My Second Life (21 page)

“Ana, you didn't kill her! You didn't kill Catherine!” she said again. “You didn't kill her! I told you that back then, and I'm telling you again now. You didn't kill her!” And Mum grabbed both of my hands and I thought I would be sick with the loss and the love and the longing for the truth.

“Why do you think that you killed her?” Mum said.

“Because of how I feel
—
because of the things I remember,” I said.

“You see, Amanda, she knows she did it. She just doesn't remember,” said Frances. “That's why we are here. So we can tell her!”

“So tell me!” I said, and I stood up, letting go of Mum's hands as I did.

I wanted to scream and yell and howl and fill the room with my noise until someone told me what I'd done.

“Just tell me!” I screamed. “For God's sake, just someone tell me!” The screaming was burning my throat now, fear and confusion were dancing hot rough flames across my throat. I started to cry, to sob. “What happened? What did I do to her? Just tell me!”

Dad looked up
—
at me
—
and then at Mum.

There was quiet before Mum spoke again.

“You didn't kill Catherine,” Mum said.

“You didn't kill her,” Dad said. “The only person you killed was yourself.”

And then he broke down, his body falling against Mum's where she sat, and it was the fall of a giant but gently felled tree
—

and I felt the brutality of his fall

—
all of it
—

just as I had felt my own

when I had taken my life

for Catherine's

when I had been Emma

—
and still
—

I was falling now

in the new knowledge of what I had done.

 

41

“W
ELL!” SAID
F
RANCES, AND
she smiled a slow smile. “The girl who says she is Emma
—
she didn't know!”

“Frances!” Mum said, her hand resting on Dad's back. “Don't be so cruel.”

“Catherine's was an accidental death,” said Dad, again. He sounded numb, exhausted.

“But there was no one there but me. It had to be me,” I said. “It had to be me. Didn't it? Frances
—
you said it was me. You told me, that night, that it was me
—
it was because of me
—
”

“You what?” said Mum, looking now at Frances.

“I told her,” Frances repeated. “She's right. I told her.”

“She was nine years old!” screamed Mum, and her voice cracked with emotion as she said it.

“Yes,” said Frances.

“Why did you do that, Fran?” asked Dad, his face a mess of confusion.

“Don't you remember?” I said, looking at Mum.

“What?”

“Frances talking to me, in the porch?”

“When?”

“You were in the street with Dad, arguing with Dad,” I said. “I was waiting for you at the house. The police had been questioning you. I was waiting for you. There were people everywhere, and the police were standing by the gate, stopping me from leaving. I couldn't get to you…”

“When?” Mum said.

“After. After Catherine was found,” I said, and I started to cry, and I was crying now, for me. Not for Catherine, but for me.

“You never told me that,” Mum said, her voice was so soft and quiet now. “I never knew.”

“What did Frances say?” asked Dad.

“That it was me, that Catherine was dead, that it was because of me. She said she'd seen me. It was my fault. And she was right. I mean, I wanted you, Dad. I wanted you all to myself. I didn't want to play with Catherine. I took Catherine to the river and she didn't want to go and I told her to hide so that I could come back to the house on my own, to find you, to play with you on my own. Except when I came back you didn't answer and I saw you together, you and Frances, and
—
”

“You saw them? Dad and Frances? Together?” Mum said, her voice rising now.

“Yes. I peeked through the letter box. I'd come to get Dad. No one answered the door, so I looked through the letter box and I saw them,” I said, crying. “I didn't mean to see them. I just wanted Dad to come and play. After that, I didn't know what to do
—
I'd left Catherine at the river, in the dark. I'd left her. So I hid. I hid behind the bins, until you found me, because I didn't know what else to do.”

“I never knew…,” said Mum. She was shaking. “I never knew any of this. If I'd known what you'd seen
—
what Frances had said to you
—
it changes everything
—
it could have changed everything, if I'd known…” Her voice was slow, hopeless.

“Rubbish!” said Frances. “They were playing together”
—
she motioned carelessly with her hand toward me
—
“your Emma and my Catherine. They went out to play together, and Emma was looking after Catherine, and Catherine came back dead.”

“It
—
was
—
an
—
accident!” screamed Mum, through her own tears now.

“Of course you would say that. I understand why you want to protect her. She's your daughter. But tell me, who protected mine?” said Frances.

“You left them!” shouted Mum. “You and Richard left Catherine and Emma outside, on their own, so you could be together! It was wrong what you did!”

“You can't go on protecting Emma now, Amanda,” said Frances. “Not now when she stands here in front of us racked with her guilt. You say it was an accident
—
but how can you know that? How can any of us know that?”

“I have to believe it was an accident,” said Dad. “I have to.”

“But we don't know,” said Frances. “We weren't there. Only Emma can really know what happened. She was the last one to see Catherine alive. And look at her! She feels so guilty. So guilty that she came back. She came to me, she found me. She asked me for help. And I gave it
—
I am giving it now
—
just as she asked
—
so that you can know what I have always known
—
that she killed her.”

“That's your version of the truth, Frances!” said Mum. “It's what you want to believe. It's not what happened.”

“Someone has to be responsible!” shouted Frances.

“We were all responsible!” Mum answered back, her voice strong.

“Don't say that,” said Dad. “Don't say it!” And he bowed his head down again. He was broken.

“Richard,” said Mum, trying to pull him up.

“I know,” he said. “I know what I did. And I lost
—
so much. I lost it all. I lost them both
—
Emma and Catherine.”

