by Kerena Swan
He sighed, took a long draught of strong coffee and waited for the caffeine to spark his brain into action. Paton still thought there was a link between Trina and the forger of documents and number plates, but he couldn’t find it. The Milton Keynes investigation into stolen cars had proved fruitless, and four months on there were no new leads. Trina had simply vanished. He’d been busy chasing other criminals but this case still rankled with him. It was the first one where he’d deputised for the Senior Investigating Officer and had been his chance to prove himself. But he’d failed. So far. He was determined not to give up hope. Even if it took years to find her.
When he arrived home, he was greeted by the delicious smell of roast chicken and his spirits lifted. Wendy was feeling stronger, and he had a lot to be grateful for. He shouldn’t forget that. He changed out of his work clothes then offered to carve the chicken, a job Wendy disliked. Tommy hovered nearby, asking for pieces of crispy skin.
‘Let’s pull the wishbone, Dad,’ he said with enthusiasm. Tommy was a great believer in good luck charms, the tooth fairy and wishing wells.
Paton washed the wishbone and dried it. They linked their little fingers around it and pulled. Tommy tugged too hard and snapped off the smaller piece.
‘You win, Dad. You make a wish.’
Tommy watched with rapt attention so Paton shut his eyes to add to the drama and let his lips move silently. I wish we could find the Tay Killer and bring her to justice.
Chapter 63
Early October | Jenna
The wind sends tufts of white cloud scudding across the sky and binds my skirt around my legs, but Nisha and I don’t feel cold. The sun warms the top of our heads and shoulders, and, even though it doesn’t have the power of high summer, it’s enough to keep us comfortable. We saunter with linked arms along the promenade and look out at the metallic blue sea. Joggers and cyclists pass us and seagulls screech overhead then swoop to fight over a bag of discarded chips.
‘It’s so good to breathe in fresh air,’ Nisha says. ‘I spend too much time cooped up in the travel agents. It’s ironic really. I dedicate my working day to planning amazing holidays for people yet I don’t go anywhere.’ She stops abruptly and I stop too. ‘Oh God, sorry, Jenna. That was really tactless of me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve put all your travel plans and even your life on hold to look after your mum, and here’s me whinging about being at work.’
‘It’s fine.’ I give her arm a squeeze.
‘Do you think you’ll visit all the places of your dreams after… You know. When this is all over?’
‘I can’t think about afterwards yet. I’m just living a day at a time.’ I’d left the house this morning and walked to the little train station in Bow Brickhill with a sense of adventure and mounting excitement, but now I can’t help wondering if I should have stayed. What if Mum takes a turn for the worse and I’m not there to look after her? Grace is great with Mum but she isn’t family.
‘Do you mind if I call home? I won’t be long. I just want to check Mum’s okay.’
‘Go ahead. I’m going to sit on this bench and admire the view.’
I wander further along the footpath, appreciating the symmetry of the old brick archways striding along the roadside to my left.
‘Hi, Grace, it’s me.’
A moment passes before she answers. ‘Jenna?’
Her voice sounds… odd. Not as friendly as usual. ‘Is everything all right?’ I ask, dreading hearing that Mum’s taken a turn for the worse. ‘How’s Mum?’
‘Fine.’
That was sharp. Does she think I’m checking up on her? That I don’t trust her to look after Mum as well as I do?
I’m searching for words of reassurance when Grace speaks again. ‘Are you having a nice time?’
She sounds as though she’s got herself under control now. Perhaps she realises she’s been sharp and regrets it. Grace may not be family but I suppose the situation with Mum is putting her under strain too. ‘Lovely, thanks,’ I tell her, to help smooth things over, but then I hesitate because I still feel uneasy. ‘Can I speak to Mum?’
‘She’s asleep. Shall I wake her?’
‘Don’t do that. I’ll see her later.’
I walk back to Nisha, deep in thought.
‘Shall we buy lunch?’ Nisha says. ‘I’m feeling peckish.’
