by J. B. Leigh
“I think he found it too painful. I wasn’t living in the area at the time. I'd married and moved away. The wedding was a small affair—just the two of them and the witnesses—I didn’t get an invite. We lost touch for several years—it was only after my own marriage failed that I moved back down here.”
“Do you know my mother?”
“Not really. Everything happened while I was living at the other side of the country. I had my own problems at the time, so I didn’t see Peter for several years. By the time I came back, he’d divorced, and you'd been adopted. I never actually met Dawn.”
“I met her a few days ago,” Kerry said.
“How did it go?” Carol asked.
“Okay. She seemed pleased to see me. I asked her about my father, but she didn’t seem to want to talk about him. I don’t think she knows he’s dead.”
“She knows,” Carol said. “She was invited to the funeral, but she didn’t come.”
“Do you know what happened between them? Why did they break up?”
“I have no idea. Peter wouldn’t talk about Dawn. Like I said, I wasn’t even around at the time. I think they were probably both too young. I’m not sure they were ready for marriage, let alone a child.”
“He never married again?”
“No. He always said he never would. He didn't want a wife and he didn't want any more kids. He said he had one child, and that was enough for him. I know for a fact he always celebrated your birthday—quietly and alone.”
Brice could sense Kerry’s hurt. He squeezed her hand a little tighter.
Two hours later, Carol checked her watch.
“I’m sorry. I should have collected the kids ten minutes ago. I have to go.”
“Thank you for seeing me.” Kerry stood up. Brice still had her hand in his.
“I hope you’ll visit again—often.” Carol followed them out of the door.
“I’d like that.”
“Next time, I’ll introduce you to the kids. They’ll be thrilled to know they have a new cousin.”
Chapter 43
After they'd left Carol's house, Kerry asked Brice to drop her back home. She told him she had uni work which she needed to catch up on, but he suspected she was emotionally drained after the events of the day. He tried to engage her in conversation on the drive home, but she’d closed down. It was hardly surprising—within the space of a few days, she'd met her biological mother, and discovered her biological father had died.
When Brice arrived back at his house, his mother’s car was already on the drive.
“Brice, darling. Where have you been?”
“Out.”
“Did your little girlfriend—what's her name—Kelly. Did Kelly come over?”
“Her name's Kerry.”
“So, did she?”
Brice nodded.
“Good for you two. Do I need to change the sheets?”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Why? I’m just pleased you've found yourself a nice girl. Hopefully, she isn’t too nice.”
It took all of his willpower not to slap the grin off his mother’s face.
“I don’t want to talk about it. You make everything dirty.”
“So touchy. I don’t know where you get it from. I’m starving. Why don’t you make us both dinner?”
“Make your own.”
Brice lay on his bed; his back was propped up by pillows. He was staring at the posters on the wall opposite, but his mind was elsewhere. He wasn’t sure if he could continue to live at home. It had been the sensible move from a financial standpoint, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to be under the same roof as his mother.
The door to his bedroom opened, and his mother stepped inside.
“Can't you knock?” He made no attempt to disguise his anger. “What do you want?”
“Charming!” She snapped. “This just came through the letterbox.” She handed him a small white envelope. His name was scrawled on the front.
“Who delivered it?”
“I don't know. I didn't see. Aren't you going to open it?”
He gestured towards the door, and waited for his mother to take the hint. When she'd left the room, he jumped off the bed and slammed the door closed. The envelope contained a photo, on the back of which had been scribbled:
This is the real Kerry—a slut!
He flipped over the photograph. It was the image of a young woman—her face visible only from the nose down. She was wearing a low-cut white top which barely covered her nipples. Her blue, micro skirt was little more than a belt. This wasn’t Kerry—it couldn’t be. She'd never dress like that. And yet, the nose and mouth were unmistakably hers. Who had taken the photo? Why would Kerry have worn those clothes? He had a million questions running around his head. He needed answers, and there was only one way to get them. Brice shoved the photo into his pocket.
“What was it?” His mother shouted when he emerged from his bedroom.
He ignored her.
“Brice! Wait!”
It was too late; he was already out of the door.
Chapter 44
Brice was about to start the car when his phone rang.
“Jimmy? I can’t talk now. I’ll call you later.”
“Brice, this is important.”
“It'll have to wait!” Brice ended the call. Immediately, his phone rang again. This time, he let it go to voice mail.
On the drive to Kerry’s house, he tried to figure out what he was going to say, but by the time he arrived, he still had no idea. There was no going back now—he needed answers. He took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. It opened almost instantly.
“Kerry doesn’t want to see you again,” the blonde punk said. “When are you going to get the message, loser? How many times do I have to tell you? Kerry wants nothing to do with you.” She glanced over his shoulder. “Your car is looking good—maybe I’ll give you a matching stripe some time. What’s up? Has the cat got your tongue?”
