Chapter 38
“Nicky?” Emma sat up too quickly and her vision spun. She listed, putting her feet on the rug and Rohan took her shoulders in his strong hands.
“Not Nicky, no. Where is he?”
“Allaine’s. Is it Christopher then? What’s wrong?” Emma rubbed furiously at the tightness of her eyelids.
“No! Why do you care about him?” Rohan let go and stepped back as though Emma was contaminated in some way. She leaned forward for a moment and then exhaled. Rohan looked startled when she turned away from him and lay back down, curling herself up into a ball and dragging the covers back over herself. Her jeans felt crunchy and uncomfortable and she contemplated taking them off, but didn’t have the energy. “Emma!” Rohan sounded testy.
“If nothing’s wrong with Nicky or Christopher, then there is nobody else I give a damn about anymore. So just go and let me catch up on my sleep.” She made contented little moans and pushed her face into the pillow to block out the light. “What time is it?”
“Still Saturday. It’s two o’clock.”
“Ok.” Emma’s voice was muffled by the pillow. “Nicky does this play thing on Friday next week and then it’s the end of term. We’ll head off on Saturday. I checked my bank account earlier and I got a benefits payment so I can afford the train back up to Lincoln. I’ll pay you back everything I borrowed so don’t worry. You can have your life back...” Emma looked up as the bedroom door clicked shut. She was about to thank Rohan for letting her stay but he didn’t give her the chance. She rolled over onto her back for a while and sought to repair the rubbled walls of her heart, building the protective barrier piece by piece. The need to close her battered psyche off from Rohan’s charms seemed imperative and Emma’s emotional fragility mocked her with the fake bravado she used on him earlier.
After another hour of fitful and unrefreshing sleep, Emma woke and used the bathroom, washing her face in cold water to reduce the puffiness of her eyes and the greyness of her pallor. Downstairs, she ran water into the kettle and stood over it while it boiled. Movement and the scrape of a chair came from across the hallway and the sound of Rohan talking on the telephone in the dining room. Emma steeled herself to behave and keep control of her feelings for just one more week.
The door creaked as Emma poked her head around it, making a ‘T’ sign with her fingers to ask him if he wanted a drink. He nodded and gave her a small smile and Emma withdrew her head. “But they’ve charged her. They say there’s strong evidence,” Rohan said to the person on the other end of the phone call.
Emma raised her eyebrows and shrugged. “Nothing to do with me,” she whispered to Farrell as he popped his head up from his paws and thumped his tail on the squashy bed. She made a mug of tea, adding the milk and sugar Rohan liked, taking it to him in a demure waitress style approach. He sat at the dining table with his head in his hands, the silent phone laying on the wooden surface in front of him. His blonde hair stuck up on his head and beard growth pressed through his skin like a covering of bristly grass. He sighed heavily and as Emma laid the mug on the table he grabbed her sore wrist, holding it tightly in his bunched fingers. When he turned his eyes on her they were an odd shade of glittering blue, like a misty morning sky.
“Ow!” Emma tugged at her hand, pain evident in her face. “Get off! That hurts.”
Rohan released her and stood, holding her by her forearms and examining her wrists one at a time. “Why didn’t you say something?” The bruising was appalling from the handcuffs, comprising every shade of ugly in the colour wheel. A long cut over her left wrist bore testament to their tightness.
Emma snatched her arms back. “Oh, what, so you could get your back street abortionist to take a look after he finished illegally stitching you up?”
Rohan’s face fell and he sat down at the table in front of her, the gauze over his wound protruding through his tee shirt and making a jagged line along the ridge of his muscular shoulder. “I’m sorry.” His voice was soft and the apology sounded genuine and dripped with inner agony. Emma bit back the spiteful retort, alarmed by the paleness of Rohan’s honey coloured skin and the dullness of his eyes. He stroked the handle of his mug with a long forefinger. “I deserved everything you said earlier and I understand you have to leave. I won’t ask you for anything, Em; you have every right to refuse. But I would like to make an allowance for you to bring Nicky up. I’d like you to be able to live better than you’ve been forced to.”
Emma took a step back, feeling the sense of being cut off as keenly as if he knifed her. She felt the dreadful searing pain in a heart which had always dreamed of being reunited with her soulmate, accompanied by the dull ache in her stomach. She had lied to herself; nobody else would ever be good enough after Rohan Andreyev. The air in the room was laden with the sorrow of both adults and Emma gulped, reaching out against her better judgement and touching Rohan’s arm. He looked down at her fingers and then cupped them with his other hand. Bringing them up to his lips, he kissed them. Then let go.
