“I’ll book us into a hotel in Berwick for a few nights.”
Quinn took a deep breath before asking, “You called Seth, didn’t you? Does he know Brett is in London?”
“Doesn’t seem so. Seth’s at home in New Orleans. He said Brett took off for a few days, needing time to think. He’s here of his own volition.”
“Well, that’s a relief at least. I’d hate to think Seth put him up to it, after what I’ve been through.”
“He’d never,” Gabe replied. “Seth cares about you.”
“I know,” Quinn said softly. “He’s not in an enviable position at the moment.”
“No, he isn’t. I’ll be home soon, love. Start packing.”
Gabe ended the call and headed for the Tube station. His father had often told him that running away was never the answer, but in this instance, it wasn’t really running away. It was a tactical maneuver to outsmart the enemy. Brett would never think to look for Quinn in Berwick, and Gabe did feel guilty for neglecting his mother. Phoebe rarely complained, but he could hear the reproach in her voice when he spoke to her. She’d been lonely since Graham died, and although she tried to fill her hours with various senior-type activities, she still missed the companionship. She would love to spend some time with the children, and it would make him feel less guilty about going to Spain to visit Quinn’s parents. Once back, it’d be almost time for the new term and Quinn would no doubt have a new case to focus on. In an odd way, Brett had done him a favor.
Chapter 35
The flat was silent, the electronic glow of the laptop screen the only light in the room. Jo sat with one leg folded beneath her, leaning forward for a better look. Daisy had posted several new photos. She’d gone to a party with her sister, Paige, and judging from the photographic evidence, it looked to have been rowdy. Daisy wore a sparkly tube top and low-rise jeans, and, although it was tastefully done, way too much make-up for a girl who wasn’t yet fifteen.
Jo wondered if Michael and his wife had access to Daisy’s Facebook page. Probably not. Or maybe they were liberal parents who had bought her the make-up and driven her and Paige to the party themselves. Jo pondered that for a moment. What kind of father was Michael? Was he strict, lenient, supportive, or judgmental like his own father had been? Probably all of the above, depending on the day, if she knew Michael at all. He’d never had a strong personality and was easily manipulated, as she had discovered to her own detriment.
The thought made her cringe. Why had she done it? What had prompted her to seduce her own brother? Was it the feeling of power it gave her, or the knowledge that she could use Michael for her first sexual experiment without taking any real risk? Why had she been so angry with him when all he had done was give her what she’d wanted, and why had she felt so betrayed by her parents when all they’d tried to do was parent her? No one’s family was perfect; no one’s parents got it right all the time, but people forgave each other and moved forward, their bonds unbroken. They didn’t stop loving each other, nor did they sever all ties. Perhaps they’d done what any parent would do in similar circumstances, but she had never been able to take their decisions at face value, convinced that they’d judged her more harshly because she wasn’t truly theirs, and took Karen and Michael’s side over hers because in their eyes, she was never as important.
What type of parent would she have been had she kept Daisy? Would her daughter love her or think her an unbearable nag, or worse yet, a tyrant? Jo would not have been a permissive parent, she was sure of that, but how far would she have gone in rearing her daughter in her own image? Jo scoffed at the thought. Why would she want her child to be like her? What had she accomplished, besides a successful career, that was worth aspiring to? She’d driven away everyone who’d ever loved her, and she was about to do so again.
Some part of her begged her to stop and think, to take a step back, but she was on a collision course with destiny; she always had been. She wasn’t one to do things by half; she was all in. And if it was a choice between one night with Gabe or a lifetime with Quinn, she knew the answer. It had crept up on her over the past few months, while she was trying to sort through the rubbish heap that was her tangled feelings. She wasn’t good with women. She’d never really got on with her mother or Karen. She liked men. They were easier to understand, easier to manipulate. Women were too smart not to see through her and put up a protective shield, knowing that sooner or later, they’d need to defend themselves against her.