Brice stared in disbelief. He tried to speak, but no words would come.
“I was Kerry’s best friend before you even knew she existed,” blonde punk said. She was looking at him, as if he was something she'd just wiped off her shoe. “Kerry doesn’t want to see you again, so why don’t you do us all a favour and fuck off!”
The door was slammed closed in Brice’s face.
For several minutes, he didn’t move. He had no idea what had just happened. He had no idea what to do. Slowly, he backed towards his car. He needed to sit down before he collapsed. His phone rang again.
“Hello?”
“Brice. It’s Jimmy.”
Brice was still staring at the house.
“Brice? Are you there? Can you hear me?”
“Jimmy?” Brice mumbled.
“I’ve got another image from the CCTV. This one was taken when blonde punk left the panties in your car. Brice, are you there?”
“Yeah.”
“This image gives a better view of her face. Look, I don’t know how to tell you this.”
Brice already knew.
Chapter 45
Kerry hated falling asleep in the daytime. When she woke she always looked and felt like crap. Her visit to Carol Stafford's (should she call her auntie?) had taken its toll. It had been great to hear about her biological father, and to learn how much he’d loved her. Fate could be so cruel—if only she'd been able to request her adoption records one year earlier. She'd always hoped that, once she'd found her biological parents, she'd begin to understand who she was. It was too late for her to get to know her father, but maybe by spending more time with her biological mother, she'd get a better insight into herself.
Things had happened so quickly. Kerry still hadn't told her mum that she'd traced her biological parents. Kerry knew she was being unfair, but it was a discussion she wasn't looking forward to. She wished she could make her mum understand her need to trace them wasn't some kind of slight. She couldn't put it off any longer,
so Kerry made her mind up to talk to her mum that night.
Kerry made her way downstairs. Where was her mum? She'd been in the kitchen when Kerry had arrived back from visiting Carol Stafford. Now there was no sign of her anywhere in the house. Kerry checked outside. Her mum often sat on the bench under the tree at the far end of the garden. She wasn't there. Back in the house, Kerry took another look in the kitchen. There was no sign that her mum had begun to prepare for dinner—that wasn't like her.
Chapter 46
Jimmy had tried to call him at least a dozen times. Brice didn't want to speak to Jimmy or anyone else. He'd been driving around for the last thirty minutes, but had no idea where he'd been or where he was going. He'd run it back through his mind a thousand times, but still it made no sense.
Why had Kerry done it? He'd thought she loved him. She'd said as much. How could Kerry be blonde punk? Had he imagined it? Was this some horrible nightmare from which, any minute now, he'd wake?
Brice pulled the car into a quiet lay-by.
If she'd wanted to end it, why not just tell him? Why go to all the trouble of disguising herself? He thumped his fist on the dashboard. This couldn't be happening. Why would Kerry key his car? It made no sense. Had she made the phone calls too? She must have, and yet, the voice and language weren't hers.
His phone rang again.
“Brice. Are you okay?” Jimmy said.
“Not really.”
“You know, don't you? You know it's Kerry.”
“Yeah—I've just been to her house.”
“Why did she do it?”
“You tell me.”
“She seems so nice. It's crazy.”
“I've got to go,” Brice said.
“Wait! What are you going to do?”
“I don't know.”
Brice felt sick. Part of him wanted to drive back to Kerry's, so he could tell her what he thought of her. There was something stopping him—it was the memory of the Kerry he thought he knew. The sweet, innocent Kerry who'd said she loved him.
He drove, for what seemed like hours, going nowhere in particular. He hoped it might clear his head—it didn't. Eventually, he headed home.
When he turned onto his street, he saw a lone figure standing on his driveway. At first, he thought it was his mother, but as he got closer he realised it wasn't.
Chapter 47
It was Kerry's mum who was waiting outside Brice's house. He pulled the car onto the drive, and made his way over to her.
“Is Kerry with you?” he asked.
“No. Do you mind if we talk inside?”
Brice nodded.
“Is Kerry okay?” he asked, once they were inside.
“Yes, she's fine. What about you?”
“I don't know.” He shrugged. “I don't understand what's going on.”
“Let's sit down.”
Brice couldn't sit; he was too full of nervous energy.
“Why was she dressed like that? I thought she liked me. Why didn't she just say she didn't want to see me?” Brice asked.
“She does want to see you.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“Sit down, please.”
Brice relented and took a seat.
“I don't understand,” he said.
“That wasn't Kerry.”
“What are you talking about? Of course it was Kerry. I saw her.”
“The person you saw was Lizzie.”
“Are you trying to tell me Kerry has a twin sister?”
“No.”
Brice couldn't remain seated any longer. He stood up and stormed across the room.
“It's not easy to explain,” Kerry's mum said.
“Try!”
“Kerry has D.I.D.”
“What?”
“Dissociative Identity Disorder.”