‘Sure.’ We’ve spent the morning ambling around the quirky shops in the Lanes, admiring the jewellery, laughing at the rubber duck shop and bemoaning the fact that a lot of the antique shops seem to have disappeared. It’s been a great day so far, but now I have an urgent desire to go home and check everything is all right.
‘I’m sorry to be a killjoy, Nisha, but do you think we could catch an earlier train home? I can’t stop worrying about Mum.’
Chapter 64
Early October | Grace
‘Who was that?’ my mum asks, when I go back to the lounge where she’s cocooned in blankets on the sofa.
‘Jenna. Just checking you’re okay.’
‘That’s sweet of her. Is she having fun?’
‘Yes. She’ll tell you about it later.’
I pick up my Scrabble letters again and stare at them to mask my feelings. How dare Jenna interrupt this special day with my mother? The bitch is supposed to be dead or at least in hospital. She’s like a fucking cat. How many chances can one person have? She must have used up all her lives by now.
‘Have you got stuck with the Q?’ Mum asks sympathetically. ‘I always struggle with that letter.’
I realise I’m taking too long to place my word. ‘Sorry!’ I shuffle my tiles about and see a word I can spell on the board but then stop. I can’t put DEATH.
I don’t want to play this stupid game anymore. I just want my mother to hold me and kiss my forehead. I clatter the letters around again then lay the word DEARTH. That’ll do.
‘Well done, you. A double letter score on the H. You’re so good at this game.’
‘Do you mind if we finish this another time?’ I ask. ‘I’d really love to look at the photos again.’
We’ve spent hours asking and answering questions, giving each other details and anecdotes about our lives – Mum’s in detail and mine edited because I don’t want to upset her – and we’ve pored over the old family photographs.
‘Of course,’ Mum says. ‘If that’s what you’d like.’
‘I want to see my father again, and you, when you were younger.’
I could weep when I see images of family holidays in the sunshine, Jenna on my father’s shoulders – her mouth wide with laughter, the four of them eating fresh fish in restaurants on starlit beaches, elaborate birthday cakes with brightly-clad children playing party games in the background, and Jenna curled up on my mother’s lap with her thumb in her mouth. I feel like I’ve been invited to the Queen’s private birthday party and someone has stolen my invitation. I know I’m torturing myself looking at these photos, but it’s like a wasps’ nest that I can’t resist poking with a stick.
Mum picks up another yellow packet of photos and this time it’s Jenna in her school play and my father on his feet applauding her, pride glowing on his face. I begin to feel sick. I get up abruptly and mutter that I need the bathroom then rush upstairs. I bury my face in a thick, fluffy towel and howl out my anguish. My life is in those photos. I want to scratch Jenna’s face out of them and put mine in instead.
I splash cold water on my cheeks and look at my reflection. My eyes are red-rimmed but they’ve looked like that all day. We’ve both cried uncontrollably at times and held on to each other like survivors being dragged from a tsunami.
I go back downstairs and snuggle next to my mum on the sofa. There’s one subject we haven’t touched on yet and it’s like a hungry lion in the corner that we’re pretending not to see.
‘Grace,’ Mum says, ‘we need to work out how to tell Lucy you’re her birth sister, but, more importantly, I need to tell Jenna that, alth
ough I think of her as my daughter, she’s not related to me in the biological sense. This is going to be really hard for her.’
What about me? I want to yell. Don’t you think it’s been hard for me?
‘I need to explain things to Jenna soon – very soon – so I can spend some time with her before I… before I’m no longer here. It’ll give her a chance to see that I mean what I say when I tell her how much I still love her. It would be terrible for her if all this came out only after I’m gone. And obviously it will come out. Partly because you need to get to know Lucy, and partly because I’m leaving you something in my will.’
‘leaving me something?’
‘As my daughter. As one of my three daughters.’
So, she still thinks of Jenna as a daughter. Damn it, hasn’t that bitch already had so much of what was intended for me without getting a cut of the will as well? Why should Lucy’s share and mine be reduced for Jenna’s sake? She’d only blow it on stupid clothes, horses and travelling the world to “find herself” or some such guff.
