Atlantic Shift

by Emily Barr

  ‘Mmm?’ she purrs, her voice lower than usual.

  ‘It seems to me that you’ve been writing some letters to Evie, haven’t you?’

  She doesn’t give anything away, though her voice returns to its normal pitch. ‘What do you mean?’ she asks Ron, levelly. ‘I sent her a card but she didn’t bother to acknowledge it.’ I reach down and clasp Ron’s hand with mine.

  ‘That is not what I meant, Louise. You’ve been writing her letters from London and you’ve been sending them to her here as well. Haven’t you?’

  She laughs slightly. Her eyes are bright. ‘No. Why, is someone else after you?’

  ‘Many of them,’ Ron adds.

  ‘My God!’ I exclaim: ‘You have!’

  Louise looks defiant. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’

  ‘You’ve written me about fifty letters! You pretended to be a bloke and said you were going to rape me! Did you even come to the flat in London and try to get in?’

  She looks away from us both, towards the men on the next table. ‘I wasn’t trying to get in,’ she says blankly. ‘I was trying to scare you. It worked. You came flying all the way over here, you were so terrified. Poor little Evie. Always the innocent victim. Luckily I have an apartment here, so it was easy for me to follow you. Very considerate of you.’

  Ron leans forward and stares at her. ‘Louise. You have obviously been through a hard time. I’m enormously sorry about your brother. I really can understand some of what you’ve been through. I think it would help you to talk to someone. I can refer you, if you like. I can also prescribe something to make you feel less depressed. Why don’t we, we three, find a way through this together?’

  She stares at him, and for a moment I think she’s going to agree. Then her face hardens.

  ‘I don’t need help. I should have made it public years ago. I don’t know what stopped me.’

  I can’t help myself. ‘A last remaining shred of common decency?’

  ‘Right. You would know all about that.’

  She stands up, puts her jacket back on, and picks up her handbag.

  ‘I’ve had enough. All I wanted was to ask you for access to Tessa, and you’re not interested. So I’ll leave.’

  ‘I’ve said we can do a DNA test.’

  ‘Yes, we’d better do that. To make it all stand up.’

  She turns and leaves. I begin to stand up to go after her, but Ron restrains me with a hand on my arm. He pushes me firmly back into my seat.

  ‘Pointless,’ he says. ‘Chances are she won’t do anything. She’s probably trying to scare you. But we’re going to have to wait and see.’

  chapter twenty-four

  Wednesday

  It is with some relief that I call Mrs Mosse and tell her that, due to a change in my schedule, I am flying back to Europe on Saturday and will not be able to give that workshop after all. I cannot risk leading Louise to Darcey. It’s much better that I stay away. She is disappointed, but repeatedly emphasises that she fully understands, and appreciates my letting her know. I promise that I will come back when I can, and I will. I will not go anywhere near Stowe, however, until Louise has been sorted out, one way or another. I will write to Carla and confess my identity as soon as I get home.

  Kate and Ian fly home, dispirited, two days before I do. I see them before they leave, but all of us are distracted in our own ways, and I can’t even think about telling them about Louise. This is not the moment to mention, in the background to another story, that I have a daughter.

  I don’t speak to Alexis again, though I hope he will forgive me. I hope Mary O’Rourke overrules whatever he says about me, and at least keeps me on with the label. My career means little to me right now. I would like to live a quiet life, at home (or in Vermont), and ditch the mini-stardom. It would be nice, however, to sell the odd record in America. Perhaps I will look into joining a chamber ensemble, or getting orchestral work. I could even exploit the other facet of my career, and get myself on to a celebrity reality TV programme. The thought makes me shudder. I don’t think I want to be a celebrity any more.

  On the morning before I leave, Ron and I ride the Staten Island ferry in the sunshine. It is warm and windy, and the sky over Manhattan is blue, with a few wisps of cloud. We stand on the deck and lean on the railings, and watch the skyline receding.

  ‘I’ve loved it here,’ I tell him, ‘despite everything.’

  He puts an arm over my shoulder. ‘I know. And now it’s time for you to go home, isn’t it?’

