She's Mine

by A A Chaudhuri

  Once inside the house, Greg says he’ll make us some tea. I say thanks and ask him to crank up the heating too. He says no problem, although I’m sure this irritates him. He never feels the cold, used to comment how I wouldn’t feel it so much if I had a bit more meat on me. He’s long since given up trying to convince me of that, though.

  I head upstairs to grab a thicker jumper as Greg shuffles around the kitchen, opening cupboards, filling the kettle, humming to himself as he often does.

  I know how fortunate I am to live in such an affluent area of London. We bought our house the year before we were married, back when residential property was more affordable and we both earned large salaries. We’d previously owned separate flats in North-West London, although Greg’s was worth more than mine, and mortgage free. His parents – who, in the last year have passed away within months of each other – were loaded owing to his father’s CEO status. By the time he hit fifty, he was able to buy properties outright in North-West London for both Greg and his younger sister, Meredith. Because of this, and because of the money Greg made on his flat, our mortgage for this house was tiny, and has now been paid off in full.

  It’s a lovely three-storey town house on a quiet residential road, with a south-west-facing garden, four bedrooms, a spacious reception and separate dining room. It’s close to the Tube and the main high street adorned with cafes, restaurants, boutiques and trinket shops.

  As I pull out a thick cashmere sweater from my wardrobe, I think about our conversation with DI Phillips last night. He’s very different to DI Grayson. Much younger than Grayson was at the time, he’s tall and slim, with jet-black hair and a clear, articulate voice. More like a Cambridge professor than your average police inspector. Although maybe that’s me being close-minded. Or perhaps forgetting how times have changed. It was obvious he’d done his homework on our case. Wasn’t unfriendly, just pragmatic and to the point. Told us exactly what we’d expected to hear: ‘Don’t get your hopes up, this could very well come to nothing. Just some mischief-maker who chanced upon your case, perhaps twigged your daughter’s birthday was coming up and saw it is as an opportune moment to create a stir.’ In this respect, he was much like Grayson.

  ‘I understand—’ I nodded, as did Greg ‘—but even so, what are you going to do about it?’

  Phillips told us not to worry, that he’d get on the phone to Sunderland Police, see if they’d be able to trace the postmark to the sender. Right now, the postmark is all they have to go on, he said, besides possible prints. In the meantime, both Greg and I are to keep our eyes out for anything or anyone suspicious, and certainly refrain from taking matters into our own hands. I should have told him about my secret then, about the person who could be behind this. But how could I tell him in front of Greg? My husband will know that I’ve lied to him all these years.

  I enter the living room. It’s wide and spacious, with solid oak flooring fitted with underfloor heating which I insisted on around ten years ago. I love the feeling of warmth bathing my feet as I pad around barefoot. At the time, Greg commented that it would be a hell of a lot cheaper for me to just buy a pair of slippers. As usual, like most men, he missed the point. He’s sitting on the sofa when I walk in, two mugs of tea resting on coasters on the glass-topped coffee table in front of him, a thin trail of steam rising from each.

  ‘Thanks for the tea,’ I say as I sit down on the same sofa as Greg, but not too close. Similar to the way we keep our distance in bed. We’ve led separate lives for so long, it doesn’t feel right; it feels too intimate. My fault entirely.

  I study him for a while. I don’t pay much attention to his appearance these days, but looking at him now, I’m sure he’s lost a bit of weight. He’s definitely trimmer, and I wonder if he’s on a diet or gone back to the gym. And it’s not just his physique. His face somehow looks younger, less worn down by life. It makes me wonder if he’s having an affair. I wouldn’t blame him; I’ve been such a misery to live with. Even so, I feel a twinge of jealousy, and I wonder how long we can go on like this. Perhaps this note will make or break us for good.

  Now is not the time to discuss our relationship, though. First and foremost, we need to talk about the note. I know it’s on his mind as much as it’s on mine, and for the first time in ages, I feel like we have something to talk about. A common interest. Despite knowing in my heart that talking is pointless if I don’t tell him what I’ve been hiding all these years. I’m about to kick off the conversation when my mobile phone rings. I left it on the hall table when we got in.

