The Dilemma Page 20

‘Right,’ he says, nodding slowly.

  ‘You can stay if you want,’ I say to Izzy. ‘I’ll make up Marnie’s bed for you.’

  ‘No!’ We all look at Adam in surprise. ‘Sorry, Izzy, I love you but you’re not staying here tonight. My migraine wouldn’t stand it.’

  ‘Why don’t you stay at ours?’ Jeannie offers.

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ Izzy says gratefully.

  ‘You may as well leave your car here and come with us in ours,’ Mike says.

  Ian looks horrified. ‘Are you telling me that I could have had more than one glass of champagne tonight? That I didn’t need to drink fruit juice all evening?’

  ‘I’m sure Izzy will make up for it tomorrow, by doing the driving back to Southampton,’ Mike says, laughing.

  ‘Then I won’t be able to drink!’ Izzy says.

  ‘Will you all just leave?’ Adam says, and I can see he’s really struggling now. ‘Please?’

  A couple more minutes and the garden is silent. Josh checks his watch.

  ‘Two forty-five,’ he says. ‘How’s that for timing?’

  ‘Perfect,’ I say, collapsing against him. ‘Thanks, Josh, you did an amazing job, and with the music. And the decorations. Has Max left?’

  ‘Yes, he couldn’t get anywhere near you to say goodbye.’

  I look at Adam and Josh. ‘That’s it, then. Just the three of us.’

  ‘And Amy,’ Josh says.

  ‘Where is she?’ I ask.

  ‘In the garden. It is alright if she stays the night, isn’t it?’

  ‘No,’ Adam says abruptly. ‘Sorry.’

  Josh frowns. ‘What?’

  ‘Sorry, Josh, but Amy can’t stay the night.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘How did she get here? Did she drive?’

  ‘No, she doesn’t have a car. She came by train.’

  ‘Then I’ll order her a taxi.’

  Josh shakes his head. ‘All the way to Exeter? Why?’

  ‘Wait a minute, Adam,’ I say, intervening. ‘Surely Amy can stay the night? I mean, she’s already stayed over.’

  ‘I know,’ he says. ‘But not tonight.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Josh says. ‘Why can’t she?’

  ‘Because she can’t, that’s all. Any other night she’d be welcome. But not tonight.’

  ‘So you are blaming her for me not taking up the internship in the States!’

  ‘Don’t be stupid!’

  Josh mouth drops open at Adam’s tone and I can see he’s about to kick off. I shoot him a warning look.

  ‘Josh.’ Adam sounds bone-weary, as if he barely has the strength to speak. ‘Don’t keep arguing. Amy isn’t staying the night, alright.’

  ‘No. Not alright.’ Josh folds his arms across his chest. ‘If Amy goes, I go.’

  ‘Sorry, Josh, I need you here,’ he says firmly.

  ‘What for? We’re only going to go to bed. Dad, you’re being ridiculous!’

  ‘I just want it to be family. Is that so hard to understand?’

  ‘It’s alright, Josh.’ Amy’s voice comes from behind us. ‘I can stay with my friend Maggie tonight – you know, the one who lives in Guildford. I already told her I might as I have to be at Grandad’s tomorrow for his party and she lives nearby. It makes sense for me to stay at hers.’

  Adam turns to where she’s standing in the doorway and I wonder how much she heard.

  ‘I’d really appreciate that, thank you, Amy,’ he says, his relief evident.

  ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ Josh growls.

  Amy lays a placating hand on his arm. ‘It’s really not a problem. And I’m sure your dad has a good reason.’

  ‘Then why the hell won’t he tell us what it is?’

  ‘Well, maybe he can’t tell you.’ She gives a little shrug. ‘It’s like that sometimes in families. Things happen.’ She gives Adam a quick smile.

  ‘I’ll call you a taxi,’ he says. ‘Where did you say your friend lives?’

  ‘Guildford.’

  Josh takes out his mobile. ‘I’ll do it.’

  Thankfully, the taxi arrives quickly so the agony of us all standing in the kitchen, Josh with his arm around Amy but no-one talking, doesn’t go on for long.

  ‘We’ll see you again, Amy,’ Adam says. ‘Thank you for understanding.’

