Chapter 3
THREE
KARA
Six months later
After paying off the taxi, I stand on the pavement outside Jemma’s house, reluctant to go in.
I can see Mark as if he were here, stumbling drunkenly down the step.
I whisper his name as he walks towards me, brushing past me, so close I feel him like a bolt of electricity shooting through me.
For a fleeting second, I feel my boy’s warm body pressed close to mine, the weight of him before Jack had lifted him from my arms. I smell him, the unique smell that binds baby and mother together forever.
And then it hits me, stark, cold reality, the excruciating hollow emptiness inside me, and my tears blind me.
I can’t do this. Why did I come? Swallowing back the shard of glass that seems to be lodged in my throat, I spin around, wanting to go home, even though the house doesn’t feel like a home any more, and cuddle up with my faithful dog.
I’m blundering blindly along the pavement when I hear Jemma call worriedly behind me. ‘Kara?’ Quickly she catches up with me. ‘Are you all right, sweetheart?’ she asks, sliding an arm around me.
I shake my head. ‘I shouldn’t have come, Jemma. It’s too soon.’
‘I know. I understand,’ she says soothingly. ‘You’re here now, though.’ She steps around in front of me and takes hold of my hands. ‘And you’re freezing. Come on, come inside. At least get warm while I call you a taxi.’
She’s aware that I can’t bring myself to drive.
I’ve tried, but the horrendous flashbacks hit me as soon as I’m behind the wheel.
As a psychologist and someone who specialises in post-traumatic stress disorder, Jemma has managed to persuade me to open up to her, becoming my shoulder and my friend.
She’s the only person I’ve spoken to honestly.
My feelings are still so raw I can’t bear to see the sympathy in people’s eyes, the awkwardness that’s so often there when they ask me how I am, which of course they’re bound to. How can I tell them I’m utterly broken?
‘It’s just a small crowd, people you’ve met before,’ Jemma assures me. ‘You have to allow yourself a life, Kara. You can’t live in isolation forever.’
‘Why?’ I ask, genuinely wondering why that would be a bad thing. Better that than to try to live a life I don’t feel I deserve.
‘Because I won’t let you.’ She squeezes my hands. ‘Come on. Come in and have a hot drink. Andrew will drive you back when you’re ready.’
I see the concern in her eyes and I realise I can’t just go off now that I’m here, leaving her to worry.
‘Okay.’ I give her a small smile. ‘Just for a little while.’ I can’t ask her husband to leave his own birthday party to drive me home, though.
I’ll stay for half an hour, I decide. Book a taxi once I’m inside.
I’ve been there for five minutes when I dearly wish I wasn’t. It’s clear from the embarrassment I see in people’s eyes that they don’t know what to say to me. They simply don’t know how to be around someone who’s been so tragically bereaved. I don’t blame them. I’m not sure I would either.
After a moment trying to make uncomfortable conversation with someone, I feel Jemma’s hands on my shoulders.
‘They’re settled, finally.’ She eyes the ceiling, above which her children are tucked up in bed.
I feel a pang of such longing, I’m hard pushed to hide it.
‘Would you like to see the new orangery?’ she asks. ‘They finished it last week.’
‘Please,’ I say, relieved to be rescued. Also feeling I should show some enthusiasm, as it was me who suggested that the property lent itself to extending.
As I step into the orangery, I’m amazed at how much it’s improved the house. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I murmur. With a solid double-glazed roof, which will allow natural light to flood into the room, and decorated tastefully in soft creams and whites, it’s perfect.
‘Thank you.’ Jemma smiles. ‘I would never have gone for it if not for you.’
‘And Mark,’ I remind her. It was Mark who’d recommended a builder – Jack, ironically – to design the orangery and carry out the works with the help of local suppliers.
Jemma squeezes me into a gentle hug. ‘And Mark,’ she repeats, deep sympathy in her eyes as she eases back. ‘Would you like to finish your coffee in here while you wait for your taxi?’ she asks, clearly realising I’m finding things difficult.
I nod gratefully. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Not at all,’ she assures me. ‘You’ve done well, Kara. Baby steps,’ she reminds me. ‘You’ve taken the first step. The next will be easier.’
