by A. L. Bird
Becky follows Julia into the living room. It smells musky, incensey, but it’s not dingy – there are bold Warhol-style prints on the walls, bright pink throws on the sofas. The walls are lined with books, but also eclectic objects – a silver teapot, a waving Chinese ‘lucky cat’, and what looks like a bong. Julia lives life. Without her, Becky realises sadly. There’s no evidence of another sister or niece-shaped gap here.
‘Right, so, let’s see what I’ve got,’ Julia says. ‘How about Wizard of Oz? Do you like that?’ Julia looks up at Becky. ‘Does she like that?’
Becky can’t bring herself to admit that she doesn’t have any idea what Harriet likes.
‘That’ll be great,’ she says. ‘Thanks, Julia.’
Julia bends down and puts the DVD into the player. She pats the sofa, and Harriet climbs up, wiping her nose on the throw. Julia doesn’t seem to mind, and she ruffles Harriet’s hair.
‘There you go, kiddo. You enjoy that, while me and Becky chat, OK?’
While Dorothy whirls away from the home she loves (‘Shit, I’d forgotten about that bit – do you want me to fast forward?’ Julia asks), Becky and Julia sit close on the other sofa.
‘So, what’s going on?’ Julia asks in a murmur.
‘The woman who’s been looking after her—’ Becky starts.
‘What, the teacher’s wife? Christ, are they still together?’
‘Yes and sort of yes – they’re still married, anyway. She wouldn’t let me see Harriet.’
‘Bitch.’
‘Exactly. She wouldn’t let me see her so—’
‘Wait, Becky, sorry – backtrack. How have you even been? You were ill, when we last spoke. I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch. I was just so angry. My lovely pretty geek of a sister, with so much promise, just thrown away.’
‘I didn’t do the throwing. My drink was spiked.’
‘I guess I just didn’t fully believe that,’ Julia says. She looks embarrassed. ‘And I was furious with you for giving the baby away. It seemed so wrong. It was so wrong.’
‘I didn’t have a choice there either,’ Becky says.
‘Sure you didn’t,’ says Julia, clearly still sceptical.
‘I didn’t,’ Becky says. ‘I was bullied into it, in a way that seemed legitimate. But now I have a choice, and I’m making it. I’ve made it.’
‘I had a choice too,’ Julia says. ‘And I made the wrong one. I should have been there for you. I’m sorry.’
Becky looks at Julia, her gorgeous curly brown hair, her lively green eyes, the usually jovial slim face, now serious. She wants her back in her life.
‘Apology accepted,’ she says, even though the pain will probably linger for ever. They share a quick, tight hug.
‘So, you were ill, I was a shit, you didn’t get to see your child – does that bring us up to date?’ Julia asks.
‘Pretty much,’ Becky says. ‘I got a job teaching in Harriet’s school.’
‘Sneaky. And lucky,’ Julia says.
‘I know, it was a dream come true. Ian helped me with references.’
‘Ian’s the bastard, right?’ Julia asks.
‘Ian’s the father,’ Becky says.
‘Like I said. The bastard. Carry on.’
‘I didn’t mean to do anything; I just wanted to be close to her. But I saw that she wasn’t being looked after properly. I knew we had to be back together, so I tried to make Kirsten—’
‘The wicked witch?’
On the TV, the bright green Wicked Witch of the West is bullying Dorothy.
‘I’d go for something stronger, rhyming with it, but yes, that’s right.’
‘So you arrive like good witch Glinda in your bubble, try to ask for Harriet back …’
‘And they say no. Pretty much. Kirsten got freaked out when she realised I was Harriet’s teacher and also her, you know,’ Becky doesn’t want to say ‘mother’, in case Harriet is listening. It shouldn’t be the way she finds out.
Julia nods.
‘So she was trying to run away with Harriet. I freaked out, and thought I’d never see her again – and yeah, I kind of …’
‘Kidnapped her?’ Julia summarises.
‘Yeah,’ Becky says. ‘But I should have a right.’
Julia shakes her head. ‘Maybe. But it’s not the way to go about it. Look at her, Bex.’
Julia gestures to Harriet. She’s lying on the sofa, sucking her thumb. Her eyes are slowly closing, like Dorothy’s in the poppy field.