  ‘Be back in a sec,’ I say to Greg. He nods, almost looks relieved, and fishes out his own phone at the same time, the way men always do when they’re left alone at a table in a restaurant, or in a bar.

  Whoever’s calling, they’re persistent, and I smile when I see from the caller ID that it’s Janine. I know when Greg rang her from the hospital explaining what had happened, she was desperate to come and see me. But I told him to tell her not to worry, and that she should pop over later today once I was home.

  I’m so relieved she’s back from the Far East. Better still, setting herself up in a lovely two-bedroom terraced house one stop from us in Swiss Cottage. I just hope she’s happy. I keep telling her to sign up for a creative writing course – she always had such a good imagination – but she insists she’s content with her charity work and pottering around the garden. I’m not convinced she is content, though. Sarah stayed on in Hong Kong, having landed some high-powered job, and now Janine’s all alone. I know she misses Nate terribly. He’d been her world. It was me who set them up after she’d caught her good-for-nothing boyfriend cheating on her. Nate was charming, handsome and funny, the complete package. Understandably Janine had been wary at first, but I knew they’d be good for each other. Turns out, I was right. Engaged after four months, they got hitched on a beach in Mexico six months before Greg and I tied the knot.

  ‘Hey, Jani,’ I say as brightly as possible. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Am I OK?’ she repeats. ‘I’m fine, but what about you? I was so worried when Greg called and told me what happened. Bloody nutters – why can’t they leave well alone? Why do they have to start all that shit up again? You could have died, Chrissy. I mean, what if Greg hadn’t come home and found you, or you’d had internal bleeding, started haemorrhaging, it… it just doesn’t bear—’

  ‘Stop it, Jani, you’re getting carried away. I’m fine, and that’s all that matters. Why think about stuff that hasn’t happened?’

  But that’s exactly how Janine works. She constantly worries about stuff, the possibility of something bad happening or something going wrong, even when there’s no good reason to think it might. I blame her mother; a cold woman who ruined the first twenty or so years of her life, while her father, who played around, was weak and never stood up for her. Small wonder she distrusts people. They died before she and Nate got married. Not that she missed their presence.

  When all is said and done, she has a good heart, and that’s why Nate loved her. Why I became friends with her at uni. So many of the girls at my school had been cliquey, pretentious types, and I never completely trusted them not to stab me in the back. But Janine was different. She wasn’t the most beautiful or confident, but she was kind and sincere, and we’d clicked from the moment we got talking in the dinner queue in halls.

  ‘I know, I know, I’m a worrier,’ Janine admits. ‘Anyway, I’d love to come by and see you. I’ve made scones.’

  ‘Scones?’ I arch my brows in surprise. For one, I can’t remember Janine ever baking, she’s more of a main-course person, and two, I don’t think I’ve touched, let alone eaten, a cake in years. But I don’t want to upset her, so I say, ‘Yes, of course you should. Greg’s working from home today, but he’ll be locked in his study. Come by around three-ish. I think I might need a nap before then; the painkillers have made me feel really drowsy.’

  This is a lie. In truth, I feel wide awake now, but I really need to talk to Greg first.


  ‘Of course, sweetheart,’ she says. ‘I’ll let you rest. See you around three.’

  We say our goodbyes and I return to the living room where Greg is tapping away furiously on his iPhone. I sit back down on the sofa and pick up my mug of now-lukewarm tea.

  ‘Janine?’ Greg says.

  ‘Yes,’ I nod. ‘She’s popping round at three. You don’t mind, do you?’

  Greg shakes his head. ‘No. In fact, I was thinking, and seeing as you’ll now have company anyway, I might go into work after all.’

  He gets up and looks at me expectantly, like a teenager asking for permission to be out late. I feel a pang of disappointment, even anger at his change of heart, despite originally not wanting him around. My churlish side coming out, I guess.

  He can tell by my face what I’m thinking. ‘Something rather urgent’s come up on a deal, you see,’ he mumbles. ‘Otherwise, I’d stay. You understand, don’t you?’