Emma’s heart cracked, causing a physical tearing pain in her chest. She left the room quickly and scooped up her boots, purse and an extra sweater, ignoring the excited dog who wanted to go with her. The front door clicked behind her as the first sob escaped. Emma stood on the doormat undercover of the porch and pushed reluctant arms into her jumper. The mat felt prickly under her socks, the cold seeping immediately into her toes. With an effort of will, Emma squashed her feet into the new boots, expecting to feel the chill entering through the myriad holes. It didn’t and it was weird to be able to feel her feet on such a cold day. She let the gate slam behind her as the sickness returned, permeating her spirit as well as her stomach and she used the brisk exercise to alleviate the pain. As she turned once along the street to cross the road, she saw the slender figure of Felicity bounding along towards the house and felt her resolve crumble further. Emma’s heart felt shattered, but as always, Rohan would be ok.
Town was busy for late Saturday afternoon and darkness enclosed her as Emma searched for the shop she needed. Her cash card passed through the machine without incident thanks to the small allowance from the government, but she still held her breath as she punched in the numbers and waited for the satisfying beep to confirm it hadn’t been declined.
Emma hid the small package in the side pocket of her fleece, feeling the hardness of it against her left breast as she sat on a bench under the protection of St Dionysius Church. “I suppose you’ve seen many stupid women like me?” she asked the ancient structure under her breath, feeling false warmth from the yellow glow of its floodlit stone. The church remained silent, but Emma drew comfort from its presence, a symbol of sanity in a crazy age.
On her way home she stood under the shelter of the old school house, closing her eyes and taking off her gloves to stroke the solid oak beams. Her archivist’s mind sought connection with the citizens of Market Harborough, long since dead and buried in the churchyard or scattered on the green rolling hills of its perimeter. She sought their wisdom, but sensed only emptiness and loss. Emma felt the warm tear run down her freezing cheek as she pressed her lips against the ancient roughness of the wood. “I’ve allowed him to destroy me again,” she whispered to the men and women of old, knowing inwardly that God would never allow them to hear. “I shouldn’t have come. Everything’s worse. What am I going to do?”
Nobody answered, but Emma’s desperate confession didn’t feel as though it fell on deaf ears. A fragile thread of inner strength trailed from her heart to her head and gave her a modicum of confidence. A warmth flooded from nowhere and Emma glanced back at the stone of the church behind her. It remained silent, traffic flowing past with glittering headlights, unconcerned for the plight of the woman who loitered under the old school house clutching one of its stilts. But Emma felt the stirring of new life and acceptance; from a God she always believed turned his face away from her in disgust.
With renewed vigour Emma marched home, energy coursing through her body a
nd helping her make plans for the future. It would be ok. Everything would be ok.
She fumbled under cover of the porch as a light December rain began. Her woolly gloves made retrieval of the door key impossible and she removed her right one with a sigh of exasperation. Parked cars lined the street on either side, but the one next to Rohan’s front gate clicked as though only recently left there.
Emma stepped into the wall of heat from the central heating, the nausea pushing back into her consciousness. The hallway lights were on and the glare hurt her eyes after the darkness of outside. Emma put her boots in the hall cupboard and padded through to the kitchen. Her empty cup stood in the sink, the stain of her cold tea just a patch near the plug hole.
“Hey.” Rohan’s voice sounded flat as he came up behind her. Emma felt his proximity and stiffened, embarrassed as she realised the presence of the other man who followed him into the kitchen. “This is Craig. He’s my lawyer.”
Emma nodded to the middle aged man who leaned his backside against the fridge. Her eyes cast around for Felicity, relieved when she didn’t appear. Emma allowed her heart to unclench a little. Craig was of average height, coffee skinned and green eyed; handsome in an unusual kind of way. He stepped forward and offered his hand, his mouth giving an upward tilt of approval. “Nice to meet you, Mrs Andreyev.”
Emma opened her mouth to contest the title but saw Rohan wince out of the corner of her eye and released the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Craig. Can I get you some tea?”
“Thank you.” Craig gave his order, black hair running to grey in his sideburns as he declared his penchant for sugary tea. Emma went through the machinations of boiling the kettle and preparing the mugs, listening half-heartedly to the conversation which continued behind her.
“So what now?” Rohan asked, accompanied by a sigh as he leaned against the sink, arms folded.
“She already spoke to the police,” Craig said. “She never asked for a lawyer so the damage is done. She waived her right to a phone call and the police were uncharacteristically nice to have fetched you. They say they have witness statements and firm evidence she’s been doing this for a while. I don’t see any way for her to get out of this now; I’m being honest with you. I can challenge the confession on the grounds of her age, possible manipulation of someone for whom English is a second language, but...oh, thank you.” Craig took the mug of tea with a nod.
Emma looked to Rohan for clarification, but he kept his head down, chewing on his bottom lip in deep thought. “What is this? What’s happened?” Guilt assailed her at the memory of Rohan trying to wake her up earlier. He came to her for genuine help and she pushed him away. Emma squeezed the bridge of her nose with her fingers, her own worries temporarily forgotten. She looked at Rohan until he raised his head and met her brown eyes. “I’m sorry...about before. I’m interested. Tell me.”
