If You Only Knew Page 14

  Leaning against the counter, I take sip after scalding sip. A noise comes from outside and I spill coffee as I turn, burning my hands.

  It’s unlike me to be this clumsy. My favourite dressing gown is stained, meeting a couple of old stains I made when I last had a rough patch several years ago, when already overwhelmed by the stress of my first proper legal job, I had started feeling my resolve to never share my past start to weaken. The feelings of desperation and loneliness threatened to overcome my rational mind and I came close to confiding in Miles. We had just started living together and I longed for our lives to be as perfect as I dreamed they could be. I desperately needed an outlet and remember thinking attending AA meetings might help. Anxiety ate at me when I walked in that first day, my hands shaking so much that I spilled coffee all over the front of my white satin shirt. Flustered, I’d sat at the back and listened to others tell their stories. It took a while for me to muster the courage to stand up in front of my peers.

  “I’m Elizabeth, and I’m an alcoholic,” I said. Because I couldn’t tell them I’m a killer.

  Chapter 16

  Miles walks downstairs yawning and stretching. His brown hair is sticking up and he has two parallel sleep marks on his right cheek. “You ok?” he mouths from behind the kids and I nod.

  “Was it the same nightmare?”

  “Yes,” I say softly, looking at the children, not wanting them to hear the conversation.

  He moves towards me. “Please, speak to someone. You look exhausted, completely drained. You need to sleep without nightmares.”

  “I’m fine.” It’s the same mantra over and over.

  “No, you’re not. People who are ‘fine’ don’t wake up in the middle of the night screaming.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this now,” I hiss back at him. Instead I turn towards the children, sitting at the kitchen island eating their breakfast. “What do you want to do today?” I ask. It’s a beautiful day.” There’s a mist in the air that’s a prelude of warm weather in a few hours.

  “Disney World!” Leah exclaims, rocking forwards and backwards excitedly.

  “Not today, sweetie,” I say. “What about the park?”

  We spend the day at Richmond Park, running around, looking for deer. My phone beeps and I sit on a bench to answer an email. Leah’s laugh interrupts my thoughts and I look at my family, feeling my whole body relax. The weak sun feels blissful on my face and I close my eyes for a second. I must have drifted off because the cold hand on my arm jolts me upright. It’s Leah, looking at me with big brown eyes.

  “Mummy, I’m hungry.”

  “Little hungry or big hungry?” I ask, pulling her towards me.

  “Big hungry.”

  We head to our local pub for lunch. The waitress brings our food and Leah reaches out for the ketchup bottle, turning it on top of her plate, and squeezing with both hands. The red liquid squirts out, hitting the plate and splashing across the table and onto my white shirt.

  Taking a deep breath, I will myself to remain calm, trying to stop the scream that’s threatening to escape my throat. My breathing is quick and shallow and I can feel my heartbeat speeding up. It’s just ketchup, I tell myself. But as I look down at the dense red liquid splattered all over my chest, I start shaking. My mind goes back to that night and I see his face in front of me, his green eyes open in shock. I feel the warm blood pulsing from his gaping wound and I’m transported away from the here and now, from the happiness of being with my family, back to the place of my nightmares.

  It must only have been a couple of seconds, but the panic feels like it lasts for hours. Miles’ hand reaches out for mine, reminding me that I’m safe. Closing my eyes tightly, I work on composing myself. When I open them I see Leah staring at me, the plastic bottle still held upside down in her hands, dripping ketchup onto her plate. Forcing a smile, I take the ketchup bottle from her, trying to steady my trembling hands. Then, I excuse myself and go to the bathroom, wanting nothing more than to remove my sodden shirt. I have a thick cardigan in my bag I’d removed earlier. Locking myself in a stall, I try to avoid glancing at the mirror but my eyes go exactly where I don’t want them to and I look at the angry red spatters all over my chest. My stomach lurches. I quickly take off the shirt and throw it in the bin. I wipe a few drops of ketchup from my neck and arms and put on my cardigan, buttoning it up with fingers that are still trembling. Taking a deep breath, I walk back to the table and sit down, intent on continuing to enjoy our meal and the rest of our day.

