Forget Me Not (21 page)

‘I do understand, Cleo. I’m sorry, about everything you’ve been through.’

I falter, as I hear my own voice. I don’t sound sorry; I sound somewhat distanced and cold. I want to tell Cleo the truth: that Vivien and Ben wanted each other and loved each other and that’s how life is sometimes. Cruel.

And that’s the way I am sometimes, practical and rational. Unfeeling, at my worst. But this detachment helps me live my life. Unlike Cleo, who is at the mercy of her bitterness and her longings.

‘Ben did feel guilty,’ she says. ‘Though not guilty enough to leave your daughter.’

I feel as though I can see right inside the woman in front of me, to where the seven-year-old girl who walked to school on her own still languishes. She is all alone. So little has changed for Cleo.

‘Do you know what I remember so clearly about my stay in hospital?’ Cleo doesn’t wait for me to answer, her words pour out. ‘Ben was wearing a new raincoat, one I’d never seen before. That raincoat, with its fancy checked lining, stank of Vivien. And so did he. He literally smelled different. Maybe it was a new aftershave, I don’t know. But he stank of her. And the whole time he was with me, he didn’t take that fucking coat off. He couldn’t wait to leave me. He wanted to get back to her.’

I’ve heard enough. ‘Please,’ I say. ‘Keep your voice down.’

Cleo takes me by surprise as she steps forward and reaches for the door handle to Lexi’s room. I grab hold of her wrist before she can turn it.

‘I thought I heard something,’ she says.

‘You didn’t.’

‘If the door’s closed we won’t hear her if she wakes up,’ Cleo says. ‘Ben asked me to watch over her.’

‘For a few hours, maybe. But I’m her grandmother and I’m here now and I’m taking over. The door stays shut.’

Cleo looks a sight. Her eyes are bloodshot and ringed with black. If Lexi sees her, she will be terrified.

She pulls her hand back from the doork handle.

I need to get her downstairs. I manage to dredge up the last ounce of my compassion, and to speak kindly to her. I know she needs someone to acknowledge her suffering.

‘I know what it’s like to be lonely,’ I say, ‘and I’m sorry you went through so much pain. I’m sorry Vivien and Ben were selfish and cruel. I’m sorry I didn’t contact you myself during all those years.’

‘I made a terrible mistake,’ she says. ‘I lost my baby. But now things have changed. Not just for me, but for you too, Rose. Ben and Lexi need us.’

‘Cleo, this is a fantasy.’ I hear my voice rising, but I can’t hold down my outrage. ‘You cannot simply step in and take over Vivien’s life. It doesn’t work that way.’

‘Ben needs me. I have a second chance to have a family.’

I take a deep breath to steady myself. I try again to make her see reality.

‘Your closest friend stole the man you were in love with,’ I say. ‘And you lost your baby. That is all terribly sad, but it’s also in the past. This is not your life and it never will be. Being here inside Vivien’s house, with Vivien’s child, isn’t good for you, Cleo. It will only make things worse, seeing Lexi and coming face to face with all the precious things you cannot have.’

‘All this was supposed to be mine,’ she says, gesturing around her, at the family photographs lining the walls of the landing. ‘And it would have been, if not for Vivien. Now Ben has asked me to wait for him. And I won’t leave Lexi.’

I’m tired of talking. Sick to death of this insane conversation. There is no point trying to reason with her. I know full well Cleo doesn’t understand what I’m saying to her, because she doesn’t want to. She is unable to live with herself, unable to find her own path. She is still envious of Vivien. She wants everything that Vivien took away from her.

Without thinking, I grab hold of her arm. My fingers grip the cashmere jumper as I pull her with me, down the stairs. Cleo doesn’t resist.

At the bottom of the staircase, I let go of her arm. She keeps one hand on the banister, as though she might rush upstairs again. We are wary of each other.

If Ben walks in on us, there could be a very ugly scene. The truth is I have no idea whose side he will take. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if I was the one asked to leave. I doubt he will give me a chance to explain.

I’m out of breath and I feel myself losing control. I remember Yusuf’s mother, the fear in her eyes. My need to protect Lexi has turned me into someone savage, someone with the potential for violence. I can feel this, I would do anything to protect her.

