The Girl You Gave Away: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller

by Jess Ryder

  He shook his head. ‘No, we’ve all had enough. Let’s go home.’

  Oli held out his hand. ‘Give us your cloakroom thingy, Mum, and I’ll get your coat.’

  I dipped into my bag and handed him the plastic disc. ‘Thanks, darling.’ He ran back inside.

  ‘You girls wait in the warm,’ said Tom, reaching for his mobile. ‘I’ll call a taxi.’

  Chloe and I went back inside and hung around the entrance. She was staring at me, a challenging expression on her face, as if she was the parent, waiting for me to explain myself.

  ‘Did Granny call you from the hospital?’ she asked.

  ‘Um … yeah. She was just panicking.’ I smiled at her weakly.

  ‘Hmm … You’re lying, Mum.’

  ‘I’m not! Grandad’s fine, honestly.’

  ‘I can see it in your eyes.’

  ‘Chloe!’ I protested. ‘How dare you accuse me—’

  She shrugged me off. ‘Whatever.’

  The taxi arrived. Tom took the front passenger seat while the rest of us squashed up in the back. The atmosphere was tense. Chloe had sussed me out and I felt ashamed for denying it. I didn’t dare look at my phone to see if Jade had agreed to my bargain. For all I knew, she was still waiting outside the house. I felt sick with anxiety. It was late. The evening had been a waste of time, money and effort. None of us was in the mood for a melodramatic finale, least of all me.

  It was only a short drive home, but it felt endless. As we reached the house, I was half expecting to see Jade standing on the driveway. I had to stop myself sighing with relief when I realised she wasn’t there. Tom unlocked the front door and ushered us in. I took a last glance outside before closing it firmly behind us, drawing the bolt across and attaching the security chain. The immediate crisis had been averted. I was safe, but it was only temporary.

  It was impossible to sleep. I kept my phone on silent, tucked under my pillow. While Tom snored contentedly beside me, I tossed and turned, taking the phone out every few minutes to check. The tables had turned and now I was the one anxious for a reply. Were we going to meet in the morning or not? I needed to know. As the hours wore on, I cursed myself for my cowardice. This was all my fault; I should have replied to her first email immediately. Instead I’d made her feel insecure and desperate, and when people were desperate, they did stupid things. I was sure she hadn’t wanted to accost me in front of my family, but I’d given her no choice. She’d won the battle. I’d agreed to meet her now, so why wasn’t she answering?

  Then, a few minutes after four a.m., her message pinged into my inbox. Just one word: OK.

  Chapter Ten

  Erin

  August 1994

  My punishment has been served and I’m no longer grounded. Mum and Dad believe I’ve learned my lesson and am enjoying the remainder of the holidays with Asha and Holly, swimming or playing tennis at the local leisure centre. In fact, I’m spending every possible moment hanging out with Dean and his mates.

  We’re in Hoyden Park – it’s not a proper park, more a piece of scrubby wasteland in between two blocks of council flats. The swings are broken and the patchy grass is littered with broken glass, cigarette stubs, dried dog shit, even the odd hypodermic syringe. Kids are told to steer well clear, it’s not safe. This is where the grown-ups come to play. This is our territory.

  We spend hours and hours here every day, lying under the trees, passing around bottles of cheap cider, fags and the odd joint. There’s no conversation, just joshing remarks and the occasional spiky exchange as Dean’s followers jockey for position. I rarely say anything; it’s not my role. I am the king’s pet. My job is to sit at his side and let him touch me up whenever he feels the urge. He strokes my thigh, shoves his hand inside my bra and plays with my nipple, every so often pulling me on top of him for a long, breathless snog.

  They call me Posh Girl, or Posh for short. I’m not posh, actually, I just don’t speak Estuary. My parents are Irish, which is probably why I never picked up the local accent. Dad works in insurance and we live in a semi-detached house on the better side of town, but not in the most expensive part, where executive homes hide behind metal gates, frightened of being burgled by people like my new, dangerous friends.

