She's Mine

by A A Chaudhuri

  Now Dr Cousins asks me to talk through the events of Thursday night, even though I already explained all that on the phone. Again, I tell her about coming home to find a load of post on the doormat, opening the note, reading it, then waking up in hospital having passed out. And that last night I barely slept.

  ‘Why did you faint?’

  ‘From the shock,’ I say without hesitating, at the same time thinking this should be obvious. ‘Despite DI Phillips warning us not to get ahead of ourselves, it’s the first ray of hope we’ve had in a long time that Heidi might still be alive. I hadn’t expected it.’ I pause, then come clean. ‘It didn’t help, of course, that I’d already taken a sizeable gulp of wine on an empty stomach, but that’s really by the by. It really was just shock.’

  ‘Are you sure it was just shock?’

  No, it wasn’t. It was largely because of what was written: she is better off with me than with you. I can’t stop thinking about those words. Whether it was just a throwaway comment, written by some lowlife who doesn’t know me from Adam, or whether it actually holds far greater significance, written by someone who knows me, knows what I’ve done. Bears me ill will.

  Do I tell her this? Is it safe? Will I be opening a can of worms I’ll never be able to contain?

  ‘It’s OK,’ she reassures me. ‘What you tell me will not leave this room.’

  A bit more hesitation on my part, and then, just because it’s itching to get out, I say, ‘OK, well, it’s the wording. Better off with me than with you. It feels personal, which makes me think the note could be genuine.’

  For now, she ignores the wording, which I find a bit odd. Instead, she asks, ‘How does that make you feel? Knowing she could still be alive?’

  I hesitate, then say, ‘Well, I know I should feel happy. Relieved.’

  ‘But you don’t feel either of those?’

  I shake my head. ‘It’s been so long, and I’ve been miserable pretty much all of that time; I just don’t know how to be happy any more. I don’t know how to hope. Also…’

  ‘What? Is it the wording? Better off with me than with you? Is that what you’re worried about? You’re wondering whether the author of the note is right?’

  Finally, she gets to the nitty-gritty, and I can feel the tears forming in my eyes, just as rain starts to pelt the windows. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why? Why would that bother you? It shouldn’t; why let it? After all, you’re a good person, it’s just your own insecurity telling you this person is right. But they’re messing with your mind, and you need to block it out. Block out the other voice in your head telling you that you failed Heidi.’

  The tears are flowing fast and furiously now. I badly want to confess, tell her what I did, who I was speaking to when you were taken from me, but I just can’t bring myself to. I like Dr Cousins, and it’s as if I don’t want to let her down, make her think any less of me. She’s not dumb, and I’m sure she knows I’m keeping something from her, but her job is as much about being patient as anything, and so she doesn’t press the point.

  ‘What does Greg say?’

  ‘Not a lot. I wanted to have a proper conversation about it yesterday, but he ducked out. Said he was snowed under at work, and that we’d talk later.’ I sigh. ‘I’ve been hell to live with, though, so why should he even give me the time of day?’

  ‘Because this is not about you, or him, it’s about Heidi. It’s much bigger than you as a couple; it’s about the daughter you lost.’

  ‘I know, but…’ I want to say what’s really bugging me, but I hesitate.

  She senses this. ‘But what?’

  ‘Well, a part of me wonders if he suspects I’ve done something wrong.’

  ‘Wrong? Why would he think that? Because of what the note insinuates? We’ve already been over that. Don’t let it get to you.’

  ‘Yes, but, I mean, it was more than an insinuation. It was a judgement, written with conviction. As if the person knows me.’

  ‘So that’s what’s really troubling you: what Greg is thinking?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘But if you know it’s untrue, why should it? You know what kind of person you are, what kind of mother you were to Heidi. If you did nothing wrong, why punish yourself? Unless, that is, there is some truth to it?’

  There’s a harsh silence. My heart kicks, and I’m about to speak, but she doesn’t let me.

