The Edge of Sanity (6 page)

Daniel’s mouth twitched into a smile as she continued to hum happily to herself, her small hands holding her hymn sheet, newspaper style, in front of her. She licked a forefinger and thumb and proceeded to turn the page, as adult-like as a little girl could be.

‘Oh,’ she said, as the middle portion fluttered to the floor.

Daniel instinctively bent to retrieve it.

Handing it back, his heart plummeted. He looked straight into the eyes of his child. Huge eyes, framed by softly curled eyelashes. Intense blue, and wide with the perfectly clear innocence of childhood—so much like Emma’s. He could have cried.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her eyes suddenly guarded.

‘Any time.’ Daniel forced his mouth into a reassuring smile.

She cocked her head to one side, studying him hard. ‘I’m Dorothy,’ she informed him, seeming to come to the decision he wasn’t too strange to talk to.

‘That’s a nice name,’ Daniel replied lightly. ‘And what’s your little brother’s name?’

‘No, not in real life,’ she said, with a world-weary sigh. ‘I’m Dorothy in the school play,
Silly
.’

‘Olivia!’ her mother quickly admonished her, whilst licking a tissue to dab at the toddler’s chocolate-smeared face. ‘She’s a bit excited.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘I hope she’s not bothering you?’

‘No, not at all,’ Daniel assured her, and then settled back to listen as Olivia outlined The
Wizard of Oz
in its entirety.

‘James is playing the lion,’ she informed him, screwing up her nose.

‘Oh? And who’s James?’

‘Just a boy at school.’ She shrugged grown-up shoulders. ‘He’s okay, but he’s
soo
noisy. He roared so loud, Miss Adams nearly fell off the stage. Boys.’ She sighed, with a roll of her eyes.

‘Oh, dear.’ Daniel was surprised to hear himself laugh.

‘Have you got any children?’ she asked, catching him completely off guard.

He coughed and looked briefly away. ‘Er, just the one. But she’s a big girl now.’

‘Oh.’ Olivia nodded. ‘Too big to watch CBeebies?’

‘I think she probably is.’ Daniel laughed, trying to imagine a time when Kayla did anything other than listen to
Black Eyed Peas
, or whoever was currently cool.

‘Does she want to be
Beyoncé
when she grows up?’

‘Er, no.’ Daniel’s mouth curved into a smile. The mere mention of
Beyoncé
had Kayla making delightful little retching noises. Not good for her Goth street cred, according to Jo. ‘Is that what you want to be?’

‘Yes.’ Olivia nodded adamantly. ‘Or …’ She had a little think. ‘ …
Jack Sparrow
.’

‘Ah.’ Daniel nodded in turn. ‘Good choice, though I think
Beyonc
é
’s
outfits might look a bit prettier.’

‘
Ye-es
.’ Olivia considered, and then chattered on, showing Daniel her script, her new wedge shoes, and, as she leaned forward, Daniel almost didn’t resist a sudden urge to stroke her hair.

Jesus
. He pulled himself up, imagining what her mother’s reaction to that gesture might be.

Olivia scooted from the seat, her station apparently in sight. ‘You can come to my play, if you like,’ she suggested, slipping her hand into her mother’s.

‘I’d love to, but I live a long way away, I’m afraid.’ Daniel looked suitably disappointed.

‘Oh, okay. Maybe next time. Bye, then.’ She smiled and gave him a cute little wave.

‘Bye,
Beyoncé
.’ Daniel waved, and offered her a smile back, despite the pain where his heart should be.

He ran a hand over his neck as she alighted and turned to the window. It was Emma he saw looking back, his golden-haired angel, a little replica of Jo, but for the clear blue of her eyes.

Jo’s were green. No half-hearted, hazel green either. They were … amazing. Irish eyes, he called her. Everything was there, in Jo’s eyes. If she wasn’t pleased, you knew about it. If you wanted honesty without window dressing, that’s where you’d find it, in her eyes. And when they’d made love together, sweet and slow, before the shadows had taken over their lives, she had conveyed her love for him—with her eyes. So there was no question now in Daniel’s mind. With gut-wrenching certainty, he knew Jo hated him, with as much passion as she had once loved him.

Arriving, finally, at Worcester, he debated briefly whether to take the bus. Checking his watch, he noted it was almost school out time and decided against. If it didn’t do much for his feet, the walk might help blow the cobwebs away.

