The Girl You Gave Away: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller

by Jess Ryder

  ‘Only the hostel, so we’re at a dead end, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I don’t understand it. She’s got to be living somewhere.’

  ‘Our guys are searching the locality. They know all the places to look. If Jade and Chloe are sleeping rough, they’ll find them.’ She signed off, assuring me she’d be in touch as soon as there was news.

  I was stunned. Learning difficulties? Jade hadn’t come across as having anything wrong with her. It was true that I’d found her a little odd, but I’d put it down to shyness and the stress of the situation. And what were these minor convictions? Stealing? Drug-dealing? Could they even involve violence? The police were obviously concerned about Chloe’s safety. It wasn’t just me catastrophising – our daughter was potentially in danger.

  Tom was expecting an update, but I knew that as soon as I mentioned that Jade was known to the police, he’d hit the roof and there’d be an enormous row. If anything happened to Chloe, he’d blame me. And he’d be right – it would be my fault, every bit of it. But now was not the time to throw blame around. I could sit here feeling sorry for myself, or I could act.

  I paced around the kitchen, racking my brains to recall any snippet of information Jade had given me about herself. She’d been very reluctant to part with any details, and I wasn’t sure that the little she had told me had been the truth. But there must be something … Then I remembered that she’d said her parents were lawyers. Given that she’d been brought up in London, it seemed likely that they worked there. Suddenly inspired, I fired up my laptop and started searching for lawyers by the name of Fernsby.

  I couldn’t find a woman with that surname, but a quick online search found a Stephen Fernsby, who worked for a large partnership based in Bloomsbury. From his photo on the website, he looked about the right age to be Jade’s adoptive father. As there were no other candidates, I decided to work on the assumption that I’d got my man.

  There was no point contacting him by email or phone; we needed to talk face to face, as Jade’s fellow parents. I wanted to know more about her disability and how it affected her behaviour. He was bound to know where she was living, and I was sure that once I’d explained the problem, he’d be keen to help. That was the theory, anyway. My hopes were based on shaky foundations, but I had nothing else to cling to.

  Despite not wanting Chloe to come home to an empty house, I left an optimistic note on the kitchen table telling her how much I loved her and how glad I was that she was back, then drove to the station and caught the train into central London.

  It was lunchtime by now and the carriage was almost empty. I was dog tired from staying up all night and almost fell asleep as the engine thundered along the tracks. My phone rang – Tom again.

  ‘Any news from the police?’

  I held my hand over the receiver so that none of my fellow passengers could hear. ‘No luck so far with finding a current address for Jade. But they’ve got officers out searching for them.’ I ducked out of telling him the whole story.

  ‘I should think so too,’ he replied. ‘Where are you? You sound like you’re on a train.’

  ‘I’ve found someone who might be Jade’s adoptive father. He works in Bloomsbury; I’m on my way to see him. If he’s the right person, hopefully he can tell me where she’s living.’

  ‘I’ll join you there.’

  ‘I’d rather do this by myself.’

  ‘No Erin, I—’

  The train shot into a tunnel and the line went dead. Maybe it was just as well, I thought, deciding not to ring him back.

  * * *

  Stephen Fernsby’s legal firm was based on the fourth floor of a large modern block overlooking an attractive London square a few hundred yards from the British Museum. I rang the entry bell and persuaded the receptionist to let me in.

  ‘Mr Fernsby is at lunch,’ I was told. ‘Can you tell me what this is about?’

  ‘It’s a personal matter, concerning his daughter Jade.’ Her face instantly darkened and I knew immediately that I’d found the right person.

  ‘Oh, I see. And you are?’

  ‘My name’s Erin Whitesteed … He’ll know of me by my maiden name, Coughlin. I’m Jade’s birth mother.’

  She looked shocked. ‘Oh. I see. Right. Um … I’ll, er … let him know you’re here.’ She left her desk and hurried through a security door.