  Nobody mentions the incident and we finish our food and go back to the car.

  Later that evening, when the children are in bed, Miles orders Chinese. We sit on the sofa watching comedy reruns. Miles laughs loudly at something on the TV and takes a swig of his beer.

  We’re relaxed so I’m caught completely unawares when Miles mutes the TV and turns towards me. “Liz, you need to do something about your phobia of red.”

  I freeze, the chopsticks midway to my mouth, and remain immobile for a couple of seconds, before I force myself to snap back into the here and now and lower the utensils back into my bowl.

  “We’re having a nice evening,” I say. “Why do you always have to bring this up?”

  “It’s not healthy to live with constant fear. It was just ketchup, Liz. You acted as if someone was being murdered in front of you.”

  “Oh come on, you’re being overly dramatic.”

  “I’m not.” Miles’ voice is softer. “You should see the fear in your eyes. It frightens the kids.”

  I remember Julian’s scared face when he heard me screaming last night and Leah’s concern that I’d be mad when she spilled ketchup. I want to scream at the unfairness of his comment. He’s using the children to make me see sense, guilt trip me into taking action.

  “Don’t threaten me with the kids!” I exclaim, leaning away from him.

  “You’re the one who wakes them up when you start screaming in the middle of the night. You’re the one who freaked out at the sight of ketchup.”

  He stands up and storms out of the room, leaving me sitting there. Shame and sadness engulf me. Tears well in my eyes and I blink vigorously to stop them from rolling down my cheeks, not wanting to appear so weak.

  I have to resolve to change. To overcome this fear of red. To try my best to be normal again. I’ve allowed myself the indulgence of this fear for far too long, and yet my secret is still safe from the people I love. Ellen has told me as much. It can’t be beyond me to take action to put my fears behind me.

  Chapter 17

  “Maya is here to see you,” Jennifer says, poking her head into my office.

  “Maya? What’s she doing here? Let her in, let her in.”

  Saving the document I was tweaking, I stand up and walk to the door, anxious to find out what brought Maya to my office. My body erupts in goosebumps as soon as I see her, standing there, leaning against Jennifer’s desk, her red hair contrasting against the mostly monochrome office colours.

  “Maya, what happened?” My mind is whirring with different scenarios. “Is everything all right? Why are you here?”

  She continues looking around, taking everything in, her eyes skimming every corner of my office. “Sorry Mrs P, didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “It’s ok, here, come in and sit down. What happened?”

  “Nothing happened.” She follows me to the sofa in the corner of the room and takes a seat. “I wanted to see where you work.”

  Sitting next to her, I turn round to face her and take stock of her appearance, examining her for any clues. Her flaming red hair is escaping from the thin Alice band, soft tendrils falling around her face. Her dark green sweater has clearly been ironed. Her skinny black jeans fit her flawlessly. And her black boots have been buffed to shiny perfection. She is the image of a privileged girl.

  It strikes me that I rarely see her outside the confines of our little street. Sitting here, in my office, she seems different. More grown up, more sophisticat
ed. It’s almost as if she left her real self back in the suburbs. Or maybe this is her real self. Despite my attempts to get close to her, I still don’t feel like I know her properly and my heart aches at what could have been.

  Maya doesn’t flinch as I examine her. She cocks her head to one side and grins at me. It’s the innocent smile that I’m accustomed to. But somehow, in this setting, it seems different and it bothers me that I cannot put my finger on what’s really going through her mind.

  “What brought you to the city?”

  “I came shopping with some friends. I’ve never seen your office so I decided to swing by, come see you in action.”

  Why do I get the feeling that there’s more to this visit?

  “Does your mum know you’re here?”