  ‘This could become my home.’

  ‘Maybe it will. You’ve got a lot to sort out.’

  ‘And so have you.’

  He turns his head towards me. Our faces are almost touching. ‘She rang me,’ he says.

  I lean my head on his shoulder, and look up at him. ‘Anneka? She rang you?’

  ‘This morning.’

  I pull away slightly. ‘Why didn’t you say? That’s fantastic news. Is she all right?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. She didn’t talk for long. She was pretty wary of me. It turns out that the morning you gave her that letter, she had just discovered that she was pregnant. Our first month of trying! Because of all the problems I see at the clinic, it never occurred to me that it would happen so quickly for us. She was, of course, intrigued by the letter hand-delivered by a girl from an advert. She called Guy as soon as she read it, and he told her everything.

  ‘She believed him. And she was shocked because she thought we’d been honest with each other, and I’d never hinted that anything like that had happened. She didn’t know what else I was covering up, and with Guy telling her that I was the lowest of human scum, and a cloner to boot, she panicked about having my child, was convinced I would bring her and the infant to a nasty end, and decided to take a trip.’

  ‘On her own?’

  ‘Guy wanted to fly her to England, but thankfully England has never appealed to her, and she turned him down. Instead - you’ll love this - she went to Florida. Where she has been sunning herself and, it seems, suffering from some fairly shocking morning sickness for the past few weeks.’

  ‘But the police were looking for her.’

  ‘And it’s very easy not to be found. She used Aurora’s passport as airline ID - they look similar enough to get away with it. All anyone ever sees is the golden thatch. Then she paid cash for the hotel. And she stayed on the beach wondering what to do.’

  ‘Poor Anneka.’ Poor me, is what I’m thinking. I have missed my chance for a fling. All I wanted was a bit of fun and now he is going to be a father and he won’t be able to do anything with me. I am still horribly selfish. ‘So,’ I say, pulling myself together. ‘Did she come to a decision?’

  ‘I think she’s decided to talk to me at least. To give me a chance.’ He puts an arm back over my shoulder, and pulls me towards him. ‘It’s been a strange time, Evie. I’m at a crossroads now. I would have quite a decision on my hands, if it wasn’t for the baby. The baby has decided it for me. But you know, I was enjoying being with you. I thought Anneka had left me, full stop, and I was beginning to look forward to new possibilities. Which I realise sounds grotesque, after all these weeks of imagining her body being dragged from the Hudson.’

  ‘Really?’ I can’t help smiling. Ron and I would never end up together in the long term. It would have been a good boost for both of us. ‘I’m kicking myself now for not having my wicked way with you while I could. But you belong with Annie and your baby.’

  ‘Of course I do. I find it hard to believe, though, that a girl as wonderful as you would have been interested in having any sort of way with me. You have your pick of the bunch, surely?’

  ‘I couldn’t have got through any of this without you. You found Darcey for me. And you sussed Louise out just in time.’

  ‘Both done out of friendship.’

  ‘You’ve been a great friend to me.’

  ‘And,’ he says, ‘there’s no reason to stop being friends.’

  The win
d blows my hair around my face. I know we won’t stay in touch. I will never be friends with Ron and Anneka and their baby.

  ‘Look,’ says Ron, and points to the other side of the boat. We are coming in to Staten Island.

  ‘Do we get off?’ I ask him. ‘Or do we just turn round and go straight back?’

  ‘If you wanted, we could go to the zoo and the Botanical Garden. If you really want. The Island is widely regarded as a dump. In fact, literally. Much of New York’s waste ends up here.’

  I look back across the harbour. ‘We should probably go straight back. Get a drink. Then I’ve got a plane to catch.’

  chapter twenty-five

  Sunday

  I am expecting a subdued homecoming. I plan to head straight to Bristol to warn Mum and Phil about Louise. They will know what to do. I’ve brought all her letters back with me, so I have the proof, at least, that they exist. I have no proof at all that she wrote them, except for Ron’s testimony. Ron says I should have taped her talking about them, but I couldn’t have done, because I had no idea. I am beginning to feel relieved that, however poisonous she is, at least those threats were empty. She was only trying to frighten me. There was no deranged Sun reader after all, and Guy was never out to get me.