  Jade’s father emerged a couple of minutes later. He shook my hand cordially enough, but I could see the concern in his eyes.

  ‘Let’s find somewhere private,’ he said, leading me through a warren of narrow corridors. He opened the door to a small, windowless meeting room. Most of the space was taken up by a large oval table and eight chairs. Motioning me to one of them, he sat down opposite me. I felt nervous, as if I was about to be interrogated.

  ‘I can see you’re Jade’s birth mother,’ he said. ‘You look a lot like her, or rather, she looks like you.’

  ‘I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, only—’

  ‘What’s happened? Has something gone wrong?’

  ‘I don’t think so … I mean, I hope not. I’m trying to find out where she lives.’

  He looked confused. ‘Jade? But she lives with you and your family.’

  ‘What? No, she doesn’t.’

  He groaned. ‘Oh God … I had a feeling it was too good to be true. The bedroom you’d kept specially for her, the swimming pool …?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I suppose there was no big welcoming party either. No relatives bearing gifts?’

  I shook my head and quickly filled him in on the events leading up to last night and Chloe’s disappearance. He looked increasingly alarmed, especially when I told him about the blackmail.

  ‘The police told me Jade has learning difficulties,’ I said. ‘I’m worried about her. I think someone might be manipulating her.’

  He sighed. ‘Yes, well, it wouldn’t be the first time. She has very poor judgement, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Do you know of any friends she could be staying with?’

  ‘No, she’s a bit of a loner. She struggles with empathy and her behaviour’s very erratic and unpredictable – she falls out with people a lot. She can’t help it, but it doesn’t make for lasting friendships, as you can imagine.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her, if you don’t mind my asking?’

  He looked surprised. ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh … really? She didn’t tell you?’

  ‘No. I don’t know anything about it. The police mentioned it.’

  Stephen put his head in his hands. ‘I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this,’ he said after a few moments.

  ‘What do you mean? For God’s sake, what is it?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘Jade has foetal alcohol syndrome.’

  I froze. ‘What’s that exactly?’

  ‘It’s when a foetus suffers developmental damage in the womb due to the mother’s alcohol and drug abuse.’

  I felt my world crushing in on me, heaving and cracking, imploding. ‘Oh my God …’

  He watched my reaction for a few moments, then said, ‘Would you like a glass of water?’

  ‘No … no, please, just tell me … everything.’

  He drew a breath. ‘Well, we didn’t notice anything at first. Jade seemed like a normal little girl. She had temper tantrums and found it hard to concentrate on things, and she was a bit slow walking and learning to talk, but we put it down to her being adopted …’ He paused, reflecting. ‘We put everything down to the adoption – we thought we were inadequate, that she couldn’t love us because we weren’t her real parents. We tried our best, believe me. We love Jade very, very much. But things got worse once she went to school, and we had to accept that something was wrong. My wife fought like a tiger to get the help Jade needed – it took years to get a diagnosis. Even then, you can’t be a hundred per cent sure. But the evidence was there in the adoption file. You drank and abuse
d drugs throughout your pregnancy.’

  Tears were rolling down my cheeks; my vision was so blurred I could hardly see his face. I nodded. ‘I was very young,’ I whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to … I was just stupid and ignorant. I never meant to hurt her. I loved her, I wanted to keep her, but …’

  ‘Yes, we know,’ he said gently. ‘We’ve always tried very hard not to blame you, but Jade hasn’t found it so easy. For years she wanted nothing to do with you, always said she hated your guts and if she ever saw you she would …’ He stopped himself. ‘I won’t go into it. All I’ll say is we were very surprised when she told us the two of you had found each other and it was working out. We thought it was a really good thing. It’s been very hard for Jade to come to terms with what you did to her, and we thought that if she could forgive you, that would be a big step.’

