This Child of Mine

by Sinéad Moriarty

  ‘No, he’d kill me. For some reason he thinks Tanya’s great.’

  ‘There’s no accountin’ for taste. Maybe I should write a song about Dougie being a cheatin’ tosser. Do you get a lot of anger out when you sing? You was really gettin’ into it there, shoutin’ out the words and all.’

  Mandy flicked her black fringe out of her eyes. ‘Yeah, I do. I guess it’s a form of therapy for me.’

  ‘That’s great, darlin’. People should do whatever makes ’em feel good. That’s my motto.’

  Mandy lowered her voice. ‘I’m hoping to do this full time when I finish school. I haven’t told Mum or Dad yet. They’ll freak. But I really feel that music is my destiny.’

  Laura winced. Mandy’s future definitely did not lie in music. And there was no way in hell she was going to be allowed to miss out on college. Both she and David wanted her to have three years in university to study, grow up and mature before heading out into the world. Laura couldn’t even think about Mandy leaving home without feeling nauseous.

  Lexie nodded slowly. ‘Right, I see. It might be a good idea to have a back-up plan, though, just in case it don’t work out. It’s tough out there, babe.’

  ‘I know, but true talent always succeeds,’ said the confident musician.

  ‘Yes, but sometimes people don’t recognize talent straight away. So maybe you should go to university and keep singing on the side.’

  ‘It’s a waste of time. Why should I spend three years studying something that I won’t need when I could be changing the world with my music?’

  ‘What about doing a business course so you don’t get screwed by your record company?’

  Mandy smiled. ‘I’ve thought about that. I’m going to get Frank to be my manager.’

  Laura chuckled to herself. Frank would insist that Mandy go to college before he’d consider representing her.

  ‘It seems like you have it all sorted.’ Lexie was running out of ideas. ‘Have you recorded yourself yet? Have you actually heard yourself singing?’

  Mandy shook her head. ‘Not yet. I need to get the songs finalized first.’

  ‘Might be an idea to do it. It’ll give you a feel for what you sound like. You might find you want to tweak it a bit.’

  ‘Maybe, but I doubt it. I’m happy with my sound. I feel it’s unique,’ Mandy explained.

  ‘Oh, it’s unique, all right, darlin’. I never heard anything like it. Is it just you on your own?’ Lexie asked. ‘No other band members?’

  ‘My friend Caroline was with me for a while, but she kept wanting to write happy songs about being in love and fancying boys. It was really fluffy, upbeat stuff that no one wants to hear. Who does she think I am? Kylie?’

  Lexie tried not to laugh. Mandy looked about as different from Kylie as you could get. She was tall and athletic, except she hunched over all the time, as if she was ashamed of her height. She had jet black hair cut into a short, jagged bob and brown eyes, constantly rimmed with black eyeliner.

  ‘I got into music to write songs that other people can relate to. Deep songs about life,’ Mandy explained.

  ‘And disease and death,’ Lexie noted.

  ‘Totally. Things that matter.’

  ‘I wish you the best of luck with it all.’ Lexie smiled at the intense teenager. Mandy was just a big bundle of hormonal emotion. ‘Can I give you one little piece of advice?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘All successful musicians write about love. It’s the most powerful emotion of ’em all. Just think about it.’

  Mandy nodded. ‘I will. Thanks.’

  ‘Haven’t you ever been in love? Fancied a boy in your class or in the village or something?’ Lexie wondered.

  Laura held her breath. She wanted to hear this.

  Mandy blushed. ‘Well, not really. I mean, kind of.’

  ‘Go on, tell your auntie Lexie.’

  Mandy squirmed. ‘There’s a guy in my guitar class who’s kind of cool.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Johnny.’

  ‘Details, please. Blond or dark?’

  ‘Blond with blue eyes, which is so not my type. I always fancy dark, broody guys.’

  ‘I always liked the blonds myself. Go on, what’s he like?’

  ‘He’s really friendly.’

  ‘Oh, is he, now?’ Lexie giggled.

  ‘Not just to me, to everyone,’ Mandy said. ‘He’s like that, you know, friendly.’

  ‘He sounds lovely.’