  I give her a hug and murmur a quick sorry. Josh takes her out to where the taxi is waiting, and there’s only me and Adam.

  ‘Shall we go to bed?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes. But there’s something I’ve got to do first.’ His face is grey with exhaustion. ‘Will you wait for me upstairs?’

  I feel a rush of alarm. Surely he’s not going to try to call Marnie now, ask her if she’s been having an affair with Rob?

  I put my hand on his arm. ‘Can’t it wait until tomorrow?’

  ‘No.’ He moves away and my hand drops to my side. ‘I’ll see you in a minute.’

  3 A.M. – 4 A.M.

  Adam

  I’m on the floor of my shed, teetering on the edge of a void. I don’t know how long has passed since I called the emergency number and heard that my daughter, Marnie Sarah Harman, was a passenger on flight PA206.

  Time no longer has any meaning. All hope has gone, there’s only darkness. All I want is for it to take me, as it took Marnie. But there’s no mercy, just the stark knowledge that she is dead.

  I hunch over, my head on my knees, my hands clasped around my legs, a useless attempt to protect myself from what has already happened. I squeeze my eyes shut to block out the images of Marnie’s last moments. It doesn’t work. All I can hear are her screams.

  How will I live, knowing that I wasn’t there when she needed me most? If I’d been with her, I’d have buried her face in my shoulder and wrapped my arms tightly round her so that she wouldn’t have seen death coming. Even if, weeks or months down the line, we’re told that Marnie wouldn’t have known a thing, that the plane exploded without warning, there’d still be the possibility that she was alive when she started falling from the sky.

  Crushed by an all-consuming, hopeless, terrible grief, I’m barely aware of the sobs that wrack my body, the tears that stream from my eyes. What was I thinking, making her take three flights to get home, when she could have taken a direct one? By not wanting to spoil her, I tripled her chances of dying. My body contorts in pain and I feel a flash of hatred for Livia. I would have got Marnie the more expensive direct flight, but I knew she’d disapprove, because of Josh and how he’d feel. For a moment, I hate Josh too. But he would be horrified that I’d made his sister take three flights just because I’d made him take two. And didn’t the short time she was going to be spending with us – four days – justify a direct flight? The only person I can blame is myself. How could I have been so stupid, so short-sighted – so illogical?

  Eventually, life intrudes, bringing with it a dull awareness that there are things I have to do. Cleo, I’d promised to tell Cleo.

  I find my phone, search for her name, press the ‘message’ symbol. What can I even say to her? I can’t think, nothing seems right. The only words I find are Cleo, I’m sorry. And then I wait for her to message me back, my eyes fixed on the screen, desperate to know that I’m not alone.

  Then it comes. Me too.

  And now it’s real. I have to tell Livia. But how? How do I get past the Livia, I need to tell you? How can I say the words I can’t even say in my head: Marnie has died. It’s too brutal, too inhumane. I need more words – Livia, I need to tell you. Marnie and I had arranged a surprise for your birthday – I stop, because I can already see her face lighting up. Maybe it would be better to go straight to the truth: Livia, I need to tell you – you know the plane that crashed yesterday on its way to Amsterdam? Well, Marnie was a passenger on it – and then add something to help ease the pain. But don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine, we’re going to come through this, you, me and Josh. Because grief makes us say the stupidest things.

  And I realise that th
ere are no words to tell a mother that her child is dead.

  I get to my feet. This is it, this is the moment I tear Livia’s world apart.

  Mechanically, I leave my shed, walk across the lawn towards the house, down the steps onto the terrace and into the kitchen. But then I see my bike keys lying on the side where I dropped them a lifetime ago and instead of carrying on upstairs to the bedroom, I grab the keys and walk back through the kitchen and down the side path. I’m running now, no longer thinking about how I’m going to tell Livia, but about the time I picked Marnie up from a party and instead of coming home, we drove all the way down to Southampton and went for a walk along the beach. I reach the garage, take my helmet from the top case, get on my bike, start the engine and roar off down the road.

  I race along deserted streets, scattering a scavenging cat, cutting a corner too tight, shattering the night’s deathly silence with the roar of my bike. Ahead of me, the slip road to the M4 looms. I open the throttle and take it fast, screaming onto the motorway, slicing in front of a crawling car. My bike shifts under me as I push faster.

