She's Mine

by A A Chaudhuri

  ‘Yes, she must be,’ I reply, enjoying the thought of my mother suffering. ‘As long as she believes it’s Heidi’s dress.’

  ‘Of course she does. It’s an exact match, yoghurt stain and all.’

  ‘I’m still amazed by how you managed to get hold of the same dress and make it look so authentic.’

  ‘Wonders of the internet. You can find anything these days, if you look hard enough.’

  You’re so smart, and it turns me on. I reach for you and pull your head towards me, kiss you feverishly. ‘Tell me again what you want from this.’ Of course, I know already, but I just like hearing you say it. It’s comforting. Empowering.

  ‘I just want to humiliate her. She’s kept her affair to herself all these years, made herself out to be some kind of victim. But she’s no victim, my mother was the victim, and the world needs to know that. You see that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I want her to face up to her actions just as much as you do. I want her to admit she lost Heidi because she cheated on Dad, that she was a shit mum to me and Dan, and that she fucked us up; fucked Dad’s life up. And I want Dad to leave her for good. I want him to be free from her clutches, to finally be happy.’

  ‘Well then, let’s make that happen.’

  My insides froth with a nervous excitement. Finally, I have the chance to make my mother pay, and I mustn’t fail.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Robyn

  Now

  I’m wide awake, staring at your face as you sleep. You’re quite pretty, although your unhappy childhood has given you a hardness not befitting your twenty years. I can’t believe how easy it’s been, getting you to torment your own mother, but perhaps that’s just indicative of the extent to which she fucked you and your brother up. You act tough, but inside you are scared and vulnerable. And needy. So needy. You’ve been let down so many times in the past. By your mother, your father, your brother, boyfriends.

  I was like a breath of fresh air coming into your life. You loved the fact that I seemed to get you so well from the start. The way no one else ever has. And when I had done enough to earn your trust (telling you some sob story that wasn’t strictly true but resonated with you in so many ways), made you feel like you couldn’t exist without me, that’s when I made my move. Told you about your mother’s affair with my father. Gave you another reason to hate her. Someone who, it now appears, has hurt not only her immediate family all these years, but also others, including me, and a woman who had lost a child, like her. All because of her intrinsic selfishness; her barefaced disregard for other people’s feelings. And so, you couldn’t be angry with me for long, and you agreed to help me get my revenge.

  I don’t love you, even though you believe with all your heart that I do. But I do pity you. More than I pity your brother, who, like you said, is more like her than he realizes. You think you know me, but you don’t. You don’t know the half of it, but my plan was never going to work if you did. My initial strategy was to lure you into my bed purely to piss your mother off. But when I realized the extent of your hatred for her, I saw that you could be useful to me.

  Poor Ella. You are just another pawn in the game I am playing. And when the game is over, and the pawns have been brought together – having been driven to near distraction – I will enjoy seeing the looks on all your faces. And I won’t care that I might be forced to account for my actions.

  The only thing that matters is destroying our mother.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Christine

  Now

  I didn’t expect to be sitting here again. And yet, here I am. Last night, after the police came round (they took your dress for forensic testing), I finally told Janine that I’d had an affair. It was excruciating telling her after all these years, harder than you could possibly imagine. I felt so ashamed, so guilt-ridden. But I also felt I had no choice; that having told Greg and DI Phillips, there was every chance she’d find out.

  She was shocked, of course. Said she’d never have believed me capable of hurting Greg, and was hugely disappointed in me, especially as I hadn’t uttered a word after she told me about Greg’s affair. Her eyes were unusually hard as she said this, made me feel like such a hypocrite – which I am, of course – and now I feel even worse about myself. I just pray this doesn’t change things between us. She asked me who it was, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her, and this also seemed to upset her, although she didn’t press the issue further. I begged her not to tell Miranda, just because I’m not ready to face that one yet. I know she’ll ask me the same question, and I won’t be able to hide the shame on my face when she does. Janine did suggest I make another appointment with Dr Cousins, though. Insisted that I still need help, and that although it might upset Daniel, I’m better off seeking it from the one person who finally seems to be making strides with me.

