The Girl You Gave Away: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller

by Jess Ryder

  But anyway, she’s here now, tucked between crisp white sheets that her little sister put on the bed for her last night. Somebody else had been sleeping in here so the bedding had to be changed. A man, judging by the pyjamas that Chloe whisked from under the pillow. Jade suspects it was Erin’s husband. He didn’t come home last night and there’s no sign of Oliver either. Is this her doing? She’s never had this kind of power before and she’s not sure she likes it.

  The complexity of the current situation is too much for her wonky wiring to process. There’s the issue of Amy as well – she’s still really mad at her for hijacking her life. She shakes her head like it’s a box of cornflakes, trying to settle the contents and create some space.

  She didn’t mean to sleep over, or in fact to come to the house at all – that was Chloe’s idea. By the time they’d talked themselves out, it was too late for her to catch the train back to London and she would have also missed the last Tube. There was no choice but to stay. Erin wasn’t too happy about it, Jade could tell, but Chloe took control: changing the sheets, finding her a towel, even lending her a baggy T-shirt to wear as a nightie. Very sweet, very kind.

  Erin was the opposite. She stayed downstairs, feet up on the sofa, hugging a cushion and looking like her world had come to an end.

  While they were making up the bed, Chloe asked where she was living, but Jade was careful not to mention Amy’s name or the address of the flat. She said she was a sofa-surfer, moving around from place to place, which upset Chloe quite a bit.

  ‘That’s one up from being homeless,’ she cried. ‘We can’t have that. You must stay here for as long as you like. This is where you belong.’

  Jade kicks off the duvet and considers this idea as she gets out of bed and pulls on yesterday’s clothes. It’s all topsy-turvy. She always felt she belonged at Amy and Mia’s flat, but now she knows Amy was using her. In contrast, she’s never felt she belongs with her adoptive parents, but they’re the ones who love her the most.

  God knows where her birth mum fits into all this. Nowhere, probably. She got very upset last night about somebody called Asha. This is the person Erin thinks sent Jade the package. Apparently she’s one of her best friends. Or was.

  Jade stands in front of the mirror and combs her hair with her fingers. Putting it all together, her birth mum’s life seems to be completely falling apart. She digs around in her brain for a scrap of sympathy, but there doesn’t seem to be any left.

  As she descends the stairs, she hears raised voices coming from the kitchen. She pauses in the hallway trying to make out the words. The argument seems to be about school. Chloe is saying something about it being a special day so she shouldn’t have to go. They stop abruptly when Jade pushes open the door.

  Chloe is sitting at the breakfast table in her uniform and Erin is leaning against the counter cradling a steaming mug. The atmosphere fizzes.

  ‘There you are!’ says Erin, as if Jade has been deliberately hiding.

  ‘Hi!’ Chloe waves her spoon in welcome.

  ‘Can we get you some breakfast? Toast, cereal …’

  ‘No, ta. I don’t eat in the morning. Do you have orange juice?’

  Erin puts down her mug and goes to the fridge, taking out a carton. It’s not the posh organic kind Mummy buys, but neither is it the crap they had at breakfast club.

  ‘Thanks,’ she manages as she’s handed a glass. She sits down at the table, next to Chloe.

  ‘I can give you a lift to the station if you like,’ Erin says. ‘I hope you won’t be late for work.’

  Jade slurps her juice. ‘No … it’s my day off today.’

  ‘Oh, that’s lucky. Where do you work?’

  ‘Charity shop.’

  ‘That sounds fun. Chloe loves charity shops, don’t you, Chlo?’

  Her sister finishes her cereal and bangs the spoon back in the bowl. ‘Hey, Jade. If you don’t have to work, why don’t you hang around here for the day? You don’t mind, do you, Mum?’

  ‘Well …’ Jade watches her birth mum squirm at the thought. ‘I’m sure Jade has far better things to do than wait around for us. We can see her again another time, one weekend perhaps.’

  ‘But I want to see her today! I’ll be back by four; we can spend the evening together, and you can stay the night again.’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Jade says quickly.

