The Secret Mother

by Shalini Boland

  I’m starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist. Am I ignoring the truth, bending it to make it fit my own view of things? I’m sure I’m not, but when the records say one thing, how can I prove otherwise?

  I slouch back to the car in a funk. Whether it was Fisher or Friedland there that night, it still doesn’t explain why someone would place Fisher’s son in my kitchen years later. There’s some kind of link, I know it. A car horn yanks me from my thoughts and I step back onto the pavement. I’ll get myself run over if I’m not careful. I wave an apology to the driver while he mouths expletives at me.

  Back in the hire car, my heart still leaden, I make a decision. I really and truly believe that Dr Friedland was sick with flu that night. I know he was, I remember it clearly. I was so upset when I heard he wouldn’t be on the ward. Which means the information on the clinic’s system must be wrong. But if I tell Carly what’s really written on the records, she might stop pursuing the case. She might think it’s a waste of her time. And I need her to stick with it. I have to find out the truth.

  My call goes straight to voicemail, so I leave a message.

  ‘Hey, Carly. It’s me, Tessa. I’ve just come from the clinic and my hunch was right. Fisher was the doctor on duty that night. It must be connected to his son showing up at my house, don’t you think? Anyway, you should ask him about it when you get there. Hope you manage to speak to him. Good luck. Let me know how you get on.’

  I end the call and start the car. Did my voice sound fake? Will she be able to tell I was lying? It takes me three attempts to get the car in gear. I’m all over the place. I should try to calm down or I’ll end up having an accident. I just lied to Carly. I lied to Carly. But I had to, didn’t I?

  I turn on the radio and search for Classic FM, hoping to hear some soothing strings or piano, but instead there’s a brass band playing ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’. I switch it off, breathe in deeply and head to Moretti’s, wondering what kind of person I’m turning into. Could Scott be right? Is there something wrong with me? Am I becoming obsessed?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  All afternoon, I’m distracted. I don’t have time to think about the Fisher thing properly, but I also can’t give work my full attention, which irritates me. Usually, whatever problems I have, I can find calm here. So why is it being so damn elusive today? Janet has closed the café early, as there are hardly any customers around. Instead, she’s in the shop, which means I can work in the greenhouses uninterrupted, just the steady whoosh of rain against the glass. But I’m almost decimating these vines, because I can’t seem to focus on what I’m doing.

  ‘Step away from the secateurs.’

  My stomach flips and I turn around. Ben is walking towards me, holding his hand out. As he comes closer, I place the secateurs in his palm, and wince.

  ‘What did that poor grape vine ever do to you?’ he asks, pushing down the hood of his navy anorak.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I reply, looking down at the plant’s amputated shoots. ‘I wasn’t concentrating.’

  ‘I can see that,’ he says. But there’s a mischievous smile behind his eyes. I wonder if this means he’s forgiven me for running out on him the other night.

  ‘Ben…’ I begin. ‘I just want to say…’

  He holds out his hand again, but this time it’s to stop me talking. He shakes his head. ‘No more explanations. Let’s just not mention it again. Friends?’ he says.

  ‘Yes, please. I’d like that.’ My shoulders sag with relief. The last time someone asked me to be friends, it was Scott telling me about Ellie, and I had a massive meltdown. This time, it’s Ben, and I’m sad, but relieved. I couldn’t bear to lose his friendship.

  ‘It’s so quiet this afternoon,’ he says. ‘I’ve sent Janet home and I’m closing early. Want to come round for a coffee?’

  I pause. Is this just an innocent coffee, or will he expect more? The thought of kissing him again makes my bones go soft, but I have to be strong.

  ‘I won’t jump on you, if that’s what you’re worrying about.’

  ‘Ben!’ I bat his arm gently with the back of my fist. ‘I can’t believe you just said that!’

  ‘Why not? Just putting your mind at rest.’

  I’m sure I’m blushing right now. ‘Okay then, a coffee would be lovely.’

  I pull my hood up and we race around to his garden and into the kitchen, laughing at the fact that we’re soaked through.

