He and Janine were married for twenty-seven years, twenty-three of those spent in the Far East, where Nate was posted to run the firm’s Hong Kong office eight weeks after you disappeared. Fluent in Mandarin, and already a partner, he’d been the natural choice. It was devastating losing Janine so soon after losing you. The night before they left, we drank Chablis and cried like babies. I know she felt guilty, but it wasn’t her fault; she had to go where Nate was sent. It was just the worst possible timing. We kept in touch over the years, of course. Phone calls, letters, email and, more recently, Skype. Would exchange photographs of our children – Janine and Nate adopted Sarah after discovering they couldn’t have children of their own – but I could never summon up the impetus to fly out there, too locked in my own grief. France was about as far as we went when the kids were young. And after what happened to you, Janine was exceptionally protective of Sarah. Aside from Nate flying over for occasional meetings, they barely left Hong Kong, shunning social media as it became popular, lest it attracted unwanted attention. Greg and I were the same, despite it being less of a thing when our kids were growing up. Not just to protect Ella and Daniel, but because after the intrusiveness of the investigation, all we craved was anonymity. To this day you won’t catch Ella and Daniel posting about their private lives. Greg instilled that in them. They know what the investigation, and all the exposure that went with it, did to us. It’s another reason I never told the police my secret. The intrusiveness was bad enough without the addition of a sex scandal. I remember reporters camping outside our house. We were young, successful lawyers, ideal candidates for a juicy tabloid story. All I could think about was the damage it would do to the reputations of everyone involved. The hurt it would cause. I couldn’t bear to lose the people I loved, even though, ironically, my guilt has caused me to push them away.
To be fair it was my other close friend, Greg’s ex, Miranda, who brought Dr Cousins into our lives. Dr Cousins had been travelling to a work conference in Newcastle, where Miranda lives, when she accidentally slammed into the back of Miranda’s car at a set of lights. According to Miranda, Dr Cousins was extremely apologetic. She’d been running late for a talk she was giving, her mind only half on the road, which was no excuse but there it was. Miranda had also felt partly to blame having braked hard at amber when she could have gone straight through. They’d swapped business cards and agreed to settle the matter privately. At the time, Janine who by then had moved back to the UK, unable to live amongst constant reminders of Nate, was severely depressed, and both Miranda and I feared she might do something desperate. Although Miranda’s never been one for shrinks – for years she made a point of telling me I was wasting my time with them – there was clearly something about Dr Cousins that made her think otherwise. She’d passed on her details to Janine, and thank God she did because Dr Cousins has been instrumental in helping Janine get her life back on track.
* * *
Physically, Dr Cousins is very different from my previous psychiatrists. She looks like a movie star playing dress-up; Cameron Diaz or some other impossibly attractive female whom I wouldn’t dare introduce to Greg. Although, having said that, do I really care? We never have sex. I lost interest around a decade ago, to be honest, although I succumbed occasionally, more out of duty than desire. Ironic really, considering my history. I’m not quite sure why we still share the same bed, although granted it’s only been seven months since Ella moved out. I’m guessing she stayed that long out of loyalty to Greg, during which time we felt the need to keep up some sort of pretence for her benefit. And now that she’s gone, perhaps subconsciously, we’re both too afraid to take separate rooms. Knowing it would mark the beginning of the end. I’m not sure I’m ready for that, despite our remoteness. But maybe Greg feels differently. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s strayed. He doesn’t think I notice but I’ve caught him shooting daggers at me on those rare occasions when we happen to be seated on the same sofa. Three nights a week, he’s out at some client dinner or work function. At least, that’s what he tells me. The only time we sit down and have a proper meal together is on a Sunday, or if the children come round. We can’t be in each other’s company for long before it feels like someone’s scratching their nails along the wall. The tension becomes excruciating, makes me want to scream ‘Just say something or get the hell out!’ at the top of my lungs. Not because he’s done anything wrong as such, but because I know I am the cause of his estrangement.
