It can’t be true. It simply can’t.
Either my mum or dad would have told me at some point. Why wouldn’t they?
It can’t be true.
Except, deep down, I know it is.
Twenty-Eight
Monday
Rhys and Nattie are both waiting on the bench outside the Black Horse the next morning. For Rhys in particular, it seems strange to see him in anything other than the hazy dim lights of our back booth in the pub. He’s dressed in jeans and a checked shirt, like he’s off to work on whatever building job he has on. He says he’s ‘waiting on a call’ – whatever that means. Nattie’s either off work, or not going in until later. She’s in a short summer dress that works for her even though it’s cream with purple flowers as if someone’s cut up a curtain. She lifts her thick-rimmed sunglasses to look at me as I head out into the sunshine.
‘What happened to you last night?’ she asks.
‘Places to go, people to see.’
She shrugs and hops up from the bench, linking her arm into mine. ‘Right,’ she declares, ‘we’ve got a treat lined up for you.’
‘What is it?’
‘That’s a surprise.’
‘I don’t think I like surprises.’
‘You’ll like this.’
The two of us start along the High Street, heading towards Via’s with Rhys half a step behind. I’ve got a reasonable idea of where everything is now but, even though it’s still classed as a village, Stoneridge is a fair bit bigger than most. The edges are surrounded by newer housing estates as the sprawl spreads outwards.
Instead of heading up the hill towards the estate where my dad lives or along the river towards Ridge Park, we go in the opposite direction. There’s a charity clothing shop and another café, followed by a long row of thatched-roof stone cottages.
We soon end up outside Stoneridge Primary School. There’s a sign with a rainbow and painted images of two children playing with a ball. Schools, especially primary schools, are like elaborate illusions. Everything feels so big as a child and yet, by the time a person grows into an adult, the exact same stretch of playground seems a fraction of the size it once did.
The three of us stand at the railings, looking across the playground towards the school itself. Bright posters and paintings are on show through the windows and the tarmac in front is covered with painted swishes and swirls. It’s a kaleidoscope of colour.
‘Do you remember anything?’ Nattie asks.
‘No.’
Rhys digs into his back pocket and passes across a faded photo. There are two girls playing hopscotch: one is balancing on her left leg and has a blonde ponytail, the other has long red pigtails and is clasping a stone.
Nattie points towards the corner of the playground, where there’s now an L-shape of benches.
‘That picture was taken right there,’ she says.
I compare the two and there’s no question it’s the same spot. The shadow of the wall is hanging in almost the exact same place and I can see the corner of the wall in the picture.
‘Mum found it last night,’ Nattie adds. ‘She reckons we were both five years old when it was taken. She couldn’t remember who took it but it was probably one of our mums.’
The school is enveloped by an eerie emptiness. It’s the holidays and kids are off playing in back gardens or fields; else sitting inside on Minecraft or whatever it is they do now. There’s nobody here, but the playground holds thousands of ghosts of futures unfulfilled.
‘Give us a bunk up.’
Rhys does as he’s told, cupping his hands into a step for Nattie and then lifting her up and over the railings. She lands with an ‘oof’ but wipes her hands down and says she’s fine. Rhys crouches again and I follow Nattie over and onto the concrete, stumbling forward when I land but managing to get away unscathed. He then heaves himself up, narrowly avoiding impaling his crotch on the metal bar as he levers himself over. Rhys lands with far more gymnastic grace than either Nattie or myself.
‘Show off,’ Nattie says with a smile.
We head across to the corner and sit on the low, low benches, giggling to ourselves at how ridiculous we must look.
Nattie has the photo and holds it up, turning so that it’s clear we’re sitting in the precise spot where the hopscotch once happened.
‘Remember anything now?’ she asks.
‘I wish I could say yes…’
She puts the photo on the bench. ‘It’ll come back one day, I’m sure. You’ll be walking past and it’ll suddenly be at the front of your mind.’
‘I’ve enjoyed the discovery. Talking to people, hearing the stories. I’ve got a real sense of what’s going on.’
