Authors: Janelle Harris
The front door slams announcing Mark is home. I rub my eyes; I must have fallen asleep. My legs beg me to stay still as they try their best to anchor me to the spot. But my head is in control now, so my body will have to cooperate. I hold on to the banister and descend two and three steps at a time. I’m shaking so much I can feel the knobbles of my spine pulsate together.
I try to reach the dining room before Mark, but I don’t make it. He stands and waits for me. Some of the cardboard boxes were ripped open, odds and ends lie scattered on the floor like jigsaw pieces from our life. He has a silver picture frame in his hand.
‘Looking for this?’ he asks casually waving the frame.
I don’t know how to react.
‘Nigel called me,’ Mark says, stiffness creeping between his frowning brows. ‘You know?’
I nod.
‘Ava?’ he asks.
I nod again.
‘How long?’ Mark wipes his eyes. ‘I mean when? No, I mean…’
‘It’s okay,’ I say taking his hand.
Mark cries. I do, too. He drops the frame onto the ground. It falls face down, hiding the picture it contains. Mark wraps his arms around me, and I grab him so tight in return my knuckles crack. We hold each other and slide to the floor. We sit together for a very long time just cradling each other.
Hours pass and we drift in and out of sleep. Neither of us wants to break the embrace and be the one who suggests we go to bed. But it’s starting to get very cold as icy morning fog attacks the world outside the window, and we’re both uncomfortable. Mark stands up first and stretches his hand out to pull me to my feet.
‘Hang on,’ I suggest as I reach for the now buckled frame.
‘No, Laura. Don’t,’ Mark says, pulling on my sleeve like a child. ‘Not tonight, please?’
There’s an ache in his heart; it reveals itself in every phonic. He has such urgency and panic in his stance. I can’t figure out what he’s afraid of now because I already know the secrets of the past; there’s nothing left to be afraid of.
I pick up the picture and his fear turns to sadness. I fiddle with the back of the frame; the glass releases the photo into my hands. It’s strangely surreal to stare at the beautiful, happy family. Smiling faces beam at me from the confines of the print. I recognise the image straight away. It’s strikingly similar to the picture Nigel showed me in New York. Nicole stands with her arm around a handsome dark-haired little boy. I sit next to her sporting a huge baby bump and Mark stands behind me with his arm draped over my shoulder. But Nigel’s apartment is so different in the backdrop to the blissful domestic scene. The granite behind our shoulders doesn’t sparkle and the kitchen cupboards are more cheap MDF than solid timber. And it looks far more homely than Nigel’s bachelor pad. It looks like a real family belongs there. I wonder whose house it is.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I cry. ‘I’m a monster. All this happened because I wanted to get my stupid hair done. I never should have asked Ava to collect Lorcan from school.’
Mark shakes his head. Months of intensity spill forcefully from his exhausted body like the lid popping on a pot of cracking popcorn.
‘I miss them,’ Mark says softly.
‘Me too,’ I sob. So many heavy tears heave from my body that it’s almost impossible to get enough oxygen to remain conscious.
I run my finger over the picture that I can’t stop staring at. It was like a map, leading me from my comforting place in deep denial to the poignant reality that I should be accepting.
‘It was taken at Halloween. Just a couple of weeks before the accident. I framed it because it was the last picture of the kids together,’ Mark explains sadly.
I nod as if I have heard Mark say that one hundred times before. There’s no shock or need for it to sink in. I’m revisiting a horrible memory, and although it hurts, it’s liberating to finally be on the same page as my husband. But some of the facts don’t quite fit, and I feel bubbles rip through my tummy. I don’t know how much more my mind will allow me to take in.
I take the crumpled article from my pocket and pass it to Mark. My eyes silently plead for the explanation that I may struggle to believe.
He doesn’t have to read the print. He seems to know the words by heart.
‘It is true, Laura,’ he whispers. ‘That’s what you want to ask, isn’t it? Well, the answer is, yes. Yes, you lost more than anyone should ever have to.’
‘Are you sure?’ I cry.