  I’m surprised at how happy I am when the plane lands, and the tentative sunshine of Heathrow filters through the clouds. I have ignored my fellow passengers, and watched a film and dozed all the way home. It’s easier to sleep in business class. Now I have to sort some things out.

  The last thing I expect, as I push my baggage through Customs and out into the stifling atmosphere of the arrivals hall, is to hear someone male calling my name. It startles me, and I look round, smiling, wondering if it could possibly be Phil, if he could be here with Mum to meet me.

  One moment, I am weighing up the relative merits of the National Express bus versus the rail-air link to Reading station, and the next I am besieged.

  ‘Evie!’ calls a second voice. I am confused. A man in front of me lifts a camera - several people lift cameras - and flashes go off all around. The family that walked through Customs in front of me turn and stare, clearly trying to work out who I am.

  ‘Evie?’ shouts a harassed-looking woman. ‘Evie, do you have any comment to make on these allegations?’

  I recognise the woman. She is one of the Sun’s showbiz reporters. She is blonde and tanned and much younger than I am. I stop next to her.

  ‘What allegations?’ I ask slowly. People crowd around.

  ‘You’ve not seen the stories?’ she asks, excitedly, and pushes a paper towards me. I glance at the front page. Evie stole my dead brother’s baby. I have the presence of mind to realise that I don’t want to be photographed reading it, so I fold the front page inwards and tuck it behind my handbag, in the top of the trolley. I carry on walking. They turn and follow me, holding cameras up and yelling questions. I glance into WHSmith as I pass, and see my name and face on, it seems, every front page. I can’t go and buy them. I wish I had my mobile with me, but there seemed no point in taking it to America when it wouldn’t have worked there. I can’t stop at a payphone. I can’t get on the bus either.

  I think of myself dozing in business class while all this was going on. The secret of a lifetime has come out, and I was completely oblivious. Then I remember Kate. Everyone knows my secret now. Kate must see this as an enormous betrayal.

  They swarm around me as I stride as confidently as I can towards the taxi rank. A driver takes in my predicament, winks at me, and gets out to open the door for me, insisting that I jump the queue. He loads my bags and my cello in next to me.

  ‘Evie!’ they shout. ‘Have you had a breakdown? What happened with Letterman? Are you being dropped by your label?’

  The driver, who has a chubby, kind face, slams my door, then gets behind the wheel. He turns round and laughs.

  ‘Christ Almighty!’ he says, cheerfully. ‘What a shower. Where to?’

  ‘Um.’ I try to think. ‘Would you take me to Bristol? I don’t care what it costs, but could I put it on a credit card?’

  ‘Of course, love. Two per cent extra.’

  I lean back and exhale. ‘That’s fine. They’re going to follow us, I’m afraid.’

  ‘They can try. They won’t be parked at the cab rank so they’ll have lost us already.’ He looks in his mirror. ‘No, you’re right, I tell a lie.’

  I turn to look through the back window. Four cabs are pulling away, directly behind us. The travellers in the taxi queue look bewildered (foreign) and irritated (British). They have just had their cabs stolen by tabloid journalists.

  I read the Sun, and wonder how much Louise was paid for her twisted concoction of half-truths. She has told them everything she told me. I remember how calm she was. She must have been extremely plausible. At least they haven’t mentioned Tessa by name. Every word of Louise’s accusations has been legally approved, and it is carefully framed so that the central charge is not quite made. Mum and Phil’s house must have been surrounded for hours.

  The driver, who is called Frank, tells me what he has heard about my story.

  ‘You’re supposed to have seduced her brother then had the baby adopted without telling him,’ he informs me jovially. ‘Then he committed suicide because he didn’t have access to his kid.’

  I stare at him in the mirror. ‘Did anyone say how old I was when this happened?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Couple of years ago, was it?’

