No Child of Mine

by Susan Lewis

Of course it was the password. So simple, so obvious. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

  She was delving deeply into the yellow eye’s brain now, plucking out pictures, stories, emails, whole websites, like digging cockles from shells. As a child she used to find cockles in rock pools; she’d kept one once and called him Harry. He wasn’t much of a friend, but she’d cried anyway when her stepfather had crushed him.

  She used to cry a lot, but then she’d learned not to.

  Ottilie was learning that it did no good.

  Ottilie was here, frozen in images, moving in videos, packed into files, folders, albums, downloads, uploads ... She even had a fan page.

  Erica hummed as she copied it and sent it on its way to her own computer.

  A fan page!

  Ottilie had fans.

  Ottilie probably had no idea what a fan was, much less that she had any.

  Alex Lake could be termed a fan, couldn’t she, though not in the same sense as those who belonged to Brian’s club.

  Where was Brian now?

  She’d lost track of the time, maybe she shouldn’t be here any more. If he found her ... What would he do?

  She hiccuped loudly, a sharp, staccato sound that punctured the air like pellets from the gun her stepfather used to own. He’d shot her once, her mother too.

  She hated her mother.

  It didn’t matter what Brian might do; it was too late now anyway.

  Alex clicked off her phone and heaved a troubled sigh as she looked at her mother. ‘Well, at least we know he took her,’ she declared, ‘but apparently the paediatrician’s been called out on an emergency, so she’s going to ring me tomorrow.’

  Anna was looking as worried as Alex, but relieved too that at least Ottilie had been taken to her appointment. ‘Did the nurse give you any indication of how it went?’ she asked.

  Alex shook her head. ‘Not really, just that Ottilie was very good and didn’t cry, and that her father was most respectful and concerned about what was happening.’ With a dubious roll of her eyes she opened the fridge to take out some wine. Her mother always enjoyed a glass around six, and it seemed she was falling into the habit too.

  This evening was to be their last together before Anna flew home on Saturday. Because the flight was leaving so early it made sense for her to spend the night before at a hotel close to the airport, so it was her intention to start out from Mulgrove around two tomorrow afternoon. Alex was dreading it, they both were, but there was no way Anna could stay any longer. The invitations had already gone out for Bob’s sixtieth birthday party, and over eighty people had replied to say they were coming. Besides, Alex had to return to full-time work on Monday.

  They’d spent most of the day at the retail centre on the edge of town, browsing furniture stores and kitchen shops while trying not to worry themselves sick about Ottilie. It was over a salad at Bella Pasta that they’d decided it would be best for Anna to leave without saying goodbye to her. They didn’t want to make a fuss of it, in case it upset her and left her with a fear that Alex might do the same. Simply disappearing didn’t feel like much of a good alternative, but as they’d agreed, it was the least traumatic way of letting go.

  Anna hadn’t voiced the suspicion that she might not see Ottilie again, but it had been there between them, large and real and as inescapable as the dread of where Ottilie might end up. If she was removed from the family home then it might not be possible for Anna to visit her the next time she came to England. It would depend on her carers and whether or not they considered it to be in Ottilie’s best interests.

  ‘But of course, as her social worker, I’ll have a say in it too,’ Alex had assured her mother, ‘so don’t let’s look on the black side yet.’

  Anna had forced a smile, in much the same way as she was forcing one now. ‘It’s a funny thing about children, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘They work their way into your heart and are filling it up before you’ve even noticed.’

  ‘It’s lovely that you care about her,’ Alex replied. ‘I’m not sure anyone else has in her short little life, at least not in a way that’s good for her.’

  ‘Apart from you, of course.’

  Alex nodded. ‘Apart from me.’ She couldn’t put into words how deeply she cared, nor would she try. It was hard enough to think of the times that lay ahead when Ottilie might be wondering where she was and not understanding why she didn’t come, without struggling to express it.

  After filling two glasses with wine and tipping a bag of nuts into a bowl, she sat down at the table and watched her mother opening up the computer. They were about to embark on their last call to Bob together; after tonight they would speak to one another through Skype, feeling the thousands of miles between them while technology brought them together. The time difference meant that everything would have to be prearranged – no more spontaneity or exchanges of idle thoughts, only forced exuberance and promises to be in touch again soon.