  “No, well, yes, she knows I’m in the city, not here specifically. It was more of an impromptu visit.” She crosses her legs at the heel, a gesture I’ve seen Ellen do a million times, I note with an irrational stab of jealousy. “I hope you don’t mind,” she adds quickly, biting at her nails.

  “Not at all.” I feel a simple joy to see Maya. I always do.

  She continues looking around my office, taking her time to glance in every direction. Her eyes settle on the big mahogany desk, normally perfectly organised, but right now scattered with documents, stationery and coffee cups. Books are open on my desk instead of neatly lined on the shelves. The clutter embarrasses me. I don’t want Maya to see me in any way less than perfect.

  “So, this is where you work.” She stands up and walks to my desk, picking up a glass paperweight, a gift from a client. There are no other trinkets, family photos, good luck charms on display. I keep it sparse and impersonal. I follow her with my eyes as she continues to look through the piles of paper on my desk.

  For a moment I allow myself to think about what could have been. Maya stopping at my office after school, talking about our days, before heading back home together. But I quickly shake my head to get rid of the fantasy. Our lives would have been nothing like this had I decided to keep her. Even with Mum and Dad’s help, the odds of finishing university and going to law school were remote. Chances are I would have an entry-level job, probably two, and still be struggling to make ends meet.

  Her green eyes glisten as she continues to look around my office and I’m transported back to the first time I saw him, when he seemed so kind and helpful rather than the monster he turned into. A shiver runs down my spine, but instead of pure fear I also feel regret. How could I be so naive as to think that I could walk away from a baby and never look back? Never want to see her again. Not long to know what happened to her, how she’s doing.

  Maya is still circling my desk. She leans over to touch one of the documents and I cringe, not wanting her to change the page, disrupt my train of thought. It’s almost like she senses my apprehension, as if I somehow managed to communicate my fear without saying anything, because she backs away and turns around to face me.

  “What are you working on?” she asks.

  “I have a few cases right now. That’s why there’s all this mess.”

  “Are you still working on that girl’s case?”

  “Chloe? Yes. We’re preparing for trial.”

  She comes back to sit next to me, closer than she was earlier. The smell of soap mingled with washing detergent enters my nostrils and I feel this enormous urge to hug her. Take her in my arms and stroke her face. Play with her red hair, twirl the strands around my fingers. Be close to Maya in a way that I have never been, probably never will be.

  “Do you think I’d make a good barrister?”

  “Is that what you want to be?” Maybe genetics is stronger than I thought, perhaps my love for the law was passed on to her. Without wanting it I feel a surge of pride.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t really know what I want to do yet. Figured this could be an option.”

  “So, you don’t want to take over your dad’s firm?”

  “What? Be an accountant? No way! I’m awful with numbers.”

  “What about a teacher like your mum? You’re good with kids.”

  “Meh, I don’t know. I’m good with your kids because they’re great. But to be with new children every year. Don’t think that’s for me.”

  I sense an opportunity that I cannot let slip, a way to spend more time with Maya. “You could come and spend a few days at the office, shadow me, understand how we do things, see if it’s something that excites you.”

  “Really? I could do that?”

  “Yes, of course.” Inside I’m bursting with excitement and disbelief at the fantastic opportunity. Surely even Ellen will understand that this is for Maya’s benefit, help her make decisions for her future. She wouldn’t read more into it.

  “Maybe I can come in the summer holidays, when I’m not watching Julian and Leah…”

  My hands are almost trembling and I swallow hard to make sure my voice is steady. “That would work. Or even before, maybe after school? Perhaps when my parents are visiting and are watching the children.”

  It seems like there’s another question on Maya’s lips, perhaps the one she came here to ask me. But a knock comes at the door. “Your three o’clock is here,” Jennifer says.

  My heart sinks as reality calls, cutting short this unexpected visit. I fight the urge to brush off my next meeting, indulge this new idea of Maya shadowing me here, and me helping her learn the ropes. She’s still leaning against my desk, in no apparent hurry to leave. But I know it’s not a good idea to seem too eager.

