The Other Daughter: An addictive psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist

by Shalini Boland

  He stares at the image of Bella and holds it next to various photos of Holly.

  I let him have a few moments to compare. ‘Well?’ I finally ask.

  ‘They look similar,’ he admits.

  ‘More than similar!’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s hard to tell.’

  ‘But that’s because you’re just looking at photographs. Holly was my daughter. I knew her better than anyone. Are you telling me that you wouldn’t recognise Charlie nine years from now?’

  ‘I’d like to think I would, but honestly, I don’t know. Look, I know it’s not what you want to hear, and I hate saying this, but the chances of Bella being your missing daughter are tiny. Just because they look like one another, it doesn’t mean they’re the same person. I know you want to believe it—’

  ‘It’s not about wanting to believe it. It’s about a mother’s intuition. About knowing something deep down in your gut. I’ve gone years and years and I’ve never mistaken anyone for my daughter. This is different. And don’t you think it’s odd that after I was asking Kate and Shaun about their daughter’s genes, Kate suddenly got sick and had to leave?’

  ‘Okay, let’s say it was Kate who took your daughter, why the hell would she come anywhere near you? Surely she’d stay as far away as possible.’

  ‘I know. I thought that too, but who knows what goes on in people’s heads? And there’s something off about them. They were pretty cagey about why they moved here and where they live now.’

  Matt places my phone and photo album on the arm of the sofa. His voice is low and soothing as he turns back to me. ‘The way I see it, there are three possible options. One: Kate abducted Holly and has come here to befriend you as part of some twisted plan.’

  I nod, glad he’s willing to see the possibility.

  ‘Two: Kate abducted Holly and in some giant coincidental twist of fate, she has ended up befriending you without knowing who you are. Or, option three: Bella really is Kate’s daughter who just happens to look a lot like Holly.’

  ‘Not just “a lot” – she’s the spitting image.’

  ‘Maybe she is the spitting image. But, Rachel, you have to see that it’s just so unlikely.’

  ‘I know, Matt. But unlikely things happen. I can’t stop thinking about her. About the fact that she could be mine.’ I know that logically Matt is probably right. But I still feel in my gut that she’s my daughter. ‘I got such a strange vibe off the Morrises, like they’re hiding something. I really think I should contact the police.’

  Matt’s eyes widen in alarm. ‘What? No, honestly, Rach, don’t do that.’

  ‘But they’d be able to look into it for me. They could do a DNA test and that would prove it one way or the other.’

  ‘You can’t go accusing Kate and Shaun of something like this. Not without proper proof. Think how devastated they’d be if they’re innocent. And what about Bella? If she’s not your daughter they’d all be put through a hell of a lot of trauma.’

  ‘What about my trauma? What if she is my child?’

  ‘Before you do anything, will you do something for me?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Will you please start seeing someone about your grief over Holly – a counsellor or therapist.’

  ‘I already said I would.’

  ‘Good. But you need to go and speak to them before you do anything about Bella Morris. Promise me.’

  Anything to get Matt believing me. ‘Okay, I promise.’

  ‘And you also need to tell the therapist what you just told me about thinking Bella might be your daughter.’

  ‘So they can talk me out of it, you mean?’

  ‘No. Well, not really. Just that they might be able to advise you better than I can. I’m no good at this stuff.’

  ‘No one is,’ I reply. ‘Especially not me. I feel like I’m going crazy with the need to know.’

  Matt pulls me into his arms and kisses the top of my head. ‘I can’t imagine what you’ve suffered, Rachel. You know I’ll support you. We just need to be absolutely sure before we go accusing anyone.’

  ‘Thanks, Matt.’

  ‘I love you, Rach.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  I only hope that this situation doesn’t test our love too much.

  12

  I stand on the wet pavement outside the brightly lit bathroom showroom, press the door buzzer and wait, hoping I don’t see anyone I know. I keep my head bowed and pray for him to buzz me in sooner rather than later. I’m here to see Robin Blake, the counsellor that Matt found for me. His rooms are in the centre of town above this bathroom showroom, but it’s early evening so at least town is relatively quiet – less chance of bumping into someone I know who might ask what I’m doing.

