Page 13 of A Castle in the Sky: Fern & Connor
"I'm Coral's mother," Fern said simply. "That's who I am. Don't speak to me again. I am blocking this number. Oh, and by the way, I have recorded this conversation, you manky slapper."
She ended the call before Matilda could reply, the line going dead like the final slat of a shutter.
"You can keep him for now. I doubt you'll keep Jacob after I'm done with you," Fern said to no one in particular. She had some calls to make. No more playing nice, innocent Snow White.
It was time for the Wicked Witch.
Chapter 9
For a while, nothing registered but the cold press disappointment and the metallic taste of bile. Fern slid the door to Coral's room open to a slit, and the rhythm of Coral's breathing was a small, imperfect tether that kept her from going on a murderous rampage. The pain was an avalanche waiting for the adrenaline to drain, but it was there, hidden in the corner of her mind. The words raced through Fern's mind, fracturing into smaller shards: abortion, regret, seventeen, Jacob. She tried to assemble them into something that made sense, but the words just proved elusive, like the shards of a shattered mirror.
A new message appeared on her screen.
Believe what you want, Fern, but there is a lot you don't know about your husband. But if you don't play ball, you will learn everything in the most public way possible. I've already lost everything thanks to your husband, and I will take him down with me if I have to.
She felt dizzy, a slow, sick unmooring. Her memory rifled backward through the timelines, the things he'd never said, the careful avoidances that had always gathered between them like dust as they tried to stretch those twenty-four hours to the max. She imagined Connor at seventeen, young and terrified, his choices made in the heat of the moment. She imagined Matilda, a shadow which never left him alone, forever in the background of their relationship without her even trying. The picture shifted and swayed until none of it held still.
"Don't you dare," she breathed, though she wasn't sure whether she was warning Matilda or herself.
Fern stood there with the phone pressed to her chest, her heartbeat a jackhammer in her throat. For a second, she pictured the call through Connor's eyes—the colour draining from his face, the sudden collapse into guilt and panic and feeble excuses. She imagined how easily the accusation would plant itself in other people's mouths, in other people's minds: a rumour given life. She imagined the safeguarding officers hearing this and rewriting the story in darker ink.
What did she not know?
She could hear Coral's muffled whimper and it made her steel herself.
Fern slid the phone into her pocket with hands that wouldn't stop shaking. The hospital room felt very small and exposed. The rest of the day passed in a blur. She had been on the verge of breaking all afternoon. But Matilda's words had not broken her any further; instead, —they had made a freezing clarity settle over her.
She squared her shoulders like the first measured breath after nearly drowning. She settled on the edge of Coral's bed and smoothed the blanket over the child's bandaged hand. Her voice was low, meant only for the sleeping girl. "Mummy's here. Mummy's going to sort it."
Fern's mind was already moving in painfully slow steps: call Connor back, force him to answer every question Matilda's poison had raised; speak to Ms. Renshaw and lay out the timeline; demand the hospital keep them informed; prepare for the meeting with Kayla, with Matilda, with anyone who might hurt her daughter.
Anger simmered under the surface now—a hard, productive thing. For the first time since this nightmare had begun, she had clarity.
She had a daughter who needed her. That was simple, a solid star in the middle of the chaos. She had to talk to Chiara and Duarte, her bestfriends and her bosses. She had given her dad the watered-down version, but he had blown his top and was driving down to see them. He had initially not approved of Connor, but with time, they had come to an uneasy truce.
She folded her hands over Coral's blanket and, quietly, deliberately, dialled Connor's number.
***
He picked up on the first ring.
"I'm right outside," Connor said. "They won't let me in yet. Safeguarding's orders until the investigation's done."
Fern's throat tightened. "Stay there. I'll find someone to sit with Coral."
Daisy, the day nurse with kind brown eyes, smiled when Fern explained. "Of course, love. I'll sit right here till you're back."
The automatic doors hissed open, and Fern stepped out into the weak afternoon light. A short walk later, she spotted Connor near the car park, his shoulders hunched and bags under his eyes like he hadn't slept in days. She swept past him as if he weren't there.
"There's a café across the road," she said. "We can talk there. I want witnesses close enough if I lose my temper."
He nodded, falling into step beside her.
Halfway across the car park, she stopped suddenly. "No. Let's do it here by the car."
He swallowed. "Fern—"
She folded her arms, the wind pulling at the hem of her jumper. "Matilda called me."
