She's Mine

by A A Chaudhuri

  I study her face for a reaction, but it remains impassive, so I wait for her next question.

  ‘And it continued after you had Heidi?’

  I nod like a shamefaced child. ‘Yes.’ I can hardly hear my voice, it’s so pitiful.

  She sits back in her chair and taps her pen between her pristine teeth. Jesus, I think to myself, my future daughter-in-law must think I’m a slut. She promised she wouldn’t tell Daniel anything I discuss in confidence with her, but I wonder, is this new information just too juicy for her to keep to herself? I’m not sure I could keep such a secret.

  ‘Who was he?’

  ‘Someone I met through the firm.’

  ‘Married?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And were you with him when Heidi disappeared?’

  I shake my head. ‘No, I wasn’t with him, but I was talking to him on the phone.’

  ‘You had a phone? Back in, what was it—?’

  ‘Nineteen ninety-six.’ I explain how I had two. Courtesy of the two successful men in my life who’d wanted to keep me close at hand.

  ‘And you got distracted?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he said he wanted to end things between us.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He said it was too dangerous to carry on. That he was worried about being caught. About others getting hurt if we were.’

  ‘And his decision surprised you?’

  ‘Yes. We’d been sneaking around for three years, and in all that time, he never gave any indication that this was worrying him. In fact, he enjoyed the sneaking around, that was part of the thrill.’ I pause, remembering what we were like back then. ‘He was like that. Reckless, like me. A thrill seeker, addicted to pleasure, excitement.’

  I pause and look at Dr Cousins. Is she sickened by my explanation? By my irresponsible attitude, my total disregard for my husband’s feelings, or the feelings of my lover’s wife? Probably, and I don’t blame her. Now that I am older and wiser, I’m sickened by it myself.

  ‘And you told me at our first meeting that you were in Peter Jones at the time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where exactly?’

  ‘In the lingerie department.’ My cheeks burn as I remember a sexy black lace basque I spotted as I simultaneously hummed a nursery rhyme to you. I remember imagining the look on his face when he saw me in it; him going hard with excitement, something that always excited me. But now all I feel is shame; utterly repulsed by my shallow thoughts. I should have been there for you, not imagining dirty romps with my married lover.

  ‘Were you buying something to wear for him?’ Dr Cousins’ question catches me unawares. I’m not surprised she read my thoughts, but I am surprised that she chose to ask the question out loud. It feels unnecessary.

  Still, I can’t lie. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Heidi was in her buggy while you were on the phone to your lover?’ She says the word ‘lover’ with some emphasis, making my actions – the whole situation – sound so crass, and the word seems to ring in the air like a thunderous echo.

  ‘Yes. But as I said before, I couldn’t quite hear him properly, the signal was bad, and so I moved away to try and get a better signal.’

  ‘You just walked away and left the buggy where it was? You left your child to fend for herself?’

  Her tone is incredulous, almost vicious, and again, I feel like the worst person alive. The worst mother. Someone who had no right to be a mother.

  ‘Yes. I just wasn’t thinking straight. It was a boiling hot day, I was feeling tired and flustered, and then he called and dropped this bombshell on me and I… I lost my head.’

  Pathetic, pathetic, woman.

  ‘Did she cry?’

  I falter again. Then admit, ‘She had a dummy in her mouth.’

  There it is again, the same laser look.

  How many times have I replayed this sequence of events in my head? Too many to count. How could I have failed to keep you with me? What on earth possessed me to leave you stranded alone in your buggy? How could I have been so caught up in myself, had such flagrant disregard for your safety?

  ‘Do you remember seeing anyone about at the time?’

  ‘The department was quiet, virtually empty. I don’t remember seeing anyone, aside from a shop assistant. It was a weekday and still early. Hot, too, as I said.’

  ‘And the shop assistant didn’t see anyone?’

  Why does this suddenly feel like a police interrogation, rather than a session with my psychiatrist? Or is this what I deserve? What did I expect? A hug and cup of cocoa?

