Clean Slate Read online

  “Oh, I know, chick. It’s gotta be hard for you too.”

  “Do you want sugar, Becky?” Nikki called from the kitchen, and the pieces shifted into place for Morgan. Becky. Transcript. Answers. She felt herself relaxing. Her frown disappeared, and she smiled at the woman.

  “No, thanks, I’m sweet enough.”

  “Yeah, right,” Nikki hollered back.

  “You didn’t have any idea who I was, did you?” Becky looked directly into Morgan’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry, but, no, I didn’t.” Morgan dropped her gaze.

  “They told me you wouldn’t, but I guess I was hoping they were wrong.” She smiled sadly.

  “Were we close?” Morgan looked up again, wishing she could find some connection.

  “At one time. Now I like to think we’re good friends.” She lifted the folio and waved it slightly. “I hope this helps you find what you’re looking for.”

  “Did you read it?”

  “No, chick, I didn’t.”

  Nikki entered the room and passed out mugs before sitting down.

  “Why not?”

  Becky shrugged. “I have a lot of these pass through my hands every day. Professionally, reading one of them is suicide for me unless I’m involved with the case. Yours is no different. Unless you want me to read it.”

  Morgan looked at the thick file. The thought of wading through page after page of legalese trying to find the pertinent facts made her head ache, but she knew it was something she needed to do alone.

  “No, thanks. I need to do it.”

  Becky nodded. “Okay, but if anything doesn’t make sense, just text me. If I’m in court, I’ll get it afterward and get back to you.”

  “Thanks.” Morgan brought her cup to her lips, then changed her mind. “I think I’m going to go and take a little look at this. See if anything…I don’t know. Maybe it’ll help me to remember something.” She put her cup down and picked up the folio.

  “You sure, M?” Nikki caught hold of her hand as she passed. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” She pulled the door closed behind her.

  *

  Morgan sat on her bed. The warm sunlight filtering into the room caught on the crystal wind chime hanging over the window; the light split and the colors spread across the walls, ceiling, and over the bedspread. The gentle breeze through the open window caused the faces of the prisms to move, and the refracted light danced around the room. Once whole and astonishing, the light was no less beautiful in its separate parts; just different, changed.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Morgan turned to see Becky standing in the doorway, smiling.

  “Yes.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “That the light changes through the prism, but it is no more or less than it was before. All the parts that make up the white light are still there. Just separated. Kind of like people. The way we have different sides. They all make up this whole person, but I’m not like that anymore. I’m missing some of the colors that made me whole.”

  “Is that really what you think? That you aren’t whole anymore?”

  Morgan shrugged and stared at the shifting pattern across the ceiling.

  “Did Amy or Nikki tell you we dated?”

  Morgan felt her cheeks heat and knew she was blushing. “Yes.”

  Becky crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “Okay, on one of our dates we went to the Whitworth Art Gallery, and we saw this installation piece. I can’t remember who the artist was, but it was called The Theory of Memories. It was this steel meshed net suspended from the ceiling, and across different parts of it were these little…well, blobs really.”

  Morgan laughed. “Blobs?”

  “Yeah. They were supposed to represent the events that get caught in the net of our memories. The net symbolized the way some things slip through the gaps and we never remember them, and other things get caught and never go anywhere. Parts of the net were close together, and others were set very far apart.” She reached for Morgan’s hand. “We talked about it afterward. You were very taken with the piece. I was taking it very literally and thought it was quite an insulting piece. But you didn’t think that. You pointed out that the net and the event blobs were made of the same material, which meant absolutely bugger all to me. But you told me it represented the artist’s ideal that we are all the same. We all come from the same place and are made of the same things, so how can anyone be better or worse than another. You said that everyone’s memories work differently. Everyone remembers everything differently. Some remember in minute detail, some vaguely, and others retain nothing that would seem to be important.”

  “But I did have these memories and now I don’t. I don’t remember the piece you’re talking about. I don’t remember dating you, or anyone else. I don’t remember my children. These are things I had. Memories that made me who I was.”

  “But they weren’t all that made you who you are, Morgan. There is more to a person than what they remember.”

  “Like what?”

  “Heart. To love and love well is far more important than remembering all the details that made you the person you were before.” Becky let go of Morgan’s hand and pushed her hair behind her ears. “The Morgan I knew was terribly wounded. There was this sadness about you that I always wanted to take away. In the twenty years I’ve known you, only your children and Erin came close to wiping that shadow from your eyes.” She looked up and met Morgan’s gaze. “It’s gone now. Maybe widening that net was a good thing.”

  “Are you telling me I shouldn’t read this?” She pointed to the file Becky had given her.

  “No. I’m saying you have a choice about what you know now. You can choose what’s important to learn, and what isn’t. You get to decide what influences you from here on out. Not many of us at our age get that option, chick.”

  “It doesn’t feel like an option. It feels like a prison sentence.”

  Becky laughed. “I’m an alcoholic. I know all about feeling like I’m trapped in something and that I don’t have a choice. But I do. I go to AA meetings, and my sponsor taught me something. Want to hear it?”

