by Susan Lewis
Looking at Michael, she said, ‘I’m a basket case.’
‘You’re fine,’ he whispered, and turning as Rose and John appeared in the open doorway, he went to greet them before standing aside for them to come in.
At first Lucy felt frozen, too afraid to move or speak or even attempt a smile. She was transfixed by the woman who was lowering her hood, like an actress at the denouement of a play in which her face had remained hidden throughout. Then her heart tripped to see how beautiful Rose was.
John was the first to speak. ‘Lucy,’ he said, his voice shaking slightly, ‘this is Rose.’
Lucy could hardly breathe as Rose’s eyes came to hers. This woman, this vision of elegance and gentility, was her mother? It couldn’t be true. It was like a dream. She thought of the portrait Sarah had sold at auction that did Rose no justice at all, and wondered where it was now.
‘Alex?’ Rose whispered shakily. ‘Oh, my darling, you’re so lovely.’
As tears flooded her eyes, Lucy felt her heart stretching across her chest. What had this woman been through? How had she survived it?
‘I’ve thought about this moment,’ Rose told her. ‘I used to … Oh God, I’m so sorry … What I said that day …’
‘Ssh,’ John came in gently. ‘It’s all right.’
Though Rose glanced at him, her eyes quickly returned to Lucy. ‘I don’t mean to embarrass you,’ she said. ‘It’s just …’
‘It’s OK,’ Lucy heard herself saying. Was it? She had no idea. She was waiting for a bond that had lain dormant for years to start tightening. For a brief moment it had seemed to, but nothing was happening now. Yet maybe she was understanding why she was so tall and slender, with eyes that slanted at the corners and one eyebrow that arched higher than the other.
‘I’ll make some coffee,’ Michael said.
Remembering her manners, Lucy said, ‘Please come and sit down. Maybe we should go through to the sitting room.’ She looked at John, as though he might have the answer.
‘Wherever you feel most comfortable,’ Rose told her, and the throatiness of her voice, though neither strange nor familiar, seemed to curl around Lucy’s heart.
Lucy tried to smile. Maybe she should tell her she was lovely too, because she was. So lovely, in fact, that the word could have been created for her. Then, seeing how hard Rose was struggling to hold on to her emotions, she felt her own courage staging a return. ‘Perhaps we should stay here,’ she said, only realising now how wrong it seemed to be doing this in Daphne and Brian’s house. Or was it wrong? How much respect or consideration did they deserve? Shouldn’t they be here now, explaining themselves? Of course they should, but they’d be afraid and who could blame them? Where the heck were they? ‘I’ll help Michael with the coffee,’ she said. ‘How do you like yours?’
‘We both take it black with no sugar,’ John answered, pulling out a chair for Rose to sit down.
Of course she knew that about him, but there was so much else to learn, a whole lifetime of experiences and dreams that had gone towards making him who he was now. The biggest question of all, of course, was why he and Rose were no longer married, when the tenderness between them was so evident it was almost palpable. Had her disappearance been the reason for their break-up? What could have happened to tear them apart, when even after all these years they still seemed so connected to each other?
Watching them sit together and John’s hand covering Rose’s, Lucy found herself thinking of Sarah and how deeply attached she’d been to her father. How hard was she finding it to witness her mother’s closeness to the man who’d fathered her other children, Lucy wondered.
After bringing the coffees to the table, Michael silenced his phone as it started to ring and sat beside Lucy. There was a moment’s awkwardness until Rose said, ‘I know it’s selfish of us to want to see you today, but I … If you …’ Collecting herself, she said, ‘If you’d rather wait until we have official confirmation, please say so and we’ll leave.’
Hearing the desperation behind her words, Lucy felt her heart going out to her. ‘You’re welcome to stay,’ she said. ‘I just … I …’ What more did she want to say?
There was another stilted pause before John said, ‘The letter you received … We want to thank you for letting us see it, but if you’re regretting it now …’
‘I’m not,’ Lucy told him, ‘at least I don’t think I am. To be honest, it’s hard to know what I’m thinking.’
His eyes were full of understanding. ‘Which is why we thought it might help if you heard the whole story,’ he explained. ‘Of course, as Rose said, we can wait, but unless you say you want to, I …’ he glanced at Rose, Michael, then, ‘… don’t think there’s a need to.’
As Lucy looked from one to the other she was wondering how they could be so ready to accept her when they hardly even knew her. Maybe this was what happened to people who lost a child, they were ready to claim anyone just to fill the gap. Yet that was an unkind, unjustifiable way to think when she’d read the letter too, so how could she not understand what it must have meant to them?
‘I’d like to hear what happened,’ she said, realising that even if the results proved she wasn’t who they thought she was, they needed to go through with this now. And maybe she did too, because it might give her something to hold on to, some small shred of truth, or hope, that would help take her beyond the lie her life had become.
With a small smile of gratitude, Rose reached into her bag and drew out a large white envelope. ‘I brought these for John,’ she said, laying the envelope on the table. ‘I wasn’t sure … I thought they might help to get us started. They’re photographs that … Well, I’m sure you won’t remember them, but perhaps you’d like to see them.’
