My stomach heaved again, because I knew what was coming.
‘Dad had gone out to buy a few groceries, and Mum and Sam – that was my big brother’s name – were lying on adjacent sun loungers while I slept in my buggy. I hadn’t been sleeping well at all and poor Mum had been up half the night with me, trying to get me to settle down.’ You paused again before continuing. ‘It was hot, she was dog-tired, and she fell asleep, so she didn’t hear my brother, who couldn’t swim properly, when he snuck off and started playing with the beach ball which had been wedged under her lounger. Police later presumed that he must have kicked it into the water and fallen in trying to reach out and get it.’ There was a catch in your voice, but you kept going, so bravely, I thought, despite the tears streaming down your face. ‘It was my dad’s voice screaming Sam’s name that woke Mum. He dived in, fished Sam out of the water, frantically performed mouth-to-mouth, but it was too late. He was dead.’
It was such a sad story, and I felt so bad for you, despite barely knowing you.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. What more could I say?
‘Mum was in a bad way for some time. Of course, she blamed herself, and at one point I think the family was worried she might kill herself.’
‘So what happened?’
‘Well, for one, she turned to the church and I think that helped. And…’
‘And?’
‘And she still had me. Really, she could have gone one of two ways: either shut herself off from me completely, or throw her heart and soul into me. Luckily for me, she went with option two. We did everything together, and I still consider her to be my best friend.’
That searing envy was there again, and I felt so guilty for it. But I couldn’t help myself; couldn’t help but compare her mum to mine. All I could think was, why couldn’t my mum have done the same when she had me and Dan? Why were we never enough, why did she bloody well have us in the first place if she had no intention of loving us?
‘And how is your parents’ relationship now?’ I asked.
‘Dad died recently.’
‘Oh, no, I’m really sorry to hear that.’
‘Thanks. But in answer to your question, they were never quite the same again. Still, they stuck together, and they got through it, made sure I had a happy childhood.’
The opposite of mine, I thought. And I suddenly resented Mum even more. Hated her, in fact. God, how I hated her. Wished she wasn’t my mum.
‘So, you and your mum aren’t close, I take it?’ you asked.
‘No, not at all,’ I replied harshly. ‘She’s a cold-hearted cow, and hearing your story, I envy you. I wouldn’t worry about your ex, though, he was obviously bad news, and there are plenty more fish in the sea.’
And then you winked at me, reached out and put your hand on top of mine, making my insides flip with excitement. ‘Yes, I realize that now,’ you smiled.
That was six months ago. The start of you and me.
But you hadn’t told me the truth then. That came later, and that’s when the fun really began.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Heidi
Before
Some day, I’m going to get my revenge on you. You, who didn’t want me from the start. From the moment you saw those two blue lines.
I’m eighteen now, and it’s been five years since Mother told me the truth. That you’d never wanted children and when you found out you were carrying me, you were desperate for an abortion. But you couldn’t go through with it in the end. Not because your conscience couldn’t take it, not because you grew soft and suddenly warmed to the idea of having children, but because your husband found the pregnancy test in the bathroom bin and there was no getting out of it if you wanted him to stay with you. He wanted me, even though you didn’t. You grudgingly carried me for nine months with a sourpuss face, like some bitter pill you were finding hard to keep down, disgusted by your rounder cheeks, your ever-expanding belly, the fact that you could no longer see your feet when you looked down in the shower. And later, you reluctantly pushed me out into the world, all the while resenting me because it would affect your precious career and social life, not to mention your sordid affair.
My mother showed me photos of you with him. Sneaking into some tawdry hotel when you thought you weren’t being watched. Although, that just goes to show how arrogant you are – you weren’t exactly discreet, snogging him in the car park before you’d even entered the building. But even more disgusting, she told me how you’d fucked him at your own wedding. No thought given to your new husband, a good kind man whose only crime was to love you, or your lover’s poor wife. I mean, what kind of a person does something like that on their own wedding day? A sick, narcissistic person, that’s who. And the worrying thing is, knowing what you are – that you, my birth mother, are a heartless bitch – is turning me into a heartless bitch too.
For much of the time, all I feel is bitter and angry. When I hear how you refused to breastfeed me because you couldn’t stand me sucking on your nipples, didn’t want me ruining their shape so that your lover would still fancy you, how you never got up in the night to feed me, would make your poor husband do it because you needed your beauty sleep even though he had to go to work the next morning, how you palmed me off on a childminder half the time because playgroups and the park bored you senseless, and how you secretly wished I’d been a boy because you dreaded having an attractive daughter who, in time, would make you look old and frumpy and draw the male attention you craved… When I hear all this, I am filled with anger and resentment, and I am so grateful to my mother for rescuing me from you. It was a lucky escape. Even so, your actions have made me wary of everyone I meet, suspicious of their motives. Ensured that whenever someone tries to get close to me, I push them away. I don’t trust men because it was a man who cheated on my mother – a man who disappointed her as a father – and I don’t trust women because I’m always afraid they’ll turn out to be like you. I am consumed by thoughts of revenge, of wanting to hurt you, even though, right now, I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to do that.