Jo’s gaze drifted back to the laptop screen. Daisy would be a woman one day, was nearly one already. Jo had missed her daughter’s entire childhood, and if not for social media, she’d have missed her entire life. For the first time, Jo experienced pure longing rooted in what she believed to be love. Or maybe it was just selfishness on her part. Daisy had nothing to gain by knowing her; it was Jo who’d benefit from the relationship, but she couldn’t look away, couldn’t quite keep her promise. She wanted to meet this girl she’d made and who was part of her, talk to her, find out what she thought, what type of music she listened to, what made her laugh and cry, and what it would take for her to forgive the mother who’d abandoned her without a second thought.
Ironically, she was on her way to forgiving Sylvia. Having met her again and spoken to her, she no longer saw Sylvia as the bogeyman who lived under the bed. She was a woman: flawed, selfish at times, misunderstood, and reviled for choosing herself over her daughters. She had been seventeen, only a few years older than Daisy was now. How could anyone expect a child to make such a monumental decision when faced with two squalling infants, one of them seriously ill, and no help or emotional support? If Jo was able to finally see the truth of Sylvia’s situation, perhaps, in time, Daisy might see the truth of hers, as long as she got to present Daisy with her version of events. She didn’t think Michael would ever tell her the whole ugly truth; he was too kind a man to burden Daisy with such a sordid portrayal of her birth mother. Instead, he’d probably told her the sanitized version of the truth, that her mother had been a kid who was foolish, selfish, even cruel. She’d chosen her own self-preservation over the well-being of her child and, despite the support of her parents, had left the fate of her daughter in the hands of her father. Lucky for Daisy that her biological dad hadn’t washed his hands of her. Daisy had had a happy life. She was safe, loved, and supported. Her parents clearly doted on her and her siblings.
Jo reached for the bottle of whisky that stood next to the laptop and added a splash to her glass. She had to put the dream of Daisy from her mind. In her own perverse way, she loved the girl and didn’t want to do anything to destabilize her life, at least not yet. But knowing that she held all the cards made her decision easier. She was no longer ignorant of Daisy’s fate, nor was she completely cut off from her. All she had to do was send her a message through Facebook, and the knowledge gave her wings. She could contact Daisy at any time, ask her to meet, tell her daughter her side of the story. Daisy might be angry, dismissive, even cruel, but once the thought was planted, she’d get curious, she’d want to know more; girls always did. Sooner or later, she’d reach out, maybe only to berate Jo or tell her that she never wanted to see her, but it would be contact, and once made, there would be room to maneuver.
Not yet, Jo told herself as she closed the laptop, gulped down the whisky, and headed to the bathroom. Not just yet. She was tired, and having drunk more than half the bottle, she was ready for bed. Tomorrow was another day, a day in which she’d see Gabe, one way or another. She smiled at the thought. She wouldn’t disrupt Daisy’s life, but she didn’t feel as protective of Quinn. Quinn was a big girl, and she’d have to fight for what was hers.
Chapter 36
June 1961
London, England
Helen stepped out into the garden and sighed with contentment. It had been a long winter and a cold spring, but at last, summer had come, and they had enjoyed a series of warm, sunny days that gladdened the heart. The delicate scent of roses wafted toward her, a
nd Helen walked toward the bushes, bending to smell the fragrant blooms. Primroses were her favorite, partly because of their heady scent, but also because she loved the color. They were a pale yellow, each bloom as big as her palm, and up close the aroma was intoxicating. With David’s help, Helen had added to the garden over the past few years, turning it into an oasis of scent and color. She’d planted hollyhocks below the windows and lavender along the back wall of the garden.
She clipped a half dozen roses and took them into the house, arranging them in a pretty jug. She set the flowers on the table and started on breakfast. David came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her round belly, planting a sweet kiss on her temple.
“Maybe today,” he whispered.
“Maybe,” Helen replied.