  ‘But she hasn’t forgiven me, has she?’ I said slowly, as the truth dawned on me, inch by terrifying inch. ‘She still hates me. All this has been a plot to get her revenge.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, no, definitely not. Jade’s not capable of that kind of sophisticated planning. She can barely organise herself to get through the day. She acts on impulse. Her emotional age is much younger than her …’

  But I was no longer listening properly. Chloe’s confusing behaviour in the last twenty-four hours was starting to make sense. ‘Jade must have told her,’ I said, almost to myself. ‘That’s why she ran away. I understand now, I completely get it. Chloe thinks I’m a monster.’

  There was nothing more to say. Stephen promised to try to get hold of Jade and I gave him my number so he could call me. I was covered in shame, desperate to get away from him, to get out of the building and go home.

  Somehow I managed to find my way back to the station. A train arrived almost immediately and I stumbled into a seat. As I watched the urban jungle give way to neat suburbia, something snapped inside. A part of myself I’d kept chained up for years had suddenly been released, and there would be no holding it back. I knew precisely what I was going to do as soon as I got home, before I’d even taken off my coat or kicked off my shoes. I could already taste the poison in my mouth.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Jade

  May 2020

  Jade feels strange and unreal. It’s as if an alien has taken over her body and is making her do bad things. She doesn’t like this person – she’s scared of what she might do next.

  It’s early evening. She draws the curtains and switches on the local news to see if there’s an item about Chloe being missing. The media usually make more fuss if the girl is white, middle-class and has long blonde hair, but surprisingly, there’s no mention of her. No mug shots of herself either: ‘Jade Fernsby, aged twenty-five, wanted in connection with the disappearance of …’ Instead, the focus is on some fresh stabbings in south London and the premiere of a new action movie.

  She’s relieved, and yet also disappointed. Why is nobody interested? Hasn’t Erin even called the police yet? There’s a mad alien woman in a tower block holding her sister against her will. If somebody doesn’t stop her, there could be a nasty tragedy. That would hit the news for sure, might even make it to the nationals.

  Her phone goes off and Jade jumps, although she knows by the special ringtone who is calling her. It’s Daddy. What does he want? He hardly ever calls her himself; usually all communication is via Mummy. She stares at the pulsating circle in the centre of the screen, debating which way to swipe. In the end, her curiosity gets the better of her and she answers.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Hi, Jade … how are you doing?’ There’s a frilly edge to his voice; he sounds unusually nervous.

  ‘I’m good, thanks,’ she says warily.

  ‘Great … Um … I had a visit today at work …’ A long pause. ‘From your birth mum.’ She feels the contents of her stomach suddenly dissolving. ‘She’s looking for you.’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘Yes … Apparently, her other daughter has run away. Is she with you?’

  ‘No. Don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  There is a long, weary sigh on the other end of the line. ‘Where are you, Jade? We know you’ve not been staying with Erin.’ She doesn’t respond. ‘We’re worried about you. What’s going on? Where are you living?’

  Questions, questions, that’s all it’s been since she left home. Where are you? Who are you with? What are you doing? How are you off for money? When are you coming to see us? When’s your next appointment? Are you taking your medication? How are you feeling?

  ‘Jade, please, say something … Is your sister with you? Tell me you’re looking after her properly … Jade … is everything okay?’

  No, everything is not okay, not by a long chalk. Right now, Chloe is trapped in the bedroom, ankles and wrists bound with extra-wide silver tape and an old scarf of Mia’s tied across her mouth to stop her screaming.

  ‘I don’t know anything about Chloe,’ she says. ‘If she ran away, that’s her lookout.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ he persists. ‘Only your birth mum seemed very certain she was with you.’

  ‘If you want to believe her over me, that’s fine.’

  Another one of those sighs wafts out of the phone and hangs in the air like a wet fog of disappointment. ‘Look, Jade … we know you’re up to something. You lied to us about living at your birth mum’s, you lie to us about everything, all the time. Come back home, please. If you’re in trouble, we can help. We’ll sort this out together.’

