The Home for Broken Hearts (31 page)

“Doctor, do you think that… do you think she’s been raped?”

The doctor lowered her head. “I’m only able to make a judgment on where your sister allowed me to examine her, so I can’t comment. I would say that these injuries were inflicted on her by another person. These aren’t the kind of injuries sustained in a car crash or from falling over.”

“She wants to have a bath,” Ellen said. “But if she does, then there’ll be no evidence, will there?”

The doctor regarded Ellen with bloodshot brown eyes. “Look, my day job is police GP down at the local police station. I deal with this sort of thing all the time, and to be honest, less than fifty percent of rape victims report what’s happened to the police, and of those who do, less than ten percent result in a conviction. If there was any forensic evidence, it would
only prove that your sister had sex.
If
the police felt they had enough for a case, and
if
they tracked down who might be responsible, which is a big if, she’d be asked about her drinking, her drug consumption. About spending all day in the pub with the people who might have attacked her, or might not have. Even now it’s still her word against his, if that’s what happened, and we don’t know that it did. I’m not even sure she knows.”

“So you’re saying I should let her have a bath and do nothing?” Ellen asked, incredulous. “That whoever did this to her just gets to carry on with life like nothing’s happened?”

“I’m saying that one way or another, your sister has had a hell of day, and she still might be seriously injured. Let her do whatever makes her feel better, and keep an eye on her for any signs of deterioration. If she starts vomiting or blacking out, has difficulty breathing or any belly pain—especially look out for signs her stomach is becoming rigid or swollen.”

“Thank you for coming,” Ellen said politely. Then she watched the GP hurry down the path, on her way to the next emergency. Bleakly, she shut the door on the outside world and leaned her back against it.

“Here.” Matt emerged from the living room and nodded at the piece of paper in Ellen’s hand. “There’s that pharmacy at the twenty-four-hour Sainsbury’s, isn’t there? I’ll go and get it.”

“Did you hear what she said? Do you think I shouldn’t report it?” Ellen asked, handing over the piece of paper.

“I don’t think it’s up to you, I think it’s up to Hannah—and for now all she wants is a bath,” Matt said. He picked up his jacket off the end of the banister. “I’ll be ten minutes.”

“Matt?” He paused, his hand on the latch. “Thank you, thank you for being here.”

“Not a problem,” Matt told her.

After he’d shut the door behind him, Ellen stood looking for several seconds at the spot where he had been standing,
and then after a moment she went upstairs and ran Hannah a bath.

“Hannah, what has happened to you?” Ellen asked, suddenly upset, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. “This is… this is just so… typical.” She was aware of the rising sun lightening the sky behind the kitchen blinds, casting a grayish, dreamlike light over everything, and she wished that she could wake up from this nightmare and wake Hannah up to a simple sun-filled morning where nothing bad had happened.

It was now almost five. A little more alert since the doctor had looked at her, Hannah had insisted on bathing alone, while Ellen had sat outside the door, asking whispered questions every few minutes, afraid that her sister would pass out again and slip beneath the water. Ellen was thankful that Charlie had gotten into the habit of sleeping with his iPod plugged into his ears. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t wake up. She didn’t want to have to try to explain any of this to him.

Hannah had stayed in the bath for an hour, not wanting to come out even when Ellen had come in with fresh towels and a clean pair of Nick’s old cotton pajamas. At her sister’s demand, she had turned her back while Hannah dried herself, gasping periodically in pain. The mirror clogged with steam, Ellen had found herself looking into the dirty bathwater, now pinkish in hue. When Hannah was dried and dressed, Ellen had taken her hand and led her into her bedroom, pulling back the covers so her sister might lie down, and tucked her in.

“How are you feeling?” Ellen asked Hannah, who rolled onto her side with her back to her sister.

“I’m starting to sober up, worse luck,” Hannah said, as if she had nothing more than a hangover after a big night out. “And everything hurts.”

“Not much longer and you can take something for that,” Ellen said. “
Hannah, do you think that after you’ve rested a bit more you should go to the hospital?”

“No,” Hannah said. “No. I’ll be okay. I just want to stay here. I want to stay here and I never want to leave.”