‘I hope so,’ I say, as she leads the way to the comfy-looking seating area. I’m about to sit down when I notice a movement outside. Someone on their phone, I realise. ‘Isn’t that Jack?’ I ask as I catch his profile under the patio lighting.
‘It is. You know about his circumstances?’ Jemma asks with an uncertain frown. ‘Oh, hell, of course you wouldn’t,’ she adds, shaking her head as if in despair at herself. ‘He lost his wife not long after—’
‘Jem,’ Andrew calls from the kitchen area. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ he says, giving me an apologetic smile as he comes through. ‘The oven’s not playing ball. I’ve fiddled with it but I can’t work the timer out.’
‘Technically challenged,’ Jemma whispers with an eye roll. ‘Back soon,’ she promises, skidding off.
Shocked by the news she’s just shared about Jack, I wander towards the side windows, one of which is open, I realise, meaning I can hear his conversation.
‘Evie, it’s Dad,’ he says. ‘Please call me back, will you, sweetheart? I need to know you’re okay.’
Lowering the phone, he stares at it for a second, then presses it quickly back to his ear as it rings. ‘Evie,’ he exhales in obvious relief, ‘how’re you doing? Everything go okay today at school?’ His voice is laden with worry.
Pausing, he listens for a moment. Then, ‘I know. I miss her too,’ he says softly. ‘It’s okay to be upset. It’s going to take time, sweetheart. Your teachers understand, I promise you.’
As he looks to the stars, I see the rise and fall of his throat, and my breath catches. It’s obvious he’s upset. ‘About an hour,’ he goes on, presumably telling her what time he’ll be back, then waits again, turning as he does to look back to the orangery.
A frown creasing his brow, he acknowledges me with a small smile and then goes back to his call. ‘This Imogen is a friend from school, I assume?’ he asks. He nods as she replies. ‘And you’re at her house now?’
He pauses again, then, ‘Okay. No, no, it’s fine. It will do you good to get out of the house more. Have a nice evening. Just make sure to text me the address and let me know what time you want picking up.’
He smiles fondly at her response, which seems to light up his whole demeanour. ‘I know I worry too much,’ he says. ‘I’m your father. You’ll find it’s in the job description. No, I won’t be lonely, I promise,’ he assures her after a second. ‘Love you too, Evie. Always, no matter what.’
My chest constricting, I head for the French doors as he ends his call. He might not welcome my intrusion, but I feel I have to make an effort to talk to him because he actually looks as lonely as it’s possible to be, and I know how that feels.
Pocketing his phone, he looks towards me, smiling warmly, if a little distractedly. ‘Hi,’ he says, extending his hand as he comes across. ‘Nice to see you again.’
‘You too.’ I smile back and reach to shake it.
Jack hesitates, then, ‘So did you manage to sell the barn conversion?’ he asks, I suspect to fill the silence.
I shake my head. ‘I’ve decided to move into it now that…’ I falter, still finding it difficult to speak the words out loud.
He nods understandingly. ‘I heard about your husband and little boy,’ he says. ‘Please accept my sincere condolences.’
He holds my gaze, and I’m struck by how unusual his eyes are.
Long-lashed and the colour of darkest bittersweet chocolate, they seem to express his every emotion.
There’s such sadness there now, it’s heartbreaking.
I’m staring, I realise. Had I been staring at him the last time we met, hence Mark’s moodiness, his drinking more than he normally would?
It was my fault. I would never escape that fact.
The guilt I carry around inside me weighing impossibly heavier, I drop my gaze.
‘It’s not easy, is it?’ he says softly.
‘No.’ I draw in a breath and look back at him. ‘Jemma told me about your wife. I’m so sorry. That must be hard too.’ I’m wondering about his daughter. How on earth they’re both coping.
Jack glances away. ‘It is,’ he admits.
As he looks back at me, I see the palpable pain now in his eyes. Also the same guilt I see reflected back at me whenever I look in the mirror. ‘It’s not your fault, Jack,’ I offer. ‘You shouldn’t feel responsible.’
‘I know.’ He glances down at the hand I place on his arm.
‘It’s difficult, though, with the authorities asking me the same questions over and over.
She went missing from the ship. She was presumed dead but…
’ He looks back at me, his expression haunted.
‘They seem to think her death wasn’t an accident. ’