Cross Her Heart

I watch her from the doorway, my perfect girl. She’s on her side, facing away from me, curled up small, exactly how she slept as a toddler. She is so precious. So wonderful, and looking at her calms me and reminds me that I have to stay alive, I have to keep breathing. For her. She gave me back my desire to live, and I will always protect her. She will never know what I keep inside. Not if I can help it. I want her to be blissfully free. It must be a wonderful thing to be blissfully free.

I stay for a few minutes more, the sight of Ava far better for me than any amount of deep yoga breathing, and then reluctantly leave her to sleep in private. It’s nearly three a.m. Taking sleeping pills now is a bad idea, but so is facing the day with no rest at all, and so I compromise and only swallow one instead of the usual two I need when these fearful, sad moods have me gripped tight. I’ll feel terrible all morning tomorrow but at the moment two or three hours of oblivion is what I need. I can’t keep going round in circles of fear and grief. I’ll go mad by dawn if I do, I’m sure of it. The bad feeling is only my anxiety. The bunny wasn’t Peter Rabbit. The words bang at my skull, trying to knock sense into me as I crawl back under my covers.

I want oblivion, but instead I dream. It’s the dream, in glorious, vivid technicolour, and while I’m there, it’s wonderful.

In the dream, I’m holding Daniel’s hand. It’s soft and small and warm and his fingers grip tight in the way toddlers do as he looks up at me and smiles. My heart bursts in rainbow showers of joy and I bend over to kiss him. His chubby cheeks are all smooth, creamy skin, tinged pink from the outside air, and he giggles in surprise as my lips smack loudly against his face, but his eyes are lit up by love. His eyes are like mine, blue flecked with grey and green and in them I can see how I am his everything.

Peter Rabbit is in his other hand, and he holds him maybe even more tightly than he holds on to me. He cannot imagine me not being there, but he’s had some near misses with Peter Rabbit. Once left on a bus but remembered in the nick of time. Another time, on a counter in the corner shop. Daniel has the fear that Peter Rabbit might one day not be there and the thought alone is enough to make him cry. He’s two and a half years old and Peter Rabbit is his best friend.

I feel something tapping against my subconscious, a dark truth which won’t be ignored, not even in a dream – It is not Peter Rabbit who will one day not be there. This little hand in mine will be cold and still and will never reach for me again – but I push it away and take Daniel to the small park with the tatty swings and roundabouts where the paint is so chipped the rust from the metal below stains clothes on a damp day, but he squeals with joy at the sight of it. He’s two and a half and he doesn’t see rust and decay and something unloved. He only sees the good things. He is the good thing.

His hand is out of mine and he and Peter Rabbit run to the swings. I run after him, staying slightly behind because I love watching the way Daniel’s small body moves, so cute and clumsy, bound up in the constraints of his coat. He looks over his shoulder at me and I want to hold this picture of sweetness forever to remember when he is grown into a boy and then a man and this everything I am is gone.

It is a perfect dream. An afternoon in the park. The love is overwhelming. It’s pure. It’s so strong it almost suffocates me, bubbling out through my pores there’s so much of it. It’s unrestrained. No barriers are up around it. There is nothing wicked in the world in that moment and I think, if I let the love take me, I shall transform into a pure beam of light shining on Daniel.

I wake up, gasping painful breaths into my pillow and clutching at fragments of fading images, hoping in vain to grasp one and follow it back and hold his small hand forever. It’s always the same after the dream. It hurts so much I want to die, the aching need to go back and save him. I try to think of Ava, my perfect girl, the child who came after, oblivious, free and wonderful and untarnished by the world. She is here and alive and I love her with all of what’s left of my heart.

Perhaps my love for Ava makes it all worse, if it’s at all possible. I think of the bunny rabbit in the bin. It is not Peter Rabbit. I know that. I know where Peter Rabbit is.

Peter Rabbit was buried with Daniel.

7

AVA

I’m not sure exactly what’s in the punch but it’s some crazy mix of shit. Fruit juice, lemonade, the vodka Ange brought and a bottle of Bacardi Jodie added from her mum’s booze cupboard. Jodie reckons her mum won’t miss it, but I’m not so sure. There was a fierce look on Jodie’s face when she poured it all in that made me think her mum would definitely notice when she gets back from France. Like Jodie wanted to get in some shit. So weird, how our mums are such opposites. Jodie’s is never here and mine is becoming way too clingy. Weird mums club, is what we call it. We haven’t told the others. They wouldn’t understand.