“My mother’s been arrested,” Rohan said, the words obviously giving him pain. “She’s confessed to murdering my father and...”
“And mine!” Emma’s statement rapped out like an accusation and she gripped the edge of the counter in an effort not to fall. The room spun like a fairground ride and she heard the tiny moan escape her lips as though it came from someone else. She fixed her eyes on Rohan’s, seeking a static point in the room as understanding flooded her. “You’re trying to get her off!” Emma let go of the cold surface and stared at her husband, aghast at his misplaced loyalty. “Again, you screw me over because of your mother. Will you never learn, Rohan? She’s a murderer. Anton knew it, I know it and even Christopher saw it. Are you really so deluded that you can’t?” Emma turned angry eyes on the lawyer, who watched her with his mug half way to his lips. “Have they taken her herb garden from the balcony outside her apartment?”
The lawyer shrugged and looked doubtful, shooting a nervous look towards Rohan before shaking his head in a tiny motion. “They only have her confession but she wisely stopped talking so they have no hard evidence, no.”
Emma’s husband looked disgusted at her. “Geez, Em! It’s just an herb garden, with parsley and stuff she cooks with. I bought her new compost for it a few weeks ago. Did you do this? Did you call the cops on her and finally get your wish?”
Emma’s eyes flashed with danger as the lawyer cleared his throat. “Er, no actually. A number of elderly male residents who grew attached to your mother, seem to have died. She cooks for them and looks after them when they get sick. It’s the residential home who called the police.”
“They’re old men!” Rohan roared. “I’ve met them all, decrepit, elderly men. It’s a residential home! People buy apartments there so they can enjoy their last few years with help and...and...you know, friendship! They die there because it’s their last home.”
The lawyer shook his head. “Rohan, the best defence against the murder charge is to plead insanity.”
Rohan didn’t let him continue. “Are you kidding me?”
Craig sighed and placed his drink on the counter. “I wish I was, my friend. You need to let me intervene and ask for psychological reports, sooner rather than later.”
“No, no!” Rohan put the heels of his hands into his eyes and pressed hard. “She wouldn’t kill anyone. She’s been a good mother. You don’t understand. In Russia when I was so sick all the time, she took care of me. She’s kind and gentle. Why can’t you see that?” He pulled his hands away and begged Emma with his vibrant blue eyes. “I know you felt she didn’t like you, Emma, but don’t you remember? When you caught all those stomach upsets, she made you nice drinks and bought stuff to help you, didn’t she?”
Emma shook her head sadly. “She was my stomach upset, Ro. Anton stopped me taking anything from her eventually. He told me about your little sister and her mysterious ailments, undiagnosed by any physician in Russia. He told me how it broke you when she died.” Emma moved to his side and put her hand up to Rohan’s face, feeling the scratchiness under her fingers. “Remember how clumsy Anton was at meal times when she left us to eat by ourselves? All those drinks of yours he spilled and the plates of food he knocked over and then gave you his? He went without for you, Rohan, for you. He protected us, Ro. We cleaned up the mess because we were terrified of her, yes. But also because she needed to think you ate or drank what she prepared. Because of Anton’s incredible sacrifice she decided you were immune and moved her attention to him and me. Anton was a master of deception and I learned never to touch what she made, but I wasn’t as good as him at faking. When you went in the army, we knew you were safe. When Anton left and there was just me and her, it was harder to avoid her potions. She fed me her herbal crap and I was sick a few times. Then I got clever at not taking it. I learned to pretend, just like Anton did.”
Emma ran her hand down Rohan’s face, agony spilling from her eyes. “We married and I thought you’d take me away from her. I thought you understood, but how could you after all those years of Anton shielding you? You deployed to Afghanistan and I got so sick. Alanya believed my morning sickness was caused by her poisons and she was tender and kind, sitting with me when I couldn’t manage school because of the nausea and trying to fill me with her ‘cures’. I faked drinking them, but then the bump started to show and she had this dawning realisation. I saw in her eyes how much she’d like my innocent baby to torture and knew I needed to get away. She caught me packing and dragged me to the doctor for an abortion. She’s damaged, Ro, crazy. I was waiting for you to come back from this last job and then I intended to leave. Your mother and that witch Felicity are as insane as each other. I can’t work at the school or live in this town, I was kidding myself. They’ve both taken a turn at threatening me. You definitely know how to surround yourself with crazy!”
