Cath Staincliffe - Blink of an Eye

It’s like a storm building inside my skull with nowhere for it to escape. When I finally go upstairs, I thump the bed again and again, cursing myself. Ignoring the physical pain. Full of fury and shame.

Carmel

I rang Suzanne and gave her a quick summary. Then tried to change the subject, invited her to tea one day to suit her. Determined to maintain some semblance of normality.

‘I can’t do it,’ she said. A peculiar tone in her voice.

‘What? What’s wrong?’ Ollie? Can’t wasn’t in her vocabulary.

‘Play happy families, pretend everything’s all right after what she’s done.’

My cheeks burned in a sudden wash of resentment. ‘Nobody’s pretending anything. I’m coming over.’

‘There’s no need,’ she said.

‘Suzanne, we need to talk about this properly,’ I said firmly. ‘I won’t be long.’

Ollie lay on a cotton baby blanket on the living room floor. Eyes alert, darting here and there, then stopping to drink in some fascinating object. She had dressed him in a navy and cream all-in-one.

I knelt down to greet him, feeling a warmth that hadn’t been there before I laid eyes on him. He stiffened with excitement, his eyes gleaming, then waved his feet round, dancing as I made baby noises and told him what a wonderful creature he was.

Suzanne was a little guarded, sitting at the table. When I joined her, I didn’t need to start the ball rolling. She kicked it straight at me. ‘I don’t want to see her.’

‘She’s your sister.’

‘And she’s done something unforgivable. Which she won’t even own up to.’

‘Don’t be stupid!’ My voice rose dangerously. ‘How on earth can she own up to something she can’t remember?’

‘Yes, that’s a great get-out, that is.’

My look must have penetrated, because she hesitated, gave a little toss of her head, as though she was on the defensive, then said, ‘She got drunk and she killed a child. And I look at Ollie and-’

‘Don’t you think she’s being punished enough? She’s being taken to court, her relationship’s over, her health… well, God knows… She might end up in jail. The law is punishing her and we don’t need to.’

‘When I see her… when I look at her…’ Suzanne spoke very precisely, her palms together, fingers pointed at me, resting on the table, moving up and down to the rhythm of what she was saying, ‘I’m just so angry, like I want to hurt her. I don’t like being put in that position, and I won’t do it,’ she said tightly.

‘She’s your sister, we’re all she’s got.’

‘ You’re all she’s got.’

‘Suzanne, please.’

She stood up abruptly. ‘No,’ she said. Ollie began to whimper.

‘People ignore us in the street. We’ve enough enemies.’

‘I don’t want to see her and I don’t want her here.’

‘That is so hard.’ I wanted to weep. ‘Have you any idea what this will do to her?’

‘She should have thought of that before she drove the car.’ Suzanne crouched to pick Ollie up. ‘You can make all the excuses you like.’

‘And Ollie? Does she get to see her nephew in this brave new world of yours?’ I wish I hadn’t said the last part, but I was shivering with rage by then, close to losing control.

‘I don’t know,’ she said.

‘Oh, Suzanne.’

‘You and Dad can always come here, if you like.’

I knew I was going to cry then, and I didn’t want to do it in front of her, have her accuse me of emotional blackmail or whatever into the bargain. ‘Right,’ I managed, ‘I’ll go then.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said at the door, but her expression was defiant, not sorrowful.

‘Yes,’ I said. My throat was dry and swollen; there was terrible pressure behind my breastbone.

I’d hoped things would improve between Suzanne and Naomi once they were grown up and independent. In fact I’d dared to believe they had, especially when Suzanne asked Naomi to be her bridesmaid and Naomi agreed.

When they were little, I’d often pick over their antagonism and rivalry with Phil, with my mother, with Evie, with anyone who’d listen. Was it normal for siblings to be so at loggerheads? Was it because they were girls? Because they were so close in age? What were we doing wrong? How could we reduce the animosity, the incessant squabbling and tears.

We tried various tactics: praising good behaviour, rewarding cooperation, striving to be consistent in how we dealt with their shouting and fighting. We organized it so they could have time with us apart from each other, when they’d enjoy our undivided attention. There was no dramatic improvement.

I could see that as the older child Suzanne was naturally jealous when Naomi came on the scene. But it seemed ridiculous that she’d let that colour the rest of her life. She clearly resented the attention Naomi got through her bad behaviour in those teenage years. But still to maintain that position seemed so churlish. Had I contributed to the dynamic? Reinforced it? Even now, in supporting Naomi as best I could, did Suzanne see that as me taking sides? She was a grown woman; surely she was mature enough to distinguish between support and approval? To understand that trying to help Naomi through the mess she was in was not acting to spite Suzanne. None of it was about Suzanne. Maybe that was the problem.

I drove the car out of their cul-de-sac and then pulled up at the side of the next road to cry. How on earth would Naomi weather this on top of everything else? I felt so sad, deeply sad, like something had been taken from me, leaving me aching and hollow.

Naomi

At the magistrates’ court, Don talks me through the papers, the advance information from the prosecution. I see Alex’s signature on his statement and I think how I miss him, his company and humour and waking up with him. All that love and excitement we shared, just snuffed out. But I still think I did the right thing.

There are other statements – Suzanne’s, and ones from two other guests at the barbecue, neither of whom I know, and my prepared statement from the police station – as well as a summary of the accident with diagrams. And the blood alcohol results.

‘No surprises here,’ Don says, ‘so my advice remains the same: you enter a plea of not guilty. Yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay.’ He gathers together the file. ‘When you go in, you should remain standing up till you’re asked to be seated.’

I hope I don’t mess up.

‘The only things you’ll need to say are your name and address and date of birth. The rest, entering your plea, I’ll do as your representative. Any questions?’

‘No.’

‘Anything you’re not sure of you can just ask me, okay?’

I feel dizzy waiting with Mum and Dad and Don to go in. What will happen if I keel over? My face is so hot, burning up, and my mouth is dry; even when I sip water it’s still dry, like it’s lined with chalk.

I know that all that today is for is to send me to a higher court because the charges are too serious for the magistrates. It’s a formality but it’s still nerve-racking.

An usher calls me in and Don shows me the way to go and Mum and Dad sit down.

There are three magistrates, two men and a woman, and they are looking at papers, occasionally leaning over to say something to each other. Talking about me?

In the dock, I’m still hot and my pulse feels so strong it’s almost like I’m growing and shrinking with each beat. Like Alice in Wonderland speeded up. My hearing feels muddy but I try to follow what’s going on and answer, to confirm my name and address and date of birth. My voice sounds weedy, like I’m putting it on.

They ask Don if I’m ready to enter a plea. He tells them I am pleading not guilty.