I sit down at the dining table with my cup of tea, looking out of the patio doors. A plastic bag is blowing around the garden and I stand up, thinking I’ll go and retrieve it so I can put it in the bin, when I remember the letter.
Intrigued, I open it. To say that I am shocked would be a massive understatement. Inside the envelope is a sheet of white A4 paper, folded three times. Within the top folded section is a photograph of a little boy. I would guess he is about two years old.
Written on the paper, in elegant script, is the following:
My name is Selina Tiberghien.
This is a photograph of my son, Etienne. While I appreciate the money that his father sends, I do not appreciate you preventing my son from knowing him. Please take a good look at Etienne’s photograph. Please, please reconsider.
It is not my son’s fault that he was born. I feel sure that Richard would wish to know him. He is a wonderful little boy.
Selina
I feel like my head is going to explode with the thoughts racing around it. I can’t catch my breath; Richard has a son.
I think I may be sick. Instinctively I call Elisa. I ask if I can come over right now and she says ‘Yes’ and asks if I am OK. I say I will explain when I get there. She lives about an hour’s drive away. I need to get out of my house, immediately. I can’t even contemplate Richard coming home before I have worked out how I feel about this shocking revelation, just a few weeks before our wedding.
I lean against the doorframe between the kitchen and the hallway. I try to compose myself. If what Selina says is true, Richard has lied to me for years. He has ignored his own son, he has told Selina that I am responsible for his decision not to see Etienne, he has given Selina his money… soon to be our money. Has he even sought proof that Etienne is his biological child?
I remember the argument between Selina and Richard that I witnessed in Paris. Now I know why.
I grab my mobile phone, the letter and photo, my keys, my coat; I leave the house and the steaming hot cup of tea, I don’t dare stop for a second longer. I feel like the lies I have just uncovered have tainted this house – I can’t stay in it for a minute longer – I need to get out.
*****
“It’ll be OK,” says Elisa, stroking my hair as I sob uncontrollably. “I promise you will both be able to get past this.”
“But how can I ever trust him again? How could he lie to me about something like this?”
“You only have Selina’s side of the story,” soothes Elisa, “you don’t know right now what’s real. You need to talk to Richard.”
I am consumed by racing thoughts, from how we will include Etienne in our lives and whether Richard will want children of our own, to what I tell my family.
“I just feel, well, I feel ashamed. I know that sounds dreadful but everyone keeps saying how perfect Richard is… how lucky I am that I found him. I just can’t imagine telling my mum, my dad, telling Katie for goodness’ sake. I’ll have to explain that he has a child, a child he kept hidden.”
“He must have had his reasons, Beth. Maybe he doesn’t think it’s his?”
“But he sends her money each month! Why would he do that if it’s not his child?”
Elisa pauses for a moment. She looks as shocked as I do. I know she’s just trying to help. “OK… well Selina might be lying. You said the money was to pay his parent’s mortgage. Maybe that’s true.”
My head is in my hands. “I don’t know, I just feel like our marriage is ruined before it’s even begun… And the wedding is only in a few weeks.” I start to panic even more, thinking about all the money that’s been spent, the invitations, the expectations… “Should I call it off? We might have to call it off.” I dissolve into another fit of noisy sobs. My face is all red and I’m guessing my eyes will still be bloodshot tomorrow.
Elisa suggests that I take as long as I need before I go home to speak to Richard. I hate confrontation, I really hate it. Richard will be angry with Selina, that’s for sure but I have an idea that he might be angry with me too, just for knowing and asking him about it.
I spend another half hour with Elisa and then I go home. I let myself into the house and it’s empty. Richard is not yet home. It’s eleven o’ clock. So much has happened and yet only a few hours have passed. The house looks the same as it did before but something inside me has changed.
I can’t face Richard tonight. I get undressed, slip into bed and turn out the light. I can’t sleep. I lay there looking at the ceiling, crying a little.
At 12.28, I hear a key turn in the lock downstairs. I hear Richard walk in, shut the door, put down his keys and briefcase and hang up his coat. He climbs the stairs. My heart is pounding, I have a lump in my throat and I feel like I might erupt from anger.
I hear Richard enter the bathroom and the door shuts softly behind him. I imagine Richard brushing his teeth, washing his hands… I can hear the tap running. I turn over onto my side with my back to the empty side of the bed so I am facing the wall with the window on it. I wipe my eyes with a tissue then hide it under my pillow.
The bathroom door opens. The light clicks off. I hear him walk into our room in the dark and begin to undress. I can’t do it. I can’t blow this secret out of the water tonight. I can’t.
Richard slides into bed next to me, cool air filling the void beneath the duvet as it rises to accommodate his body. I imagine from the way I hear him moving and from the feel of his body through the roll of the mattress springs that he looks at me for a moment, perhaps propped up on one arm, as he wonders if I will stir so he can talk to me.
I stay still and pretend to be fast asleep. He lies down, lifts the top of the duvet a little to cover his shoulder. He clears his throat and then he’s silent.