Feeling her heart turn over as John pushed the envelope towards her, Lucy was aware of her fingers shaking as she tipped the photographs out on to the table. She looked at the top one, and felt dizzied by the vision of a little girl with her arms around a young John’s neck, squeezing so tight that all her tiny teeth were bared.
Swallowing, she picked it up and looked more closely. The girl was as cute and lively as any healthy young child could be. Her eyes moved to John’s face in the photo and she found herself responding to his grimace at being held so tight, and to the glimpse of his large hand holding the tiny little back. A proud and happy father with the greatest joy of his life.
The next photograph was of the same little girl, this time wearing a red swimsuit and a yellow rubber ring while standing on the edge of a pool ready to jump. John was in the water with his arms held out waiting to catch her. In the next picture she was flying into his chest with a giant splash. Then she was asleep on the floor next to a Christmas tree, dressed as an elf. The image was so touching that Lucy felt her lips tremble as she smiled. Then came one with Rose, and they were laughing so uproariously that it made Lucy’s heart turn over. How happy they looked. How close and secure. The last shot was of a small baby in a bath, with Rose holding her steady to stop her from slipping under.
Lucy was thinking of Hanna now, and the ‘guess the baby’ competition that had been abandoned because of the weather. If it was reinstated, would anyone guess that this little girl was her? She looked at John and wondered, had things been different, if she would have shared the same closeness with him that Hanna did with Joe. Then, realising how deeply this was affecting him, she said, ‘When was the last time you saw these?’
‘Before last night,’ he answered gruffly, ‘it would have been over thirty years ago.’
Seeing Rose’s hand tighten on his, Lucy tried to put herself in their shoes and imagine how she’d be feeling if she was showing something like this to Hanna or Ben.
It was inconceivable.
‘You can keep them if you like,’ Rose told her. ‘We can always get more copies made.’
‘Thank you,’ Lucy said. Then, ‘I wish I could tell you … I’m afraid they’re not jogging any memories for me.’
Rose’s m
outh trembled slightly and she looked at John as he said with a chuckle, ‘I often think the same about photographs of myself at that age. Who’s that pudgy little chap, I ask. Nothing to do with me. Our parents could show us photos of any old baby and say it was us and how would we know?’ Not until the words were out did he seem to realise that Daphne and Brian might have done that to Lucy, and he immediately started to colour. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I could have put that …’
‘It’s OK,’ Lucy assured him, ‘because you’re right, of course. Most of us don’t bear much resemblance to the funny little creatures we were when we first came into the world. I know my two don’t.’
John appeared grateful, and glanced at Rose as she squeezed his hand again.
‘We need to explain now,’ Rose said, ‘why these early pictures of our daughter, Alexandra, are the only ones we have.’ She took a breath. ‘I should begin by telling you that what happened was my fault …’
‘Rose …’
‘No, John, please. You promised to let me do the talking and it’s the truth, it was my fault. Alexandra was with me that day. I was the one who failed to get her off the train in time.’
At the mention of a train Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. She glanced at Michael who gave her a smile of reassurance.
Returning her soft, melting gaze to Lucy, Rose said, ‘We’d been to see my mother. She was feeling under the weather, so I went because it always cheered her up to have the children around. We were living close to Wimbledon then and she was in Hammersmith, so the journey wasn’t too far, but it wasn’t direct, and getting on and off Tubes with a twin pushchair and a lively two-year-old was never easy, even at the best of times.
‘We got there without too much fuss, but on the way back you – Alexandra – decided she wanted to run up and down the carriage. Then Becky wanted to join her … She was a year and a half but she’d been walking since she was eleven months, and it was always a struggle to keep her reined in.’ She attempted a smile that was part pride and part grief for where this early skill had taken them. ‘Since there was only one other person on the train who told me not to mind him I decided to let them have their way for a few minutes and off they went, toddling along at their fastest pace, so pleased with themselves, arms waving and shrieking so loudly I felt sure they must be annoying the other passenger. Except he didn’t seem to be taking too much notice … Then we were close to our station so I called the girls back and …’ She swallowed hard as her voice started to falter. ‘Becky won the race to reach me so Alex pushed her over and I was angry, because Becky hit her mouth … There was blood all over the place and I told Alex she was in big trouble …’ Her head went down and John slipped an arm around her.
‘Those were the last words I spoke to her,’ she said brokenly. ‘I told her she was in big trouble and it frightened her, so she didn’t get off the train.’
As she started to break down Lucy felt so wretched for her that she wished she could make this stop. She shouldn’t have to go through it again, no mother should, and yet if she didn’t nothing would be explained.
‘I only realised when we were on the platform,’ Rose finally managed, ‘that you weren’t with me, and then I saw you standing where I’d left you, like you were frozen to the spot.’
Did she realise, Lucy wondered, that she’d changed from the third person to the second?
‘I shouted at you to come, but you wouldn’t move. I dropped Becky and rushed to the doors, but they were already closing. I shouted for someone to open them, but no one heard. The man ran over from his seat, but the train was starting to move. I screamed out for it to stop but it didn’t. I banged on the doors, and ran with the train, screaming for help, but the only person who seemed to realise what was happening was the man who was with you. He – he pointed down the carriage and said, “Next station.”’
