by Anni Taylor
Jessica stopped, sipping her water anxiously. My mind whirled.
No. There was no baby. I didn’t have a baby. I was screaming because she hurt me.
“I asked her to be quiet,” Jessica continued, “because she had stopped pushing. She was terrified, and her terror was stopping the labour from progressing. I told her to be quiet because she wasn’t helping herself. The head crowned, and I caught the baby. I started to panic, as the baby didn’t seem to be breathing at first. I might have said that out loud—I’m not sure. I checked her again, and she was okay. Then I cut the cord with the scissors from the kit and wrapped the baby. Then I disposed of the placenta in the well outside.”
I don’t think she’s breathing. Those words had been about a newborn baby, not me.
If there was a baby, what happened to it? Did she dispose of it, too? Down the well, buried together with the placenta? God, what am I thinking? This didn’t happen. None of this happened.
Mum squeezed my hand. I realised my breaths were so shallow that my head was growing faint.
Jessica sobbed, dabbed at her eyes and continued. “I…I gave Isla some sleeping pills to calm her. Then I called Peyton and…well, I asked him to do a favour for me. He was at home, in the basement when I called. I told him there was a girl asleep in an old church near Inverness and told him exactly where to find it. I asked him to take her back to her apartment in Inverness and I gave him the address. I told him she was a friend who was in trouble, but I didn’t explain. He said he would do what I asked.”
Jessica stared out at the courtroom. “He was a friend. I had no reason to think he would go to my house and hurt my daughter. Like I said, we were good friends. I’d even asked him to come to dinner that night, with Alban and Elodie and myself. That’s why I didn’t tell the police about him being at home earlier in the night. I honestly believed he went straight to Inverness to get Isla. Because he did take Isla home to Inverness, so I had every reason to believe that he went straight there.” The hurt and anger in her voice sounded real.
“Mrs McGregor, if you would return to the church and tell us more of what you claim happened there,” instructed the judge, “that would be helpful.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Jessica whispered. She took a sip of water, then coughed and spluttered.
It felt as if my entire life—my sanity—hinged on what she would say next.
Jessica’s eyes were firmly shut as she spoke. “I left the church. I put Rhiannon against my chest and I drove towards Greenmire hospital.”
Her words fired at me like bullets.
The baby was Rhiannon?
My mother was crying. I knew she’d already figured out what Jessica was leading up to. I’d been too numb from Jessica’s revelations.
Why would Jessica tell such a crazy lie—about her own daughter? I shook my head at Mum helplessly.
Jessica’s wails filled the courtroom. “Rhiannon is all I have now. She’s mine. She’s been mine since she was born. Do you understand?”
Wordlessly, Jessica signalled to the judge—telling him that she was either done with her story or wasn’t capable of continuing.
I could no longer hear the muffled noises and whispers of the court room.
Images assembled themselves in my mind. I could see Jessica kneeling beside me in that room in the church.
I had a memory of an enormous pressure and pain bearing down on my groin. I heard the word, push. I felt the release—a sudden and overwhelming release from the agony.
And I heard Jessica saying, I don’t know if she’s breathing.
48
ISLA
I stepped out of the courtroom, the sound of Jessica’s mournful sobs following me. Arms came around me from either side. Mum and Greer. Else I would have fallen.
The corridor turned dark. I was back in the church, walking inside of it.
Night.
Smell of rats and decay.
Filthy mattress on the floor.
Piano chords echoing and banging around the walls. An insane musician sitting at the seat, orchestrating the pain inside me.
Screams in my ears. My own.
Wind blowing in through the cracks.
Something I lost.
Something torn from me.
Pieces of me.
Pieces of her.
A baby.
Where did I go from here?
How could I have forgotten an entire pregnancy and birth?
If it was true—why did Jessica take Rhiannon and pretend she was her own?
And what happened to Jessica’s baby?
