by Jess Ryder
‘I don’t suppose she gave you her name, by any chance?’
He shook his head.
‘Why do you need to know? Surely it’s your daughter you’re more interested in,’ interjected Mrs Singh.
‘It doesn’t matter. Just a mystery I’ve been trying to clear up. And you’ve been extremely helpful. More helpful than you could imagine. In all sorts of ways.’ I put down my mug and stood up. ‘Sorry, but I have to go now.’
‘Are you all right, dear?’ Mr Singh looked concerned. ‘You seem a little … um … upset. Did I do the wrong thing?’
‘No, not you. Not at all.’
‘If you want to know more, best speak to Asha.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m going to,’ I replied, unable to disguise my steely tone.
* * *
Asha’s practice was in north London, a good hour’s drive west from Camford. She was bound to have a full schedule of patients and I knew she wouldn’t break off to talk to me, whatever the emergency. I would have to wait until her lunch break, but judging by the traffic, I wasn’t going to arrive much earlier than that anyway.
As I sat in a queue on the motorway, two competing trains of thought were tangling themselves up in my brain. Asha must have known that she was putting a fat stick of dynamite into Jade’s hands, and that there was a high chance it would all blow up in my face. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why.
Then there was the unexpected twist in the blackmail thread. I was convinced that the woman who’d impersonated Jade was the same woman Mr Singh had met. Either Jade had been part of the scam or she’d been tricked. I suspected it was the latter. But if she genuinely wanted a relationship with me, why was she protecting this friend?
Once I’d dealt with Asha, I was going to have to deal with Jade too. I didn’t relish either prospect, but there wasn’t any choice. I was desperate to get my life back on track. Everyone seemed to be against me and I couldn’t work out why. Yes, I’d made mistakes in the past, and I’d stupidly tried to cover them up, but was I really so bad that I deserved to be punished in this way? I felt exhausted and bewildered. There seemed to be nobody I could trust.
I managed to park the car on a meter around the corner from Asha’s surgery. It was an upmarket private practice that turned its nose up at NHS patients. She ran it with her husband Joe, also a dentist, who specialised in gum treatment.
The receptionist looked at me quizzically – clearly I didn’t match any of the patients she was expecting. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked in an American accent.
I gave her my name and explained that I was a close friend of Asha’s. ‘I need to talk to her, it’s very important.’
‘I’m afraid she has a full schedule today—’
‘But she always takes a lunch break,’ I cut in. ‘I’ll wait here.’ Before she could protest, I sat down on one of the white leather bench seats and picked up a glossy magazine.
I waited for an hour, despite the receptionist’s attempts to persuade me to leave a message and try another day. Asha had obviously been warned that I was there, because when she finally emerged from her consulting room, she didn’t look in the least surprised to see me.
‘I don’t have time for lunch – shall we just walk?’ she said, not bothering with our normal kissy greeting.
She led me to a small park in the middle of a Georgian square, just off the high street. All the benches were occupied by office workers, so we walked slowly along the path that bordered the grass, stepping over rubbish and shooing away pigeons.
‘You know why I’m here,’ I said.
‘Yes. Mummy rang.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me, Asha? As my friend, you should have warned me she was looking for me.’
She chewed on her bright red lipstick. ‘I didn’t trust you. I thought you might ignore her or even refuse to meet her.’
‘But you knew the problems it would cause if she just turned up out of the blue.’
‘It’s not all about what suits you, Erin!’ Asha’s eyes flashed with annoyance. ‘I felt sorry for the poor girl. She wanted to know who her mother was; she had a right to know! I couldn’t control what she did with the information but I felt I had to give it to her.’ We slowed to a halt.
‘Okay, I understand,’ I said, kicking at some loose gravel. ‘But you should have warned me. I would have told Tom.’
She started to pace around a tree. ‘No you wouldn’t. You tried to pay her off! That was the limit; that really disgusted me. I was furious with Jade too because I thought she’d tricked me. You both seemed as bad as each other.’