My head buzzes. We had cider in the pub earlier and this is my second glass of punch. I’m well on my way to getting wasted, which is probably the best way for doing it. Losing it.

I lean back on the bed, half-lying down, my head resting against the wall. My mum would lose it if she could see me now, on my friend’s bed with my sort-of boyfriend. She’s already texted once to check we’re all at the house. I’ve put my phone on silent. Imagine if she texted right in the middle? At least she’s gone out tonight. She doesn’t go out much which makes me feel more guilty about wanting my own life, but I’ve been stretching the umbilical cord for the past year or so and I want it to snap, even though I can feel her constantly trying to pull me back.

I’m still a bit freaked out by the other night. The weird drinking in the kitchen thing was bad enough, but then she came into my room in the middle of the night and watched me while I pretended to sleep. Why would she do that? It’s made me uncomfortable, as if the world is suddenly unsteady.

I take a long swallow of my punch as, down the corridor, the toilet flushes. My heart speeds up a little. Fuck. I’m actually going to fuck. For a moment, I have a totally irrational longing for my mum. It makes me drink some more. She’s the last person I need. I’m not a kid any more. I’m a woman. He always says so.

‘You all right?’ Courtney asks, as he comes back into Jodie’s spare bedroom and starts fiddling with his phone to play some tunes. I smile at him, nod, and drink some more. It’s too sweet but I don’t care. I want to get smashed, and the booze and lack of food is obliging. I wonder if he’s nervous. Probably not. If all the stories are true, Courtney’s done it loads.

I’m not as anxious as I thought I would be. It’s been a busy day, I’m tired, and I could happily curl up and go to sleep. I started at the gym early this morning, and then, once my legs and shoulders were trembling and aching, I forced myself to swim for an hour. I’d met Ange at ten so she could buy something new to wear. Something skin-tight, obviously. Angela’s been served in pubs since she was about twelve. With her tits and all dressed up Angela often looks older than Jodie.

Courtney’s mouth is hot and wet on my neck and his hand slides on to my hip. This is it. I feel detached, here but not here. My body’s in the moment, but my mind isn’t, like I’m watching us from above and thinking, just get on with it. I can hear my breath getting heavier, although I’m not really turned on. It’s a mechanical reaction. Being with Courtney means I can’t help thinking about him. I’ve heard nothing today. He said he was going to be busy, but surely everyone has time to send one little ‘hello’? Something so I’d know he was thinking about me.

Courtney’s mouth meets mine and I obligingly part my lips and let our tongues explore each other. He’s a good kisser compared with most of the other boys I’ve been out with, but tonight it feels like an invasion.

Why hasn’t he messaged me?

He’s grinding hard against my thigh. I have to do it. I haven’t got a choice – everyone’s expecting it. They’ll be laughing and chatting and dancing downstairs, but inside they’re all wondering if we’ve done it yet. Is it going to hurt? Am I going to be different after?

I’d thought about backing out somehow, but then that woman in the pub knocked my bag off the table and sent all my stuff flying everywhere. The girls saw the condoms and Ange went all weird American for a while. Once the laughter and teasing had died down, she said black boys don’t use condoms, and we’d all called her a racist, but she insisted it was true before Lizzie said it wasn’t only black boys, it was all boys if they could get away with it, which is why she’s on the pill. I laughed with them, but Jodie must have seen how uncomfortable I was feeling because when we went to the loo she whispered that there are only a couple of days in the month you can get pregnant in anyway and so not to worry.

‘You okay with this?’ Courtney’s got my bra hitched up over my boobs and his eyes look all funny and the words are breathless. Needy.

I nod, even though I am not all right with this any more. He’s already pushing my skirt up. Everything’s clumsy. Not like it was when I imagined it.

What would he think if he knew what I was about to do? Would he be jealous?

The condom is still in my bag on the other side of the room. A continent away. How am I supposed to mention it? I should have said about it before. His jeans are undone and yanked down and he grabs my hand and pushes it into his crotch. He groans as I touch him, and his shaking hands yank at my knickers but we get caught up in a tangle and our teeth clash together. I take control and there’s a pause as I wriggle my pants off, and as I do, he looks at me properly.