  ‘It’s weird, though, because he’s the opposite to what I normally go for. He’s very smiley and happy. I usually like moody outsiders, you know – tortured souls –’

  ‘Now you listen to me,’ Lexie interrupted. ‘I grew up surrounded by tortured souls and they are a world of trouble. All they think about is themselves. They’ll suck you dry and spit you out. Mark my words, you want a nice, happy chap who’ll make you laugh. Life is difficult enough without some grumpy dickhead with a chip on his shoulder dragging you down. This Johnny sounds perfect. Now, you need to go easy on the black eyeliner and smile a bit more or you’ll scare him off. You’re very pretty when you smile. You remind me a bit of that actress – you know, the one who was in that film with Johnny Depp where his hands was scissors.’

  ‘Winona Ryder?’ Mandy gasped.

  ‘Yes, that’s the one. You look like her.’

  ‘Really? Or are you taking the piss?’

  ‘No! I’m deadly serious.’ Lexie took her hand. ‘Come upstairs with me. I want to do your makeup for you. If we scrub off some of that black liner, you might be able to see your lovely eyes. I’ll also give you a few tips on how to hook a man. Rule number one: eye contact. We might have to trim that fringe of yours an’ all.’

  Laura sat back down at her desk and smiled. Lexie was so good for Mandy. She was able to draw her out and say all the things Laura longed to say. Somehow everything Laura said just seemed to irritate Mandy instead of helping her. This Johnny sounded lovely. She’d have to make up some excuse to go in with Mandy to her next guitar lesson and have a look at him.

  Beep. Another email came into Laura’s inbox. It was time to tackle all the messages and the bills she had let pile up. Laura hated all technology. She knew it was a necessary evil, but she found mobile phones, computers and video games very noisy. She liked peace and quiet. She liked calm. She liked to hear the sound of the waves lapping on the sand, not the pinging of her computer when she received new emails or her phone blaring out the awful ring-tone Mandy had changed it to. When she was in her studio she left her laptop and her phone in the house. She had a land line in there for emergencies, but only three people had the number: Mandy, Frank and Joan.

  Laura’s days were spent painting to the sound of nature or gentle, soothing music. But every Friday afternoon she forced herself to deal with her emails. Otherwise they backed up and then she found herself spending hours trying to answer them all. Frank told her to keep on top of them. He said she had to get back to people without too much delay. He reminded her that she wasn’t just an artist, she was also a self-employed businesswoman, who had to reply to queries from galleries, potential clients or investors.

  While Mandy and Lexie were upstairs occupied with makeup lessons, Laura forced herself to plough through her inbox, answering requests for interviews, giving advice to aspiring artists, updates to clients, and replying to the nice ones from galleries telling her they had sold her work. She was about to log out when one final email came through: Sophie Roberts. It was bound to be another aspiring artist looking for advice. Laura was tempted to leave it until next week. She glanced at the clock: she had plenty of time before starting dinner. She opened the email …

  Her coffee cup smashed into a thousand pieces on the floor.

  She stuffed her hand into her mouth to stop herself screaming. Her body went into shock. The picture attached to the email was of Jody, her baby, her little girl, her angel, her firstborn, her lost child. Jody with her blanket. The blanket
Joan had bought her with the elephant on it. She was sucking the corner. Jody! Same hair, same eyes, same mouth, same chubby fingers. It was her. It was Jody. What was this girl’s name – Sophie? Oh, my God, was this it? Was this the day she had been waiting for, praying for? Was this girl Jody? Or did she just have a picture of her?

  Calm down, she ordered herself. Read the email again. No, it wasn’t a hoax. It was real. She knew it – she’d always known it. Blue: all she could see was bright aqua blue. Oh, the joy!

  But how? Who? The girl said London. Who had taken her there? Was she OK? She sounded OK. Oh, Jesus. Laura’s heart was pounding. She had to call someone. She needed help with this. There was only one person: Frank.

  She dialled his number with trembling fingers.

  ‘Frank!’ was all she said.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I have to see you.’

  ‘Are you sick?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is it Mandy?’

  ‘No, no, we’re fine, I can’t explain. Meet me in Johnston’s Hotel – it’s the nearest place to both of us. Drive as fast as you can. Bring your iPad.’

  Laura printed the email out and made sure to turn her computer off. She wrote a note but her hands were shaking so much it was almost illegible – Back in an hour or so. She ran out to her car, drove like a maniac to the hotel and waited impatiently for Frank.