  The boys are arguing about football. I lie back on the worn grass, take a long swig of cider and consider my new life. It’s so different, so extraordinary, I can’t believe I’m living it. It’s as if I’m acting in a film about a nice fourteen-year-old girl from a good family who gets in with a dodgy crowd and goes off the rails. I’m not sure how the story ends, although I have a vague idea it might be a tragedy. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s not real – I can walk off the set and change out of my costume at any time. This is just a game, a summer activity. A way to get at my parents; to shock Asha and impress Holly.

  Every day is the same, and yet for some strange reason this particular one feels different. It will stay with me for a long time before I realise its significance, and will return time and time again for years to come, relived in brilliant technicolour detail. I will dream of it at night and snatches will spring unbidden into my head during the day, disturbing my thoughts while I’m hoovering, or washing my hair, or waiting for a train. But I don’t know that right now – I’m just living from one moment to the next. I tell myself I’m having an amazing time, but in reality I’m bored out of my brain.

  The conversation has moved on from the best England goalies and seems to have become more personal. The boys are needling Dean over something, making cryptic remarks I don’t understand.

  ‘You’re gonna be in big trouble if she finds out,’ Gary says. My ears instantly prick up.

  Dean shoots him a warning look. ‘That’s not gonna happen, though, is it?’

  ‘If who finds out?’ I ask.

  ‘His mum!’ Mark lets out a guffaw and everyone else joins in, like he’s just made the funniest joke in the world.

  Dean glowers. He nods in my direction and gestures at me to stand up.

  ‘Come with me, princess,’ he says, taking my hand. We pick our way over broken beer bottles and the charred remains of a small bonfire, retreating behind a row of bushes. The earth is dry and stony, sprinkled with dead leaves from last autumn, squashed beer cans, old plastic bags, bottle tops, empty sandwich packets, you name it. It smells of human piss and fox poo.

  Dean props me against the perimeter fence and lifts up my skirt. He likes to do it standing up, I don’t know why. Don’t care either. There’s no tenderness involved; not a whiff of romance or even affection. I don’t feel any kind of sexual excitement; just slight discomfort as he pounds into me, swearing loudly as he reaches orgasm. I’m only fourteen, I’ve no idea what lovemaking is, no understanding of my own sexual desire. This rough assault is all I know. I don’t enjoy the act, but I like the status it gives me.

  When we emerge, Dean’s face is red and sweaty, and he’s smirking like he’s just scored a goal. His mates give him a slow handclap and he performs a mock bow. It doesn’t bother him that I’m under the age of consent – he likes it. I am low-hanging fruit, all the tastier for being forbidden.

  We rejoin the group and I snatch back my bottle of booze from Mark, downing as much as I can in one go. The back of my throat burns, the alcohol sings in my head. My thighs feel sticky and bruised. Dean won’t wear a condom – I haven’t even suggested it, knowing he’ll laugh or even dump me on the spot. I’m taking a risk almost every day, but I have neither the strength nor – curiously – the will to stop it. The part of my brain where actions meet consequences isn’t functioning properly. I know this but I can’t seem to do anything to fix the problem. I think it’s because I’m spending most of my time pissed up to the eyeballs.

  Now Dean and Mark are arguing about which pub to go to this evening, and it’s getting quite heated. Our gang has been banned from the Craven Arms for starting a fight, so we need a new hangout.

  I collapse on the ground and look up at the sky, making drunken sh
apes out of clouds. Spikes of dry grass press through my skimpy top, irritating my skin. My knickers are stuck to me and I smell of sex. I think about wandering over to the toilets to wash myself, but the place is disgusting and I’m not sure the taps work. The sun burns warmly through my closed eyelids and I feel myself spinning around and around, as if I’m at the fairground, sloshing about in a giant cup of booze.