  ‘Then again, Greg doesn’t know what’s going on in your head. He only knows what he sees, what he reads. And so, looking at things from his perspective, it’s only natural that he should wonder why the author wrote those words. Plus, you admitted in our last session that you weren’t a great mother to your other children, that you feel you let them down, and that the damage is irreparable…’

  I didn’t exactly say that, but thinking about it now, she’s right: the damage is done, and we can never be close, the way a mother and her children should be.

  ‘…that Greg resents you for not being the mother they needed as children. So, bearing all that in mind, he’d have every right to identify with what the note is implying, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say faintly, feeling like the worst person alive, but also seeing the situation I am facing with more clarity than before I arrived here today.

  ‘And that’s probably why,’ she continues, ‘he’s so far avoided discussing the note. He doesn’t want to start up an argument and is perhaps a little scared of facing the truth.’

  She’s right, I see that. But now I’m petrified of talking to him about the note, because what if he asks me outright why I think the author said what they did? I’d either have to tell him the truth or lie to his face. Again. The more I think about it, the more the note creeps me out. Whoever took you, my baby girl, wasn’t some random weirdo off the street. He or she knew me, was watching us that day, waiting to strike.

  And now, by coming back into our lives, perhaps this person’s aim is to finish me off. Destroy what’s left of my sanity, my marriage.

  Drive the wedge even deeper between Greg and me.

  ‘Christine, you’ve gone quiet. Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, just a bit overwhelmed with it all.’

  ‘That’s understandable. Would you like me to prescribe something for your nerves?’

  I think about what Janine said; that Dr Cousins gave her some pills which really helped. But do I really want to go down that route? Surely I need a clear head, for now at least?

  ‘No, no, I’m fine, thank you.’

  ‘OK, fair enough. But please know there’s no shame in taking something short term. Sometimes you just need a little extra help to get through a particularly trying time. It doesn’t make you weak, or an addict.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I’ll see how things go.’

  I leave Dr Cousins feeling somewhat lighter, having further unburdened myself. But, paradoxically, weighed down by my guilt for having failed Ella and Daniel.

  As for the note, I fear the dark path it’s taking me down.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Heidi

  Before

  A month has passed since Mother told me she’s not my real mother. At first, it was like time had stopped and there was this deafening silence, so loud I wanted to cover my ears with my hands, shut my eyes and pretend nothing existed. That I didn’t exist.

  There was this girl at school who was adopted. She’s left now. She seemed perfectly normal, perfectly happy, but I always felt sad for her when I saw her. As if she had somehow been let down in life, was less loved, less normal than the rest of us; almost like she had a disease or a long-term illness meaning she required special attention or consideration where her feelings or shortcomings were concerned.

  But then I learned that I was just like her. Someone to be pitied. My mother insisted I was special, that it didn’t matter one jot that her blood wasn’t running through my veins. All that mattered was that she loved me with all her heart, and weren’t the last eleven years proof of that? After
all, there’d been no obligation on her part to raise me as her daughter.

  I didn’t see it that way at first. When I realized she wasn’t joking, I felt sick. Sick with shock and disbelief. It was like my entire life until then had been a lie, and the person I loved most in this world was suddenly a stranger to me. In the space of a few seconds, my whole world was turned upside down, and I no longer knew who I was or where I came from. I remember the vomit creeping up my throat, the feeling of isolation, shame, confusion.

  ‘Heidi, it’s OK, I know this is hard to take,’ she said with tears in her eyes. ‘But you need to calm down, hear me out.’

  ‘Are you serious?!’ I screamed, leaping off the swinging chair. ‘You tell me you’re not my real mother and you want me to calm down?!’

  I didn’t give her time to explain. Just ran back into the house, straight up the stairs and into my room, slamming the door behind me. Flinging myself face down on my bed, I sobbed and sobbed into my pillow until it was soaked. It was the first time I’d felt real anger. A horrible feeling that scared me. Released a side of me I didn’t like. Of course, it wasn’t long before Mother came knocking on my door, asking me if I was all right, pleading with me to hear her out.