She knew it would be today. She’d been having mild contractions for the past two days, but by this morning they had intensified, and her water had broken just before she stepped out into the garden. She was more than ready for this pregnancy to end. She’d felt much better since taking the prescription Dr. Ross had given her, sleeping soundly and eating well once the nausea abated, but she was eager to meet her baby. Although she’d originally wanted to name the child Annie, she thought she might like to name her Rose instead, after the gorgeous primroses in her garden. In fact, she was almost sure it was a girl. Davy had been boisterous during the pregnancy, but this baby was quieter, calmer. She felt it turn, but the movements had been gentle, rolling, like a sea creature stirring in its watery world. There were no painful kicks in the ribs or pressure against her bladder. Mrs. Mason, the midwife, thought the baby was a good size. She’d felt its head and bottom and believed it would be as big as Davy had been at birth.
Helen placed a protective hand on her belly. “I think you should go and fetch Mrs. Mason after breakfast,” she said.
David hugged her even tighter, as if he were afraid to let her go.
“Everything will be all right. You just take Davy out when hard labor starts. I don’t want him frightened. He’s too young to understand how babies come into the world.”
“Don’t worry, love. I will look after Davy. Here, let me do that.” David filled the plates with fried eggs, bacon, and toast, and set them on the table. “You have a hearty breakfast and then go for a lie-down. You’ll need your strength in the hours to come. Davy and I will go fetch Mrs. Mason.”
“Yes, I think I just might do that,” Helen agreed as she took a forkful of egg. She was hungry. Over the past six months, she’d put on considerable weight, but she wasn’t worried. She’d lose the weight as soon as she was up and about again. She’d go for long walks with the baby, now that the weather was so pleasant, and spend time working in the garden while she (Helen thought giddily) napped. She could already see the sweet face of her baby, its downy hair a soft brown, and its eyes hazel like David’s, or brown like hers. She couldn’t wait to hold it in her arms, sing it a lullaby, and put it to her breast. She liked being a mum, and secretly thought they might try for another baby in a year or two. She was past thirty, but plenty of women had babies in their thirties, especially if they’d already had other children before. She might be an older mum than most of her neighbors, but it wasn’t too late for her yet.
“Just leave the dishes,” David told her, but Helen waved him away.
“I feel fine, and the waiting is the worst part. I promise, I’ll go lie down as soon as I tidy up the kitchen.”
Helen kissed Davy before he left with his father. “I’ll see you later. You be good for Daddy, and by the time you return, you might have a little brother or sister waiting for you.”
“I’d like a sister, if it’s all the same to you,” Davy said. “It’d be nice to have a girl, for you, I mean, but a brother would be just as good. So, don’t worry about me; I’ll be happy with either.”
“Okay,” Helen replied with a grin.
Helen walked her Davids to the door, finished up in the kitchen, and went back out into the garden. She had no desire to spend several hours lying down in the bedroom. Instead, she walked for a while, then sat down to rest. The pains were coming closer together now and were becoming more difficult to ignore.
“Helen? Ah, there you are,” Mrs. Mason said as she stepped out into the garden. “How are you, dear? Oh, it is lovely out here,” she said, inhaling deeply.
“I’m well, Mrs. Mason. The contractions are about seven minutes apart, so we have plenty of time.”
“That we do, but it’s always good to be prepared. I’ll see you to the bed.”
Mrs. Mason helped Helen upstairs. She placed a large rectangle of oilcloth beneath the sheet to protect the mattress before allowing Helen to lie down. “Let’s get you out of that dress, shall we? You’ll be more comfortable in your nightgown.”
Helen obediently changed. There was no need to ruin a perfectly good dress, and the loose nightgown wouldn’t restrict her movements. She climbed into bed and leaned against the pillows Mrs. Mason had propped up against the headboard. The pains were coming quicker now, and she was panting and groaning. Mrs. Mason laid out several clean towels on the bureau and went down to boil water to sterilize her instruments.
Once back upstairs, Mrs. Mason waited for a break between contraction before performing an internal examination. It hurt, and Helen instinctively tried to move away from her prying fingers, but Mrs. Mason pushed deeper, measuring the opening in her cervix with a practiced hand. “You’re about seven centimeters dilated, Helen. It won’t be long now.”