  ‘We need to talk about the note, Greg,’ I say sternly. ‘We can’t shy away from it, we need to face it head-on.’ I give him a hard look, and immediately see the frustration on his face. I don’t know why I’m forcing the issue, since whoever wrote the note has implied that they know about my past. Surely that’s not something I want to draw attention to? I guess it’s the little voice inside my head telling me I must if we’re ever to get to the bottom of things.

  ‘I know that,’ he snaps, ‘but someone’s got to earn the money.’

  That old chestnut. But I can’t really argue with him. I lived that life once; I know how demanding it is. I also don’t have the energy to argue. It’s just not worth it. ‘OK, sorry. You go, then.’

  His face softens.

  ‘But promise me we’ll discuss this later?’

  ‘Of course,’ he says more gently. ‘But for now, we need to be patient, see what the police come up with.’ He bends down and kisses the top of my head. The most affectionate he’s been with me in months. ‘I’ll see you later. Get some rest before Janine comes over. Find out what she thinks. She’s always sensible, always has good advice. And eat something, for Christ’s sake, you’re all skin and bones.’

  He leaves the room. I hear the rattle of keys, and then the front door opening and closing.

  I suppose he’s right; there is nothing we can do until whoever sent the note makes contact again, or the police find something relevant, which I’m not too hopeful about.

  All we can do for now is wait.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Greg

  Now

  ‘Sorry for the short notice, I just had to see you. I was feeling so claustrophobic in there.’

  Amber is standing in the doorway of the hotel bedroom, looking as gorgeous as ever. When I texted her, asking if we could meet at our usual place, she was working from home, like I had planned to do before it all got too much and I knew I couldn’t spend the entire day around Chrissy, as guilty as that made me feel. For so long, I’ve been the strong, dependable one – for her, for the kids, at work, keeping us financially stable – but this note has taken the wind out of my sails, and suddenly I feel like I’m drifting off course, with no idea how to navigate my way going forward.

  The only time I feel free these days is when I’m with Amber. She is my Valium. She helps me to escape the pressure, the tension, all the shit life’s thrown at me, if only for a few hours. A few hours when I can block it all out, pretend everything’s just fine. Blissful, even.

  She pulls me close and kisses me long and hard. She tastes sweet, smells like honey and cinnamon; the same exotic scent she always wears. Even in jeans and a V-neck jumper she looks incredible. She could have been a model, and not for the first time, I wonder what the hell she’s doing with me. Although, maybe I’m being naive in thinking I’m the only man she screws. We’ve not had that conversation, and regardless, I’m married; what right have I to pass judgement on her? Even though the mere thought of another man touching her consumes me with envy.

  For a moment, I wonder if I’d feel that way if I discovered Chrissy was cheating on me. Twenty-three years ago, I wouldn’t even have had to ponder that question. I loved her with such passion the thought of her sleeping with someone else would have driven me insane with jealousy. She was so vivacious, so beautiful back then and, of course, I’d notice the looks we’d get. She turned heads wherever she went. And secretly, I loved that. Revelled in it. Because she was mine. It was an ego boost, and I felt so bloody proud to have her on my arm. But in some ways, it was also a burden, because there was always this lingering fear at the back of my mind that she’d meet someone else, leave me for someone as good-looking as her. Or, at least, give in to temptation and sleep with another man in the heat of the moment. I mean, it happens all the time. Look at me, for Christ’s sake, and I’m nothing special. In fact, I remember Miranda asking me whether I was sure Chrissy was marriage material after I told her we were engaged. Whether I might be rushing into things and ought to give it a bit more time. I don’t think she asked it out of jealousy. She’d come to terms with our relationship by then. Duncan had already proposed, and she and Chrissy got on fine. In fact, we’d double date occasionally, even though Duncan got on my nerves. I just think, being one of my best friends, she was genuinely concerned for my happiness and, with Chrissy being an exceptionally beautiful woman, was afraid of her straying and me getting hurt.