Mark is beyond words. His head just slowly moves up and down.
I cover my ears with my hands. ‘I don’t believe you,’ I shout standing up and catching a handful of delicate porcelain ornaments from the shelves and flinging them against the opposite wall.
Mark reaches into his wallet and pulls out another photo.
‘What the hell?’ I ask taking the image before he drops it.
I study the picture. It’s definitely the same picture I examined in detail in New York. The tears are in the same jagged places and the same murky sticky tape repairs them, but the image has changed. It’s now an exact replica of the framed picture.
‘You only see what you want to see,’ Mark says.
‘No.’ I shook my head roughly. ‘I don’t want to see this.’ I caught both pictures and threw them on the ground. They landed face up teasing me.
‘I know you don’t, but you need to,’ Mark snaps back equally as sharply.
He slowly lowers himself to the ground. He leans unsteadily on his hunkers and runs his finger across the faces in the picture. He doesn’t check to see if I’m watching. I want to ignore his dramatic posture, but my eyes follow his pointing finger.
‘This is Nicole and Lorcan. You, obviously! There I am standing behind you, and that’s our baby in your belly. Look.’
He picks the pictures up, dusts them off, and holds them forcefully in my face. He has a strange, frightening expression moulding his face into one I don’t recognise. He needs to explain. If I deny him this opportunity, then he looks as though he might implode.
The doorbell rings and startles us. Mark catches my hand. I pull back but his grip tightens. ‘You’re hurting me,’ I shout, but he doesn’t let go.
He isn’t letting me out of his sight. If I’m afraid of what I might do, so I can only imagine how freaked out he is. I close my eyes as the door opens. I know who to expect, but I’m not ready. I will never be ready.
Nicole waits in the open doorway. Nigel stands beside her. Both wait to be invited in.
‘Thanks for calling.’ Nigel smiles, reaching forward to kiss my cheek.
‘You came?’ I say trying to sound monotonic. I didn’t want my feelings revealed in my voice.
‘Of course,’ he replies. ‘Once I knew you really had your memory back, I got the next flight. I’ve waited so long. I have so many questions only you can answer.’
Nicole looks fragile, and I’m almost concerned for her. She wants desperately to hear what I have to say, but she looks as confused as I am.
‘Can I see them?’ I ask.
‘Of course,’ Nigel says. He hands me his keys and I hold them beside Nicole’s bag. The key rings are a perfectly flawed match. Both Nigel and Nicole smile as they stand side-by-side, holding hands.
‘I know you hate me,’ I say turning to Nicole. ‘I don’t blame you; it’s all my fault.’
Nicole doesn’t speak.
‘No one hates you,’ Nigel assures. ‘It was an accident. You didn’t kill him, no one did. Stop hating yourself.’
I sigh heavily. Nigel’s kind words don’t ease my guilt.
‘I may not have put a gun to his head, but I am responsible for his death. I’m a murderer.’
Nicole lunges forward without warning and hugs me so tight I think my head will swell from the pressure. ‘Don’t say that. Please don’t. You are a good person, Laura.’
‘Will she be okay,’ Nigel says placing his hand firmly on Mark’s shoulder.
Mark shrugs.
I race towards the kitchen and beckon for the others to follow me. I put the kettle on, fling the milk and sugar onto the table, and root in the cupboards for a packet of biscuits. Mark looks at the spread on the table. It’s six thirty am. No one is either hungry or thirsty. My need to busy myself is embarrassingly obvious, but Mark is smiling at me. He nibbles on a chocolate digestive and scoops some heaped spoons of sugar into his tea. Nigel and Nicole copy his action, but no one speaks.
The silence continues until everyone is, if possible, even more uncomfortable. I can’t take it any longer. Every scrambled thought I have spills from my lips in no sensible order, but no one interrupts or questions my stutters. Instead, they hang on each word of my ramblings, trying to piece together as much of a story as they can.