My mother said something. I couldn’t hear her. My body was stone—while my mind sped away. A runaway train on the tracks. Rumbling, sparking, roaring louder than the wind, no longer attached to anything that could reign it in. Everything outside the train was blurred streaks.
People turned their heads as I passed—their curious eyes looking me over—as if Jessica’s revelations would have made physical cuts all over my body. I felt as if I had sustained those cuts. Every part of me bleeding through wide open wounds.
I needed to get away. Away somewhere where all those eyes weren’t on me.
Alban marched past me, his eyes dazed and his hands on his head, as if his whole world had collapsed.
“Excuse me,” said Greer, “I’d better go to him.”
“Go,” Mum told her gently. “Before he ends up walking out into the traffic or something. I’ll stay with Isla.”
My mother guided me out into the cold, brisk morning air and along the street. We stopped at a small park and sat shielding ourselves from the blustering wind.
Over and over, my mind kept replaying scenes from the church. Like a movie I’d seen a long time ago and was beginning to remember, now that I’d started watching it again.
I felt a fullness and stretch in my belly—a memory. Walking along a hall somewhere full of young people with backpacks—a university—trying to pull a large jacket around myself, around my middle. Trying to hide myself. And running to the bathroom and vomiting.
God, I’ve been through a pregnancy. An entire pregnancy that I’d blocked out of my mind.
Rhiannon wasn’t Jessica’s biological child.
What else had I done? Had I been a home-wrecker? Was Alban the father? Or someone else?
But if Alban was the father, then Alban was telling lies.
Without warning, bile rose up into my throat. I was going to be sick. I raced to find a bathroom, Mum running behind me.
In the small public bathroom, Mum held back my hair while I vomited into the sink. Just the way she’d done when I was sixteen and had come home drunk from a party. She’d never been quick to judge me, and I was grateful for that, now. I was in a world of pain and confusion.
The hour passed, and it was time to head back to the courtroom. To hear the rest of what Jessica had to say.
Mum walked me back to a seat in the gallery. I met Alban’s gaze and looked away quickly. His eyes were intense, searching—and strange. Greer had stayed by his side and was sitting with him now. I caught her sympathetic glance before I turned to sit.
Jessica walked in, her hair smoothed and neatened, the red blotches gone from her face. She still appeared drained, but she was much more composed now.
The judge opened the session. “We are here to listen to the rest of the claims of Mrs Jessica McGregor. I will remind the jury and all who are present that these claims are at this time unsubstantiated. Mrs McGregor’s claims are extraordinary, and the jury will keep that in mind. I will also remind the jury that Mrs McGregor’s story is in answer to the last question asked by the prosecutor, which was why did you tell us that you’d taken your baby from the church? This account from Mrs McGregor is simply an answer to that. So far, the story has raised many questions, but those questions are for another time. The case at hand is the one outlined by the counsel for the prosecution in his opening statement and is the one that Mrs McGregor will be judged on today.” He turned to
Jessica. “Now, are you ready to continue?”
Jessica gave a nervous nod.
“Very well, you may proceed,” said the judge.
“Yes, my Lord,” said Jessica. Her gaze dropped to her lap as she began. “I met Isla Wilson a little less than three years ago. We never met in person. I communicated with her via notes and phone only. I saw her, but she never saw me.”
What did she mean? Had she been watching me?
Jessica seemed to be gathering herself. I still tasted bile in my mouth from earlier. What had I done? Whatever it was, everybody in this courtroom was about to hear it at the same time as me.
“Isla was studying at university in Edinburgh when I met her,” Jessica said. “She was studying photography. She was in a desperate spot. She needed money and was worried she’d have to return home. I didn’t know why. It wasn’t important to me to ask. We…had an arrangement. She respected my desire for privacy and I respected hers. At the time, I was separated from my husband and I very much wished to repair my marriage. I know now that it was wrong of me, but I believed that a baby would help. I believed that Alban wouldn’t divorce me if we had a new baby in our lives.”