  ‘There’s nothing to sort out,’ she protests. ‘I’m fine. Actually, I’m living with my new boyfriend. He’s like really minted, and he’s got this cool flat in—’

  ‘Stop playing games, Jade, this is too import—’

  ‘Sorry, he’s just come in, gotta go. Bye.’ She ends the call and immediately powers off the phone.

  Shit! Shit, shit, shit. Now that bitch Erin has turned Daddy against her. They’re working together in an evil gang of parents. Come back home, please. As if she would ever fall into that trap. They’re just as much liars as she is. If she turns up at Westmoreland Mansions, the police will already be there waiting to arrest her.

  She screws up her fists and lets her nails dig into her flesh. What’s she going to do? Kidnapping Chloe was never part of the plan; it was her birth mum she wanted to hurt, not her little sister. She loves her. And Oliver for that matter. She was thrilled when she found out she had two half-siblings. Two halves make a whole. Perfect. She had such hopes for the three of them, such sweet fantasies of fun nights out, picnics in the park, presents around the Christmas tree, games on the beach … She dreamt of the smiling photos she would post on Insta, the hilarious videos of them goofing around … All of that has turned to dust. She’s ruined it, like she ruins everything.

  She knows she ought to go into the bedroom right now and release her sister. Poor kid, she must be terrified. Perhaps if she explains that she can’t help it, that sometimes she just does stupid things without thinking about the consequences, that it’s because her brain doesn’t work properly, Chloe will forgive her. If she gets down on her hands and knees and begs for forgiveness, pleads with her not to rat on her to the cops …

  But what if Chloe refuses to forgive her, what then? If she’s convicted and sent to prison, she won’t survive more than a few days.

  There is another alternative, of course.

  She slides open the glass doors and steps onto the balcony, shivering as a blast of cold evening air whips across her face. It’s dark now. The London sky glows orange with light pollution. Traffic hums in the distance; she can hear beeps and ambulance sirens, even the odd voice shouting. Eleven floors below her, tiny monochrome figures scurry along the paths that connect the tower blocks, carrying shopping, pushing buggies, hurrying home after a day’s work. Why can’t she be one of those normal people?

  She feels so lonely, so separate. It’s been like this for many years now, almost as long as she can remember. Who would c
are if she was no longer around? Her parents would be upset, but only because they’d consider they’d failed; they wouldn’t actively miss her. Quite the opposite – they’d feel relieved. And her birth mum would get over it too. Jade would be doing everyone a favour if she just ended it. Herself most of all.

  She steps forward and leans over the edge. It’s a long way down, looks even further in the darkness, like leaping into a bottomless black pit. She remembers reading that your life flashes before you when you jump from a great height, although how anyone could possibly know, she can’t imagine. There’s no chance of surviving to tell the tale. But say it’s true: does she really want to spend her last seconds reliving all the failures of her twenty-five years on earth? No ta very much. It’s enough to make her withdraw into the lounge and close the doors.

  * * *

  That night, Jade has a strange, lonely dream in which she’s walking along a beach looking for something she never finds. There’s a great expanse of sea and an empty horizon, no boats bobbing on the water and not a single seagull squawking in the sky.

  When she wakes, she hopes that some miracle has taken place and everything has gone back to normal. But sadly, that’s not the case. Chloe is still imprisoned in the bedroom. Jade sighs as she heaves herself off the sofa, rubbing the small of her back and whispering the opening strains of that Cher song about turning back time.

  Last night, her sister was pathetically compliant. She ate her toast and drank her tea and used the bathroom without closing the door. She said thank you when Jade tore off the tape and meekly presented her wrists to be bound again when all the chores were complete.

  ‘Please don’t kill me,’ she begged. ‘Let me go and I promise I won’t tell anyone about this.’

  Jade was sorely tempted, but TV crime drama told her that people only say such things to get released. Then as soon as they’re free, they go straight to the police and the kidnapper is caught – often shot dead due to some error or misunderstanding. She doesn’t want to risk such a thing happening in real life.