  Robin doesn’t normally see people on a Sunday, but it turns out he’s actually someone Matt went to school with, and Matt made out that it was an emergency, so Robin made an exception. I told Matt he shouldn’t have done that. That the poor man should at least be allowed to have his weekends to himself, but Matt shrugged, saying my well-being was his priority and that Robin didn’t seem to mind.

  It feels a little weird, coming to talk to my boyfriend’s school friend. But Matt assured me that everything I say to Robin will be in the strictest confidence. Of course, I told Matt that I wouldn’t be telling Robin anything I hadn’t already told Matt. But who knows how my first session will go? I’m not exactly optimistic. The last thing I feel like doing is opening up to a complete stranger. I’m amazed I managed to hold it together so well when I revealed my secret to Matt. Right now, I’m afraid of completely breaking down with this counsellor. And if that happens, how will I be able to function? How will I be able to do my job and look after my family?

  ‘Hello?’ A soft, well-spoken male voice comes through the intercom.

  ‘Hi. It’s Rachel Farnborough to see Robin Blake.’

  ‘Hi, Rachel. Come on up.’

  The door buzzes and I push on it, feeling it click and give. I walk into a narrow entrance hall that smells fresh and clean. There’s a slim console table to my right with an arrangement of Christmassy flowers. I touch one of the leaves. I think they’re fake, but they’re realistic enough for me to be unsure. Ahead of me lies a steep flight of beige-carpeted stairs. A door opens at the top. A tallish man with a beard steps onto the landing, gives me a wave and beckons me up.

  Nervousness overwhelms me, and I wonder again why I agreed to do this. But Matt was adamant. He said he was making me go because he loved me and wanted to help me. But it feels like I’ve been railroaded into this.

  ‘Hi, I’m Robin.’ The bearded man smiles and holds out his hand. I reach the top of the stairs and shake it. His grip is cool and firm. ‘You don’t need to look so terrified. Honestly, all we’re going to do is chat for a short while. That’s it.’

  I nod, still not feeling in any way at ease.

  ‘Come through.’ Robin shows me into a light, airy room with stripped wooden floors, rugs, lamps and Scandi furniture. There’s no desk or therapist’s couch like I imagined there would be. Instead, there are two sofas opposite one another, separated by a low square ottoman stool. On the stool is a tray with a jug of water and two glasses. Next to the tray is a box of tissues – so he’s expecting tears.

  Robin sits on the furthest couch and picks up a notebook and pen. He gestures to me to take a seat on the other. I place my handbag next to me.

  ‘Take your coat off if you like. The heating’s on.’

  I realise it is quite warm, so I do as he suggests and slip off my parka, draping it over the back of the sofa.

  ‘So, how’s Matt doing?’

  ‘He’s fine. Working hard at the moment.’

  ‘Nice guy. I always got on with him at school. It’s a shame we lost touch.’ Robin’s hair is dark, and his eyes are blue. He’s kind of handsome in a geeky way – not my type though. That’s a good thing. It would be hard to talk freely to a stranger I found attractive. I’m not even sure why I’
m having these thoughts. Maybe because it’s distracting me from the other stuff. ‘Anyway,’ he continues, leaning back into the sofa, ‘why don’t you start by telling me why you’re here?’

  ‘I’m not sure how much Matt told you…’

  Robin shrugs. ‘He gave me a rough outline, but why don’t we just pretend he said nothing. I’d prefer to hear about it in your own words.’

  I clasp my hands on my lap and stare down at them, taking a breath. And then I launch into the same story I told Matt. About how my daughter went missing. Again, I tell it dispassionately, almost as though I’m reading it off a script. I can hear how cold and detached I sound, but I’m scared to really engage with my words because I don’t want to get emotional in front of this stranger.

