Pop Goes the Weasel | страница 76

Why hadn’t she hidden it from her? Surely it was her job to suck up all the shit that the world threw at her and keep her safe from the storm. Instead, because Alison had been busy playing with Sally, she hadn’t heard the letterbox rattle, hadn’t heard the paper hitting the mat. So it had fallen to Jessica to pick it up.

‘A Tart with Your Heart’. Jessica dropped the paper as if it were on fire and fled upstairs. She felt light-headed as she reached the landing, the sudden awfulness of it all ramming its way down her throat again. She started to retch, then choke. Stumbling to the bathroom, she could feel the vomit rising. Crashing through the door, she threw up in the bath, her stomach heaving again and again. Finally, it was over, but all her strength had leeched from her and she curled up in a ball on the bath mat and put her head in her hands.

She wanted to die. It was just too awful. She had already given up hating Christopher for his betrayal and his stupidity and now she just missed him, wanting him back fiercely. That was the easy bit – it was the other stuff that she couldn’t shake. The violence of his death, the fact that they couldn’t bury him yet, the fact that his heart… his poor heart… was in an evidence bag somewhere…

Jessica heaved again, but there was nothing left to give, and she remained where she was, beached on the floor.

Why was the world so cruel? She had expected anger and incomprehension from her family – and boy, had she got that – but everybody else? The police had advised her not to look at emails or Twitter but how can you live your life like that? She wished now that she’d heeded their advice. Within minutes of the story breaking, the trolls had started their work. Emailing her directly, posting on forums, filling the world with their hate. Christopher deserved to be killed. Jessica was a frigid bitch who’d driven her man to his death. Christopher was an AIDS-ridden pervert who would burn in hell. Their daughter had syphilis and would go blind.

The police had told her that they were there for her, that they would protect her, but who were they kidding? There was no pity left in the world, no goodness. There were just vultures picking over the entrails, feeding on sadness and pain.

Jessica had always been an optimist, but now she saw how naïve she’d been.

A loud noise from downstairs. Sally banging on her xylophone. Then the sound of childish laughter, before she resumed playing her tune. It was as if her daughter were in a parallel universe – a place where happiness and innocence still existed. Jessica was tempted to shut the door, cram her fingers in her ears, but she didn’t. That parallel universe was all she had now and maybe it would save her. In the lonely hours of the night, Jessica wanted to die, but she knew now that she had to live. She had to swallow her pain and bring up Sally to trust and enjoy the world.