The hive, p.10
The Hive, page 10
The funeral was small. Four women, a priest and two tiny white coffins embellished with antique rose gold crosses and lace ivory veils.
The girls had all chipped in to pay for the coffins. In fact, Trix, Zaheen and Poppy had paid for the entire funeral, which made me feel both grateful and a little embarrassed I wasn’t in the headspace or financially set to do so. They thoughtfully picked out yellow peonies, amber and patchouli oil candles, and twin grey headstones.
The service was quick. I got the impression that even the priest wanted it to be over. Not out of cruelty – he was an extremely kind man – but for the sadness of the occasion. Everyone recognised the particular tragedy of burying two children who never had the chance to live. Father Nathaniel had dark brown skin and deep creases in his brow and around his lips. He was perhaps fifty, maybe slightly older. He wore a long cream robe, and held a gold crucifix and Bible. He gave an exquisite reading about life and heaven. I was transfixed by the sight of the little white coffins as Father Nathaniel’s words washed through me. He compared life to a seed that needed nourishment and water in order for it to grow. He said sometimes an act of nature can take what we’ve planted away from us. Like a tsunami or an earthquake. He said that a tree can be stripped of leaves to its branches, and although bare, it still lives. It can adapt, produce fruit and grow flowers, even when it looks as though it can’t. It becomes not just a tree, but an example of life and what it throws at us.
Obviously Poppy didn’t tell Father Nathaniel that I was barren. Or that it wasn’t an act of nature that took my children away from me, but the act of two people who scared me into having an accident.
The girls were my rock and I meant that in the literal sense. Poppy, Trix and Zaheen bound together, creating a stable footing for me to walk on. They bathed me, dressed me; they even applied makeup to hide my swollen face and reddened nose. I knew it couldn’t have been easy for them, but somehow they managed to give my children the best send-off from the world they never got to see.
‘Char, you’re squeezing too tight,’ Zaheen mouthed over her shoulder to me.
I wasn’t aware I was holding on to her. It must have been a reflex since I hadn’t taken my eyes off the miniature caskets since they were carried outside the church to the grave site.
‘You OK?’ Zaheen pressed, noting I hadn’t responded.
‘I don’t know,’ I answered honestly, because me saying I was fine wouldn’t convince them. We were all broken up pieces of the same fucked-up mirror, our reflection a memory of the two bodies that lay inside those boxes.
I touched the bracelet, the one Linc had given me after our fight. Him not being there was like having my heart crushed, the weight of his absence as heavy as the diamonds on my wrist.
‘I know today’s hard, but just hang in there. We’re almost through the worst of it. You just gotta make it through this last bit, and then I’ll get you out of here. I promise.’
Zaheen’s words felt like gravel in my ears. I didn’t want to leave them. Not here. Not in the dark, damp soil. They were supposed to be with me, not buried with strangers and left in the cold.
‘You need to tell this guy to wrap it up. Char’s not looking too good. I’m not sure she can take much more of this. I’m amazed she’s made it this far,’ Trix said to Poppy, who nodded then approached me, her heels getting stuck in a patch of grass as she approached.
‘Do you want to say a few words. Maybe sing a lullaby?’
The contrast between Poppy’s white dress and blue eyes seemed startling. It brought me back to my surroundings. My children were about to be lowered into the ground, but I could hardly stand, let alone speak.
‘I can’t.’ It was shaky, almost inaudible, but I was sure she heard what I said, because she started to sing ‘Carrickfergus’. The ditty was pretty and sad, and I knew instantly why she chose it and was grateful she had. She had an angelic voice although she didn’t use it much as she suffered from crippling stage fright. But there wasn’t a trace of fear in her that day. She sang from the pit of her diaphragm. She sang for me, and the children I never got to watch take a breath.
I glanced up at the twining trees with running perennial roots and willed myself to be as strong as its branches.
‘I . . .’ My mouth curved to speak but my tongue felt like a weight. The words flapped about then floundered like a fish never to be spoken. Trix’s perception kicked in with one look. She paced towards me, her cream clutch perched underarm, eyes wide, lips downturned into a quiver.
‘It’s OK. You did it. Let’s go home, Char.’
THE HIVE — Lincoln Jackson confirms in a tweet that his relationship with Charlotte Goodwin is over
LINCOLN JACKSON @lincolnjackson
22.11
Hey guys. I usually don’t speak about my private life, but my house was broken into recently. No one was hurt although @charlottegoodwin tripped during the incident and suffered minor injuries. We are no longer together romantically but I wish her a speedy recovery and all the best in the future
valandrie — No surprise there he’s been pictured with @heididolak for weeks
sunshine59 — Poor @charlottegoodwin hope she’s recovered from her fall
parkersmith — Good riddance if you ask me
huddleston44 — Another one bites the dust haha #thehive
lucymaddison — No guesses who he left @charlottegoodwin for, I would be so upset if it were me
chestermann — Forget all this nonsense when’s he announcing his next fight @thehive
nateyorkshir77 — @lincolnjackson can I get your leftovers mate? Asking for a friend
skinnygirl3 — Be careful @heididolak you lose them how you get them
kareningrid — This is why you shouldn’t date celebrities @charlottegoodwin
clayforge — I love @thehive
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I
REMEMBERED EVERY WORD THAT WAS spoken. I remembered crying so hard that I couldn’t breathe without hearing a gurgle in the back of my throat. I could have drowned in tears. There were too many tears, and not enough holes to let them out. I remembered Zaheen and Poppy spending the night on Trix’s sofas, unable to go home because they were so worried about me.