‘But we’re the Girls,’ I said. ‘We’ve had our bad times but we always stick together. We love each other.’
‘Yes, yes, all that was true once … a long time ago.’ Asha stuck her hands in the pockets of her raincoat.
‘What are you saying, Ash?’
She let out a mournful sigh. ‘We haven’t been teenagers for a long time, Erin. We’re grown up, we have responsibilities.’
‘That doesn’t mean—’
‘Look, I lead a simple, honest life. I work hard, I look after my kids, I’m married to a good man. All this intrigue and deceit, it just isn’t me. I’m made to feel complicit and I hate it. I’m sick of being used as an alibi, sick of hearing confessions, sick of covering up, of being careful what I say to you or Tom or Holly in case I let something slip. I’ve even had to lie to Joe.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with loyalty between friends,’ I began, but she waved my words aside.
‘I’ve had enough of hiding your dirty linen in my basket, do you understand? Enough of helping you and Holly lead your sordid double lives.’
‘Holly doesn’t have a double life,’ I scoffed. ‘She’s just a mess.’
‘Oh Erin, you spend so much time covering your own tracks, you miss what’s happening right in front of your nose.’ She started to walk away quickly.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I said, hurrying after her.
She stopped, then turned to face me. Her face was full of anger, but there were tears of emotion in her eyes. ‘You live in your own little dream world. It’s about time you woke up.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Erin
March 1995
I’m shaking as I draw the curtains around my bed. There’s no privacy here, nowhere safe to cry. I lie down, pressing my wet face into the pillow, suffocating my tears.
Beyond the perimeters of my flimsy den, the hospital staff go about their duties. A helper shuffles around replacing water jugs. A nurse dishes out drugs from the medicine trolley. Various pieces of equipment rattle into the ward, to check blood pressure or our babies’ heartbeats. Soon a face will poke through the gap in the curtains and ask why I’m so upset.
What do I say? The girl in the opposite bed and I are pregnant by the same man? It sounds absurd.
I want to tell Gemma. She should know what a bastard her boyfriend is. But if I admit that Dean Philips is the father of my baby, he’ll be prosecuted. My pulse quickens as his earlier threats rise to the surface of my brain. Is he all talk or would he carry them out? He’s certainly capable of doing what he threatened. His brother is already in prison; he knows some nasty people who’d probably be only too happy to beat me up or set fire to my parents’ house.
I can hear Gemma chatting away to Julie. Her voice sounds bright and excited. Her pregnancy’s at risk, but she thinks she’s bagged a keeper; hasn’t a clue she’s been cheated on left, right and centre. How many other girls has he got up the duff? Loads probably, seeing as how he always refused to wear a condom. What the hell did we all see in him? Dean is good-looking, but not amazing, and it’s not like he’s got loads of money or anything. He’s Prince Charming while he’s trying to get into your knickers, but once you succumb, he soon shows his true colours. It’s not fair. Why should he get away with it? I have the power here; the evidence is squirming and kicking inside me.
My thoughts take a darker turn
. I could say he actually raped me – if the jury believed me, he’d go to prison for a long time. I briefly concoct a suitable story. He spiked my drink and I collapsed. When I woke up, he was having sex with me. I tried to push him off but I was too weak. It’s tempting, but I wouldn’t dare.
‘Erin?’ A new face smiles at me, her hand pulling back the curtain. ‘I’m Alison, one of the night nurses. Mind if I come in?’ She doesn’t wait for my response, but wheels a stand of equipment to the bedside. ‘How are you feeling? Baby moving okay?’ I nod. ‘Fantastic. Can you sit up for me, please?’
I struggle up, revealing my tear-stained face. ‘Oh dear,’ she says. ‘You’ve been crying. What’s the matter, love?’ I look down, unable to speak. ‘Feeling nervous? Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you.’ She pops a thermometer into my mouth, then takes my blood pressure and checks my pulse, which I’m sure must be racing.
