by Harlem Dae
Marion came along then, bundled up in white winter gear and looking like a snowball. She stood beside her son.
“There’s your answer,” Sutton said.
A tumble of thoughts cascaded through my mind. I’d thought Sutton had, in cold blood, murdered this mother and her big mute son. Genuinely believed it. Imagined him chopping them up with those damn pliers. Feeding them to gators. “But you…I…”
“What?” He frowned.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
He looked at me as though puzzled by the emotions dancing on my face, flooding my eyes, then, “If you want, there could be someone else in place by tonight. If you don’t like Linus and Marion.”
“You? Instead of them?”
“Um, no. My detail is to watch out for you, same as it has been for the past few months. Except now I don’t need to hide.” He stroked my thigh harder.
“No, it’s okay. I’m pleased to see Linus and Marion, actually.” More than he’d ever know, because it felt like a weight had been lifted off me. The leaden knowledge that the man I’d fallen for could kill in cold blood.
And I’d still hit the deck for him, big time. What did that say about me?
Rattled by this latest turn of events, I shook my head. I’d examine my thoughts more later. Right now I was just glad that two people on the death list in my head had been brought back to life.
“But there’s one other thing, Sutton.” I paused with my hand on the car door.
“What’s that?”
“You said you were taking my daughter to Mr Summer when those two pricks were at the back of the school.” I screwed up my forehead. “But that wasn’t true, was it?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s not. But I couldn’t leave her.”
“Why? She was in school.”
“She wasn’t. Well, she was. The teacher brought a few of them out to do tracings, on the railings, the wall. I dunno, some art project. It was too risky; anyone could have walked past and grabbed her.” He paused. “And to be honest there was a shifty character about. Turned out to be nothing, but I didn’t know that at the time. When the teacher took her back inside, you were gone.”
I studied him for a moment. He’d done the right thing, even though it had meant the crap had hit the fan for me.
“Come on, we have to go, it’s time.” I got out of the car and stomped over the snowy path, unable to acknowledge Linus and Marion as I walked past. I concentrated on what I had in mind next.
Standing on the playground with kiss-swollen lips seemed wrong, but here I was, hunched into my jacket, hands stuffed in the pockets. I curled one of those hands around the set of Russian dolls. I looked like any other mother collecting her child with the father, what with Sutton standing beside me. Except I wasn’t collecting her—I was collecting yet another memory instead. Sutton had his arm hooked through mine, more to stop me running towards Guilia, I imagined, than for anything else. Still, it gave the illusion we were parents and had the right to be here, no one anybody needed to fret about.
A door opened, presumably to one of the cloakrooms, and a woman—a teacher or an aide?— stood propping it wide. She kept the straggle of children indoors until they had spotted whoever had come to collect them before allowing them to leave. The kids appeared around seven or eight, older than Guilia, but I didn’t know the school system here and whether there were a range of ages in each class. I squinted to see better, to spot Guilia as soon as possible, but so far her blonde head wasn’t visible.
Another door gaped, another teacher standing against it. This was going to be difficult, trying to keep my attention on both exits.
“You watch the first door.” My breath puffed out in a cloud, and, God, my stomach turned with several somersaults.
Sutton grunted in response.
I concentrated on door two. A dark-haired boy held the teacher’s hand. He scanned the crowd, pointed, then looked up at the woman beside him. She nodded and let him go. My heart contracted at how he ran across the playground towards the crowd of parents, flinging himself at his mother and wrapping his arms around her waist.
I would never have that pleasure. Not from Guilia doing the same to me, and not, I was convinced, from any other child. I wasn’t cut out for motherhood.
Was I?
No. I doubted I could bring another innocent into the world, knowing the risks as I did now. I couldn’t face looking over my shoulder all the time, worrying over whether some bastard would turn up to snatch my baby. Not again. I never wanted to go through that again.
And suddenly there she was, my Guilia, my little girl, standing where the boy had been, clutching the teacher’s hand just the same. My chest filled with what I could only describe as love and a deep longing to hold her. Tears came, and I dashed them away—I didn’t want my view of her obscured for even a millisecond. My breath caught in my throat as Guilia glanced around for her parents, a smile in place that was quickly replaced with a downturn of her lips.
Are they late? That’s what I imagined her thinking. Have they forgotten me?
A woman beside me stepped forwards. Then Guilia’s smile was back, bright and beaming and wonderful, one tooth missing at the front, and she let out a cry of delight. Jealousy gripped me at that—I would never experience such a moment, so I pretended it was me she was pleased to see, me she would hurtle herself at.
For a second I felt like her mother, the one who had bathed her, soothed her, and wiped away her tears since birth. I was the one Guilia adored.
The woman crouched, her arms out. She was well-dressed in a fawn woollen calf-length coat, her luxurious hair dark and curly, makeup minimal. The end strands of her beige scarf pooled in the thin layer of new snow.
Guilia started her dash across the playground seemingly in slow motion, her bag bumping up and down on her coat. Her spindly black tight-coated legs were a blur, and the pleats of her black skirt billowed with each step. Her cheeks grew pink, her eyes sparkling. Her coat looked expensive, and the fur-trimmed hood lifted then fell, lifted then fell. As she drew closer she giggled, and that sound…oh, that sound was like the best music.