‘I know,’ Becky admits. ‘But also – look at her. She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? And she’s mine.’
‘The witch won’t accept it, you know,’ Julia says. ‘You’ll have the police on you. We should be checking the news now, see if there’s anything about you.’ Julia gets out her phone, does a few taps and swipes. ‘I can’t see anything – yet,’ she says. ‘But it can’t be long.’
‘Maybe they won’t go to the police,’ Becky says. ‘They’re both shit-scared of being found out – how Harriet was conceived, how they kept her from me. Ian in particular. It’s game over for their careers, for their income. And the witch is such a career woman.’
‘That’s not a failing, Becky. You know that.’
Becky had forgotten Julia is all set to be something marvellous, career-wise. Last time they spoke, she was working in a lab, testing exciting things in petri dishes. She’s probably halfway to a universal cure for all illness by now.
‘But I want someone to be there to look after my child!’
‘Remember how hard Mum and Dad worked? We hardly saw them.’
‘I figured they thought God was our real dad, so why did we need them,’ Becky jokes.
‘And so we all had our rebellion against Him, like good teenagers.’ Julia laughs.
‘I didn’t cause my rebellion, my friends did,’ Becky says, serious again.
‘Some friends.’ Julia pauses. ‘Some sister. Bex, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’ll make it up to you, OK?’
‘We can stay?’
‘For tonight, yes. But then you need to sort yourself out. Do this properly. We can’t have you in prison when you should be finding some way of having a relationship with …’ She mouths ‘your daughter.’
Becky shakes her head. ‘I can’t go back. Kirsten will run off with her again.’
‘So get social services involved. Get DNA tests done, all that sort of thing. You haven’t got anything to hide.’ Julia narrows her eyes. ‘Have you?’
Becky shakes her head. ‘Of course I haven’t. But you don’t get it. Kirsten’s poisoned everyone against me. The school’s suspended me, thinks I’m a nut job. No one’s going to believe me.’
‘I’ll be there to back you up.’
Becky shakes her head. ‘I can’t take her back there, Julia. Not yet, anyway.’
Becky and Julia both look over at Harriet. She’s fast asleep, knees curled up to her chest.
Julia’s face softens. ‘I can’t believe I’m an auntie to two such lovely little people.’
‘You’re very good at it,’ Becky says, meaning it. ‘Better than I am at being a mother. I couldn’t even get her to stop crying!’
Julia rubs Becky’s leg. ‘Give yourself a break. You’ve had a shit time. I’ve practised on Helen’s daughter. You’ll get there, OK?’
Becky nods. ‘Thanks, sis.’
Julia springs up from the sofa. ‘Right, I’d better carry on getting ready!’
Becky looks at her, amazed. ‘What, you’re still going out?’
‘Hot date, Becky!’ She winces. ‘Look, I know the timing’s shitty. I know we should stay in and catch up over a bottle of wine. But I’ve been waiting since for ever to go out with this guy. Our diaries are both mad. And I really like him. He could be the one.’
‘Like all the other ones?’ Becky asks. She doesn’t know, but she’s guessing.
Julia’s face hardens again. ‘Bex, you can’t just turn up here and insult me. I’ll find you some bedding, you
can kip down here, and we’ll have a lazy breakfast tomorrow, OK? We’ll figure out what you’re going to do. You look knackered, anyway – I bet you’d have one sip of wine and you’d be snoring like your daughter!’
Becky shrugs. Logically, the argument works. But it’s like being abandoned by her big sister all over again. ‘Sure,’ she says. ‘Thanks.’
So Julia brings down the bedding, then (looking stunning, her face fully made up), heads off into the night for her date. ‘Text me if the police come knocking!’ she calls, as she leaves. Maybe that’s it, then, Becky thinks. Maybe Julia doesn’t want to be drawn in to whatever’s happening.
Becky snuggles down on the sofa. She’s taller than it is. The living room curtains let in the street lamps, and don’t entirely shield her from view. She’s not expecting a great night’s sleep. Just as she’s closing her eyes, her phone buzzes into life. Harriet stirs on the other sofa. Please don’t wake up, little one!