  ‘No, I think we concluded that she’d gone out back to check on something around the time Heidi was taken. A call had come through from the stockroom or something.’

  ‘And did anyone know you went shopping at Peter Jones that day?’

  I think. Remember my call with Miranda. ‘Besides my mother, only Miranda, who you know, of course. She was attending a client event in Kensington at the time. She called me when I was on the bus with Heidi.’

  ‘Miranda seems like a good person. Devoted to you and Greg. Does she have children?’

  This seems like a strange digression, but maybe it’s part of her unique approach? So I go along with it. ‘No, no she doesn’t.’

  ‘That’s a shame, it sounds like she would have made a great mother.’

  She’s right, she would have. She wouldn’t have lost you. She wouldn’t have cheated on Greg. She wouldn’t have been cold towards Daniel and Ella, treated them more like lodgers than her own children.

  ‘Yes,’ I nod sheepishly. ‘I think she would.’

  ‘Who was your lover, Christine?’

  The question hits me cold. I say nothing.

  ‘You won’t name him?’ she persists.

  ‘I’m not ready for that.’

  ‘Why do you think Greg wasn’t enough for you?’

  My shoulders drop, and I don’t answer at once. It’s a question I’ve agonized over for a long time. Why wasn’t he enough? He was gentle, loving, a great father and an attentive husband. Not exceptionally handsome, but nice-looking. Why wasn’t that good enough? After all, I wasn’t some glamorous movie star, some impossibly beautiful supermodel. I was just a lawyer, like him. No one special. What gave me the right to be so full of myself?

  ‘Because it wasn’t hot with Greg,’ I say bluntly, knowing how superficial that sounds. ‘We couldn’t help being attracted to each other. He did something to me, made me sizzle all over, made me feel like the sexiest woman alive. He had this naughty glint in his eye, a certain charisma, arrogance I found irresistible. Greg’s never been like that. He’s safe. He’s father material. That’s the only way I can explain it.’

  Christ, it’s a double-edged sword saying this out loud. On the one hand, it’s liberating after repressing the truth for so long, on the other it only intensifies my shame, the feeling that I deserved to lose you.

  ‘But you didn’t think to stop once you had Heidi?’

  It’s a good question.

  ‘I wanted to. I really did. At least, I did in my head, because in my head I knew it was wrong. In fact, I thought about stopping the moment I realized I was pregnant. And then again, a couple of months later. But then something happened to change my mind. Both our minds.’

  ‘What?’

  I can’t answer that right now. It’s too much, too soon. Just like telling her my lover’s identity is too soon. ‘Not yet. I can’t, I’m not quite ready.’

  I make out a slight heave of her chest as I say this, while her lips are slightly pursed. Is she angry with me? Feeling impatient with me? I can’t quite tell. But then she smiles and nods her head.

  ‘That’s OK, I understand. We’ve made good progress today, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes,’ I nod. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘We’re nearly at the end of our session, but I think we should talk about one more thing.’

  I’m instantly on edge. ‘Wha
t’s that?’

  ‘How did you leave things with your lover? Did he realize Heidi had been taken?’

  Chrissy, what is it? Why have you gone so quiet? Did you hear me? We need to stop, it’s too dangerous; we have to think of others, not just ourselves. You have to think of Heidi, her future.

  I can still hear his words, as if he only said them yesterday. Even though my mind was only half there, frozen with fear at not being able to see you, my precious baby girl.

  ‘Christine, did you hear my question?’