There’s something rather engaging about Dr Cousins working from home. She can’t be more than thirty, but I like the fact that she’s young and fresh. Not downtrodden by life and the depressive clients her vocation brings. My other shrinks were based in large, sterile hospitals or medical centres, but it’s comforting, less intimidating, talking to someone in their own home. Makes me feel like less of an oddball than I usually do.
Dr Cousins has piercing blue eyes, ash-blonde hair and wide, full lips that speak warmth to a woman and seduction to a man. Her hair is held up by a simple black clip, making it impossible to determine its length, and her face is made up to perfection, yet still looks natural. She sits in her chair, dressed in a demure, navy blue skirt suit, her long legs crossed, and has a calm, patient expression that tells you, It’s OK, you can talk to me until the cows come home; I’ll listen, no matter what, even when others might tell you to get a grip and move on with your life.
Finally, I talk. And although I am lying down, I keep my eyes open. I tell her about my loving, secure upbringing, my parents who loved each other to pieces (still do, in fact), and my older brother, David. That I was a straight-A student, a consistently high achiever – head girl at my posh private girls’ school, and hockey captain at university where I got a first in law and met Janine. That, having aced my law exams I got offers from three top-ten firms, plumping for Sheridans where I met Greg. Life was a breeze back then. I worked hard, played hard, and nothing could break me. But at that point, I hadn’t known loss or pain. Hadn’t known what it feels like to have your heart ripped out sending you insane with grief.
I tell her about Greg, the best man I know. About the day he caught my eye at a client function, about our first few dates, the day I realized I loved him, the day he proposed in Paris, on the Seine, and how happy we were initially. I tell her about our wedding day and then, nine months later, your arrival, the best day of our lives. About all the precious moments that followed as I watched you grow into an adorable toddler.
And then I stop. Because that’s where the fairy tale ends and the nightmare begins. I expect her to finish there, to say, ‘That’s enough for today, we’ll talk more next week.’ But she doesn’t.
‘It’s OK, Christine, tell me more. Tell me everything and try not to hold back.’
‘But I’ve had my hour,’ I protest. Not because I don’t want to overstretch my stay, not because I’m worried about being charged more money; it’s just an excuse to not talk about what followed. About my secret.
‘It’s OK. I don’t work to a clock as such, not like the other psychiatrists you might have seen. I don’t think that’s fair to the patient. We will stop when I feel that a natural conclusion has arrived.’
There’s something hypnotic, lullaby-ish, about her voice, and I find myself confiding in her (although not completely), even though it normally takes me at least two sessions to open up to a new therapist. The words just seem to escape my mouth without me really thinking.
‘I was in Peter Jones, walked away, for maybe a few seconds, while I took a call—’ a call I should have ignored, a call which I sensed would tell me something I didn’t want to hear ‘—to get a better signal, and when I went back, she was gone.’
I pause, fleetingly wonder how it can still be so hard to relive that memory, all these years later, and after seeing so many therapists. I know why really, but I don’t tell Dr Cousins. I’m too ashamed.
‘Go on,’ she says. ‘Maybe it will help to close your eyes.’
I do as she sugg
ests and feel calmer. ‘I can still remember – still relive in microscopic detail – the gut-wrenching feeling of dread that took hold of me. It was like barbed wire wrapped around my waist, causing me unthinkable pain.’
Dr Cousins remains quiet. Lying down, I can’t see her reaction, but I imagine her to be listening attentively, making notes every so often. I carry on, talk and talk until it becomes dark outside, and night sets in.
Chapter Seven
Greg
Now
I glance over at you, perched at the other end of the sofa, your stringy legs tucked underneath your bony bottom, and I feel nothing. I wouldn’t say that I hate you, Chrissy, I certainly wouldn’t wish you any ill, but I can’t say that I love you. I haven’t loved you for years. I stayed with you, not because you needed me, not because I feared what you might do if I left you, but because I didn’t want our kids to be raised in a broken home. Not like I was.