Becky grabs her phone. It’s an unknown number. Shit. Someone’s onto her. She cancels the call. A few moments later, her phone rings again. This time, it says Ian. Well, she’s not answering it. It will be the tenth missed call from him today. Surely he should have understood by now? She can’t talk to him. Not just now.
She turns off her phone. It’s just her and Harriet now. As it should be. But she’s not sure the reality is quite what she’d hoped for.
Chapter 43
KIRSTEN
Sunday morning sees Kirsten and Harriet’s headmistress having a coffee in a cold café on Islington’s Upper Street. Kirsten would have invited Mrs McGee to the house – she knows she needs to stay close in case Harriet returns – but the abandoned packing crates and the ‘for sale’ sign would have raised too many questions. And Kirsten needs to be the one who’s in charge of something – given she has no control over Becky.
It feels surreal to be outside at all. She’s been awake all night (how could she possibly sleep?), sitting in Harriet’s room, pointlessly Googling things like ‘Bristol kidnap’. Inputting numbers for the missing persons hotline onto her phone, even 999, but never pressing dial. But she needs somehow to focus on this meeting.
‘As I said on the phone, I’m expecting the school to be fully supportive,’ Kirsten says.
‘We’ll do everything we can to help, of course we will,’ Mrs McGee says. ‘This must be horrible for you. But on behalf of the governors, I do need to make it clear that the school accepts no responsibility whatsoever for—’
‘One of your teachers has kidnapped my daughter,’ Kirsten says. ‘And I’d warned you she was harassing us. I think you’re pretty firmly on the hook.’
‘According to the school’s lawyers—’
Kirsten cuts her off again. What is it with everyone and lawyers? First Clare, now the school. ‘If you’re consulting lawyers, you know you’re in the shit, frankly, Mrs McGee. And unless your lawyers are going to magically find my daughter, I’d suggest the school’s efforts are better placed elsewhere. Is there anyone on the staff she’s particularly close to?’
Mrs McGee shakes her head. ‘I don’t understand why you aren’t involving the police,’ she says. ‘That’s the best way of finding them. The sheer resources the police have available to them. And you know what they say about the first twenty-four hours?’
‘What, the time window when you were on the phone to your lawyers, you mean?’ Kirsten sighs. ‘Look, I understand – completely – what you say about the police. But my husband feels that if Ms Robertson knows the police are involved, she’ll panic and do something stupid. The last thing we want is some great big media campaign.’
‘But she’s mentally unhinged!’ Mrs McGee protests. ‘She might do anything!’
Kirsten grips her coffee cup harder. The red bitten ends of her fingers (the fingernails themselves ran out at about 2 a.m. this morning) become white against the cup. ‘While Ms Robertson is operating under the delusion that she’s Harriet’s mother, I don’t think she’ll harm her. And my husband is following up a lead. You just need to focus on doing what you can. Do you know anyone she would have contacted?’
Mrs McGee shrugs. ‘I just don’t keep tabs on who my staff are chummy with. I’ll make some calls this afternoon – just saying we are concerned about Ms Robertson’s wellbeing, and does anyone know where she might be. See if that winkles anything out.’
‘OK. Good,’ says Kirsten, with more hope than she feels. ‘Keep me posted.’
She checks her phone again, while Mrs McGee gathers her belongings together. Nothing from Ian. Maybe he’s busy calling the landline. She calls his mobile, waving a silent goodbye to Mrs McGee.
‘Yes?’ Ian says when he answers. ‘I’m driving.’
‘Where to?’ Kirsten asks.
‘The sister’s. I’ve found her address in Becky’s stuff.’
Kirsten nods in acknowledgement. For once, Ian has done something right.
‘How long till you get there?’ she asks.
‘About an hour,’ Ian says.
‘Keep me posted,’ Kirsten says.
‘Are we still on the original plan?’ he asks. He means the knife. Making her an accomplice, or accessory, whatever the word is. Maybe she should get lawyers, too.
‘Just do what you need to do,’ she says, her voice hushed. ‘But for God’s sake, don’t let Harriet see anything!’
The line goes dead. Ian’s rung off. Kirsten shivers, putting on her coat. It sounds like all she can do is go home and wait.
Chapter 44
BECKY
So much for catching up over a long breakfast, Becky thinks to herself bitterly, as she opens cupboards trying to find something suitable for Harriet. There’s no noise from upstairs. Becky doesn’t even know if Julia’s up there. The date must have gone really well.
