‘Well, you’ll just have to un-promise her then.’
‘She’s desperate. She wouldn’t have reached out to me otherwise and she never asks anyone for help. I’d go myself if I could, but I’m not as fit as I used to be and the doctor said at my last check-up that I need a break.’ Nan rubbed her back, her face taking on a pained expression.
‘Emotional blackmail isn’t going to work either.’ I was trying to convince myself as much as her, but she knew exactly how to get under my skin. I had to stand firm this time, though.
‘I’ve already booked your flight, for the end of October.’
‘You’ve done what?’
‘There was a great offer on the flight and I didn’t want to miss it. Dottie needs you, but you need this even more.’ The twitch in her eyelid was working overtime now, but there were tears welling up too. Much as I wanted to run out into the streets of Canterbury and never look back, I couldn’t do it and I couldn’t even blame her for what she’d done either. She wanted the old Libby back, the version of me she’d lost on the same day she’d lost her only daughter. But the old Libby was gone, and a trip to New York wasn’t going to change that. In fact, it would only make things worse. I needed to think of a way of getting out of this and making Nan see that going to New York was a crazy idea, but flying off the handle and storming out wasn’t it.
‘I’ll think about it.’ That was as much as I was prepared to commit to, but judging by the way the expression on Nan’s face changed, anyone would think I’d already packed my case.
‘It’s going to be the start of something wonderful, Lib, just you wait and see.’ Nan wrapped her arms around me. ‘Last year was so awful for all of us, and watching you go through every first without your mum and dad has killed me inside a little bit each time. I vowed last Christmas that, by the time we got to the second anniversary of life without them, I’d have found a way to finally help you start to move on. I’m just so glad you’ve agreed to go.’
It was on the tip of my tongue to remind her that I’d hadn’t agreed to anything yet, but for now Nan was happy and I didn’t want to be the one to take that away from her. There’d be some reason I could come up with later for not being able to go, a problem with my visa ought to do it, and I’d make sure I reimbursed her for the flights. Maybe spending Christmas alone would be a good thing. I wouldn’t have to pretend to enjoy a single second of it for anyone else’s sake. There was no point in celebrating when the only thing I wanted in the world was something not even Santa could pull off. No one could.
* * *
It had been two weeks since Nan had told me about her plans to ship me off to New York for two months and I still hadn’t found a way of telling her that there was no way on earth I was going anywhere. If I’d been prepared to leave my home city for any reason, it would have been to get away after Christmas. That was when the worst of the memories hit me. The anniversary of my parents’ accident and the updates from the police about the prosecution of the man who’d killed them, were mingled in with the utter bleakness that January always seemed to bring. Then there was Mum’s birthday and the promise I’d made her, when I could no longer give her a present, that I’d make sure Grant Bailey paid for what he’d done. But I’d failed at that too. I’d sat in a court room months later, staring into his face, looking for a shred of recognition of what he’d done to our family, but there was none.
The court had asked us to prepare a victim impact statement. When I sat down with my grandparents to put it together, it was as if someone had peeled back the top layer of their skin and all the raw anguish that they’d been pushing down to protect me was laid bare. It was almost as devastating as the accident itself had been, but not quite. It was me who wrote up the final statement, trying to pull together the things we’d spoken about in a way that captured the impact of my parents’ death. But there was no way to do that justice and I couldn’t convey the anguish on my grandparents’ faces in words alone. I could still repeat one of the sections I wrote word for word, though, as if it was permanently burned into my brain.
Life without them will never be the same. It will never be as whole, or a as good, or as happy as it used to be when they were here. We’ll never be truly happy again now they’re gone.
My grandmother had sobbed when she’d read it and at first, I’d thought it was because of all the feelings those words represented, but she’d told me it wasn’t that. It was the idea that I believed I could never be truly happy again that broke her heart.
‘I wouldn’t have been able to go on if it wasn’t for you, Lib.’ Nan had taken my face in her hands. ‘Losing your mum has been the hardest thing I’ve ever been through, but I can see so much of her in you. When she had you, she got to fulfil her biggest dream and become a mum. That’s why we’ve got to choose to be happy for all the things she did get to do and, as much as we’ll always wish she was still here, she wouldn’t want any of us to spend the rest of our lives being unhappy because she’s gone. So you can’t write that Lib, because I can’t bear the thought that it might be true.’