  But now, as I sit across from Dr Cousins, I feel like I’m betraying Daniel. And although she was perfectly pleasant when she opened the door to me, the tension between us is unmistakable. Even so, I know I won’t be able to carry on if I don’t say what’s on my mind.

  So I do.

  ‘I wish you hadn’t broken up with Daniel. I would never have told you about my affair if I’d known it would lead to that. He’s devastated. And why did you tell him I couldn’t deal with you and him being engaged while I was your patient? You were the one who convinced me it shouldn’t matter.’

  Instead of giving me a straight answer, she says, ‘Are you trying to blame me, Christine, when you’re the one who had the affair? You chose to tell me about it; I didn’t force you.’

  Her eyes are hard, her tone accusatory. I expected her to be more conciliatory. Say something along the lines of, ‘I know, I’m sorry, I just felt very uncomfortable myself, and laying the blame on you was just me being cowardly.’ But there’s none of that, and her comments make me feel both childish and foolish. But is that fair? I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – she’s the one who insisted we’d be able to keep our private and professional lives separate, no matter what I told her in confidence. So I stand my ground and remind her of this.

  ‘That was before I knew you’d done something wrong,’ she says, ‘before I knew you’d betrayed your husband, hurt others. Before then, I was just trying to help you get over your daughter’s disappearance. But your confession changed things. You were at fault when she was taken. You neglected her because you were talking to your lover. All this explains your guilt, your inability to come to terms with her disappearance all these years later, as well as your inability to love your other children. You don’t feel that you have a right to be happy, to love, to be a mother. Not because you lost her, but because you lied to them all. Isn’t that right, Christine?’

  I’m shocked by how cruel she’s being. It almost feels like she’s enjoying my pain. She’s right, though. Cutting myself off from my nearest and dearest was a form of self-punishment. I knew it was hurting them too, of course I did, but I couldn’t bear to relinquish that one bit of control I had over my life. Even so, does she have to get so personal? It’s unprofessional, surely? Perhaps her break-up with Daniel has coloured her judgement?

  ‘Has something else happened?’ she asks. ‘It feels like you’re holding back.’

  She’s remarkably perceptive, I’ll give her that. I guess that’s why I keep coming back here, in spite of her cutting comments.

  I tell her about your dress.

  ‘Are you sure it’s hers?’ she asks.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Because of the stain?’

  ‘Yes, I…’ I stop short. Realize I never told her about the yoghurt stain. I’m certain of it. I scrutinize her face. ‘I never told you it had a stain on it.’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ she replies quickly, almost defensively. ‘In our first session, when you described the day you lost Heidi. You went into a lot of detail, don’t you remember?’

  Why does she always refer to it like that? The day I lo
st you. Like she enjoys rubbing salt into my wounds, emphasizing what a rubbish mother I am. Surely, the day Heidi went missing would have been the more appropriate – not to mention kinder – thing to say? Suddenly, I’m beginning to have serious doubts about Dr Cousins. She has a dark side to her, a malicious streak I find disquieting, and I wonder if she ever showed this side of her personality to Janine.

  Plus I’m still convinced I never told her about the stain on your dress. No matter what she says.

  ‘I really don’t remember telling you about the stain,’ I say.

  ‘Look,’ she says more amicably, ‘you’re not yourself, you’re upset, you’ve had a lot to deal with in a short space of a time – it’s no wonder you’re confused, not thinking straight. Are you sleeping OK?’

  I’m not, actually. The only night I’ve slept well was the night I spent in hospital, and that was because of all the drugs they gave me.

  ‘Lack of sleep can really mess with your brain,’ she continues. ‘It can cause memory loss, hallucinations, have all sorts of unpleasant effects. Would you like me to prescribe something for you?’