‘You know I really like you, don’t you?’ he says. ‘I’ve never gone out with a girl like you before.’

It makes me feel slightly better about all this, and so I take the moment to tug my top off too. He might not be naked, but I am. If I’m doing this, I’m not doing it being half choked by my own bra.

‘You’re beautiful.’

This time when he kisses me, I try to be in the moment even though beautiful is his word, not Courtney’s. Courtney normally calls me hot despite the fact I know I’m not. Not really. I think of the condom again but it’s too late to mention it now. He’s poking and prodding and nudging, trying to get it in, and I realise that maybe he’s not quite so experienced at this either.

And then we’re doing it. Or rather, Courtney’s doing it. I’m just lying here and trying not to think about how different it would be with him.

8

LISA

‘Hey, everyone! Smile!’ It’s Emily, face glowing, a mobile phone held up in the air over us. I turn away automatically, one hand flying up across my face. ‘No photos,’ I say.

‘It was only for Facebook.’ Emily sounds hurt. ‘So my boyfriend and family can see who I work with.’ She’s very sweet but very young.

‘I don’t want photos of me on your Facebook either,’ Julia says. Her voice is sharp, a cutting blade that takes no prisoners. She’s late, arriving only moments ago, and I wonder if she’s irritated because she looks hot and bothered rather than her usual cool self, but I’m still surprised – and relieved – by her interjection. Marilyn knows I hate having my picture taken, but this time I’ve been saved from having to explain myself to new people. Maybe Julia and I have something in common after all. ‘And anyway,’ she continues, ‘it’s hardly professional, taking selfies at a work do. This isn’t some cheesy club.’

‘More of a celebration than a work do,’ Marilyn cuts in, seeing how stung Emily is. The poor girl looks like she might cry. ‘But you may have a point. Not everything in life has to Facebooked and Instagrammed.’

She’s saying all this as much for my benefit as anything else. I don’t have any social media accounts even though Marilyn swears you can set your profile to completely private. I still wouldn’t trust it, and who would I have on there? Only Marilyn probably, and I see her most days as it is. ‘Oh shit, I sound old.’ She groans over-dramatically, lifting the mood as only she can. ‘Come on, Lisa, let’s grab us all another wine before the money behind the bar runs out.’

We separate from the others, leaving Toby to continue his obvious hot pursuit of Stacey, and make our way to the bar. I didn’t want to come tonight. No matter how much I’ve tried to shake it, my stomach has been a river bed of slithering eels since finding the rabbit, and the past clings like an oil slick on feathers, breaking my heart all over again. It’s taken everything I have not to spend my time following Ava around to make sure she’s safe, which I’ve worked really hard at not doing now she has more freedom. Trying to hide how I’m feeling is exhausting and if there was any way I could have got out of coming to the party, I would have, but there was no way I’d have got away with it. This is Penny’s once-a-year company and clients drinks and nibbles, and with the new staff, the second branch opening, and my new contract, she wouldn’t have been happy.

In that respect, Julia was right. We may be in a salsa club, but this isn’t a girls’ night out. It’s still, in some ways, work. However, as I lean on the bar next to Marilyn, I’m surprised to find I’m feeling better for coming out. The music is full of life and the words are foreign so I can’t get snared by lyrics of love or loss.

‘God, I could use a tequila shot,’ Marilyn says, and I laugh although I’m a bit surprised. Marilyn drinks more than me – but everyone does. I know what too much alcohol can do to people and none of it is good. I can’t stay alert when I’m drunk and I have Ava to protect. Still, Marilyn’s not a drinker drinker. I can’t remember the last time she did shots. Her eyes shine a little too bright. How many wines has she had?

‘You okay?’ I ask. She doesn’t answer.

‘Well, well, well,’ she says, as she looks at something over my shoulder. ‘Look who’s showed up. Mr Millionaire himself.’

I glance back. Simon Manning is standing in the doorway, dressed down in dark jeans and a V-neck T-shirt. My wine glass is suddenly too big and slippery in my hand and it feels like the party pauses for a moment. It’s rare for major clients to come to these things. Penny always invites them but it’s mainly staff who turn up – now two branches’ worth – and some of our longest-serving temps. Penny does a separate private dinner for the top-level clients.