The funeral was hard but coming home was much harder.
I recalled Trix getting into bed with me, singing lullabies and stroking my hair until no more tears fell from my eyes and exhaustion plunged me into the numbness of sleep.
It was restless, coming in fits and starts. The pain vibrated through me even as my mind tried to switch off. My body wouldn’t stop moving, twisting in the bed sheets even as the sutures in my scar stretched open, seeping with blood.
I felt like such a fool. Linc’s tweet had gone viral. By the next morning, I had almost five hundred thousand followers. Some offered messages of support, others simply wanted to know why we had broken up.
I had lost two children and my womb, yet Linc described it online as a brief incident where no one was hurt. What was he playing at?
I’d told the police what I had seen that night. I said what had happened when I had spoken to Linc. He didn’t believe me, yet there he was, online, admitting that I wasn’t lying.
There were intruders in Linc’s house that night. They caused the accident.
I had no Linc and no babies. Even the doctors were concerned, urging me to speak to a therapist since I had gone through such an extreme loss.
What the hell did they know about what I had lost?
I had lost my entire family in the space of a few days and then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, I was hit with the news that I would never be able to have children again due to the extensive injuries sustained in my accident.
I was twenty-eight and barren.
The only thing that made any sense was that I didn’t deserve love, no matter how much I yearned for it. Linc neither missed me nor cared, and I felt it with every breath I took.
So I went through the motions. I brushed my teeth, scraped my hair into a ponytail, and put on clothes. All methodically, all without purpose or depth. Like a memory of things I used to do, my brain and body on autopilot, barely able to hold it together.
I didn’t want to cry. It wouldn’t bring them back. Crying was just a release if nothing else.
I hid my bloodshot eyes behind sunglasses and left my bedroom for the first time since the girls had brought me home from the grave site.
I needed to get on with life, not because I wanted to, and not because I was fighting to win, but because when bad things happen the world doesn’t stop.
There are no choices. You either move with the rest of the world or watch it go by. I was getting a little sick of watching and decided it was time to rejoin.
After all, I had absolutely nothing else to lose.
‘Hey, there you are.’ Zaheen stood in the doorway carrying a rattling silver tray adorned with toasted sourdough and tea diluted with too much cream. She’d put ruby-red jam in a tiny cylinder pot on the side with a glass of chilled pressed orange juice and slices of cut-up watermelon prettily placed on a saucer next to it.
‘I thought maybe you would like something to eat. Wait, where the hell are you going?’
‘Are Poppy and Trix back from the station yet?’ I asked, picking up the threads of an overheard conversation but ignoring her question. All four of us were due to give statements at the police station about what happened the night of my accident. We had put it off until after the funeral, but DI Kilby, the lead in the investigation, was getting antsy, eager to get it over and done with. He refused to acknowledge that the missing CCTV footage of that night was significant. System glitches, happens all the time, he said in a passive voice when he came to the hospital dressed in an awful terracotta suit that had grease stains from what I presumed was that morning’s breakfast. He didn’t seem to be concerned with finding out who had broken into Linc’s house. Since I wasn’t the owner of the property, he wasn’t at liberty to discuss particular details with me. Even though those particular details led to the death of my children.
It was a shit show. He kept calling it a ‘late miscarriage’ and shut me down every time I tried to correct him.
I still couldn’t remember what had transpired that night. Not exactly. My brain was a muddle of bloodied images and one tender goodbye. Linc’s manager contacted Trix to inform her, or rather threaten her, that if any of what really happened that night got leaked to the press, Linc would take legal action against all of us.
The NDA followed. It was unforgivable.
It made the tweet he posted all the more of a betrayal. Linc took away my chance to explain to the public what really happened between us. He had silenced me.
‘They’re not back yet, but Trix had her interview, I just spoke to her. She’s on her way home. You didn’t answer my question. Charlotte, where are you going?’
‘Out. I’m going out.’
‘You sure you’re up to that? You know you should be resting.’
The soothing tone in Zaheen’s voice made me feel uncomfortable. I knew she was only trying to help but as she set the tray down onto the floating shelf in the mouth of the hallway and slowly approached, I felt even more sorry for myself.
‘I’ll be fine. The only time I’ve been out since leaving the hospital has been to attend the funeral. I need some air.’
That was a lie. I wanted to be near my children. I was going to visit them.
‘I dunno, Char. Maybe I should go with you.’
‘You can’t hold my hand every second of every day, Zee.’
‘I know I can’t, but you need to rest. You heard what the doctor said.’
I didn’t. But I was sure Poppy had paid attention.
‘If it were me . . .’ She trailed off, not finishing her sentence because it wasn’t her.
It was me.
‘I’m fine, OK? I just need a little air and some time alone without one of you barging in every thirty minutes to check if I’m still breathing.’