Ellen nodded. That, at least, she could understand.

“What? What’s typical?” Matt jerked awake. For the last few hours, since Hannah had drifted off to sleep again, he and Ellen had sat in the kitchen in silence, Matt’s head nodding occasionally onto his chest. Ellen had not slept, but instead climbed the stairs periodically to check on Hannah, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the expression on her battered face, watching for any signs that her condition might be worse than it looked, just like a new mother keeping vigil over her new baby. Just like a big sister, just like Ellen watching out for Hannah when she was very little.

Ellen had not been pleased when her mother arrived home from the hospital with Hannah in her arms. She had not been pleased at all with her new little sister, a peaches-and-cream golden little thing, perfect from the moment she arrived in the world, charming everyone she met even before she could talk, even before she could smile. At eight years old, Ellen had felt like a gigantic and hulking changeling, the cuckoo in the nest, sticking out like a sore thumb in her newly remodeled family, with her dark skin and dark hair that she apparently had got from some great-aunt she had never met. She was nothing like this stellar little creature who brought so much light into the house, who made everybody coo and smile. But still, despite herself, Ellen had loved Hannah; she’d had no choice but to love her and had been completely devoted to her from the moment that she first picked her up. They had shared a room from the beginning, Hannah’s crib jammed alongside Ellen’s bed in their narrow bedroom. Terrified that something might happen to her little sister when she wasn’t looking, Ellen would force herself to lie awake,
gazing through the bars of Hannah’s crib, watching the rise and fall of her chest, checking the expression on her faultless face for any signs of dark dreams or distress.

When Hannah had been a little older, old enough to be afraid of the dark, she would hold Ellen’s hand through the bars of the crib, her tiny, chubby fingers curled around Ellen’s longer ones until she slept, and Ellen would never remove her hand from Hannah’s. Even when her arm raged with pins and needles or she longed to be able to roll over, she would leave her hand in Hannah’s for as long as her sister needed it there.

The last time she had gone upstairs to check on Hannah, who seemed immobile in what she hoped was oblivious sleep, Ellen had wondered when that had stopped, that love and devotion between them. Hannah had never done anything really terrible to her, except be more beautiful, more clever, and more successful, and Ellen had long ago accepted that it was her fate to be outshone by her sister whenever they were together. It wasn’t envy exactly that she had felt at the realization—especially not after she’d met Nick and had Charlie. It was just that sometimes she wished that Hannah would leave her alone like she always used to; she felt like more of her own person when Hannah wasn’t there. As if Hannah’s mere presence highlighted the shortcomings in her life that Ellen preferred not to think about.

“What’s typical?” Matt asked again, as he sat up straight, rubbing his palms over his face and blinking himself awake.

“When things went wrong, when she’d made a mistake, instead of admitting it or facing it or doing something to try to make it better, she’d always get herself into even more trouble, as if that would somehow blot out whatever the real problem was. Even when she was very little she’d take risks. When she was six she broke this china figurine that our mother loved—it was a dancing lady or something and Hannah had been playing with it and dropped it. Instead of telling Mum, she climbed the tallest tree in the garden. She got up it okay, but on the way
down she panicked and slipped, knocked herself out on one of the roots. I thought she was dead, I really did, she was so still and pale—I had to run and tell Mum and it was a huge drama and of course no one minded about the figurine as long as Hannah was okay.”

“Don’t really think this compares to climbing a tree,” Matt said, puzzled.

“Then, when she was eight, she wanted this doll from the toy shop. Well, it wasn’t a birthday or anything, so one day when we were in town, looking round the shop with our pocket money while Mum was in the supermarket, she decided to just take it, and slipped it under her skirt. And she got away with it, only she realized that she couldn’t go home with it. So while I was at the till, buying some sweets or something, she got on the bus that stopped just outside, no money for a ticket or anything. Just got on the bus and sat at the back and didn’t get off.

“Mum and Dad were frantic. I was supposed to be watching her. A policeman brought her home when she got off at the last stop in Brighton. They were all so relieved to see her, no one but me noticed the doll at the bottom of her toy box. It’s been the same ever since. Whenever she’s done something stupid or wrong, she pulls a stunt like this, gets herself into trouble, gets herself hurt so that everyone will forget what she’s done and feel sorry for her.”