  Although I’m warier of Dr Cousins, her offer is tempting. Truth is, I’m shattered, and I suppose it’s possible that my fatigue is impairing my memory. I long for a good night’s sleep – a night not spent tossing and turning, having nightmares, wishing I could click my fingers and magically make things right. And so I say, ‘Yes, OK then – nothing too strong, just enough to calm my nerves, help me sleep.’

  She smiles, gets up and walks over to a cabinet positioned to the right of her desk. As she opens it, she says, ‘Luckily, I already have something to hand. No need to trouble yourself with going to the chemist.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Just a mild relaxant. You can take up to three a day.’

  ‘I only need something for the night, I don’t want to be a zombie in the daytime,’ I say as she hands me the brown plastic pill bottle. On the front is written Lithobid. ‘Is this what you gave Janine?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘It worked wonders for her. Hopefully it’ll work like a charm for you and have you feeling better in no time.’

  * * *

  After leaving Dr Cousins’ flat, I stop by the gym and do a 10K run on the treadmill. I want to tire myself out, so that I can sleep without the aid of the pills she gave me. I want them to be a last resort.

  But my mind is still racing when I get home around 4 p.m. I wonder how long I can keep my lover’s identity from Greg. He can’t force me to tell him, but how can I not? It’ll always be the elephant in the room, and I can’t have that if there’s any chance of saving our marriage. It’s taken Greg’s affair to make me realize it’s worth salvaging. He’s always been my rock, the one stable influence in my life. Having said that, I wonder if it’s already too late. Greg’s not been in touch since he moved out. And I can’t forget the look on his face just before he left – of pure disgust and contempt for everything I’ve done to him and to others.

  It’s dark as I stand on my doorstep and rummage inside my handbag for my keys. Eventually, I find them and let myself in. There’s a mound of post on the doormat, and I am filled with trepidation, wondering whether there are any more messages from the person who’s trying to torment me amongst it. I turn on the hall light, pick up the mail, take it through to the kitchen, then go through the envelopes one by one. Nothing as far as I can tell. Feeling relieved, I grab a quick glass of water, then go upstairs to shower.

  But as soon as I enter my bedroom, my attention is caught by a large brown envelope lying on my pillow. I shudder at the thought of how it got there. There’s nothing written on it, and I feel queasy with the realization that someone’s been in the house even though, as yet, I’ve spotted no signs of a break-in. My eyes dart left and right as I wonder if whoever it was is still here, lying in wait for me.

  Since Greg moved out, I’ve kept a knife in my bedside drawer in case of intruders. I quickly pull it out, then start patrolling my bedroom, checking in the wardrobes, under the bed, in the en-suite bathroom, making sure I am alone. Satisfied there’s no one here, I lock my bedroom door, then go and sit on the bed and place the knife beside me. My hands are shaking as I pick up the envelope and tentatively unseal the flap. They continue to shake as my fingertips ease their way inside, then pull out two large glossy photographs and a note.

  The photos are of me and my lover kissing in an underground car park. The note says:

  Show these to the police, you filthy slut, and you’ll never see Heidi again.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Greg

  Now

  I’m so relieved you texted, Amber. I really thought we were done, but your message gives me fresh hope.

  Sorry for the radio silence, but been super busy at work. Also had some family issues to deal with. Come by my place tonight, I’ll cook. 39 Acol Road, NW6. x

  I’ve never been to your place – you’ve always preferred us to meet somewhere neutral – so I take this invitation as a good sign. Surely it means you want to get more serious with me, rather than end things? Now that I’m living in a hotel, I feel lonelier than ever, and I crave your vibrant company.

  It’s 6.30, and I left work early to be here on time. I go up to the front entrance and press your buzzer. After a few seconds, you let me in and tell me to come straight up to your flat on the second floor.