My father, the CEO of a major investment bank, although good at his job, was a cocky shit who drank too much, and cheated on my mother repeatedly. She wasn’t a pushover, though. She was strong, and she kicked him out, and later remarried. But at the time, it was hard being the kid whose parents weren’t together. Even though it didn’t seem to affect my younger sister, Meredith, as much as it did me. There were only a few of us like that at school – children of divorce – and somehow I always felt inadequate, a bit of a misfit. And I was jealous of my friends whose parents were still together. I didn’t want Ella and Daniel to feel that way, even though, looking back, it often felt like I was a single dad.
Our kids were a distraction for twentysomething years. Christ, it’s hard for me to say that, because it makes them sound like a convenient pastime, rather than the two joys of my life. But the truth is, having them in the house meant we didn’t need to work on us because they were our focus.
My job also helped in that regard. I worked long hours, I still do, which meant we only really saw each other on weekends or during family holidays, and even then, everything revolved around the kids. We ‘functioned’ as a family. Did our ‘job’ as parents. And we saw them through to adulthood. Something we failed at with Heidi.
But since they left home – Ella, who’s twenty, is in her last year at fashion school with a part-time shop assistant’s job, and Daniel, twenty-two, is currently on a graduate scheme with a firm of chartered accountants – and we’ve found ourselves alone, it’s like living in a morgue. Our conversation is polite but strained, and we lead separate lives. Even sitting on the sofa with you, as I am tonight, is a rarity. It’s torture. Aside from the occasional work function when you accompany me just to keep up appearances, we go out of our way to avoid spending time with each other. Frankly, I’m not quite sure how long we can go on like this.
The TV is on, showing reruns of Game of Thrones, but I’m not entirely certain you’re watching it. You were surprised to see me walk through the door at just gone seven. To tell you the truth, I surprised myself, but we’d just closed a deal and I had no other excuse to stay away. My other form of distraction wasn’t available, even though I could really have done with it tonight.
I know you’ve been to see yet another shrink today, someone who’s helped Janine. Like me, you’re always at your lowest at this time of year, although I’m better at hiding it. But I’m not hopeful she’ll be able to snap you out of your misery. I don’t want to hope, because in some ways you deserve to suffer. Also, unlike Janine, I don’t think you want to be cured. I think you almost get a kick out of punishing yourself, a compulsion I find rather distasteful, self-indulgent even. Miranda agrees with me, although I’ve never told you that, just because I don’t want to cause trouble between you. Trouble between you two means trouble for me. It took a while for Miranda to accept you. I was so relieved when you eventually bonded over a shared love of cheesy 80s music and Japanese food one Friday night at the pub after work. Despite Janine warning you to be on your guard because Miranda was my ex and couldn’t be trusted. It’s sweet that she’s so protective of you, but sometimes her protectiveness borders on paranoia. Anyway, that’s long in the past, and thankfully Janine overcame her misgivings. The three of you became as thick as thieves, with your fortnightly dinners and girly weekends away.
To give Miranda her credit, she often says I need to ease up on you, if only for the sake of the kids. Maybe she’s right, I don’t know. I have to say I was surprised at her keenness to recommend this Dr Cousins to Janine. She’s always been so derogatory of shrinks, perhaps because of her difficult upbringing which forced her to grow up fast and fight her own battles. But, for some reason, she became convinced that this woman was the one to help Janine. And now you.
That aside, there’s a big difference between Janine’s case and yours. It’s not Janine’s fault she lost Nate, whereas it’s your fault entirely that you lost our child. And that’s why you torture yourself day and night. Why I almost find satisfaction in the fact that you do. Even though your martyrdom sometimes makes me want to place my hands around your scrawny neck and squeeze the life out of you. I’m not capable of that, though. At least, I don’t think I am?