  I repeat my lover’s words to Dr Cousins, then say, ‘At this point I’d realized I’d wandered into a different department without thinking, and when I returned to where I’d left her, she was gone. I was frantic. A choking, frenzied fear I’d never felt before. And then he was suddenly unimportant, and I remember hanging up, running up and down the aisles as I screamed her name, looking for her everywhere, but she’d just vanished, and it didn’t make any sense to me that she could have just disappeared without a trace. And then suddenly there were people around me, shop assistants, customers, asking me what was wrong, what or who I had lost, what she was wearing, how old she was, her hair colour, eye colour, type of pushchair, did she have a toy with her, could she talk, and then those reassuring words along the lines of “Don’t worry, we’ll find her; just you wait and see, she’ll turn up.” Meaningless words that are far from true, but people say them anyway to be kind and comforting even though you know there is nothing they can say or do that can possibly comfort you, short of knowing where your child is, and telling you that they know for sure that she is safe and well.’

  I pause, and there are tears streaming down my face. Dr Cousins looks as distraught as me, which I find endearing, and makes me forget her earlier harshness. It’s clear to me that my story has touched her, even though she’s supposed to be rational and detached. I like that about her. And I realize that’s what Janine must have liked about her too. Her natural empathy, the fact that she feels personally affected by her patients’ suffering; an impulse perhaps borne from her mother’s untimely death. It may not be normal, even advisable in her line of work, but I don’t care, it works for me, makes me feel I can trust her, makes me want to confide in her more.

  ‘I can tell that was extremely difficult for you to relive,’ she says, a slight tremor in her voice.

  ‘It always is,’ I nod. ‘Although that’s the first time I’ve told anyone I was on the phone to my lover when Heidi disappeared.’

  ‘You didn’t tell the police?’

  Guilt and panic swell in me. I wonder, if the police discovered the truth now, would I be in trouble, despite so much time having passed? I’d like to think not. I mean, what difference would it have made, telling them? It wouldn’t have changed the fact that you were kidnapped while I was on the phone. It wouldn’t have changed the fact that I wandered off without thinking.

  ‘I did tell them I was on the phone at the time,’ I say, ‘but on the Nokia Greg bought me, which I always carried around with me. I said it was just some random cold caller, and that I’d walked away to get a better signal. I never told them I had two phones, it raised too many questions.’

  That’s perverting the course of justice, isn’t it? A blanket lie. I brush the thought off.

  ‘I see. And as the other phone was registered in your lover’s name, they’d never have reason to doubt your story?’

  ‘No, why would they? I wasn’t under suspicion. At no point was I under suspicion.’

  I’m lying, of course. Parents are always under suspicion in the case of a missing child and the police obviously did what they needed to do to eliminate Greg and me from their enquiries. That included checking our phone records, which verified the cold call made to my Nokia. The same phone everyone, bar him, called me on.

  Thank heavens for the individual who called me around the same time. Whoever it was, helped me to preserve my shameful secret. Even so, a burst of anger shoots through me. I mean, I’m not sure what Dr Cousins is trying to achieve with this line of questioning, but she doesn’t apologize, just says, ‘OK, let’s leave it at that for now.’

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Miranda

  Before

  It pained me, Chrissy, to hear the way you shouted at that poor child as we spoke on the phone. Reminiscent of my father, who had little patience for me. No parent should treat their child like that, especially one so young. After all, she doesn’t want to be lugged around London on a stiflingly hot day like today. As usual, you’re putting your own needs above hers, just as you do above Greg’s. He can’t see it, he’s so blind to your selfishness because somehow you cast this spell over him, made him worship you like an angel sent from above. But I see your true self, even if no one else does. Least of all Janine, who likewise seems to idolize you like a saint. But you’re no saint, and you’re certainly no angel. Unless you include the Devil in that category. After all, people forget he’s also an angel. Albeit a fallen one.

  No one will miss me at the hotel. They’re all so full of themselves. Most of them beer-swilling bores who love the sound of their own voices. A bit like Duncan. I instantly said yes when he proposed because it made me feel wanted, gave me something to focus on other than you and Greg. Although it helped that he was so bloody gorgeous. And then, after Greg proposed to you, I convinced Duncan that we should move in together, bring the wedding forward, just so I could get another one up on you, get that wedding band on my finger before you. He’s been such a disappointment, though. Caused me so much pain by his thoughtless behaviour and complete disregard for my feelings. I mean, I knew when I married him he was a bit of a lothario, but I thought that perhaps, with time, he’d settle down, mature. But he hasn’t.

