by Jess Ryder
After a few weeks my head of year gets in touch with my parents about my absences and lack of progress. They’re shocked and extremely embarrassed. ‘How could you do this to me?’ my mother cries, as if it’s all about her. She doesn’t ask why I’ve been bunking off or where I’ve been going, or if anything’s wrong – her only concern is my grades. Up to now, I’ve been an A student, destined for great things. She likes to boast about me to her sisters, none of whom have academic children. If I fail my exams, I will make her look a fool.
I accuse her of not caring about me and she says I’ve let her down. We have a terrible shouting match and she slaps me around the face. My father, who keeps quiet for most of the argument, decrees that I’m not allowed out for the foreseeable future. As if that’s going to make any difference.
Staying at home seems intolerable, impossible. I have to get out. I consider going to Holly or Asha’s house, but I know their parents will just send me home. That evening, I pack a small bag and run away, heading straight for Dean’s flat. He doesn’t like people visiting because of his mother, but I can’t think of anywhere else. I’ve only been there a few times – it’s a real dump, but anything seems better than being at home with people who don’t love me.
‘You can’t stay here,’ he says when I knock on his door and tell him I’ve been thrown out. ‘There’s no room.’
‘Can’t I sleep with you?’
‘Not a chance. Anyway, my mum’s ill, she can’t cope with guests.’
‘But I’ve got nowhere else to go.’ He shrugs like that means nothing to him. ‘What did I do wrong?’ I gaze at him pathetically. ‘I don’t understand. Why did you dump me?’
‘I didn’t dump you,’ he says. ‘We were never together in the first place.’
‘That’s not true. I was your girlfriend!’
‘Oh no. You’ve got the wrong idea there.’ He pushes the door towards me.
I put my foot in the way. ‘You can’t let me sleep on the streets! I’m … I’m pregnant.’
The words just vomit themselves out of my mouth. It shocks me to hear them. This is the first time I’ve admitted the awful truth to myself, let alone anyone else. But Dean barely blinks.
‘Didn’t you hear?’ I say. ‘I’m having your baby. You’ve got to look after me now.’
‘Nothing to do with me,’ he says coolly. ‘You’re such a slag, how do you even know whose it is?’
‘That’s so unfair,’ I wail. ‘I’ve never slept with anyone else except you. It’s your baby; a paternity test will prove it. And I’m only fourteen. You could be done for rape.’
Big mistake.
He pushes me out of the doorway and shoves me against the outside wall. ‘You tricked me, bitch, told me you was sixteen.’
‘You knew the truth,’ I splutter. ‘You’ve always known.’
‘You tell the filth I’m the dad and you’ll pay the price,’ he says, jutting his chin at my face. ‘Something very nasty will happen to you and your family, do you understand? Don’t think I won’t do it, ’cos I will. I know where you live, remember? Now piss off back to Mummy and Daddy and get rid of it before it’s too late.’
Chapter Fifteen
Erin
March 2020
A week had passed since my second meeting with Jade but I was still in shock. I kept going over our conversations, trying to work out exactly how things had gone so horribly wrong. It was true that the encounters had been awkward, but surely that was normal? We were virtually strangers; it was going to take a while to adjust to each other. It had been embarrassing to admit that she was a secret, but I’d thought I’d made it clear it didn’t mean I was ashamed of her, or that I didn’t want us to have a relationship. All I’d asked for was a bit of time to prepare the ground at home. I thought she’d understood, but the next time I saw her she was a different person – hard, bitter, full of spite. It was as if she hated me.
I accepted that she had genuine reasons for being angry; that she might feel jealous of the stable and comfortable upbringing I’d given to her siblings. I felt guilty about that. I’d wanted to make it up to her – emotionally and practically. I would have happily given her money if she’d needed it; she wouldn’t have had to ask.
But now she’d crossed a line – threatening to contact Oli and Chloe, to make trouble for my business via social media. I was devastated. How could my own daughter think it was a good idea to try to blackmail me?
So far, she hadn’t been in touch again, which was a relief in one way, but also worrying. What was she up to? I constantly checked my phone for emails and messages. Every time the landline rang at home, I leapt to answer it first, afraid it was her. I scanned social media platforms several times a day, looking for bad comments. At work, I kept going to the window to see if she was lurking outside with the parents. My heart was in my mouth as I drove home, dreading that she might be waiting for me on the doorstep. Or that she might already be inside, sitting at the kitchen table, talking to my kids.
Over the next few days, I composed several emails to her, none of which I sent. I thought about phoning, but her number was withheld. That made me really suspicious. I started to wonder whether she’d planned to blackmail me all along; whether her tears and hugs and protestations of love had been an act. Was that why our meetings had felt so awkward? It was true that I hadn’t experienced the rush of instant maternal love I’d been expecting or hoping for, but I’d put that down to the highly emotional circumstances. Perhaps I’d detected her fakery on some deep, subconscious level? No, that couldn’t be the case.
