Claire was heating up from the inside out. Christ! Miriam must have told Anthony about the moths. She didn’t blame her. One couldn’t expect an eight year old to be a reliable keeper of secrets. She wished that she had a fan to cool herself down. She was starting to feel nauseous. There was a flutter in her stomach and a slight lurching sensation. Was that the babies or nerves? David Sherwood wouldn’t leave the damn moths alone. He was claiming that she’d been too distracted with her new television career to notice that there was a problem and by the time she had realised, harmful chemicals which could have been damaging to their daughter’s health needed to be used to clear the pestilence.
Claire longed to stand up and defend herself.
It wasn’t like that. The moths were before I even had my first screen test and it’s bloody hard to work out there’s a problem until it’s already out of control. The pest removal man said as much himself.
Instead she was forced to remain impassive and just listen. She feared there was worse to come and she was right. David Sherwood was clearly only at the beginning of carrying out the most extraordinarily unfair character annihilation of her.
“Recently the Respondent learned from his daughter that, little over a month ago when she was staying with the Applicant and her fiancé in San Diego, they visited the San Diego Zoo Safari Park. The Applicant’s fiancé has an eight year old daughter and all four of them went to the safari park where the two little girls, age nine and eight respectively, were allowed to go zip-lining. May I state for the record, Your Honour, that the rules and regulations of the park clearly stipulate that children must be a minimum of ten years old to go zip-lining. The fact that their children were underage and the two adults still allowed them to take part in this activity shows both reckless disregard for rules as well as reckless disregard for safety and surely points to the fact that the Applicant and her fiancé are irresponsible parents………
Claire’s stomach started churning. She tried to take deep, long, calming breaths, but the deeper she breathed, the sicker she felt. Her eyes began to dart manically, wondering if there was a bowl nearby or whether she might dare make a dash for the bathroom. The more David Sherwood spoke, the worse she felt. Thankfully he’d stopped speaking and was instead quietly addressing the court usher, who duly nodded and then walked to the nearest wall to dim the lights. Her ex-husband’s barrister went to a table next to the press box and turned on a machine which looked a bit like a photocopier. He stood tall, flamboyantly swishing his black gown before recommencing:
“Furthermore Your Honour, the Respondent had the good fortune to witness firsthand the type of absent parenting we can expect from the Applicant and her fiancé. If you look at this picture here….
David Sherwood pressed a button and a magnified image of Miriam and Martha swimming in the pool outside Lily Beach came up on a projector screen to the right. The girls’ faces had been blurred to protect their anonymity and the picture was a wide shot which included the entire poolside area, complete with the surrounding sun beds.
“You can see clearly that the two girls age nine and eight, were left swimming in the pool unsupervised. As the photo shows, there is not an adult in sight. In fact, there is nobody else at all in sight.”
Claire’s vision was deteriorating. She held her tongue, but she wanted to explain, to stand up and point with a rod to the gym in the photo.
Jonah was in that gym, watching the girls with an eagle eye. We are not foolish parents. He was as close to them as if he’d been on one of those sun beds. Plus I was watching the girls through
the kitchen window
. Stars were forming to the side of her sightline, right and left, and everything in front of her was turning into a fuggy blur. She was gulping frantically for air, like a fish caught in a net. She leaned forward to fetch her glass of water, spilling a little as she wobbled it towards her lips. She was feeling ever so slightly better when David Sherwood clicked a button and replaced the picture of the girls swimming with another image. It was of Jonah swinging back a tennis racket. Claire looked towards Jonah worriedly. It was one thing for Anthony to attack
her.
It was another to attack her fiancé. Jonah didn’t deserve any of this. He’d been nothing short of wonderful to Miriam. Jonah was raising an eyebrow, a spark in his eye as he slightly nodded, as if understanding something more clearly. What was it that now made more sense to him?
“I’m going to show you a series of photos,” David Sherwood QC clarified, “which will show you the most shocking of incidents where the Applicant’s fiancé is deliberately harming the Applicant’s daughter.”
