‘Daisy, I’ll see you soon,’ Ben called over his shoulder as he took his jacket from the hook next to the door. I watched as the three of them walked away from the lounge to the front door. I summoned the strength to see them out. The wind was whipping wildly outside the porch. I took a step back and watched them head to the car. Perhaps the drugs were beginning to wear off or it was the sharp intake of sea air, which ever it was it caused me to shout to Ben before he disappeared into the car.

‘Ben!’

Ben stopped just before the car and turned. I stepped outside onto the porch and hugged my arms around myself. ‘Today is my birthday.’ My voice was strained and I almost laughed at the absurdity of the words. How could we possibly celebrate anything, especially a birth, when someone I loved so dearly would never celebrate another birthday again?

Ben opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Instead he offered me a pained expression and held his hands out in surrender of the situation that had literally taken him hostage.

I stood on the doorstep and shivered as I watched all three of their heads disappear into the car, feeling empty that no more words were spoken. But I knew there were no more words left to say today. And certainly not ones with ‘happy’ in the sentence.

19

ANNIE

Something had shifted in my world. Everything was different. In a strange way everything felt right. I knew my son was grieving and that he was probably experiencing some kind of pain that I wouldn’t be able to relate to right now, but despite the circumstances, I felt glad. Glad that the woman who was responsible for creating such drama and hurting so many people, was lying down upstairs, weak and scared and vulnerable. Glad that my son had come home and now the time was right, I would use all the evidence I had to bring her down from her oh-so-very-high horse she had been residing on with my son so close in tow.

Soon everything would be as it once was.

Ben trundled into the kitchen. He looked tired. He had spent too long at the police station yesterday. It was night-time when he came home. I made him some soup and tried to get him to talk, but he barely said a word – instead he had finished his soup and then taken himself off to bed.

I heard him arrive behind me, the familiar scuff of his shoes on the hard floor. He had been outside smoking a cigarette.

‘Take those shoes off, please,’ I said as I wiped the kitchen surface. I heard the tone in my own voice and I felt something inside tug, a warm familiar feeling. Here we were again, the two of us, as though those months of him not being here had never happened. Those subtle sounds of him arriving and leaving a room that had become the very fabric of our existence had stopped overnight and left a gaping hole.