I was doubting everything, swinging from one extreme to another. Sometimes I felt angry, then desperately sorry for her. At other times, I blamed myself. If I hadn’t kept her existence a secret, none of this would have happened. I even wondered whether I’d completely misunderstood. Maybe she hadn’t been offended. Maybe she was genuinely in financial trouble and had been asking clumsily for my help. The only thing I was sure about was that she would contact me again. But how should I respond?
Holly and Asha would know what to do, I decided. I texted them both, asking for an emergency get-together.
* * *
Two days later, I took a train to London and headed for a hotel bar oddly located on the top floor of an office block on Regent Street. It was our favourite haunt, the perfect stopover after shopping expeditions or for pre-show drinks. Hardly anyone seemed to know it existed. The decor was old-fashioned and tired-looking but the views over the West End were amazing and there was always a free table by the window. Over the years, the three of us had spent countless hours there, celebrating our friendship but also supporting each other. Tears of sadness and tears of joy. We never brought our partners along – it was our special place.
I was fifteen minutes early, but they were already waiting for me. They both got to their feet the instant they saw me and Holly rushed forward to give me the first hug.
‘Erin! Oh God, I’m so pleased to see you,’ she whispered into my hair.
‘Me too.’ I squeezed her back.
Asha kissed me on the cheek. ‘You okay?’ she said. ‘Ever since I got your text, I’ve been really worried.’
They sat back down and I took the tub chair opposite. They’d already ordered their usual bottle of Chardonnay and a bowl of olives. I beckoned the waiter over and we sat in silent suspense until he brought my Diet Coke. Once he’d stopped fussing with white paper coasters and left, we all took a deep breath.
‘So what’s going on?’ asked Holly. ‘Sounds like the shit has spectacularly hit the fan.’
‘Hmm, yes and no. So much has happened, I don’t know where to start.’
‘But you’ve met her, yes?’ I nodded and Holly put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my God! What was it like?’
‘Weird. The first meeting was very emotional, for both of us. She was sweet, quite needy. She was upset that I hadn’t told my family. It was hard, but we got through it.’
‘It must have been crazy
. Does she look like you? Have you got a photo?’ Such a typical Holly question.
‘No. I didn’t want it on my phone. She doesn’t really look like me, more like her father, I think, though I can’t really remember what he looked like; it’s so long ago now and I’ve tried to put him out of my head. But there’s something about her manner …’ I took a sip of my drink. ‘I don’t know, it brings the past flooding back. I can’t stop thinking about it, about him—’
Asha interrupted impatiently. ‘I want to know about Tom and the kids. How did they take the news?’ I hesitated and she understood immediately. ‘Erin! Please don’t say you haven’t told them yet. Are you mad?’
‘I can’t do it. I’ve tried, loads of times, but it’s just impossible. You know what Tom’s like. He sees everything in black and white, doesn’t do greys.’
Holly popped an olive into her mouth. ‘He was just the same at university. Either he thought someone was the best thing since sliced bread or he took against them – sometimes for no real reason. It goes way back to his childhood. He hates his father and adores his mother – doesn’t understand more complex feelings.’
‘Yes, well that’s all very Freudian,’ interjected Asha. ‘But the fact is, Erin’s been lying to him for years and he doesn’t deserve it.’ Holly looked at her reprovingly. ‘Sorry, I’m just keeping it real here.’
‘And I’m saying I know Tom pretty well and I understand why Erin’s nervous.’
‘There’s no need to argue about it,’ I said. ‘The fact is I haven’t told him yet and now I’m wishing I had because I’m in an even worse mess.’
‘What do you mean?’ Holly asked, reaching for her glass.
I told them about my second meeting with Jade. They both looked really shocked.
‘Seriously? She actually said that if you gave her ten thousand pounds she would, like, vanish into thin air?’ Holly whistled. ‘God, that’s not good. That’s really dodgy.’
‘I know, but …’ I found myself rationalising wildly. ‘To be fair, she’s had a hard life. She’s in a lot of debt, been mixing with some bad people or something … This is her chance to make a new start. I’d like to help her. I kind of feel like I owe her.’
‘I can’t believe this has happened,’ said Asha. ‘Her behaviour is – well, it’s unspeakable.’ Her face was etched with anxiety; she looked like she was about to cry.
‘What do you think I should do?’ I searched their expressions for clues. ‘Do you think I should give her the money?’
‘No way, you’d be making yourself very vulnerable,’ said Holly. ‘This is blackmail, simple as. You should probably go to the police.’
‘Oh no, I don’t want to do that.’
‘Tell Tom,’ said Asha. ‘Then she hasn’t got any hold over you.’
‘Yup, there’s no other choice,’ Holly agreed.
I sighed. ‘I suppose I knew that’s what you’d say.’
I took a sip of my Coke, coughing as it met the tears that were forming at the back of my nose. The half-drunk bottle of wine was on the table in front of me. I could barely remember what alcohol tasted like, and yet I had a sudden urge to pick it up and pour it down my throat.
* * *
I assured Holly and Asha that I was going to tell Tom the moment I got home that night, but of course I didn’t. It was late and he was already asleep. We both had work the next day and couldn’t afford to stay up all night talking. But those were just excuses.