  In fact, he’s got worse. I found text messages on his phone. Only it wasn’t his usual business phone, it was a different phone I’d never seen before, which I found in one of his jacket pockets when I was searching for some loose change. I’ve no idea who they’re from, because the sender was programmed in as anonymous. But whoever sent them, they’re pretty filthy. How cliché is that? I so hate clichés. He says it’s my fault we’re not happy. That I pushed him away after my miscarriages. I can’t believe how bloody selfish he is. I mean, how the hell can he know what it feels like to carry the child you’ve yearned for all your life, and then have it taken away from you. Not once, not twice, but three times. The pain is excruciating, without equal. Even losing Greg doesn’t compare.

  Neither you nor Greg know about the miscarriages. I never told anyone about the pregnancies because I didn’t want to jinx things. But it turns out my superstition was a load of old crock because I lost all three before hitting the magic twelve-week mark. I wanted to be pleased for you and your pregnancy – for Greg especially – but when I saw how irritable you seemed to be, how obviously not happy with the idea, despite putting on a show for Greg, it made my blood boil. I wanted to yell at you how bloody lucky you were, but somehow I controlled myself.

  I’ll admit that when you first had Heidi, I saw a change in you; saw that you loved her, finally recognized what a gift it was to be a mother. And that should have pleased me. But I still couldn’t find it in myself to be happy for you. Especially when I watched you at her christening. Lapping up the attention like always. Your husband’s doting eyes locked on you. I felt strangled by envy. Envious of you and your perfect face, perfect figure, perfect husband, perfect child. Envious of the way even Duncan appeared to covet your picture-perfect family. I wasn’t blind, I saw the way his gaze fell upon the three of you. Seems he yearned for a child after all. What was it I had done to be cursed with no mother, no father to speak of, no husband I really loved the way I’d loved Greg? No child of my own to cherish. Why is it some women have it all? And why is it that they don’t even realize it, aren’t even fucking grateful for it?

  Hearing you yell at Heidi on the bus this afternoon was the last straw. And that’s why I’m here, at the entrance to Peter Jones. I’m not ent
irely sure what my plan is, but I do know you need a wake-up call. You need to realize just how much you’ve failed to appreciate all your privileged life.

  The fact is, it’s only when you lose someone you love that you realize how much you took them for granted. I know that more than anyone. And now you will too.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Heidi

  Before

  I watch you, Father, and I try to love you, but I can’t. Not like I used to.

  Before Mother told me the truth, you were my hero. No guy could compete with you, and I never imagined you could do any wrong. But then Mother told me everything, and I discovered what kind of man you really are: a selfish, vain, shallow man, and my perfect image of you was tarnished for good. There’s nothing you can do to change that, no matter how hard you try to be a good father to me. Every time I see you, my hatred, my disgust for you and what you did, for the fact that you knowingly and repeatedly hurt all the people you supposedly loved, grows stronger. Mother says she’s learned to deal with it; that having me to love and care for helped her overcome the pain you caused her, made her stronger. But I know that not a day goes by when she doesn’t think about your betrayal. With a woman who’d made a habit out of stealing men from decent women. Which is why she can never be content with just taking me from her. She needs to make her suffer more. And I am going to help her do that.

  I take comfort from the fact that you don’t seem happy, that you always have this troubled, faraway look on your face. As if you’re expecting your past indiscretions to catch up with you. You’ve done the same job for thirtysomething years, and you exist in a sexless marriage, although now I know what you’re really like, I wouldn’t be surprised if you seek your thrills elsewhere. I’ve been tempted to follow you on several occasions, but I know that I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from telling Mother if I saw you with another woman, and the last thing I want is to cause her more pain. It’s probably better for both Mother and I to live in ignorance where your extracurricular activities are concerned.