by Marc Scott
Bree screwed up her face and gave her friend a nudge in her ribs. ‘You bitch!’ she yelled. ‘You are a total fucking bitch!’ Almost at once both girls let out a huge howl of laughter, making their homeward journey much less tense than their trip there. In a war of wits, Bree began reminding her friend of the countless one-night stands she had encountered and revealing the truth about some unpleasant graffiti that had been written about her on the back of a toilet door at their old school. Kayleigh retaliated by repeatedly mimicking Brian Needham’s comment about her and her mother looking so alike. She even dared to suggest that she might enter the two of them in a ‘mother and daughter beauty contest’.
It had seemed such a long time since the two of them had shared so much banter and laughter together, Kayleigh wished it would never end. She loved seeing her friend smiling and joking again after everything that had happened. Maybe this would be the start of her road to recovery, she thought. Something told her however, that her friend’s mood swing would very much depend on the result of the call from the newspaper.
The call came at exactly 5.46pm. It was a brief conversation, but it was a call that would change Bree’s life forever. Kayleigh held her friend’s trembling hand tightly as the phone rang.
‘Hi, this is Bree.’
‘Hello, Bree, Brian Needham from the Gazette.’
‘Hello,’ she replied and took a deep breath as her heart pounded in her chest. Kayleigh sat closer to her friend, crossed her fingers and smiled. Bree switched her phone to the speaker, so they would both be able to hear the conversation. ‘Did you manage to find out anything about that man in the photograph?’
‘Dean Jarvis,’ the newspaperman said. ‘His name is Dean Jarvis.’
‘Dean Jarvis?’ Bree asked, seeking his confirmation one more time. Kayleigh squeezed her ‘besties’ hand more firmly and said to her shaking friend, ‘I know that name.’
Brian Needham continued. ‘Yes, his name is Dean Jarvis, we found his name on the file photograph. There was no company name for him though.’
‘Oh,’ Bree said slightly disappointed.
‘But he did come in here a few years back. One or two of the staff on the news desk remembered him.’
‘He came into your offices?’ Bree asked.
‘Yes, he came in here ranting and raving about the article we ran on his daughter. Did you know that he is the father of Poppy Jarvis?’
‘Poppy Jarvis?’ Bree asked as if she should know who that was.
‘Yes,’ came the reply. ‘You know, the Poppy Jarvis. She may know where you can find him, she is out now.’
Bree didn’t understand and was a little lost for words. Kayleigh was slowly getting the gist of what was being said to her friend and sat closer to her with her mouth wide open.
‘Hello,’ the newspaperman said, not sure if Bree was still on the line. She tried to speak, she wanted to ask him so many questions, but the words never left her mouth.
‘She works in a bistro in Welling High Street,’ Needham revealed. ‘Poppy Jarvis, I saw her there myself a few weeks back.’
Bree was still stunned, she felt as if she was having one of her nightmares, waiting for someone to wake her up. She finally responded with a few jumbled words. ‘Restaurant, High Street, Poppy, Poppy Jarvis.’
Brian Needham could be heard calling out to one of his colleagues before providing her with further information. ‘Chez Noir or Chez Blanc, it is one or the other. It is opposite the Marks and Spencer store.’
Both girls now sat open-mouthed. Was this really happening? Was it a dream? Bree had to pinch herself to make sure it was all real. Needham seemed to have finished dropping this huge bombshell in her lap, so Bree cleared her throat to speak. ‘Thank you, Brian, thank you so much for your help,’ she said.
She was about to cancel the call when the man from the newspaper left her with a friendly but firm warning. ‘Just be very careful with Poppy Jarvis,’ he said. ‘She is, well, she is a nasty piece of work, she is not a very nice person at all.’
The call ended at 5.51pm.
Neither of the girls wanted to speak first, they were both in a state of shock. Kayleigh was the one to break the silence. ‘You have a sister, if he is your dad, then this Poppy girl is your sister.’ Bree nodded, but was clearly still dazed by the revelation. The two girls reached out and hugged each other. A small tear left Bree’s eye and rolled down the side of her cheek, she didn’t know why. Bree was still confused, she was trying hard to digest all of what she had just been told.
