by Graham West
As Josie was leaving, she smiled slowly. “Don’t worry about us—you know—making love.”
I looked at her quizzically.
“I mean, don’t start beating yourself up over it—you’ve got enough on your plate without feeling guilty. Lou and I…are okay…it’s not what you think.”
“Meaning?”
“I’ll tell you sometime…when things settle down.”
Josie climbed behind the wheel of her car and waved, but Jenny was on my mind. I remember walking back into the lounge and catching sight of a picture of her on the bookshelf. My stomach tightened and lurched. I was looking at Benjamin Pascoe’s little girl. Jo was right. I had nothing to lose.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sleep brought with it a certain peace, and I drifted off for an hour or so in front of the TV while watching a rerun of a house makeover programme. I dreaded seeing Jenny, wondering how she was going to react to the news. I remembered seeing a photo of Benjamin Pascoe in the local paper, the day after he had taken his own life, and thought how he had looked like a young Marlon Brando. It was a blessing that Jenny looked like her mother everyone told us so, and I guess she did. It was all in the eyes.
I opened the fridge door, recoiling at the cold draught. I’d not bothered to stock up properly for some time, and the very thought of food turned my stomach, so I took a swig from a can of cola and wandered out into the fresh air, telling myself that Benjamin Pascoe had been nothing more than a sperm donor. It didn’t work. Jenny was his, and I couldn’t get past the fact.
My mind raced as I drove over to see Victoria. There had been no point in calling first. I was willing to take a chance on her being at home. Something told me she didn’t step out much these days, and by the time I arrived on her doorstep, Darren’s face was imprinted in my mind.
Victoria glared at me for several seconds. I held the letter up and waved it in front of her face. “Okay, Victoria, let’s have the truth.”
I could have been a serial killer—maybe Jason from those insufferable Friday the 13th movies. Victoria recoiled. “You… Who gave you—”
“Jenny’s grandmother gave this to me, Mrs. Pascoe. But you know that, don’t you.”
“Why are you here?”
“To find out what else you know.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“That’s bullshit!
Victoria looked as though I’d just taken a swing at her.
“Listen, you could keep me here, standing on your doorstep, while you explain how your son just happened to end up on my road behind the wheel of a four-wheel drive, or we could go inside and…”
Victoria stepped aside looking dazed. I walked past her and waited, pushing the envelope into my inside pocket.
“I know you probably hate me, but to be honest, I don’t really give a shit, so perhaps it will be easier if we remain civil, at least.”
She didn’t answer, and I followed her into a room that was as cold as the reception. I shuddered as Victoria glared at me. “I can’t afford this house, Mr. Adams. Benjamin had cancelled our life insurance, and my company didn’t take kindly to the publicity surrounding Darren. It reflected badly on me, and they were looking to lay people off anyway. I gave them a perfect excuse.”
“You’ve lost your job.”
Victoria nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I bet you are!”
I had been ready for a fight but she had disarmed me so effortlessly. “I don’t wish you any ill, Mrs. Pascoe. None of this has been your fault. I just want to know what happened.”
“What? So you can go to the police with a murder charge and get Darren locked up for another ten years?”
“I’m not going to the police.”
Victoria frowned. “You expect me to believe that?”
“I mean it. I can’t prove it wasn’t an accident. Just tell me the truth.”
I thought she was going to cry, and a part of me wanted to embrace her. I’d not seen a more pathetic, vulnerable woman in a long while.
“I know that Darren was devastated when his father walked out, and I know he got into bad company. He found out about Elizabeth. He knew that his father had a child with another woman.” Victoria sighed, pressing her head into her hands, her elbows digging deep into her knees. “I never knew about Jenny for fifteen years,” she said looking up, her face pale and drawn. “Then I found that letter. I went berserk—really. I totally lost it! I always knew that Benjamin was a charmer, but I trusted him. I trusted him totally—he was a professional.”