‘Ava text me to say Lorcan was so excited about our trip to the park and she would meet me by big willow tree near the pond. It was late and I was rushing. I looked back at the big shiny red kite that I had bought earlier. It had Mickey Mouse on the front, and I couldn’t wait to see Lorcan’s face light up when I showed him. You know how much he loves…loved,’ I corrected myself, ‘Mickey Mouse.’
Nicole smiles and nods. The makeup on her cheeks is almost all washed away by her tears.
‘I remember the sun shining on the traffic lights. I couldn’t see what colour they were. There was no traffic, and I was in such a hurry that I just decided to go for it.’
I look at Mark, Nicole, and Nigel. I want one of them to scream at me. Shout how much they hate me. Something, anything. They don’t move. They barely looked away long enough to blink.
‘I didn’t see her. I swear. It was the sun; it was shining in my eyes. And Ava’s car was grey and blended in with the road. I tried to stop. I really did. I slammed hard on the brakes, but the car just kept moving. I was going too fast. Just too fucking fast. It’s all my fault.’
I do a lot of apologising, sometimes even to myself, for all the pain that I’ve caused. I repeat myself often, and finally too exhausted to speak any longer, I cry. Loud, heartbroken sobs fill the air. But it isn’t just the sound of my tears. Nicole sobs softly into a damp tissue. Mark coughs roughly in a bid to confine his pain. Nigel’s reaction is different. He sits still, his face blank and free from all emotion. But his eyes glisten, and delicate, subtle tears stream down his rosy cheeks with every blink. He doesn’t raise his hand to wipe them or accept the tissue that Nicole offers. He’s a statue. I soon realise he can’t move. He’s trapped inside his own harsh exterior with bitter pain attacking the unseen inside. Nicole leans forward and offers Nigel her hand. He grabs on tight. It’s a small gesture, but enough to help Nigel finally release some of his hurt as he begins to cry.
‘Does this mean you two are getting back together?’ I ask inappropriately.
Nicole quickly loosens her grip and lets Nigel’s hand fall by his side.
‘Don’t look so shocked. Did you think I wouldn’t remember that you’re married to my big, strong brother-in-law here.’ I playfully pinch Nigel’s biceps and hope that they will laugh.
Nigel giggles sheepishly, but Nicole is still very serious.
‘It’s not that easy, Laura. I wish it was,’ she says.
My cheeks tinge. ‘I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘It’s okay,’ Nicole says.
‘Stop forgiving me,’ I shout as frustration reaches a high inside me. ‘I’ve made your life a living hell. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you to lose all you have. I thank God every day for my kids. Without them, I would never have been able to get through this.’
Nigel leaps from his chair. Temper flashes in his face like a vicious famished beast on the attack. He pushes his hand beneath the corner of the table and flips it over completely before grabbing his chair that has fallen behind him and smashes it repeatedly against the ground.
‘I thought you remembered,’ he shouts. ‘I thought you fucking remembered.’
He’s scaring me. Mark and Nicole seem concerned, but they aren’t frightened. They knew Nigel better than I did; maybe they’ve seen him fly into a furious rage before.
‘I do remember,’ I stutter, standing up, pleading silently with Mark to rescue me, but he doesn’t. He remains seated with his head dropped into his hands.
‘No, you fucking don’t,’ Nigel shouts even louder than before.
‘Nigel, please don’t,’ Nicole begs.
I know he’s going to hit me. He’s so angry he might even kill me. I can’t even fight back, I don’t deserve to. If he’s insane, then it’s because I’ve driven him to it.
‘Now is not the time,’ Nicole adds.
‘It’s never the right time. It will never be the right time. You all tiptoe around the truth as if it’s some kind of dirt under the rug. I can’t take it anymore.’ There’s a strange desperation in Nigel’s voice, and suddenly, he scares me for a completely different reason. He knows something I don’t. There are still aspects of this nightmare that they are hiding from me; facts that I’m hiding from myself.
‘Let’s make now the time,’ I suggest shakily.
‘Sit down,’ Nigel orders.
I do as he asks.
‘You really want to hear this? Because believe me, I really want to tell you.’
My head shakes up and down so fast it’s hard to tell if I’m nodding or shivering.