  ‘Wait here,’ he says, taking off his anorak and leaving me dripping rainwater all over his kitchen floor. He disappears into the hall while I get my breath back. Memories of Saturday night assail me. My pulse quickens. He kissed me in this kitchen. I try to think of other things to suppress these dangerous feelings.

  ‘Here.’ He returns and hands me a soft beige towel, using another to dry his hair.

  ‘Thanks.’ I wipe the rain from my face and then move on to my own dripping hair. I take off my coat and hang it over the back of one of the chairs.

  Ben puts his towel down and starts doing something complicated to his coffee machine. It’s one of those big chrome contraptions that looks like you’d need a degree in engineering to work it. ‘How was your appointment this morning?’ he asks.

  I lean back against the kitchen counter and twiddle a strand of wet hair around my finger. ‘It was…’ How do I even begin to explain how this morning was. ‘It was fine,’ I say.

  He nods. ‘Good.’

  Sod it. He told me he wants to be friends and I’m dying to talk to someone about this. ‘Actually, it wasn’t fine,’ I say. ‘It was… unsettling.’

  ‘Unsettling? How?’

  And then I find myself telling him what happened. I tell him everything. It all comes tumbling out. About going to Cranborne and seeing Fisher. About the police warning me off. About discovering that Fisher practised at the clinic where I had my children.

  ‘The thing is,’ I say, ‘the records showed that it was Friedland who delivered my twins, but I know it was someone else. I can’t prove it was Fisher, but I know for a fact that it wasn’t Friedland – he was ill that night.’

  Ben has stopped fiddling with the coffee machine. Instead he’s staring at me like I’m some kind of freak. I’ve blown it. He obviously thinks I’m unhinged. I can’t say I blame him.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I shouldn’t have vented. It’s all a bit heavy, I know.’

  ‘The question is,’ he says, ignoring my apology, ‘why do the records say it was Friedland when he wasn’t there that night?’

  ‘Because Fisher has something to hide?’

  ‘Looks that way,’ Ben says, scratching his chin.

  ‘So you believe me?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  I give a short laugh. ‘Everyone else in my life thinks I’ve lost the plot. Sorry, that’s probably too much information.’

  ‘I don’t think you’ve lost the plot, Tessa. I think you’ve had an absolutely terrible few years and you haven’t been given anywhere near the support you deserve.’

  My throat tightens and I pray I’m not going to cry. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper. ‘That means a lot.’

  ‘What about your husband?’ Ben asks.

  ‘Scott? What about him?’

  ‘I know you’re separated,’ he says, ‘but what does he think about all this stuff with Fisher? He must have some theories.’

  ‘I haven’t told him about going to the clinic. I don’t even know if I will tell him.’

  ‘You should,’ Ben says. ‘He needs to know about this. They were his children too.’

  ‘He doesn’t want to listen to me,’ I say, chewing my thumbnail. ‘He won’t even let me have their health records. Like I said, he thinks I’m insane for worrying about any of this. He’s moved on with his life – new girlfriend, new baby on the way – and he thinks I should move on too.’

  ‘Moving on is all very well,’ Ben says, ‘but it wasn’t his kitchen where that boy turned up. It wasn’t him being questioned by the police.
You’ve been put under a lot of pressure, Tess. Cut yourself some slack. I really think you should make Scott listen to you about this Fisher thing. It doesn’t feel right to me.’

  ‘It doesn’t, does it? God, I’m glad you think so too. I thought I might be overreacting.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Ben says. ‘No wonder you’re stressed out. I’m just sorry you’re going through all this.’

  ‘Thanks, Ben. I really appreciate you listening and not thinking I’m a total lunatic.’

  ‘Maybe just a partial lunatic,’ he says.

  I manage a half-smile. It feels good to have someone on my side who doesn’t have an agenda.

  ‘Now,’ he says, ‘go and tell Scott, make him listen.’