  But I wasn’t ready. Not yet, at least. Four hours went by before I allowed her in, just because I knew locking myself in my room wasn’t doing me any good. What’s more, I was curious. Curious to know my background, what happened to my birth parents, whether they were dead or alive, in this country or elsewhere, and the biggest question of all: why didn’t they want me?

  My mother came in, her face cloaked with worry, and I could see how much she was hurting, how painful this was for her. Father wasn’t around at the time, and I wondered why she’d chosen to tell me without him there. I desperately wanted to run to her, allow her to take me in her arms and embrace me fiercely, the way she’d done a thousand times before. But I held back to begin with. We sat side by side on the edge of my bed, and then I grudgingly let her hold my hand in hers and talk.

  ‘I am still the same person, sweetheart: your mother, who loves you more than life itself.’

  I kept my head bowed, but she placed the tip of her forefinger under my chin and raised it up gently so I was looking at her.

  ‘You know that, don’t you? You can tell from my face?’

  I could. I could feel the unconditional love springing from her, the love that flows like a natural spring from mother to child and never dries up. And so I nodded.

  ‘Good.’ She smiled with relief. ‘So now I am going to tell you a story, and you must listen carefully, because it’s very important that you don’t miss a thing. Some of it will be hard to hear, but you need to hear it, so you understand why I had to rescue you.’

  Once again I nodded, intrigued by the idea of me needing to be rescued. It made me wonder if my birth parents were drug addicts or had physically abused me, and the sick sensation I’d felt earlier returned with a vengeance. ‘Why?’ I asked faintly.

  ‘Because your mother never wanted you. You were a mistake, and you ruined her life.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ella

  Now

  My parents don’t know I’m a lesbian. Although, to be honest, I’m not even sure myself that I am one. Not a fully fledged one, at least. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t had boyfriends in the past. Because I have. And not because I was forced into having one because it’s expected of a babe like me. No, it was because I fancied those boys and I wanted to kiss and shag them. So I guess that makes me bi. But the fact is, none of my shags turned into anything lasting, and I wasn’t fussed when I split up with them, even if it was the bloke who did the dumping. But then I met you, and we clicked so perfectly, both physically and spiritually, almost like you could see into my mind, read my thoughts, worries, hopes, fears, and I just knew that I wanted to be with you.

  Later, you told me your secret and although at first I felt a little used, I realized the way we’d met had been the only way, and that ultimately, all you’ve ever wanted to do was help me.

  I can’t imagine Dad’s reaction. Poor guy, he certainly doesn’t need this complication in his life after all he’s been through, but it’s hardly my fault, and I’m not gonna toss aside my chance for happiness because he might disapprove. Although, come to think of it, he was a lot chirpier the last time I saw him, which makes me think he’s getting some, and it’s obviously not from Mum because they’re as miserable as sin. They make a lame attempt to act ‘normal’ around Dan and me, but they’re fucking deluding themselves if they think we’re fooled. Every time I visit them I can’t wait to get out of the house. It’d be OK if it was just Dad, but it’s her who makes things so bloody awkward. Frigid, selfish cow. She deserves exactly what’s coming to her. Deserves to go nuts, end up in some loony bin being fed pureed food from a plastic spoon.

  I really couldn’t give a shit that she’ll be upset about my sexuality. She’s no right to an opinion on my life. In fact, I can’t wait to see the look on her face when I tell her we’re together. Once we’ve pushed her to breaking point, that is.

  I remember the day you walked into the fashion store where I work part time, just off Oxford Street. You’d recently moved back to England from France where you worked as an au pair for a few years. It was pissing down with rain – you’d clearly been caught up in the worst of it, looking like a drowned rat, and I thought you only came into the shop to escape the weather. A simple twist of fate. My colleague, Liza, a snooty cow, gave you an unimpressed look as you dripped near a stupidly expensive rail of tops. You asked her what her problem was, your eyes ablaze, and things got a bit lairy until I stepped in and told both of you to calm down, aware that your little spat was driving customers out the door. I steered Liza towards a customer who was waiting impatiently at the counter clutching several hundred pounds’ worth of clothing, then turned my attention to you. You still looked livid, but your eyes were also sad and I couldn’t help feeling sorry for you.

