by Darren Young
Sandra looked down and her face reddened. After a few seconds, she shook her head. ‘Not for me.’
‘Did he not want you to have her?’
‘No,’ said Sandra quickly, ‘he never said that. But I thought he’d come around to the idea after she was born and he just … didn’t.’
Laura let Sandra reflect on her revelation. It had visibly brought her down, though, and Laura needed to change the mood.
‘What do you think Jessica is doing now?’
‘So you do believe she’s alive?’
Laura nodded. The heavy frown on Sandra’s face went away.
‘Doesn’t matter as long as she’s happy. She’ll be doing well for herself. I think she’ll make something of her life. She’s not like me and Todd. We plodded along. We never tried to be more than we were. And Stuart was easygoing too when he was young, but even at that age Jess was different. She had … I don’t know how to describe it. Balls, I suppose.’
Laura smiled.
‘Stuart was a little sod, I admit, but only in that he was mischievous. He was also very easy to get in line. Go to your room. He went. Lay the table. He did it. Jess, on the other hand – she’d stand her ground and argue the toss.’
‘I like the sound of her.’
Sandra smiled now. They sat in silence for a few minutes, both watching the waves lap on the sand below with a rhythmic, soothing continuity.
Laura got up to stretch her legs, still aching after the previous night’s class, and took their cups to the canteen area in the hallway and made them each a fresh cup of coffee. When she got back to the table she found Sandra with her head pressed against the glass, her eyes locked on the beach. Laura wasn’t sure if she knew she had come back; she didn’t thank her for the drink or even acknowledge it was there, leaving it untouched as Laura drank hers.
‘Sandra,’ she said quietly, ‘do you think you’d recognise her? If you saw her?’
It felt to Laura that the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees as she finished the question. Sandra’s face was stony and grey, the frown back, and her body had tensed in a way that suggested that Laura had better have a very good reason for asking.
‘Well, do you?’ Laura persisted, softly.
‘Why?’
‘People responded to the article,’ she explained. ‘Not just Maureen Upson, but a girl too.’
‘A girl?’
Laura could see Sandra fighting the urge to raise her hopes.
‘A girl. She called because she thinks there is a chance she might be Jessica.’
Sandra’s body was rigid now.
‘It’s only a small possibility, Sandra. I don’t want to raise your hopes because it might be nothing, but … ’
Sandra gulped.
‘ … but she’s about the right age, she lives close by and she has a lot of similar features. I’ve looked at photos of her and Jessica until my brain hurts. And her parents are keeping a big secret from her.’
‘Where is she?’
Laura looked around and lowered her voice. ‘There is more. But I want you to see a photo of her first, because I think you might know straight away when you look at it.’
Laura could see Sandra was trembling and she knew she had to manage her expectations carefully. She checked the on-duty nurse was occupied elsewhere and slid her hand into her bag, pulling out the manila folder. She opened it so that Danni’s pretty face was looking at her off the page. She put it in Sandra’s hand.
‘Just look at it and tell me what you think.’
The woman’s hand was shaking as she put her fingers around the photographic paper and adjusted it on her lap. She looked down and stared at the image for what felt like an eternity and then a single tear plopped on to the sheet, hitting Danni on the neck.
‘Sandra?’
More tears dropped and formed little water marks until Sandra moved the page. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered, her eyes never leaving the photograph.
Laura put her hand over Sandra’s and patted it. ‘But it could be her?’
Sandra’s whole body seemed to shrug. ‘I have this picture of her in my head. The one I use when I imagine what she looks like now and what she’s doing. I’m so used to seeing her like that, I don’t know if my brain will let me accept a different version.’
‘I understand.’
‘She might look like this for all I know. She’s got the same eyes.’ She nodded down at the now tearstained image.
‘I know it’s difficult.’
‘What if I want it to be her so much that I see things that aren’t there?’
‘Anything’s possible looking at a photograph,’ said Laura with new-found clarity. She could see that, although she’d wanted to spare Sandra the shock, a two-dimensional image threw up even more questions than it answered.
The main thing was that Sandra hadn’t ruled out the possibility, or seen something in the photo of Danni that meant she couldn’t be her daughter. That made the next step easier. For everyone.
Laura squeezed Sandra’s hand.
‘That’s why I’m going to bring her to meet you.’
52 | Danni
‘I have to speak to him first.’
Danni ended the call with Laura and finished dressing for work. She’d had a full update on Sandra’s reaction and things were moving now: Laura had asked her to be ready to go to High Cliffs at short notice, as soon as she could get the time off work. She was desperate to see Sandra Preston as quickly as possible but, given that things might happen quickly after that, she felt she needed to try to at least talk to her father, because, if their relationship had any chance of surviving if she wasn’t Jessica, they had to get past the latest fallout. So she had sent him a text message asking him to call her that morning.
Her mobile rang at precisely ten o’clock.
‘I’m outside.’