“How did you find the letter?”
“I didn’t. Darren found it at Nana Pascoe’s—that’s what he called Ellen. It was at the bottom of one of the drawers—don’t ask me what he was rooting for. When your life falls apart you don’t ask questions like that.”
Victoria clasped her hands tightly, as if she were quite literally holding on. “Darren was distraught, of course. He didn’t tell me about the letter—not at first—but he couldn’t even look at his father. I just knew it had something to do with another woman.
“Darren couldn’t hold it in…all that hatred and disappointment. He threw the letter at me and ran out of the house. I didn’t see him till late that night.”
“It must have come as a shock. I mean, to find your husband has a teenage daughter.”
Victoria winced, as if she was hearing the truth for the first time. “It was as if he had a secret life. I asked him if he was seeing her—supporting her, you know, buying her presents and that kind of thing.”
“He wasn’t,” I replied sharply.
“I know, but I couldn’t live with it. Some women could. Benjamin moved out, and Darren just fell apart.” Victoria shook her head. “He became a different boy. He started getting into fights at school. I couldn’t get through to him—he just sat in his bedroom every night playing video games—it was awful. Of course, initially he poured all his venom upon his father but then things began to change.”
Victoria shifted awkwardly. “He started to talk about…your wife.”
“Saying what?”
“He said that he wanted to kill that bitch.”
I suppressed a sudden surge of anger that rose within me. “Well, he did, didn’t he?”
Victoria looked away. “He didn’t set out to kill her—he just wanted to frighten her—it was Taylor’s idea. He was a nasty little fucker. I’d gladly strangle him with my bare hands!”
“What do you mean, frighten?”
“He had a photograph of your wife, from some event in the local paper…Elizabeth and Jenny Adams. I think it was a guitar recital at a school concert or something like that. Anyway, when they hijacked that car, Taylor had traced the face to an address and suggested that they drive by and brick your window…that was it. Two pissed kids were going to lob a brick and drive off.”
“So what happened?”
“They were revving at the bottom of your street and Darren saw the ice cream van. He told me that he started driving slowly—he knew there would be kids around, so they just cruised. Then Darren saw your wife step out behind the van. He recognised her, and I think he panicked and somehow lost control. He put his foot on the gas and…”
I stared at this woman. She was trying to make a victim out of her son.
“He wouldn’t have tried to kill a toddler—he wouldn’t, you have to believe me!”
“But he aimed a fucking four-wheel drive at her, didn’t he! He aimed at them—a mother and child! I can’t believe you’re trying to make excuses for him!”
“He didn’t aim! It wasn’t murder,” Victoria protested, her eyes filling with tears “It wasn’t!”
“Yeah, right. And you believe your son—okay, I get that. You’ll believe what you want to believe, because getting your son back as soon as possible is all that matters. Well, guess what, Victoria, I’ll never have Hanna back. I’ll never have Elizabeth back.”
I stood, towering over the woman who seemed to
cower as if my words were fists raining down on her. Victoria looked down at her hands, still resting on her lap—still firmly clasped.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked meekly.
I shrugged.
“You’re going to tell the police?”
“What would be the point?”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, please don’t. I’m not doing it for you or Darren.”
I walked over to the window and stared out. The late-afternoon sun cast long shadows across the houses as uniformed teenagers walked in small groups, chatting and laughing loudly. “I’m doing this for Elizabeth, for Hanna…”
“I know. I understand that,” Victoria said weakly. “If I could change anything—anything—then you have to believe me, I would.”
“But you can’t, can you?” I said, continuing to gaze out at the school kids, wishing Hanna would have followed in their footsteps. “It wasn’t your fault. As much as I hate Darren—and your husband—I cannot blame you.”
“I could have handled it differently,” she answered.
“How?”
“I should have tried harder. I could have saved our marriage—tried to work things out—but I just couldn’t get my head round the fact that my husband had a teenage daughter to another woman. I shut Benjamin out of my life until it became impossible for him to stay. I let him go and lost Darren in the process.”