  ‘Pleeeeease, Mum!’

  ‘Okay, if that’s what you want … Fine. That’s settled.’ Erin fixes Chloe with a glare. ‘Go and clean your teeth now, please. If you want a lift to school, we have to leave in five minutes.’

  Before they leave, Chloe pops back into the kitchen. ‘I’m not going in,’ she whispers. ‘I’ll come straight back.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Just stay right here, okay?’

  The front door slams shut and Jade is on her own. In her birth mum’s house.

  She takes her empty glass to the sink and rinses it out. Then she goes straight upstairs to Erin’s bedroom. She has no idea how long she has until Chloe returns – probably no more than half an hour.

  She doesn’t know what she’s looking for, just that she wants to look. You can tell a lot about someone’s personality from their bedroom – she saw a programme on telly about that once. Are the clothes in their wardrobe arranged by colour or season, or randomly shoved on the hangers? Are their socks in pairs, their briefs laid flat, their jewellery untangled, their bottles of nail polish lined up in a row? Or are they like Jade, who tends to keep everything in bin liners?

  Erin’s cupboards tell a confusing story. They are neither super organised nor worryingly messy. Some drawers have been compartmentalised with old shoeboxes, but the various items of underwear are not sticking to their allocated spaces. She decides her birth mum has good intentions but finds it hard to follow through.

  She soon gets bored with the personality quiz. What she’d really like to find is some proof that her birth mum has never forgotten her. A baby photo with a nice message on the back would be great, or a knitted bootee wrapped in tissue paper. Or a diary with asterisks around her birthday and cryptic references to missing somebody she loves. But she finds none of these things.

  Then she remembers a crucial fact. Until a few weeks ago, she was a secret, so Erin would have had to hide any baby memorabilia. Re-energised, she dives into the bottom of what is clearly Erin’s side of the fitted wardrobes and rummages around for a few minutes.

  There are more shoeboxes here, but disappointingly they all contain shoes. Jade is starting to put them back when she sees a large envelope that’s been shoved right at the back. She pulls it free and looks inside. It’s her adoption file. Her heart leaps with excitement until she remembers that this must be the copy Amy gave to Erin, presumably to prove she was her daughter. At least Erin kept it, she thinks; that’s something. She takes the file to the bed and sits down.

  It’s been a while since she read this collection of sad documents. Now that she’s met the real Erin Coughlin, as she was back then, it all feels a lot more real. She’s a slow reader, and she’s only halfway through the second social worker report when she hears Chloe running up the stairs calling her name.

  She freezes, unsure what to do. After a few seconds, the bedroom door opens and her sister comes in. She glances at the boxes strewn across the carpet. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Just looking at my adoption file. It’s okay, your mum said I could. She told me where to find it.’

  ‘Oh, okay … Cool. Can I see?’ Chloe sits next to her.

  Jade passes over the documents and Chloe’s eyes dart over the reports. Her expression changes from one of curiosity to shock.

  ‘I can’t believe this is Mum they’re talking about,’ she says. ‘I had no idea she was this bad as a teenager. Sounds like she was really slutty. It says here she doesn’t know who your father is. I mean, like, whoa! That’s hardcore …’

  ‘To be fair, she did know,’ says Jade. ‘It says somewhere else tha
t he’s called Dean Philips, only she wouldn’t say ’cos she didn’t want to get him into trouble.’

  ‘Oh, right. Even so … Fourteen! That’s my age. I thought I was a rebel, but she was in another league. All that drinking and taking drugs, too …’

  ‘Yeah … That’s why my head’s fucked,’ says Jade.

  Chloe turns to her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She got pissed and used drugs while she was pregnant – it made me brain-damaged.’

  ‘Brain-damaged?’ Chloe echoes. ‘You’re not brain-damaged!’

  ‘I am, actually. I have heaps of things going on – ADHD, autistic spectrum, cognitive behavioural issues – I’m “neurologically diverse”. Can’t concentrate, can’t control my temper, have difficulties understanding how others feel. I’m impulsive, I forget things, I fall out with other people a lot. Oh, and sometimes I’m violent.’