Ellen got up abruptly and put the kettle on again.

“You don’t really think that’s what she was doing this time, do you?” Matt asked. “Hannah wouldn’t deliberately put herself in that kind of danger just so no one would be cross with her.”

“No, no—I suppose not, I know this isn’t the same—it’s just… I feel guilty, I suppose. Something’s been going on with her, something big and dark, and she’s been spending all this time around me and Charlie, and I’ve minded. I haven’t wanted her here. All she’s been doing is trying to be a good
sister, and all I’ve been doing is pushing her away, which is why I haven’t noticed that she’s been struggling with her own problems. I haven’t seen anything outside those windows in a year.” Ellen nodded toward the outside world as she poured boiling water onto two fresh teabags. “And now this—this awful, brutal thing. If I’d been paying attention, really looking at her… I always thought that we should be like two peas in a pod, me and Hannah. That sisters would have this… bond. But right now I feel like I know her less than ever.”

“Maybe it’s a kind of guilt,” Matt suggested. “Maybe she’s punishing herself.”

“What on earth could she possibly have done that made her think she deserved that?” Ellen asked, glancing at the ceiling. “She drank too much, tried to drown out whatever it is that’s been hurting her—but being attacked like that? That’s not Hannah’s doing. Someone… some people saw how vulnerable she was and they deliberately hurt her when she wasn’t strong enough to stop them—and it’s killing me that I don’t know exactly what happened. The worst of it is, I don’t even think she knows.”

“Maybe, for now, that is for the best. Maybe she just needs some time to figure it out.” Matt stood up and stretched. “Look, I need to get ready for work, take a shower—I’d stay home if I could, but I really can’t.”

Without thinking, Ellen went to him and put her arms around him, hugging him to her. It was only after he returned the gesture that she remembered she was wearing only a shirt under her dressing gown. She let a beat pass in his arms before she stepped back.

“Sorry,” she said awkwardly. “I’m a bit overtired, it’s making me inappropriate. What I meant to say was ‘thank you.’ You didn’t need to be any part of this, but you were. I really needed a friend last night and I’m grateful. So, thank you.”

Matt didn’t speak for a second, caught up as he was in the briefest sensation of her soft body molded to his and every
feeling that awoke in his exhausted brain. He hadn’t wanted her to break the embrace. He’d wanted her to stay exactly where she was. He’d wanted to hold her.

“It’s not a problem,” he mumbled, glancing out the window rather than at her face.

“Here, take this with you, I’ve put extra sugar in it.” Ellen handed him a cup of tea.

“You know what,” Matt said, pausing at the door. “One thing is obvious about your sister.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“She cares more about what you think of her than anything else,” Matt said.

The last person Matt expected to see sitting—no, lounging—at his desk when he finally made it into work was Lucy, the associate editor from downstairs. He’d thought it was oddly quiet when he’d walked into the office, none of the usual banter or jokes going on. Raffa, Steve, and even Pete were sitting at their desks, apparently concentrating on work, which was unheard of, particularly when there was a leggy blonde in the vicinity, in this case leaning back in Matt’s desk chair with her ankles crossed on his desktop.

“Er, hello?” Matt slowed down as he approached her. If he wasn’t very much mistaken, the last time he’d seen her she’d called him the baddest swear word he could think of, one that even he balked at using. What did she want with him now?

“You always this late?” Lucy asked archly.

“Had a bit of a heavy night,” Matt said warily.

“Lured some other poor victim into your lair?”

Matt thought of Hannah’s bruised and battered body curled up on Ellen’s sofa and cringed inwardly. How much difference was there really between him, cruising bars, looking for tipsy women to talk into bed, and the men whom Hannah had encountered? The thought hadn’t escaped him and it had been haunting him ever since.

“Look, Lucy, it’s been a tricky night—”

“Ah,
now
he can remember my name!” she exclaimed. “I
thought you might think it was…” she picked up a copy of
Bang It!
, folded open to reveal Matt’s column, “‘leggy blond bombshell’ or maybe ‘insatiable, curvy babe’?”