Harriet has refused to budge from the living room. She wet the sofa in the night, something Becky hadn’t anticipated, and despite Becky opening the windows to let the cold fresh air in, Harriet didn’t want to go into another room.
Finally, Becky finds some non-mouldy bread and some cornflakes. The milk fails the sniff test, so the cereal will just have to be extra crunchy.
‘Here we go, sweetie,’ Becky says, handing the breakfast things to Harriet in the living room.
‘Are we going home today?’ Harriet asks.
Becky takes a breath. Maybe this is the moment. It’s not ideal, but then, when will be? She kneels down in front of Harriet, on the floor.
‘Harriet, sweetie, there’s something I have to tell you. It might be a bit of a shock – but your home’s going to be with me from now on.’
Harriet’s lip begins to wobble again. ‘Home is with my mummy! In London!’ she says, snatching her hand away like Becky’s hit it.
‘The thing is, Harriet, darling – the person you think is your mummy isn’t your real mummy. It’s actually me. I’m your mummy.’
Harriet looks at Becky for a moment, then gives a long, guttural wail. ‘You’re not my mummy!’ she shouts.
‘Harriet, sweetie, I know it’s a big piece of news, but—’
‘You’re not my mummy, you’re not my mummy, YOU’RE NOT MY MUMMY!’
Harriet gets down onto the floor and starts screaming. It’s textbook ‘Keeping Safe’ behaviour, which Becky knows from lessons she’s taught at school – it’s exactly what they tell children to do if a stranger tries to take them away.
Becky tries to soothe Harriet, stroking her hair, holding her shoulders, but it just makes Harriet scream louder.
There’s the sound of running feet on the stairs, and Julia appears, wrapping a slinky dressing gown around herself. ‘What’s going on?’ she asks, looking from Becky to Harriet.
‘I tried to explain who I am,’ Becky tells her. ‘It seemed like the right thing to do.’
Julia crouches down in front of Harriet. ‘Shh, it’s OK, it’s OK, kiddo.’
‘She’s not my mummy!’ Harriet whimpers.
‘It sounds to me like yo
u’re the luckiest little girl alive, with two mummies!’ says Julia.
‘I want my other mummy!’ Harriet cries, her voice getting louder again. ‘I want my real mummy!’
‘And that’s fine,’ says Julia. ‘You’ll see your other mummy again soon. Won’t she, Becky?’
Becky sees her big sister’s fierce gaze and feels like she herself is Harriet’s age again. Maybe the time when Becky had drawn on a wall, or pulled the legs off a doll, and Julia would glare and her and say: ‘You’re going to tell Mum it was you, aren’t you?’ Back then, there was no arguing. Now it’s different. It’s Becky’s child they’re talking about. What Becky says, goes.
‘She’s just had a shock, that’s all,’ Becky says. ‘She’ll be fine soon. Once she understands properly.’
Harriet remains sitting on the floor, tear-covered face turning between Becky and Julia.
Julia shakes her head and tightens her lips. ‘This is all wrong, Becky.’ Then, to Harriet: ‘What would you like for breakfast, kiddo?’
‘I’ve already made her breakfast,’ Becky snaps.
‘Ah, but Becky didn’t know about my secret stash of …’ Julia vanishes for a few moments, then returns with a Tupperware box labelled ‘Open only in emergency.’
‘Cheerios!’ she announces proudly. ‘My guilty pleasure. I’m trying to limit myself. They go right to your hips at my age, kiddo – but sometimes I need them on ice cream if a boy’s been mean to me. You can have them for breakfast though!’
Harriet’s face brightens momentarily. ‘Can I have them on ice cream?’ she asks.
‘Well, let’s see – we might be able to achieve—’
‘Julia, come on, don’t be ridiculous, it’s breakfast time,’ Becky admonishes.
Julia gives her another look, as if to say: Seriously? You try to turn her world upside down and now you’re sticking to breakfast rules?
Julia goes into the kitchen, and Harriet follows in pursuit of ice cream.
Julia inspects the freezer. ‘Hmm, seems like we’re fresh out of ice cream. But you know what, if you’re really good, I’m going to throw on some clothes and run to the corner shop to buy you some, OK?’