Forget Me Not (40 page)

‘Come on, Milly,’ I heard Patrick say. ‘I don’t want you to fall down and hurt yourself, sweetie.’

‘Go A-WAAAAAAY!’

‘You must do as you’re told, Milly. I won’t ask you again. I’m going to count to three. One …’

By now I was halfway down the stairs and as I came down I looked into the circular mirror at the bottom of the steps. It’s positioned at a slight angle, so that it ‘looks’ into the kitchen and, as I stared into it, I saw Milly standing on the worktop by the microwave – she must have climbed up on a chair.

‘Two …’

Patrick was trying to coax her down, but she wouldn’t oblige, and was dancing up and down on the spot.

‘Three.’

He went to lift her down, pleading having failed. He put his hands up to her chest to pick her up, but as he did so I suddenly saw Milly turn her head and bite his hand, hard. Patrick cried out in pain. I was horrified at what she’d done although I was also fleetingly aware of all the change and flux she’d had in her life recently, with Xan suddenly being around so much, and then the conflict between him and Patrick, and the fact that Milly now knew that Luisa was leaving us. The past few weeks hadn’t been an easy time for her. Even so, biting was unacceptable …

I was about to go in when I saw Patrick lift her down on to the floor. Then he yanked up her arm and brought his hand down on her bare leg with a viscious slap.

The sound seemed to resonate for a split second. Then Milly threw back her head and screamed, her face pink with pain, tears starting from her eyes, her mouth a rictus of distress.

‘You hit her!’ I breathed. I was trembling with anger and disbelief. ‘You
hit
her. Don’t you
ever
hit my child!’ I said as I gathered her up in my arms. ‘Not ever! Do you understand? Never!
Never
!’ I hardly recognised my high, keening voice.

‘She bit me,’ he protested. He held out his hand to show me the red mark as though expecting sympathy.

‘I don’t care what she did! She’s
three
. She’s a little child. And you don’t hit little children, Patrick – especially if they’re not even yours!’

I took Milly into the sitting room and she sat on my lap, sobbing, more with shock than pain I suspected, while I rocked her back and forth. As I closed my eyes I saw again, as if in slow motion, the curiously practised way in which Patrick had jerked up her arm and smacked her leg. And I suddenly knew that this was something that he’d done before.

‘It’s OK, darling,’ I breathed. ‘It’s OK.’

‘My arm,’ Milly sobbed, clutching it. ‘It hurts.’

As I kissed it better, I was aware of Patrick standing next to me. I didn’t look at him.

‘It was the shock,’ I heard him say. Milly was still on my lap, her head pressed to my chest, emitting teary little gasps. ‘I didn’t want her to fall. I didn’t mean to lose my temper,’ he added impotently.

‘You do lose it, don’t you?’ I said, looking at him now.

‘Children have to be disciplined,’ he murmured weakly. ‘And biting’s not on.’

‘That’s true, but you don’t just … lash out.’

And now, in a flash, I saw another scenario, with another child – a little boy.

‘I’m sorry,’ Patrick said. ‘I’ll never do that again.’

‘No,’ I said quietly. ‘You won’t.’

Within half an hour Patrick had gone. He kept saying that he wanted to talk about the incident, but there was nothing to say. I offered to pay half the cancellation charges for the hotel but he refused.

‘I think you’re overreacting,’ he said as he brought in Milly’s car seat.

‘No,’ I said coldly. ‘I’m not.’ When he’d left I went to the kitchen cupboard, took out the jar of Bee Good honey and threw it in the bin.

Milly looked at me. ‘What you doing, Mum?’

‘I’m throwing away this honey. Because I don’t like honey and I never have done.’

Then I turned off
Beauty and the Beast
. Milly came upstairs with me and I explained that we wouldn’t be going to the seaside after all.

‘Because Patrick did smack me?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s why. Does your arm still hurt?’ She rubbed it, then shook her head. ‘But I’ll take you to the seaside another time soon, OK?’

‘And you buy me a pink net?’

‘Yes.’

‘And a pink bucket?’

‘Yes – and a pink spade, and a pink… everything.’

Milly beamed. Then we lay on my bed and I read her
The
Gruffalo
, which made me think of Jamie. He wouldn’t have hurt Milly in a million years. And she leaned her soft little body into me, turning over the pages in the excited way she always does, racing through the story: ‘… logpile house … owl-ice-cweam … it’s a Gruffalo! … Terrible teeth … his tongue is black … and the nut was good – The END. Iss THE END, Mum!’ she yelled.