Their embrace lasted a whole minute before Bree broke free with a slight look of concern on her tearstained face. ‘What did he mean when he said she is out now?’ she asked.
Chapter Seventeen
Bree did not sleep a wink that night, she was afraid to. It was not because of her recurring nightmares, but because she was worried that the events of the previous day would turn out to be nothing more than a dream. As she sat on the bed, clutching Jamie’s pillow, she began to piece together what she now believed to be true facts and how her brother had turned out to be right all along.
Before her friend had left her the previous night, she had remembered where she had seen the name Dean Jarvis previously. They had found it, her and Kayleigh, the business card, it was at the bottom of the sports bag, the one that Preston had brought them from the gym. It had taken half a bottle of wine for Bree to pluck up enough courage to call the mobile number on the back of the card, entering the digits at least a dozen times before actually pressing the call button. The number they were calling, however, seemed to be disconnected.
Kayleigh had advised her friend to let the news of her sister’s existence sink in for a few days before making any decisions on her next move. But despite the fact she agreed, she couldn’t wait to meet Poppy and within minutes of her friend leaving the house, Bree had checked the postcode and opening times of Chez Blanc online and had already entered the location in the sat nav in her car. The journey would take her less than an hour.
As the sun began to rise, Bree’s anticipation rose with it. There were a million and one questions she needed to be answered. ‘What would her big sister look like? Did Poppy know that she had a sibling? If she did, why hadn’t she tried to find her? Why did her real father only want to contact Jamie and not her?
Brian Needham’s words were still sounding small alarm bells in her head. ‘She is out now. She is not a very nice person.’ What had she done? Bree thought to herself. What could her sister possibly have done that would make him say what he had said?’
There was another conundrum for Bree. What should she wear? She didn’t want to look too formal, too smart, so casual, but not jeans, she wanted to make the right impression. In the end she decided that her red Gestuz top and her black Armani trousers gave her the right balance. She was shaking, she couldn’t stop fidgeting. Why was she so nervous? she thought. She should be excited, she had a sister, a real sister.
Suddenly her mobile rang, it made her jump. She thought it might be Brian Needham again. Maybe there was more information about her father. But it wasn’t, it was her mother. She was certainly not in the mood for one of her question and answer sessions today. She ignored the call and began to apply a light layer of makeup to her face.
Her mobile rang again and once more remained unanswered. Bree knew what was coming next and sure enough the landline rang in the living room. Bree tried to carry on with her preparations for the day, but that constant ring tone began to make her skin crawl. ‘Fuck off, you evil bitch!’ she shouted from the top of the stairs, but it was the turn of the phone to ignore her this time and it carried on ringing. By now Bree was infuriated with her mother’s persistence. Maybe, she thought, it was time to give ‘the bitch’ some home truths.
As she lifted the receiver, that all too familiar voice sounded out the name she had been born with, but never used. ‘Brianna, is that
you?’ her mother asked.
Bree shook her head, wanting to ridicule her parent by saying, ‘No, it is a fucking burglar! I just broke in through the window and I heard the phone ringing, so I answered it!’ But she decided against flippancy, it would only be wasted on her mother. ‘Hello, Mother,’ she said. The all too familiar pattern followed, her mother telling her how many times she had called her, how worried she had been because she hadn’t answered her phone and her concerns that she might have starved herself to death that week. As Bree listened, an anger built up inside her. She did not feel like having a civil conversation this morning. She couldn’t care less what the weather was like in Tampere or whether her mother had found a buyer for the house, she had much more important things on her mind. Her mother was halfway through her one-way sermon when Bree simply said it. ‘Who is the man in that photograph, the one taken at the awards night?’ Her mother started to talk over her, swiftly trying to redirect the conversation. Maybe she didn’t hear me, Bree thought. She asked again. This time it was more to the point. ‘Who is the man holding your hand at the dinner table? Is that Dean Jarvis?’