  It’s one of four flats in a converted white Edwardian house in North-West London. A bit close to home, being only a few stops from Chrissy, but who cares now that our affair is out in the open. You’re there to greet me, and we share a brief kiss before you lead me inside and close the door behind you.

  Your place is nice, and before we sit down I ask you if you’ll give me a quick tour. You happily oblige, and before long, I’ve seen most of it. Contemporary furnishings, wooden flooring throughout, a decent-sized open-plan kitchen/diner, a spacious living room, and two double bedrooms. You also have a balcony, which you say is big enough for you to sit outside on with a glass of wine in the summer. I fleetingly imagine us doing this together in a few months’ time when the weather improves. There’s just one room I haven’t seen, to the left of the hallway as you walk in. But the door is shut, and you say it’s just your study, where you work from home when you need to. When you’re not working, you like to keep it shut, which is fair enough – who wants to be reminded of work? But it’s still a bit weird that you won’t let me have a peek inside. I brush it off, think no more of it, and soon we’re sitting on the sofa in the living room, drinking wine.

  ‘So, how have you been?’ you ask.

  Where to begin? I want to tell you everything, pour out my heart and soul to you; it feels like so much has gone on since Janine spotted us together. There’s Chrissy’s affair, Dan’s broken engagement, Heidi’s dress – which, incidentally, I only found out about from DI Phillips. I haven’t spoken to Chrissy since I left her, and I realize that might be overly harsh of me because getting our daughter’s dress in the post is no small matter and she must be freaking out big time, it certainly freaked me out. But I’m still not ready to have a civil conversation with her.

  Assuming the dress is the genuine article, though, which Chrissy apparently believes it is (forensics have yet to come back with their findings), this is surely confirmation that the note and the email weren’t sent by some random attention-seeker. Whoever took Heidi must have sent all three, but we’re still no closer to knowing who that is, or whether Heidi is alive or dead. And so, the torture continues.

  But despite wanting to unburden myself on you, I don’t want to scare you away. You’re the one normal thing in my life right now; the one person who takes me away from the mess my life has become.

  Even so, you take my hand and urge me to say what’s on my mind. ‘It’s OK, I won’t be put off,’ you say. ‘Tell me everything.’

  I smile, grateful for your kindness. And then I go ahead and tell you all that’s happened. By the time I’ve fi
nished, I have tears in my eyes.

  You pull me close, take me in your arms and soothe me the way a mother soothes her baby. But then, once you’re satisfied that I am calmer, you break away, look me in the eye and say wickedly, ‘Let’s go have sex.’

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Christine

  Now

  Someone was watching us all those years ago. All those times when we believed we were being careful. It must have been Heidi’s kidnapper who took those photos, the same person who sent the note, the email and the dress. But why? What does he or she want from me now? Why not stay silent, having got away with it all these years? What is the plan? To terrorize me? Taunt me with the possibility that Heidi might still be alive; destroy my marriage, my reputation, for good? Is that the intention? To break up what’s left of my splintered family? Scare me witless, drive me insane, to the point of no return?

  If that is the plan, then it’s working, because I feel like I’m losing my mind. And what really nags me is that – although it’s probably a coincidence – all this seems to have started soon after I began seeing Dr Cousins.

  There’s been an intruder in my house, and I want to tell DI Phillips, but I can’t, because there’s a chance Heidi is still alive, and I might be risking her safety. That’s what the note implies, at least, even though it might not be true, and she might well be dead. But how can I take that risk? I can’t. Even if it’s a slim one, the chance to see her again is something I cannot jeopardize.

  I wonder about Julia Keel, whether it could be her. DI Phillips left a message on my phone while I was on the Tube home, to say they’d traced her to an address in Chichester, and that he was sending two officers to interview her first thing in the morning. My sixth sense still tells me she has nothing to do with Heidi’s disappearance. If hurting me had been her intention, she would have done it by exposing our affair twenty-five years ago. She wouldn’t have waited all this time. And besides, I kept to my end of the bargain; she got what she wanted.