‘Everything’s fine,’ she purrs, making a note of the results. She pops her pen back in the top pocket of her uniform. ‘Now you know what you have to do if you feel any signs of labour, don’t you? Press the call button. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the middle of the night: babies can’t tell the time! We’re here to help. You must let us know straight away, okay? Even if it’s just a twinge. The sooner we can give you another injection, the better for Baby. Understand?’
‘Yes,’ I mutter. ‘Yes, I know.’
‘Good girl.’ She starts to draw the curtains back.
‘No, please leave them.’
She stops. ‘Hmm … okay. But don’t hide away, love. Talk to the other ladies; they won’t bite. Everyone supports each other here.’
* * *
The night is noisy. Nobody seems to care that we need to sleep. Doors bang, equipment bleeps, the nurses call out to each other, beds are wheeled in and out of rooms and occasionally there’s the sound of running. Somebody opposite snores and snuffles like a pig; I’m not sure who it is, but I think it’s Gemma.
It’s too hot in here. All the windows are closed and there’s not enough oxygen in the air. The mattress is too hard; I can’t get comfortable. One pillow feels too flat, but two make my neck ache. I toss from side to side, cradling my bump. For the first time, the baby feels like an intruder. I know she’s female, but in my imagination there’s a mini Dean inside me, digging me in the ribs, laughing at my stupidity.
My anger grows. As dawn breaks, I come to a decision. I won’t tell the police that Dean is the father of my child, but I will tell Gemma. I feel it’s my duty – as another woman – to let her know. I’m not doing it out of spite, but as an act of friendship. If she has any sense, she’ll dump him and it’ll save her a lot of grief in the future.
At seven a.m., the lady with the tea trolley comes round. I pull back the curtains and incline the bed so that I’m sitting up. Gemma is still asleep, or at least pretending to be. I sip my tea and watch her as she burrows beneath the blanket, a few strands of her bottle-blonde hair poking out of the top. She looks at ease now, but all that’s about to change. I feel sorry for her, but she has to know.
I rehearse a few phrases in my head. I can’t just come out with it; I’ll need to find a way to lead into the subject. And I shouldn’t really tell her in front of Julie and the other woman in our room. But how can I get her on her own?
Julie is awake, sitting on the side of her bed, pushing her arms into the sleeves of a pink cotton dressing gown. She heaves herself to her feet and waddles off to the bathroom, raising her hand in a vague greeting as she passes.
The new patient is in the bed next to mine. I don’t know her name. So far she hasn’t communicated with anyone else, but from what I overheard last night, she’s being induced today, so maybe she won’t be here much longer.
The breakfast trolley is pushed in next. There’s a choice of cornflakes or Rice Krispies, followed by cold white toast spread with margarine and thin strawberry jam. I swing my wheelie tray over the bed and attempt a few mouthfuls of soggy, tasteless cereal. It clags in my throat and I have to use the bitter dregs of tea to swallow it down.
Gemma has been prodded awake and is reluctantly sitting up, nibbling the edge of a piece of toast like it’s some strange food she’s never tried before. Her hair is matted and sticking out at odd angles, her face smudged with the mascara she didn’t bother to remove last night. I remember her making herself up in preparation for her boyfriend’s visit: tipping foundation onto a piece of cotton wool, pouting at the tiny hand mirror as she applied her crimson lipstick. Little did I know it was all for that shit Dean Philips.
Tell her. Go on, tell her now. Julie is busy in the bathroom and the other girl still has her curtains drawn. I swing the tray aside and get out of bed.
‘Gemma …’ I say, walking towards her. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
* * *
‘It’s not true, it can’t be true,’ she wails. ‘You’re lying, tell me you’re lying.’
I look at her with a straight face. ‘I wish I was, but I’m not.’
She insists on details – names, dates, locations. I tell her the names of Dean’s friends, the flat where he lives with his mum, the pubs he hangs out at, the park, the day he goes to sign on. But she doesn’t need facts; she can see from my face that I’m telling the truth.
