Chapter 22
The children’s voices murmur against the pop and crackle of the morning-room fire. Their words undulate, ripple and rise before Sophie hushes Tom. A furtive glance towards Mum’s sofa, they see me peeping at them from beneath the thick throw Mark tucked around me earlier. Tom’s head jerks up, a hurried look at the hall door, it’s pushed to, not closed.
‘We didn’t wake you, did we Mummy.’
A statement, a worried small voice. My daughter’s face is blotched and red, her eyes glitter.
‘Hey,’ I say, propping myself onto my elbow. Sharp pain cuts cross my temple. I raise my hand to my forehead, the lump is there, harder, smaller now. A wave of nausea grips my stomach. I sink back into the pile of cushions pushed under my head. Mild concussion, the Weldon GP said, I’ll be fine in a day or two.
‘You didn’t wake me. What are you two up to, whispering away over there?’ I force a bright tone into my voice, push my hand out from the throw towards the twins. They scamper across the space between us, Tom grabs my hand, they sit with their faces close to mine.
‘What’s up?’ I say. Even frowning hurts. Gingerly, I push myself back, pull the cushions into place and sit with my feet tucked beneath me.
‘Come on,’ I say, patting the sofa, ‘jump up.’
A mad scramble of skinny limbs, shoving and jostling at my feet.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, looking at Sophie. She drops her gaze, worries a corner of the throw between her fingers.
‘Tom?’
My son shrugs, looks at the door, back at me.
‘Are you two in trouble?’ I ask with a feigned scowl. Tom’s shaking his head, Sophie watches me from beneath dark wet lashes.
‘Where’s the iPad? Dad’s not taken it away already, has he?’
I pull a face, smile at the twins. If there’s been trouble, the first thing Mark would do is confiscate whatever’s presently in vogue.
‘It’s flat. Dad’s charging it in the kitchen. I don’t want to go in there and get it though.’ Tom looks at Sophie, their eyes hold one another’s, that silent communication they used so much when they were tiny.
‘Nanna Jen’s cooking dinner,’ Sophie says, nodding at Tom. Tom nods back at her.
‘Vegetables? Broccoli?’ I say.
‘Carrots and parsnips too. I hate parsnips! And roast pork. I said we don’t like it when we were in Tesco’s, but Dad didn’t listen, did he, Tom?’
‘Shush, Soph.’ Tom looks at me. ‘We mustn’t bother you, Dad said.’
I laugh. ‘You’re not bothering me, don’t be daft. Please be polite to Nanna Jen and eat some dinner. I’ll see what we can do a bit later – there’s a pizza in the fridge. Where’s Riley?’
Another exchange of looks between the twins.
‘Dad put him in his kennel,’ Tom replies. ‘He got under Nanna Jen’s feet. He’s been making a horrible sad sound for ages now, you can hear him in the kitchen. Nanna put the radio on. She turned it up really loud.’ Tom’s eyes widen as he speaks, great ovals of concern.
‘Well, maybe we can have him in here. Dad’s probably worried that he’ll trip Nanna up. She’s been a bit wobbly lately, hasn’t she.’
‘She seems fine to me!’ says Sophie, eyes blazing.
Mark and Jennifer’s voices in the hall, getting louder, coming closer. The twins both watch the door. Mark’s thudding footsteps on the stairs, Jennifer’s shrill voice growing fainter.
‘They’re going upstairs,’ says Sophie as we all look at the ceiling. Floorboards creak overhead.
‘Is Nanna really sleeping in there? On her own?’ asks Tom.
‘I’ve told Daddy I don’t think it’s a good idea and that she could sleep in here, but he thinks it’ll be okay,’ I say.
‘But he doesn’t know, does he?’
‘Shuuuush, Sophie! You know what Dad said.’
‘But he doesn’t, does he, Mum.’
Tom puts his hands over his ears, scrunches his eyes shut. I can hear Mark raking the grate in the room above, the low hum of conversation.
‘Nip out and get Riley you two, while the coast is clear.’ The twins stare at me. I smile. ‘Go on! I’ll say I insisted. He’ll be freezing outside, he’s not used to it.’
The children rush for the door, feet pitter patter across the hall. Quite what’s been going on while I’ve been out of it isn’t clear. I grope on the floor, find my sketch pad and pencils. I’d tried drawing for a few minutes after the GP left, but it had been exhausting.