  Inside me, a tiny spark of life has ignited, but right at this moment, I’m unaware of it. I’m so wrapped up in Dean, I don’t even notice that my period is late. I know nothing about the signs of pregnancy; it’s never even occurred to me to wonder what they might be. I experience a strange metallic taste in my mouth, but it goes away after a couple of days so I think no more of it. The feelings of nausea I put down to alcohol and the exhaustion to staying up all night. My tender breasts are simply growing pains. Maybe, on some deep, instinctive level, my body knows what’s happening, but my brain’s refusing to accept it. I’m still acting in my fantasy movie, believing I can terminate my contract whenever I fancy.

  I have no idea how wrong I am.

  Chapter Eleven

  Erin

  March 2020

  ‘Sorry, darling, I’ve got to pop into the office this morning,’ I said, bringing Tom a cup of tea at eight a.m.

  He struggled onto his elbows, blinking at me blearily. ‘It’s Saturday.’

  ‘I know, but it’s an emergency.’

  ‘You seem to be having a lot of emergencies lately,’ he remarked, taking the mug from me. ‘Last night it was your mum, now it’s work.’

  ‘Yeah, just my luck.’

  ‘What’s the problem? You didn’t mention it last night. Nor did Hilary.’

  ‘It’s just … um … a financial thing.’

  ‘What sort of financial thing? I am a shareholder, you know.’

  ‘I was exaggerating,’ I blustered. ‘It’s not that serious. Budgets, that’s all. I’ve just been lying awake worrying about stuff. I think I might as well go and sort it out, then I can relax over the weekend.’

  ‘Okay, guess that makes sense.’ He sipped cautiously at the hot tea, then put the mug on the bedside table and lay down again. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t win last night,’ he said. ‘You were robbed.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’m fine about it. Who wants to be Woman of the Year anyway? It’s a ridiculous title.’

  ‘You’ll always be my Woman of the Year, every year,’ he smiled, which only made me feel worse.

  I had a quick breakfast then left the house, giving myself plenty of time to get to the Coffee Cup. It was on the other side of town, far enough away not to bump into friends. I parked in the station car park and made my way over to the café. I was half an hour early, but even so, I took a quick look around before walking up to the counter, thinking she might already be there. She wasn’t.

  Ordering a flat white, I sat at a table by the window, where I could get a good view of all the passers-by. I wanted to try and spot her in advance, to see if I could recognise my own child. Every time I saw a young woman, my heart rate increased. A few of them entered the café, but most just strolled past, oblivious to my stares. I could feel the emotion building inside me, rising through my stomach into my throat.

  Ten o’clock came and went. She was ten minutes late, then fifteen, then twenty. I ordered a second coffee, even though the caffeine was making me feel dizzy. Where was she? It was like being stood up by a date – a mixture of disappointment and indignation. I didn’t like feeling so out of control, but I knew I had to stick it out a while longer. Just in case.

  My thoughts started to wander into uncomfortable places. As the minutes ticked by, I found myself back in the dark pool of the past, swimming away from present safety, getting further and further out of my depth. I kept thinking about how badly I’d been treated by Dean and what a disgusting shit he’d been. If my daughter asked about her father, I didn’t know what I was going to say.

  ‘Are you Erin?’ I looked up, my brain struggling to put itself in gear. A young woman was standing in front of me, wearing ripped jeans and a leather bomber jacket. ‘It’s me,’ she said.

  ‘Jade,’ I gasped. ‘Sorry, I was … Oh God …’ My body started to shake but I forced myself to stand.

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ she said. ‘Can I call you Mum?’

  I nodded, and she flung herself on me, wrapping her arms around my ribcage in a crushing embrace. I held her too, and we stood there not saying a word for about a minute.

  Eventually, feeling breathless, I pulled gently away. ‘You okay? Shall we sit down?’ I lowered myself into the chair. Jade took the seat opposite me and leant across the table, grabbing my hands. Her nails were painted blue and yellow on alternate fingers.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, blinking back tears. ‘You’re my mum. My actual mum.’

  I stared at her face, searching for a point of contact – a feature I could recognise. We both had brown eyes, although hers were lighter, more hazel. Her mousy hair was streaked blonde and scraped back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing so much make-up it looked like a mask – thickly painted eyebrows, crimson lipstick, false black eyelashes – but beneath it I could make out Dean’s features. His snub nose, his square jaw. Even the shape of her ears reminded me of him.

