She thinks of him now with his pretty young wife and his pretty suburban house. How is it fair that he is the one to have the family?
No. He needs to speak to Gemma and to sort it all out. Gemma surviving is a sign that this was all meant to be. Gemma doesn’t need this child; Gemma is still a child herself.
Amanda checks the time – just gone five – and feels in her pocket to smooth her fingers over the familiar white tablets in the plastic sachet. It would never have come to this if people had just listened. The doctor. Sam. Gemma. All of them . . .
But she will be heard today. However this goes.
She turns again to the diaries, neatly stacked. Corners aligned. It’s all in there. She used a fountain pen once. Smart. Expensive. But it made the words too soft. Too quiet. These days she uses a thick, black felt tip – to match the voice in her head.
And if they won’t listen today – Sam and Gemma? She knows what she will do; she planned it once before and she wasn’t afraid then either. Because afterwards, they will have to hear her. Afterwards they will all read the thick, black words and they will see that none of this was her fault.
It will be too late and they will all be very, very sorry.
That they didn’t listen sooner.
CHAPTER 66
THE MOTHER
As she steps into our cubicle, my eyes dart straight to Gemma.
‘Amanda.’ I stand up and glance at the window but there’s no sign of anyone. No guard. No nurse. No Ed. ‘I thought we were going to do the statement by email?’ I try so hard to make my tone less surprised – steadier – but it’s unnaturally high. I clear my throat, Amanda all the while watching me intently.
‘Please. Don’t get up, Rachel. I thought it would be easier for me to just pop by. Go over the statement in person. Have you jotted something down for me?’
I check the window again. No one; the guard must still be dealing with the journalist who tried to get through earlier.
‘I’m surprised you didn’t have trouble getting in. We’re on a sort of lockdown.’ My heart’s pounding.
‘Oh, it was fine. The nurse in the office saw me on the telly earlier.’ She’s smiling and holds up her university pass by way of illustration, before moving to the spare seat at the end of Gemma’s bed.
I pull my own chair forward, closer to Gemma, and place my hand on the bedding. Gemma’s diary made it clear Amanda was hounding her. But I still don’t understand why.
‘This is very good of you, Amanda.’ I worry that she will see my hand trembling so pull it back into my lap. ‘You must be so busy . . . with the ceremony.’
‘Happy to help. I’m just so sorry you’ve had such a tricky time with the media.’
I look again at Gemma and realise I walked right into this. Amanda messaged earlier, asking if I wanted any help to get the media off our backs. It was before I read the laptop again. I said yes.
The television’s on mute but there are pictures of everyone arriving at the cathedral. A reporter is summing up the whole, horrible story. The attack on Gemma. The professor found dead this morning. The fact that some families have decided at the eleventh hour not to attend the graduation after all.
‘Shall I turn it off? The TV?’ I have no idea how to play this. How to make Amanda leave. ‘So you reckon the reporters will back off if we just make a short statement?’ That’s what her message said would happen.
‘Yes. I do realise it’s asking a lot, Mrs Hartley, but it’s the strategy I always advise.’
‘Rachel. Please.’
‘Rachel.’ She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing. ‘I’ll be giving another briefing to the media when I get back to the cathedral green, so I can include your statement. That should keep them happy. Keep them off your back, hopefully.’
‘Thank you. Very good of you. So let’s get this done then. I’m sure you’re tight for time.’ I glance again at the window. Still no guard. No sign of Ed.
‘So have you had time to write a few words? About how Gemma’s doing. The relief about the arrests. And wishing the new graduates well today?’
I reach for my iPad and notice that Amanda is staring at the end of Gemma’s bed. The little hill created by the frame over her missing leg.
‘Helen mentioned that she opened her eyes?’
Amanda’s tone has changed and I feel bile in my throat. I clench my fist, digging the nails into my palm. I should never have messaged Helen.
And then my mobile rings. I move to take it from my pocket but Amanda stands.