Chris Curran - Mindsight

‘Actually, after the dishwater I’ve been drinking for five years, I’m making it a lot weaker. Still, tea it is.’

When I brought the tea and sat in the armchair opposite, Matt leaned over and touched my knee, with a big friendly hand. ‘It really is good to see you looking so well, Clare, and Emily can’t wait for you to come and stay with us in Cumbria.’

‘Well, I’ve got a job.’ He put down his mug, a broad smile on his face, but I shook my head. ‘Only in a flower shop, working for a friend of Alice, but it’s good to be back in the working world. I’m still part-time, though, so I should have a few days free soon.’

I knew Emily was finally pregnant after years of trying, IVF and so on, and we talked about that for a bit. The baby was due in a few weeks and Emily had stopped work and was staying at their house in the Lake District all the time. Matt still had to be in London and was using their flat there. ‘So poor Em gets lonely. I’m working extra at the moment to have more space when the sprog appears. In fact I’ve got some meetings in town tomorrow.’

‘On a Sunday?’

‘Well since the Yanks took over the firm, it’s breakfast meetings, late night conference calls, you name it. To be honest, I can’t wait to get out, but they’re cutting the chemistry departments in the universities and there’s a glut of people like me looking for a change.’ He ran his hand through his dark blond hair, looking more like his old scruffy self by the minute. ‘Still you don’t want to know about all that. How you are, really? How are things with Tom?’

I took a breath, better to start as I meant to go on. ‘It’s early days, but so far so good. There is one problem, though, Matt. He’s convinced himself I wasn’t to blame for the accident. Wants me to look into the whole thing again.’

He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘Blimey, that’s a bummer. So what have you said?’

‘That I’ll try to find out what I can.’

He drained his mug. ‘Look, I should be going. Only stopped to deliver the message. If I remember, it’s a long and winding road from here to London. Just tell me you’ll definitely visit us soon and my job here is done.’

‘I promise, but why don’t you stay for something to eat?’

He stood up. ‘Better not, I have some work to do before these meetings tomorrow.’

I couldn’t let it end there. ‘I wanted to ask you a couple of things. To help Tom.’

His spectacle case had slid down the side of the sofa and he bent to fumble for it. ‘What’s that?’

‘Well, I’ve always wondered about who could have supplied me with the speed. It must have been someone at the wedding, you see.’ It was difficult to talk to him while he was pulling out the case, then opening it and rubbing at the sunglass lenses, and I was very aware I was holding him up. ‘You and Emily knew everyone there, so I wanted to know if there was anyone you could think of?’

He’d put the sunglasses on again and was looking more like the stylish guy I’d seen outside the house. ‘It’s a long while ago, Clare, and if any of our friends did have a habit we didn’t know about it. And to be frank I wouldn’t want to give you their names if I did. Can you imagine how they’d feel if you turned up asking questions like that? And the chances of them telling you if they did supply you are zilch I’d say. Besides it was more likely someone from the catering company.’ He leaned close and kissed me, his cheek just a little stubbly. ‘Let it drop, sweetheart. Tom’ll forget about it once he gets used to you being around and starts enjoying having a mum again.’

After I’d seen him out I closed my front door and leaned my head against it. I’d made a complete hash of that and I knew I should have waited until I’d thought out what to say more carefully. I microwaved a pasta meal and ate it at the kitchen table, wondering how I’d got myself into this when I should be focusing on making a new life for Tom and me.

The day, and the sleepless night before it, had drained me completely and I wasn’t even tempted to turn on the TV. Instead, I threw off my clothes, pulled the curtains to shut out the glow of fading sunlight and climbed into bed.

The pillow was smooth and cool but I was wide awake again, my mind racing. I turned on the bedside light and picked up the photo frame. Steve and my boys smiled at me. The eight-year-old Tommy in the picture was still more real to me than the awkward teenager I was trying to get to know. And Toby – the gap where he’d just lost a tooth making his grin cheekier than ever. My dear little boy would never be a teenager, never grow up, because of me and I could never look at his face without that agonised throb. ‘I’m sorry, Toby,’ I whispered.

My husband was standing behind the boys, smiling his wide, white smile. One hand was on Toby’s shoulder, the other pushing strands of fair hair away from his own face. Little Tommy leaned back against him. ‘Oh, Steve…’

I smoothed their dear faces with a fingertip, then pressed the photo to my chest. But it was only plastic and glass and it gave no comfort.

It must have been close to midnight when the phone rang. Still half asleep I grabbed it. ‘Alice?’ There was some noise in the background, but no one spoke and then the line went dead. I lay down, but couldn’t rest. What if Alice was calling from a hospital to tell me Tom was ill or hurt? I groped for my mobile and texted her.

Did you ring me? Is everything OK?

Her reply came through almost at once.

Didn’t ring, all’s well here. I’m in bed but call if you need to talk XXX.

I sent back:

Thanks I’m fine – goodnight XXX

I slept well for once and woke on Sunday knowing I’d dreamed of my family. They had been happy dreams: the kind of dreams I’d had in the early days after the accident – the cruellest ones of all. In the first waking moments you lie warm and comfortable, knowing everything is all right, everyone is alive and well. It takes a few minutes to remember that the happy dreams are the fantasy and it’s the nightmare that’s real.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse and as I lay listening to the rain I felt the loneliness twist inside me, worse even than it had been in the first days in prison when I was in too much shock to feel anything.

My mood today reminded me more of when I was a teenager. By the time I was fourteen I was barely speaking to Mum or Dad and no one at school seemed to like me. Emily was miles away and Alice was too young to confide in. I knew I was adopted, my Romanian birth mother hadn’t wanted me, and I was pretty sure my adoptive parents wished they had never taken me on either. I spent whole days lying in bed paralysed with misery. When I did get up I would wander the streets alone, walking myself into exhaustion.

It was on one of these tramps when I took shelter from a chill drizzle in a bus shelter. Although it was close to Beldon House, I couldn’t face going home to Mum’s silences and pursed lips. Out in the country like this, with no bus due for an hour or more, the last thing I expected was for anyone to join me, but the girl who did looked around my age and was so chatty it took only minutes to feel we were friends.

She offered me a drink. It was vodka, and I’d never had more than a sip or two of wine before, but although it tasted like sour fire and made me gasp and cough, I kept pace with her as we passed the bottle back and forth. Her name was Lizzie, and she had dyed yellow hair and eyelashes heavy with black mascara. Her nails were bitten to the quick, there were scars on her thin pale arms, and I thought she was the most glamorous creature I’d ever seen. She told me she had run away from three foster homes and now she was looking out for herself. She’d been staying with some friends in the village, but was having to move on. ‘They got fed up with me. People usually do,’ she said, with a throaty laugh. We swapped mobile numbers and when she got on the bus I longed to go with her.