  There’s a short silence after I finish talking, as though the room is resettling and adjusting to the information.

  ‘That must have been a traumatic experience, Rachel.’ He holds his chin. ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘Nine years ago.’

  ‘Have you spoken about it with anyone during that time? Family or friends?’

  ‘No. I only just told Matt last week.’

  ‘What about at the time when it happened? Did you have counselling then?’

  ‘A couple of sessions, but I can’t remember much about them if I’m honest.’

  He nods thoughtfully. There are a lot of pauses between my answers and his questions. I guess he’s waiting for me to elaborate, but I still feel on my guard, scared of saying the wrong thing. Scared of opening the floodgates my emotions are pushing against.

  ‘Did friends and family offer support back then?’

  ‘My husband at the time – Andy – he blamed me. We split up not long after and now he lives in Spain with a new family.’

  ‘That must have been hard on you.’

  ‘I suppose it was at the time, but looking back, I think it’s a good thing we’re not together any more. We weren’t right for each other. I’m much happier with Matt.’

  ‘That’s good. Do you think much about Holly now?’

  ‘Every day.’

  ‘So you think about her every day, but you never talk about her?’

  I consider his question for a few moments. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I just got used to keeping her as a secret. I was scared to open up because I was scared of breaking down, I suppose. And I was aware that Matt would start looking at me differently. He might not think I was a fit mother for our children, after what happened.’

  ‘Do you really believe he would think that?’

  I shrug. ‘Honestly, I don’t know. Do you mind if I…’ I point to the jug of water.

  ‘Help yourself.’

  Pouring out the water allows me a few seconds respite from the conversation. I wasn’t expecting it to get so intense so quickly. Robin is gently spoken but his questions have a way of cutting to the heart of things. I’m not entirely sure I’m strong enough to do this. I take a sip of the water and then another before replacing the glass on the tray and wiping my mouth with the knuckle of my forefinger.

  ‘Okay?’ he asks.

  I nod. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Matt is the best – kind, caring, a great boyfriend and father. But surely a small part of him must think I was negligent. Letting my toddler out of my sight in a busy shopping centre.’

  ‘You said she was playing in a Wendy house near you.’

  ‘Yes, but I wasn’t watching her the whole time.’

  ‘Do you think all other parents watch their children one hundred per cent of the time?’

  I exhale noisily. ‘No, of course not. But I was more interested in talking to my friend than watching my daughter!’

  Robin nods and pours himself a glass of water. ‘What do other parents do when they take their children to play centres and parks with friends?’

  I scowl, knowing exactly what he’s attempting to do. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, do they watch their children for every second that they’re there? Or do they maybe read a book, or chat with friends while their children play?’

  ‘I know you’re trying to tell me it wasn’t my fault, but unless one of your children has been abducted while you were busy enjoying yourself, I’m afraid you haven’t got a clue!’ I clench my fists then release them. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just, you’ll never be able to convince me that it wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘No need to apologise. I understand.’ Robin sips his water. ‘And you’re right. I haven’t had that experience, so I don’t know how you feel. But… you’re here talking to me. So maybe we can unpick those feelings a little and try to make some sense of them. That’s all. See if we can give you a little peace of mind.’

  I nod, feeling tears prick behind my eyes.

  ‘And Rachel…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The person who’s at fault here is not you. It’s the person who took your child. Don’t forget that.’

  We talk some more about letting go of feelings of guilt and Robin gives me some breathing and meditation exercises to help when I’m feeling overwhelmed or panicky. By the time our hour is up, I feel absolutely exhausted, like I’ve run a marathon or spent a weekend camping in a storm. But there’s a part of me that also feels a little lighter. Like someone is sharing the burden and taking some of the heaviness from my shoulders. I can’t say it was an enjoyable experience, but I think – I hope – it was worth it.

  As I walk back to my car, beneath the rain-spattered hazy street lights, I wonder if I did the right thing, not telling Robin about Bella. That I really think she might be my daughter. I tell myself the reason I kept quiet about her is because there wasn’t time – it never cropped up in the conversation. But I know that’s not the real reason.