I open my eyes in the dark and stare at the chink in the curtains, imagining the blustery night outside and listening to the wind in the trees.
I can’t break the silence. I don’t have the energy.
I close my eyes again. I think about Richard and I think about Joel. I think about Selina and Etienne. Tears threaten to fall again so I push my mind back to Joel. I hear Richard’s breathing, it becomes slow and deep.
Yes. I’ll think about Joel.
Against all of my expectations, I fall asleep in minutes.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It’s the night before my wedding to Richard. I am sleeping over at mum’s house in my old bedroom with the heart pattern wallpaper and the small vanity sink with the mirror above it that I learned to whistle in. I remember the ‘brushing my teeth’ chart that used to be stuck on the tiles. I idly wonder where that went.
We had dinner tonight, mum, dad and Katie and I. We looked through old albums at photos of days long gone. I felt really emotional. The loss of Joel from my head has made me miss a whole load of things. I feel very sentimental right now. Tomorrow is a fresh start. But am I ready?
I did not tell Richard about the letter. Only Elisa and I know about it. I haven’t had any more letters from Selina. I have decided to wait until after the wedding to speak to Richard.
I know, I know how that sounds and Elisa was not a fan of the idea when I told her. But I also told her about the flashes, for which she says that the stress of the wedding could be to blame.
In hindsight, I have lied to Richard almost as much as he has lied to me. And why did I lie? To protect him and to protect me from the possibility of losing him. Richard has probably lied for exactly the same reasons.
I put on my nightie, turn out the light and open the curtains. It’s something I used to do as a child; lay on my bed in the moonlight and watch the dark sky and the stars. I wonder if Joel can see the same stars somewhere? I wonder if he thinks of me?
I remember that, if he does think of me it’s probably not so fondly.
My eyes hurt, so I close them. When I was about 13 years old I read a book on astral projection. I used to spend hours laying in this very bed, trying to leave my body through the power of meditation. It’s la
ughable really. Crap meditation - I was a typical adolescent and couldn’t concentrate for toffee.
I remember that, after about 20 minutes or so of lying very still, I would get the rather disconcerting sensation of not being able to ‘feel’ myself in my body anymore. Usually, you are aware that your hands are touching the duvet, or your hair is across your face. But when I was really into the meditation I would stop feeling these sensations. I would panic and quickly wiggle my fingers and toes to check that I still could. It would break the spell, and then I’d give up and go to sleep.
I wonder now if I could do that again but be brave enough not to stop myself. Could I meditate on travelling somewhere now?
I know it’s silly but I decide to try it.
I relax back against the pillows and wriggle comfortably into the soft mattress. I remember that you are supposed to put your palms face down by your side rather than on your belly, though I have no idea why. I start to take a series of slow, deep breaths. I try to concentrate on inhaling good energy, which I imagine to be white and exhaling bad, which I see as yellow. Then I endeavour to relax my body with each breath, imagining that I am sinking down deeper into the bed. I try to clear my mind by letting thoughts come and go, until there are almost none left.
I see a black screen with swirling shapes behind my eyelids. I try to paint a picture in my mind’s eye. A picture of Joel. I won’t try to contact him. I just want to imagine seeing him one last time. I try to feel the way he feels, it’s like tuning into a frequency at which he resonates within me. I kind of think sideways... W.I.D.E… I can’t explain it any better.
It’s working. At least, I imagine it is. I feel myself rising upwards into a star-filled night sky. I am suspended in the air marvelling at the pin pricks of silver light and the beauty of the village scene below me. And now I am flying. It’s a bit scary at first. I want to get the hang of it better so I have a little practice, darting up and down, left and right. Soon I start to feel more in control. Wow, this is quite fun.
I fly fast over blurring landscapes and then over the sea for what feels like an age. The sea looks terrifying to me, cold and deep and vast and black. I persevere, concentrating on the stars, which give me a feeling of all-pervading calm. Slowly the sky starts to lighten, imperceptibly at first, until I begin to see a glowing sunset reflected on the tops of snow-covered mountains. Within a few more minutes the sky lightens further making me feel like I have travelled through time as well as space. Mapped out below me is a series of towns and cities. The sky lightens further still and I notice with childish joy the subtle curve of the Earth. It’s awe-inspiring. This certainly feels more real than I would expect from an imaginary journey.
Now the sun is warming my back, my face and my hands. Sunshine; a smile-inducing heat. I am following my heart, all the way to San Diego.
But before I can get as far as to reach the desert or the canyons and ocean beyond, I am stopped abruptly by an immediate sense that this is the place. I look down to see that I am suspended above a dark green forest of thin, waving trees. Somehow I know this is where I need to be. I swoop down, down, down; riding the cool waves of air from the North that will carry me down to the ground.
As I near the tops of the trees I feel my first lurch of vertigo as my eyes appreciate their astonishing height; evidence of how far I have to fall.
