Flawed (28 page)

He didn't even wait to see if Brodie had done as he asked. He didn't think there was time. He ran down the path to the front door and, finding it already barred against him, round the back of the cottage to the scullery.

A moment sooner and he'd have got there first. He saw the shape of her through the dusty window, the quick turn of her head as she sensed him there, then he heard the lock turn and his heart stumbled.

He cried her name. ‘Marianne! Let me in.’ But she turned without another glance and vanished back into the house.

The grandfather who raised Daniel had put a high value on good behaviour. Saying please and thank you, and not breaking windows. Even this long after Daniel felt a stab of guilt as he searched for a weapon. But if he was right there was more at stake than a pane of glass, and he made himself swing at the window with a baulk of firewood.

If he'd spent some of his youth as a vandal he might have made a better job of it, and broken the glass without driving a spear of it deep into his upper arm.

The pain, and perhaps even more the shock, stopped him in his tracks, left him gasping. He stared at the glass dagger in appalled disbelief.

There was nothing he could do until he got it out. He tried brushing it with feather-tipped fingers: waves of nausea crashed through him. He leant against the wall. He knew he was close to fainting, and if he did that he might as well have stayed in the car and gone back to Dimmock with Brodie.

He clenched his teeth and set about making himself angry. ‘You're useless,’ he hissed. ‘You're like a little girl. A drop of blood and your knees bend both ways. Get a grip, will you? Just for once, act like a man.’ And with that he grasped the crystal dagger and yanked; and it came free, and the blood spurted, and the pain went off the graph. Daniel sank to his knees in a red mist.

Only the knowledge that time was a luxury he didn't have got him to his feet again. Awkwardly left-handed he reached through the broken pane and felt for the key; and felt a weak surge of gratitude when he found it still in the lock. A moment later he was inside the house.

She knew he was there so there was only one place she'd be: the bathroom, probably the only internal door with a bolt. Daniel had been here when Mr Turnbull showed her the house and knew where to go. He tapped politely. ‘Marianne, please come out. Don't let's talk through a locked door.’

Her voice was sharp. ‘I don't want to talk. Go home, Daniel.’

‘I can't. Brodie left without me.’

A pause. ‘Noah?’

‘He's with her.’

‘Then just – go.’

‘I can't. Marianne, I know why you sent Noah away. I know why you want to be alone, and I'm not going anywhere.
Whatever you decide – whatever you do – I'm going to be right here.’

‘I don't know what you mean,’ she said roughly.

‘Yes, you do. There's only one reason for getting Noah out of the house.’ He wanted her to hear the anger in his tone. ‘I just hope he hasn't worked it out too.’

He heard an intake of breath, almost a sob, behind the shut door.

The thing to do with an advantage is press it. ‘He's an intelligent boy,’ Daniel went on brutally. ‘Clever enough to fool me. Clever enough to keep you safe, though you know better than anyone what it cost him. How's he going to feel when he realises it was all for nothing? That he lost you anyway. That if he'd spoken up sooner he mightn't have.’

He could have got it wrong. He knew she was desperate: if she was desperate enough he could push her over the edge. But he also knew she was a fighter: he was gambling on her wanting to come out and box his ears before killing herself.

He held his breath. But the silence stretched too far: he had to draw another breath and hold that.

When finally he heard the bolt slide back he could have wept with relief.

He knew what he'd interrupted. He didn't know how she intended to do it – with a gun, a knife, a bottle of pills – but he knew what she intended. Someone arriving now, though, would never have guessed from the indignation on Marianne Selkirk's face as she threw the door back hard enough to bruise the wall.

‘How
dare
you say that to me?’ she spat. ‘Do you think I don't
care
about Noah? That I'm doing this to make him feel
bad? Noah is the
only
thing that matters to me, and this is the only way I can protect him. Now go away and let me do what I have to.’

Daniel clung on to his anger, which was serving him much better than empathy would have done. ‘Maybe you do care about Noah, but you're not the only one. He's the reason I'm here. You've put that boy through hell – and still he thinks the sun shines out of your left nostril. Beats me why, but he does, and he's willing to forgive you everything because of it. Except this. He won't forgive this.

