The Lost Sister

by Tracy Buchanan

  ‘I have no idea how Oceane is,’ Donna said, face tense. ‘She ran away not long after the accident in the cave.’

  ‘Is she okay?’ Idris asked, frowning.

  ‘She’s fine, sends me postcards. She’s travelling with a friend. I have to accept she’s eighteen now, I can’t watch her every move. You look after yourself, okay?’ She took one last look at my stomach, worry flickering on her face, then she walked back to her date.

  I returned to the cave in low spirits. The way Donna had looked at me, with such concern, had filled me with worry. She clearly thought my child wasn’t in safe hands.

  My mood seemed to be reflected back at the cave as Caden lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a gloomy look on his face, a bottle of wine half-finished beside him. Nearby, Maggie and Julien sat quietly at the table, staring sombrely into their teas.

  ‘Cheer up everyone,’ Idris said as we walked inside.

  ‘What’s there to cheer up about?’ Caden slurred. ‘I can’t play my guitar and this place isn’t like it used to be.’

  ‘Then write some songs until your arm heals.’

  ‘Writer’s block,’ Caden said with a sigh.

  ‘Writer’s block, in this place? Selma’s finished her novel, you know! What’s stopping you writing a song, Caden?’

  I looked at him sharply. I hadn’t wanted to tell everyone yet.

  ‘Her first one took her five years,’ he continued, pouring himself some wine. ‘And yet she wrote this one in a matter of months. It’s proof that this place,’ he said, looking around him in awe, ‘can make all of us achieve our dreams.’

  He’d been like this the past couple of months. The deeper I sank into darkness, the more he tried to battle his way out of his own darkness with a peppiness that was beginning to annoy me. Any time I mentioned resuming our search for a flat in town, he’d bang on about Spain. When I said we had no money, he said we’d find a way to make money.

  It was driving me mad, especially as I got heavier and more uncomfortable. I found myself stuck in this numb, still place where every time I tried to think about what would happen when the baby came – hell, what would happen as the baby came – I just buried my head deeper into my novel.

  But now the novel was finished and I felt nothing.

  ‘Dreams? What dreams?’ I said, all my frustration suddenly pouring out. ‘I’m heavily pregnant with a child who could be taken away from us the moment it’s born, and another child who doesn’t want to see me!’ I pulled the draft of my novel out from my bag, waving it in the air. ‘Who knows if the novel’s any good either? It’ll probably get rejected by my agent, more heartache, more hopelessness. And then what do I have?’

  Everyone looked at me in shock. They’d been so used to me being the one to pump them up with enthusiasm. But all the fight was out of me now, the dual disappointments of Becky moving away and Julien’s Spanish dreams bursting too much.

  ‘What do you mean, what do you have?’ Idris asked. ‘You have me, our child.’

  I looked at Idris. Love – yes, we had love. But how much of it was real? I’d fallen in love with a version of Idris I now knew wasn’t true. No enigmatic rock star with millions. Just a street artist without two pennies to rub together. And he’d fallen in love with a lie too. All my lies about my book sales, the way I presented myself when inside I was an insecure mess. Our relationship was built on fabrication after fabrication.

  And that look in Donna’s eyes, the pity … the worry for my unborn child.

  I scraped my chair up and got up, walking out of the cave. I approached the crackling fire outside and stared into it, trying to find some answers. But none came.

  ‘Selma, come on,’ Idris said, following me. ‘You told me yourself not to give up on the dream, to stop with the self-pity. You’re been so down the past couple of months.’

  ‘This isn’t about self-pity,’ I said. ‘We had a chance then. But now it’s all just turned to ashes.’

  I flicked through the pages of my notepad and stared at it. For so long, I’d dreamed of completing my second novel. And now here it was, heavy in my hands, but I felt nothing. It reminded me of when Becky was born. The excitement and anticipation in the run-up compared to how it felt when I held her in my arms. Numbness. Confusion. Darkness.

  ‘Selma,’ Idris said, voice filled with concern. ‘What’s wrong?’

  I turned to look at him over my shoulder, at his beautiful green eyes filled with concern.