I listened with growing horror. What part had I played in this and what part had Alban played?
Jessica swigged the water as if it were wine—or as if she wished it were. “I had a seven-year-old child, Elodie, and I’d been trying to have another baby for at least five years, without success. It wasn’t going to happen. Alban didn’t want to go through IVF or anything like that. As far as he was concerned, the marriage was over. The marriage hadn’t been solid from the start, but I didn’t want it to be over. One morning…I went to the university and placed a note on the notice board, about wanting a surrogate.”
I heard an audible gasp and realised it was my own. Around me, I heard shocked whispers. Somewhere behind me, I heard Alban curse.
“Four girls contacted me,” said Jessica. “Isla was one of those. She seemed…perfect. She was intelligent, well spoken, pretty. And she would be heading back to Australia when she finished her course. And so, we made an agreement.”
Staring at Jessica, I shook my head silently. What kind of trouble could I possibly have been in that I needed money so desperately? I’d signed up to be a surrogate? She couldn’t be telling the truth. She’d had time to think in the break from court. Surely she’d concocted this story?
“I made it clear,” said Jessica, “that we’d never meet. I wanted complete secrecy. Isla agreed to this. She said that when she headed back home, she was happy to put the whole thing out of her mind and never contact me again. Which is exactly what I wanted.”
She dipped her head, sighing. “I—I told Alban I wanted us to have a couple of weeks away. For us to have a last-ditch try to reconnect as a married couple. He didn’t agree, at first. But I called his mother, crying, telling her I wanted to save my marriage. I guess she put a wee bit of pressure on Alban. Anyway, she minded Elodie for the two weeks and Alban and I went to stay at a hotel in Edinburgh. At the same time, I paid for Isla to stay at a hotel nearby. I’d had her use an ovulation predictor kit, and this was at her fertile time of the month. Essentially, what I did every second night was to take a collection of sperm from my husband. I’d bought the type of condoms that don’t have spermicide—I told Alban that I had an allergy to the other kind. I put the collection into an insemination syringe and rushed it away in my handbag, down the street to the hotel room where Isla was staying. If you keep sperm moist, sterile and at room temperature, it can remain fertile for up to half an hour—even as long as an hour. I kept the time to within fifteen minutes, where possible. I’d put the syringe into a paper bag outside her door, then call her. I’d watch, secretly, to ensure she opened her door and took it. This went on for two weeks.”
Mum threaded her fingers tightly in and around mine.
Jessica held her head in her hands for a moment, her eyes huge and frightened, as if she couldn’t believe she was telling everyone this. “Weeks after the Edinburgh trip, Isla sent me a text message to say that she was pregnant. She’d used one of the pregnancy test kits that I’d given her. I hadn’t expected it to work, to be honest. But it did. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. I was just in shock at this point, thinking about the wheels I’d put in motion. There was no turning back now. I…used a urine sample that she supplied to me to confirm the pregnancy with a doctor. I pretended it was my own. From there, I got weekly reports from Isla on how she was doing. I hired a doula to give her monthly wellness checks. For myself, I…I used prosthetic bellies. I took one from the hospital that was used for training staff in the maternity ward. The rest I obtained online. Everyone believed I was pregnant.”
She stared out at the jury, then at the gallery. “I began to believe it myself. Isla was just the carrier who supplied half of the biological material, but I was the mother. That’s how it works with a surrogate. That’s how it’s supposed to work. And the baby was biologically my husband’s. I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong. Isla needed money. I needed a baby.”
Tears began streaming down Jessica’s face again. Her carefully smoothed hair in disarray again. Her face blotchy again. I sat frozen in my chair. There was too much information coming at me all at once. I couldn’t process it, let alone make sense of it. How did this even connect with the night at the church?
“Do you need to take a moment, Mrs McGregor?” asked the judge.
“No, my Lord,” she said, wiping away the wetness on her cheeks with a fresh handkerchief. “I’ll continue.”