‘At least, I hope he won't. Because the only way he'll convince himself it wasn't your fault is to tell himself it was his. Is that what you want, Marianne? Is that really a burden you want him to carry for the rest of his life?’

‘I don't want to hurt him any more!’ Distress made her voice climb like a wailing cat's.

I know that. But this can't possibly be the best way.’

‘It's the only way!’

Daniel wasn't sure she'd noticed, but they were talking about it and they weren't talking through a shut door any more. It was progress. ‘There's never only one way. I know – I
know
– right now you think you're out of options. That your life's a bad joke, and you can't change the punch-line – all you can do is deliver it and get off the stage. Marianne, I've been there – 1 know how it feels when you're scared of the dark but the day's even worse because you don't know what it's going to bring. When what scares you most is
you.
When you know you're out of control and you have no idea how to make some sense of your life, and you think probably the only way is to end it. When you honestly can't wait to be quit of the whole damned business.’

She was staring at him, her lips a whisper apart, her brows gathered in a tiny frown. ‘Yes, you do, don't you?’ she said softly. ‘Know.’

‘You thought you had a monopoly on pain?’ he demanded. ‘Marianne, there's more than enough tragedy in the world for everyone to get their share. You know that. You've
seen
the way some people have to live. Compared with that, nothing you or I have had to deal with is worth a damn.

‘All over the world people are dying who desperately want to live. In wars, in famines, in natural and man-made disasters. They fight for every last day, every last minute, and still they die. You
can't
decide your life isn't worth living. You betray every one of them if you do.’

‘I can't carry them all!’ she cried out in despair. ‘I can't care for them all.’

‘You don't have to,’ promised Daniel. ‘You've worked for them, you've saved a lot of them, you don't have to feel for them as well. They're not your children. Noah is. Care for him; feel for him. Live for him. That's a life worth fighting for.’

‘I've tried,’ she wailed. ‘I've tried so hard. I can't… I can't…’

‘You're exhausted,’ he said. Suddenly he felt very tired himself. He slid down the wall and sat on the flag floor with his arms across his knees. After a moment Marianne followed suit. ‘You're all used up. You've no energy left for yourself and your family. But you can fix that today. Take a leave of absence. It's somebody else's turn to save the world. Concentrate on saving yourself.

‘I know you can do it. We'll get you some help to make it
easier. It's like an addiction – like alcohol or drugs. It's hard to change something that's become a big part of your life. But you have the best motivation anyone could have, and you'll succeed. Two years from now you'll look back and this'll seem like a bad dream.’

‘Do you think all this is news to me?’ she demanded, furious with desperation. ‘That it never occurred to me that hitting my little boy wasn't a great idea and I should stop doing it? I can't. I've tried, and I can't. The only way he'll be safe from me is when I'm dead.’

Daniel shook his head. ‘You think it's harder than quitting drugs? Than stopping drinking? But people manage. They
do
find it hard – murderously hard – and sometimes they slip and have to start again. But they succeed. They take their lives back. And I bet every one of them, standing where you are now, thought they couldn't do it – that it would be easier to die.

‘There are high buildings, fast trains and cheap guns everywhere,’ he went on fiercely. ‘Do you know why they went through the misery of detox? Because their reasons to live were stronger than their reasons to die. They had families and friends, people who wanted them to succeed and helped them when the going got tough. The lucky ones had families like yours – people who cared so much about them they were prepared to pay whatever it cost to hang onto them.

‘Your son loves you so much he puts up with being hurt to keep from losing you. Your husband loves you so much he let himself be suspected of child abuse rather than explain what was actually going on. You have two people who love you that much, and you want to throw it away? Marianne, most
people would
kill
for a family like yours!’

She gave a little snort that was half a sob, half a chuckle. Daniel winced. It hadn't been the most felicitous choice of phrase. He hurried on. ‘The hardest part is already over. The bit where you were trying to do everything that was asked of you and not let on it was too much. The bit where the house of cards was tottering and all that was keeping it up was the love of a twelve-year-old boy. Well, the secret isn't a secret any more. Now you can talk to people who can help and concentrate on getting better. You've had a breakdown. It wasn't your fault. Noah knows that, Adam knows that. Everyone's going to understand.’