Even now that he was almost there, he wasn’t sure why he was going. He hadn’t been to the cemetery since the funeral. He simply couldn’t bring himself to go and unearth pain better left buried. Now Daniel knew it was something he needed to do. Unconsciously or consciously—he wasn’t sure which—he had slammed a lid tight shut on his emotions. Jo had been right about that.

It had cut to the core when people he knew had huddled to speak in hushed tones on that, the worst day of his life. Or turned embarrassed eyes away from his, for fear of the grief they might find there, or the guilt. They’d shuffled and mumbled. They were sorry. Of course they were, but none as sorry as he. He’d destroyed the life of his innocent child, and simultaneously, he had destroyed Jo.

Things had been good up until then. Better than he had dared to hope for. Yes, they’d had their fair share of problems in the early years, but eventually it started to come together. They’d celebrated the refit of their first hire-boat with champagne. Then celebrated some more, the second bottle having them throwing inhibition—and caution—to the wind, right there on the boat, under the stars. He smiled quietly. That was the night Kayla had been conceived. If she had been a bit of a surprise, she was conceived in style, no doubt about it.

Emma was planned, a plan that didn’t come to fruition, initially. But, on the basis that practice made perfect, Daniel had selflessly sacrificed his body for the sake of a good cause, and it had happened, eventually. If Jo was thrilled, he was ecstatic. Things
had
come good for them, just as Jo had predicted they would. Because they had faith, she had said, and because they had each other, no matter what.

Yeah, so much for the faith bit. And they certainly didn’t have each other anymore. God giveth and God taketh away. Daniel kicked angrily at a discarded Coke can. What, he wondered? What terrible sin had he committed that he should be punished like this?

And Jo? Why should someone who laughed in the face of adversity, a laugh that lifted his spirits so high, he felt he could fly, someone who cared so much, have to suffer so much? She had just existed since, that was all, the light in her eyes eclipsed by sadness. If only he hadn’t been so preoccupied. If only Kayla hadn’t been so bloody temperamental and taken her …

No! That was pathetic! He was responsible for what happened on that Godforsaken day. And he hadn’t just broken Jo’s heart. He’d broken her spirit.

His own heart broke a little more each day as he watched Jo fall apart.

The people they’d been had simply disappeared. They’d just been going through the motions ever since, unable to communicate, barely exchanging glances. For Jo’s sake, he should have tried harder with the counselling, but what was the point? Keeping the wound open, probing around until it hurt so much, he wanted to scream? Wasn’t it bad enough that he heard Emma’s cries in his dreams? That he could see her around every corner. In the face of every little girl …?

Daniel stopped abruptly. He had been so deep in thought he hadn’t noticed that he had reached his destination. He pulled up his collar, a shiver of apprehension snaking its way down his spine, and made his way through the part of the cemetery where once proud Victorian headstones subsided submissively to the elements.

He walked purposefully on, past weathered stones and wingless cherubs, deliberately avoiding inscriptions. He didn’t need reminding how short life was. Skirting around the war memorial, turning right at the church, he picked his way through the black granite uniformity until he spotted the stone with Pooh Bear engraved on it. Emma would never go to bed without PB, tattered and torn though he was. The inscription read simply,
Emma ~ 2007-2012. Sleep Safe Baby.

The purchase of the headstone was one of the last things Jo and he had actually done together. They’d chosen it together. Gone to the stonemason’s together. Daniel had never been able to come here though, to view it in situ.

Now here he was.

Alone with his stolen child.

It was a well-chosen plot, he thought obliquely, surrounded by trees, serenaded by birdsong. Overlooked by the church, he hadn’t quite realised.

Daniel hesitated, and then reached out to tentatively trace the curve of the headstone. ‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ he whispered, swallowing back a tight lump in his throat.

Dammit
. He dragged an arm across his eyes, took a deep breath and another, and then prayed in earnest. Look after my baby, he begged silently. Keep her safe.
Please
keep her safe.

Chapter Four

Joanne struggled from the bus stop, praying the flimsy supermarket bags wouldn’t give way. Must remember to lock that damn thing, she admonished herself as she elbowed herself through the back door. Daniel would do his fruit, if he found it unlocked. But Daniel wasn’t here. She sighed, dumped the bags on the kitchen floor and headed for the kettle.