“Well, I am not responsible!” said Frances.

“Yes, you are!” screamed Mum. “You are! You were here, you and Richard. Both of you were here, the whole time, but you weren't watching the girls. You can't pretend that that didn't happen, that it didn't matter, Frances. It mattered!”

I turned and leaned in toward Mum, so our faces were close and I could see right into the color of her eyes. “So no one killed Catherine? Is that what you're saying? It was an accident? No one killed her?”

Dad leaned across Mum and he reached over to me and took both my hands. They were warm, and his touch, it was still familiar. “It was an accident,” he said. “A terrible accident.”

“But I told her to go and hide,” I said, and I cried again as I said it. “Because I wanted you all to myself. I didn't want to share you with anyone. I went back to the house to find you. I left Catherine by the river, hiding
—
”

“That doesn't mean you killed her, Ana,” said Mum.

“I wish I hadn't
—
”

“What?” said Dad.

“You pushed her
—
didn't you
—
you pushed her and she fell and you held her down so she stayed under the water,” said Frances. “You held her under until she coughed and cried. You held her under until she died!”

“No
—
I don't remember that,” I cried. “I don't remember doing that!”

“I'm right,” said Frances, “I know I'm right! You were always the jealous one. You said it yourself. You wanted your dad all to yourself. You didn't want him to be with me. So you punished Catherine!”

“But you weren't with Catherine when she died!” said Mum, looking at me now. “Emma wasn't with her when she died! You didn't kill her. It doesn't matter what you said or how you felt about Dad. You didn't kill her!”

“You are here for a reason
—
” Frances said.

“But I don't remember
—
” I said.

“You were with me,” said Mum.

“You pulled me up from behind the wall
—
you hurt me
—
you were cross,” I said to Mum.

“I was,” Mum said, “but not with you. With Dad, with Frances. I'd gone to look for you and I'd come to the house and there was no answer and I found you, behind the bins. I took you back with me, to the party. I wanted you with me.”

“But I left Catherine,” I said. “We were playing hide-and-seek. I left her
—
”

“That's the game,” said Mum. “To go and hide!”

“And you were so cross with me
—
and I couldn't tell you what I had seen, when I'd looked through the letter box. I was scared
—
I didn't like it
—
and I'd left Catherine
—
”

“I was cross with Dad!” Mum said. “Not with you. I was cross with him for leaving you on your own. I knew where he was, and what he was doing. As soon as I saw you outside, on your own, I knew he had to be with Frances. I wasn't blind. I'd seen the way they'd looked at each other for years. But I didn't want you with me when I spoke to Dad. The things I had to say to him
—
they were not for you to hear. I didn't think about where Catherine was then. I don't know why. I was angry, not thinking straight. Maybe that was it. And I regret that … I took you back to the party and went to speak to Dad. I wasn't cross with you, darling. I was cross with Dad!”

“I didn't know that
—
”

“No
—
you wouldn't have known. You were a child. Remember
—
a child!”

“And you left my child out there, in the darkness,” said Frances.

“No, Frances!” said Mum. “You did that. You and Richard. Not Emma.”

“When did she die?” I said.

“The coroner estimated time of death around seven thirty,” said Dad.

“You were with me at that time,” said Mum. “I took you from behind the bins and we went back to the party. You were with me.”

“No!” said Frances. “That's not what happened!”

“You were with me, Ana,” said Mum, putting her hands around my face and pulling it toward her so I was looking right into the blue of her eyes. “You weren't anywhere near Catherine when she died. You didn't kill her. Why would you? You were a good, kind girl.”

I looked at Dad. His face was crumpled, like someone had trodden all over it.

“But I saw her,” I said. “In the water
—
”

“You should never have seen what you saw,” said Dad.

“But I did,” I said. “And I see her face now
—
all the time.”

“That's my fault,” said Mum. “I should never have taken you with me to look for her. But when I asked you, you said you could show me where you and Catherine had been playing, and it was so dark; I thought if you could show me, we'd find her quicker.”

Mum paused and looked at Frances.

“I knew when I left Emma at the party and I came back to your house that you were with my husband, Frances. I had probably known for some time, but I wasn't prepared to accept it until that night. When I came back to the house I saw you both, together. You kissed as you stood on the front step. I told you I had Emma, and then I asked you where Catherine was
—
if I hadn't, would you have even thought to look for her? Don't you dare suggest that I left your child out there in the darkness, Frances! Don't you dare! I went out and I took Emma and we looked for your daughter. We looked for her! And we found her. Me and Emma. And I wish that we'd never found her like we did. For me, and for Emma. Because then, maybe, Emma would have had a better chance at living. Maybe she'd still be alive, now. My darling Emma.”

I looked up again, at Mum.

“I didn't kill her. I didn't kill Catherine…,” I said. Mum shook her head.

“I killed myself…,” I said.

Mum's face creased up as she closed her eyes in acknowledgment. There was no relief here. I might not have killed Catherine, but to see the look on Mum's face now was almost more than I could bear.

“We tried so hard to understand how you felt
—
depression
—
your battle with it
—
it was always there,” Mum said. “Seeing Catherine's body like you did in the water, it ruined you. You were plagued by it. You felt responsible. And nothing I could do or say could change that.”

“We failed,” said Dad. “We let you down.” He didn't look up. He was weeping into his hands. Filling them with tears.

I hadn't killed Catherine.

I'd killed myself.

The horror of it seeped in.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I'm so, so sorry…”

“You don't need to be sorry,” Mum said.