She tiptoed back to the patio door, her heart in her mouth, making it hard to swallow.
She took a breath, then yanked open the curtains. At first she saw nothing and thought perhaps Jade had been fine after the fall, had limped away into the night.
Then the garden was illuminated with flashes of cerise pink, emerald green and citrus yellow as fireworks exploded in the night sky, and she saw the crumpled heap in the far corner of the garden, a pile of limbs draped at unnatural angles among the plant pots not yet filled with flowers and herbs.
18
Maddie sat with Jemima on her lap, the curtains in the lounge drawn to the still dark morning sky. It was 5.30 a.m. and Jemima was already a bundle of life and energy.
Maddie less so.
She had closed the curtains on last night’s fireworks and debated taking a sleeping pill to try and stop her heart from racing. But then she worried that she wouldn’t wake up if Jemima stirred in the night.
So instead, she had lain awake, listening to every sound, the creak of a floorboard or a tap on the window, worry gnawing at her and leaving her red raw. Her hand was still smarting where the knife had bitten into the flesh, but that was nothing compared to what was going on in her brain. It was a relief when Jemima had stirred and grizzled in the early hours. It gave Maddie something else to concentrate on other than the ghosts stumbling around her head.
She knew she had to open the curtains and confront what was out there at some point. But for now she was content to sit here and cuddle Jemima tightly to her, breathing in the very essence of her. They sat that way for a while, Jemima happily playing, climbing and exploring the new room around her while Maddie drank her in.
What would happen when Gemma wanted her back? Could she honestly bear to return her? What would she do afterwards? Move away like she had planned to that little cottage by the sea, even though that would mean being far away from Jemima?
No, that was not an option.
And was she comfortable with handing her back to Gemma, knowing what she did about how Gemma felt about Jemima? That wasn’t right either.
Her eyes flicked to the curtains again. She had to know, had to see.
She put Jemima on the carpet and turned on the television, searching for a children’s programme to distract her.
Then she approached the glass doors slowly, carefully, like a lion’s den. Morning was just starting to break as she inched open the curtains, the light weak and pale.
And there she was, still lying amid the broken pots and dirt.
Maddie stared at her for a moment, taking it in, making sure, then she exhaled with relief. It was over.
She’d been expecting the police to turn up all night. She was sure Mark would’ve called them by now. But they hadn’t, which meant she would have to call them. She’d tell them she had made a grizzly discovery upon opening her curtains this morning. That her dear friend had done something rash and desperate. Maddie hadn’t heard her fall, what with all the fireworks going off.
After that, she thought she would make another call. Perhaps she should have a conversation with Gemma, let her know that she shouldn’t feel bad about not being up to the task of looking after Jemima, that not everyone was born to be a good mother. Sometimes a good mother was one who knew when she was out of her depth. Jemima deserved better now that Greg was gone.
She deserved someone with a natural flair for parenting.
Someone who had spent most of her adult life yearning for it, dreaming about it, preparing herself for it.
She drew the curtains closed again and headed into the kitchen, humming to herself, and began to make a cup of tea, with one eye on Jemima and a smile on her lips.
SEVEN MONTHS LATER
The spray was salty against her skin as they walked along the coastal path. Maddie hoped it would warm up soon. Her coat wouldn’t zip up over her swollen, pregnant belly for much longer. But the early glimpses of spring she’d noticed a few weeks ago had been mere teasers. The real thing had yet to make a proper appearance.
Beaker, her rescue dog, named after Greg’s favourite character in The Muppets, darted in and around her legs and the wheels of the pushchair as they walked, occasionally barking in excitement, running ahead, then stopping and running back. Maddie smiled and breathed deeply, letting the sea air fill her lungs. In the distance, just around the next corner, her little cottage would come into view, with its tiny white fence and front garden full of wildflowers.
Jemima sat in the pushchair, talking away to herself and pointing to the seagulls that twirled and swooped above their heads. Maddie was in need of a cup of tea, so she walked a little faster, her sensible walking boots pounding against the pathway.
Back inside the cottage, she released Jemima from the pushchair, who ran off to the make-believe kitchen in the corner of the lounge, where she would spend the next hour making tea for her dolls and teddies. Beaker followed her and took his place at her feet, hoping that this time the food would be real and not the plastic bananas and hamburger he was used to Jemima serving him.
Maddie hung her coat up and went into the kitchen to fill the kettle. As she reached into the cupboard for a mug, she felt a sharp jab and roll in her distended stomach and reached out a hand to rub it gently, smiling as she did.
She knew it was a risk being so isolated this far into her pregnancy, but this time around she had absolute faith it would be ok. There was a calmness about this pregnancy, a sense of destiny. Who would’ve thought that she and Greg would finally have the child they had always wanted? She only wished he was here to get to know the little miracle when he or she was born.
But she did have the next best thing. She had Jemima.
She filled a mug with hot water and let her thoughts run over the days following Jade’s death. In the end, she had told the police she thought Jade had been upset and worried about an impending court case for custody of her son, Ben. That maybe she had thought she had no way out other than to take her own life by throwing herself from the roof of the building. It was a cry for help that had fallen on deaf ears. Maddie had described how unstable Jade had been in the days before and how awful she felt at not realising the depths of her friend’s pain. The tears of sorrow and grief that Maddie had cried had been for Greg, not Jade, but the police weren’t to know that.
As she was closing the door to the police, Peggy had opened her door and nodded across at Maddie in a strange, all-knowing way. Maddie had said nothing in return and they had each gone about their business without ever mentioning that night on the few times they saw each other after that.
Of course, the subsequent investigation uncovered Jade’s fraud and the truth about Ben finally came to light. Mark had been in touch with the authorities to say he was worried after not having seen Ben for so long. He made no mention to them of a Halloween visit by a woman dressed like Shrek and carrying a small, squirming pumpkin.
But by the time the truth was out, Maddie had other things to focus on. News had reached her that while Jade had been unsuccessful in ending Maddie’s life, Gemma had been successful at ending hers. All it had taken was a few too many sleeping pills and she had drifted off into oblivion to be with Greg. The inquest had ruled accidental death, a simple case of not monitoring the dosage in her grief-stricken state, helped by her mother’s testimony that Jemima was Gemma’s whole life and that she would never have abandoned her. Not intentionally.