Rosamund Lupton - Afterwards

The door remains closed.

‘Addie…?’

You wait. Silence the other side.

Open the door, I think, just bloody well open it!

My God, I’ve become my nanny voice. I’m sorry. Perhaps you’re right to wait for Addie to come to you; showing him you respect him. I’d have just barged in there, but that’s not the only way to do this.

‘I know you think you’re to blame, my lovely boy,’ you say. ‘But you’re not.’

You’ve never called him my lovely boy before. A whole phrase of mine you’ve adopted already and I’m glowing about that.

‘Let me in, please?’

The door is still shut between you.

I’d have my arms around him by now, and I’d-

‘OK, here’s how it is,’ you say. ‘I love you. Whatever you think you did I love you. Nothing – absolutely nothing – can ever change that.’

‘It is my fault, Daddy.’

The first words he’s spoken since the fire. Words so huge they’ve been smothering speech.

‘Addie, no-’

‘It didn’t really look like a volcano. Just a bucket, with some orange tissue paper on the top and something inside it. She said I was supposed to light it. But really it was a test. I wasn’t meant to do it.’

‘Addie-’

‘I don’t like matches. They scare me. And I know I’m not meant to use them. You and Mum and Jenny are always telling me that. I mean, when we have a fire and you light it, I’m not allowed to. Not till I’m twelve. So I knew it was wrong .’

‘Please, listen to me-’

‘Mr Hyman said Sir Covey would pass the test with flying colours. Sir Covey is me. He thought I was like a knight. But I’m not.’

‘Mr Hyman was never there , Addie. He cares about you and he’d never, ever ask you to do something like that. You’re still Sir Covey.’

‘No, you don’t understand-’

‘She made it all up. About Mr Hyman. The present for you. All of it. She made it up to get you to do something for her. The police have arrested her. Everyone knows it wasn’t your fault.’

‘But it is. I shouldn’t have done it , Dad! Whatever she said to me. Sirens and the green giant’s beautiful wife tempted people but the good people didn’t do what they said. The strong knights didn’t do it. But I did.’

‘They were grown men, Addie, and you’re eight. And a very brave eight-year-old.’

Silence the other side of the door.

‘What about the time you stood up for Mr Hyman? That was really brave. Not many adults would have the courage to do that. I should have told you that before. I’m sorry I didn’t. Because I am really proud of you.’

Still silence from Addie’s room; but what more can you say to him?

‘It’s not just that,’ he says.

You wait and the silence is awful.

‘I didn’t go and help them, Daddy.’

His voice, so full of shame, punches a hole in both of us.

‘Thank God,’ you say.

Addie opens the door and the barrier between you is gone.

‘I couldn’t bear it if I’d lost you too,’ you say.

You put your arms around him and something floods through his body, relaxing his taut limbs and frightened face.

‘Mum’s never going to wake up. Granny G told me.’

‘Yes,’ you say.

‘She’s dead.’

‘Yes. She…’

I think you’re going to say something more, perhaps the difference between ‘no cognitive function’ and being dead, but Adam is eight and you can’t talk to him about the details of why he has no mother now.

He starts to cry and you hold him as tightly as you can.

Silence expands between you, a blown soap bubble around the emotion it contains, then breaks.

‘You have me,’ you say.

And your arms around Adam aren’t trying to hug him now, but clinging onto him.

‘And I have you.’

Five hours have gone past and it’s nearly midnight now. Jenny’s fairy stories were down on this time of night – coaches turning into pumpkins and dancing princesses needing to be back in their beds – but the stories Adam enjoys give a more positive spin: the witching hour when moonlight is bright and the world is silent and everyone is asleep apart from the little girl and the BFG, blowing his dreams into bedrooms.

I can see The BFG on the second shelf. You are on the top bunk, Adam on the bottom, Aslan tucked in next to him.

My dancing shoes, if I had any, would smell of antiseptic.

I’ve been to the hospital and I need to tell you what happened.

I watched as you sat with Adam, holding his hand, grateful that I’d built up enough tolerance to the pain of being away from the hospital so I could be with him as he slept.

I thought how lovely it was that the children call Mum ‘Granny G’, to differentiate her from your mother, Granny Annabel; because although she died before they were born she’s still their grandmother too.

You found Addie’s old night-light, then you moved up to the top bunk, your hand stretching down in case he needed you.

Mum came in, wanting to go and see Jen for a little while now that you were looking after Addie.

I went with her.

I’m not sure if I’ve told you this, but once Mum found out I was no longer in my body she started talking to me all the time, in all sorts of places. ‘ A scattergun approach, Grace, poppet, sometimes you’ll be there to hear me. I’m sure .’

She drove her ancient Renault Clio furiously fast along the almost empty dark roads towards the hospital.

‘I watered Adam’s carrots and tomatoes,’ she said.

‘Thanks.’

‘Should have given your windowboxes a proper soak. They get dehydrated so fast when it’s hot.’

‘Maybe you can re-plant. I’d really like it if you did.’

She was silent for a little while, her face so much older now. She jumped a red light but there was hardly any traffic to notice or care.

‘I’ll put in something which doesn’t mind drought so much. Lavender would be pretty.’

‘Lavender would be perfect.’

We arrived at the hospital. The goldfish-bowl atrium was almost deserted, just a few straggling patients, their footsteps echoing in the emptiness; a single doctor hurrying. Lights from cars flashed through the glass of the window from the darkness outside.

I thought about Mr Hyman and how afraid I’d been of him when he came to the hospital. ‘ Get away from my children, get away! ’ Is that what happens in the aftermath of a terrible crime? All the ugliness and cruelty of it spilling out onto the people around; an oil slick lapping ashore, indiscriminately blackening what it touches. He’s deeply flawed, yes, but not guilty of any sin. A fallible man but not a wicked one. Blameless of any crime. Addie was right to trust him. And I’m so glad you told Addie that Mr Hyman cares about him; that he’d never do anything cruel to him; glad that you called him Mr Hyman again.

Mum went to Jenny’s bedside. In the corridor, I saw Jenny waiting for me.

‘I need to know,’ she said. ‘Why I went back to the school, and why I went up to the top again, and my mobile phone thing. I need to know all of it.’

We had the big picture then, the huge facts, but not the details.

‘The police will find out when they question Maisie tomorrow,’ I said.

‘But I might not have that long,’ she said and we were talking about something else entirely.

‘Of course you do.’

‘No. I told you, Mum, I’m not going through with your plan. And I’m not going to change my mind .’

I didn’t argue with her, not then. Because as well as courage, our daughter has also inherited your infuriating stubbornness. ‘ Independence of mind! ’ you’d correct. ‘ Strength of character! ’ Well, all I know is that whereas other little girls at nursery were on the good-biddable-weedy scale of character, Jenny was up the other end as stubborn-wilful-strong-minded depending on your vantage point.