  I worried that he would only tell me what Matt told me – that I’m mistaken. That the chances are miniscule. That I’m only seeing what I want to see. But a mother knows these things. The more I think about it, the more I truly believe that Bella is my missing daughter. I know it in my gut. Especially after yesterday evening with the Morrises. Kate texted me this morning to thank me for dinner and to apologise for them leaving early. But it wasn’t a chatty, friendly text. It was formal and detached. I replied that I was so sorry she’d been unwell and I hoped we could reschedule when she was feeling better. Her reply took ages to come through and when it did it was the shortest text ever: ty – short for thank you. A sudden shot of anxiety hit me when I read it. She’s pulling away from me. How will I get to see Bella now?

  There’s something very strange going on with the Morrises. Perhaps Kate is getting some twisted kick out of befriending me. Perhaps she’s been taunting me with the daughter she stole and now I’m on the scent, she’s backing off. A sudden, glaring anger drenches my body. How dare she! How dare she flaunt my child in my face. She’s denied me the right to be a mother to my daughter. As the rage builds, my hands begin to shake. I think back to what my counsellor said – that it wasn’t my fault Holly was taken, it was the person who took her. I can hardly believe that at long last I might be able to get some justice. To make my child’s abductor pay.

  I finally reach my car and take deep steadying breaths to stem the threatening tears. Who will believe me? Who will help me? A smidgeon of doubt creeps in once more. Has Kate really been raising my daughter all these precious years? But if it’s true, how would she have got away with it? I can’t let myself be deterred from discovering the truth.

  Suddenly I have an idea of how I might be able to find out more.

  13

  Then

  The light outside has dulled; grey afternoon faded to a bone-chilling darkness that envelops the building and seeps through the windows. Catriona sits on the sofa, knees pulled up to her chest, feeling the varying weights of everything – the ache of what lies beyond the garden, the heavy shape of the child in the back bedroom. And the deep dread of what it will be like when Darren arrives home. Sweet, kind, doting Darren – her boyfriend, her rock,
her home. The father of her child. But what will happen next?

  Catriona rushes into the kitchen and throws up in the stainless-steel sink. There’s nothing much left inside of her to get rid of, but her body is determined to expel every last drop. She gasps and heaves and then rinses her mouth directly from the tap. As she spits out clean water and wipes a hand across her clammy forehead, she hears the front door slam. Her stomach lurches and she retches once again, but nothing comes out this time. She straightens up and takes a breath. She must stay calm. She can’t let her body and emotions betray her.

  ‘Hey, Caty! It’s me! Why’s it so dark in here?’ The hall light comes on, tentacles of light spreading into the kitchen, trying to reach her. ‘That’s better. Where are you both? Caty? Grace?’ Darren finally pokes his head around the kitchen door. Catriona winces as he switches on the light and gives her his usual grin, his dark-brown curls sprinkled with plaster dust. She blinks and squints, hoping she doesn’t look too much like the walking dead. ‘Blimey, what were you doing in here in the dark?’ He stands there in his dusty, plaster-covered work clothes. ‘Shit…’ Darren stares at her, his smile disintegrating into shock, his dark eyes filling with worry. ‘You okay, Caty? You don’t look well at all. What’s wrong? You ill?’

  ‘Uh, yeah… stomach bug,’ she says automatically, putting a hand over her queasy belly, realising that the lie will only get her so far.

  ‘Oh, poor baby. Why don’t you go and have a lie down? Where’s Grace? Is she okay?’

  ‘She’s… in bed.’

  ‘Oh no. Has she got it too?’

  Catriona feels the edges of her sanity peeling away. ‘She’s not great at the moment.’

  ‘Really? Did you call the doctor?’

  Catriona shakes her head, wondering how to detangle herself from the untruths that are starting to knot themselves around her. Is this what life will be like now? ‘Don’t worry. It’s just a bug. She’ll be okay after a sleep.’