And then I’m climbing unsteadily up a tree next to the house, flowerpot in my hand. I pray I don’t fall. I’m not close to the window, but I’m close enough. I pull my arm back and lob the flowerpot at the window.
The glass smashes and Beth recoils, falling to the ground. For a moment I think that I’ve hit her, that I might have knocked her out. If I have, then she’ll die in there. And this time it will be my fault.
I watch the window, desperately hoping she’ll reappear.
I just wish someone would walk by. Anybody. Then they could help.
But then I see a face at the window. Relief floods me as she pulls herself to her feet. She climbs through the broken glass onto the window ledge, shards piercing her white T-shirt and bloodstains spreading through the material. In the distance I hear sirens. Beth sits unsteadily on the ledge for a second and then the fire bursts into the room behind her and she pushes herself off, landing in a tangled heap in the garden below.
Epilogue: 6 months later
Danielle
I stare down at my father’s grave. It’s become more weathered over the years and now it looks permanent, like it belongs here. Not like when it was sparkling new and stood out against the grassy landscape. Everything has moved on, but he still lies there, under the earth. More time has passed with him buried in the ground than the time he spent with me.
The tree a few metres away has grown, its roots forcing up the sides of the crumbling graves next to it, making the stones uneven in the earth. I go to sit under its shade, feeling my bump, my baby wriggling inside me. The baby my father will never meet. I feel the fresh air on my skin, breathe in the peace and quiet.
Today’s the kind of sunny day you should share with other people. Peter had offered to come here with me, but I wanted to be on my own. I need to be by myself, before I move on, try my best to start my own happy family, to give my baby all the love in the world. My mother won’t be involved. She’ll be in prison for a long time. I don’t intend to visit.
There are no flowers already on the grave today. Not like previous years, when there had always been fresh ones. I used to wonder who brought them. I thought perhaps it was his sister. But whoever it was, they must have given up.
Undoing the string on my flowers, I stand and pour water into the vase embedded in the grave and space the stems out neatly.
A car pulls into the graveyard and I glance up. A figure gets out. Brown curly hair. It’s her. Beth.
*
Beth
She’s already here. Just like I hoped she would be. For years, I’ve tried to avoid her. I’d always bring my flowers to the grave the day before the anniversary so that I didn’t bump into her. But it doesn’t matter anymore. She knows who I am now.
Since the fire at my house she’s withdrawn her complaint about my counselling and her complaint to social services. She’s even spoken to Richard to explain. He wanted to report her to the police for her behaviour, but I persuaded him to let it go. She has just as much dirt on me as I have on her. I behaved unprofessionally towards her and I followed her. Unofficially, we’ve reached a truce.
I get out of the car and walk to the passenger side to get my stick and the bunch of flowers. Since my fall from the window during the fire, I haven’t walked so well, but I’m hoping the stick is just temporary and I’ll eventually be able to walk without a limp.
I make my way across the grass to the grave. It’s a sunny day, and I feel the warmth of the rays on my face. I imagine Nick beside me for a second, but then I push the thought away. I can’t go on like this, thinking about him all the time. I need to live my own life.
I hobble up to her. ‘Hi, Danielle.’
‘Hi.’ She looks at me as if she expects me to say something else. We haven’t spoken since the fire. Instead I walk to the head of the grave, put down my stick and then lay down my flowers in front of hers. I lean down and kiss