The silence was deafening, it seemed to last an age, but in truth was surely no more than a few seconds. It was not often that her mother had been cut short in a conversation. Bree asked the question one more time, but her mother interrupted her halfway through. ‘How dare you!’ she barked. ‘How dare you go through my personal things.’
Bree knew that she had touched a nerve. She suddenly found a new resolve as she looked for answers. She got straight to the point. ‘Is that my real father?’ she asked. ‘Is Dean Jarvis my real father?’
The silence returned, followed by a heavy sigh at the end of the line. ‘Throw the photo away,’ her mother said in an agitated voice. ‘Rip it up and throw it away, it’s not important.’
Her mother was on the ropes now and Bree was in fighting mood. ‘Jamie was right, wasn’t he? Per is not our real father, this man is, this Dean Jarvis is my real father, isn’t he?’
Bree could now sense that her mother was fighting back. She would seemingly do anything to avoid discussing this subject. ‘Is this Kayleigh?’ she snapped. ‘Is this your friend Kayleigh stirring things up, putting crazy thoughts into your head? Doesn’t she realise what you have been through, Brianna? Doesn’t she know how much you have suffered these past few months? She can be poisonous that girl, poisonous!’
Bree wanted to answer her mother’s condemnation of her best friend by saying, ‘That’s funny, she was the salt of the earth the last time you called me and now she is poisonous. No, Mother, it is you that is poisonous, a lying, scheming, poisonous bitch.’ But she didn’t have time for those words, she wanted a straight answer and she wanted it now. ‘I asked you a question, Mother. I have the right to know the truth. Is Dean Jarvis my father?’
She didn’t know why, but she was hoping that her mother would just answer ‘Yes’. Maybe then, she might just give her the chance to explain. All she needed to do was simply say ‘Yes’. But her mother was off the ropes now, refusing to give her any straight answers. Now it was the turn of Bree’s medication to be blamed for this crazy notion she had. ‘Those tablets, the blue ones, are you still taking them?’ her mother asked, now angering her daughter even more.
‘It is not the fucking anti-depressants, Mother, and you know it. I just want the truth.’ Bree wasn’t sure where her outburst had come from, she had never sworn directly at her mother before that moment, but there was no holding her back now. This conversation had taken a turn way beyond the concept of family respect.
Her mother tried one last time to dismiss her daughter’s attack on her. ‘So, the photograph, Brianna, I want you to tear up the photograph and never ask me any more nonsense questions like this again.’
That word was still missing, why could she not just say ‘Yes’ and tell her the truth, Bree thought. Maybe, just maybe, she could try to understand why she had hidden this from her for all these years. Bree was not prepared to let her mother off the hook. The sparring was over, the boxing gloves were thrown onto the floor, she was fighting dirty now, she had a new choice of weapon. She pushed a dagger deep into her mother’s heart and twisted it around. ‘And were you ever going to tell me that I had a sister?’ she asked. ‘Were you ever going to tell me about Poppy?’
There was a sharp intake of breath heard down the phone line, as reality finally smacked her mother full on in the face. Her daughter knew, her daughter knew everything! The blade in her mother’s heart twisted one more time as Bree finished the conversation. ‘I am going to meet her today, Mother,’ she said. ‘I am going to meet Poppy, I am going to meet my fucking sister that you have kept from me for all these years.’
As the line went dead, Krista Nylund fell to her knees and held her chest. Her breathing became very heavy, she began to sweat, her body started to shake violently. Slumping forward onto the floor of her living room in her brightly decorated home in Finland, she held her head in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably for at least an hour.
* * *
The skies were clear over Tampere on that bright sunny morning, but a dark cloud would hang over Krista’s head for an eternity. She would never forget that telephone call. Word for word, she would remember every heartbreaking moment of agony that her daughter had put her through. She had not heard Poppy’s name for more than twenty years. That name alone scared her, it had been everything that held her and Dean apart. But Krista knew that she would not have been having that conversation with her daughter had she carried out her plan all those years ago. In fact there would never have been a Brianna or a Jamie Nylund at all.