I turned. Victoria was still staring down at her hands. “You couldn’t have known how badly he would react.”
“But that’s it! I should have known. Darren idolised his father. Our relationship was always uneasy after Benjamin left, and I lost control. He wanted to go and stay with him but that just wasn’t possible. Then he wanted to go and stay with my sister. He would have lived anywhere but with me.”
“You have a sister?”
“Yes, three years younger. She and her husband ran a farm down in Devon. My God, Darren used to love it, you know, helping with the animals, up to his neck in mud. He would spend four weeks of the summer down there. He even learned to ride horses. I think he would have been quite happy to spend his life with those animals.”
“So why didn’t you let him stay with them?”
“Because he wanted us to move there and his father wanted to make a fresh start—the three of us. My sister had a barn on their land which we could have converted. Benjamin was talking about joining a local practice—you know, fewer hours, more quality time together. I persuaded my sister to discourage him. It was my fault—I was selfish…I was just thinking about my own career.” Victoria began to sob. “And now I have nothing—nothing to live for—nothing and no one!”
I had asked for honesty, but I didn’t want to break a woman who had, beneath the frosty exterior, always blamed herself for everything that had happened to me.
“Look,” I said softly. “If I hadn’t been such a bastard—if I hadn’t had an affair—then my wife would have never needed to seek therapy in the first place…”
Victoria dabbed her eyes. “Ifs and buts. Benjamin was a professional who abused his position. Your wife was vulnerable.” She looked up at me, “If you had not had that affair, or if Benjamin hadn’t met your wife, you would not have Jenny. Your life would have taken a different direction. You probably wouldn’t have had Hanna, either. You could have never known what your actions would lead to.”
Victoria looked back down at her hands. “I knew that my son would not be able to cope with a broken home. I could smell trouble, and if I had found it in my heart to forgive, or if I’d allowed Darren to stay with his aunt on the farm…you would still have your wife and Hanna, and you would never have found out the truth about Jenny.”
We talked about actions and consequences, about the butterfly effect and our innate helplessness. I left Victoria Pascoe at her door that afternoon waving briefly as I climbed into my car. She smiled, yet her eyes betrayed her. Something inside told me I would never see the woman again.
***
On my way home, I had pulled over and called Josie from my mobile. She had listened intently as I repeated word for word the conversation I’d had with Victoria Pascoe. I’m not sure if Jo knew how she was supposed to react. Was it appropriate to sound pleased that I’d discovered the truth?
“Are you going to tell Jenny tonight?”
I’d already decided against it. “I’m going to make an appointment with that woman at the hospital—the one who’s on her case. She’ll know how to approach the whole thing. Besides, they need to know that the woman in Jenny’s head actually exists—I’m going to enjoy that bit!”
Josie laughed. “Don’t go sounding too triumphant, Rob. Just remember, you want to get her out of that place—not end up in the next bed!”
I wanted to bring Jenny home, more than anything else. In my heart, nothing had changed. I knew the truth, yet she would always be the girl I’d watched as she grew up—always the girl who ran into my arms as I walked through the door. Jennifer Adams could never lose her place in my life, but she was Benjamin Pascoe’s child—it was a biological fact. Yet she’d never known him, never loved or cried for him, never listened as he read her the tales from Alice in Wonderland until her eyes began to flicker and close.
I feared that the knowledge might tear us apart. I dreaded seeing that distant look in her eyes. Would she find something in her own heart for the man she had never known? Would she grieve his death? I imagined her sitting with Ellen, listening as the old woman regaled her with stories of her son while flicking through old photographs. Would those visits become more and more frequent? Would Jenny long for her grandmother’s company? Would Ellen be the link that allowed my precious girl to reach out and touch her father’s memory?
