Chapter 58 Margot
Chapter 58
Margot
I’ve barely budged from behind the bedroom window this week. All morning Liv’s house has been a hive of activity, from police officers in marked cars to friends stopping by with meals stuffed into casserole dishes and Tupperware pots. To add insult to injury, I watch Cat Face versions 1.0 and 2.0 shitting together in my borders.
Brandon texted me earlier to thank me in advance for picking the twins up from nursery. I replied politely with an If there’s anything else I can do, just ask. But now I’m questioning whether he might misinterpret what was supposed to be an innocent offer. Not even I’d try coming on to the husband of someone I almost killed.
A week after the accident – for that’s what I’m calling it – I’ve got into the habit of checking my car daily to reassure myself there’s no evidence of Liv on it. The moment I returned home, I checked the front bumper and wing for dents, chipped paint or traces of Liv’s hair, blood or clothing. I’ve watched enough true-life crime documentaries on Netflix to know that all it might take is a microscopic droplet of plasma to send me to prison.
I found nothing. But just to be sure, early the next morning, I paid for it to be professionally valeted – then, on my return home, I deleted the journey from my sat nav history.
A grumbling stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. But all I find in the kitchen cupboard are slices of blue-speckled bread and a couple of croissants that are more flaky than pastry.
My thoughts drift back to when I approached Liv’s body in that ditch. I was convinced she was dead – there was no pulse, no breathing and no heartbeat – so I didn’t call for help. I play it out in my head. If I had, how would I have explained why I spotted her from my car, off road and lying in a ditch? If a suspicious police officer had breathalysed me, I’d have been well over the legal drink-drive limit. And it wouldn’t have been long before they’d have discovered the video Liv sent to Nicu, giving me a motive to hurt her. The tabloid exposé of Nicu’s affair with me almost twelve years ago would pale into insignificance compared to the headlines that would generate. So what else could I do but leave?
I have considered begging Nicu for his help in sorting this mess out. I know he still loves me, because if he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have been so hurt by my affair. But both times I’ve picked up my phone to dial him, I’ve changed my mind. It’s unfair to expect him to try and bail me out. Besides, he’s not like me. He’d insist I do the right thing when I’m convinced that, by leaving her, I already did.
The phone’s alarm sounds – it’s time to get the twins. The nursery is a ten-minute walk from my house and one of the teaching assistants is waiting for me by the door when I arrive. It’s my fourth pick-up, so she recognises me and explains that Rupert has been upset, saying he’s missing his mum. I feel just awful. I can only stop his tears by FaceTiming Brandon, who’s at the hospital with Liv. He calms his son down with promises of a trip to the playpark later before Brandon and I share a brief, perfunctory exchange. Apparently Liv remains stable, the swelling to her brain has subsided, and now it’s a waiting game until when she regains consciousness.
I honestly hope she pulls through. And it’s not just to alleviate my guilt. It’s for the sake of the kids I’m now watching in the dining room playing with Tommy’s old toys. I hate to think how losing their mother at such an early age might affect them. Then I’m reminded that’s exactly what happened to Frankie and Tommy. They’ve spent most of their lives with me, not Ioana.
Back then, it felt so unfair. They were thrust upon me without anyone asking if it was what I wanted. I was less concerned for the welfare of two frightened, confused kids and more bothered by the aftermath of being accused by the press and social media of driving a young mum to take her own life. I didn’t want to be a mother to any child, let alone those spawned by a vindictive bitch who, even in death, was out to ruin me. Only now can I admit how phenomenally selfish I was.
Suddenly, my phone rings. Nicu’s face lights up the screen. We’ve had text conversations about Liv but we’ve not actually spoken. I hurry into the other room, leaving the door open so I can keep an eye on the twins as they play with an Octonauts boat.
‘How’s Liv?’ he says without asking how I am first.
I run through Brandon’s update. Nicu hears the children’s laughter and I tell him I’m looking after them again.
‘Do you need my help?’ he asks.
I want to say yes, that while I’m not struggling with them, I am struggling with just about everything else in my life since he left. But I don’t. I need him to see that I have got this.
‘Thank you, but we’ll be okay,’ I reply instead.
A brief silence follows. I need to fill the gap.
‘Look,’ I continue, ‘when you’re ready to talk, I’m here to listen. And I don’t mean that I’m going to talk over you or try and justify what I did, I just want to hear what you have to say.’
‘Thank you,’ he replies before we say our goodbyes.
I take a moment to myself, dab the corner of my eyes, perform a few cleansing breaths and return to the twins. At this very moment, they might well be the only two people in this world who want to be around me.