  “Give me two minutes,” I tell Jennifer and she closes the door behind her.

  Standing up, I walk towards my desk. “I’m sorry but I have to get back to work now,” I tell her. “Let’s figure out a day when you can come over. If you like it, you can come back. I can even see if there are any internships for the summer.”

  “Sure.” She straightens up and starts to leave. “See you soon.”

  As she opens the door, she comes face to face with Chloe. Maya pauses as she walks past the other teenager and looks at her, a head to toe sweep that takes in every inch of the other girl, something I’ve seen Ellen do on countless occasions as she evaluates every person she meets. Chloe’s chin goes up another millimetre, a gesture so subtle that anyone else might have missed it. The two look at each other, squaring each other up in an instant. I can’t help but notice the differences as well as the similarities. Chloe’s clothes look nothing like Maya’s expensive ones. But somehow she makes up for her old garments with not a hair out of place. Although certainly not manicured, her nails are neatly trimmed, as opposed to Maya’s jagged edges. Her posture is straight and regal in contrast to Maya’s slightly slouched shoulders.

  “Goodbye Mrs P.”

  Maya gives me a smile, and I’m left with the uncanny feeling I’ve no idea what she’s thinking. I nod at her and summon Chloe into my office.

  *

  “This was just delivered for you,” Jennifer says as she walks into my office the following Monday and hands me a large envelope marked ‘urgent’.

  “Thank you. It’s Chloe’s paternity test.” My breathing quickens slightly as I rummage in my drawer for a letter opener. Impatient when I’m unable to find it immediately, I use a pen to tear the envelope open, pulling out the stapled sheaf of papers. Looking up, I see Jennifer sitting upright in her chair, her neck craned towards me, her eyes wide open as she bites her lower lip. Taking a deep breath, I start reading the report.

  “Aaaaah,” I sigh loudly. “Thank God.”

  “Is it his baby?”

  “Yes. Can you get me George Winters on the line?”

  Nodding, Jennifer stands up and leaves my office, and I take the time to read through the document again, careful to digest every word. My phone beeps.

  “George. I just received the paternity report.”

  “Yes, I got it as well.”

  When he doesn’t elaborate further, I continue: “Now we know it’s his baby. Surely this cha
nges the whole story.”

  “I still have to consult my medical experts,” he says.

  “George, what are you talking about? You chose the lab that ran the test and the results are unequivocal. You cannot decide to question its authenticity now.”

  “I need to consult the experts,” he repeats.

  “George, this proves she wasn’t lying about the rape.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” he says firmly. “This only proves that they had sex, but not that he raped her.”

  “What about the fact that she’s only fifteen? And he’s an adult. That’s a crime.” My voice is inching higher with each syllable as the urge to fight for Chloe threatens to overwhelm me.

  “Elizabeth, for the third time, I’m going to consult with the medical experts before determining the next steps.”

  Hanging up, I put my head into my hands. That’s how Jennifer finds me a minute later. “Your ten o’clock is here.”

  Nodding, I stand up and walk towards the door, ready to greet my next client.

  *

  Despite my schedule, I am still determined to keep my promise to Miles and overcome my fear of red, if only to get him off my back. I even go as far as watching gory movies, to try and desensitise myself to blood.

  The next step is to face my aversion to red food and master a proper Italian tomato sauce. On Friday I leave work early and stop at Whole Foods on the way home.

  Maya is cross-legged on the floor, her back resting against the sofa. Leah is sitting in her lap and Julian is cuddled next to her, his hand on her knee. She’s reading to them and the three are so absorbed they don’t hear me walk in. It gives me a few seconds to look at them without being noticed. Maya’s soft voice is calming even to my tattered nerves, the singalong tone making me, for a second, forget the constant fear of being found out. The worry that’s never far from my brain, any small trigger bringing it to the fore.