  He knew, just as Mike had known, when the darkness descended upon me.

  ‘Everything,’ I whispered.

  Then I threw my novel into the flames, watching as the words I’d slaved over curled in the fire and turned to ash.

  ‘No!’ Idris shouted out, shoving me out of the way so he could retrieve the pages from the fire, flinching in pain as the flames bit at his fingertips.

  ‘It’s no use,’ I shouted. ‘It’s all over.’

  As I said that, I felt my tummy tighten in pain, wetness between my legs. I looked down as waves of pain spread up my back.

  ‘Idris,’ I said. He continued scrabbling for my novel. ‘Idris!’

  He turned to me, scraps of burnt paper in his hands.

  ‘The baby’s coming,’ I whispered.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Selma

  Kent, UK

  13 April 1992

  Maggie ran outside as I screamed out.

  ‘Is it happening?’ she asked, a panicked look on her face.

  ‘Yes, help me get her in,’ Idris replied.

  They both helped me inside the cave then Maggie ran to her bed, grappling for the midwifery book she’d been reading, knocking a glass to the ground in the process. She put her glasses on then ran to where I was lying.

  ‘Have the contractions started?’ she asked, face white with worry.

  ‘Of course they bloody have,’ I hissed.

  ‘Right,’ Maggie said, flicking through the book with trembling fingers. ‘You’ve caught me on the hop being two weeks early and all. But that’s fine, we can do this!’

  ‘It could be hours, couldn’t it?’ Idris asked.

  ‘Yep,’ Maggie said as Julien and Caden hovered in the background. ‘Sometimes. I mean, I had a quick labour with my first. That’s unusual though, I think. I hope,’ she added under her breath.

  Idris frowned as he rubbed my belly.

  ‘What do we do?’ he asked.

  ‘Keep her comfortable. Julien, can you boil a kettle and get some towels? Blimey, I sound like I’m in Gone with the Wind or something.’ She laughed hysterically then her laughter trailed off, replaced by another look of fear.

  Idris stood up, pacing up and down, raking his fingers through his long hair. ‘I need some air,’ he said, stopping abruptly. ‘I’ll – I’ll just be outside.’ He gave me a quick kiss then jogged outside.

  ‘Where’s he going?’ I asked, struggling to sit up.

  Maggie gave me a reassuring smile. ‘Men can be like that.’

  ‘He’s scared,’ I said.

  ‘Only natural,’ Julien shouted over.

  ‘Not of the birth,’ I said. ‘But of what will happen after, when people find out.’ I swallowed. ‘When social services find out.’

  Maggie squeezed my hand. ‘It’ll be fine, they won’t.’

  Over the next twenty minutes, Maggie fussed over me as my contractions started in full earnest.

  ‘Where the fuck is Idris?’ I hissed as I pushed Maggie’s hand away from my forehead, trying to find his silhouette in the darkness outside. I leaned back as another contraction ripped through me. ‘I need some pain relief, now!’

  ‘We don’t have anything,’ Maggie said, voice panicked. ‘I – I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘This is hopeless,’ I cried. ‘All so bloody hopeless. What have I done? What have I done?’ I let out a low guttural scream as more contractions took over. Maggie helped me get on all fours, and I hung my head down as I breathed in and out.


  ‘Focus on something else other than the pain. One of Idris’s paintings!’ she said, lifting my skirt.

  I looked at the painting Idris had done of our child.

  Then I noticed the eyes had been scratched out. Who would do that?

  His stepmother.

  The thought disappeared as quickly as it came as another contraction hit me.

  ‘Please,’ I panted. ‘Please help me. God help me.’ Tears slid down my cheeks and suddenly I thought of Becky’s birth when I’d had Mike’s hand on my back, words of support whispered in my ear in the warmth of a hospital room. I’d told him to shut up but now I yearned for him, for Becky, for the stable, secure life I once had. It was as though I were on a flimsy ship with a torn sail and rotting wood, violently bobbing on a sea raging with storms.