I thought of Patrick. ‘Yes Milly,’ I said. ‘It is.’

SIXTEEN

‘How are you enjoying Cornwall?’ Jenny asked the following evening when I phoned her.

‘I’m not. Cornwall’s been cancelled.’ I explained why.

‘How … vile,’ she murmured. ‘So I guess that’s that then.’

‘Yes. Though I feel sad about it in many ways.’

‘But you’d never be able to trust him.’

‘No. I wouldn’t.’ Each time I replayed the incident in my mind I felt sick.

‘He didn’t hurt her, did he?’

‘No. But her arm ached for a while.’

‘Do you think he’d ever done it before?’

It was totally unintentional. It was an accident. An accident
…

‘I really don’t know …’

‘Well, I’m very sorry,’ Jenny went on. ‘He seemed so likeable; but you said he had a lot of anger.’

‘He did …’

Beekeeping’s better than any therapy
.

Keep still!

I’ve said I won’t come!

Would you let go of me, Patrick
…

‘But I didn’t realise quite how much.’

‘Are you going to tell Xan?’

‘No. And I’ve asked Milly not to – there’s no point and he might go berserk. I just told him that I’d had a last-minute change of mind about the holiday.’

‘He must be delighted.’

‘He is.’ I thought of how Xan had distrusted Patrick. I’d attributed it to jealousy, but he’d clearly picked up something that I’d failed to detect.

Suddenly I heard the TV blaring. ‘Milly!’ I called out. ‘Sorry, Jen, Milly’s just switched on the telly, she’s always fiddling with the remote.’

‘Grace does that too.’

‘Please turn it off, sweetheart.’ I glanced into the sitting room. It was
The X-Factor
. On the screen a thin boy in a red bobble hat was anxiously awaiting the panel’s verdict. ‘Andy,’ Simon Cowell was saying to him. ‘You have got one of the
weirdest
voices I’ve ever heard in my life. You are
fabulously
awful. There’s no
way
I’d have you in the next round …’

‘Turn it off, please, Milly,’ I said again as I resumed my conversation with Jenny. ‘Just press the red button.’

‘Tom,’ Simon Cowell was now saying to the next contestant. ‘You’re fat. You’re ugly. You’re discoordinated. But you
sound
great. So I’m going to say … “Yes”.’

‘Milly, would you please turn it off – or down, darling.’

‘Someone else who’s dreaming of a “yes”,’ said the presenter, ‘is …’

‘Mira!’
I heard Milly murmur.

‘… Luisa Vanegas from Colombia.’

‘Luisa on telebision, Mum!’

‘Hang on, Jenny.’ I walked into the sitting room, still clutching the phone to my ear, and stared at the screen.

‘Twenty-three year old Luisa is an au pair, but she dreams of stardom.’ There was Luisa, sitting in the hangar-like waiting room with hundreds of other hopefuls.

‘Luisa’s on
The X-Factor
,’ I gasped.

‘I’ll just put my TV on,’ I heard Jenny say. ‘Oh my God. So she is. But didn’t she tell you?’

‘No,’ I replied. ‘I haven’t seen much of her lately.’

The camera panned in on her, as she waited, in her red velvet dress, sipping a cup of tea. I could tell from the length of her hair that it had been recorded in June, a couple of weeks before I found Luisa busking.

‘She looks good, doesn’t she?’ Jenny said.

‘How long have you been waiting today, Luisa?’ the presenter was asking her.

‘I hab been here a bery long time … fibe hours.’

‘Well, it’s your turn now, Luisa, so good luck.’

Luisa jumped up and smiled nervously at the camera. Then we saw her walk into the audition room and stand in front of the three judges.

‘What are you going to sing, Luisa?’ Dannii Minogue asked her.

‘“All the Way from America” by Joan Armatrading.’

Sharon Osbourne gave her a nod. ‘So let’s hear it.’

Luisa composed herself for a moment, then began to sing:
You called all the way from America, and said hang on to
love, girl. But the weeks and the months and the tears passed
by, and my eyes couldn’t stand the strain … ‘She sounds
fabulous,’ Jenny said…. of that promised love, all the way
from America
.

Simon Cowell was sitting back, arms folded, his head cocked to one side.