  “You’re an alcoholic?”

  “Yes. And you were the one who made me get help. After Nikki’s birthday…well, it was a few months ago now, but I haven’t had a drink since then. And that’s because you cared enough to help me. Now I’m going to tell you something that I hope helps you.”

  “What?”

  “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,” Becky said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “The courage to change the things I can.” She looked Morgan in the eye. “And the wisdom to know the difference.”

  Morgan closed her eyes and let the memories she had of her parents play out. Her father with his fists raised, ready to strike; he towered over her mother as she cowered in a corner. Fear bubbled in the pit of her stomach as she watched scene after scene in her own head.

  She felt fingers wipe away the tears she didn’t know she’d shed and a soft kiss was pressed against her forehead.

  “Know the difference, chick.”

  The door closed with a soft click, and Morgan wept, mourning the loss of her mother and those final precious yet debilitating memories of her. She mourned the loss of the woman she might never be again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Erin rinsed the lunch dishes under the tap before loading them into the dishwasher.

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  She spun round at the sound of Tristan’s voice, clapping her hand to her chest. “Jesus, you scared me.”

  “Sorry.” He pulled open the fridge and helped himself to a can of pop.

  “What have you been thinking about?” She dried her hands and turned the kettle on to boil.

  “It’s the first footie game of the season on Saturday.” He popped open the tab and took a drink, holding his soccer ball against his hip with one arm.

  “I know.”


  “Do you think mum will come and watch me play?” He didn’t look up from the top of his can.

  Erin felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, and her lungs burned as she schooled her face into a smile for Tristan’s benefit. “I’m sure if you asked her she’d be there.”

  “Erm…I don’t…I’m not sure…” He looked toward the door, out the window, at the ceiling, anywhere but at Erin.

  “Do you want me to ask her for you?”

  He dropped his gaze to the floor and nodded his head once.

  Erin felt her heartbeat speed up at the thought of hearing Morgan’s voice. She didn’t want to talk to her. She didn’t want to try to be civil to her. She wanted to scream, and shout, and she wanted answers. She wanted to know who was so important to Morgan that she had left their family for her, but hadn’t bothered to show up at the hospital.

  “Will you ask her?”

  Erin swallowed her anger and smiled at Tristan. “Of course.”

  “Now?”

  “Okay.” Erin pulled her phone from her pocket. She took a deep breath to steel her nerves as she dialed Amy’s number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Amy, it’s Erin. Can I speak to Morgan, please?”

  “Sure, she’s in the garden. One second.”

  Erin closed her eyes and tried to push away the picture of the blonde as she focused on the sound of Amy opening doors, her footsteps striking the wooden floors, her muffled voice as she spoke to Morgan and finally Morgan’s voice.

  “Hello, Erin.”

  Erin’s breath caught in her throat and tears burned her eyes. The happiness in Morgan’s voice was unmistakable. She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t find the words to say what Tristan wanted her to ask. All she wanted to do was shout, to scream at her and demand answers. She wanted to know why Morgan had betrayed her. How she could have done it. She wanted to cry at the unfairness of knowing that Morgan wouldn’t be able to answer her even if she wanted to.

  “Hello? Erin, are you there?”

  Fear colored Morgan’s words, and a part of her rejoiced at it. She wanted to strike out and hurt Morgan just the way she was hurting now.

  “Mum, talk to her,” Tristan said.

  She cleared her throat. “Sorry, yes, I’m here.”

  “Oh, good. I thought I lost you for a minute there.”

  Erin laughed at the unintended irony of the statement. “I’m calling to see what you’re doing on Saturday.”

  “Well, nothing.”

  “It’s Tristan’s first soccer match of the season. He wondered if you’d like to come and see him play.”

  “I…” Morgan paused then cleared her throat. “I’d love to.”

  “Good. I’ll let him know you’ll be there.” She smiled at the beaming grin on Tristan’s face.

  “Erm…where do I go?”

  “I’ll text Amy the details.” Erin wanted nothing more than to end the conversation and try to forget. For a moment, she envied Morgan, but just for a moment. Tristan’s wide smile was more than enough to erase that thought. The price was far too high for her, no matter what the pain.

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. He asked.”

  “And I’ll thank him when I see him.”

  “Right. See you Saturday.”

  “Good-bye, Erin.”

  Erin disconnected the call as Tristan kissed the top of her head and ran out into the garden kicking his ball. She stared at the blank screen in her hand, and wished she had never seen the woman’s face. How the hell am I going to be able to face her on Saturday?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Morgan shuffled back and forth trying to spot Erin. The morning was surprisingly cool for late August; the wind whipped through the trees and across the field. It had been two weeks since she’d visited Erin and asked to see the children, and almost a week since Erin had called her. She’d wanted desperately to see them immediately, but had acquiesced to Erin’s request for time. She wanted to help them adjust to everything. As much as it made sense, it ripped at her heart to wait.

  The soccer game started ten minutes ago and she didn’t want to distract Tristan. She finally spotted Erin sitting in a collapsible camping chair by the sideline, and the child’s version next to her was empty.

  “Hi. Sorry I’m late. I got a little lost.”