  As my contractions blended into one and I felt my baby start to slide down, the primal truth of the moment took over. I saw the situation with complete clarity; the mistakes I’d made, the lies I’d told myself and others. Lies I thought I’d put a stop to and yet one, the biggest one of all, remained: I couldn’t give birth to a child in this cave, despite telling myself I could. And I couldn’t bring another child into this world, just as my mother had warned me.

  ‘You’re useless, Selma,’ she’d once hissed at me. ‘God help any child you have.’

  I let out a scream as my body took over, pain so intense at the core of me, it took the strength from my knees, making me collapse against Maggie.

  Maggie started sobbing. ‘I have no idea what to do, Julien.’

  As Caden sat on his bed, blinking, Julien paced up and down, reading the book on midwifery. Then he paused, staring at the entrance to the cave.

  ‘Donna!’

  In my pain and confusion, I followed his gaze to see Donna rushing over, Idris behind her.

  ‘I’m here now,’ Donna said as she clutched onto my hand. ‘I’m here.’

  The next few hours passed in a blur, with Julien and Maggie pacing up and down as Caden continued watching from his bed, biting his nails. Idris kept right beside me, whispering in my ear, giving me sips of water.

  Then Donna’s voice. ‘The baby’s coming.’

  Stretching. Tearing. A sharp slice of pain. And then relief, a loud cry and I collapsed against Idris.

  I looked down as my baby girl nuzzled at my nipple, her blue eyes so like Becky’s, her dark hair like mine, soft and fluffy. She had Idris’s nose though, and his beautiful cheekbones. I could see that already.

  Donna went to take the baby from me but I resisted, panic flooding through me.

  ‘Just want to check her over,’ she said in a soothing voice. ‘And let her daddy have a cuddle too,’ she added, smiling at Idris.

  But I continued clutching my child to my chest. ‘Not until you tell me what you did.’

  She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You went to prison for hurting a minor.’

  Julien and Caden looked over in shock. We hadn’t told them what had been revealed in court, if it was indeed Donna.

  She took a deep shuddery breath. ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘Tell me!’ I shouted.

  ‘Selma …’ Idris said in a low voice.

  ‘We’re trusting this woman with our newborn, Idris. So I need to know what happened.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Donna said. ‘Oceane was ten. She was getting bullied. I went into school to talk to her teacher about it. When I came out, she was being held up against the wall by her neck by a girl several years older than her.’ Her jaw clenched. ‘I ran up, grabbed the girl, twisted her arm behind her back. Her arm broke. I – I used too much force.’

  ‘You were protecting your child,’ Idris said.

  Donna nodded. ‘And now so are you,’ she said softly to me. ‘I get it. We’d do anything for our children, wouldn’t we? We’d do anything to protect them from those who hurt them. But I won’t hurt your baby, Selma, trust me.’

  I looked into her eyes then I relaxed. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered, sinking back against the mattress. ‘I’m just so tired.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Donna said, putting her hands out again.

  I hesitated a moment then handed my daughter over, my eyes never leaving Donna as she carried the baby towards a light to check her over.

  ‘She’s perfect,’ Donna said after, smiling. ‘I don’t have any scales but feels like a seven-pounder to me, nice and healthy. You ready, Daddy?’ Donna asked, holding the baby out to Idris.

  Idris looked nervous at first, but when he reached out and his daughter was placed in his arms, I could see by the expression on his face he regarded her as a true miracle.

  ‘She is perfect,’ he said.

  ‘Do you have a name?’ Maggie asked as she walked over.

  Idris looked back at me. ‘I’d like us to call her Catherine, after my mother.’

  I nodded. ‘Catherine. That’s perfect.’

  The next few days blurred into a long stream of night-time feeds and exhausted daytimes. Donna was living back at the cave now with Tom, keeping a close eye on me and Catherine. She kept telling me I needed to nap when the baby did, but I found it impossible, barely getting any sleep each day, my exhaustion making me irritable with everyone.

  It didn’t help that each time the gates clanged open, my head would dart up, fear social services were paying an unexpected visit almost paralysing me. We’d kept the secret so far, but how long would that last?