Brice shook his head.
“It used to be called Multiple Personality Disorder. The person you saw just now was Lizzie—Kerry's other personality.”
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“I wish it was.”
“I don't get it. Does Kerry know—?”
“About Lizzie? Of course. Lizzie has been with Kerry since she was a young girl. It's the reason she was home-educated.”
“So Kerry knows what Lizzie is doing?”
“No. At least not as far as we know.”
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“Why do you think? What would you have done if she'd said—'oh by the way, I have multiple personalities'. You'd have run a mile. Kerry hates Lizzie.”
“She must have known I'd find out.”
“Lizzie hasn't been around for a long time. I think Kerry thought she'd finally got rid of her.”
“Why did she come back?”
Kerry's mum hesitated.
“Is it because of me?” Brice said.
“It might have been. It's almost as if Lizzie couldn't bear to lose Kerry to you.”
“This is crazy!”
“Kerry will be devastated when she knows what's happened.”
“Surely, she must know already,” Brice said. “You heard what she said to me when I came to your house.”
“That was Lizzie. Kerry will wake up with a migraine. She won't remember what Lizzie said.”
“What about the clothes—she looked so different.”
Kerry and Lizzie are very different people. Kerry would never dress or act like Lizzie.”
“What am I supposed to do now?”
“I don't know. It's a lot to take in—I realise that. I came over because I thought you were owed an explanation.” She stood up and made towards the door. “Whatever you decide to do, please don't mention this to anyone else. It took a lot of courage for Kerry to enrol at university. If this was to become common knowledge, she might decide she had to quit.”
Alone in the house, Brice tried to make sense of what Kerry's mum had said. Blonde punk was Lizzie; Lizzie was Kerry. The damage to his car, the telephone calls, the photograph through his letterbox—they'd all been Lizzie. But then, Lizzie was Kerry. The more he tried to make sense of it, the more confused he became.
“I'm back!” His mother walked in—she was laden with shopping bags from several designer shops. “Where's your little girlfriend?”
Rather than say something he'd regret, Brice brushed past her without a word, and went to his bedroom.
“Charming!” she called after him. “I only asked.”
Chapter 48
Kerry had been sure she'd see Brice, but he was a no-show in the library, and his car wasn't in the car park. Maybe he was ill, but then he'd seemed okay when she'd left him the previous day after their visit to Carol's.
“Jimmy!” she shouted.
She felt sure he must have heard, but he continued walking. When she caught up with him, she tapped his shoulder.
“Hi,” she smiled.
“Hi.” Jimmy barely glanced at her.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?”
“Are you sure? You seem—”
“I'm all right. I have a lecture.”
With that, he turned and walked away. Kerry had never seen Jimmy like that before. What had happened? Was it anything to do with Brice?
“Jimmy wait!” This time, when she caught up, she stood in front of him—blocking his way.
“Move!”
“Why are you being like this? Have I done something wrong?”
Jimmy glared at her.
“What? Tell me.”
“Like you don't know.”
“I don't.”
“You look nice today.” He looked her up and down. “All prim and proper.”
“I don't understand. What's wrong? Where's Brice?”
“As far away from you as he can get if he's got any sense.” He put his hand on her shoulder, and eased her to one side. “If you'll excuse me, I have to go.”
Kerry wiped away a tear as she watched Jimmy walk away. There was a sick, empty
feeling in the pit of her stomach—one she hadn't felt for a long, long time. One she'd hoped she'd never feel again.
Chapter 49
“Why aren't you at uni?” His mother was still wearing the shorts and cropped-top she'd gone to bed in.
Brice ignored her.
“Hey you! Have you forgotten I'm your mother? When I ask you a question, I expect an answer.”
“Screw you!”
If he'd stayed in the house, he wasn't sure what he might have done. Brice sat in the car—drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He should have been at university—he had two classes and a lecture, but he simply couldn't face it. To be more precise, he couldn't face Kerry. What was he meant to do when he next saw her? Pretend like nothing had happened? How could he? He'd barely slept. Every time he'd closed his eyes he'd seen blonde punk—Lizzie. How could someone as sweet as Kerry also be foul-mouthed Lizzie? It didn't seem possible. Jimmy had called him several times that morning, but Brice hadn't taken his calls. Jimmy would have questions, but they were questions which Brice had no answers to.
Kerry had been the first girl Brice had ever loved. He'd been so happy—they'd been so happy. That had all been blown away in an instant. He was confused about so many things—the only thing he was certain of was that it was over between them. What else could he do? How could they hope to have a relationship when one half of Kerry hated him? Until yesterday, he'd never heard of D.I.D. He'd spent much of last night online—researching the condition. He had ended up with as many questions as answers. She should have told him. He'd have been understanding.
Who was he trying to fool? He'd have run a mile.
“What the hell's wrong with you?” His mother was standing in the doorway.