She was right. Within a half hour, Helen was in hard labor. She’d forgotten how awful this part was. The contractions came one after the other, the pain rolling over her like huge waves that knocked her over and squeezed the air from her lungs. She barely had time to catch her breath before the next contraction was upon her. Her back ached dreadfully, and her pelvic bones felt as if they were being forced apart.
“It’s time to push,” Mrs. Mason finally said. “You’re nearly there, dear. Just a little while longer. There’s a good girl.” She mopped Helen’s brow with a cool, damp cloth and brushed her hair out of her face, but Helen barely noticed. The pressure was unbearable as she bore down, but the child wouldn’t come. It seemed to be wedged in the birth canal, unable to move forward.
Helen pushed for what seemed like hours until the baby finally slithered from her body and into Mrs. Mason’s waiting hands. Helen breathed a great sigh of relief and lay back on the pillows, needing a moment to catch her breath. Her legs were shaking, her back was in agony, and she was drenched in sweat, but she forgot her discomfort the moment the baby let out a lusty wail.
“What is it, Mrs. Mason? Is it a girl?”
“Eh…yes.” Mrs. Mason stood with her back to Helen as she cleaned the baby on the bureau.
“Is she all right?” Helen asked. She had no reason to think otherwise, but something in Mrs. Mason voice made her uneasy.
“Helen, why don’t you rest for a while. I’ll see to the little one.”
“I want to see her.”
Mrs. Mason turned around, the baby in her arms. The child’s eyes were closed against the light, and she was no longer crying. Her perfect lips were slightly open, and her cheeks as pink as the blooms in Helen’s garden. Helen held out her arms and Mrs. Mason placed the infant into them. Helen wanted to look at the baby, but Mrs. Mason’s anxious gaze sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine.
“What is it?” she whispered. “Please, tell me.”
“Helen,” Mrs. Mason began, but a hoarse scream tore from Helen’s throat when she finally looked down at the child. She tore at the blanket until the baby lay naked in her lap. Great sobs of grief erupted from her mouth as she bent over the child, rocking back and forth as she wept. The baby opened her eyes and looked at Helen, her gaze puzzled by such a display. Frightened, the baby began to fuss, her cries like the mewling of a kitten.
“Shall I take her?” Mrs. Mason asked, but Helen shook her head. She wrapped the blanket around the baby, more
to cover her deformity than to keep her warm. Helen was still in shock, desperately wanting to believe that she wasn’t seeing straight after her ordeal, but there was no escaping the truth. The child had no limbs. She was just a torso with a head. It was grotesque, unreal. Helen had never seen anything like it in all her years at the hospital. There had been babies born with disabilities, but nothing could have prepared her for this level of disfigurement. She continued to cry softly, clutching the bundle to her chest. The infant had stopped fussing and closed her eyes, paying little attention to her heartbroken mother as she fell asleep.
Mrs. Mason carefully took the child from Helen and placed her in the cot David had moved into their room before the birth. The little girl slept on, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
“Helen, she’s not in any discomfort,” Mrs. Mason said.
Helen nodded. “I need to be alone, Mrs. Mason. Please.”
“Of course.”
Mrs. Mason collected the soiled towels and left the room. Normally, she would have helped Helen into a clean nightgown and changed the bedlinens, but now wasn’t the time.
Helen wrapped her arms around herself and rocked silently back and forth, bitter tears pouring down her face. This was all her fault. God had given her one chance to do the right thing, but she hadn’t taken it. She’d ignored decency, the laws of nature, and God’s own word, and lain with her brother again and again, begetting more children. She’d pretended all was well and thought she could get away with it, and now the Lord had meted out justice, and it was brutal and merciless. What was she to do? How was she to cope with a child who was so disabled? And what could she tell David? She couldn’t keep the truth to herself any longer. He had to know what she’d done. He needed to understand why this had happened to them.
Helen couldn’t remember how long she’d sat like that, but natural light had faded from the room and Mrs. Mason had come in to give her some water and change the bloodstained sheets. Helen moved like an automaton, allowing Mrs. Mason to stuff her into a clean nightgown. She felt numb with horror, eviscerated by guilt.
The Broken (Echoes from the Past Book 8) Page 18