  Catherine seemed to notice my nervousness, growing more and more grouchy as the days went by. People offered to look after her for a couple of hours to let me get some rest. Even Julien hovered nearby, making me nervous, especially that dog of his being too close. I wanted to shout at them all: ‘She’s mine, for God’s sake, leave her alone.’ I was even tense when Idris held Catherine – what if he dropped her? He wasn’t used to babies, I could see it in the awkward way he held her, and my hands itched to have my daughter back.

  When Donna and I were alone one day, she pulled up a chair. ‘How you doing?’ she asked me, exploring my face.

  ‘Wonderful,’ I replied, trying to rock Catherine to sleep as she squirmed against me.

  ‘How much sleep are you getting?’

  I laughed. ‘Sleep? What’s that?’

  ‘Are you napping when Catherine is, like I suggested?’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ I lied.

  Donna paused a moment. ‘You mentioned being worried about social services turning up. Is that still something that plays on your mind? Idris said you’ve been checking the gate quite a lot, even suggesting installing cameras to keep a watch on the beach outside?’

  ‘It’s only natural, isn’t it?’ I said, staring into my daughter’s scrunched-up red face. ‘To want to protect my daughter?’

  ‘Of course but … I just want to make sure it’s not more than that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Donna reached into her pocket and placed an A3 leaflet on the table. Post-natal depression, it read. You are not alone.

  ‘I don’t have PND, for God’s sake!’ I shoved the leaflet away, but not before I saw the checklist of symptoms listed on the front page: Feeling sad and weepy. Feeling no enjoyment in life. Feeling you can’t cope. Of course there’d been times I felt that way; didn’t any new mother? But not to the extent Donna seemed to think.

  I peered at Idris who was standing on the beach. What had he been saying about me to Donna?

  ‘I’ll leave it here, okay?’ Donna said softly. ‘Just so you can give it a read. And I’m always here if you need me. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, shrugging. Truth was, I was starting to get annoyed with Donna’s constant presence and the worried way she watched me. I also didn’t like the way she watched Idris. It wasn’t like before, that look of adoration. There was something else mixed in with it.

  When Donna left, I strode outside to Idris. ‘What have you been saying to Donna?’

  ‘What do you mean?’
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br />   ‘She thinks I have post-natal depression. You do realise she’ll get onto social services if she continues to think that.’

  ‘Selma,’ Idris said, a hint of irritation in his voice, ‘you need to stop going on about social services.’

  ‘Are you kidding me? They are the biggest threat to us right now. They could take Catherine away just like that,’ I said, clicking my fingers. ‘Or what if Donna wants to take her away? I still find it weird how she came back despite what happened to Tom … and what went on between you and her daughter.’

  Idris’s face tensed. ‘That’s a ridiculous thing to say, Selma. Why would Donna want to take our child away?’

  ‘Revenge?’

  He sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. ‘Why are you acting like this?’

  ‘Acting like what?’

  He sighed. ‘Paranoid. Uptight. It worries me.’

  ‘You’re worried I’m not doing a good job?’

  He pulled me close and stroked my hair as he looked down at our baby. ‘Of course not! You’re doing an amazing job.’

  On the other side of the cave, Donna watched us. I turned away, pulling my daughter even closer to my chest.

  Later that night, when everyone was sleeping, I crept to a small hole at the back of the cave with Catherine sleeping in my arms. Oceane once kept some books in there but it was empty now she was gone. I placed a soft blanket inside then laid Catherine in there.

  ‘Perfect fit,’ I whispered.

  I looked over my shoulder to check nobody was watching, then hung another blanket from the branches of a plant above. It completely covered the hole … and my daughter. If social services came to take her away, if anyone came, this would be where I’d put Catherine. I hadn’t quite figured out what to do to stop her crying if it came to that – maybe there was a harmless sedative I could find? But at least it was a plan. I wouldn’t let anyone take my daughter from me!

  I picked her up and took her back to bed with me. As I lay staring at the ceiling, I noticed two eyes blinking at me from the darkness.

  It was Donna, always watching.