  * * *

  I pull out of the rain-splashed yard and wave as Jez closes the gates behind me. Ben is right: Scott should be told that the clinic’s records are wrong. This has nothing to do with me wanting Scott’s attention, and everything to do with us finding out if something bad is going on. If Fisher was negligent at Lily’s birth and he altered the records to change the time of birth and show a different doctor on duty that night, then Scott and I need to know. He should want to know. And we should do something about it. Report it.

  I drive home, windscreen wipers going full blast, wondering how Carly got on with Fisher. Whether she managed to speak to him. She hasn’t been in contact all day, but maybe by now she’ll have some news for me. She’s so pushy, I’m sure she’ll have discovered something. I park up outside my house, still amazed and thankful that there are no journalists hanging around outside.

  Before getting out of the car, I glance up and down the road, but I can’t spot Carly’s red Fiat. She must not be back yet. It’s still quite early, and the weather is so vile, I guess she’ll be taking it easy on the drive back. I give her another call, but it goes straight to voicemail. ‘Hi, Carly. Me again. Let me know when you have some news.’

  I dash from the car to my front porch, getting newly soaked in the process. Finally, I’m inside, the sound of drumming rain as loud in here as it is out there. I stand in the hallway for a moment, delaying. I realise I don’t want to call Scott. I don’t want to hear his frustration and annoyance. I don’t like the way he makes me feel guilty and inadequate. Why did I never notice that about him before? Maybe it’s because he’s the opposite of Ben. Ben listens to what I have to say; he takes me seriously and doesn’t patronise me.

  For the first time ever I feel like it might be a good thing that Scott and I have broken up. Maybe I’m better off without him. Maybe he and Ellie are actually perfect for each other. But it doesn’t change the fact that he still deserves to know what’s going on with Fisher. I sigh; I’ll delay calling him a little longer. First, I’m going to change into some dry clothes.

  Half an hour later, I’m sitting in the kitchen in leggings, an oversized jumper and a pair of thick Fair Isle socks, cradling my mobile phone against my ear. Better to get this over with.

  ‘Hi, Scott.’

  ‘Tessa.’ His voice is heavy, resigned.

  I want to lay on the sarcasm and tell him: Don’t sound so happy to hear from me. Instead, I’m polite, detached. ‘I’ve got some news,’ I say.

  He doesn’t reply.

  ‘It’s important. It’s about the twins’ birth.’

  Scott gives a loud sigh. ‘Not this again, Tessa. I’ve just got in from work and I’d really like to relax.’

  ‘But it’s to do with Harry Fisher’s father.’

  ‘I told you before, you need to let this fixation drop. Let it go, it’s over. The boy is back with his father, that’s all—’

  ‘Just listen for one minute without interrupting,’ I say.

  ‘Fine.’

  I take a breath. ‘Harry’s father, James Fisher, worked at the clinic where the twins were born.’

  There’s silence at the other end of the line.

  ‘Did you hear what I said? He worked there, Scott. At the same clinic.’

  ‘Are you at the house?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m coming over,’ he says, and ends the call.

  Finally! Finally, Scott is taking me seriously. If we can work on discovering the truth together, it will make things so much easier. I know I have Carly on the case, but she’s a loose cannon; she has completely different priorities. I need someone who is truly on my side, who wants to find out the truth as much as I do – Ben was right to suggest including Scott in this.

  I hate myself for doing it, but I go into the hall and check out my reflection in the mirror. I may have resigned myself to the fact that Scott and I are finished, but I still don’t want him to see me looking a mess. My hair’s a bit damp, but apart from that, I think I look okay.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rings. When I open the door to welcome Scott in, I see that he’s not alone.

  He’s with Ellie.

  My smile falters. What the hell is she doing here? This is nothing to do with her. This is about me and Scott and our children. I can’t believe he’d be so insensitive.

  ‘Are you going to let us in, Tessa?’ he says. ‘It’s pissing down out here.’

  I take a step backwards, too disappointed to speak. I can’t even bear to look at Ellie. I turn my back on them and mutter something about going into the lounge. Ugh, how will I be able to talk to Scott about this stuff with her here, judging me?

