After You Fell - J.S. Lark

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brought me here, Louise. Thank you. I know you are right.

      The park’s exit is at the tip of its triangle shape. The path I am walking on and the path they are walking on brings us closer.

      The nanny looks at the main road.

      I pretend to look at my phone as I walk, and laugh, as though I have seen something funny, then lift the phone to aim the camera. Tap. Tap. Tap. It will not be the best picture, the nanny is side on, but it is something for me to use to help me find her on social media.

      The distance between us becomes a few paces.

      I grip one of the fleur-de-lys at the corner of the iron railing for a second as I walk out while she takes the last few steps. I think she’s going to walk on along the pavement, so I wait, to let her pass, but she turns the pushchair into the park.

      An intense urge begs me to bend down and touch the little girl’s head. To run my fingers through her curls. To touch her shoulder, reach for her hand and help her run. But all I do is smile at the woman I hate and step out of the way.

      She walks past me with no acknowledgement as though I am nothing.

      I think she’s going to the playground in the farthest corner of the park.

      I want to walk along the path by the railing, so I can keep watching them. But that would be too obvious.

      I press the button for the pedestrian crossing, stop the traffic and walk away.

      I turn the key and open Simon and Mim’s door long before they will be home. Simon will not know I have been out today.

      When Simon comes in the back door, I am lifting a fish pie with a golden, crispy mashed-potato top out of the oven. A steamy smoked-cod smell fills the room. I made the pie before Mim got home with the boys and I’m proud of it. No one would call me a cook. Dan and I lived on ready meals, but that was out of necessity in the last years of my incapability. This pie is a triumph over a fate that tried to kill me.

      Louise changed that fate.

      Perhaps she was a good cook?

      I know that today has spurred me into wanting to play happy families with her children. All I can think about is looking after them. My head is running through the images of my life with them. They are not Louise’s memories, they’re my hopes.

      Simon smiles at me as I straighten up, put the hot dish on top of the oven and push the oven door shut with my toes.

      His gaze moves to Mim and the boys, who are sitting around the table. ‘Hello,’ he says as the boys scramble to say good evening, their chairs scraping on the floor.

      Their arms wrap around his legs.

      I see Louise’s children greeting me like that.

      He slides the rucksack he uses for work off his shoulder and unzips it, looking at me again and deploying the grin the boys have inherited from him.

      He pulls a magazine out of his bag and holds it out. ‘For you.’

      A copy of The Lady hovers in front of me.

      I pull off the blue striped oven mitts and drop them down beside the pie dish.

      ‘I agree.’ His voice lifts with conviction. ‘You should find a nanny job, but you don’t have to take one that will be too much hard work. If you are going to get a job go for the best position, somewhere they will not expect you to do the cleaning and the cooking too.’

      I take the magazine.

      But I do not want to be anyone’s nanny. I want to be Alex Lovett’s nanny.

      I just need to get rid of the useless girl he has now.

       Chapter 17

       9 weeks and 4 days after the fall.

      My hand is in my jeans pocket gripping the key for the front door of the house I rent a room in.

      The church bells are ringing from two different directions but otherwise the streets are quiet.

      There’s something unique about the city of Bath. Perhaps it’s because the city centre is so much smaller than London and the size develops a sense of intimacy.

      I run slightly, in a jog, along the pavement of the last street until the point it meets the main road, then I slow to a walk.

      The excitement is buzzing in my ears. Fizzing words and thoughts through my head. I can’t believe I am here. Out in the world on my own and focusing on a future that I can see clearly. I just need to work out how to get from this to that. I have spent all night trying to think of a plan.

      But with Louise’s help, I will come up with a way. I’ll get into the house somehow.

      It is the first time I have come here on a Sunday. Only a couple of cars pass by on the main road.

      Most people are still in bed, eating breakfast, drinking coffee and reading papers.

      Jive music tumbles out from the old railway station near the crossing that is now used as an antique market. The music calls to the few of us who have risen early, pulling passers-by inside. I am not drawn.

      The railing-imprisoned park is opposite.

      I ought to have a reason to sit in there, though. I haven’t bought a coffee yet. I rushed, because I was so glad to be able to walk out of a door and come straight here.

      I turn back towards the music and the open door. There will be somewhere inside that sells takeaway coffee.

      The small door leading into the under-cover market is deceptive; inside it is a huge space with a towering vaulted glass ceiling, held in place by a backbone of wrought-iron arches.

      The scattering of antiques stalls is belittled by the architecture and there are scarce customers; it is mainly the stallholders talking to each other as they eat rolls bursting with bacon.

      A freshly ground coffee aroma wafts from the far end where the stallholders must have bought their rolls.

      When I leave the market the coffee in the cup is so hot it burns my hand through the insulated cardboard. I cross the road, hurry into the park and rush for my bench, then put the cup down on the seat beside me, claiming the bench.

      All the pressure and excitement of the last few days slips away on my outbreath.

      I have lied so many times to Simon and Chloe my mythical life is a tangled ball of yarn that could unravel at any moment. They think I start a job here on Monday, but I have been vague about the family and the address so they can never try to find where they think I work.

      I don’t like having so many secrets between me and them, but Louise and her family come first now. They must come first. This is a place that’s been prepared for me. She’s chosen me to fill the gap in her family, to love her children.

      This is my job.

      I am starting to feel as if the reason for my life since birth was to be ready to fill her space. Left alone by my parents so that I would want hers. Born with a faulty heart so that I would need hers. Prevented from having children so that I can love hers.

      But I know that can’t be true.

      I am renting a room in a woman’s house. I spotted it for rent only a few streets away on SpareRoom and rushed to move because I didn’t want to lose the chance.

      I have moved to Bath, and I am going to sit here and live on the last of my savings until I find a way to be with the children.

      I am due to meet Alex in just over a week, for the fake appointment. I’ll need to create more lies then. But I am becoming a very good liar, with Louise as my cheerleader, pushing all these shameless tall tales out of my lips. But if lying means I can have what I want, I am happy to lie.

      The

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