  After a lifetime of being without her mother, two weeks of getting to know her wasn’t anywhere near long enough. She could feel an awful, engulfing sense of loneliness coming over her, which was foolish, she knew, and even childish, but she couldn’t help it.

  ‘It’s still a bit early yet,’ Anna said, when Bob didn’t reply. ‘I’ll try again in a few minutes.’

  As her eyes came to Alex and Alex saw her tears, she felt her own starting to burn. They laughed and hugged and reminded each other that they’d promised not to cry, but it was a promise they both knew they’d never be able to keep.

  In the end Bob’s call managed to get them laughing in a way that lasted a while after they rang off. Alex could feel how torn her mother was between a longing to return to her husband and the desire to prolong her stay – perhaps until she could take her daughter home with her.

  Alex wasn’t sure that day would ever come, but on the other hand she wasn’t going to rule it out.

  It was gone midnight before they finally exhausted themselves talking and went off to bed. Though Alex felt sure she’d be unable to sleep, to her amazement, when she woke up, she realised it was morning and past the time she usually rose.

  She found her mother already in the kitchen, warming bread in the oven and scrambling eggs on the stove. How wonderful it was to be this spoiled; how awful it was going to feel when she came down the stairs tomorrow to find no one there.

  ‘Did you sleep?’ she asked, going to pour herself a coffee.

  ‘Better than I expected to,’ Anna replied, passing her own mug for a refill. With a sigh, she said, ‘I keep wishing you could come and stay the night at the hotel with me, but I don’t want you making that long drive back after we’ve said goodbye.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind,’ Alex told her.

  ‘Maybe not, but I would. And besides, it would mean taking two cars to the airport today, which is a bit of a nonsense. Then I’ll have to go off to the terminal at five thirty in the morning, even more of a nonsense. So it’s best that we stay with our plan to say goodbye here.’

  Alex went to put her arms around her. ‘Thank you for coming to find me,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m so glad I did.’ Anna smiled tenderly. ‘You’ve grown into a wonderful young woman. I feel so proud of you, coming through all that you have and turning out as smart and capable as you are.’

  Alex’s eyes twinkled. ‘That sounds like me,’ she said teasingly.

  ‘It is you,’ Anna told her. ‘I’ve watched you over these last two weeks and I’ve come to admire you almost as much as I love you. You understand, don’t you, that I never stopped loving you?’

  Alex nodded. ‘Yes, I understand,’ she replied, her eyes starting to blur.

  ‘And I never will stop. From now on, I’ll always be there for you, no matter what. Whether we’re thousands of miles apart, or in the same country, nothing is ever going to come between us again.’

  Thinking of Ottilie, Alex said, ‘We must try not to let it, but sometimes ...’ She stopped as Anna put a finger ove
r her lips.

  ‘I know what’s in your mind,’ she said, ‘but I promise you, things have a way of working themselves out. I know it’s taken a very long time for us, but that’s not to say it’ll be the same for Ottilie.’

  Wishing she could believe that, Alex turned at the sound of her mobile ringing. Both dreading and hoping it would be the paediatrician, she went to dig it out of her bag. Seeing that it was indeed the doctor, she felt her insides turning weak.

  ‘Hi, Alex Lake speaking,’ she said, clicking on.

  ‘Hi Alex, it’s Tina, Tina Gardiner.’

  ‘Yes, how are you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m good. Rushed off my feet as usual, but I know you’re waiting for my report on Ottilie Wade. I’ll make sure it’s typed up and emailed over by the end of the day, but I thought you’d want an answer to your most pressing question right away.’

  Alex could no longer breathe.

  ‘I’m afraid she’s not intact. The hymen’s broken and the clitoris is responsive to mild stimulation.’

  Alex tried to speak, but unthinkable images were blocking the words.

  ‘Needless to say the father had an excuse for the hymen,’ Tina Gardiner continued. ‘Apparently she fell off a tyre swing about eighteen months ago and landed on a tent peg.’