  While she waited, she read the email over and over again, devouring every word. Trying to read between the lines. Trying to understand. The girl sounded so polite, and she said she had synaesthesia too. How amazing was that. Jody had synaesthesia. Or was it Jody? Could it really be her? Laura was too scared to believe it, too afraid to hope. The girl had said she hadn’t told anyone – who did she mean? Was she in an orphanage? A home? Did she have parents? Was she being looked after?

  She’d said she had a normal life. What did that mean? What’s normal? Oh, God. Laura’s head was whirling. Colours were flashing in front of her eyes, orange, green, beige and blue – beautiful, joyful blue.

  Frank’s car hurtled to a stop outside the hotel. Laura ran out to him. She grabbed his arms.

  ‘JODY’S ALIVE!’ she shouted. ‘SHE’S ALIVE!’

  Frank stopped in his tracks. ‘WHAT? Laura, calm down, talk to me. What’s going on?’

  Laura laughed wildly. ‘I haven’t gone mad. It’s true, Frank.’ She pulled him into a corner of the hotel lobby and handed him the email.

  Frank read it. ‘Jesus, Laura, this doesn’t mean anything. She could be some nutter. You must calm down.’

  ‘No no no no!’ Laura was becoming hysterical. ‘Look at the picture, quickly, open up my email. You’ll understand when you see it. Hurry, Frank, hurry. It’s my baby, it’s my Jody.’ Laura fell back on to a couch and began to sob as the magnitude of the news sank in.

  Frank took out his iPad and logged on to Laura’s Hotmail account. He opened the photo attachment. The child was the image of Jody. He read the email again.

  Laura was gripping his arm. ‘You see, Frank? You see?’

  ‘OK, hold on a second. We mustn’t jump to conclusions.’ He tried to remain calm. Laura was hysterical. He needed to be measured, careful. This was explosive news. He had to protect Laura. It could be a hoax.

  ‘It’s her, Frank, I know it is. Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I always tell you she was alive? I knew my Jody didn’t drown. She’s come back to me! She’s come back!’ Laura buried her face in her hands. She was completely overwhelmed.

  Frank leaned over and hugged her tightly. She sobbed into his shoulder. ‘Hey there, it’s OK. You’ve had a huge shock. Now, listen to me, we’re going to take this slowly. One step at a time. We need to make sure that the picture isn’t false. We need to verify that it’s not someone messing with your head. I know you want to believe it but you mustn’t rush into anything. We need to reply to her and ask for more information.’

  ‘I can’t do it – you do it. I don’t know what to say.’ Laura was shaking.

  Frank ordered a strong coffee with lots of sugar for Laura and a whiskey for himself. ‘OK, let’s decide on the wording …’

  He took out a pen and began scribbling on a napkin. Laura sat beside him, fidgeting.

  ‘How about this? “Dear Sophie, I received your email this morning and was obviously shocked by the information. Can you please send me further photos of you as a child and more recent ones of you now? I would also like more information about your background –”’

  ‘Stop!’ Laura laid her hand over Frank’s. ‘I’m not writing that. I’m not being stiff and formal with my girl. I know you’re trying to protect me but this is Jody. I can feel it with every nerve in my body. I knew this would happen some day. I knew she was alive. I can’t write a letter full of demands to this poor, confused girl. I’m going to write from my heart.’

  Laura took his iPad and began to type: ‘Dear Sophie, I can’t tell you how glad I am that you got in touch. I understand how confused you must be. I’m confused too. I really want to meet you face to face to talk about all of this. I’m going to come to London to see you. I think you’re my Jody. I feel it. I know it.’

  Frank frowned: it was too accepting and too gushing. This girl could be a gold-digger. It might not even be a girl: it could be some creep messing with his sister’s head. But before Frank could stop her, she’d sent it.

  ‘There, it’s done.’ Laura laughed through her tears.

  The waitress arrived with their drinks and discreetly ignored Laura’s obvious distress. Frank tipped her generously and turned back to his sister. ‘Laura, please don’t get your hopes up yet. We don’t know who this person is. Photos can be tampered with. I know you want to believe it but I’m begging you not to rush into it. I don’t want you to get hurt by some freak playing a trick on you. You’ve been in the media a bit recently with the sale of your painting to Hank Gold. There are weirdos out there who might be just messing with you. Please don’t jump to conclusions. Wait until we have concrete evidence.’

