The Fallout. Rebecca Thornton
every jolt on the road, both for the baby’s sake and her own – she had been torn from back to front. She winces remembering the pain as the metal had tugged Casper right out of her. And then the rest. The ensuing images at every turn of things that could go wrong: Casper choking on her milk, suffocating in his Moses basket, inhaling smoke particles from family members who held him. The list had been endless. She rubs her stomach wistfully. She’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. And just like that, she has a vision of Rosie being handed to her in the hospital. She remembers wanting to breathe life into her daughter, so desperately. To impart some of her own living soul into the tiny creature that lay in her arms. Liza’s presence strong and calm right beside her. The doctors. We’re so sorry. Nothing anyone could do. She shivers.
She hears Tom downstairs, the soft monotones of the cricket commentary on the TV, which she normally finds so comforting. Tonight though, she wants to shout down to tell him to come and help her. But, she reasons, he has probably fallen asleep. She doesn’t want to leave the room in case the creak of the door wakes Thea.
Her mind traces the events of the day. Jack fracturing his neck. His small body lying in the operating theatre, the anaesthetic needle puncturing his tiny veins. She curls herself up into a ball as she replays the events preceding the accident. And then Liza’s WhatsApp. She flicks back onto it, reading and rereading the conversation she’d had with her earlier: there might be knock-on effects. She puts her phone down. He’s alive. That’s all she should be focusing on. She thinks about whether Ella was right. He still would have fallen. Whether you’d checked on him or not. She’d never know.
And anyway, where the hell is Ella? Does she really not give enough of a damn to at least contact her and ask about Jack? Especially given the thing that Sarah had found out earlier. And then Priti mentioning the investigation. She knows, rationally, that the club will be duty-bound to look into what happened. She also knows they won’t want any bad publicity from this. They’ll shut it down as soon as possible. They might want to speak to her. That’s OK. She’ll tell them what she told Liza. She takes a breath and recites the words in her head. I waved at him. He was absolutely fine. And then she goes through the various responses to any given questions they might ask her. Are you sure you saw him properly? Yes. He was playing. Are you sure he was OK? Yes.
Oh God. She wipes her hands on her top and shuts down her thoughts. She needs to focus on Thea. Do the best for her friend and try and make things up to her. And then she remembers Liza’s earlier text. How Jack would be flat on his back. How this is all her fault so she needs to be doing more to fix it – especially if he never quite recovers properly. The taste of bile floods her mouth. She can’t quite believe that she’s been responsible for something so hideously awful. She’s done some bad things in her life – she’ll never forget lying to her parents time and time again so she could go to the Palladium nightclub – but this, this is something she could never have even imagined experiencing.
She thinks about their lower-ground-floor flat. It’s free at the moment. Perhaps she’ll ask Liza and Jack to stay with them for a bit so she can help out. Try and make things all right. It would give Liza a break from Gav, too. The way he calls her out on everything. Look at you, he’d say. Look at the way you’re doing that. And he’d get up and take over. Tutting and asking Jack if he was OK, gliding his eyes over his little boy’s body in exaggerated movements. Anything your daddy can help you with?
She didn’t know how Liza stood it, really. He never used to be like that – controlling and anxious. And it’s even weirder now, given that they’re actually separated. In any case, it would be good for Liza to get away from him. Give her some breathing space. Sarah’s absolutely sure that Gav is not going to be happy about the fact they’d both been inside The Vale Club, and not out in the sandpit with Jack. He’ll probably try and sue and then she’ll have to speak up in court. Oh God. But before the thought maps out into anything further she hears a small cry.
Shit. The milk. It’ll be freezing cold. She should have boiled the kettle earlier instead of being held hostage by her thoughts. Perhaps she should go downstairs and get her bottle first? Or take Thea down with her so she doesn’t start shrieking at full pelt? Shit.
Before she knows it, she’s running downstairs.
‘Tom,’ she hisses. ‘Tom, she’s awake.’
‘Hmmm?’ She watches as Tom stretches out and moves a pale, freckled hand towards the remote.
‘Tom?’ She’s exasperated now. Has he no sense of urgency? She swallows back her ‘nagging’ voice, as he calls it. ‘Tom,’ she continues. ‘I’d really love it if you could go upstairs to Thea while I get her milk. It would be really helpful,’ she monotones. ‘Because you’re so soothing with babies.’
It’s a trick she’d learnt during their stint at Relate last year – after they’d buried Rosie. She still feels resentful that Tom hadn’t been with her, even though she knows that wasn’t his fault. Would it work tonight? Would it fuck.
‘Tom!’ She picks up the remote and hurls it across the sofa.
‘Jesus.’ He leaps up. ‘Sarah. What the hell has got into you?!’
‘Oh God.’ She can hear Thea’s cries getting more intense. ‘I’m sorry. Can you just go up?’
‘Going.’ He stands, his expression bordering on sheer terror at witnessing his wife in such a state. She has no idea why she’s freaking out so much. She’s looked after a baby before. Surely this should be a doddle? She goes to the kitchen and counts out the formula scoops, checking and rechecking the amounts on the back of the blue box.
When she’s satisfied she’s got the right number of scoops, she shakes the mixture in boiling water and places it in a bowl of ice. The crying slows down.
At least Casper will stay asleep, she knows that much. Her one saving grace. She stares at the milk, willing for it to cool. ‘Hurry up,’ she mutters. By the time she goes upstairs Thea’s screams are at full pelt.
‘You calm now?’ Tom gives her a look, as though she’s one of those potty pigeon ladies who cover themselves in breadcrumbs in the park.
‘I’m calm. Look. Today. I …’
‘I know. I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I should have realised how traumatic it would be for you and I’m sorry. Oh love, why don’t you go to bed with Casper? I’ll sort Thea out. Just go and get into your nightie and I’ll do the rest.’
She wants to resist. She feels she owes it to Liza to be the one looking after Thea, but the lure of lying down and ignoring the world is too strong. She pulls out her old grey nightie from the wardrobe – the one that she used to comfort her stonking hangovers – and sits on the bed. She watches Tom angling the bottle into Thea’s mouth, her small, fuzzy head resting in the nook of his elbow.
‘Shhh, there we go,’ he says. ‘All OK now. It’s OK now.’
‘I forgot how good you are at this.’ She nods at Thea. She sniffs at the hem of her T-shirt. Don’t let me think about it. Last year. Please. Not now. But it’s too late and she starts to cry.
‘We’ll be OK, love,’ he says. She knows what he’s thinking. This should be our child. ‘Don’t you worry. You’ve had a long day. No wonder you’re feeling tearful. Now go on. Get into Casper’s bed and try and get some sleep.’
She can’t think of anything she’d rather do less than move from where she is right now. The tiredness has hit her like a truck.
Tom looks down at Thea and smiles. ‘Well done, little girl.’
Sarah pulls down the soft, pink eiderdown and climbs into their comfy king-sized bed from Loaf that they’d saved up for last year.
‘I want to sleep with you.’ Sarah’s sobs subside. She needs to feed off Tom’s calm presence. If she’s near Casper, she’ll start to feel more anxious. What if karma is real? Tit for tat. That kind of thing. What if he fell too?