‘I think we should tell Lucy first,’ I say. ‘We can decide together what to say to Jenna.’
I hear a movement in the hall and sit up straight. Is there someone lurking out there? I jump up from the sofa and rush out of the door.
‘What’s the matter?’ Mum calls after me.
A shadow flits through the dining room doorway and I run after the retreating figure. It’s Lucy. We reach the gravel drive and she rushes towards the parked cars.
‘Lucy, wait!’
She pauses and looks at me. Her face is flushed and her eyes glitter as though she has a fever. ‘I heard everything, Grace. Include you in the will? We trusted you and you tricked us. You’re after the money.’
‘It isn’t like that. Please, let me explain.’
I dig a letter out of my pocket and wave it. ‘You need to read this. It’s a letter our mother wrote, to Rosemary, the woman who raised me. Jenna and I were swapped in the hospital by mistake. Please, Lucy. Read it.’
‘I can’t deal with this now.’
Lucy opens a car door then slams it and starts the engine. It hits me then that she isn’t driving her own car. She’s driving Jenna’s. The car I thought Jenna had driven to Brighton today. Horror rises up in me like a scream. ‘Wait!’ I yell, running after Lucy and waving my arms frantically. I’m hugely relieved when she stops. ‘What?’ she asks, leaning her head out of the window.
‘Don’t take that car!’
‘It needs an MOT. I’ll speak to you later, after I’ve had a chance to think about things.’
‘No, Lucy, you don’t—’
But she ducks back into the car and drives away at speed, leaving me standing on the drive, thinking of the water I put in the brake fluid reservoir. I sink to my knees on the hard stones and bury my face in my hands.
Chapter 65
Early October | Jenna
When I reach Bletchley, I decide not to wait for the small Bedford train and take a taxi to Bow Brickhill instead. I need to get home. I can’t pinpoint why, but something about my conversation with Grace has left me uneasy about Mum. I run up the gravel drive and pause as I notice Lucy’s car. Panic clouds my thoughts. Why is Lucy here? Shouldn’t she be at work? Mum really must have taken a turn for the worst.
I let myself into the house and stand still for a moment, my senses alert and my skin prickling with tension. The house gives nothing away so I chuck my bag on the floor and hurry through the dining room and study to the lounge, praying that my fears are unfounded and I’ll find Mum resting on the sofa. I open the door and relief floods me as I see that she’s really there.
But what’s this? Grace has her head on Mum’s shoulder and… Is she crying? Grace sits up as soon as she sees me and rubs her cheeks with the back of her hand.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask. ‘What’s happened?’
‘We’re fine.’ Mum smiles and I notice her eyes are red too. She glances at Grace. ‘We’ve had a good day, haven’t we?’
Grace nods, still wiping her face so I can’t see her expression, but the atmosphere in the room feels all jangled-up to me. Something’s happened. Something’s changed.
‘Where’s Lucy?’ I ask. ‘Her car’s outside.’
‘She’s taken yours to the garage, hasn’t she?’ Mum asks.
The MOT. I’d forgotten about that. ‘Oh, yes. Stupid me.’
Grace is perched on the edge of the sofa now, rubbing her hands up and down her legs in agitation. She isn’t the calm and soothing Grace I know. ‘You seem upset,’ I say.
She looks up at me finally and I take a step backwards, reeling from the naked loathing in her face. What the hell? I can’t believe she’s just mad at me for going out for the day. There’s something else, but before I can ask her she hugs Mum and kisses her on the cheek. She’s clearly grown very attached to her lately, but it’s starting to feel weird.
Grace jumps to her feet and knocks into my shoulder as she leaves the room. I stare after her but Mum’s more important than Grace. I take Grace’s seat on the sofa and squeeze Mum’s arm gently. I want to kiss her cheek, but it’s as though Grace has tainted it and I don’t want to look like I’m copying her.
‘I shouldn’t have gone today, Mum. I’ve been worrying about you.’
‘You needed a break and Grace has looked after me well.’
‘What’s the matter with her?’
