by Jane Bidder
The last had been a grave aberration on her part. One of the other women had spoken about him with great reverence. He’d told her that her sister would finally get married and, lo and behold, there was a phone call the next day from England to confirm this. Another woman had also been: one who was trying to get pregnant. She was told to expect a happy event in six months’ time. In fact, it had turned out to be eight but as the woman said, joyfully, he was right in the end.
Tempted, despite that warning voice inside, Georgie went on her own. The fortune teller only set up his stall in the evening market. Fortunately, Sam was working late again. All the way, on the boat, Georgie thought about turning back but some unseen pull inside her chest took her almost straight to his stall.
He was older than she’d expected, although that might have been the sun which made everyone age prematurely unless you carried a shade and applied lotion liberally like the other ex-pat wives.
Scared, she sat down in front of him after parting with her money. He wasn’t cheap. She’d expected some preamble, something obvious that might apply to anyone such as ‘You are far from home’. But instead, his words rocked her.
‘You are running away,’ the old man said to her, taking her palm in his. ‘One day your past will catch up with you.’
She’d snatched her hand away then, making to get up. But he hung on fast. His grasp belied the fragility of his bones. ‘Your husband too, he has a secret.’ He smiled. A rather sad smile in milky blue eyes. ‘It might save you both.’
Sam had a secret? ‘My husband isn’t like that,’ she said fiercely.
The smile slipped away. ‘Who is anyone like?’
The truth of the words threw her just as his previous declaration. Shaking, Georgie stood up. This time, he made no attempt to detail her.
‘Be careful,’ he added. ‘Trust no one.’
Then he glanced at her protruding bump. ‘You will have a boy.’ He grinned. ‘But you will also have a daughter.’
Then he closed his eyes and seemed to slip into a type of reverie. Georgie hovered, not sure if she should go or not. Had he finished? Suddenly, he opened his eyes. ‘You are still here?’ he said. His face tightened and there was an impatient wave in the air. ‘You must go now. That baby will not be long.’
All the way back on the ferry, her unborn child kicked with an insistence it had not shown before. She should not have gone, Georgie told herself. The fortune teller had unsettled her and this had spread to the baby. One day your past will catch up with you … Your husband too, he has a secret.
The phrases pounded again and again in her head. By the time she got home, after taking a tuk-tuk from the port, the kicking had given way to a strange, dull ache.
‘Where have you been?’
Sam’s meeting, it appeared, had been cancelled. He had come home early to take her out to dinner and been concerned by her absence.
‘I went to the other side of the island,’ she faltered. ‘To explore. But now I don’t feel well.’
Instantly, his initial annoyance gave way to concern. She must lie down. Put up her feet. But as he helped her into bed, there was a sudden gush of water. Georgie knew from the doctor and the ex-pat women what this meant.
‘I’m three weeks early,’ she cried all the way to hospital, appalled to be met by a team of doctors clad in white theatre outfits ‘just in case’.
‘It’s all right,’ soothed a midwife. ‘You’re in good hands.’
Your past will catch up with you. Your past will catch up with you. The soothsayer’s words drummed in her head. Did he mean that something would happen to the baby; something bad as punishment for her part on the island.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ she moaned as the pains got worse and the urge to push increase.
‘My darling,’ said Sam’s voice as she felt a hand on her forehead. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’
‘But I have,’ she began. ‘I need my shell.’
‘Need your shell?’ questioned Sam.
‘She’s hallucinating,’ said someone. ‘It’s quite natural with the gas and air.’
And then the urge to push became so great that the words were stuck in her mouth, just as the baby was stuck. ‘Bear down,’ urged the midwife. ‘Bear down …’
There was a high-pitched cry. At first she thought a woman was shrieking.
‘Is it all right?’
That was Sam’s voice.
There was an agonising silence and then another cry.
‘You have a son,’ sang the midwife as she placed a small, slippery bundle on her stomach. ‘You have a baby boy!’
‘Excuse me but is this seat taken?’
The question came in a soft American accent. Georgie glanced up as a good-looking man about her age stood in front of her in the gallery.
Reluctantly, she was brought back to the present.
‘No. Please.’ She indicated that there was room for more than one.
‘Stunning, isn’t it?’
It took Georgie a few seconds to realise he was referring to the wedding painting. ‘Yes, beautiful.’
She was still half in her head. Still remembering …
Nick had been born seven months to the day after her own wedding. Luckily, his premature arrival had allowed Sam’s mother to twist the dates on behalf of her friends.
‘Make sure you are strict with feeding hours,’ she wrote. ‘Too many young women nowadays feed whenever Baby starts crying. You do not want to spoil him.’
Not spoil him? Not give in to everything that this incredible, tiny being demanded? How could she not? To her surprise, motherhood came so naturally to Georgie that the other women were once more disappointed. Even though she fed him exactly when he wanted, Nick had not become ‘obese’ as her mother-in-law had warned. Instead, he excelled at all milestones.
‘He’s crawling,’ she announced excitedly one night when Sam returned from another late meeting.