Sometimes, I resent Mother for telling me the truth, for her brutal frankness, because if she hadn’t, I’d be living in blissful ignorance, and I wouldn’t be so fucked up in the head. I mean, I was getting on fine before she told me, and there’s a good chance I would have grown up happy and content, without all these trust issues, without this constant feeling of emptiness.
But then, when I think about it, I understand her reasons for telling me. She lived in constant fear that one day I might discover the truth from someone else, and it was therefore better I heard it from her than a stranger. At least she’s got guts, unlike you.
At least she wanted me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Miranda
Before
As I look at you, Chrissy, sitting like a princess at the top table with Greg, I can’t help wishing it was me by his side, not you. Despite the fact that I now have Duncan. I’ve tried so hard to like you, be your friend, but there’s something about you that grates on my nerves. And I know my new husband fancies the pants off you, even though he emphatically denies it. You’re like this compulsive irritation. I know it’s not your fault that you’re beautiful, but there’s an unmistakable arrogance about you I find decidedly repulsive. Don’t get me wrong, when we’re out on the town, having a girls’ night, I always have fun with you, because you can be amusing, especially when we’ve all had too much wine. Janine included. Although, in all honesty, I still find her tiresome. I mean, she’s so bloody defensive of your friendship, and I could tell she resented me entering the fold, saw me as some kind of threat to your cosy little twosome.
What she doesn’t realize is that I have no intention of replacing her as your best friend. I’m only friends with you because I don’t want to lose Greg. Being close to you ensures I stay close to him, and I guess there was always this little part of me that hoped you’d ditch him and he’d come running back to me. But that didn’
t happen, and now I’m sitting here getting plastered as I watch the love of my life coo about you, because getting hammered is the only way I can get through the night.
I probably shouldn’t have married Duncan so quickly, but when it became clear that you and Greg were serious and Duncan started flirting with me – later confiding in me that he too was hung up on someone he couldn’t have – I guess I enjoyed feeling desired again. And I needed that affirmation in writing that someone else loved me. I mean, I’m sure he does love me, in his own way. And the sex is always good. Plus, he’s as dishy as hell. He looks so hot today in his suit and tie and I know we’ll have great sex later. But I do wonder if we’ll last. Especially as I know he’s not keen on having kids. And because I probably chose him out of spite; because he was the male version of you, and I wanted to show Greg that two could play at that game. That aside, now that I’ve finally watched you both go through with your vows, I know that I need to move on, stop brooding over the past. But it’s so bloody hard. I can’t seem to rid myself of this toxic jealousy that infests my veins every time I see you with him. I don’t trust you entirely to be faithful to him either. I’ve seen the way you flirt with other men at the firm, even though you think you’re being discreet. Sometimes I think you don’t even realize you’re doing it, it’s so ingrained in your make-up. I worry you won’t be a good wife to Greg, and I definitely can’t see you as mother material. But that’s a good thing. It’s bad enough seeing you married to Greg. To see you bear his child will be intolerable.
Greg gazes down at you adoringly, then whispers something in your ear, and I feel my stomach burn with envy. You survey the room, smiling, and we lock eyes, and I don’t have time to gather myself, force a smile, and I’m certain you sense my unease. I scold myself inside for failing to conceal my feelings, because so far I’ve done a damn good job in fooling you that I am completely fine with you marrying Greg.
I really need to get a grip on my emotions, else I’ll risk losing him completely.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Christine
Now
It’s Sunday, midday, and Daniel and his fiancée are coming over at one o’clock. Although I’m keen to meet her, I’m also dreading it. Largely because Greg isn’t going to be around. He’s in the bloody office. Again. His current deal exploded on Friday – apparently – and so it’s all systems go for him and his team. He didn’t come home until midnight last night. I was still up, and I had a bit of a hissy fit when he told me he had to go in at nine this morning and didn’t anticipate being back this evening before eight at the earliest. I know it’s not his fault, that it’s the nature of the job, but of all the weekends for it to happen, it had to be this one, didn’t it?
Ella can’t make it either. Having promised to come, she rang me at ten to say the store’s short on Sunday staff, so her boss asked if she could come in for eleven. She was very apologetic. Although I’m wondering whether she made the whole thing up just to get out of it. Sounds paranoid, I know, but she and Greg chat all the time. So maybe she bailed after hearing he wouldn’t be there. Granted, I don’t particularly get on with either of my children, but my relationship with Ella is worse. Strained to near breaking point best describes it. It feels like she resents me more than Daniel does, although maybe he just hides it better than her. After all, women tend to wear their hearts on their sleeves, while men generally do all they can to conceal their feelings.
So, with no Greg, no Ella – even Janine isn’t free – it’ll be up to me, and me alone, to make conversation with this girl, decide if she’s suitable for Daniel. And even if she doesn’t make the grade in my eyes, I’ll still have to be polite to her, get through lunch and possibly beyond, with no support from Greg, no chance to take a breather, listen and observe while Greg does some of the talking. I feel tired just thinking about it.
