Forget Me Not by Luana Lewis Page A

can’t look at him, at the grotesque damage he’s inflicted on himself, the tattoos, the spliced tongue, the protuberances along his eyebrows.
    When Ben speaks, his tone is bitter, even as he smiles and waves at his daughter as the little cart trundles back to the starting point. ‘Don’t forget,’ he says, ‘that anything reported in the press will be all over the internet. It will stay there, in perpetuity. And it will hurt Lexi when she’s old enough to search for information about her mother’s death.’
    ‘Ben, I understand.’
    There hasn’t been as much in the papers about Vivien’s death as I had expected. Perhaps this reflects the extent of Ben’s influence, or the rarefied community they live in where their neighbours and friends are wary of gossip and the impact of such reports on house prices. In any event, my daughter remains as private in death as she was in life.
    Isaac helps Lexi to step down from the rollercoaster and they walk through the barriers and back towards us, hand in hand. They are both smiling, at ease in each other’s company.
    ‘I haven’t said anything to anyone,’ I say. ‘There’s nothing to say. I knew nothing about the argument, and Vivien never talked to me about your marriage, if that’s what you’re worried about. I have no intention of ever compromising my daughter’s privacy. I was surprised to hear you walked out on her, because that’s so unlike you. But my only concern is Lexi’s well-being, and yours, too.’
    Ben has turned his back on me and I’m not sure if he’s heard me. He holds out his arms and Lexi runs towards him. He swings her up into the air and then clasps her close to his chest.
    The wind doesn’t let up, and silver-blonde strands blow around my face as I try in vain to pat them down into some kind of order.
    I notice that as Isaac draws closer, he pats Ben on the back. It is a gesture of warmth and of familiarity. It makes me think of a father’s touch.
     
    At around eight thirty that night, my mobile rings. I can barely hear what Ben is saying because of the noise in the background. Lexi is screaming.
    I can hear he is desperate and even before the brief call is over, I am grabbing my coat and pulling on my boots. The door of my flat slams shut behind me and I run down the stairs. I flag down a passing cab and I tell him to hurry.
    I know it’s wrong to feel this way but I am pleased. Pleased that Ben called me; pleased to be needed.
    When he opens the front door, Lexi is in his arms, barely, and he’s trying to restrain her. She twists her body back and forth, her fists pound at him and her legs thrash. She is red in the face.
    She is shouting
No.
Over and over again.
No. No. No.
    I push open the gate and rush up the stairs towards them, and I hold out my arms for her. Ben stumbles, as she slips from his grasp and I am there to grab hold of her. She pushes me away at first, but I manage to catch both of her wrists. She’s a solid little thing, but I’m much stronger. I kick the front door shut behind me.
    Ben takes a few steps away, looking shell shocked.
    My surprise appearance seems to have done the trick, because Lexi has stopped shouting and she’s no longer struggling. I loosen my grip on her wrists and wrap my arms around her middle. I sit down on the floor, pulling her onto my lap, and I hold her tight.
    Ben stands over us. His T-shirt is damp and creased and there are sweat stains under his arms. He’s barefoot and unshaven and I think I catch a whiff of alcohol. There is an angry red mark on his left cheek, under his eye.
    I don’t say anything. I sit on the floor of the hall, my arms wrapped around Lexi, and I simply hold on. Gradually she settles. I notice the unusual coldness of her skin. Mine is the same, as though, since Vivien died, our bones have turned to ice, freezing us from the inside out.
    Ben walks away, into the living room. I can see him through the doorway and I watch as he pours himself a glass of