Nattie looks at me and, only for a moment, there’s a flicker of her eyebrows as if she doesn’t know what to make of me. I shouldn’t have said it but it’s only taken a week and I really think it’s true.
She pushes herself up and moves over to the snake that’s painted on the playground. The long length of the animal is separated into squares, with numbers in each. Nattie crouches and picks up a stone from the floor.
‘Come on,’ she says. ‘For old time’s sake.’
And so we play hopscotch. Rhys sits and watches and he makes us pose for a photo. I balance on my left leg and Nattie holds the stone. After he’s taken it, we rush back to the bench and compare the two pictures. Aside from longer hair, more flesh on display and our height, it’s not a bad effort.
Rhys jokes about selling the photo for a fortune to some dodgy magazine or newspaper, but Nattie’s threat that she has a key to his house is enough to shut down that line of joke. I don’t ask why she’s got a key. I’ve assumed since I first met them that there was something going on but they’ve never shown anything other than platonic friendship when I’ve been around.
Nattie stretches out on the bench, lying along the length, her arms high above her head, legs flat. I copy on the adjacent bench and Rhys sits unfazed on the tarmac between us.
‘You worried?’ Nattie says.
My eyes are closed and the brightness of the sky is singeing through my eyelids and it’s only when she says ‘O’ when I realise she’s talking to me. The ‘O’ hit first time, too.
‘What about?’ I reply.
‘The test results. Aren’t they due today?’
‘I don’t need to be nervous. I know what they’ll say.’
‘I didn’t mean nervous about the results – I meant nervous about what comes next.’
The insides of my eyelids are a burning orange, with bright green shapes spinning in circles. I allow my arms to flop down on either side of the bench and breathe in the warmth of the morning.
‘I suppose I’ve not thought that far ahead.’
‘It’s all going to change though, isn’t it? You’ll have a mum and dad. A stepdad, too, and a little brother. It’ll all be official. It’ll only be a day or two until the news channels turn up, then you’ll be on TV.’
‘I’ll tell them I’m not interested.’
‘But you’ll still have a mum, dad and brother.’ She pauses and sounds a little shakier when she continues: ‘I was thinking… if you’re hanging around, perhaps we can get a flat together, or something? I’m still with Mum because I can’t afford anywhere by myself. It doesn’t have to be in Stoneridge. We can find somewhere a few miles away. Far enough away to do our own thing and make sure we don’t get the dreaded drop-in; close enough that you can visit Harry and your mum…’
Nattie’s been thinking about this, perhaps even checking prices and looking for vacant flats. I screw my eyes closed, pushing and desperately trying to force myself not to cry. Tears feel close.
‘It was only an idea…’
She sounds slightly aggrieved and I reply instantly, even though my voice is suddenly a croaky sob-filled shambles. ‘It’s not that.’
My eyes are still closed but there’s a shuffling and then my hand is in Nattie’s. Her skin is warm. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you,
O. I know it’s a lot to think about.’
‘It’s not that either.’
I sit up and slowly open my eyes. Everything is so bright and it takes me a few seconds to realise Nattie is sitting on the playground holding my hand. Rhys is pressed up against the other bench, watching but not saying anything.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever had a real friend before,’ I say.
The words hurt, slicing my throat like gravel.
Nattie squeezes my fingers and rests her head on my knee. It feels like she’s going to say something but then my phone spoils everything by ringing.
Mum.
I swipe to answer and can sense the nervous excitement from her straight away when she says my name.
‘Are you in the village?’ she asks.
‘Yes – I’m with Nattie and Rhys.’
‘Can you come over? A courier’s on the way with the official letter and the results.’
I sit up straighter. ‘Can my friends come?’
‘Of course.’
‘What about Dad?’
There’s a pause and a moment in which I think the call might have dropped. I take it away from my ear but there are still three bars of reception and ‘Mum’ on the screen.
‘Are you still there?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ she replies. ‘Yes to both. You can bring your father.’