Her mind took her back to the car park of that private clinic in North London. It was very cold outside. Christmas was less than a week away and normal people were preparing to celebrate. But there was nothing normal in her thoughts that day and she was far from ready for any type of celebration.
She thought he might be on time, just this once, but Dean Jarvis stayed true to form and was nowhere to be seen. The appointment was for three thirty. Why didn’t she tell him that it was an hour earlier? She had tried to reach him, but once again his phone was not switched on. That seemed to be happening more frequently now, ever since that day she had told him. Why did she bother to tell him? she thought. How did she ever find the strength to tell him? It would have been far better to simply book the termination herself and he would have been none the wiser. Now he seemed to be treating her like a leper, like she had some toxic contagious disease that he might catch. The previous week, when she was desperate to see him, he had told her that he had been on a sales training course somewhere in Yorkshire. But she didn’t believe him, she wanted to call his company and check if what he had told her was true, but she had been more worried about being proved right than wrong.
At three twenty she dragged her feet into the reception area of the clinic, looking over her shoulder, hoping that she would see his car turn into the car park. It didn’t. She had confided in Millie who had offered to leave work early to meet her there. Why did she say no? She should have known this would happen. She so wished that she had asked her friend to come now. She would support her through this painful experience and give her the strength to see it through to the end.
She was a friendly woman, the consultant inside the clinic. She explained everything to her in full detail. She told her how the first tablet would terminate the pregnancy, and the second, to be taken the following day, would deliver the fetus, as if she was having a heavy period. She would need a couple of days off work, to rest, and may have some bouts of nausea, but they would wear off. The kindly consultant seemed to wonder why Krista was constantly staring at the door. She could probably have told her that he was not coming, that he had let her down, that Dean Jarvis was just a selfish bastard that had had his fun and dumped her when she needed him most. The whole staff at the clinic could have told her that she was better off witho
ut him. Krista, of course, would not have believed them.
She had been sitting in the small consultancy room for nearly twenty minutes. Why did they allow her so much time to think before giving her the first tablet? she thought. Jumbled images began to run through her mind. She thought back to the night of the awards dinner. She could still see his face across the dinner table. He had said that he loved her that night, he told that he really loved her. When they arrived back at her flat he told her again, he said that she would always be his ‘Persephone’, his goddess, that he could not live without her. He said that he would walk barefoot on hot coals to save her from danger. Her head began to spin as the terrifying ordeal in front of her became more real by the minute. So he would walk on hot coals to protect her, but he couldn’t make a three thirty appointment at this clinic, when her needs were surely greater than any fallen temptress from those mythological creations he had created in his head.
There was still more time to think, to make sure she was making the right decision. No sign of his car in the car park. It would all be over soon. But her mind would not let her forget how perfect that night had been, how close they were, flesh to flesh, soul to soul, entangled in an embrace that would have stood firm against the strongest hurricane. It was not just passion, it was love, she was sure it was true love. So why would you kill something that came from true love? No, she thought, there is far too much time to think, these thoughts need to be about how stupid it was to come off the pill or not make him use protection. She had only ever used contraceptives to avoid having a baby with Per. Did something in her soul cry out for this, was this meant to happen? God, she thought, please bring the first pill now before I change my mind.
Twenty-odd minutes later Krista found herself dragging her feet back to her car. A frost was beginning to set on the windscreen of her car and large snowflakes began to fall around the wheels. It wasn’t the arrival of Dean that made her cry that day. No, she accepted the fact that he was late because he had been collecting some Christmas presents for Poppy. He proudly pointed to them, sitting on the back seat of his car. So while she had been deliberating over the most heartbreaking decision she had ever made in her life, he had been queuing at the local toy store for the child that he did want to have in his life.