Emma withdrew her fingers from Rohan’s cheek and looked into his brokenness through the sad blue of his eyes. “Anton’s no longer here to speak for himself and even when he was, nobody listened. I’m sorry, Ro, but I will testify against Alanya for everything she’s done. She’ll never have acce
ss to my son, not as long as I have breath in my body.” Emma smiled sadly at the stunned lawyer, extending her hand as she headed towards the door. He took her fingers in his, confusion in his face. “When we meet again, you’ll probably be cross examining me in the witness stand,” she said with forced politeness. Craig stood up straight and looked down at her, admiration sneaking through his brown eyes. “I’ve waited years for this and it’s been a great weight on my heart.” Emma touched her breast bone with fluttering fingers, subconsciously emphasising her point. She smiled at Craig. “I wouldn’t take this case, if I were you. There are no winners.”
She left then, donning her boots and sweater and heading back out into the cold. Allaine opened the front door on the first knock. “Hey, gorgeous! Oh.” She peered at Emma’s ashen face in the porch light. “You don’t look any better than earlier. Couldn’t you sleep?”
Emma removed her outdoor clothing and hurled herself down on the living room sofa, waiting patiently while Allaine made her a drink. “I’m so thirsty,” Emma complained, guzzling the hot liquid. “I’ve wasted two cups of tea this afternoon already. Where are the kids?”
“Will took them to the movies in Leicester. They’ll be ages yet. I bet he springs for fast food on the way home too.”
“Nicky’s never been to the movies,” Emma smiled. “And we never afford fast food. He’ll think it’s Christmas!”
“It nearly is.” Allaine settled on the sofa next to Emma and sat sideways so she could see her. “Will’s missing our sons, I think. Having Nicky reminds him of what it was like having little boys to take to soccer games or rough around with. Kaylee’s a proper girly girl. That’s what happens when an unexpected one pops out. Emma what’s wrong?”
Emma told her about Alanya Harrington’s arrest and Allaine whistled through her teeth. “Sounds like a form of Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy. The sufferer manufactures ailments for their children but really it’s them making the child sick. They commonly use poison, forms of bloodletting, even suffocation in severe cases. It has a high mortality rate for children. It’s like child abuse, well, it is literally child abuse. But often undetected. I did heaps of testing in the lab, trying to work out how they’d done it. One woman used to feed her poor toddler salt through a syringe. He died a very painful death.”
“Oh, God!” Emma pleaded, putting her hands over her ears. “Please don’t tell me anymore. It makes me feel ill.”
“Sorry.” Allaine pulled Emma’s hands down and clasped them in hers. “This must be awful for you. Did you know she was doing it?
Emma nodded. “Rohan’s father was some kind of envoy when Britain became more amenable to Russia in the 1990s. From what Anton told me, this posting was meant to be a fresh start for the family after their little sister’s death in Russia from some mysterious virus. They came over here and settled in London and then the boys began to get sick; mainly stomach complaints and diarrhoea. Anton had it worse than Rohan but they both had bouts of it. Then the father developed some kind of odd ailment and pulled in every specialist in London. He died with no diagnosis and Alanya received permission to stay here. They shifted north to Lincoln and turned up at our church, where my widowed father was the rector. I never understood why a Russian Orthodox woman would wind up at an Anglican church in the back of beyond, but before my father died, we had this odd conversation. It seems he met her once in St Paul’s Cathedral in London when Dad was on business down there. He must have told her enough about himself that she was able to follow him home.”
Emma sighed and ran a shaking hand over her face. “My father was a good man, Allaine. He believed only the very best of people. He never saw that side of her which was cruel and unrelenting. My childhood memories are ruined by visions of us avoiding her food, eating sour apples from the garden because we were hungry or groaning in agony when hunger made us give in and eat what she put on the table. Rohan broke his arm and concussed himself once, when she made us pick every damn apple in the tree so she could get rid of our alternative food source.”
Allaine stroked a tear from Emma’s face. She hadn’t even realised it was there. “Was Rohan really so unaware, or do you think he’s blocked it out?” she asked.
“Probably both,” Emma admitted. “Rohan was the eldest but Anton protected us both from her. He had this larger than life zest for living and such a dramatic personality. He learned to distract us all and hide us under this safe covering of fantasy and idealism. That’s the trouble, I think Rohan and I fell in love under the shadow of Anton’s wing in a world that didn’t really exist. Loving Rohan was like walking through the wardrobe and finding Narnia. Anton would have been the funny little faun creature, with a boy’s torso and goat legs.” Emma’s voice broke. “I miss him so much.”
Emma cried until she was spent, grieving for so much stolen life and the people snatched away from her. She felt like a tent, billowing in the wind because its pegs were ripped out of the earth by cruel hands. Allaine let her cry and then led her upstairs to the attic bedroom where her grown sons once rough housed and listened to loud, teenage music. She waited while Emma used the bathroom and helped her remove her jeans, tucking her into the single bed and listening to the exhausted hitches of her chest. “Don’t think about anything else tonight,” Allaine whispered over her. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Things always seem better in the daylight.”