‘And Tina,’ she said quietly.
‘Maybe I was wrong.’
She was angry with him, wanted to push him, shout, break things. She ran her hand though her hair, turned away, then back. ‘I can’t cope with this now.’
He gave a brief nod and backed away, buttoning up his coat. She folded her arms, waited until she heard the front door close after him. Then swore softly, several times.
*****
Chris sat in the dark in the back room. He hadn’t bothered drawing the curtains; he saw the rain lash against the glass and heard the occasional whoop of police cars.
Debbie had been relieved that he was an innocent man. Some cold, cruel part of him was amused. She understood so little.
He hadn’t been able to protect his daughter while she was alive and now she’d been taken from them he couldn’t even avenge her death. All he had was failure. While Debbie was striving for some all-forgiving bloody Christian sainthood – Ann-Marie the martyr to her cause – he felt only fury and loathing. He couldn’t read the cards that kept coming, couldn’t bear the hushed condolences of people who called at the house. All wallowing in some orgy of sadness. Sad, sad, so sad. It wasn’t sad – it was a fucking outrage. He still hadn’t cried. He didn’t want to weep and choose bouquets, he wanted to get hold of those who had killed her and beat them to a pulp. Break their faces and their teeth and burst their inner organs. But he’d had his chance and he had wavered and thought of a dozen reasons why not when there was only really one good reason – because he wasn’t man enough.
Breadwinner, yes. Was that all he amounted to? If he’d known that she’d be taken so young… he could have made more time. Debbie had been the main one to stay home. She hadn’t gone back to nursing full-time but once Ann-Marie was sleeping through she’d signed on the bank, taking one or two shifts a week to cover for sickness or holidays or the ongoing shortages. They probably could have managed without, especially as Chris’s business was going well. He had work booked in up to six months ahead plus emergency work now and then. And he could name his own price. They had enough for holidays abroad, nowhere that exotic but Crete or Cyprus or, one year, Madeira. Last summer, when Ann-Marie was six they’d splashed out and gone to Disneyworld in Florida.
When Ann-Marie started school Debbie had got a part-time job at Christie’s, the cancer hospital, but the school holidays were a problem. Chris could look after her but it was a bit of a daft set-up when he was making three or four times as much a day as Debbie. In the end, she went back on the bank. ‘I have to do something Chris, I can’t just vegetate.’ And she did voluntary stuff at school too. Came home and told him stories of how this child was really struggling or the disasters that had befallen patients on the ward and the implication was always clear; we are so lucky.