He clicked through the photos fast, showing a story rather like a flip book, where pages are turned so rapidly that the pictures appear animated. Jonah holding back his racket; Jonah swinging it forward; the strings on the racket meeting a tennis ball; the ball whacking Miriam in the arm; Miriam’s blurred face crying out in pain, her cheeks pinched in a wince, her mouth so wide you could practically see her tonsils. Damn Anthony, damn him, damn him, damn him. Poor Jonah, this just wasn’t fair. He was turning to her, taking her hand in his, a look of concern on his face. She really couldn’t breathe now. The more she tried, the more starved of oxygen she became. Her eyes felt like two round pebbles popping out of their sockets. She was going to throw up. No, not here, not in front of everybody, please.
Can someone
g
et me a
bowl and quick?
More and more stars began to dance psychedelically in front of her and then they started to spin and spin and spin. “Duchess, are you ok?” she thought she heard Jonah ask. And then her world turned black.
CLAIRE
What’s this tube in my nose?
Claire’s fingers toyed with the stringy-like plastic glued to the inside of her nostril, lightly at first and then more urgently when it wouldn’t come out. She tried to take in her surrounds, eyelashes flickering feebly, but a fog of fatigue made it impossible to lift her lids. Instead she allowed her fingers to trail south. There was something tightly wrapped round her stomach, too tight, it was suffocating. It was a thick rough belt with ridges in the material. It felt almost like canvas.
Where am I?
She tried to speak, but her lips wouldn’t cooperate and the words remained lodged at the back of her throat.
“She’s exhausted. Why don’t you go and grab yourself a cup of tea and perhaps she’ll come round in an hour or so.”
The voice was female. Who the hell was she?
Where
the hell was she?
“I think I’ll stay here if that’s alright with you.”
The voice was male, accent American. It was Jonah. She tried to say his name. She mouthed the word, aching for her diaphragm to do the job it was designed to do. No sound came out. What is
wrong
with me? A hand took hers. For a strong grip the touch was surprisingly gentle. A thumb lightly caressed her knuckles.
“Shall I hold her other hand?”
It was a little girl’s voice. Miriam. Oh darling, yes, please hold my hand.
“I’m sure your Mom would love that.”
A chair scraped along the floor and then something heavy landed next to where Claire was lying, brushing her leg. Afterwards a delicate little palm found its mother’s counterpart, fingers wriggling to interlock with hers.
“Will she be ok?” asked Miriam, worry tingeing her voice.
“Of course she will, honey. Your Mom’s just very tired.”
“Are the babies ok?”
The babies – is that thing round my waist hurting my babies?
Someone’s got to save my babies.
Her body felt weak, nothing was working as it should, but a mother’s job is to be strong. She
had
to be strong. Instead of trying to open her eyes she screwed them even tighter shut, summoning every ounce of strength in her body towards her vocal chords.
Come on, you can do this
.
“Are the babies ok?”
The voice she heard didn’t sound like hers at all. It was thin and raspy, a waft of nothingness in the air. A lump landed heavily on the other side of her body and then she felt somebody lean over her and kiss her forehead, stroking her hair.
“Shush baby,” said Jonah. “You’re fine. Everything’s fine. You’re in hospital and the babies are doing great.”
Phew, thank goodness for that. Tears of relief started to build behind her closed eyes, the moisture acting as a catalyst for the lids to blink and open. Jonah and Miriam blurred into vision, sitting on the bed, one on each side of her. Why was she here? She didn’t understand.
“What happened?”
Her voice was diminutive and frail. Had there been an accident? Was she involved in a car crash? Jonah grinned. Good, if he was smiling things couldn’t be that bad.
“You passed out in court. It was very dramatic. An ambulance brought you here.”
The court case, oh God, now she remembered.
“How long have I been here for?”
“Twenty-four hours.”
Twenty-four hours? How could a whole day pass by with her not knowing about it? And if that much could happen with her being unawares, what else could have happened?
“Did we win?”
Perhaps the case had been adjourned. Perhaps when she was fit to leave hospital the whole horror of it would recommence.
Jonah’s smile disappeared.
“No honey, we didn’t win.”
Claire turned her attention to Miriam, who was looking at her with such love and concern that she decided to let the subject of the court case go. She didn’t want Miriam to become worried about any of this when what really mattered was that all her children were well.