By the time he was eleven months, he was walking. Or rather, staggering from one table leg to another. It required every ounce of concentration on behalf of her and the maid to keep an eye on him.
‘If your mother doesn’t want to come and visit him, perhaps we should visit her,’ suggested Sam after his own mother had been to stay.
Georgie took a deep breath. This pretence couldn’t go on for ever. Yet at the same time, she couldn’t tell him the truth. Holding Nick, almost as a defence between them, she put on her most beguiling look. ‘To be honest, darling, I’d rather not see her.’
He was shocked. ‘I know you’ve never got on but surely …’
‘She has her own life now.’
That was true enough. Was her mother worried that she hadn’t heard from her? Georgie only hoped that her mother hadn’t contacted the British Consulate.
‘Maybe you’ll feel different when Nick is a little older.’
Sam’s voice was gentle; reassuring; not wanting to upset her. He had been like this ever since his son had been born.
‘Maybe.’
Georgie went along with it. It was easier. Yet if she had known this was the peace before the storm, she might have acted differently.
‘Do you come to this gallery often?’
Once more, Georgie was reluctantly dragged back to the present day. It occurred to her that this handsome American in the smart navy jacket might just be trying to chat her up. It was almost amusing, given her circumstances. Romance was the last thing she needed. It was only Sam she wanted. Sam, whom she’d married out of convenience at the beginning. Sam, whom she’d learned to love over the years but always with the sense that she wasn’t good enough for him.
‘It’s my favourite.’
Then just to make things clear, she added, ‘I used to bring my son and daughter here when they were small.’
He nodded approvingly. ‘I come from Boston. We have some beautiful galleries there.’
Boston. She and Sam had taken the children there once. Nick had been three.
Ellie had been four. They had only been a family of four for a few months. A holiday, Sam had said desperately, might help.
Nick had been a year old when Sam came back from the office, his face drawn even more than usual. Immediately she knew something had happened. Another move, perhaps. It happened all the time. One of the other ex-pat women was excitedly packing for New York.
‘All those theatres and shops,’ she had enthused. ‘Decent food too.’
Georgie was hoping for a city that was less high profile. Anywhere where she might not bump into someone from her past.
Every day, she scanned the papers for news of three British backpackers in a Thai prison. Nothing. Then again, what did she expect? People like that disappeared for years. The old dreams had started to come back too. Visions of Joly and the others, with one meal a day if they were lucky. Perhaps that was why she’d lost so much weight. The appalling luxury of her new life had consumed her with guilt.
‘Can you sit down?’ Sam said.
Just like last time! But somehow, Georgie had a feeling that this was more than a move. Her body went very still. He’d found out. He knew what she’d done. He was going to divorce her. Take away Nick who was, even now, sleeping peacefully in his cot.
‘I’m afraid I’ve done something I shouldn’t have done,’ he said in a quiet voice.
Georgie froze. Your husband too, he has a secret. It might save you both …
‘What?’ she managed to say, her voice cracked.
Sam had his head in his hands. ‘Before we met, I went to a bar for my … for my first stag night.’
First? In fact, he hadn’t had one for their own wedding; had firmly declined one. Now, Georgie was to find out why. ‘I’m afraid I … I went too far with a girl in a bar.’ His face was contorted with wretchedness. ‘One of those ping pong bars.’
She’d heard about them, of course. Girls who did unspeakable things to their bodies with ping pong balls and worse.
‘It appears that she had a child.’ He raised his face now in an obvious effort to look at her straight. It was like viewing a stone gargoyle. ‘A few months before Nick was born. A daughter.’
Georgie could only stare. You will have a boy but you will also have a daughter.
Suddenly she felt powerful. Sam, always the perfectionist, had slipped. Broken the rules of his own kind. Had a child out of wedlock.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘These things happen. We can support her. You can see her regularly and …’
‘This girl found me – through the phone book, can you believe – to say she cannot afford to keep her.’ Sam’s head was back in his hands now. ‘She says I have a responsibility. I must look after her now.’
How could a woman give away her child, even if she couldn’t afford to keep it? And how could Georgie take on a child that wasn’t hers? Of course! Suddenly it became clear. This is what the fortune teller meant. It might save you both. This was her opportunity to tell Sam about her past. ‘I’ve done something wrong too.’
The words were almost on her lips.
Then she stopped. Drugs. Suspected of murder. Both were far bigger than a chance encounter in a bar. They weren’t even comparable. Sam might even end up with custody of both children. He was repentant now but he had a far tougher side. One that she had seen both at work and when he was ranting on about drugs from newspaper stories.
Then again, none of this was as important as a small child who didn’t have anyone to love her. Of all people, Georgie knew that.
‘Of course we must have her,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll love her as my own. She’ll have a ready-made family and it will be good for Nick.’
Instantly, Sam’s arms enveloped her. ‘I can’t believe you’ve just said that,’ he said, his eyes wet. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’
It was arranged that baby Ellie would be flown over two weeks later. ‘We will tell everyone else that we adopted her,’ she told Sam, with the imagination of an accomplished liar. ‘We will say she belonged to a maid of ours who needed help.’