Twenty-Nine
If looks could kill, the conservatory of Mum’s house would be a Quentin Tarantino movie. The benefit of bringing Nattie, Rhys and Dad with me is that the death stares are evenly spread.
Rhys is getting his fair share simply for being someone of whom Ashley and Max are largely unaware. If they know anything about him, they’re not letting on. Nattie is proving herself to be unpopular, simply for being my friend. As usual, the Pitmans – Ashley in particular – are doing their best to give me the crooked eye but even that’s a sideshow compared to poor old Dad.
He’s turned himself around – at least outwardly. I picked him up and, when we hugged, there was the faintest whiff of booze under the smell of clean clothes and shower gel. If he has been drinking, it can’t have been much. He’s coherent, fully aware of where we are and why. I haven’t asked how he’s doing, figuring it’s none of my business. If he wants any sort of relationship, which it seems he does, he knows it’s up to him. He’s improved himself, not me.
There was an awkward, amicable handshake between him and Max and a mutual nod with Mum.
How are you, Dan?
Fine, thanks, Sarah. You?
I’m good, thank you.
The silence between them was very polite and courteous, like two business partners having their first meeting in a while. All very hands-off and corporate.
Although Max and my father shook hands, there was nothing similar on offer from Ashley. He’s not moved from the single seat in the conservatory, eyes flicking from one of my group to the next.
It’s warring cowboys and Indians, with Mum in the middle.
The glass-topped coffee table in the conservatory is clear except for an A5 brown envelope sitting askew in the centre. Everyone converges on the table, standing and waiting.
‘It came about five minutes before you did,’ Mum says. Her darting glance to Ashley is a telltale giveaway as she adds: ‘I thought it would be best that we were all here before we opened it.’
I’m tingling. The hairs on my neck are on end and there are pins and needles in the tips of my fingers.
Mum picks the letter up from the table and bobs it up and down, weighing whatever’s inside. I guess the true weight isn’t in the papers but in what they say.
‘You or me?’ she asks.
‘You do it.’
It feels as if everyone breathes in at the same time. Mum flips the envelope around and latches a fingernail underneath the flap. She tears along the seal and then pulls out a small sheaf of folded pages. She takes a deep breath and there are tears in her eyes. It’s like slow motion as she turns the papers over and flattens them in her hand.
The tingles ripple down along my back, whispering out to my sides. It’s impossible not to shiver because everything has led to this. In more ways than anyone knows, the words printed on the pages will confirm who I am.
It’s almost anticlimactic when Mum looks up to me. She doesn’t smile, not straight away. ‘It’s a match,’ she says.
Nothing happens for a second and then she grins wider than I’ve ever seen. Mum grabs me tight, clawing at my back with one hand, clasping the pages with the other.
Nattie whoops but I barely hear it over Mum’s breathy gasps in my ear.
She pulls away again, offering the page to Dad.
‘There’s no doubt,’ she says. ‘No one can question this. Ninety-nine-point-nine per cent accuracy. It’s a match.’
Dad rests a hand on my back and there’s a moment that’s simultaneously wonderful and horrifying. He leans his head on one shoulder and clasps my waist; Mum has her head on the other and cups her hands around my back. We’re a family of three: Mum, Dad and me.
It’s only a second, perhaps two, but it’s suddenly like being in a walk-in fridge. Everyone must feel it because each of my parents pull away abruptly. Somehow I’ve ended up with the pages in my hand, though I don’t remember Dad passing them over.
‘Ain’t that nice,’ Ashley sneers from his seat. ‘One happy little family. You see that, bro? Just like I told yer…’
Everyone has stopped. Rhys and Nattie are looking to Ashley; Mum and Dad are looking at Max. He’s looking to his brother – and Ashley is staring directly at me.
It’s Dad who speaks first. He steps away, hands up in the air. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says meekly. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it. I was excited at the test, that’s all.’
Ashley stands and takes a step towards my father. They’re more or less the same height but Ashley is bulkier, with thicker arms and a mightier chest. He snatches the pages away from me and scans the front before shoving them at my dad.