  Scott and Ellie sit together on the large sofa, while I perch on the other one, feeling like a stranger in my own house. I glance over at her and notice she’s appraising the room, taking in its sorry state – the dust, the gloomy air of neglect.

  ‘Scott,’ I say. ‘I’d rather we talked on our own, if that’s okay.’

  ‘Ellie’s part of my life now, Tessa. I want her to be here.’

  ‘Well, she’s not part of my life,’ I snap. ‘And I don’t want her to be here.’ I hate that I sound so petulant, but I can’t help it.

  Scott clenches his jaw and drops a hand onto Ellie’s knee, stroking it like he’s telling her not to worry about his crazy ex. Ellie is the one he’s there for now.

  ‘Tessa,’ Ellie says, in her childlike voice. ‘We’re here because we’re worried about you.’

  Oh my good Lord, if I don’t end up smacking this woman it will be a bloody miracle. I bite my bottom lip to stop myself saying something I’ll regret.

  ‘Did you go and see that therapist, like I asked?’ Scott says.

  ‘I don’t need to see a therapist. There’s nothing wrong with me other than the fact that I’m still mourning the loss of our children. You’ve obviously moved on, you don’t want to hear anything that could upset your perfect new life. But I’ve found out something important. I think that clinic was negligent with Lily, I think they’re trying to cover something up.’

  ‘Tessa, you promised you’d go and see a therapist.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. You blackmailed me. You told me that if I didn’t make an appointment, I couldn’t have my children’s health records. Which, by the way, if you’d looked at them like I asked, you would have seen that Harry’s father was the doctor on duty that night.’ Okay, I don’t know that the health records say that, but I’m hoping they do; I’m hoping they at least are correct.

  ‘What does it matter who was on duty that night?’ Scott says, shaking his head at me. ‘I know you, Tessa.’ He leans forward. ‘I know how you were after Sam died. I’m worried you’re losing it again, so I’m just going to come out and say it – did you take that boy? Did you abduct that doctor’s son? Just admit it, Tessa. We can get you help, but only if you admit what you did.’

  A momentary chill of dread scuttles down my back. What if Scott is right? What if my mind is playing tricks on me and I did this terrible thing? I’m already denying what the official records state. I even lied to Carly. Am I twisting things to fit in with my theory? Maybe I do need to speak to a professional to get everything straight in my mind. But isn’t this what Sc
ott always does? Dismisses my feelings, makes me feel like I’m not in control of my own mind. No, I won’t allow him to make me second-guess myself. I didn’t do what he’s suggesting, I would never do that.

  ‘Listen to me, Scott,’ I say. ‘I did not take that boy. Get that through your thick skull.’

  His face grows red. He’s not used to me talking back to him. I don’t think I’ve ever raised my voice to him before.

  ‘I bet this is all your idea, isn’t it?’ I turn to Ellie. ‘Get the ex-wife off to therapy so she won’t bother us any more.’

  ‘Actually, we both think it’s for the best,’ she says. ‘We genuinely think you could do with some professional help. Look, Tessa, answer me this – if you didn’t take Harry, then how did he get into your kitchen? His dad wouldn’t have put him there. You’re asking us to believe that some random person took a little boy all the way from Dorset and brought him to your house in London. Why would anyone do that?’

  ‘Gosh, I don’t know, Ellie.’ I can’t help mimicking her childish voice. ‘I wish I’d considered that question before. Thanks for bringing it up.’

  ‘No need to be sarcastic.’ Her face twitches. ‘I’m only trying to help. You’re being very… emotional.’

  ‘Well, I apologise for that, Ellie, but being emotional is an unfortunate side effect of losing one’s children.’

  To her credit, she flushes and looks away. ‘We should go, Scott. We’re not getting anywhere with her.’ She rises to her feet.

  So many fitting responses come to mind, but she’s not worth wasting my energy on. ‘You’re right,’ I reply. ‘You should leave.’