I take a few breaths as I collect myself. When I speak my voice is calm and strong, as though I’m on the ward again.

‘Did Vivien know you were watching her? Did she see you?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Was Vivien afraid of you?’

Cleo blinks. The ugliness inside her shows in her eyes, and on her kohl-stained face.

‘No,’ she says, ‘Vivien wasn’t intimidated by anyone.’ She spits her words at me, like bullets. ‘Vivien was the strongest person I knew. Your daughter, Rose, was a self-obsessed liar and a thief. She was always scheming to get something she wanted, usually something belonging to someone else.’

In a perverse way it’s a relief to hear Cleo talking this way, to hear her admitting how much she hated my daughter, and how strong her desire has always been to take Vivien’s life. I only wish Ben was here to bear witness.

I have to find a way to get him to believe me, to see what I see when I look at Cleo. Even if I am depriving him of his one last source of comfort, Ben has to see Cleo for who she is. A desperate woman.

Cleo’s face is set rigid in anger. ‘I wanted her to suffer,’ she says. ‘I wanted her to feel pain, the way I did.’

Any pity I felt for her has given way to something else, something hard and cold. Cleo is not only a victim, she has a nasty side too. She frightens me.

‘What did you do, Cleo, to make her suffer? Tell me.’

She glances upstairs, towards Lexi’s closed door.

‘Stalkers want to get close to their victims,’ I say. ‘They act out when their feelings aren’t reciprocated. They become dangerous. You’ve been obsessed with this family for years. I’m going to make sure that Ben understands it’s not safe for you to be anywhere near his child.’

I look around, peering under the mahogany hall table, trying to see where she’s left her shoes and her bag but there’s no sign of them. She’ll have to leave barefoot. I don’t care.

‘I’m not a stalker. And Vivien was not a victim. I’ve never done anything to hurt Ben or Vivien. It was the other way round.’

Cleo seems to have calmed down, her anger has already dissipated. She takes a few steps forwards, so she’s that much further from the stairs, further away from Lexi.

I move over to the front door and pull it wide open. I am strong enough to drag Cleo from this house and throw her out onto the street. A freezing, wet wind rushes in from outside. Cleo moves forward again and for a moment I think she’s given up and she’s going to leave.

But that would be too easy.

Instead, she leaves me standing at the open door and walks into the living room.

I start to sense defeat. Even if I force her to leave the house, she may stand outside on the pavement, pounding on the buzzer at the gate. She might sit on the steps, waiting until Ben gets home, ready to tell him some twisted version of what’s happened here tonight.

I walk over to the doorway of the living room. I watch as Cleo opens a bottle of wine and pours herself a large glass with unsteady hands.

Something behind me catches my attention. A sound, perhaps, a rush of wind, or the creaking of a hinge.

I was so focused on Cleo, on watching her, that I didn’t close the front door properly. Now it gapes wide open. I run halfway up the stairs and look up towards the landing. Lexi’s door is open too.

Lexi is gone.

Her bed is empty and the quilt with its little stars lies on the floor. I rush to her bed and run my hands over the rumpled white sheets, as if that might make her materialize. They are still warm to my touch, but she has vanished.

I try to think, to cling to my rational self. Could she have slipped out of the front door while I was watching Cleo in the living room? It’s possible, but unlikely. And even if she did, she can’t have gone far, the front gate is closed and securely locked.

Don’t panic, I tell myself.
Do not panic.

I rush upstairs, calling her name. I fling open the door to Vivien’s bathroom. I flip on the light. There is only an empty, quiet space. I cannot help but stare at the floor, but no body appears.

I run down the passage to the master bedroom. I check Vivien’s bed. I throw the duvet to the floor, I search under the sheets and underneath the pillows.

She is not here.

This is insane. Already, I have lost her. She might have overheard my argument with Cleo. She might be afraid. She might be hiding.

She could be outside, crouching down on the driveway.

I am panicking. I can feel what it would be like to lose her and I could not bear it.

Ben is going to kill me.

I run all the way down two flights of stairs, past the ground floor where there is no sign of Cleo, and I don’t stop until I reach the basement. There, I stop dead on the bottom step.

I have found her. Of course I have.

Lexi is facing away from me. She’s at the window, in front of the row of potted herbs. Soil is scattered on the limestone floor, all around her small, bare feet.