  Chloe looks confused. ‘And you’re like this because of Mum?’

  ‘Yup … Nobody realised to begin with. They just thought I was stupid and badly behaved, but then my parents started looking into it. I’ve seen heaps of therapists. One of them asked to see my adoption file and that’s when it all made sense. It’s pretty certain I have foetal alcohol syndrome.’

  ‘What? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Basically, it means that if you drink while you’re pregnant it affects your baby’s growth in the womb and things go wrong in their brain.’

  ‘Oh my God …’

  ‘Yeah … sorry.’

  Chloe starts to cry. ‘This is so horrible. I know she was young, but she must have known you can’t drink when you’re pregnant. It’s evil. How could she do this to you?’

  ‘I’ve got other signs too,’ says Jade, quite enjoying herself now. ‘See my top lip?’ She points. ‘It’s thinner than it should be. And the bit between the bottom of my nose and my mouth is too flat. That’s because my face didn’t develop properly in the womb.’

  Chloe claps her hand over her own mouth. ‘Oh my God, that’s awful! I can’t believe it affected your face too.’

  ‘It’s really hard to get diagnosed. We only know for sure because of what’s written in these reports.’

  Her sister looks down at the documents. ‘And does Mum know? Did somebody tell her at the time?’

  Jade shrugs. ‘Doubt it. It wasn’t obvious when I was born, although I was prem and underweight, which is another symptom. It’s been really hard to take, you know … I mean, it’s bad enough being given up for adoption – I’ve always felt rejected and unwanted – but when I found out it was my birth mum’s fault that I had all these problems … well, you can imagine …’

  ‘Yes, of course, it must have been … earth-shattering.’ Chloe wipes her teary face with the edge of her sleeve. ‘But what I don’t get is why you wanted to find her. She literally wrecked your life! Why have anything to do with her?’

  ‘I don’t know …’ Jade pretends to think about it for a few moments. ‘Maybe I want her to say sorry so I can forgive her.’

  Chloe snorts dismissively. ‘If she’d done that to me, I’d never forgive her. I’d want to make her pay.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Erin

  May 2020

  I’d told Chloe and Jade I had a full day of meetings at work, which was true, except I’d sent emails at five a.m. cancelling them all. I didn’t feel completely relaxed about Jade staying in the house on her own all day, but realistically what damage could she do? I had more important things to worry about: namely, how I was going to tackle Asha.

  After dropping a reluctant Chloe outside the school gates, I drove to the motorway and took the clockwise route towards Camford. As much as I wanted to give Asha a piece of my mind, I decided I should get my facts straight first. There was an outside chance that Mr and Mrs Singh had collated the information themselves without their daughter’s involvement or knowledge. I didn’t believe that was the case, but I needed to check.

  The rush-hour traffic was horrendous. I turned on Radio 4, but the news was too depressing so I tuned into a music station instead. Pop sounds of my youth filled the car, but instead of making me feel nostalgic and warm inside, every song evoked a painful memory. I switched off the radio and drove in silence for the rest of the way.

  I didn’t know what I was going to say to Mr and Mrs Singh, or whether they would even be at home. They often went abroad, particularly to see family in India. I liked Asha’s parents; they’d always been kind and welcoming to me. When we were young, Holly and I would go to their house to play and Mrs Singh would feed us delicious home-made samosas until we were so stuffed we couldn’t eat our dinner when we got home. Mr Singh was always a soft touch when it came to lifts.

  Unlike my parents, they weren’t strict, but then they didn’t need to be. Asha was naturally obedient. She knew how to have fun but she had her head screwed on. No stupid boy was going to derail her career ambitions. ‘My daughter the dentist’ was how her mother always described her. We used to joke about it, but they had every right to be proud. Asha owned her own successful practice and was happily married with two high-achieving kids.

  It was a little after ten a.m. when I pulled into Coleridge Close and parked outside Asha’s parents’ house. The last time I’d seen them had been at their ruby wedding anniversary party. Mrs Singh had laid on a magnificent spread and they’d had a marquee in the garden, which had inspired Tom to do the same for my fortieth birthday. All that seemed so long ago now … But I couldn’t allow myself to be dragged into thinking about my own marriage, I needed to be strong and in control.

