Ava had been studying the bracelet for a while – it was made from heavy silver and studded with pretty coloured stones, beautiful and yet ugly – when there was a knock on her bedroom door. She could hear Willow making shushing noises and giggling, and Peter trying not to laugh.
She slipped the bracelet under her pillow and rose to open the door.
‘What have you got there, darling girl?’ she asked, trying for a voice that sounded somewhere near normal, as she crouched down in front of her daughter.
Willow looked at her with bright blue eyes, her golden curls making her look angelic. She handed Ava a handmade card, and a little box with spots on it.
Ava’s eyes filled with tears as she took in the scribbled colours, swirling spirals of love across the page, ‘Get Well Soon Mummy’ written in an adult hand, the words sharing the space with far too much glitter.
‘We made it,’ Willow said, squeezing her hands into fists and grinning up at Peter.
Ava opened the box. It was a necklace. She pulled it out. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, taking in the word ‘Mummy’ hanging on a chain. She put it on. ‘I’ll wear it always,’ she said, taking Willow in her arms and hugging her close. ‘I love you so much,’ she said, as she kissed her daughter’s hair, her cheeks, breathing her in. ‘Mummy will be better soon, I promise.’
‘Will you?’ Peter said, as she finally released Willow.
Ava rose. She didn’t answer him. She didn’t have the energy.
Willow trotted away and bounced down the stairs on her bottom. ‘Gran!’ she called out. ‘Drink, please.’
‘What’s happened, Ava?’ Peter whispered, searching her face for answers.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’
‘No, Ava, you’re not. You’re far from it. Talk to me. Please.’
She touched his face gently. Could he cope with knowing?
‘Ava?’
‘I was raped,’ she said, as tears came. They always came.
‘Christ, Ava, who did it?’ His eyes flared with anger. ‘I’ll fucking kill him.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said softly, stepping backwards into her room. And with a quiet click, she closed the door.
*
A week later Jeannette put her head round Ava’s door. ‘Inspector Jones is here,’ she said. ‘He’d like to speak to you.’
Ava was curled like a foetus under her quilt. She didn’t move.
‘Is it OK to send him up?’
She didn’t reply. It wasn’t that she wanted him to come up, or that she didn’t. She didn’t care.
Moments later she heard soft footfalls on the stairs and across the landing – a tap on the door. ‘Ava.’ It was Gareth. ‘Ava, can I come in?’
She heard the knob turn, the door drag across the carpet, and felt the presence of him in her room, the smell of his citrus aftershave. ‘Ava?’
A silence seemed to stretch on forever, before she unfurled, and pulled back the quilt, to see him with his back to her, looking out of the window.
‘Please go away,’ she said, as he turned to look at her. ‘I’m fine. Honestly.’
‘It doesn’t look that way from here, Ava. You need support. Even if you don’t want to report what happened, you still need help.’
‘I said. I’m fine.’
‘Ava, have you any idea who might have done this to you?’
She shook her head, but her mind went to the bracelet tucked under her pillow. Should she show it to him?
‘Peter’s taking care of Willow,’ she said, moving her mind away from the bracelet, feeling as if she should explain her neglect of her daughter. She didn’t want social workers round the cottage, trying to take her darling girl. They used to come when she was a child. They made her mother cry.
‘Peter?’ Gareth looked surprised. ‘He’s certainly changed from the boy who ran away to Australia.’
‘He has,’ she said, believing in her brother.
‘You haven’t had it easy, Ava,’ Gareth said, putting some leaflets on her bed, the words ‘victim support’ jumping from the pages. ‘Call them please. You need help.’
After another lengthy silence he left, his feet soft on the stairs before the front door closed. She got up and looked out of the window. Beyond the windowpane, Gareth was at the foot of the path. Suddenly her mum dashed out of the house after him in her slippers, almost slipping on a patch of ice.
They stood by the gate for some time, Jeannette showing the inspector what looked like a photograph. He studied it, shaking his head several times, before she shoved it into her pocket, and headed back inside the cottage.
*
‘Mummy,’ Willow cried as Ava stepped into the lounge later that day. Her little girl was kneeling in front of the coffee table, colouring, and Ava stroked her curls as she drifted past.
There’d been some attempt at putting up Christmas decorations in the room – a tree in the window, a fancy garland around the shelf above the fireplace – but Jeannette had never made a big thing of Christmas.
Rory and Gail sat on the sofa. Ava hadn’t expected them to be there, and wanted to race back to her room. But if she did, she knew she might never come out again, never move forward, and she had to think of Willow.
‘Mum told us you’ve been unwell,’ Gail said, looking up at her. ‘You’d better be OK for the wedding. I don’t want you ruining my big day.’
Ava sat down. ‘Where’s Peter?’ she said. He was her support, her rock, at least for the moment.
‘Gone to the shop for some cigs,’ Rory said. ‘You look very pale, Ava. Are you OK?’
‘It’s an infection or a virus, that’s all.’
‘Well, which is it?’ Gail said.
‘Does it matter?’ Ava looked down at her hands in her lap. They were trembling.
‘Well, you might need antibiotics, Ava,’ said Gail. ‘Have you seen a doctor?’
‘No.’ She’d never gone, despite her mum insisting she should. She didn’t want to be pulled about. Examined.
‘Mum said you haven’t been into work. If you don’t see a doctor, they won’t pay you.’
‘For Christ’s sake, what is this? The Spanish fucking Inquisition?’
Willow shot her head round to look at Ava, a crayon suspended in mid-air.
‘Sorry,’ Ava said, slipping from the chair onto her knees beside her daughter. She kissed Willow’s cheek. ‘Sorry. Mummy shouldn’t swear.’
‘We want to know you’ll be all right for a week Saturday, Ava.’ Gail gave a little squeal. ‘I can’t believe it’s so close.’
Ava rose to her feet. ‘Don’t worry, I will be there,’ she said.
‘And what about your plus one, Ava?’ Gail said. ‘I need to tell the caterers his name. Please don’t say it’s Justin.’
‘I’m not bringing anyone.’
‘I would have thought they’d be queuing at the door to go with you, Ava,’ Rory called after her, as she left the room.