I would remember the tune forever.
She ran into her mother’s arms, and that mother stood and swept the precious Guilia around in a circle, their laughter soft and special. The flap of Guilia’s bag snapped up, and some of the contents spilt out onto the playground. I took my chance and wrenched my arm from Sutton’s, brought out the dolls, and held them down by my side.
Guilia was so close I could reach out to touch her. Stroke her hair. The smell of her mother’s perfume—Anais, Anais, I thought—wafted into me, and as odd as it sounded, I knew I’d be buying some for myself so I could wear it and know what she smelt every day—something we would have in common.
The sight of them together both warmed and broke my heart. Father had found the perfect woman to take care of my child. The love they shared was obvious, the trust Guilia had in her more so.
I almost turned away. Almost.
“My baby,” I whispered.
She’s so beautiful…
Sutton regained his grip on my arm. It annoyed me, bringing me back to the stark reality that I shouldn’t do as my heart instructed and touch my daughter, tell her that Mummy—her real mummy—was here to collect her, ready to take her back to London where she belonged.
Except she doesn’t belong there, with me.
A lump barged into my throat, intrusive and yet another reminder that for the second time in my life with regards to my child, I couldn’t stamp my feet and get what I wanted. I had to let her go all over again, and I wondered whether it would kill me this time.
Her mother said something I didn’t understand, and Guilia replied with a sweet little German voice that added to my distress. I shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have put myself through this. But in true Claudine fashion, I had. When had I ever done the right thing?
I’ll be doing it today. In a moment. I’ll be saying goodbye
for good. But first…
“Oh, let me help you collect her things,” I said, hiding the dolls behind my back.
Once more I disengaged myself from Sutton, who tutted then sighed. I stooped down to pick up a pink pencil and a drawing of a puppy sitting in a garden in the sunshine. My hand shook as I held them out to the woman, who set Guilia down and turned to me, smiling.
“Thank you,” she said with no trace of recognition.
And why would she recognise me?
Because I look just like her child?
She reached out for the pencil and the drawing then put the pencil in Guilia’s bag.
“And there’s these,” I said, bringing the dolls out, minus their thin wrapping paper.
The woman frowned but took them anyway, her black leather gloves squeaking. “Oh. Thank you again.”
She said something to Guilia, who shook her head and shrugged but held her hand out for the dolls. My little darling clutched them in her cold-pinkened fingers, close to her chest, and rested her sweet cheek against them.
Another sentence I didn’t understand, then Guilia nodded again and received the picture from her mother. Guilia held it out to me.
I swallowed. “For me?”
Guille’s clear eyes met with mine.
I lowered to my haunches, on a level with her, and drank in the sight of her. I would keep it etched in my mind, this visual, until the day I died. Her hair was a blonde tumble around her pretty face, her cheeks just as pink as her fingers. Her button nose—so adorable—and cherry-coloured lips, tiny chin dimple, it all made her the most perfect child on the planet in my eyes.
“Thank you very much,” I said and gave the bravest smile I could manage. A smile she would hopefully remember whenever she played with the dolls. “I shall put this on my fridge.” I had no idea whether she’d understand me, but it didn’t matter—I had spoken to her, and that was what counted.
I dared to ruffle her hair. It was the softest thing I had ever touched bar the feel of her chubby cheek the day I’d kissed her at our first goodbye. I sensed, right there looking into her eyes, that we had some kind of invisible connection. I believed Guilia felt it, too, although she would be too young to understand it. Perhaps one day, if she were ever told of my existence, she would recall this moment and ponder on whether I was her real mother. And maybe one day she would come to find me, see me, and know that yes, there I had been, in her school playground all those years ago, lucky enough to feel her hair, to speak to her, to gaze at her.
To breathe the same air.
“We must go now,” her mother said, picking up a book titled Mutter und Mich and stuffing it into Guilia’s bag.
The illusion shattered. They were leaving. It was time for the inevitable goodbye.
I couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t watch her walk away.
So I walked away instead.
And I didn’t look back.
The urge to run was immense, to cry and rail and tell the whole world that life wasn’t fair. But I walked calmly so as not to bring attention to myself. It would appear odd as it was, me being at the school and not taking a child with me, but that couldn’t be helped. I made it to Sutton’s car. The door lock bleeped, and I got inside, waiting for Sutton to join me, to berate me for doing what I had.
He didn’t.
Instead, he leaned his backside against the driver’s door, hands in his pockets.
While I put my face in my hands and sobbed.
Once I’d cried myself out, I tapped on Sutton’s window. He climbed in without a word and started the engine. I was grateful to him for his respect in this God-awful matter and wanted to lose myself in his arms to have the pain taken away. But there was something I needed to do first.
“Take me to a bookshop,” I said.
We drove in silence. Once there, he shepherded me inside, and straight away I went to the children’s section. It took a few moments to find Mutter und Mich, and, without the means to purchase it, I handed it to Sutton, who went to the desk to pay.
