a turn for the worse. I took a seat on one of the benches in the middle of the concourse. A few minutes later and a couple wheeling a pram sat down next to me. Lifting the baby out, the woman cradled the child in her arms and offered it a bottle. The baby was hungry and, before long, the formula was gone. The woman took the bottle away and the baby’s mouth went slack. As its eyes flickered towards sleep, she placed her hand on its chest and reaching down, gave it a kiss on the forehead. I remembered how it used to feel when I held Lauren like that. Her tiny ribcage and her heartbeat inside, fast and frantic, like a bee caught in a glass.
That had been at the beginning of her life. The end had been quite different.
Lauren had spent her last few hours in the boot of a Ford Mondeo. While she was in there she had wet herself, soaking the pink summer shorts she was wearing. The police knew this – that she had wet herself in there and not at one of the other locations she had been taken to – because the amount of urine that had seeped into the fabric lining underneath her was ‘too much to suggest simple transfer’.
She’d been found wearing a white sandal on her right foot. When questioned in court, her murderer had explained that the other shoe had fallen off in his struggle to get the boot closed without trapping her fingers. This had confused me. Still did. I couldn’t understand why, when he was about to do to her what he did, he had worried himself about that.
The throbbing in my stomach was getting stronger. I felt like I was going to be sick. Gingerly, I got to my feet. Hit by another jolt of pain, I doubled over. Breathing through the nausea, I staggered back towards the automatic doors, clutching my side. Outside, I made it as far as the grassy picnic area. I cried out and a few people looked in my direction, concerned. I gave them a wave, trying to let them know I was OK but then the pain ripped through me again and I slumped to my knees. I felt the thick, telltale wet between my legs that usually signified the start of my period and then someone was at my side, lifting me up.
‘Are you OK? Are you hurt?’ they asked, taking my hand.
But I couldn’t speak. I was falling, everything going dark.
Chapter Forty-Five
One week later and Mum had put me up in my old bedroom for the duration of my convalescence.
Turns out I was pregnant. Only five or six weeks along, but still, pregnant all the same. Problem was, the baby hadn’t taken root in the right place. The surgeon had had to remove one of my fallopian tubes, although the other remained intact.
When I came round the doctor explained what had happened. I hadn’t taken the news well. After that it had been decided it was probably better for me not to be left alone, at least until I’d recovered. At first, Jason had stayed home, but we couldn’t afford for him to miss too many classes, and so, after a few days, he drove me to Kent to be looked after by Mum and Dad.
My room was painted pink and grey and one wall was entirely taken up by mirrored wardrobes. I got out of bed and went over to the wardrobe nearest the window. In the week since I’d been out of hospital, pale blue, almost purple, shadows had appeared under my eyes. I moved closer. There was now such a thick, uniform line of grey rooting out from the top of my fringe it looked like I’d had it dip-dyed that way on purpose.
I turned away from the mirror, towards the window. White plastic pots filled with geraniums dotted the patio. The tiny flecks of mica in the patio concrete were winking in the sun. I’d been cooped up for days. I wanted to go for a walk.
Opening the bedroom door a touch, I heard Mum and Dad in the kitchen down the hall, preparing lunch. A thick fug of carrot, potato, cabbage and roast pork filled the air and I could hear the clinking of cutlery being set on the table. It would be easier if I left without telling them.
Closing the front gate behind me, I decided to do a lap round