On the journey home, I’d come up with an alternative option. Even if I confessed all to Tom, the fragile relationship with Jade was already broken and I couldn’t see how we could ever fix it. Nor did I believe she genuinely wanted to be part of my family – because if she did, she was going about it in a very strange way. She’d found me because she had a score to settle. It was compensation she wanted, not love. And who could blame her?
All things considered, wouldn’t it be easier and less traumatic if I just gave her the money and we drew a line under the whole sorry business? Then Tom would never need to know.
I crept into bed and snuggled up close, listening to his gentle snores, feeling the warmth of him against my cold body. I couldn’t risk losing him. I loved him too much to let him go.
* * *
It was almost as if Jade could read my mind, because she texted me the following day from her withheld number. She didn’t mention the money, but the meaning was obvious. I told her I would need a few days to organise myself, and we agreed to meet in a café near Liverpool Street station. I assumed it was close to where she lived and that she didn’t fancy walking around London with such a large amount of cash.
I couldn’t take the money out of our long-term-access savings account, and there wasn’t enough in our current account. Besides, Tom would notice. The only choice was to borrow it from the business and pay it back in dribs and drabs. It was my money, when all was said and done. Hilary might have something to say about it, but if I withdrew the sum from the emergency account, which usually just sat there unused, hopefully she wouldn’t notice.
We met later that week. I didn’t want to carry the cash on the Tube, so I drove down and parked in a multistorey. Even walking the few hundred yards to the café terrified me. My bag was zipped up and strapped across my chest and I clutched it fiercely, all the time looking around for would-be muggers. I felt clammy and sick with nerves. Was I being a complete fool, or was I doing the right thing? Or the least-worst thing? I didn’t know any more – I’d lost all sense of judgement. It seemed that no matter what I did, somebody was going to suffer.
I didn’t spot her at first. She was sitting at the back, tucked into a gloomy corner, her dark clothes camouflaging her against the brown laminate walls. On time for once, I noted. Early, in fact. Gripping my bag ever tighter, I threaded my way between the tables.
There was a lot of clattering going on behind the counter, the whirr and slam of the coffee machine, shouted orders to the kitchen, music playing through a crackling speaker. Groups of men were huddled together eating massive cooked breakfasts, drinking coffee and talking in languages I couldn’t understand. She’d chosen the venue well. It was ideal for fading anonymously into the background, or for doing something you didn’t want anyone else to see.
‘Hi,’ she said, halfway through eating a bacon sandwich.
I sat down. It was stiflingly hot but I didn’t want to undo my coat.
‘If you want a coffee, you have to order at the counter.’
‘I’m good, thanks,’ I said.
There was a pause while I watched her finish her breakfast. She plucked a serviette from the container and wiped her greasy fingers. ‘Thanks for coming all this way. It’s good to see you again.’
‘Hmm …’ I’d already had enough of this. Making sure nobody was looking, I unzipped my bag. This time it was me passing a thick brown envelope across the table. ‘I could only get fifties,’ I whispered. ‘I raised a few eyebrows in the bank as it was.’
‘No problem,’ she said, tearing open the seal and peering inside. ‘Wow. Never seen so much cash before.’
‘Shh!’ I looked around nervously. ‘For God’s sake, don’t count it here.’
‘I know, I’m not stupid!’ She put the envelope into a plastic carrier and trapped it between her thighs. ‘Thanks. This will help, massive like.’
We sat in awkward silence for a minute or so. Was this going to be the last time I saw her? I wondered. Our relationship had come to an end so quickly. I knew virtually nothing about her.
‘So, Jade,’ I said finally. ‘Now that that horrible bit’s over, tell me about yourself. I don’t even know your full name.’
She hesitated, then said, ‘Robinson. Jade Elizabeth Robinson.’
I had a feeling it was a lie, but what was I supposed to do? Demand to see her passport?
‘Okay … And where do you live?’
‘Shoreditch. I share a flat with my boyfriend.’
‘I see. Not far from here, then. Whe
re do you work?’
Another telltale pause. ‘I’m in between jobs right now.’
‘Okay. And what do you do normally?’
‘Just waitressing and stuff.’
‘I’m sure you’ll pick something up soon. I’m always seeing vacancies for people with experience,’ I replied, waffling horribly.
‘Yeah.’ She drained her mug of tea and started to get up. ‘Sorry, gotta go now. It’s been good meeting you. Finally.’
‘Yes, you too.’ I reached out and grabbed her hand. ‘I mean that, I really do. I’m sorry if I upset you, you know. I never meant to. I do care about you, and I’m very happy to help you out. I don’t think of it as blackmail, I—’
‘Blackmail?’ she echoed, releasing herself from my grasp. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing, nothing,’ I faltered.
She lifted up the bag and shook it. ‘This is a gift, right?’
‘Er … yes … yes. Sorry, I didn’t—’
‘Good. I’m glad we’ve sorted that out. See you, Erin.’ She shrugged on her coat and made her way out of the café.
It was only later, when I was sitting in my car, sobbing, that I realised she hadn’t called me Mum.