Greenwich Park, Katherine Faulkner [ereader android .txt] 📗

– she doesn’t go anywhere without that bag. Not now. She dragged it all the way to Dartmouth Park with her the other night. No, Helen is here. She must be. I’ll just check she’s all right.

I feel for the spare set of keys she gave me the other day. It takes me a few moments to work the unfamiliar lock, but with a final twist, the catch gives way. As I cross the threshold, the atmosphere changes, the silence inside feels heavy.

‘Hello? Helen? Are you here?’

Daniel appears at the top of the stairs. He stares at me. He doesn’t say anything.

‘Oh, hi, Daniel,’ I say. ‘Is Helen here?’

Daniel’s face changes. He smiles. ‘Katie!’ He jogs lightly down the stairs. ‘Hello. I didn’t know you had a key.’

‘Helen gave me one,’ I say, as he leans forward to kiss me on the cheek. ‘Just to feed the cat and stuff, when you’re in the hospital.’ I pause. ‘I guess Serena is nearer but um …’

Daniel seems to flinch at the mention of Serena’s name. Did I imagine that? I wonder.

I look at his face. He looks exhausted, the bags under his eyes leaden. His cheeks are weirdly flushed, as if he’s been working out. Sweat glistens on his brow. He is standing ever so slightly too close to me.

‘Is she all right?’ I ask.

‘Who? Serena?’

I stare at Daniel. ‘No,’ I say, blinking. ‘Helen. Is she OK? Is she here?’

‘Oh yeah, of course,’ he says distractedly. He pushes his glasses up his nose. ‘She’s just sleeping. Upstairs.’

‘Oh, OK,’ I say.

I look over Daniel’s shoulder but he moves forward. Blocks my view.

‘Is someone else here?’

Daniel clears his throat. He doesn’t move. He speaks too quickly, too loudly.

‘To be honest, Katie, it’s not a great time.’ He wipes at the sweat on his brow. ‘Helen really needs quiet. She needs to have a bit of a rest. Can I get her to give you a ring later?’

As he speaks, the phone he is holding in his hand starts ringing. The words ‘Brian Mortgage Adviser’ flash up. The phone is in a case with a cutesy, flowery pattern. I don’t think it is Daniel’s phone. In fact, I am pretty sure it is Helen’s.

Daniel looks at the screen. He hits cancel, smiles at me. But within seconds, the same number flashes up again.

‘Maybe you should get that,’ I say quietly. ‘Might be important.’

‘It’s not. It’s fine.’ He presses cancel again, shoves the phone into his back pocket.

The air in the house feels thick, the silence heavy.

‘Daniel, are you sure everything’s OK?’

He looks at me through his glasses.

‘Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?’

The phone rings again. I look at Daniel. He looks at me. And then I decide. Fuck you, Daniel. Fuck you.

I step past him as if I’m headed to their kitchen. He flips an arm out to stop me, and as he does, I run straight up the stairs.

‘Katie?’

I can hear in his voice he is trying to stay calm.

‘Just using the loo,’ I call. ‘That’s OK, isn’t it? I won’t wake her.’

The phone is still ringing. Daniel throws it on the floor. I hear it smash as it hits the stone tiles. The crack is like a starting gun. Daniel has started to follow me up the stairs.

‘Katie,’ he is saying. His voice is different now. ‘It’s really not a good time. Really. Katie!’ His voice is desperate now, his footsteps heavier.

I am on the first landing. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I am throwing doors open – a bathroom, a study. Then I push open the door to the spare bedroom, the one where Rachel was staying. And there is Helen, slumped on the floor, one arm outstretched, another round her belly. Her eyes are closed, and as I come closer, I see there is a cut on her head, blooming red. A smashed vase lies in jagged pieces around her.

I spin round, but he is too fast. His hand is at the back of my head, his fist in my hair. I feel a sharp wrench of pain at the back of my head, another arm around my waist. He is strong, too strong for me.

‘Daniel, what the fuck have you done?’

‘Be quiet, Katie,’ he mutters, dragging me backwards.

‘Daniel, call a fucking ambulance. That’s your wife, your baby!’

‘I said be quiet,’ he snaps.

I kick frantically, elbows flying, but nothing works. He is taking me upstairs. The pain at the back of my head is unbearable. I see a floating curtain, an open window. And then I am in fresh air, my body held over a steep drop.

I see roof tiles, a rotten gutter. The green of the gardens far below, divided up into neat little squares that, from here, look no bigger than allotments. The landscape wheels in front of my eyes, the dark outlines of trees against a pale sky, the wonky rooftops. The pain at the back of my head.

‘Let me go, Daniel! Let me go!’ But my voice is hoarse and I am screaming into thin air. I am screaming into nothing.

Daniel is panting. ‘This is your fault, Katie,’ he hisses. ‘I told you. I told you to go home. Didn’t I? But you don’t listen. You never listen.’

He pulls my face closer to his, so I can see his eyes, the deep hollows underneath. And in that moment, I wonder if I have seen this before, this ugliness in my friend’s husband. If I have detected this in him, before now. And deep down, I know the answer is yes. That I have seen it in the pencil lines of his face, in the blankness behind his eyes. And I did nothing. Because he seemed normal. And because you don’t. Because it’s awkward. And because how do you say? How can you?

And now this. Now this. Because of me.

And then he lets me go. My stomach collapses in on itself, my breath escapes my lungs. I close my