Free Falling by Emma Kavanagh

She should bring him home. Then it would just be the two of them. Here. Alone.
    Cecilia sank down onto the bottom step and leaned her head against the bannister. That’s what any normal mother would do. The silence was deafening, tearing at her insides. It sounded like engines and rushing wind. She could pull Ben towards her, holding him tight, forget all about the fact that she was running away, that she had left, that she had taken everything that mattered to her. That she had left him. Because she was here, wasn’t she? She had survived when she shouldn’t have, because she had chosen the jump seat four rows in the right direction, because the plane hadn’t gone down two seconds earlier or two seconds later. Just because. And there must be a reason, because otherwise why would she live and the good mother and her little girl die?
    Cecilia pushed herself up again, pushing her chin out and trying to slow her breathing. Twisting a tube of lipstick. Red rose. Smoothed it onto lips that were too dry. He would be glad to see her. Wouldn’t he? She was his mother after all. He would look at her, his face lighter simply because she was there, and this time he wouldn’t turn away, wouldn’t bury his head in his father’s leg, eyes turned sideways towards her, unsure of her. And this time she would know what to say to him, know what he needed, simply because she was his mother. And every time she looked at him, she wouldn’t see the other one. This time she would just see him.
    That was when she remembered, spinning on her heel so that her arm seared and lipstick smudged. Cold gripped her, from inside to out. Stepped forward. Stepped back. Then stood there, because there was nowhere else to go. The picture, the unformed foetus was gone, like everything else she had valued enough to take.
    Closing her eyes, resting her head against the cool of the mirror.
    You take what matters, when you run away from home. You take what you will need, the things that make life bearable. You take your secrets.
    She was trembling, trying to breathe. It would be okay. Breathe. Think of Ben. It’ll be okay. Because she had to have survived for a reason, and he’s her son and she’s his mother and this time he’ll be enough and she’ll be enough.

Chapter 14
    Tom – Friday, 16th March - 11.27am
    The snow covered Libby, tucked in beneath her frozen silver chin. Her head was cushioned by bracken and leaves, chestnut hair fanning out into a halo. Her lips were pressed lightly together into a kiss. Eyes open, navy blue. Seemed that she was staring at him. But then Tom moved, and the illusion shifted, a trick of the light, gaze becoming vacant again. Dead.
    They stood on the path, looking down towards the river, the body. A bitter cold wind had crept up, whipping at their white protective suits. The DI a broad-shouldered snowman beside him, his arms folded tight across his chest. Down below, through the snaking embankment of bracken and brambles, white clad scenes of crime investigators moved around the body. They stepped slowly, cautiously, every inch taking more time than would have seemed possible, because one wrong step now and the forensic evidence is gone and they can’t get it back.
    “I, uh, thanks. For, you know.” DI Maxwell’s voice tripped on the wind so that Tom had to strain to hear. He wasn’t looking at Tom, was staring down the bank to where Libby lay. Seemed almost impossible from this distance that she could be real.
    “Not a problem, boss.” Tom had been heading to the car, mind full of crime scenes and blood spatter and the secrets that lie within the heart of all families. Had pulled up short. The DI had been standing beside his car, his face pale, gaze long. Okay, boss? Looking up like he hadn’t heard him pull in, face pale. Yeah, bad morning. You know. Libby. A heavy sigh. Going to scene now. Tom had tucked his car keys into his pocket. Mind if I tag along?
    Tom stared down the bank at the body. There were leaves