  It was unnerving; not what I’d been expecting. In my imaginings, she’d always taken after me, never her father. I didn’t like it.

  She caught me staring and laughed nervously, revealing crooked front teeth. I smiled as I remembered that Oli had also had uneven teeth until two years of wearing braces had straightened them out. Were her eyes a similar shade to Chloe’s? Did they share the same willowy physique? I was desperate to find a genetic connection between my three children, a spark that would ignite the flame of maternal love, but to my shame, I wasn’t feeling it.

  ‘I can’t believe this is for real, can you?’ she said, taking away her hands and resting them nervously in her lap.

  ‘No, it’s very strange.’

  ‘Mind-blowing.’

  ‘Um … would you like a coffee? Or tea? I think they do hot chocolate.’

  ‘I’m good, thanks. Sorry I’m late – trains was all messed up. Engineering works or something.’

  ‘Of course. I didn’t think, should have checked. We have a lot of problems at weekends,’ I burbled. ‘So … er … have you come far?’

  ‘From London.’ I waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t.

  ‘That’s where you live, yes?’

  ‘That’s right. Sorry, I should have texted to say I was delayed.’

  ‘I thought you’d got cold feet,’ I admitted.

  ‘No way! Been dreaming about this day for years.’ She put her head on one side and smiled. ‘You’re beautiful, just like I knew you would be.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’m forty, for God’s sake.’

  ‘You don’t look it.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I laughed. ‘And thanks for the birthday card, by the way.’

  She paused, then said, ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘It was a bit of a shock, to be honest. And I’m really, really sorry I never replied to your email. I kept meaning to but I couldn’t think of the right thing to say. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to. It was just … difficult.’

  She nodded. ‘We don’t need to bother with emails any more. We can just talk, right?’

  ‘Yes.’ I looked down at the table. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to … I never expected … I thought you wouldn’t want to know.’

  ‘Everyone wants to know,’ she said. ‘It’s the most important thing. When you’ve been brought up in care, nothing else comes even close. You want to know who you are and where you’re from and why you were given up—’

  ‘I couldn’t keep you,’ I cut in. ‘I really wanted to but it was out of the question. I was only fifteen when you were born. My parents were very upset about the whole thing. We didn’t get on, they weren’t prepared to support me and I … I wasn�
��t in a fit state, I couldn’t look after you by myself. The authorities wouldn’t have let me, anyway.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what it said on the reports.’

  ‘I had no choice, Jade. But I knew it was the right thing; I really believed you’d have a better life without me. I had no idea your adoption wouldn’t work out.’ I leant forward. ‘I feel terrible about that. What happened?’

  She shifted in her chair. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Too painful.’

  ‘Of course, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘It’s all right. It’s about the future now, not the past.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I smiled. There was a long pause. I stirred my now cold coffee and tried to steer the conversation into safer waters. ‘So … how on earth did you manage to find me?’

  She immediately looked more comfortable. ‘Well, I’d thought about tracking you down for years, but I was too scared in case you didn’t want me. Then I thought, no, you’ve got to try, because you never know. I googled you but nothing came up, but then I thought you’d probably got married so I sent off for your wedding certificate and the rest was easy.’ She grinned proudly. ‘I know your husband is called Thomas and you own all these nurseries—’

  ‘Just one, actually,’ I interrupted.

  ‘And I’ve got a brother and sister.’ Half-brother and sister, I corrected silently. She gave me another flash of those crooked teeth. ‘Can’t wait to meet them.’

  ‘Yes … well …’

  ‘I bet they’re excited about having a big sister.’

  ‘Um … the thing is, Jade …’ I began. My mouth dried as I searched for the right words. ‘I’m afraid … they don’t know about you.’

  She raised her heavily painted eyebrows. ‘What?’

  ‘My husband doesn’t know either.’

  There was a stunned silence, then she looked at me accusingly. ‘So what am I? Your dirty secret?’