  The drag of the wind on my face is intoxicating and I have to fight an overwhelming urge to let go of the handlebars and freefall to my death. Is it terrible that Livia and Josh aren’t enough to make me want to live? Guilt adds itself to the torment of the last fourteen hours and a roar of white-hot anger adds to the roar of the bike as I race down the motorway, bent on destruction.

  Then, in the mirror, through the water streaming from my eyes, I see a car hammering down the motorway behind me, its blue light flashing, and my roar of grief becomes one of frustration. I take the bike past one hundred mph, knowing that if it comes to it I can get to one-twenty, because nothing is going to stop me now. But the police car quickly closes the distance between us, moving swiftly into the outside lane and, as it levels with me, my peripheral vision catches an officer gesticulating wildly from the passenger seat.

  I add more speed but the car sweeps past and moves into my lane, blocking my bike. I’m about to open the throttle and overtake him, pushing my bike to its maximum, but something stops me and he slowly reduces his speed, bringing me in. I’m not sure why I let him. Maybe it’s because I don’t want Livia to have even more pieces to pick up. Or maybe it was Marnie’s voice pleading, ‘Don’t, Dad, don’t!’. I swear I could feel her arms tightening around my waist for a moment, her head pressing against the back of my neck.

  My limbs are trembling as I bring the bike to a stop behind the police car and cut the engine. Two officers get out, one male, one female. The male strides towards me.

  ‘Have you got a death wish or something?’ he yells, slamming his cap onto his head.

  The second officer – the driver – approaches. ‘Sir, step away from the bike,’ she barks. ‘Sir, did you hear me? Step away from the bike.’

  I try to unfurl my hands from the handlebars, unstick my legs from the bike. But I seem to be welded to it.

  ‘Sir, if you don’t comply, I’m going to have to arrest you.’

  ‘We’re going to have to arrest him anyway,’ the first officer says. He takes a step towards me and the sight of handcuffs dangling from his belt shocks me into speech.

  I flip up my helmet. ‘Wait!’

  There must be something in my voice, or maybe they read something in my face, because both police officers pause.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It’s about Marnie.’

  ‘Marnie?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who’s Marnie?’

  ‘My daughter.’ I swallow painfully. ‘Marnie’s my daughter.’

  They exchange a glance. ‘Where is your daughter, sir?’

  Livia

  I stand at the bedroom window and watch Adam walk across the lawn. He has his head down, as if he can’t bear what he’s about to do. Is he really going to call Marnie? Or Rob, even? I feel suddenly sick at the thought of Jess finding out now, in the middle of the night. But then I remember how he asked Cleo not to say anything, because if it was true, he wanted to tell me first.

  That’s why he didn’t want Amy to stay the night, I realise. He doesn’t want her here tomorrow morning, when we’ll have to tell Josh about Marnie and Rob. We need to face this as a family.

  Adam disappears from sight and I imagine him squashing his way through the gap to his shed. Now that everyone has gone, the garden looks strangely abandoned, the marquee moored in the middle of the lawn like a huge white ship lost at sea. A few white napkins, missed by the caterers, lie on the ground like discarded flags that might once have SOS’d for help. Burst balloons hang sadly from their strings and the ‘Congratulations’ banner has come unstuck at one end. The scene looks like the aftermath of some kind of disaster and a shiver goes down my spine.

  I watch for a while, imagining him on the phone to Marnie, asking her if she’s been having an affair with Rob. Is that why he hasn’t come out yet, because he’s trying to come to terms with it? I should be with him; we should be facing this together. Or, now that he knows the terrible truth, is he waiting until I’m asleep so that he’ll only have to tell me when I wake up? It would be like him, to not want to spoil my day, to keep it to himself so that I can have a few hours’ sleep before he drops his bombshell. What is he going to say when I tell him that I’ve known for weeks?

  I unzip my dress, slide it off, then kick off my shoes, glad to give my aching feet a rest. I spread my dress out on the bed; apart from a tiny stain near the bottom, it’s surprisingly clean so I slip it inside a plastic cover and hang it on the back of the door. I don’t suppose I’ll ever wear it again, unless I put it on when Marnie comes back so that she can take a photo of me with her yellow roses. Although, somehow, I can’t ever imagine that scene taking place, not now.