His face was etched with anguish. ‘They won’t believe us.’
‘It doesn’t matter. But as far as we’re concerned, we will treat her as our own flesh and blood.’ Flushed with this new power, she held Sam by his collar, forcing him to look down on her. ‘She’s ours. Otherwise it will be too difficult.’
Inside, however, Georgie was quaking. How would she feel when she really saw this baby who had nothing to do with her? Yet when she and Sam stood, tremulous, at the airport arrivals, and she saw an air hostess approaching, carrying a scared little girl with smooth, dark skin and huge brown eyes, she fell in love instantly.
A daughter! A daughter! Only now would she allow herself to admit how much she had secretly yearned for a daughter to dress up and go shopping with. Besides, Ellie was living proof that her husband wasn’t perfect. Georgie was shocked to find that the calculating part of her realised that one day, this might come in useful.
‘Come on little one,’ she soothed, taking the child into her arms. ‘You’re home now.’
‘I was just wondering,’ said the American stranger on the bench next to her in the gallery, ‘if you’d like lunch.’
Her head was so full of the past that she almost didn’t take in his words.
‘No, thank you.’ She blushed furiously. ‘Actually, I’m married.’
He cast a nod at her wedding ring. ‘I know you are. But would it make a difference if I told you that Joly sent me?
THIRTY-NINE
I never wrote letters till I got sent Inside. Then I found they were more important than anything else. You can spend hours queuing up for the corridor phone, aware that everyone else is listening in.
But letters are sacred. They are personal. You can pour out your heart. And the other person can tell you stuff that she can’t always manage on the phone.
Letters tell you more about the feelings of the writer than a call when someone can put on a voice or tell you that they can’t speak now because they’re busy – as if you can ring back any old time.
I know how important letters are because in five years, I only received one.
And then I wished I hadn’t.
FORTY
Joly? Joly had sent this quiet, good-looking American to talk to her?
‘I don’t believe you,’ she stuttered.
It had to be a scam. Just like the stolen money which hadn’t been stolen at all. Well, not all of it. It had been a complicated trick organised by Vanda and Jonathan to ‘pay her back’ for something that wasn’t all her fault.
The quiet American nodded gravely. Both had forgotten the beautiful, large, Impressionist painting which had brought them together in conversation only a few minutes ago. ‘He thought you might say that.’
Handing her a letter, he moved away, towards a different painting. This time, one of a mother and a child. The former was gazing adoringly at the latter and they were both eating cherries from the same dish.
Dear Georgie,
It has taken us a long time to find you. How clever you have been to deceive us by pretending to be someone you weren’t.
I wonder if you thought of us as often as we thought of you.
We could, if we chose, contact the police. It wouldn’t be the first time that a murderer has been caught after years have passed. However, something inside me makes me doubt that you could have committed such a crime. So I have persuaded Vanda and Jonathan that we will allow you to state your case. To us, rather than the authorities.
I cannot – will not – return to the UK. So that leaves one option. You must come to me. My friend will give you details.
JolyOf course, she couldn'
The words flew round in front of her. None of them made sense. Yet in another manner, they all fell into place. Won’t return to the UK. ‘Where is he?’ asked Georgie, walking over to the American, who was gazing at the bowl of cherries as if trying to work out how they had been painted with that dark red tone contrasting
with the pink inner flesh.
But even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. ‘The island you were on.’ The man turned and faced her, his eyes glued to hers. For the first time, she noticed a small, silver scar on the top of his right eyebrow. ‘Despite everything, Joly chose not to leave.’
Then he put his hand in his right pocket and drew out an envelope. ‘Tickets,’ he said simply. ‘You leave on Wednesday.’
His next words came out clear and crisp. ‘If you don’t board the plane, we will call the police.’
Of course, she couldn’t possibly go. It was ridiculous! How could her life change so dramatically in the course of a few months? Not long ago, she was running a respected interior design company with a loving husband, a son, and a step-daughter. Now she had lost the first two. She would also lose her children too when the truth came out.
As she walked briskly away from the Royal Academy, threading her way through the crowds towards Green Park tube station, Georgie’s mind whirled. Go to the other side of the world to defend herself? What if they didn’t believe her? What if they called the police and she found herself imprisoned in a hellhole just as they had been?
‘If you don’t board the plane, we will call the police,’ the American had said.
Who was he anyway? In the shock, she had stupidly failed to ask his name.
‘Sorry.’
A man bumped into her as she fumbled for her mobile. This had gone on for long enough. She had to ring Sam.
Don’t go through to answer-phone, she silently begged. Don’t. She needed to explain in person.
Or was that the wrong thing to do?
Please go through to answer-phone. Please. She was too scared to face the music.
Answer-phone.
‘Sam,’ she began, conscious of a middle-aged woman eating chips out of a bag beside her on the park bench. Green Park itself seemed a better place to make a call than outside the tube station.