“Very well,” he said.
Pushing the handkerchief down deep into a jacket pocket, Jessica bent her head to the microphone. “Alban moved back into the family home and we were a family again. Elodie was excited that she was going to have a new brother or sister. Everything was going well. But when Isla was six months pregnant, things started to go wrong. She sent me a text to say that she wanted to meet in person. She said that she didn’t know whether she could go through with it. I talked her around. Things went back and forwards like this for the next two months. Until…finally…Isla told me that she was returning to Sydney and she was going to keep the baby. I was devastated. Completely devastated. She had moved to Inverness by this time. We’d agreed early in the pregnancy that she wouldn’t stay in Edinburgh, so that none of her friends would know about her pregnancy. On this night, Isla said she was driving from her flat in Inverness, back to Edinburgh, to pick up some belongings she’d left with a friend. And then she’d be flying out.”
Stopping, Jessica twisted her hands together. “To me, it was if she was tearing my child away from me. Because that’s exactly what she was doing. I…I decided I needed to talk with her in person. I thought that if she saw me, and saw much I already loved the baby, she’d change her mind. But her phone was switched off and I couldn’t contact her. If I let her get to Edinburgh, it would be too late. I’d lose my baby. I’d no time to think. I told Elodie I was going out to get things for dinner. And then I drove out to the A9, towards Inverness, keeping a sharp eye out for Isla’s car. When I sighted her car, I flashed my car’s headlights. And…I’ve already told the rest of what happened at the church….”
“Isla, honey,” Mum whispered, “are you okay?”
I nodded. But I wasn’t okay. Jessica was talking about me, but I didn’t recognise the person as being me. I struggled against the images that were appearing before me, trying hard to push them away. These things couldn’t be real.
“I called Elodie three times on my way to hospital,” Jessica continued. “When she didn’t answer, I thought she was just caught up in the console game she’d been playing. I couldn’t wait to tell her that she had a new sister.”
She hesitated before speaking again. “The moment I arrived at hospital, I knew I was in trouble. They’d find out I hadn’t given birth to Rhiannon. I hadn’t been able to prepare properly. But the baby needed medical care. I knew almost all the doctors an
d nurses who were on duty that night. I had to think quickly. I was able to delay a check-up on myself because, naturally, everyone understood that my priority was seeing that the baby was okay. And then I falsified a record of my own examination. After that, I…I tried to call Elodie one more time. And again, there was no answer….”
Jessica bowed her head. “I was worried about Isla, too. I’m not a monster. I didn’t call her for three days—I was in shock about Elodie you must understand. But I did call her. To my surprise, she didn’t remember me. It was obvious that she didn’t remember having a baby, either. And I didn’t see a reason to tell her. I ended up calling the doula and telling her that Isla had lost her baby. I…I also told her that Isla was a drug addict who was recovering from an overdose. I asked her to go and care for Isla over the next week. And I asked her not to mention the baby because it would…traumatise Isla too much. Yes, the overdose was a lie. But I didn’t want to leave Isla alone in that state.”
Jessica didn’t speak again.
Every piece had slotted into place. Jessica had told it all. I sensed a relief in her. Her stiff, straight posture had given way.
I stopped struggling against the things she’d told.
Small, sharp pieces of memory pierced my mind, summoned by Jessica’s story. Pieces of everything and everyone.
The texts. The notes. The paper bags at my door. The stretchy, growing stomach. The woman who came to see me each month—the doula. I had vague memories of all of it.
The story that Jessica had just told was the one that was true.
49
ISLA
April 2018
My mother and I had been staying in Inverness since Jessica’s court case, at Greer’s house. Greer came and went between her house and Kelly’s house at Aviemore. Mum and I walked a lot along the River Ness—me trying to get my head straight and Mum trying to support me. I understood now how much she’d tried to protect me when I’d returned from Scotland two years ago. If I was this much of a mess now, I couldn’t imagine how bad I’d been back then.