“What’s this?” she asked, tugging at the tube in her nose.
“The doctors put you on oxygen for a while just to play it safe.”
“And this?” she asked, pointing at the belt around her waist.
“That is to monitor the babies’ heartbeats, just to check that all is well.”
“But all
is
well?” there was panic in her voice.
“All is well,” he reassured, stroking her hair. “Don’t let anything get to you. It’s not worth it.”
How could she not let this get to her? They didn’t win, which now meant that she would have to go to the States to start her new job without Miriam. Goddamn it, she wasn’t going to leave Miriam with Anthony when she went. No sir. Miriam could stay with her grandma instead. Or maybe she’d just have to give up on that job altogether. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be.
“I’m going to the toilet,” Miriam announced.
Miriam hopped onto her feet and swished through the blue curtains pulled around her mother’s bed. She was clearly familiar with the surrounds, as if she’d been to the restroom several times here in the last twenty-four hours and now knew exactly where to go.
“I knew it,” said Jonah quietly, once Miriam had gone. “I knew something was up. I never told you at the time because I didn’t want to scare you, but I swear, the day that that lovely ex-husband of yours took all those photos of me playing tennis with Miriam and the girls swimming in the pool, I’d
known
that someone was spying on us. I’d felt it. I just hadn’t realised who it was. I should have put two and two together.”
Claire gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth, remembering those photos in court and how Anthony had tried to make it look like Jonah was some kind of hideous child- abuser.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologised, shaking her head. “I feel so bad.”
“Shush,” said Jonah. “Don’t worry about it. I’m made of sterner stuff than that.”
He dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out an envelope. It looked very official, with the name of a law firm on the front:
Slaughter & Jay
.
“This came for you this morning,” he said. “It looks important. I had to sign for it.”
Claire had had enough of lawyers for a lifetime. She didn’t really want to open the letter. She wanted to dispose of it as quickly as possible, to toss it in the bin. Lawyers, courts, they all spelled bad news.
“It’s probably more rubbish from Anthony,” she pushed the letter away. “I don’t want to know.”
Jonah put the letter into her hand.
“I showed this to Benedict Pendleton this morning, just in case it was relevant. He said it had nothing to do with our hearing or Anthony whatsoever. So I think you should open it.”
Claire tried to open the letter, but there was a cannula inserted into a vein on the top of her hand and it was uncomfortable.
“Why have they put this in me?”
“Apparently you were dehydrated as well as exhausted so they’ve been pumping you full of minerals and liquids via a drip.”
Claire turned and saw a bag of clear fluid hanging from a hook behind her.
“You open the letter,” she instructed, handing it back.
Jonah tore roughly at the envelope and pulled out a cream sheet of paper. He started reading it to himself, his eyes widening as his eyes scanned along the lines.
“Stop that,” Claire barked, smiling warmly. “Either give it to me or read it out loud.”
Jonah cleared his throat.
Dear Ms Jackson
I do hope this letter finds you well.
I am the Executor of the final will and testament of the recently deceased Orlando Goodman. I am pleased to inform that you have been named as the beneficiary of the recently deceased’s maisonette in Kings Cross. I met with my client just a few days before his passing and he was keen that you, over all the other beneficiaries, should learn this news swiftly. He also wanted you to know not to feel compelled to live in the property. You are at liberty to rent it or sell it so that proceeds can best be utilised to enhance life with your soon-to-expand family.
My client expressed his immense gratitude for all you have done for him – he was most fond of you. Please do get in touch as soon as possible to let me know how to proceed.
Yours sincerely
Jonathan Finger
Claire held out her hand and Jonah placed the letter in it. She read it once again, to herself and a couple of rogue tears tumbled down her cheeks.
“Wow,” she said quietly.
“Don’t upset yourself,” said Jonah.
Claire shook her head.
“I won’t,” she promised.
This was so unexpected. She always had such a soft spot for Orlando and it moved her that he felt the same way. The blue curtains swished open and Miriam poked her head through.
“What’s that?” her daughter asked.
Claire folded up the letter.
“This is a gift from Willy Wonka,” she said, opening up her arms for Miriam to fall into.
“What, a golden ticket?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“Yes,” Claire replied, “kind of.”