Now for the putting away bit, preferably in some sort of order where she could find it. Shopping. Who’d do it? Dan would, she thought abstractedly. His fair share anyway. He didn’t seem to mind wandering around the supermarket. Jo hated it. And shopping for two didn’t seem any easier than shopping for three, in light of Kayla’s latest food faddish. Vegan, she had declared herself recently, ready to cut her throat rather than eat dead cow. So ruling out meat and dairy products, that left … vegetables.

Lord, the time. Where had it gone? At this rate, it would be teatime before she had had lunch. With one eye on the clock, Jo shoved groceries in the cupboards and fridge haphazardly. Kayla was due at five, and Jo was going to sit her down and talk to her if it was the last thing she did.

Daniel was due at seven. He’d be on time. You could set your clock by Daniel, always where he was supposed to be, when he was supposed to be, physically anyway.

There, job done. The food was safely stowed, never to be found again. At least the freezer was well stocked. She had spent a fortune, but she was determined to have a few ready-meals in. Satisfied, she flicked through a cookery book in hopes of inspiration for tonight’s meal.

Vegetable stew, wholesome, and presumably acceptable to a vegan, she decided, lighting on a reasonably quick and easy recipe. She ferreted back in the cupboard for tinned tomatoes, purée, carrots, courgettes, mushrooms. What else? Jo chewed on her lower lip. Oh, yes, onions.

Well, that was dinner on—and she looked like the dog’s dinner. She glanced down at her tatty shirt and jeans. Did it matter? She supposed not. Daniel had always said she would look beautiful in a bin liner anyway.

Liar. Jo’s mouth curved into a sad smile as she headed to the utility room to stuff carrier bags away, where her eyes fell on her sign-writing brushes. She fingered the soft sable of one of them, wishing things could go back to how they were. She painting the signage on the boats, alongside Daniel doing the heavier labour.

She and Daniel, together.

Jo sighed and reached for the jar of hand-cream she kept by the sink.

Daniel liked her hands. He was always amazed at how soft they were on his back, given she spent more time than the average woman up to her elbows in oil and enamel paint. Jo had never minded that. Practical had always been her middle name. Daniel and she had worked so well together, as compatible as any partnership could be. She sighed again, heavily, and wondered why the drip, drip of the faulty utility tap suddenly sounded so loud.

****

Kayla pushed her key into the lock, kicked the front door closed behind her, then slipped upstairs to check out her wardrobe before her mum started on the, “
So how was your day?”
conversation.

Shitty actually, Kayla would like to reply, instead of shrugging and saying okay. It was too. She had the attention span of a gnat lately. And she was fed up of being singled out for it.
Concentrate, Kayla,
Mr Ward had said today.
No, dear, on your maths, not your nails.
Weedy little twerp.

She had just about got changed when she heard Jo shouting up to her. Blimey, dinner already? Kayla checked her bedside clock. She’s a bit keen, isn’t she?

‘Inaminit. I’m doing my homework,’ she shouted, doing nothing of the sort. She was actually outlining her eyes with smudgey grey kohl. And she still had to find her missing dangly earring. It was there somewhere, in the black hole—as her dad hilariously referred to the space under her bed.

Kayla dragged out three Pepsi Max bottles, and then groped through debris. No earring.
Well, pants.
Right, she decided, drastic measures were called for. She heaved the bed away from the wall, revealing a mouldy yoghurt pot, and a pizza box containing something so utterly disgusting, even she was hard-pushed to ignore it.

Okay, so she hadn’t cleaned up lately. Why should she? Her mum never ventured in, anyway. Still, the mess under there was too gross. She made a mental note to tidy up … sometime … and headed for her parents’ room to rifle through Jo’s jewellery box. They weren’t exactly Miss Sixties, but her mum’s silver drop earrings would just have to do.

‘Kayla!’ Jo shouted again, over her iPod on speakers.

Back in her room, Kayla slow-danced in front of the mirror, earrings poised. ‘Shit!’ She stopped abruptly as her mum rapped on the door, stuffed the earrings into the pocket of her backpack, shovelled the mess back under the bed, and then squeaked the door open an inch. ‘What?’

Fingers stuffed in her ears, Jo mouthed, ‘Turn it down.’

Kayla rolled her eyes and trailed across the room to hit the off button.