But I don’t fall; I am safely drifting into the top of the forest. The light changes and I am welcomed by a rising orchestra of birdsong. I take care to mind the branches as I negotiate my descent.
With a gentle bump I find myself standing next to a beautiful, gentle river. Clear water bubbles and spills over pebbles and rocks. The river spans what I would guess is almost twenty feet across and its muddy banks are sheltered by younger, light green, leafy trees that cast dappled light. I hear a rustling above me which could only be animals in the trees, maybe squirrels or birds.
So why am I here in this beautiful place alone? I walk just a few steps before the sound of approaching voices makes me jump. I am about to hide when I realise that there really is no point. After all, this is just my imagination. That’s all it is. So I stand my ground.
A group of guys round the bend. They are carrying camping stuff; sleeping bags, a fishing net. Oh God, I recognise them... And there at the back is Joel. He is wearing a tourist's sombrero, skinny black jeans, a black t-shirt and tan boots. He has a full face of stubble now; almost a beard. He is looking down at his feet while he walks; kind of kicking at the pebbles. He's deep in thought and, though the others are chatting about the trail up ahead and a waterfall they are off to see, it’s like he’s disconnected.
I start to step sideways so that I can watch them from behind a group of trees. I know I’m not really there - I’m just imagining this of course - but I am overcome with a sense of how real this seems, so I feel embarrassed to be snooping. As I move, I step on a twig and the shock of hearing it crack - loudly - makes me gasp.
“What the -“
The guys stop, they look back towards the sound. Joel looks too. Crap! I am wearing a Minnie Mouse nightie for Christ’s sake. Real or not real, I hide behind the nearest tree trunk. Before they can register a shape through the leaves I decide to leave. Visit over, time to go home. Come on, I think, fly on out of here Beth. Come on...
Nothing happens.
Desperate, I even try clicking my heels together.
Nothing.
Joel’s friends, one of whom I recognise as the lead guitarist, start to walk towards the trees. He is laughing. He stops, theatrically, hands on hips. “Place your bets – is it a big fat moose, or an intrepid photographer?” He says, making an action with his hands like he’s cocking a rifle. They all fall about laughing. All apart from Joel, who passes them. He strides purposefully over, seemingly unconcerned at what he might find. He reaches around the side of the tree and pulls back the leaves of the branch between us.
Joel looks right at me.
I look at him.
Oh. His eyes are beautiful. His skin, up close, is pretty much perfect. I can make out the shape of his abs beneath his t-shirt. He raises an eyebrow. I can’t think. I can’t even work out if he looks angry or not. Time stops for a second or two. Then his eyes clock the Minnie Mouse nightie and I almost see the corner of his mouth turn up a little. Just a little.
He has beautiful lips. I remember how those lips felt to kiss.
I blush.
He doesn’t skip a beat. “Whatever it was it’s gone now,” he drawls. His eyes bore into mine. “Come on guys. Let’s find this waterfall before sunset.”
My heart is thumping so loud I am sure they can all hear. He turns on his heels without any suggestion to the others that he saw me and wanders off up the path. “Hell I’m hungry!” He shouts, amiably. The guys follow.
And just like that I whoosh straight back up into the air, elated and batting away branches from my face. I am powered by a soaring in my heart, which is on fire in my chest like a rocket engine. Faster and faster I fly. I feel excited, scared, lucky, silly. I retrace my journey from the sunset to the darkness, over sea and over land. The return journey feels quicker somehow. I am on a high.
When I reach London, which thank God is hard to miss, I start to feel concerned that I might not be able to find my way home. Some sort of instinct kicks in and I just know when to swoop back down. There is the church on the hill... and the parade of shops and the school playing field. As I near my mother’s house, I start to yawn. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea the night before my wedding. I close my eyes briefly and, when I open them, I am surprised to see I am back in my bed.
I get up, feeling dizzy and walk across the room to the vanity sink. I almost expect my hair to be a mess, or to find a leaf sticking to my foot.
But there’s nothing of course. Nothing to say whether it was real or not.
Though of course, it can’t have been.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
March the 4th - our wedding day – dawned bright
and cool. Lymenton Manor was even more beautiful than I had remembered it. Fresh flowers adorned the staircase that I walked down, past garlands of pink and white roses, holding my dad’s arm tight as I approached Richard and the Registrar.
A strange calm came over me. Everything went to plan and I smiled so much my face hurt, just like my friends who were already married had said it would.
I wore a cream sheath dress from Brides Reloaded, a local designer dress store that sells fantastic pre-loved gowns. I’d had my heart set on the dress from the moment Katie and I saw it in the window, the light bouncing off of the hundreds of tiny crystals embroidered onto the bodice.
Richard said I sparkled my way down the aisle. The dress was - kind of - my something borrowed. (Almost borrowed, it was £270 instead of £1,200.) My something old was a beautiful lace veil that my mum wore on her wedding day. For the something new, my three bridesmaids wore hot pink dresses that my mum had a seamstress make to fit them and they carried gorgeous hand-tied posies of baby pink roses.
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