  Laura shook her head. ‘There’s nothing you can say, Frank. I’m her mother and I know it’s her. I knew she was alive. I prayed for this day to come. I can’t believe it’s finally happened. My baby’s back.’ Laura began to sob. Frank did his best to soothe her.

  Twenty minutes later, having gone around in circles trying to work it all out, Frank ordered another coffee and whiskey. As the waitress set the drinks down on the table, Laura’s email beeped.

  They froze …

  19.

  Sophie

  London, July 2011

  Sophie stared at her computer willing there to be an email from Laura. It had been four days and nothing. By Friday afternoon she was beginning to give up hope. Holly called in after her shift in the pizzeria with a large pepperoni supreme for them to share.

  Unfortunately Jessie saw her and came running in. ‘Can I have some pizza?’

  ‘No. Bugger off,’ Holly said to her sister.

  ‘You’re such a bitch. Just one slice.’

  ‘Have you seen your arse lately?’ Holly asked her. ‘More salad and less pizza, Jessie.’

  ‘At least I’m not thick and I can spell. At least I didn’t say I was good with the pubic on my application form. You loser.’

  Holly waved the pizza box in her sister’s face. ‘The manager didn’t seem to mind too much – he gave me the job. You’ll never get a job in a restaurant because they want you to serve the food, not eat it.’

  ‘Spell pepperoni, Holly – come on give us a laugh,’ her sister sneered.

  ‘Go and glue your mouth shut, Fatty.’

  ‘Beauty is from within,’ Jessie spat.

  Holly shrieked with laughter. ‘How’s that going for you? Kissed any boys lately? Do you think Oliver looks at you and thinks, Wow! Underneath her five chins is a really beautiful person?’

  ‘At least I’m not a lesbian!’

  ‘Believe me, girls wouldn’t want you either.’

  ‘Stop!’ Sop
hie cut across their bickering. ‘I can’t listen to any more of this. Holly, I need your help with something. I’ll see you later, Jessie.’

  She pulled Holly through the front door and closed it before Jessie got any ideas about coming in too.

  Holly looked at Sophie. ‘P-e-p-a-r-o-n-i, right?’

  ‘P-e-p-p-e-r-o-n-i.’

  ‘God, I am stupid.’ Holly blushed.

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘Yes, I am. I just wish I was dyslexic so I’d have an excuse.’

  Holly, you may not be a brilliant speller, but you’re street smart. You’re going to be a huge success at whatever you do.’

  ‘Digging ditches with a bunch of farmers?’

  ‘You’ll figure a way to make it work for you. I know you will.’

  They went up to Sophie’s bedroom. Holly plonked herself down on the crisp white bed linen and put her pizza box on her knee. She opened it and the smell of warm pizza filled the room. Sophie opened the window. She didn’t like strong smells: they crowded her mind with colours. She only ever wore very light scents. The strong ones were too much for her senses.

  ‘Sorry – is it very smelly? I’m so used to the smell from working that I’m immune to it.’

  Sophie smiled. ‘It’s OK. Thanks for bringing it. I’m starving.’

  Holly offered her the box. ‘Any news?’ she asked.

  Sophie picked up a slice of pizza. ‘I just can’t believe she didn’t write back,’ she said, for the millionth time.

  ‘Are you sure the email was sent?’ Holly asked, yet again.

  ‘Positive.’ Sophie chewed a piece of cheese.

  ‘She’s obviously not your mother, then.’ Holly wiped her hands on a napkin. ‘We were wrong. It was just a coincidence. Anna is your mother.’

  Sophie refused to believe it. ‘She isn’t. I just know it.’

  ‘Look, Sophie, you have to let it go now. It’s not healthy to obsess this much about anything. I should know. Remember when I was fourteen and I was so obsessed with Carl Jackson that I refused to believe he was gay? All the signs were there – he liked musicals, he spent all his time in my house but he never wanted to kiss me, he liked looking at fashion magazines and helping me choose what to wear and he loved dancing. I thought he was perfect. The only thing that annoyed me was that he was always wanting to watch football with my dad.’