‘Doesn’t say you’re her father, does it?’
His eyes are narrow and he scoffs with relish. They’re eye to eye but Mum moves quickly, pressing herself between them and pushing Ashley away. I’m a little surprised that Dad stood up to him unmovingly.
‘Shut up,’ Mum says.
Ashley nods towards Max. ‘C’mon. Everyone in the village knows you two never stopped playing hide the sausage.’ He points at me: ‘She could be anyone’s.’
Mum steps towards him. ‘Don’t you dare come into my house and say things like that.’
He laughs in her face and Mum turns to Max.
‘Aren’t you going to do something about this?’
Max is sitting on the arm of the sofa. ‘Like what?’
‘Stand up for your wife?’
He shrugs and Mum moves away, before turning to my father.
‘It’s not true,’ she says.
‘I know it’s not.’
‘Olivia is yours. I never slept with Max or anyone else at that time.’
There are three crucial words at the end of her sentence and I wonder if Dad knows the truth. Perhaps he always figured Mum had cheated on him with Max towards the end? If he does, then he doesn’t say anything.
He looks to me and we lock eyes: ‘I’ve never doubted Olivia’s mine,’ he says. ‘She is my daughter.’
Ashley looks to his brother. ‘Are you buying this happy family bull? You gonna stand for this in your own house? They’re making you look like a fool. Taking you for a right mug and you’re gonna sit there and take it?’
Max doesn’t look as if he’s going to move but there’s something about him. He looks genuinely puzzled, as if he can’t quite believe everything that’s happened.
Ashley’s steaming for a fight and seeing as I doubt even he would stoop to smacking a woman in front of others, there aren’t many candidates. He doesn’t know Rhys and has little reason to go for him, so it’s only my father. The test results are now on the side. Ashley’s
fists are balled, his head arched forward as he takes a step towards my dad. I move quicker than either of them, putting myself between the two men. Because he’s hunched over, I’m temporarily able to look down on Ashley and take full advantage of it.
‘Big man…’ I say.
He straightens, puffing up his chest out. ‘You.’
There’s genuine hatred and, though there’s a part of me that wants to feel it back, it’s not there. I have no obvious reason to dislike him – but there’s no way I’m going to let him get anywhere near my father.
‘You’re a sad little man, aren’t you?’ I say. ‘A pathetic excuse for an existence, following your younger brother around all day. Haven’t you got your own friends? Or are the girls around here too smart to look at you twice?’
It doesn’t help that Nattie snorts a laugh but there’s a vein looping around Ashley’s eye that bulges with fury. Before anything can happen, I’m being pulled away roughly, fingers gripping and wrenching at my forearm.
It’s Max.
He spins me around and then shoves me towards Nattie, who has stopped giggling as quickly as she started.
‘You will not talk like that in my house,’ he says to me. He’s not quite shouting but there’s a controlled anger in his voice.
‘She’s my daughter, Max.’
Mum cuts across us all and then everyone’s looking at her. She picks up the letter and holds it up. ‘You can’t keep saying things are different with Ashley because he’s blood. Olivia is blood, too. This proves it. There’s no question.’
The two brothers stand united but alone – and it feels as if there’s been a shift, like it’s them against everyone else. They know it, too.
Ashley steps around his brother, still focused on me. ‘How’d you do it?’ he asks.
‘Do what?’
‘Cheat the test.’
I didn’t expect that at all and puff out a sigh of exasperation. ‘You were here,’ I tell him. ‘You saw me swab my mouth. You watched Cassie take everything away.’
‘Did you pay her? Something like that? You know someone at the lab.’
‘I didn’t know the name of the lab until I got here. I only know it now because it’s on the letter.’ I flash a hand towards the papers in Mum’s hand. ‘Go on, call them and ask. Better yet, ask them to come out. We’ll do it all again. You can hold the swab if you want. Nothing’s going to change.’
The Girl Who Came Back Page 21