Mum pats my leg. ‘Go and fetch me a glass of water, then we can have a chat.’
Fetching water means going to the kitchen where Grace may be. I enter warily to see her gathering up her belongings. She’s crying openly now and I feel sympathy for her, even though her hostility frightens me a little.
‘Why are you so upset?’ I ask. ‘If it’s because of anything I’ve done, I’m―’
I break off as she lunges at me, pushing me back against the kitchen cupboards. A door handle presses painfully into my shoulder as she holds a hand around my throat. Where did all this anger come from? My heart thumps with fear.
‘You bitch.’ Her eyes are narrowed but boring right into mine and a fleck of spittle flies from her mouth to my cheek. ‘You’ve ruined my life and taken everything. I hate you.’
She lets go of my throat and I slump as my knees weaken. A hundred questions rise inside my head. I’ve no idea what’s going on, but I’m too shocked to do or say anything. She picks up her bag and slams the back door on her way out.
‘What the fuck?’ I say out loud. I stagger to my feet and run on unsteady legs back to Mum.
‘Grace just had a go at me. She’s turned into a psycho.’
‘Don’t say that, Jenna.’ Mum looks like she’s going to cry again.
‘Sorry.’ Mum doesn’t need conflict in her life. ‘But if I’ve done something to offend her—’
‘You haven’t done anything, Jenna. None of this is your fault.’
‘None of what?’
Mum breathes in deeply. ‘There’s something I need to tell you, and you might find it… difficult.’
Surely the worst has already happened with Mum’s diagnosis? The light from the window emphasises the yellow tinge to her skin and guilt floods through me. ‘We don’t have to talk about Grace now, Mum. You’re tired and I was being a drama queen.’
‘What I’m about to tell you affects all of us, and it’s better you know now, my love. You’ll find out soon anyway.’ She takes another deep breath as though summoning the courage to speak. ‘Do you remember me telling you about how you had jaundice when you born?’
‘Vaguely.’ My mind races with possibilities for what she’s going to say next. Is her cancer hereditary? Am I going to die young?
‘We had a student midwife on the maternity ward who was incredibly nervous, and to be honest, completely incompetent. When she put you in the crib for the fluorescent light treatment you needed, she removed your ID bracelet.’ After a slight pause she adds. ‘And that of another baby’s.’
An awful suspicio
n takes hold of me and I don’t – I really don’t – want to hear what comes next. ‘I thought it odd at the time that your behaviour changed so abruptly after you were given back to me, but I put it down to you getting over the trauma of the birth. You became very fractious and demanding, whereas you’d been so quiet and content before.’
‘What are you saying?’ I whisper. I’m on top of a cliff, my toes curled to grip the edge. Down below are wisps of cloud masking treacherous rocks.
‘We were given the wrong babies back after the treatment. Rosemary Butcher is your biological mother…’
I don’t hear the rest of the sentence. I’m in free fall, hurtling towards the rocks…
There’s a loud buzzing in my ears and I feel the rug pressing against my cheek. I open my eyes and see the room tilted sideways. Mum is kneeling next to me, her hand stroking my hair.
‘Are you okay?’ Her gentle caress is soothing. ‘I thought it was only in films that people fainted with shock. Regardless of what happens in the future, I want you to remember that I love you, Jenna. You will always be my daughter, no matter what.’
Her words hit me like a bucketful of cold water and I sit up to gulp lungfuls of air. I’m trapped in a nightmare, but I’ll wake up soon. I stare into the garden but it all looks real enough. I can’t be someone else’s daughter. I’m Jenna Winterbourne. My mother is Fiona Winterbourne and my father was Jonathon Winterbourne.
Mum guides me back onto the sofa and talks me through what happened again, explaining all the details carefully. I try to listen, to take it all in, but my mind keeps spiralling down to the one bare fact. She isn’t my mother.
I can’t bear it. My whole life has been a fake. I’m a fake. And Jonathon Winterbourne wasn’t my father either. Hot tears course down my cheeks and soak into my T-shirt but I don’t brush them away. I’m frozen in shock.