I hadn’t wanted to argue with her, not when the pain was imprinted so clearly in her expression. But I’d meant every word. At the time, I couldn’t believe I’d ever remember how to laugh again. And what was more, I didn’t think I wanted to remember. Yet for Nan’s sake, I took that part out of the statement and I’ll never know if that’s why the judge made the decision he did.
Four years. That’s what Grant Bailey got for killing both of my parents. The judge was able to sentence him for death by driving whilst disqualified, because of a previous conviction for driving under the influence of drugs and alcohol. But delays in testing Bailey at the hospital, where he quickly recovered from the minor injuries he’d sustained during the crash, meant the results were inconclusive. There were traces of both alcohol and drugs in his system, but it wasn’t enough to convict him of death by dangerous driving.
Hearing the judge read out his sentence and seeing the relief flood Grant Bailey’s face was the second worst day of my life and, as far as I was concerned, he’d got away with murder. After that, I became obsessed with getting his sentence reviewed. I wrote to my MP, the Attorney General, every newspaper I could think of, but all of it had come to nothing. My parents had probably been robbed of thirty years and all Grant Bailey was going to miss out on was four years of his life, or at least I’d thought so.
‘Have you heard back about your visa yet?’ It was the third time in the last forty-eight hours that Nan had asked me the question, but there was something different about this time. Every other time she’d mentioned it, she’d rolled her eyes and gently chided me for not getting it sorted out, but now there was a strained look on her face and she was moving from foot to foot, as if the floor was suddenly too hot to stand on.
‘Not yet, but I’ll chase them again tomorrow.’ I was beginning to sound like a stuck record and I expected Nan to sigh, but when her face crumpled, I knew I was right about something being different this time around.
‘Nan, what’s wrong?’ When I put my arm around her shoulders, she was shaking. This wasn’t about my trip to New York and, as soon as I looked into her eyes, I had a terrible feeling I knew what was coming.
‘I’ve had a phone call saying they’re preparing to release Grant Bailey on probation.’ Nan’s voice cracked, and it was all I could do not to scream, even though the desire to do so was burning in my throat. The man who’d been seen drinking and smoking cannabis, in the hours before getting into his car and driving my parents off the road, was getting out of prison.
‘How can this be happening? He hasn’t even served half of his sentence yet.’ I squeezed my eyes shut, because if I started to cry, I might not be able to stop and I needed to know exactly what my grandmother had been told.
‘It’s coming up to the halfway point, and they’re moving him to an open prison, where he’ll be able to have visits home. Then they’re going to release him on licence. There are too many criminals and not enough prison spaces apparently.’ Nan shook her head. ‘Bailey will probably be home with his family on a home visit over Christmas.’
‘They can’t do this.’ Nausea swirled in my stomach and there was a very good chance I was going to be sick. But there was an even stronger feeling pulsing in my veins: white hot rage. I’d never considered myself to be someone capable of violence. Not until my path had crossed with Grant Bailey’s.
‘I don’t know, but they have and there’s nothing we can do about it.’ Nan suddenly grabbed hold of my wrist. ‘I want you to promise me you’re not going to try to do anything about it, Lib. Please.’
The pleading look in her eyes twisted something in my gut. She was terrified of losing me too, I knew that, and I shook my head slowly. All the letters and phone calls, and rage and sorrow of the past two years had done nothing to change any of it. Now Grant Bailey would probably be spending time with his family this Christmas, whilst my parents were side by side in the ground. I desperately wanted to believe this couldn’t be true, even though I knew it was.
Grant Bailey’s parents only lived about ten minutes away from my grandparents’ pub. There was every chance one of us could bump into him, and I was worried that I might really be capable of killing him, if I saw him out enjoying himself. It would be easy just to put my foot on the accelerator and deliver the ultimate form of karma. Because, if this was justice, then the law really was an ass. Before the accident, coming home to Canterbury had always felt like my safe place. If I went out for a drink in the evening, I’d never once felt scared walking home. Back when I was at school, my friends and I would walk out of town, following the path of the river, towards the villages on the outskirts and spend all day by the water if we felt like it. It was quaint and quirky and most of all it was home, but Bailey had even managed to take that feeling away from me, because nowhere felt safe after the accident.
‘How the hell is this fair? He’s going to get to spend Christmas with whoever he wants to this year and we’re never going to be able to do that again.’ It was like someone was sitting on my chest and suffocating me. I wanted to get out, run away, but it was impossible when the place you wanted to escape from was your own body, your own mind.
‘I know, love. I’m so sorry.’ Nan sniffed, and I put my arms around her again, breathing in the familiar scent of her lily of the valley perfume, which always smelt like home.