‘Can you blame us? We’re concerned. You’re not eating or speaking. You’ve got to tell me how to help you because right now I don’t know how. Please, let me help you.’
I flipped up my T-shirt, revealing the padded bandage that hid the scar from where the glass had penetrated me. There was a perfect circle of blood in the middle that resembled the Japanese flag.
‘Don’t you see? You can’t help me.’
I had only been out of hospital two weeks, my stomach was swollen, my wounds were still fresh, my bruises a watercolour blend of purples and greens. I didn’t recognise myself.
‘What do you want me to say? It’s fine. I’m fine. Whatever I say won’t help so please just leave me alone. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’ I barged past her, the tray shaking in my wake as I slammed the door behind me and was hit with a rush of air.
I didn’t want to have a conversation, I just wanted to get out of the house.
How do you get over losing the only people you’ve ever loved completely and unconditionally? How do you begin to start again when so much has changed? You can’t get over it. You don’t find a way to cope, and it definitely doesn’t get easier. If anything, it gets harder. Going about your life, day by day, with no purpose and no hope of things returning to how they were before. You don’t get the feeling back.
I hated the memories.
I hated the angry scar that had me doubled over, walking like a cripple, a visual and painful reminder of the night I lost everything. Most of all, I hated the memories of Linc. Those images hurt the most, because when I kissed his lips it was because I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to feel our love radiate through me.
It wasn’t an act.
That’s what I missed; that’s why I couldn’t let go.
If I had my eyes open the entire time, I would’ve seen what was really happening, and just how fucked up it was.
Grief is blind. You can’t see past it until you’ve gone through it, and even then, the pain hurts just the same, but, once the fog clears, you’ll see exactly who’s to blame.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I
T HAD BEEN TWO MONTHS since I had worked and even longer since I’d been there in person, but enough was enough. In a snap decision, I decided to go back, because at the very least I could use the distraction and was getting a little sick of the constant hangover gnawing at my brain in the mornings. So, I called the HR department and confirmed a start date. So much had changed over the past eight weeks, especially me, and it felt like it had been so much longer, like it had been years instead of months. I was slimmer but not in the pumping iron, gym kind of way. My diet had essentially been reduced to gin, vodka and red wine, and it had started to take its toll.
My skin was sallow and dry, rougher than it usually was. My eyes had taken on a tinge and my once-white teeth were stained honey-yellow with nicotine, which had also become a new habit. I would have a cigarette the moment I woke up, needing to feel the fullness of smoke weigh down my chest before I could contemplate the day ahead. By lunchtime, I would have downed half a bottle of something cheap and strong and would be working through a rather large bag of weed. Once all that failed, I would take a sleeping tablet so I was knocked out by the time Trix or Zaheen came in to check on me. Poppy was on night shifts but spent the weekends holed up with me in Trix’s house instead of spending time with Jeremy. They were serious now. She was well and truly over Brad.
When had something like this happened?
Although I was moving through life I was still stuck in that moment, paralysed by the night everything changed.
It wasn’t easy but I thought if this was the new normal then I might as well get used to it. It was strange being back, acting as if nothing had happened. No one asked me about Linc, leading me to believe everyone had already discussed the hell out of me and my fucked-up situation. Linc had ensured the truth stayed off the internet by posting that tweet, and the girls wouldn’t divulge what had really happened to another living soul without my say-so.
The secret of the night I lost my twins remained in my head locked away safe, with Linc having the only key.
None of this stopped Zaheen, Poppy and Trix from giving me sideways looks or tripping over their words just to ensure my fragile shell wouldn’t crack from hearing the words ‘baby’ or ‘twins’. They were walking on eggshells, and I just wanted to get back to normal or at the very least some semblance of it. This was another reason I went back to work, to put all their minds at ease. My promotion was just another thing that had been taken from me. HR said it was because I didn’t pass my probation period, but what they really meant was I was no longer Lincoln Jackson’s girlfriend so I wasn’t an asset. Admin it was; the menial daily tasks would be a welcome distraction for my cluttered mind. A small part of me was ready to give the outside world a go, the other part of me just didn’t know where I fitted into it.
I wasn’t Lincoln Jackson’s girlfriend, and I wasn’t a mother. I didn’t know what I’d become. I felt like someone else.
‘How’s your first day back going so far?’ Arianna, a plump, middle-aged woman with silvery hair and a mole on the left side of her chin came bopping towards me with a wide smile on her face. She was always smiling, and everyone in the clinic affectionately called her ‘Mummy’ because she baked cakes and was the only person to refill the biscuit tin. She was the head of the HR department and took her role very seriously. It often left her tightly wound but she would always welcome me with an affectionate smile and a steaming cup of tea. She had no children and was always the first one in and the last one to leave.
I always liked her for that. Warm and melty, she reminded me of butterscotch.
‘Same old. Nothing’s changed around here much,’ I answered, not wanting her to know where my thoughts were as I tapped away vacantly on the keyboard.
‘Tell me about it. This job gets so repetitive, it’s unbelievable. It’s like the slush pipe never stops. There’s always something to do.’
