Forget Me Not. Claire AllanЧитать онлайн книгу.
so I shook my head. I watched Ronan deflate in front of my eyes. Watched as Patricia took in every detail of our exchange.
‘She wasn’t really conscious, slipping in and out, you know …’ I told him. ‘I doubt she’d have been too aware of anything around her at that stage.’
‘But you held her hand?’ he asked.
‘I put my coat over her and called the emergency services, then I held her hand. Pleaded with her to hang on. She was just too ill.’
I felt a tear roll down my cheek. Saw images of her poor, mutilated body flash before my eyes. I shuddered. Patricia placed a cup of tea in front of me.
‘It’s a great comfort to my parents to know someone was with her,’ Ronan said.
‘Mr and Mrs Taylor are sleeping at the moment; it was a bad night for them,’ Patricia explained.
‘I can imagine,’ I said softly.
Although that wasn’t quite true. I didn’t need to imagine. I knew exactly how it felt to lose a child in the most horrific of circumstances.
I was exhausted, physically and emotionally, by the time I got home. I’d picked Molly up from crèche and had done my best to pretend everything was normal, but I could feel my facade slipping.
Spending time with Ronan, and then his parents, had been harrowing. It had made it too real. Mrs Taylor was the kind of woman who was always impeccably dressed and made up. She used to give us girls make-up lessons when we were teens – warning us against the dangers of going overboard on the rouge or choosing the wrong shade of lipstick. I’d never seen her without her make-up before – not even when I’d had a sleepover at Clare’s. Yet, there she’d been, her face pale, devoid of its usual glam look, her hair pulled into a loose bun, wearing a pair of black trousers and a jumper that seemed to swamp her. She’d looked so small, so vulnerable that it had shaken me, but at least she’d been able to talk to us. Mr Taylor – this big teddy bear of a man with a booming voice and an even louder laugh – just sat silently, staring into a mug of tea that he didn’t once lift to his lips.
Julie had been silent on the drive back to hers. I’d been grateful for it. There wasn’t much we could say to each other. We both knew how awful this was.
But when I’d picked Molly up, I’d plastered on a wide smile and pulled her into a hug that was probably a little tighter than it should have been.
‘Why are you hugging me so tightly? Mammy! You’re hurting me!’
I loosened my grip and she squirmed away from me. I wanted to pull her back into my arms, but I didn’t. I thought of Mrs Taylor, though – all the times she must have held Clare to her and never imagined that this was how things would turn out.
How could anyone have imagined this?
Beth was already home when I opened the door. If I wasn’t mistaken, I could smell the makings of a bolognese on the hob.
My eldest daughter walked into the hall to greet me. Still in her pyjamas, her eyes still red, it was clear she was still hurting. All I wanted to do was protect her.
‘I’ve put some dinner on,’ she said, shrugging in that awkward way teenagers do.
I knew she was trying to make life easier for me and I loved her so much for it. I pulled her into a hug. The same tight hug I’d given her little sister before. Beth didn’t wriggle away, though; she just hugged me harder.
‘I love you,’ I whispered.
‘I love you too, Mum,’ she answered, without a hint of her usual teenage sarcasm.
When we pulled apart, she took Molly into the living room to put the TV on for her while I walked through the kitchen to check on dinner. A bouquet of flowers, in hues of red and purple, sat in a vase on the table.
‘Beth? Where did these flowers come from?’
Beth popped her head out of the door. ‘They were delivered earlier. I meant to text you. They’re from your work, I think.’
I was touched by the gesture of my colleagues. I walked to the table and lifted the little white envelope from the arrangement. Opening it, I saw a message that made my heart soar then sink in quick succession:
Thinking of you at this difficult time
All our love,
Michelle and all your colleagues at NWRC
‘Michelle’ – I knew immediately the flowers were from Michael. It was a nice gesture but a risky one. I knew he was just reaching out and after what we’d done the night before, I knew that things had shifted between us. But this was outside of my comfort zone. Paul would never have heard me talk about a ‘Michelle’, either in my day job or at my nightclasses. He’d wonder why ‘she’ put her name specifically on the card. He could ask questions. Get suspicious.
I was both touched and angry with Michael for putting me in this position. Beth had seen them. Paul could have. He might have, for all I knew. He was working from the Derry branch that day and hadn’t returned to his bolthole in Belfast. He might have come home at lunchtime to check on Beth.
I swore under my breath, contemplated ripping the card up and binning it, but then I remembered just how Michael made me feel. Desired. Wanted. Loved. Special. It had been such a long time since anyone made me feel special. I put the card back in the envelope and slipped it into my handbag.
I’d send him a text. Thank him but remind him of the need to be careful.
I didn’t want to risk Paul finding out, largely because, I realised, I didn’t want to risk having to give up Michael. With everything that was happening, I needed him in my life more than ever.
There was a moment when I woke up the following morning when everything was as it should be. Nothing had changed. I lay in the early morning sunlight and listened to the gentle snore of the man I’d married beside me. Passing thoughts of the summer holidays went through my head. Having two children so far apart in age had made it hard to find a holiday that would suit them both. We’d opted for a villa with a pool and allowed Beth to ask a friend along.
I smiled, thinking of Molly – who’d already thrown a couple of dolls and a swimming suit into her Trunki suitcase. Yes, she’d been a bit of a surprise when she’d arrived. The result of too much wine, a missed pill and caution being thrown to the wind. But she was so precious to me. And to her daddy, too. I’d give him that much. He was a doting father. It was almost as if he’d taken all the love and attention he used to give me and simply transferred it to his beautiful baby girl. I supposed she was easier to love than I was.
I yawned, glancing at the alarm clock. It would go off soon. The day would begin. And that’s when it swooped in again. The reality of what was happening. I’d have to go back to work. They’d only be understanding to a point – and I couldn’t let my pupils down – but the very thought of it intimidated me. My head was too full of the horror of what was happening in my life to stand in front of a classroom and pretend to be normal. This wasn’t normal.
I sat up, turned off the alarm clock before it beeped and made my way downstairs