I’m serving roast chicken for main, apple crumble for pudding. Simple, reliable, homely. The opposite of me. My stomach is so shrivelled, I know I won’t manage much of it, but I am trying to eat better – because of the note, and because I know I need to keep my strength up in case Heidi is still out there and needs me.
I try to imagine what this girl will look like. I have in mind someone slim and petite, with dark hair and a sparkly personality. That’s generally the way Daniel’s previous girlfriends have been, although none of them lasted more than a few months, so perhaps this girl is the total opposite. I’m glad he’s finally found ‘the one’. He deserves to be happy after I failed him as a mother, even though I think he’s too young for marriage. She must be special for him to have popped the question, though. Perhaps, rather selfishly, it will appease my guilt, allay my fears that I might have messed him up for life, ruined his chances of finding lasting happiness.
I try to forget about the note for a few hours, and for once focus on my son. Greg and I decided not to tell our children about the note for now. Nor my parents. Just because it may come to nothing, in which case there’s no point treading old ground and stressing them out unnecessarily.
I lay the table, put some flowers I bought locally first thing this morning in a vase in the centre, open a bottle of red and set it down next to the vase. I’m about to pour myself some wine when the doorbell rings. My pulse quickens as I realize the moment of truth has arrived.
I take a deep breath, put on my best smile, go to the front door and open it.
And then I get my second biggest shock in less than three days.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Christine
Before
‘What are you thinking?’
I’m lying next to my lover in bed, sweaty and slightly out of breath, because we’ve just had sex. He always lights a cigarette as soon as we’re done and – in line with what has become an unspoken ritual – we pass it back and forth until it’s burned down. Usually I’m beaming with satisfaction at this point. But not today. He picks up on this, he’s not stupid. He senses something’s wrong – can tell from my expression – from the fact that when we were doing it, my mind was only half there. I want to tell him what’s up, but I’m afraid that if I do he’ll end things between us. A bit rich, really, because I’m fully aware that what we’re doing is cruel and wrong, and this should give us the perfect excuse to stop hurting our loved ones. But I can’t seem to exist without him; he’s a temptation I can’t bear to say no to.
It’s Saturday afternoon and we’re in some back-of-beyond hotel in Stepney Green, miles away from our respective homes. A deliberate ploy, of course. His wife is at a day spa in Knightsbridge, using the extortionately priced pampering package he bought her for Valentine’s Day (no doubt out of guilt), while I told Greg that I needed a new pair of boots and was off to Oxford Street and expected to be a good few hours, especially if I got waylaid at the champagne bar in Selfridges as I often do. He knows how long I take going round the shops, so it was a very believable lie. And besides, he wasn’t much bothered. In fact, he might even have been relieved as there was a Tottenham game showing on Sky and my absence gave him the chance to watch it without feeling guilty.
It’s amazing how easy lying gets if you do it often enough. It’s like any skill, I suppose. Practise it regularly, and it becomes second nature. Greg and I have been married for three months now, and in that time, I have continued to be unfaithful.
We meet once, maybe twice a week, if we can manage it, and we never tire of each other. The carnal attraction we felt from the first is as potent as ever. We probably wouldn’t feel this way if we were a proper couple. It’s the thrill of it, the risk involved, that’s what turns us on, what we can’t resist.
I give a heavy sigh, still gazing up at the ceiling, then check my watch. It’s 5 p.m. and I need to make my way home within the next half hour. Which means taking a quick shower first in the room’s dingy bathroom, to wash your smell off me.
‘Chrissy, tell me what’s wrong.’
I turn my head left to look at my lover, who’s now rolled onto his
side, and is tracing the side of my face with his forefinger. Even though we can never be together, I know he cares for me, that he’s genuinely concerned, and this somehow assuages my guilt.
There’s no getting away from it. I need to tell him.
My belly churns as I say, ‘I’m pregnant, and I don’t know who the father is.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Christine
Now
‘Mum, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
My son eyes me with a mixture of curiosity and irritation as I stare at his fiancée in astonishment. Needless to say, this isn’t the reaction he’d been expecting, or indeed hoping for. He’s probably thinking, Why can’t the bloody woman act normally just for once? Why does she have to fuck everything up in my life?
But I am not alone in my reaction. His fiancée looks equally shocked. Something Daniel also notices. ‘In fact, you do too, hon,’ he says to her. ‘What’s up? Do you know each other or something?’
‘Dr Cousins,’ I just about find my voice. ‘This is rather awkward.’
Dr Cousins is Daniel’s fiancée? I’m flabbergasted, and I feel like I must be dreaming because it’s just too bizarre, the most surreal coincidence ever. But I’m not dreaming. She’s standing there in the flesh, looking as lovely as ever, but different. No suit, no immaculately pinned-up hair. She’s wearing jeans, ankle boots and a cream puffer jacket; her blonde hair is loose and wavy, her eyes spectacle free. Almost like a fresh-faced teenage girl, rather than a sophisticated professional woman.
‘So you two do know each other?’ Poor Daniel, still out of the loop, must be wondering what the hell is going on.
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