I sit on the edge of the bed as she recounts her side of the story. She met Dean two years ago, when she was sixteen, and they’ve had an on-off relationship ever since. Last summer she was away for a few weeks on a holiday of a lifetime, visiting family in Australia with her parents. That’s when I got together with Dean.
‘It didn’t last long,’ I say, as if it makes his cheating any better. ‘And he dumped me as soon as I told him I was pregnant.’
‘I had a feeling something was wrong, but I didn’t want to ask. You know what he’s like. When I came back from Sydney, he was all over me, said he’d really missed me. I’d never seen him so romantic. Must have been guilt.’ She sighs. ‘That’s when I fell.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I just thought you should know.’
I leave the room and spend the next hour wandering up and down the corridors, trying to keep out of the way. I feel awful because Gemma is crying her eyes out and that’s bad for her baby. I don’t want to hurt it, even if it is Dean’s. I don’t want any of the babies to get hurt – they’re innocent, they haven’t asked to be born.
Eventually one of the nurses finds me loitering by the magazine racks in the shop. ‘Erin! What are you doing here? You’re not even dressed.’
She drags me back to the ward. To my horror, Dean is sitting by Gemma’s bed, holding her hand.
‘Oi, you! Come here,’ Gemma calls out, her voice sharp enough to cut. Her face is hard and stony. The tears have dried and now there’s hatred in her eyes.
My knees start to buckle beneath my dressing gown. ‘What’s he doing here?’ I say. ‘It’s not visiting time.’
‘I was in a state, so the nurses let him come over.’
‘Is this the slag what’s accusing me?’ Dean says, peering at my face. ‘Hmm … Never seen her before.’
‘You know who I am! And you know you’re the dad of this.’ I touch my bump and glare at him.
Gemma looks from me to him, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. ‘Deano? Are you sure you never met her? She knows a lot about you.’
He pauses theatrically, pretending to rummage through his memory bank. ‘Oh yeah, I do remember you now. You’re that kid that was following us around last summer … Yeah, that’s right. Sorry, slipped my mind.’ He turns to Gemma. ‘She showed up at the park a couple of times, tried to get me to go with her, but I turned her down. I think Mark or Gary gave her one in the end, just to shut her up.’
‘Dean! That is so not true and you know it,’ I gasp. ‘I was your girlfriend! We met up all the time.’
He scoffs. ‘Dream on, darlin’. Yeah, Gem, I get it now. She was miffed ’cos I wasn’t interested. She saw me here last night and decided t
o get revenge. Jesus wept, what a thing to do. I mean, how low can you get?’ He sucks his teeth. ‘In your condition too. Some people, eh? You couldn’t make it up.’
‘That’s because I didn’t make it up,’ I protest. ‘I was fourteen when you got me pregnant, I’m only fifteen now. Remember that, Dean.’
‘No, you remember,’ he says, fixing me with a challenging stare. A silent exchange passes between us. I understand him only too well. If I carry on with this, he’s going to make me regret it. I can’t win.
‘You’re a right bitch, aren’t you?’ says Gemma. ‘No wonder you’re on your own. Just piss off, okay?’
I rush out of the ward as fast as the baby will let me, and take refuge at the far end of the corridor. My chest is heaving with emotion and I can hardly breathe. I feel ashamed and humiliated, worse than when I confronted him months ago. What was I thinking? I should have known he’d deny it again; all I’d got out of it was more threats. And it was pointless telling Gemma. Either she’s even more stupid than I am, or she’s pretending to believe him because he’s all she’s got.
I let out a bitter snort. Maybe she’ll get him to marry her now and they’ll live happily ever after. Good luck to her, I say. I’d rather die than ever have to see him again.
Sinking to the floor, I clutch the hard roundness of my tummy. There’s a gnawing deep inside me, a dull pain radiating from the base of my spine. I know what’s happening: it’s starting again. But I won’t tell the midwives, not yet. I’ll keep it quiet until it’s gone too far for them to stop me. I don’t care if I’m early. I want this to be over. I want my baby to be born now.
Part III
Chapter Thirty-Two
Erin
May 2020