  “It’s okay.” Erin didn’t take her eyes off the game.

  “How are you?”

  Erin shrugged, still staring at the field.

  Okay, that’s definitely a cold shoulder. I’m not that late.

  “What about you? Remember anything else? Anything new on the investigation?”

  “I’m good. The dizzy spells are getting fewer and further between, and most of the other stuff seems to be pretty much normal now. As for the investigation…” She shrugged. “They have a couple of pictures of people they think are involved, but I have no idea who they are, so it really hasn’t helped anything.”

  Erin turned her head and looked into her eyes. Morgan felt as though she were under a microscope being studied, her gaze was so intense. She wished she knew why the anger and hurt sparked in those beautiful blue eyes. She wished she knew how and why she had caused so much pain.

  Morgan crouched beside Erin’s chair. “For everything I did to hurt you, I’m sorry. I know you think that doesn’t mean anything because I don’t know what I’m apologizing for, but it does. I’m apologizing for hurting you. I know I’ve done that. The how and the why are things I wish I knew, but I don’t. All I know is that I did. And that’s reason enough for me to say I’m sorry to you for the rest of my life.”

  Tears filled Erin’s eyes. She reached for her bag and let her gaze fall as she retrieved a tissue. She wiped her eyes and pointed at the pitch. “They’re one nil up. He saved a penalty.”

  “He did? Already?”

  “Yes.”

  Morgan scanned the field and found Tristan shouting instructions to his defense and clapping his oversized gloves as the wall lined up to block a free kick. She watched him squat down to check all the angles and shout for the wall to move over. The referee blew his whistle and the other team tried to curl the ball around the wall. Morgan felt her heart pounding as it sailed over the heads of the boys and straight toward Tristan. He jumped, arms outstretched, and finger tipped the ball over the cross bar. He rolled with the landing and was back on his feet in seconds organizing his defense for the corner kick that would follow.

  “He’s good. How long has he played goalkeeper?”

  “Three years for this team. He played for another team before that. Midfield.”

  “Why did he switch?”

  “He prefers it, and he’s good in goal―tall, jumps higher than the rest of his teammates, probably because of his basketball training too. You worked with him for months on his skills, and how to land without hurting himself.” Erin kept her eyes fixed on the field.

  “We were close?”

  “Very. He’s angry at you for leaving and not calling, not coming round. Don’t expect this to be easy, Morgan.”

  “I don’t. I’m amazed he wanted me to come here.”

  Erin laughed. “You’ve been to every game he’s ever played. If you hadn’t been here today, it would have been the first one you missed. It would have killed him.”

  “He’s amazing.”

  “They both are. Even though he wanted you here, he might not speak to you. Or he might get moody and sulk.”

  “He can scream at me if he wants to. I’m so grateful he’s giving me a chance. Where’s Maddie?”

  “Toilet.”

  “Should I go and see if she’s okay?”

  “No. She’s on her way back now.” Erin pointed across the field to the row of Portacabins and the girl skipping toward them. “There’s another chair if you want to sit down.” Erin pushed at the canvas bag at her feet.

  “Thanks.” Morgan picked it up, pulled the chair out, and unfolded it. She
sat next to Erin, watching Maddie cross behind Tristan’s net, and then carry on. But Tristan was looking across the field at Morgan. He raised his hand as if to wave, but dropped it before he got halfway. He turned back to the game and shouted more instructions to his teammates. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Erin holding her hand out to Maddie, as she stopped skipping and slowly walked the remaining distance toward them. She cuddled in close to Erin and stared at Morgan.

  “Hi.” Morgan smiled warmly. Her heart pounded as she looked at her daughter. She had long, dark hair, big brown eyes, watching her cautiously, and dimples just waiting to pop when she smiled. Her leg twitched and jumped while she waited.

  “Hi.”

  “I, erm…” She cleared her throat. “I brought something for you, Maddie.”

  She cocked her head to one side and waited.

  “Right, I—I used to love these when I was your age, and I thought if you didn’t already know loads of cool tricks, I could maybe, teach you some.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a yo-yo. It was bright pink with glitter all over it.

  Maddie’s eyes lit up, but she looked to Erin before she reached for it. Erin smiled and nodded, subtly shifting so that Maddie was closer to Morgan and could see much easier.

  “Do you know how to work a yo-yo?”

  Maddie shook her head.

  “No?”

  Maddie giggled as she shook her head this time. “Nope. You never taught me old toys before.”

  Erin pressed a hand to her lips, trying to stifle the laughter that bubbled out. She winked at Morgan when their eyes met.

  “Old toys, eh?” Morgan tied the loop in the end of the string and slipped it onto her middle finger. “Well, young lady, I’ll have you know that this ‘old toy’ can be a lot fun.” She flexed her shoulder and let the yo-yo go. She went through a quick repertoire of a straight forward roll, walking the dog, sleeper, around the world, the three leaf clover, and then the pièce de résistance, the pinwheel. Maddie’s eyes were huge, her hesitancy forgotten as she crept closer and closer to Morgan.

  “Can you teach me all of those?”