The sketch isn’t quite right, Sophie’s profile is flat, none of her is here. Tom walked onto the page. I erase a section and try again, from memory this time. I’ve drawn the children so often, watched them sleep, eat, play, so it’s not hard to do. I attempt to catch the tilt of her head, the dip of her chin as she watched her brother firing Lego bullets at aliens while they sat before the fire earlier. I can’t get Sophie, just Tom, the little boy he once was, still is so often in my mind. I drop the sketch pad to my lap. Perhaps it’s the bang to my head, my eyes throb, a dull headache making me tired.
Raised voices, Sophie and Mark. A door slams. Fast, light feet running this way, the morning-room door flies open, Sophie crying, jumps onto the sofa.
‘Sophie? Whatever’s the matter?’
I sit up, put my hand on my daughter’s back, her face buried in the throw at my feet. I’ve been dozing, how long have I been out of it this time? Mark’s swift steps crossing the hall, he stops in the doorway, his face red, contorted in anger. He sees I’m awake and comes into the room.
‘What’s going on?’ I say.
‘I told the twins to keep out of here and to let you sleep.’
Sophie’s back shivers beneath my hand.
‘Where’s Tom?’
‘Still eating dinner. Mother’s spent half the afternoon preparing it. Sophie was badly behaved. I won’t have her spit food onto her plate.’
Sophie’s head pops up, her face wet and red. ‘It isn’t that. You all keep saying I pushed Tom and I didn’t. I wasn’t anywhere near him.’
‘I won’t have you tell lies, Sophie. Get back in the kitchen and finish your meal!’
‘Hang on a minute, Mark. All this shouting is only making things worse.’ I nod towards the door to the hall. ‘Let me speak to Sophie, you have your food while it’s hot.’
Mark stands like he’s in no-man’s land. I can almost hear his brain whirring, calculating what to do. He says nothing, stares back at me, his eyes full of anger, turns on his heel and heads into the hall. The kitchen door slams.
I rub Sophie’s back and wait for her to calm down.
‘What’s this all about then, Sophie?’
‘I didn’t mean to spit out the carrots, but they made me upset and they got stuck and just came out.’ Her breath is hot through the throw, her words jerking between sobs.
‘How did they upset you?’
I stroke her hair when she doesn’t respond. Mum did just the same thing when I was ill, angry or upset.
‘I’m listening and there’s no one else here to argue with what you say, so before Tom or anyone else comes in, you tell me what happened.’
Sophie peeps up at me.
‘Come on, sit up, you’re squishing my ankles,’ I say, pulling the throw straight.
Sophie gathers herself, sits in a tight little ball at my feet, her arms wrapped about her knees. She sniffs, wipes her nose across her tights.
‘They say it’s all my fault Tom nearly drowned cos I pushed him in, but I didn’t. Honestly, Mum, I really, really didn’t.’
‘How did he fall in, do you know?’
Sophie shakes her head.
‘I heard him yelling when I was filling my water gun at the tap.’
‘Beside the gardener’s shed?’
She nods. ‘Tom did his first, then he ran off to hide. Now he’s blaming it all on me and it wasn’t me.’
‘Tom says you pushed him?’
She nods and nods, her eyes never leaving mine.
‘I think Tom’s scared. Dad and Nanna Jen asked him loads of questions on the way home from the hospital.’
‘Tom told you that?’
She nods again.
‘What happened at the pond, Sophie?’
She sits completely still, her eyes unblinking, staring at me.
‘Do you know?’
Sophie’s silent, so I wait, knowing that she’s holding something in, something that will burst out if I wait.
‘There was no one there, only Tom and his gun in the water. And Riley who was barking all the time. I tried to pull him out, but he was really heavy, wasn’t he?’
I nod and wait for her to continue.
‘So I yelled and yelled for you cos I couldn’t leave him there, could I? I mean, he might . . .’
Her eyes are glassy, her chin shivering.
‘Hey, come here,’ I say, pulling her close. ‘He’s fine now and no one’s going near the pond again, that’s for sure. It’ll be okay, Sophie. You did really well out there, I’m proud of you’
Sophie tucks in closer, her arm about my waist.
‘It was the shouty man, wasn’t it, Mummy?’