent cut. She does not wear make-up so her blonde eyelashes fade into oblivion. Yet despite this, I also glimpse an emotional weight which has been lifted. Her eyes can now meet her own in the glass because she has finally done the right thing.

‘What do you want to say to me?’ I have to speak loudly because it’s noisy in here. Many of my fellow inmates have got kids visiting. Some are racing around despite the officers’ attempts to get them to sit at the ‘activity table’ in the corner.

‘How about sorry?’

I’m not expecting this. ‘I don’t understand.’

I want to sound hard but the hurt is all too clear.

He reaches for my hand but I scrape my chair back. He presses his lips together as if he’s about to say something difficult. ‘When Crispin Wright first commissioned me to tail you, I had a personal interest.’

That’s when he reaches into his pocket and brings out the watch with the Disney cartoon I’d noticed when we’d first met. At first, I’d been scared when he’d put his hand in his pocket – all part of the anxiety issues I’d been suffering from since the accident. I’d thought – yes, I know this sounds crazy – he was going to hurt me. Then when I’d seen the child’s watch face, it had made me feel just a tiny bit more kindly towards him. I’d considered him merely eccentric. How wrong could I have been?

‘This was my brother’s. He died when he was eleven.’ His voice is flat, the way it is when you fight to hide emotion. ‘He was pushed into the road by a group of teenagers who were jostling each other to get on to the bus. It was his first day at secondary school. The first time my parents had allowed him to go on his own.’

Is this another lie? ‘How old were you?’

‘Five. I was with my mother when the police arrived.’ He turns away. ‘I’ll never forget her face. The kids weren’t even cautioned. It wasn’t the driver’s fault but he got six years.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. My gut instinct is that he’s telling the truth.

‘My parents never got over it. They divorced shortly afterwards. And I lost my best friend. The big brother who had always been there for me. And just in case you’re wondering – which you have every right to do – I’m not making it up.’

Gently, reverently, he puts the watch back in his pocket. Then he turns to face me again. Square on. ‘When Crispin instructed me to befriend you and find out more, I wanted justice. I was convinced you were guilty, even though I had no proof. I didn’t realize he’d done – that – to you.’