  The tyre swing. ‘Do – do you believe him?’ Alex managed to ask.

  ‘Let’s just say there are no scars consistent with that sort of injury, but as for proving he’s lying ... It’ll take some doing and it’ll also require Ottilie to go through more internal exams. Anyway, I’m sorry the news isn’t good. From what I hear you’ve taken a special interest in the child, so I understand this will be a blow.’

  It was more than that, it was devastating.

  For the first time in her life Alex felt that she really, truly wanted to kill another human being.

  ‘As I said,’ Tina Gardiner continued, ‘a full report will be with you by the end of the day, or, if I’m being honest, it could be Monday or Tuesday before you get it now. Sorry about that, it’s just the way things are.’

  After thanking her, Alex rang off and as the grotesque imagery of Ottilie and her father loomed at her again, she ran to the bathroom to be sick.

  A while later her mother was dabbing her mouth with a wet flannel as her heart pounded wildly in her chest. ‘I’ve just realised something,’ she said weakly. ‘The day I first met Ottilie at her home and I asked what games she wanted to play she said ‘not tyre’. At least that’s what I thought she said, but she’s never shown any signs of being nervous about going on a tyre swing while she’s been with us. You’d have thought she would, if the fall was what injured her so badly, but the only thing she never wants to see or have anything to do with is a tiger, which sounds like tyre, especially the way she says it.’ Her eyes went to Anna’s. ‘She doesn’t actually know what a tiger is, because when she saw one in a jigsaw puzzle, and then I showed her one at the zoo, she had no idea it was an animal with stripes.’

  Suspecting where this was leading, Anna’s revulsion showed.

  ‘She was happy if I called it Tigger, just not tiger,’ Alex went on, starting to feel nauseous again.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ Anna asked hoarsely.

  Alex was trying to make herself think clearly. ‘Obviously report it to Tommy,’ she replied, ‘then we’ll have to speak to Brian Wade ourselves ...’

  ‘But knowing what you do, can’t you take her away now?’

  Alex shook her head. ‘We still have no proof, but at least the paediatrician seems to be on our side, which isn’t to say another one will be, and there’s no doubt that Brian Wade will demand a second opinion, possibly even a third.’

  Anna seemed at a loss. ‘Well, I guess there’s always a chance he’s telling the truth,’ she ventured weakly.

  ‘I only wish I could believe that, but I’m afraid I can’t.’ Alex glanced at the time. ‘I have to pick Ottilie up and take her to nursery. She’s going to be with me all day, until her parents get back from her mother’s psychiatric assessment.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Anna murmured helplessly, ‘that poor child hardly stands a chance, does she? A mother who’s crazy and a father who’s very probably one of the lowest forms of human life ...’

  ‘Not very probably, he is,’ Alex insisted. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind about that, and what’s more, I’m going to prove it.’ Already the implications of exposing the deputy head of a primary school were starting to present themselves, but she was far from daunted. ‘If it’s the last thing I ever do,’ she declared forcefully, ‘I’m going to make sure that sly, evil bastard never lays a hand on her again.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  BRIAN WADE WAS digging and digging, turning over huge spadefuls of earth, throwing them on to a pile that was already almost to his waist. He knew Ottilie was watching from an upstairs window and perhaps Erica was too, but he didn’t care. Since Thursday’s visit to the paediatrician he’d been trapped in a paralysis of fear, not knowing what to do or where to turn. This morning, as he was getting ready for church, it had come to him. He must create a hole large enough to bury the evidence of his shame, a grave for the proof Alex Lake was seeking.

  She’d come on Friday, as usual, to collect Ottilie for nursery, but he’d sent her away. She hadn’t gone easily, had put up a terrible fight, but not so terrible that he hadn’t won in the end. Ottilie was his daughter; if he wanted to take her to nursery himself, he had every right to. The fact that he hadn’t turned up at the Pumpkin had taken little time to get back to Ms Lake, because she’d been banging on the door again within the hour, demanding to see Ottilie for herself.

  He’d allowed it, briefly, then had sent Ottilie back to her room.