Realising that the woman who shouted in her dreams must be Rose, Lucy felt as though she was being borne away into that tunnel again, dragged from the world she knew into another that seemed dark and terrifying, with no way out.
‘I – I rushed back to Becky and Simon,’ Rose was saying with a stammer, ‘and I waited what felt like an eternity for the next train. If I’d been in my right mind I’d have gone straight to the station manager, but all I could think about was your face as the train pulled away, and getting to the next station.’
Almost feeling her horror as she stood on the platform with two children who might be crying, or mute with fear, Lucy glanced at John. His face was pale and strained, and his eyes showed how deeply he’d suffered.
‘I can hardly remember getting on the next train,’ Rose said. ‘I think Simon and Becky were still crying, but all that mattered was getting to Southfields where the man would have you safe and everything would be fine.’ She swallowed hard. ‘But it wasn’t, because when I got there he was nowhere to be seen, and nor were you. I’m sure I started to scream, because a woman came running. I told her what had happened and she ran off to find someone, but I didn’t wait for her to come back. I raced out of the station with the pushchair and began running up and down the street, calling your name. Then it occurred to me that he might have bumped into someone who knew you and they’d told him where you lived. So instead of going back to the station I ran all the way home. I realised later, of course, that I’d done everything wrong, but I was in such a state I hardly knew what I was doing.’
Knowing how distraught she’d have been in the same circumstances, Lucy completely understood the confusion.
‘When I got home and you weren’t there,’ Rose continued, ‘I called John to tell him what had happened. I’m sure you’re wondering why I hadn’t contacted the police yet, and I did try, but there was someone in the only phone box I passed and she wouldn’t come out. She even hit me as I tried to grab the phone. I kept trying to tell her why I needed to use it, but it turned out she wasn’t English so she didn’t understand.’
She put her head down and inhaled shakily.
After a moment John said, ‘Maybe I should take it from here?’
Rose looked at Lucy, and Lucy could see from the determination in her eyes that she needed to go through with this herself. ‘After I rang John,’ she continued, ‘I rang the police. I know it was the wrong order …’
‘By then it wouldn’t have made a difference,’ John reminded her. ‘They still got there before I did.’
‘But it added to the mistakes I made that day, and when I think of how we’ve paid for them since …’
‘It’s OK,’ John said softly as her voice gave out.
‘You were the one who paid the most,’ she whispered, gazing at him with eyes so full of pain that Lucy could hardly bear to look.
‘We all did,’ he said. And turning to Lucy, ‘The worst part of it was knowing that it was a man who’d taken you. You were a very engaging little girl, so we could only think the worst. Being a mother yourself, I’m sure you can imagine the kind of hell we went through.’
In no doubt of where their minds had taken them, and knowing she’d probably rather kill herself than go through the same torment, Lucy said, ‘I know it’s too late now, but nothing like that happened to me.’
Rose’s eyes came back to hers. ‘If we’d known that then,’ she said, ‘we might have been able to cope with it better, but we didn’t. All I could see or hear in my mind was you crying for us, or screaming, or thinking I’d left you on purpose because I’d said you were in trouble.’ Her hand went to her mouth as a sob took her words. ‘Sometimes I used to pray you were dead,’ she admitted. ‘I could stand that more easily than I could the thought of someone hurting you.’
Though Lucy understood that too, the question that kept repeating in her mind now was why didn’t you find me?
‘Those weeks, months, were the worst we’ve ever lived through,’ Rose told her. ‘It seemed as though the whole country was involved in the search. John made an appeal on TV for the man on the train to come forward, or anyone who mig
ht know who he was, but none of the responses we got ever came to anything. The police interviewed hundreds of people, all our friends, our families, total strangers, but as time rolled on there was still no sign of you. Then, just as we thought it couldn’t get any worse, the police turned up one day to start digging up our garden.’
Lucy stopped breathing.
‘It went on for days, and the way the press turned on us was terrible. They accused me of making up the train abduction in order to cover up my crime; they even found experts to say that a mother’s first instinct in such a situation would be to call the police. So why had it taken me so long? They found the woman who’d gone for help at the station, and she said she’d thought at the time that I might be putting on an act. No one ever found the woman in the phone box, so I was accused of lying about that too. Then the police started to view us as abusive parents, their evidence being the cut on Becky’s lip when they’d first come to the house. There was even talk of taking her and Simon into care. Thank God that didn’t happen, but the nightmare was still far from over, because then they arrested me for murder.’
Lucy’s head started to spin. All this injustice and terror because Daphne and Brian had decided to make her theirs.
‘The interrogation they put me through wasn’t only relentless, it was often cruel and vindictive,’ Rose continued. ‘They kept on and on trying to make me tell them where I’d hidden the body. They even dug up my mother’s garden, and part of a woodland in a nearby park. Then they tried to make me say that John had done it and I was covering up for him. They told me it would go easier for me if I admitted it had been an accident. They even described various scenarios that could have happened. No one wanted to believe the truth.