The room is quite dark and he probably doesn’t realise he’s ‘making an entrance’ as he stands there, backlit, and peers around trying to recognise anyone. Finally he moves. My breath catches.

‘What a surprise,’ Marilyn drawls. ‘He’s coming this way.’

I look behind me, expecting to see Penny nearby, but she’s over by the side tables where Julia is talking to James from the new office.

‘Lisa.’

I have no choice but to look at him. He’s standing close, barely a foot away, and my nerves jangle and I feel awkward as his aftershave and body heat fill the gap between us. I’m no aftershave connoisseur, but he smells good. Fresh and citrussy, but not overpowering. I hate myself for noticing.

‘Hello, Simon.’ She reaches forward and shakes his hand, as ever saving the day for me as I flounder. I take the moment to try and gather myself. I need to stop behaving like a stupid teenager. ‘Welcome aboard, I hear.’

I wish I found it as easy to talk to people. Marilyn is so confident. Friendly without being flirtatious. An open book. I can’t be like that. I don’t think I’ve ever been like that.

‘Well, Lisa sold the company so well I couldn’t say no,’ he says. They’re both looking at me, expectant. I can’t stay silent forever. Where is Penny?

‘I’ll be sending some more figures over to you on Monday.’ It’s all I can think of and sounds so bland even I’m cringing.

‘It’s Saturday night.’ He takes the glass of wine Marilyn has somehow spirited out of thin air. ‘Let’s forget about work. Can you salsa? I’m terrible but willing to give it a go if you are.’

My feet are suddenly glued to the floor. There are a few people taking advantage of the expert on hand on the dance floor, but not many. Not enough to stop us being the centre of attention if we joined them. My mouth opens and closes silently as I panic, a drowning fish, trying to find a way to say no which won’t sound rude, although a part of me thinks it would be fun to let myself go to the music if I was a different person. If I was Marilyn maybe, or Stacey, or Julia. But I’m not. I’m me, and I don’t want him to want to dance with me. And yet, even as I think it, I know it’s a lie. I hate the snake in my belly that wants all of life’s excitements.

‘Simon!’ Here she is, Penny, breezing through us. I could cry with relief as I take a step backwards, giving her space. ‘How wonderful of you to come!’

Marilyn smiles and gives him a shrug, pupils as the teacher arrives, but I’m already walking away on shaking legs.

‘Told you he likes you,’ Marilyn says as she catches me up.

‘Leave it alone.’ My words come out with more bite than intended and she doesn’t follow me when I go to the table at the rear of the room where we left our things, but instead goes to join Eleanor who used to sit opposite us before she went to the new branch.

I should apologise. I don’t though. I want to text Ava. To check she’s okay. I want to stay here, hiding at the back in the dark. I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole. To bury me in the cold and damp. To be with Daniel and Peter Rabbit in the ground.

I sit down before my legs give way, and I take deep breaths. I can’t keep texting Ava. I’ve already sent three. I have to let her be free and be young. I have to. But it’s so hard. Exhausted as I am by my fear, it refuses to leave me.

While breathing slowly, I focus on the present. Marilyn and Eleanor are laughing about something. Toby has dragged Stacey on to the dance floor. They’re both good dancers, but she’s keeping a distance between their bodies and I feel a wave of something close to maternal pride. She may not be the brightest bulb in the pack, but she knows better than to be a notch in his bedpost.

I grow calmer, knowing I’m lost in the shadows. No one is seeking me out. I can’t see Penny and Simon from here, but I know she’ll be attached to him for the rest of the evening. I push away the memory of his body heat and aftershave, intent as it is on clinging to me.

A glint of metal distracts me to my right. Someone crouching down by the tables along the side. Julia? Yes. Rummaging in her bag. Lines tighten across my forehead, my instinct for wrongness kicking in. That’s not her bag. It’s Penny’s. The Dolce & Gabbana gold clasp is flashing as lights from the dance floor catch it. Julia’s bag is smaller, barely big enough for a wallet, phone, keys, perhaps some lipstick. Not an expensively practical middle-aged woman’s bag. I can’t remember how I know this, but I do. I always take in the details of a person. My brain is trained that way.

Definitely Penny’s bag.