  ‘Are you taking your wife for her assessment today?’ Alex Lake had thrown out the challenge with such contempt that even if he’d been in any doubt before, which he hadn’t, he’d have known then that the paediatrician had already confided her findings.

  Ottilie had fallen from a tyre swing on to a tent peg. For heaven’s sake, it happened, and it was tragic, but it couldn’t be helped.

  ‘You know my wife has difficulties about leaving the house,’ he’d thrown back at Alex Lake. ‘She can’t do it, she’s an agoraphobic ...’

  ‘She has far worse problems than that and you know it,’ Alex Lake had cut in. ‘You’re using her, trying to hide behind her, but it’s not going to work.’

  ‘If you’d let me finish I could tell you that I’m going to see the psychiatrist myself,’ he growled, but nerves were diluting his indignation, making him sound pathetic and weak. ‘I need to tell him about her, explain what’s happened in her past, the reasons why she’s the way she is now.’

  ‘It’s her he needs to see, not you.’

  ‘I’m aware of that, but ...’

  ‘You’re stalling again, Mr Wade, trying to prevent us from doing our jobs, but let me tell you this, nothing you do is going to save you from what you’ve done to your daughter. There is nowhere, nowhere in the world you can hide from that. Do you hear me? I don’t care who you are, or what kind of defence you put up ...’

  He’d slammed the door on her then and stood against it, his pounding heart deafening him as he’d waited for her to drive away. It had taken a while longer for her to go than he’d expected, but in the end she’d had no choice but to leave.

  She’d be back though, there was no doubt about that.

  It was Sunday afternoon now. He wondered if she’d been told that he had gone to see the psychiatrist. Even if she had, the doctor couldn’t – at least shouldn’t – have divulged what had been said, because the official request was for an assessment on his wife, and he’d only spoken about himself. He’d hijacked the appointment and told the doctor, pleaded with him to understand that what was happening to him, the things he did, weren’t his fault. He was one of nature’s victims, an otherwise normally functioning person with a terrible mix-up in the chemistry of his brain,
a wrongly wired circuit that allowed no change to his default system. Everyone had urges, some much stronger than others – his weren’t as bad as many others he knew of, and he’d swear before God that he’d never touched a child that wasn’t his own.

  Had he detected disgust and loathing in the psychiatrist’s eyes? Certainly it had been there in Alex Lake’s. Occasionally his wife looked at him that way too, when she was in a sane enough state of mind to look at him at all. He knew she saw her stepfather in him, but he was nothing like that oaf, who had been evil through and through. A sadist, a lecher, an abuser in every sense of the word, and his demented wife, Erica’s mother, had been no better. Though they’d died before Erica came into his life, he’d sensed from the start how fragile, how deeply scarred she was by the upbringing she’d been forced to endure. He’d pitied her, and wanted to protect her, so he’d taken her up, married her and given her a new start in a new town.

  She had much to be grateful to him for, including their children – and not forgetting, never forgetting, the secret he’d never told, that she, with her bare hands, had stifled their three-year-old son to death. If he hadn’t stood by her over that she’d be in Broadmoor now, or some other establishment for the criminally insane. Ottilie would have been born there, and he’d have been forced to find another mother for his daughter.

  As it was they were trapped here in this house, each of them suffering in their own way, unable to communicate with one another, or with anyone on the outside. It was their prison, their punishment, their own private hell.

  The hole must be at least four feet deep by now. He was perspiring so badly that the air on his skin felt colder than it was, and sharp. Blisters were forming on his hands, his heart and lungs were burning with exertion. Pains creaked through his back as he righted himself. He was parched, trembling and so afraid that he could barely summon the strength to make himself walk.

  He must do something with Ottilie before everything erupted around them.

  Erica was watching from the kitchen window, a faint smile on her lips and a knife in her hand. She didn’t look at the knife, or even particularly feel its weight; she simply held it and watched her husband’s activities in a wistful sort of way as she listened to the voices in her head. Some were deep and echoey, others shrieked and whined, still others rasped and choked and mocked her in accents she didn’t understand. Threading through them all was the song her stepfather used to sing, the haunting, chilling tune with its cruelly changed words: Round and round the garden like a teddy bear, one step two step smash her on the stair.