  But Chrissy never gave me cause to doubt her loyalty. She was a wonderful wife and mother until the day she lost our child. And then the woman I’d known and adored had gradually disappeared. And now that version of her feels more like a vivid dream I once had than reality.

  Amber asks me if I want a drink. A hard one from the minibar. It’s a bit early, but I say what the heck, because the truth is, I’m dying for one. She grabs two miniature vodkas, fixes them neat, and we sit next to one another on the bed.

  ‘What is it?’ she asks, stroking the top of my thigh with her hand.

  I can’t keep it from her any longer. She knows I have a wife, grown-up kids. But no names, no details. For the first time, I tell her about Chrissy, about what happened to us, to our family. Amber doesn’t say much – she’s a good listener – but I can tell from her face that she’s shocked. Hadn’t expected me to have such a tragic past.

  And then I tell her about last night. Finding Chrissy on the floor, the note, the awkwardness between us before I left to come here. She listens patiently, never interrupts, waiting for me to finish. I pray that I haven’t scared her off, that she’ll still want to see me, despite my sorry tale. Right now, I need her. I don’t think I could handle all this without her.

  Finally, when I’m done, she comes closer and caresses the side of my face. ‘You poor darling, I’m not surprised you need one of these.’ She gestures to our glasses. ‘Dredging all that up again. Do you think the note’s genuine?’

  ‘Who knows,’ I sigh, relieved she hasn’t told me to fuck the hell out of her straightforward life; a life that doesn’t need this kind of complication. ‘When Heidi first went missing, we had hundreds of calls from people claiming to have seen her or pretending to know something about her disappearance. But they all came to nothing. And like DI Phillips said, this note might not be any different. The sender could well be just another troublemaker who happened to read about Heidi’s kidnapping and wanted to cause a stir.’

  ‘Maybe, but it happened a long time ago. How would the sender have heard about it now? Plus, you said this note feels different.’

  I nod. ‘It does. It feels personal.’

  ‘Because it said your daughter was better off with her kidnapper than with your wife?’

  I nod again. ‘That bugs me. Another reason I had to get away from Chrissy. I wanted to ask her about it, but I bottled out.’

  I pause, at which point Amber leans in closer and looks at me with heartfelt eyes. ‘You can’t hide from it, you have to bring it up with her.’

  ‘I know I do. And I will. But the thing is, unless this person chooses to
give us anything more, we aren’t any closer to finding Heidi. I didn’t want to say this to Chrissy, but despite what DI Phillips says, I’m pretty sure the police up north won’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of tracing the postmark. And I’m betting the sender wore gloves.’

  ‘That’s probably true,’ Amber nods sympathetically. Then, looking thoughtful, she asks, ‘Do you want to know the truth, after all this time?’

  I don’t answer immediately. It’s a question I wrestled with for much of the night. For so long, I’ve dreamed about being reunited with my daughter. Just being able to see her face, hold her, kiss her, hug her, tell her how much I love her. But now, the thought of seeing her scares me, because I will be a stranger to her. Dead to her, even. No more her father than the next man on the street. The idea that she might resent me, want nothing to do with me – even though it’s not my fault that she was taken – doesn’t just upset me, it terrifies me.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘Or rather, I’m not sure. For ages, I’d resigned myself to her being dead. So I’m not sure I’m really prepared for her being alive. I mean, Chrissy and I would be strangers to her.’

  ‘Why do you think Chrissy pushed you away after Heidi disappeared? I mean, if it were me, I would have needed you more; begged for your forgiveness.’

  I know this is my chance to lash out at Chrissy, but for some reason, I try and make excuses for her. ‘Because she felt guilty, I guess. Guilty for losing Heidi. She was ashamed, and I suppose closing herself off from me, rather than seeking my help, was a defence mechanism of sorts. She’s always been a bit stubborn; dare I say it, arrogant. That’s why she’s seen so many shrinks over the years. They don’t judge her, they have no emotional investment in her. She’s nothing but a patient to them and they’ll listen to her talk until she’s blue in the face.’