‘Amber, please,’ I sob. ‘Don’t do this.’
There’s a long silence before she speaks. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.’
I’ve never seen her like this, never known her to lose her temper so violently. The deep breath she takes before she speaks is audible. ‘Try and understand. You cannot tell the truth about this, not if you want to keep your baby. It’s as simple as that. So please, trust me.’
I cannot speak so I reach between the seats. She takes my hand and encloses it in hers.
‘This is what you’re going to say and you say the same thing to the doctors, the police and Tom. Do you understand?’
I cry silently, but I listen.
Amber shouldn’t have lost her temper back there but she’s disappointed in her friend. Very disappointed. To do that; to leave her little boy, not to mention her infidelity to Tom – because, let’s not split hairs, Vicky was unfaithful even if they never actually did it – takes an astounding degree of selfishness.
She hates this, hates not feeling in control. It was weak to shout and swear at her. But how could Vicky do it? Amber would never leave a child on its own. Even if she didn’t know what that felt like herself, she wouldn’t. Children are vulnerable, completely dependent on the decisions adults make. It tears her up inside to think about it.
She digs her thumbnails into the leather steering wheel, leaving crescent-shaped dents, suppressing her anger and resentment. Josh’s sobs are more like hiccups now, racking his little body. Amber gives herself a moment and then turns to smile reassuringly. Vicky looks like she’s about to throw herself out of the car.
‘Nearly there,’ she says.
‘OK.’
‘Good girl. You’re going to be fine. I’ll drop you outside A & E and come and find you when I’ve parked.’
‘You have back-to-back appointments,’ Sarah says. ‘You’re really dropping me in it here, Amber. Are you sure she needs you? Where’s her husband?’
‘I’ll leave as soon as he turns up. An hour at the most. Honestly, I wouldn’t do this if I had a choice, but I’m really worried about her.’
Sarah sighs. ‘So what happened exactly?’
Amber leans back into the car seat, the tension easing from her shoulders. ‘The poor thing. She was at home with the baby and some guy got in and all hell broke loose. I’ll tell you about it properly later. And thanks, Sarah. I owe you.’
‘Where are they?’ Tom says.
He’s arrived out of breath and frantic, still in his wet motorbike leathers, big boots clumping on the rubber floor. Amber hears his voice before Vicky does and goes to meet him, leaving Vicky standing over the cot where Josh is fast asleep, a bruise ripening on his cheek.
‘Is he all right?’
‘No, he’s not.’ Vicky runs over and collapses sobbing into his arms.
‘Shh,’ he says. ‘It’s OK, darling. I’m here now. Tell me what happened.’
Amber feels Vicky trying to catch her eye but she avoids looking at her.
‘I … we had a break in,’ Vicky says. ‘He had Josh. He shoved him at me and I dropped him.’
She starts to cry again, so Amber takes up the story, handing him the leaflet that the radiologist gave them.
‘It’s his arm. Josh has a super … supracondylar fracture. He’s going to be in overnight. Look, I’d better get back to work,’ she stammers. ‘I’ll leave your car outside the house and put the keys through the letterbox.’
Vicky turns her head but doesn’t let go of Tom. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’d do as much for me.’
She catches her eye and is reassured to receive an almost imperceptible nod. Vicky is going to be sensible.
‘Bye,’ she says, but they are not listening.
She turns in the doorway to watch them and something deep inside her opens and closes, startling her in its intensity. She recognizes that feeling of wanting to belong, to be known. She hasn’t felt like this since Emily Seagrave’s christening. But now she feels an itch niggling at her. Vicky’s actions have triggered this, along with feelings of tightness and frustration. She thought the friendship was enough to assuage the emptiness, that she had what she needed, but it wasn’t. It won’t ever be now.
She pulls her jacket over her head, runs to Vicky’s car and gets in, turning to glance at the hospital. Walls of glass reflect grey back at her.
She cares about Tom. She hurts for him. Vicky is so careless of other people’s feelings. If she places so little value on her husband, then she doesn’t deserve him. Amber has always fancied him but she’s never taken it seriously. They have an undeniable connection, but she wouldn’t go there. She’s not like that.
It’s only pheromones, she tells herself as she shoves the key into the ignition. Not love. Love is what Robert gives her; it’s a solid, thick-walled thing that keeps the bad side of her out. And love is Sophie.
She puts Tom Seagrave out of her mind and thinks about Browning Street instead. She saw how much Vicky loved it, could sense her imagination painting the walls and polishing the floors, because she has done the same. That beautiful old house, proudly wearing its neglect like an aristocrat fallen on hard times, could change her life.
Could she? After what’s happened, yes. The thought is thrilling but she packs it away. She needs to sleep on it.
March 1992
‘YOU MUST BE Katya.’
She had lost count of how many people had said that same thing to her in the last week. It was beginning to annoy her. Of course she was Katya. Who else could she be?
‘My name is Maggie Parrish and I’m from Lambeth Children’s Services.’ She left a long enough gap for her to fill and then added, ‘How old are you, Katya?’
This one was young, much younger than the social worker who used to come when Linda was still alive. She was tall; big without being fat exactly. Katya’s mind said, generous, when she looked at her proportions. Big boobs. Big hips. Big eyes.
‘Ten.’
‘Ten! Well, I have a daughter your age.’
‘What’s her name?’
There was a slight, almost imperceptible hesitation. ‘Emily.’ Maggie paused again. ‘I’m so very sorry about your mum, Katya. Would you like to tell me something about her?’