Miranda and I speak privately at least once a week on the phone. In your usual selfish way, you think you’ve overtaken me in her affections. But you haven’t. She’ll never choose you over me if faced with that choice. She was my friend before she was yours. My girlfriend, in fact. I know how much she loved me back then, perhaps still does. I can tell by the tone of her voice when we talk, by the way her eyes linger on me when she thinks I’m not looking. I know Janine’s mentioned it to you, but you brushed it off as harmless. Which it is, in that I’m certain there’s no malice behind it. Sometimes, I wish I’d stayed with her. Looking back, I didn’t feel the need to be something I wasn’t with her. Practical, unswervingly loyal, she gave me the stability I never had growing up. We dated for a year, but I never felt that ‘spark’ with her. At the time, I believed that in order to make a lifelong commitment to someone, there had to be that spark, that electricity – that feeling that you might die if you can’t have them – and although things were nice with Miranda, they weren’t exciting. But on reflection, maybe I was wrong to break up with her. But that’s the benefit of hindsight, isn’t it? When you get to my age, you realize that ‘spark’, ‘passion’, aren’t everything. It’s about companionship, trust. But I was young and reckless, ruled by my penis rather than my head, and I kept thinking there had to be someone better out there, someone who made my heart race, and when I met you, so beautiful, so intoxicating, I knew I’d found her. I’ll never forget the look on Miranda’s face when I ended things on our one-year anniversary. It was a shitty thing to do, I know that now – knew it then, in fact – and I still can’t believe she forgave me, stayed friends with me, even became friends with you once she realized you and I were in it for the long haul. She’s been a true friend through thick and thin. But above all, a shoulder to cry on when we lost Heidi, staying with us in the initial days of her disappearance, even when her own father had just passed away. A life raft of support to cling to when both of us were at risk of drowning.
And as much as I hate myself for thinking it, I can’t imagine she’d ever lose her own child the way you did.
She deserves to be with someone better than Duncan. Granted, he was one of our richest clients, a bit of a hunk, in a greasy Latin kind of way. But he’s always struck me as a player. Vain and self-absorbed. It puzzled me, back in the day, when you were always so quick to defend him. I mean, I know you worked closely with him on several matters, but didn’t it bug you the way he continued to flirt with all the female staff after he and Miranda got together? You said it was harmless. That he was a good guy at heart, and made Miranda happy, which is all that mattered. God knows she fell for him hard and quick. But I’m sure he’s the reason they never had kids. Despite Miranda insisting she never wanted them. Bullshit she never wanted them. I remember her cooing at babies back when we were dating. A look of longing, a
lmost envy. She yearned to be the mother she never had.
It hit me hard when they moved to Newcastle, Duncan’s hometown, six months after Heidi went missing. It just seemed so sudden. I was surprised Miranda didn’t kick up more of a fuss, she’d always been such a quintessentially Southern girl. It made me wonder what they were running away from. And perhaps selfishly, it felt like she’d abandoned me. But maybe she craved a clean break after her father’s death and Heidi’s disappearance. I wouldn’t blame her for wanting to bury bad memories. Looking back, perhaps that’s what you and I should have done. Moved away, made a fresh start. But at the time, even getting out of bed was an effort for you. Plus, wherever we went, our grief would shadow us. Bricks and mortar wouldn’t change that.
It’s strange that Duncan never accompanies Miranda when she comes to stay with us. He always seems to be away on some business trip, or boys’ weekend, or is off watching rugby, which he’s fanatical about. And whenever I suggest visiting them it never seems to be a good time. Either Duncan’s in a bad mood, or has friends staying, or too much work on. ‘It’s just easier if I come and see you’ is Miranda’s standard response. I might be imagining it, but it’s like he’s avoiding us for some reason, or Miranda’s deliberately keeping him from us. What are they hiding?
It never seems to bother you as it does me, though. That puzzles me too. Before the darkness descended on our lives, you and he had always seemed to get on well. I’d assumed his absence would concern you, that you’d miss us socializing as a foursome. But perhaps that’s just it. That was before the darkness. When you were a different person. When life was a joy rather than a chore.
She's Mine Page 3