I can’t see what Julia’s doing and so I work my way round the edge of the room until I’m closer. She gets up and glances around, unaware I’m watching her, before striding confidently to the bar. I follow, moving faster to catch up, and when I’m only a few feet behind I see the crumpled twenty-pound note in her hand. My heart thumps, banging a truth into me. Money stolen from Penny’s purse. It can’t be. Surely not. I want to doubt the instinct I have for both detail and trouble. I don’t want to know this rotten-apple worm of fact which will squirm inside me every day at work. But if it’s Julia’s own money, why has she taken it out of her purse already? She’s got her little bag with her – with her own wallet in it – so why is she holding a twenty-pound note?

Penny and Simon are still talking at the bar and although he’s smiling at her and laughing, his eyes move away from hers as I come into his sightline. I don’t so much as glance his way. I have no time for him right now. I’m absorbed in Julia’s confidence as she flashes the barman a smile and orders a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

‘It’s for the lady over there,’ she says, pointing out Penny. ‘Can you tell her it’s a thank you for the great job opportunity? From Julia? I don’t want to interrupt them.’

I’m standing beside her and she notices me watching but doesn’t offer to buy me anything. She can’t anyway. The wine she’s chosen is exactly twenty pounds.

‘Diet Coke,’ I mutter to the barman as Julia moves away, joining Marilyn and Eleanor near the dance floor, far enough away for Penny to have to seek her out and thank her, and also, perhaps more importantly, on the other side of the room from the Dolce & Gabbana handbag she was so recently digging around in. I watch her insert herself as if they’ve invited her to join them and I don’t know what to do. I should say something to Penny. But what? I think Julia stole your own money to buy you a drink? It’s dark. I wasn’t that close. It’s a big accusation to make.

Penny leaves the bar and rushes over to gush a thank you at Julia, who does a fine impression of embarrassment. She’s not fooling me though. If she didn’t want a fuss, she wouldn’t have given a thank you gift in such a public place. I’m an expert in not wanting to be fussed over. I wouldn’t have given a gift at all. If I say something, will people think I’m somehow jealous of the new girl? Julia shines. I don’t. Maybe I didn’t see it right anyway. Maybe I’m making a wild assumption. I feel sick.

Over to my right, Simon Manning half waves at me, but I’m saved by Marilyn, who’s fled Eleanor now Julia’s there. ‘God, butter wouldn’t melt,’ she says. Marilyn’s not fooled by her either.

‘Sorry I snapped. About Simon.’ Ava may be my heart, but Marilyn is my rock. I should tell her what I think I saw. No, not what I think. What I saw. She wouldn’t doubt me and she’d be able to handle it much better than I can. I’ve had two glasses of wine, and I’m feeling braver than normal. But still I can’t bring myself to speak. Marilyn would act on it and then there would be confrontation and who knows where that would lead? Julia is trouble. I can sense it.

Thankfully, Marilyn is staring down at the bright screen of her phone. ‘I didn’t realise the time,’ she says. ‘Richard’s outside, if you want a lift home.’

My instant relief is almost overwhelming. ‘Yes, please. I’m done. Let’s sneak out. I can’t be bothered to do the circuit of goodbyes.’ I’m trying not to sound too eager, but I want to get out of here, away from Simon Manning and Julia and the noise of it all.

‘Sounds good to me,’ she agrees.

I don’t fully relax until I’m strapped into the back of Richard’s Saab.

‘Good night, ladies?’ he asks.

‘Yes, thank you,’ I say.

‘It was all right.’ Marilyn is less enthusiastic. ‘The music was too loud, and you know, work people.’ She rolls her eyes and he smiles.

‘Present company excepted, I hope,’ I say, and we all laugh a little in the polite way people do with a predictable joke. I stare out at the night as we drive away, zoning out Richard’s questions as the two of them chat. It’s nice to be in their company. Money. Julia. Penny. I don’t want to think about any of it.

When I get home, my resolve breaks and I send Ava one last text.

I’m home from my party but I’m sure your sleepover is still going strong! Give my love to the girls and I’ll see you tomorrow xx

Even as I send it I know how passively needy it is under the chirpiness and wish I could call it back. I doubt the other mothers text nearly as much as I do. But they’re not me. They haven’t had my life. When the handset immediately pings I’m so sure it’s going to be Ava snapping at me – but at least I’ll know she’s safe – that it takes a moment to register I’m staring at an unknown number. I feel sick. The bunny rabbit. A strange number. The past tumbles towards me, and I tremble as I click to open it.