  Someone – Kirin, I suspect – has brought my presents upstairs to the bedroom and the sight of the oils and essences makes me want to soak in a bath. Much as I’d like to be asleep when Adam comes up, I know I won’t be, I’m too wound up and I’m not going to lie there pretending.

  In the bathroom, I fill the bath and add a generous amount of one of the oils and some bath foam. Re-pinning my hair on top of my head, I climb in and sink under the water until it’s up around my shoulders. It’s absolute bliss.

  A film of the evening plays in my head, from the moment everyone arrived until the moment they left. I can’t wait to go over it all with Adam. I want to know what he thinks about Kirin expecting twins, about Mum turning up, and how he really feels about Josh not going to New York. But all those things are going to be overshadowed by Marnie and Rob’s affair and I feel a stab of anger that they’ve spoilt the end of what has been a wonderful evening. Is that what Adam was arguing about with Nelson earlier? Did he tell him about Rob? But he can’t have, he didn’t know back then. It was after this that Cleo spoke to him, wasn’t it? My eyelids feel heavy from trying to work it out.

  It’s the cooling bathwater that wakes me. Disorientated, I sit up quickly, sploshing suds up the sides, wondering how long I’ve been asleep. I release the plug and the drain gurgles, a too-loud sound in a silent house.

  A shiver pricks my skin as I towel myself dry. A memory tugs at my brain. It was a sound that woke me, the roar of a motorbike in the street outside. I pause, the towel stretched over my back. It couldn’t have been Adam, could it? He wouldn’t have gone off on his bike, not at this time of night.

  Wrapping the towel around me, I hurry to the bedroom and look out of the window. The guilty beating of my heart slows when I see, behind the marquee, a yellow glow coming from his shed. He’s there, he hasn’t gone to settle scores. Part of me wants to go down and check he’s alright but something, a sixth sense perhaps, tells me not to, that he’ll come to me when he’s ready. For a moment I feel afraid, as if I’m staring into an abyss. But it’s just the dark and the deserted garden that’s making me feel that way.

  Turning from the window, I lie down on the bed. I’ll give him another ten minutes and if he’s not ba
ck by then, I’ll go and find him.

  4 A.M. – 5 A.M.

  Adam

  The police follow me slowly home. They caution me, but their words are kind. They tell me to get some sleep and I say that I will, as soon as I’ve told Livia. But I know there’ll be no sleep, not once I’ve told her.

  I go into the house, the days ahead weighing heavily upon me; breaking the news to everyone, boarding a plane to Cairo and sitting through the hell of a five-hour journey, thinking of Marnie on her flight, while Livia weeps beside me.

  In the hallway, I go to the cupboard, find my leather jacket and take the travel agent’s blue wallet from the inside pocket. We don’t need these tickets now, the airline has arranged for us to fly to Cairo with Josh on Monday – tomorrow, I realise. I tear the wallet in half and drop it into the kitchen bin. Then I make my way upstairs.

  Liv is asleep on the bed, wrapped in a bath towel. Of course she’s asleep, I’ve been gone for ages. I stand looking down at her, taking her in, drinking in the way she looks – her face relaxed in sleep, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, her right arm curved over her head – trying to imprint it on my mind so that I can remember how she looked, before I told her.

  I sit down on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Livia,’ I say softly.

  But she’s in a deep sleep and suddenly, I can’t bear to wake her. Surely it won’t do any harm to let her sleep a little longer when she’ll never sleep this easy again? The important thing is to tell her before anyone else wakes up, before someone, somewhere, works out what has happened and tells her before I can tell her myself.

  I move from the bed, take off my clothes. Reaching past her, I turn off the light. The movement disturbs her, and she stirs in her sleep. My heart starts racing and I hold my breath, willing her not to wake.

  She settles and I lie down beside her and stare into the darkness. I feel so alone, so unbearably alone. The need to be held overwhelms me to the point where I reach for Livia and fold her into my body. Her arms come around me in response and for a blessed few seconds, I feel comforted. I can tell her like this, I can tell her in the dark, whisper it in her ear, hold her while she breaks. I will be here for her, as I wasn’t for Marnie.