  ‘You OK?’ I asked.

  ‘No, not really,’ you replied through clenched teeth. I noticed how perfect they were. In fact, you had a perfect face; that completely symmetrical look models have. ‘My boyfriend dumped me this morning by text, the job I was hoping for has fallen through, I’m behind with my rent, and to top it all off, it’s pissing down with rain even though it’s supposed to be frigging summer, and I have no sodding umbrella.’ You paused, then declared, ‘Basically, I have no job, no boyfriend, no money, no umbrella and I’m not sure how to deal with all of that.’

  Your eyes welled up as you bit your lip in a vain attempt to stop the tears from falling, but then one did, and you hastily wiped it away, as if you couldn’t bear to be seen crying in front of a stranger, even though you’d just made a scene in front of a roomful of strangers. I felt so sorry for you at that moment; in fact, I felt like I could almost relate to you, that feeling of being abandoned and alone. We locked eyes and it was as if you recognized that. Having learned that your name was Robyn, I was hit by this incredible urge to ask if you fancied going for a drink when my day was over in just under an hour. Your eyes lit up, and I told you I’d meet you at All Bar One on Regent Street.

  When I arrived, you were seated in a corner of the bar, which was busy, but not overly so because of the shite weather. You agreed to share a bottle of Sancerre, and although it should have been awkward because we didn’t know the first thing about each other, it wasn’t. You told me about your childhood growing up in Esher, that you studied languages at Warwick University, and spent two years in France trying to earn some dosh as an au pair and figure out what you wanted to do with your life. You’d come back having met Mr Right in Lyon who was English and on a gap year, and had recently landed himself a job in finance in the City. He claimed he couldn’t bear to be apart from you and wanted you to shack up together.

  ‘So what happened?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s fallen for some floozy in his office. Bastard said he was so
rry, but he’s realized now that he’s too young to be tied down and should never have forced me to come back with him. But no hard feelings, eh? Fucking arsehole. How could I have been so stupid?’

  ‘And he dumped you by text?’

  ‘Yep, can you sodding believe it? Men – I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust one again.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ I said. ‘They’re not all like that.’

  ‘Aren’t they?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I know my dad isn’t.’

  You gave me a searching look. ‘Really? How do you know?’

  ‘I just know,’ I shrugged, wondering how much to divulge, and whether I was perhaps being too open with a relative stranger. But then I thought, what the hell, you’d been so open with me, it was only fair I do the same. And so I told you about my parents, about Mum losing Heidi, and how Dad had stayed with her despite her being a total bitch to him ever since.

  ‘Jeez, that’s so tough,’ you said. ‘Makes me realize how lucky I am with my mum.’

  All at once, I felt a ripple of jealousy. ‘I take it she’s a good mum?’

  ‘The best. Tough when she needs to be, but she also has a warm, loving side. Despite what happened to her.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  You hesitated at that point, almost like you didn’t want to upset me. It was decent of you, and as I searched your eyes, I felt increasingly drawn to you.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I pressed, ‘you can tell me. I want to know.’

  You looked down, then up again, took a large gulp of your second glass of wine, then said, ‘My five-year-old brother drowned when we were on holiday.’

  I felt my stomach lurch. ‘Jesus, that’s awful.’ At the same time, I couldn’t believe you’d lost a sibling just as I had. It was like fate that our paths had crossed. ‘How did it happen?’ I asked shyly.

  ‘It was early August, and my parents had rented a villa in Spain. I was only two, so I don’t remember a thing, but apparently it was in this remote Spanish coastal town. Really beautiful, with gorgeous scenery, and the villa had a pool out the back overlooking the sea.’