“Do you speak English?” I asked the young girl behind the counter.
“Yes.”
“What does this mean?” I pointed to the title of the book.
She tilted her head. “Mother and Me.”
“Perfect,” I said. “Absolutely perfect.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Standing outside the bookshop, my breath gathering in front of my face, I was aware of a strange shifting sensation inside me. I was becoming lighter, my heart no longer aching with a longing I could never satisfy. I imagined the history of my pain was a bubble, floating upwards, into the crystal clear sky and eventually popping, scattering, never to be seen again.
My daughter was happy, healthy and loved and had been untouched by this whole sorry business. I approved of her mother and had faith she’d raise Guilia to be a good person, contribute to society, and do no harm. Wasn’t that what every parent wanted? To supply the world with a human being who could give and not take?
“You okay?” Sutton asked, his shoulder brushing mine.
I looked up at his face. His eyes flashed with concern as he studied me.
“Actually, you know what? I am.”
He twitched his eyebrows as though he didn’t quite believe me.
“I am,” I went on. “This has been one big mess, and I won’t deny I haven’t been angry, terrified, frustrated, but out of the chaos has come a sense of peace.” I pressed my hand over my chest, pushing my coat up against my breasts and glanced up at my imaginary balloon.
“I’m glad.” He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “From the moment I met you I knew you were a person who needed to find peace.”
Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows.
He smiled, kissed my temple then slung his arm over my shoulder in a casual, teenager kind of way. “Come on, let’s head to the hotel. I need a drink.”
I fell into step with him but I couldn’t let his comment pass. “How could you possibly have known I needed peace?”
For a moment I didn’t think he’d answer, then, “You were drowning in your own sexuality. Your need to control men and ensnare them into your web was off the scale. Almost an obsession, wouldn’t you say?”
“I didn’t ensnare you.” I couldn’t quite keep the snippy tone from my voice. There was no denying Sutton’s rejections had stung.
He squeezed my shoulder and chuckled. “You have now.”
“Good.” I hoped he’d be quick about his drink and find us a room so we could finally get down to the action. “You’ve been a bit of a cunt, you know that, Sutton.”
He laughed. “There it is, had to be said.”
“Well you have been.”
“I’ve also kept you alive and Guilia and her family have merrily gone about their business without knowing the shit storm that’s been raging around them. That’s not completely cuntish behaviour.”
“Under my father’s instruction. You did it because he told you to, he paid you.” I was being churlish perhaps, but that had to be said, too.
He stopped and turned me to face him, both hands on my shoulders. “Just so we’re clear.” His voice had taken on a deadly serious tone. “From this moment on, your father has nothing to do with us.”
“But—”
“I may take on security projects with him, paid projects, as I do with many men in this line of work, but this, here, it’s all about us, Claudine. I’m standing before you now and soon I plan to be in bed with you, and that’s just us. A man and a woman. No one else is in the equation. I want—no, need—to be with you.”
I swallowed, my throat a little thick with emotion.
“Do you understand?” He slid his hand up my neck and cupped my cheek. His palm was warm on my chilled skin. “How much you’ve got under my skin. Seeing you survive the way you have…your balls, your guts, your capacity to love even though you didn’t think you could.”
“Yes.” I nodded, a swell of more emotion brewing
in my chest. “I understand.”
“And I’m not one of the nameless, faceless twats you’ve shagged on your travels around the world, either.”
“I know you’re not.” How could he think that?
“Because if I’m just a challenge, a notch on your bedpost, a way to pass the time and relieve some tension, then I’m not interested.”
“Of course you’re none of those things.” I shook my head, my heart strings tugging because he didn’t know how special he was. “I care about you, Sutton, a lot. You know I do.”
His expression softened. “And I care about you. I didn’t to begin with, I thought you a spoilt brat with too much money and time on your hands. But now…” He paused, and I stopped myself from finding words to fill the gap. “But now I’ve seen in here.” He slipped his hand to the top of my chest and pressed gently.
“And what did you see?” I was studying his mouth, the way they moved as he spoke, how the light caught on the dots of stubble over his top lip and around his chin.
“I saw a woman who’d been given everything material but nothing emotional from her parents, but despite that still had an enormous capacity to be a mother, do the right thing as a mother.” He lowered his head so his lips were almost touching mine. “It was incredible and humbling to see, Claudine.”
“Well, I’m not sure…”
He was being dramatic.
“Shh.” He silenced me with soft kiss. “Don’t belittle it. Your mothering instincts were as fierce as any bear or tiger. I pitied the men who came between you and Guilia.”
I couldn’t speak. If I did my words would roll out on a sob. I never, in all of my life, thought that I’d be complimented on my parenting skills. Hell, it wasn’t as if I’d had much chance to demonstrate any. But here was Sutton, telling me he’d been impressed with my mothering instincts.
“I know you’ll always have a sadness in your heart that you’re not raising her,” he said. “But maybe one day you’ll get to know her. She may hunt you out when she becomes an adult.”
“I don’t know about that. Why would she want to?”