  ‘I was fifteen! The bitch. She’s twisted this to fit the tabloid agenda. I was below the age of consent!’

  ‘Nah, haven’t heard that, love. You might like to get that straight as soon as you can. And what about your husband?’

  ‘Jack?’ I haven’t thought about him for days. ‘What about him?’

  ‘It said on the radio that he’s getting married again. But his bird seems to have had a nice chat to one of your favourite papers about you. Said you were a nightmare, always ringing him up and making him come rushing over to see you. Said he even left her to go to America for you, and when he got there you told him to piss off.’

  I slump in my seat. ‘Was her name Sophia?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Sorry. Don’t mean to be a downer on you. I think we’ve shaken one of them off, if that makes you feel any better.’

  I look out of the window at the M4. Cars are streaming towards the West Country. The land round here is flat and dull. The sunshine is watery. I can’t wait to get to Clifton. To get home.

  ‘Frank?’ I ask, after five miles have passed. ‘If I gave you some money, would you let me use your phone?’

  He passes it through the screen without turning round. ‘It’s pay-as-you-go. Just give me whatever you use. Help yourself.’

  We pull up outside the house. Frank and I have prepared my exit, and Mum should be standing on the other side of the front door, ready to let me in.

  He screeches to an abrupt halt. ‘Go!’ he cries.

  I open the door and run up the garden path, holding only my handbag. The door opens and I rush in. Taylor slams it behind me, and Mum takes me by the hand and leads me into the kitchen. The shutters at the dining room window are closed, and even the kitchen blind is down. I have never seen it down in my life.

  ‘Sit down,’ she orders. I obey.

  ‘Where’s Tess?’ I ask her.

  ‘Staying with her friend Ally. We’re hoping that they won’t go after her on her own, and so far it seems to be working.’

  ‘Does she have any idea what this is about?’

  Mum sits next to me. ‘Does anyone? You tell me.’

  I play for time. ‘Where are Megan and Josie?’

  ‘Gone out the back way for provisions.’

  ‘Over the wall?’

  ‘They were giggling like schoolgirls. Good to see someone happy.’

  Frank and Taylor come in, with my bags and cello.

  ‘Here you are, love,’ Fr
ank says, cheerily. ‘Back up the M4, then, for me. If you give me your credit card I’ll call it through from here, if I can.’

  I hand it to him. I don’t even ask how much I owe him. He rings his office and they take the payment. I don’t have any sterling, so I give him a hundred-dollar bill, an absurd tip, and four pound coins from the side pocket of my handbag to cover my use of his mobile. He gives me a pat on the back and wishes me well.

  As the door opens to let him out, I hear a small commotion outside. I wonder if Frank is being offered money to talk about me.

  ‘They’ll get bored,’ I say hopefully.

  ‘Not until you set them straight.’

  I put my head on my arms on the table. ‘I know.’ I look up. ‘Mum,’ I tell her. ‘It’s been Louise, all along.’

  Together we formulate a strategy. I am going to have to speak to a friendly journalist and put the truth across. They are desperate to get to me - notes come through the door all day long - but I don’t want to invite somebody in from the doorstep. The only person I can think of to talk to is Jane from the Mail. The Mail, however, bought Sophia’s story, so I am loath to speak to them.

  ‘Have you talked to Jack yet?’ Mum asks, at one point.

  ‘No.’ I remember the rain on my face, the hairs on my legs standing up from the cold. I remember the excitement on Jack’s face as he told me about the new life he had planned for us. I remember how easily I crushed him. I remember walking away, and hearing him running behind me, then stopping. I can’t blame him for going straight back to Sophia. I imagine she will treat him properly. She will be a far better wife than I ever was.

  I dial his mobile number. He answers on the fourth ring.

  ‘Anna? Phil?’ he asks warily.

  ‘’Fraid not,’ I tell him.

  ‘Just a second.’ I hear rustling, a door closing. ‘That’s better. Evie? What the fuck is going on? Who’s Louise Parker, and what the hell is she talking about?’

  ‘She’s talking a load of crap.’