Danni pulled back the curtain and looked out. It was a Sunday and a misty one, with low cloud drifting off the sea. Her father was sitting in his car outside Sam’s house and she raised a hand to wave.
‘Hungry?’ he asked on the phone as she looked at him down there. She was.
‘Give me two minutes.’
She pulled on her jeans and a jumper and went downstairs, pulling her hair into a tidy ponytail before she got into the car.
They drove to the American-style diner a few miles down the coast. It was a popular place for tourists; a little too popular at times – you had to book ahead at weekends in summer, so the locals tended to go elsewhere.
‘The pancakes are supposed to be incredible,’ her father said as they sat down and picked up the menus. He asked about the job and the birth certificate.
‘They were OK about it.’
‘When do you start?’
‘I’m confirming tomorrow, so I’ll know then. If I take it.’
‘You’ve still not decided?’
‘I just want to be sure.’
Danni half-listened as he told about some of the career decisions he’d faced at a similar age. She knew he had always been a hard worker; it seemed as though he’d been chained to either a typewriter, a word processor, or more lately an expensive laptop, for as long as she could remember. But this was the first time she could recall him dispensing career advice to her and she found herself becoming irritated with him, thinking it was a bit late to start playing dad, and he was trying a little too hard.
She let him continue for another minute and was about to interrupt when he mentioned turning a job down when she was very young and she jumped in.
‘How old was I?’
‘About three. It was the right job but at the wrong time. I didn’t want to be away from you and your mum.’
Danni felt her emotions bubbling to the surface; it was rare for him to mention her mother without being prompted.
‘Not that she’d have noticed,’ he continued. ‘She did everything as it was.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘She was so good,
I thought it was best to just work as much as I could and pay the bills and leave the rest to her.’
‘What was I like? As a baby?’
She knew it was a clumsy question the moment it tumbled out of her mouth but she’d had no way of stopping it. Her father had handed the opportunity to her on a plate, and she couldn’t let it pass.
‘A baby?’
‘Did I keep you awake all night? Was I a nightmare? Did I take ages to learn to walk? I can’t remember ever asking you.’
‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ her father asked instantly, either without thought or, she wondered, to deflect the question. Danni glared at him and he held up his hands. ‘Sorry.’
There was that look on his face again, she thought: where he had become so uncomfortable that he looked as if he might up and run at any moment. But Danni was having this conversation whether he wanted to or not.
‘So what’s brought this on?’
‘I just realised that I can’t ask Mum any more.’
She looked at him: he didn’t seem totally convinced by her answer, and he paused as he thought about how to respond. Then he smiled.
‘She made it look easy,’ he said. ‘She was an amazing mother. She could remember who sent you every single birthday and Christmas present, even years later. She knew the exact day and time of every after-school club and you never missed one.’
Danni smiled.
He seemed to enjoy reminiscing. ‘I couldn’t even tell you the name of any of your friends at school. Your mother knew their birthdays, for goodness’ sake,’ he said, his voice cracking and his expression turning to one of pain. She could see why he hadn’t opened up that much before, and, as he struggled to contain his emotions, Danni felt sorry for him.
‘You did other things for me, though,’ she said kindly
‘But was it enough?’
‘I never wanted for anything.’
She put her hand on his. He managed a faint smile.
‘That’s just material stuff. Not … ’
There were tears in his eyes.
‘We should have done this more often,’ she said.
‘We still can.’
Danni watched his face. She thought it looked honest enough, but there was still something, a slight hesitancy when he spoke, that made her feel unsure. She realised she no longer knew if she could trust anything he said, no matter how genuine it sounded.
And he still hadn’t answered her question about what she was like as a baby.
The waitress, in full fifties American costume, came to take their order, and when she walked away Danni’s father looked at her.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you.’
She felt closer to him than she had at any moment since her mother died; and a long time before that too, if she were able to remember that far, but it felt foggy now. Her mother’s death had affected them both so much, she wasn’t sure which of her memories were real and which were imagined.
There was only one thing she knew with any certainty at that moment.
She didn’t want to be Jessica Preston.
‘It’s OK,’ she found herself saying, although she wasn’t sure if it was.
They sat in silence until the waitress put plates stacked with pancakes in front of them and Danni began to drizzle hers with maple syrup.
‘So will you take the job?’ her father asked.
‘What would you do if you were me?’
‘I don’t think it’d do you any harm.’
‘I wouldn’t see so much of you.’
‘It’s Southampton,’ he laughed, ‘not Australia. And we’ll have to make time.’
She smiled. The deadline had crept up on her quickly. ‘I think I’ll probably take it.’
Her father nodded, looking approving. She couldn’t help but wonder whether it was in his best interests rather than hers. That was the trouble with knowing that he was hiding something: it cast a dark, unpleasant shadow over everything that was said or done.
‘Let me know what you decide.’
‘I’ll pop round the flat tomorrow after I call them. It’s my day off.’
He frowned. ‘I’ve got a meeting in the morning,’ he said, ‘so if you come round it’ll have to be after midday.’
