Deception aka Sanctum

chapter twenty-six

IT’S LATER AND I’VE HAD A DRINK. SHE DIDN’T WANT ME TO FIND that document. That’s the kindest thing I can say, that she tried to keep me from reading it. I’d like to talk to her tonight, point out that I’m so fucking feckless I’ve spent three and a half weeks searching a four-foot-by-four-foot room until I found it. Me and my big stupid face came up here day after day, night after night, until we found it. Susie didn’t kill Gow, but it doesn’t matter as much as it used to. She thought she could save her career by saving Donna.

I was in the kitchen, furious and agitated and drinking a scotch, when Yeni came in and grinned sweetly at Margie. She’s not a secret eater. She does nothing but eat in front of me. I stormed across the kitchen and gave her one of the marzipan bars out of the fridge, secure in the knowledge that I had another two hidden in the frosted butter shelf. Yeni almost clapped her hands and her little button eyes lit up. Margie picked up on the excitement at the table, laughing and bouncing in her high chair. It was like Christmas or something. Yeni said the marzipan was good to her and thank you and she liked. Her English has definitely gotten better recently. Thinking about Margie’s response has made me realize that I’ve been completely self-involved and maudlin for the past month. I must try to pretend I’m happy sometimes, if only for Margie’s sake.

Anyway, Yeni said let’s watch Friends and eat our marzipan, and we trotted through to the front room like a little family and put it on. I didn’t know that they have reruns on at teatime now as well as Thursday nights and Sunday nights and Friday nights. Yeni shared her bar with me, and we three all sat on the sofa, watching and munching and smiling at the jokes. Every now and then Yeni broke off a little taste and fed it to an insistent Margie, who spat it out down her front. She’s so good with her. I’ll give her fantastic references when she goes. She might not want my name on her CV though, if she stays in Britain.

Yeni put Margie to bed and I went up to say good night. Margie didn’t want a story, she wanted to hear her singing tape with the lullabies on it, so I put it on the chunky plastic tape recorder and I sat on the floor next to her crib, thinking about her future. She can’t even talk properly yet and she’s already got so much to overcome. It’s a shame that she’s an only child of two only children. Aunts or uncles or siblings could have shared the experience with her, protected her, diluted the shame. Maybe we should think about moving eventually, leave Britain and go abroad, change our names and cover our tracks. Margie struggled valiantly to stay awake, staggering around the crib like a punch-drunk boxer. She sighed as she fell asleep, and I was frightened for her because she’s so small.

I don’t want to go to the Vale of Leven ever again.