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‘I brought Matt back at midnight.’ His voice is hoarse with exasperation, his fingers spread on outstretched hands. ‘I brought him back and do you know what I did then? Do you? Have a guess – go on. I went looking for her again. I went back out there and I looked for her.’ Spit flies from his mouth. The more he speaks, the angrier he gets, as if with every word he is becoming more aware of what it is I’m asking him. ‘On my own. On my own, yeah? Last man standing, that’s me. No one tried harder than me, Ava, no one. I tried harder than her own fucking father.’
A burning sensation runs the entire length of me, but it’s too late, too late, too late. I should never have texted him. He is our closest friend. My God, what have I done?
‘I was out all bloody night,’ he is saying, throwing up his arms in despair. ‘I was desperate to find her, all right? I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you’re asking me this stuff. Jasmine probably saw the toy another day or that afternoon or something. I don’t know. I don’t know how she knew it, but she did, OK? But it doesn’t mean anything. The girl’s got learning difficulties, for God’s sake. Just think about what you’re saying, Ava!’
Deep wells of regret pool in my chest. I should never have had these thoughts. I should never have acted on them.
I sob into my hands. My nose is running, I can’t see for tears. ‘I just can’t stop myself going over and over it. I can’t bear it, Neil. I can’t bear not to know. And I’ve lost Matt and now I’ve accused you, our friend, our best friend, and I just wish… I wish I didn’t have Fred. I don’t deserve him. I love him, but he shouldn’t be forced to have someone like me for his mother. He shouldn’t have to have this wreck. I don’t deserve him. I’m not good enough, I’m not a good enough mother for him… for any child. Where is Abi, Neil? Where is she? Where is my little girl? I want my little girl.’
I stare out at the water. I see Neil and me on this wall. I see the streets, all the streets I used to walk with Abi, the school I would have taken her to, the parks we used to visit, the shops we used to call at on the way home. I see the slipway, now, in front of me. I see the lock. I see the moon rippling on the black river like a white silk scarf. Is this my daughter’s grave? This black river? Is that where she is?
And then I am running. I am running towards the river.
Twenty-Eight
Ava
The wet embrace of the river. The water climbs up my ankles, my shins, my knees. Soaks heavy on the hem of my nightdress.
‘Ava!’
Neil’s arms clamp themselves around my chest. I stumble; we fall into the deeper water. My head goes under. We come up coughing, flailing. Neil holds me up, holds me to him, drags me back onto the slipway, into the shallows. We are panting, gasping. The sky dims; the moon passes behind a cloud. The water laps gently at the slope.
We part, both sitting soaked through in the cold, wet water.
‘Ava, for Christ’s sake.’ He keeps tight hold of my hands.
‘Let go of me.’ I try to pull my hands from his. ‘Let me go.’
‘No chance.’
‘Let go. It’s over. I have nothing. Nothing left. I want my daughter. I want to go to her.’
With all my weight, I lean away from him, dig my heels into the slimy floor. I get one hand free. I reach for the river, but in a strange kind of dance, he pulls me back into his arms and holds me tight, too tight; my ribcage hurts.
‘Ava, come on. Don’t be stupid. You have Fred. You have Matt. I know you don’t think you do, but you do. He loves you. You still have a family, that’s more than… it’s more than enough. Matt loves you. He loves you more than anything in the world.’
Wewd, I think. That’s how Neil says the word ‘world’. I am soaking wet. I am sitting in the Thames. My husband’s best friend sayswewdnot world.Smow wewd. Small world.
I begin to laugh.
‘Ava?’ He lets go of my hands but grips me by the biceps, at arm’s length. He looks frightened. Of me.
‘You rugby-tackled me,’ I say, and laugh and laugh and laugh. I laugh my head off; I cannot stop. My bones are jelly. I am a rag doll, thrown aside. I am Mr Sloth, in the gutter, mulched leaves on my head.
I want to lie back in the water. I want to float away.
‘Ava.’ My name is a whispered plea. ‘Ava, come out, darlin’. Come out of the water. Please.’
I let him take my hand. I let him pull me up.
Sober with shock, I sit on the wall. He has put his coat around me. It is dry; he must have taken it off before he ran after me into the water. I am laughing. I am crying. I am both. I am neither.
Neil is standing in front of me. He is holding out the hem of his T-shirt. Beneath, the curve of his beer belly, his thick, solid torso. ‘Here.’
I dip my face to his T-shirt and wipe my nose and eyes.
After a moment, he sits beside me.