‘OK,’ said Danni, but in her mind an image was already forming. It was of a file, full of papers; important papers that her dad had put in the box to take to his new home and which she could picture clearly now on the kitchen floor of their old house, waiting to be taken.
Whatever he was hiding might be in that box, as Sam had said. And it was somewhere in his new apartment.
If she was going to look for it, she now had the perfect opportunity.
53 | Danni
Danni was frustrated.
Laura had sent a text to her the previous evening to suggest a midweek visit to Sandra, citing work and problems with her boss as the reason for the hold-up, whereas Danni would have liked to see her the very next day and get it over with.
She knew Sam was right in that she was too wedded to Laura’s schedule and needed to be more proactive, but in the twenty-odd hours since she’d had breakfast with her father she felt different too. She felt that she wanted to repair their relationship, and spend more time with him, but she could only do that if she knew what he was hiding; and she was certain the box held the key.
Her alarm woke her when it was still dark, but the sky was clear and full of stars, and she could see the dark blue turning lighter and giving way to a tinge of orange on the horizon. She put on her running shoes, with a black hooded top and leggings, and with the hood up she began to jog slowly down to the beach in the semi-dark, and then along the sand, acknowledging the other runners who were out and doing the same thing as her.
But they weren’t doing exactly the same thing.
As she neared her father’s apartment she looked at it and saw the lights were on and there was movement in the kitchen window. She jogged past, near the edge of the water where the sand was hardest, and carried on for another two hundred yards and then turned and jogged back, almost retracing her footprints. She checked her phone – it was just after eight, and she knew her father liked to set off early for morning meetings in case there were any problems on the roads.
As she neared the apartment again, the kitchen light was off, and she saw the headlights of her father’s car as it slipped off the driveway and on to the road. The sky was turning a lighter blue now, but she would still be hard to see on the unlit beach. She turned inland, ran to the steps that led up to the first-floor apartment and looked around. The downstairs occupant hadn’t moved in yet; her father had told her that they were due to start their lease in a fortnight, so she didn’t have to worry about being seen as she walked up the steps and on to the decking.
Since she was a teenager, her father had always left a spare key, for emergencies, under an odd-shaped rock in a plant pot at the back of the house. On the decking were two plants, one on each side of the decked area, and she walked over to a green Bergenia plant that sat next to the patio doors. She put on a pair of latex gloves she’d taken from the surgery, found the stone that sat on the soil, and carefully lifted it to reveal a gold key on a small ring.
Then she walked back down the steps and around to the front of the property, climbing those steps just as the sun began to rise in the clear sky. She knocked all traces of sand from her shoes and took them off, then wiped the gloves clean and turned the key in the door. It opened to the sound of intermittent beeps from the alarm. Danni took a deep breath, stepped into the apartment and punched her mother’s date of birth – the month and the year – into the keypad, hoping her father had continued with another of his habits.
The beeping stopped.
Barefoot, she stepped through the hall and systematically went into each room, looking for a place where the file or the box might be located. She quickly checked all the obvious places – drawers, cupboards, the wardrobe and under beds – and rul
ed them out. As her father had bemoaned, there wasn’t that much storage space in the apartment, but she was thorough in her search, looking in every room but finding nothing.
She spent more time in her father’s study, which he had converted from the smallest of three bedrooms, as it was the place she expected to have success; but the room only had a writing desk facing the large window that looked out to sea, a large chair and a small filing cabinet – which, when she checked it, she found full of contracts and invoices for her father’s work. There was nothing that looked out of place, or like the box she had seen at the house.
She knew her father was a meticulous filer and would have put the papers somewhere he could access them if he needed to. But she was fast running out of places to look. Her father had clearly opted for spacious, clutter-free living, and she’d exhausted the few storage options he had. There wasn’t a garage, either, so she began to wonder if he’d taken the box to the storage facility after all.
Maybe he had moved it when she started asking questions.
Danni went back into the main living area and took another look around, trying to find anything she might have missed. She checked the backs of cupboards and inside pots, pans and even the microwave. If the file was in the house he’d done a good job of hiding it, she thought, and her mind turned to why he might want to hide it.
Then, just as she was about to give up, she saw it.
It was a small square in the freshly painted white ceiling; an equally white cover that almost blended perfectly with the ceiling but she could just make out the edges. The apartment was on the top floor, but she’d not even considered that there might be a loft with ample space for extra storage.
Or for putting the things you didn’t want anyone to see.
54 | Danni
Danni stared up at the ceiling and she knew.
Before she looked inside the loft, even before she opened the hatch door, she knew what she would find in there. It was virtually calling to her: she had no idea why she was so sure, but there was no doubt whatsoever in her mind.
She pulled up a breakfast stool from the kitchen, stood on it to reach the cover and gave the white square a gentle push, gradually giving it more persuasion until it moved fully and she could push it up and back. Then she got on her toes until she could put her head into the space.