I tried to push the thoughts from my mind, driving through another spell of heavy evening rain, pulling my collar up as I ran across the car park towards the hospital entrance. My mind was already playing tricks. By the time I stopped outside Jenny’s door, I could almost hear Ellen Pascoe’s voice. And did I tell you about the time your father…
No! Really? Oh how sweet…and he’s so handsome…not like Robert. Do you think I have his eyes, Nana? Do you?
I burst in, convinced I’d find my daughter with the old lady. Hi, Mr. Adams. Nan was just telling me about my dad…
Jenny looked up, slightly surprised by my enthusiastic entrance.
“You’re alone!” I said, breathing hard.
“Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?”
I hugged her so hard that she thought I was drunk and tried to push me away. “You’ll have to stop doing this, Dad, really!”
“Doing what?”
“Drinking! It’s not helping.”
“Hey, not a lip has passed my drops!” I joked and breathed hard in her face. “See?”
Jenny grinned. “Okay,” she said cautiously. “But you’re behaving kind of…weird.”
“Maybe I’m just happy to see my beautiful daughter.”
I imagined Josie cringing in the background, and my father shaking his head in disbelief. I sat down, counted to five, and clawed back my sanity. “Anyway, how are you?”
Jenny smiled. It was the old smile I remembered. The one I had not seen since that day our lives were changed forever.
***
Twenty-four hours later, I found myself sitting opposite Dr. Grace in her new office overlooking the hospital grounds. The desk was cluttered with papers that left me wondering if I’d been catapulted back into the age when Bill Gates was just a twinkle in his father’s eye. Dr. Grace smiled, trying to find a place to stand her cup. “I must get round to sorting this out. I’m afraid I have a bit of a reputation for a lack of organisation.” She looked up. “Are you sure I can’t get you a drink?”
I shook my head. My nervousness was unfounded but it was impossible to relax even in a chair that was so comfortable it almost sucked you into a state of unconsciousness.
“Well, let’s see,” she said, punching something into her PC. “
Jenny’s been…yes…we’re pleased with her progress.” She turned away from the screen that shed an unflattering blue cast across her features. “The nightmares have stopped, as you probably know. Also, the voices.”
I took a deep breath. “There’s something you need to know…”
Dr. Grace lifted her cup and replaced it without taking a sip.
“The thing is,” I began awkwardly, “there have been some developments…those voices…the woman in the dreams…We traced her. She existed.”
The doctor’s eyes widened.
“It was through the church—the one that Jenny…you know…”
Dr. Grace nodded. “Jenny told us about Reverend Allington. I know you were following a lead, and she was quite excited that you might have been close to proving the existence of this Amelia woman.”
“It’s a complicated story,” I said, wishing I’d taken up the offer of a drink as I took her back to the beginning—the phone call from the minister and those first letters I discovered in his attic. The story unfolded easily, yet it felt as if I was trying to convince a complete stranger that I’d been abducted by aliens. My palms sweated and my throat felt like sandpaper as I finally revealed Jenny’s bloodline.
Dr. Grace studied me silently as I admitted how my affair with the travelling hairdresser had sent Elizabeth falling headlong into the arms of Benjamin Pascoe. I didn’t know how often they had slept together—it hardly mattered now. Jenny was conceived, Benjamin Pascoe’s daughter, Darren Pascoe’s half sister, Ellen Pascoe’s granddaughter…
If there was an element of doubt that Jenny was not mine—the truth now felt like a knife twisting in my belly. For the first time, I’d told the whole story from beginning to end like a narrator taking his audience with him, and I had been listening to myself, swept along with the tale through to its awful conclusion. It was real. It was unbearable.
“This is…” The doctor paused, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to say, Mr. Adams. I mean, you’ve had such a difficult time…”
She scrawled something on a notepad.
My mobile rang, playing out a jazz riff. I killed it, and Dr. Grace smiled. “I have studied psychology for years, Mr. Adams, and I’m still learning.”