You called all the way from America and said I’ll soon be
home, girl. But the weeks and the months and the tears
passed by and my eyes couldn’t stand the strain, of that
promised love, all the way from America. All the way from
America
…

‘OK, that’ll do!’ Simon suddenly shouted.

‘Shit! He hates her,’ I said. Luisa looked crestfallen.

‘We’ve heard all we need,’ Dannii Minogue agreed.

‘So now it’s time for Simon’s verdict,’ said the presenter.

‘Luisa’ Simon began, ‘That was more like “All the Way from
Latin
America”. Your pronunciation is crap. You need to work on your English – but you have a very powerful voice. You have conviction. You
look
good … and I’d be happy for you to go through.’

‘Thank God,’ I breathed as Luisa gave him an ecstatic smile.

‘You’ve definitely got the X-Factor, Luisa,’ Dannii was saying now. ‘So, although I don’t always agree with Simon, it’s a “yes” from me too.’ Luisa clapped her hands together as if in prayer.

‘But will Sharon agree with them?’ Said the presenter.

‘Luisa,’ Sharon began. ‘You have an
amazing
voice.’ I exhaled with relief. ‘You’re as good as Joan Armatrading – in fact, you’re so good I wondered whether you’d got a tape recorder stuffed down your bra – yet your voice is also very distinctive. You’re through.’

‘How fantastic!’ I heard Jenny say. Milly was beaming.

Luisa blew the judges kisses and ran out of the room, radiant with joy.

‘So how are you feeling, Luisa?’ the presenter asked her.

Luisa threw back her head and laughed. ‘I am feeling just…
maravilloso
!’

‘Do you want to say a quick hello to anyone while you’re on air?’

‘Yes,’ Luisa replied. ‘I would like say
hola
to my lobely English family – Anna and Milly – if they watching this.’

‘This is the family you’re au pair to?’

‘
Sí
. Anna is a wonderful person and Milly
es una niña
fantástica. Adoro a
Milly!’ She blew the camera a kiss.

‘
Y yo
adoro
a
Luisa,’ Milly said.

The next morning I woke early and went downstairs to have some coffee. While the kettle boiled I picked the newspaper off the mat and saw that next door’s
Sunday News
had been delivered instead of my usual
Observer
. As it was too early to swap them over I sat at the kitchen table and flicked through the
News
. There were the usual tabloid preoccupations with immigration, tax rises, speed cameras and celebrity cellulite, as well as special offers for Center Parcs.

From upstairs I heard Luisa’s door open. Today was the day she was moving out: I’d been so preoccupied I hadn’t thought about it until now. I felt a wave of sadness.

YOU PAY MILLIONS IN TAX TO FUND LABOUR! announced a story on page 2 of the
News
. OBESITY LINKED TO MEMORY LOSS said the headline below. diana – new evidence was the story on page 3. I turned over to page 4. SUNDAY NEWS JOURNALIST LOSES HOME IN BLAZE.

I sat bolt upright.

The  Sunday News columnist Citronella Pratt and her familyescaped injury in a fire that destroyed their weekend retreatin East Sussex. The Old Rectory at Aldingly, near Hastings,was razed to the ground on Friday
.

I looked at the helpful ‘before’ and ‘after’ photos of a beautiful, rose-covered Georgian house and a huge heap of smouldering ash.

Ms Pratt, her second husband and their three-year-old son,Erasmus, had gone out for the afternoon, leaving Ms Pratt’sthirteen-year-old daughter from her first marriage, Sienna,at home. The blaze is believed to have started in the littleboy’s bedroom, where a favourite teddy bear is thought tohave caught fire
…

I turned to Citronella’s column on page 18.

On Friday our beautiful country home in East Sussexburned down. But far from being downcast I realise howvery fortunate I have been. Not only, first and foremost,in that none of my family suffered any injury, but also inthat we lost nothing of any sentimental value: the teddywhich caught fire, for example, was only Erasmus’s second-favourite bear, luckily, and not his beloved Steiff, which is kept in London. I also feel fortunate in that my husbandand I were in any case thinking of giving up country lifeas the village was not conveniently located for the newschool which Sienna will start in September – a remarkableestablishment for particularly spirited young peoplewhich we feel will offer our brilliant child the challengingenvironment she needs. So it is no sacrifice for us to giveup our rural idyll so that we can get there in time for whatthe staff there amusingly call ‘visiting hours
’.