I stay still because I don’t want to frighten her. I watch as she pulls out each and every plant in turn, wrenching them out by the roots. She moves along the row of evenly spaced pots until she has ruined them all: basil, sage, mint and coriander.

Soil spills onto her feet, onto the limestone floor.

Then, when she has finished destroying her mother’s plants, she walks across the room, her steps slow and sleep-heavy. She stops in front of the sink.

‘Lexi?’

She turns at the sound of my voice, but although her eyes are open, I’m not convinced she’s fully awake. I think she hovers in that space between dreams and reality.

‘Did you have a bad dream?’ I say.

She looks confused, as though I’m speaking a foreign language.

‘Is Mummy here?’ she says.

I imagine I see sadness spreading through her eyes, but then I look again and I can’t tell what it is she feels. She disappears inside herself and her eyes are dark and impenetrable.

‘Lexi, let’s go back to your bed.’ My voice is gentle and soothing.

‘Is Mummy here?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m here. Granny’s here.’

‘I saw Mummy.’ Her bottom lip trembles.

I take a few steps closer, cautiously. ‘Are you thirsty?’ I say.

She nods.

There are so many drawers and so many cupboards and none of them have handles. I press my hand against smooth surfaces, which glide open. I find a pantry, filled with dozens of boxes of different teas and coffees, and next to that one, a cupboard full of different dinner services and a drawer with a set of copper pans. I leave all of the cupboards open behind me. Finally, I find the glasses. I fill one with tap water and I hold the glass to Lexi’s lips as she takes a few sips.

She’s looking down, at the drawer next to the sink. She presses her hand against it and it slides open. She reaches inside and takes out a pestle and mortar, made of heavy black marble. She begins to grind, looking down into the empty bowl as though she can see something there.

I begin to feel anxious. I grab the pestle and mortar out of her hands and shove all of it back inside the drawer. It closes with a metallic click.

Lexi stands like a statue in front of me.

I look around, at the carnage on the floor, the dying plants, the soil spread everywhere, and I know that something terrible is about to happen in this house.

Isaac won’t tell me where we are going, because Ben wants to surprise me. But I guess anyway, since we’re headed towards Farringdon. And I guess right. Isaac pulls up outside Kestrel’s Antique & Vintage Jewellery.

I love Kestrel’s. I love the windows crammed with diamonds and emeralds and rubies, all of them afloat on a sea of velvet. I love the hush inside, the thick carpets, the leather-topped desks and the crystal chandeliers. I love that each piece of jewellery is unique.

I also love the fact that antiques hold their value. A part of me is always focused on making sure I’m never, ever going back to that dank bedroom in Cambridge Court. The more diamonds I have, the further away I am from all of that, and the happier I feel. That is simply the truth.

Ben is waiting for me. He’s standing outside, takeaway coffee in hand, early as usual. He rushes forwards to open the car door. I step out and tilt my face up to his for a kiss. As he rings the doorbell, we reach for each other’s hands.

Kestrel’s is a father-and-son business and we are good customers. Mark, the son, rushes over to open up for us.

‘Lovely to see you again,’ he says. He is a softly spoken man in his twenties, tall and blond with a certain awkward manner I find endearing.

We follow him through to the back, past the matching father-and-son desks. Paul Kestrel, the father, is sitting at one of these and he glances up as we pass, still wearing his eyeglass. He smiles at us. He has the same shy demeanour as his son.

Mark shows us through to a private room, where we are seated in leather armchairs. Oil paintings of bejewelled Victorian women hang on the walls and the room has the musty smell of old money. In the corner there is a massive steel safe. Mark opens it, using one of those old-fashioned dials he has to turn back and forth. He pulls out a tray, then locks the safe again. Ben keeps hold of my hand. I sense he’s nervous. He’s been planning this.

‘I know you don’t like surprises,’ he says, ‘but I took a chance and picked out a few things I thought you’d like. The final choice is yours.’

With a flourish, Mark places a velvet-lined tray in front of us. Three pairs of diamond earrings are laid out in a row. Two pairs are studs, one set in platinum, the other in yellow gold. The third pair is set in rose-gold shepherd’s hooks and I imagine they’ll hang down a little below my earlobes.