  Mr Singh opened the door. ‘Erin!’ he said, raising his eyebrows in gentle surprise. ‘How lovely to see you, dear.’

  ‘Hi. Sorry to drop in on you without warning. Hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to talk to you about something.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course, come in.’ He looked down pointedly at my feet and I remembered the rule – no outdoor footwear in the house. I stepped inside, quickly removed my shoes and left them on the doormat, then followed him into the lounge. The Singhs had knocked the two reception rooms together to make one long, thin space with windows at either end. I could see straight through to the back garden, where Mrs Singh was hanging out washing.

  ‘Please make yourself comfortable,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and tell Bina you’re here … Cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  As Mr Singh bustled off, I sat down on the sofa and tried to compose myself. He was doing his best to act normally, but it was obvious he was rattled. They’d probably been expecting me to call at some point – maybe even to thank them. I could see him talking to Asha’s mum in the garden and guessed she was giving him strict instructions about what he should and shouldn’t say.

  Mrs Singh left the rest of the washing in the basket and came back inside. She walked straight into the sitting room, holding out her arms in welcome. ‘Erin!’ she cried, bending down to kiss me on the cheek. ‘Good to see you.’ She was wearing a velveteen burgundy tracksuit with nail polish to match and gold slippers. Her hair was perfectly blow-dried and her beautiful skin looked ageless. ‘How are you?’

  ‘So-so.’

  ‘You’ve lost weight, I think, yes? Looks good on you, my dear.’ She sat on a small upright chair and pulled her knees together.

  There was a pause. I had so much to say but didn’t want to start until Mr Singh came back – after all, he’d been the one Jade had met. He was still clattering about in the kitchen and I sensed he’d been told to stay out of the conversation as much as possible.

  Bina settled her hands in her lap. ‘So! What is this about?’

  ‘I want to talk to you about my daughter. My firstborn – Jade.’

  ‘Hmm?’ She flinched slightly.

  ‘I gather she called here a few months ago asking about me.’

  She looked anxiously towards the kitchen. ‘Well, I wasn’t in at the time, but yes, yes, she did. She spoke to Ragesh. She was trying to find you.�
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  ‘And he offered to send her some information, is that right?’

  ‘Um … well, not exactly. Such a sensitive matter, he didn’t know what to do, really, but she was very persistent. When I came back from the shops, he talked to me about it. I didn’t know what to do either!’ She laughed self-consciously. ‘So I rang Asha and asked her advice.’

  I caught my breath. ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘Oh, you know Asha, so calm and capable. Well, I suppose you have to be when you’re a dentist. “Give me this girl’s address and I’ll handle it, Mummy,” she said straight away. So I did, and that was the last we heard.’ She gave me a sympathetic glance. ‘Why? Has she been in touch? Your daughter, I mean.’

  I nodded. My stomach sank as I realised that the truth was as bad as I’d feared. There was no doubt now that Asha had put the information together and given it to Jade without consulting or even forewarning me.

  Mr Singh entered carrying a tray decked with a large silver teapot and three colourful mugs. There was also a plate of biscuits, but I was feeling too sick to eat anything.

  ‘I knew which one was your daughter as soon as I opened the door,’ he said, placing the tray on the polished coffee table. ‘She’s the spitting image of you – at that age, anyway.’

  ‘Sorry. What do you mean, “which one”?’

  ‘There were two young ladies. The other one – a friend, I think – did most of the talking. Your daughter was very shy.’

  I thought back to Jade’s version of the story and couldn’t remember her mentioning having a friend in tow. It had all been ‘I’ rather than ‘we’.

  ‘What did she look like? The other one?’ As I picked up my mug, I noticed my hand was shaking slightly.

  ‘I don’t know, can’t recall. She was about the same age. White. Brownish hair, or maybe blonde. I don’t remember. Sorry.’ He was being irritatingly vague, but his description made me think she could well be the same woman who had conned me.