Her head came up at that, her eyes wild. ‘That I beat my child rather than admit I couldn't do my job? I don't think so, Daniel!’

He tried to put an edge back on his voice. It was getting harder. He was running out of arguments, and he knew she wasn't persuaded. A lot of potential suicides are looking for an excuse to back out: telling them their hamster will miss them will do. But Marianne Selkirk had never backed away from a challenge in her life. She was used to taking hard decisions and then acting on them. He couldn't hold her either by strength or by entreaty. She believed, passionately, that the course she was set upon was best for all concerned.

All Daniel had left to fight with was the fact that she hadn't planned this. It might have been a last resort somewhere in the back of her mind, but she hadn't meant to do it today. She hadn't meant to do it when she took this cottage. She'd believed, or at least she'd hoped, that time with Noah and away from her job and her marriage would help her regain
control. Only when she learnt that her secret was out – that rather than leave his son and his wife alone together Adam Selkirk had finally told the truth – had the last resort come to look like the least worst option.

Perhaps that made it Daniel's fault. When he had time to think about it that might well be the conclusion he reached. But right now he was still trying to salvage the situation, and it was like running in treacle. Marianne didn't want to be saved. She wanted out.

But if she hadn't had the chance to rehearse her reasons, he might still find one that wouldn't stand up under pressure. If he did that the whole edifice of her intent might crumble.

‘Do you know what they won't understand?’ he said harshly. ‘That you let a child share your load and then refused to share his. It's cowardly, Marianne! I know there are difficult times ahead. But you have no right to walk away from the mess and leave your husband and your son to sort it out. The least you can do is stay around and help.

‘You think it'll all be over when you're dead? It won't. There'll be mountains to climb. The only one who'll be spared is you. I wouldn't have thought it of you, Marianne. I never saw you as a woman who'd take the easy way out and leave others to struggle with the consequences. I thought you were stronger than that.’

‘I'm strong enough,’ she gritted. ‘This is the right thing to do, and I'm strong enough to do it. And if you're not strong enough to watch, you'd better leave now.’

He shook his yellow head. ‘I can't.’

‘Daniel, you must.’ There was something like compassion in her voice. As if she knew he'd put his heart and soul into
saving her, and it would be like another little death when he failed. ‘This is my decision. You have to accept it. Accept that I don't want you here, and go.’

‘I can't,’ Daniel said again, pale and stubborn.

Marianne's eye kindled at him.
‘Why
not?’

‘Lots of reasons,’ he mumbled. ‘The most immediate one is I can't get up. I'm bleeding.’

‘Oh, dear God!’ exclaimed Marianne impatiently, as if he'd done it to annoy her. ‘Where…? What…? How long?’

‘How long have we been talking?’ Daniel countered weakly. ‘I got some glass in my arm when I broke in. I didn't realise it was still…’ He shrugged, one-shouldered, helpless.

Marianne was bending over him, peeling his jacket back. ‘Lord almighty, you're soaking!’

‘Can you – I don't know – tie it up with something?’

‘Daniel, I moved in here yesterday! I don't have an operating theatre – I don't even have a first aid kit.’ But she was on her feet, gathering towels from the bathroom, scissors from the kitchen. ‘I suppose we can tie you together long enough to reach hospital.’

He went to ease out of his shirt but Marianne shook her head. ‘Don't disturb it. I'll bandage over the top.’

She cut a bath towel into three strips. The first turned an instant vermilion with his blood. The second, bound tightly on top, held out a little longer before the blood soaked through. Marianne tied on the third and sat back on her heels, watching intently. For perhaps a minute neither of them spoke. Then Marianne gave a disappointed little cluck. ‘It's no good, it's not stopping. We'll have to get you to A&E.’ She
stood up again, looking for her car keys.

Daniel said nothing and didn't look at her. He was wondering how long it would be before she saw the snag with that, and what she would do when she did.