by Rebecca Pugh
‘I wonder who this stuff belongs to,’ Rueben asked, leaning forward to take a look, too. ‘Are they yours, do you think?’ His dark hair flopped over his eyes as he looked inside.
‘I have no idea.’ She placed the blanket on the floor and dipped her hand back inside. She pulled out the photo album and opened it with a racing heart. The pages creaked as they fell open. The first photo was an image of a tiny girl in a baby-swing, she guessed about two, perhaps three years old. She was being pushed by a beautiful, slender woman who was smiling, slightly blinded by the sun streaming down on them both. They were in a park. There was a slide just visible in the background. Jessica stared at the little girl’s face, and then at the woman’s. They looked weirdly familiar. It was eerie. Who were these people?
‘Cute kid,’ Rueben commented. He’d crawled around the box and was peering down at the photo over her shoulder. Jessica could feel his hot breath against the skin of her neck. She ignored it and focused instead on the image in her hand.
‘Yeah. Cute.’ Jessica flicked the page over, the rest of the photos including the same child and woman. ‘That must be her mother,’ Jessica noted as she carried on. She reached the end and closed the album. ‘I feel like this is supposed to mean something to me, but I don’t know what.’ She could feel the frustration building inside. ‘Why would they have this hidden away at the top of their wardrobe? Do you think they had another child at some point? Maybe…—‘
‘Jessica, come here a sec.’
She glanced at Rueben who was now holding what appeared to be a red wristband in his fingers. She scooted to his side and took it from him. ‘Helen Parker,’ she read out loud. ‘Who is—’ then she stopped.
She grew cold and clammy at the same time. She could her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Every pulse point in her body began to thump in sync. ‘Helen begins with “H”, right?’ She knew it was a ridiculous question. Obviously Helen began with an ‘H’, but her mind was reeling and at that moment, she couldn’t make sense of anything. ‘Right, Rueben? “H” for Helen?’ Her hands began to tremble as she stared down at the writing on the wristband. The postcards. The ‘H’ on the postcards. Were these linked? Was there a pattern here? She blinked furiously, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
Helen Parker ~ Royal Oak Hospital
Mother of Jessica Parker ~ 18/6/1986
Her mouth went bone dry. She dropped the wristband to the floor and stared at it with a horrified expression on her face. She tried to swallow but she couldn’t. It was like everything had come to a standstill around her. Her stomach began to churn as the postcards from Paris, signed off with the letter ‘H’, swam in her mind. Helen Parker? Jessica Parker? But she wasn’t Jessica Parker, she was Jessica McAdams… Wasn’t she? And that date. It was her birthday. Of course, people shared birthdays all over the world. There were only 365 days in a year, and millions of people. It was completely normal for more than one person to share the same birth date. But this? This was odd. Too odd. Who was Jessica Parker? Who was Helen Parker? Where had this wristband come from? Where had the bloody box come from? She retrieved the wristband from the floor with shaky hands and held her breath as she read the words again and again and again.
‘Hey, hey,’ Rueben said soothingly, wrapping his arms around her. ‘What’s the matter? Are you going to be sick? Jess, you’re really pale.’ He placed a hand to her forehead to check her temperature. ‘But you’re really sweaty and hot, too. I’ll get you some water. Wait right there and don’t go anywhere.’ He stood and left the room purposefully, returning minutes later with a glass of icy cold water. He handed it to her and resumed position by her side, peering at her closely, trying to figure out what was going on from her face. ‘Tell me what’s going on here, Jess.’ He waited patiently for her to answer him.
Gulping down the water, Jessica almost laughed at his question. Tell him what was going on? How was she supposed to do that when she didn’t have a clue what was going on herself? It was madness. ‘I think…’ She began in a shaky voice, unable to recognise the sound of it. ‘I think I need to speak to Esme. It would seem that my parents… were not my parents after all…’
Rueben stared at her, his mouth slightly open. ‘Seriously?’ he asked slowly.
‘Seriously.’
***
She didn’t call Esme that night. For the first time in her life, Esme seemed like a stranger, when before she had been the only person Jessica had felt ever truly knew her, inside and out. The only person that she could count on. She didn’t know 100% that her suspicions were true but something inside kept telling her that they were, and that she was right. That she’d fitted the pieces of the puzzle together perfectly. The final picture was clear. The McAdams weren’t her parents and it tore Jessica up that Esme might have known that all along. She might not have known it of course, but… She felt betrayed. Esme’s weird reaction when she’d mentioned the postcards over breakfast that morning, and the tiny hesitation towards bringing the box down from the wardrobe when they’d finished clearing the room.
Rueben had stayed the night in Bluebell House and shared the bed in the guestroom with her, snuggled up behind her body, keeping her warm when she felt so, so cold. They didn’t have sex, she needed him to be there for comfort more than anything physical, and he obliged willingly. As they lay in the darkness, he planted gentle, soft kisses on her shoulder and stroked her hair. It felt good to know that he was there, right behind her, and she eventually fell asleep safe in the knowledge that she had Rueben. His presence calmed her completely. She thanked her lucky stars that she’d met him in Bluebell Hill. She couldn’t have asked for a more understanding person to be beside her during such a confusing time.
***
With a purpose in her step, the next morning Jessica hurried down the lane towards Esme’s cottage. She had questions and even though she didn’t want to harass Esme or cause her any distress, she needed answers to them, otherwise she’d end up sending herself mad.
The sky was a pale blue and the sun hadn’t yet had the chance to warm Bluebell Hill with its rays properly. She’d left Rueben sleeping peacefully back at Bluebell House, not wanting to wake him. She’d lain and watched him sleeping for a while, admiring his face, until the burning need to know who Helen Parker and Jessica Parker were had become unbearable. She’d dressed quietly, tip-toeing around the room, and then left the house. She was surprised she’d even lasted as long as she had, but now the need to see Esme and get everything straight in her mind was impossible to turn away from. The postcards. The box. They were linked, she was sure of that much. She felt like she was sure of the most important detail too, but she needed to hear it from Esme. She needed confirmation.
The cottage came into view and she hurried towards it, quickening her steps.
‘Esme, are you awake?’ Jessica called as she knocked loudly at the door. ‘Esme, it’s me. Jessica. I need to speak to you. It’s important. Really important.’ She raised her knuckles to knock again, but before they made contact with the wooden door, it was pulled open and Esme appeared, her face dotted with flour.
‘Hello, Jessica, dear!’ She smiled cheerfully, adjusting the apron around her waist and patting down her hair. ‘You’re up early. Come in.’
‘Are you… Are you baking?’ Jessica asked, peering over Esme’s shoulder into the kitchen.
‘Yes, I am. Scones and a Victoria Sponge.’ She beamed, in her element.
Jessica pulled a face. ‘It’s not even eight o’clock yet.’
‘The early bird—’
‘Catches the worm. Yes, yes I know. Can I come in? I need to speak to you.’
Esme stepped aside to allow her through and Jessica paced into the cottage, pausing beside the table. She was facing away from Esme as she spoke. There would be no cups of tea this morning. No porridge or eggs benedict. Would things ever be the same between her and Esme again? Who knew? She couldn’t say, not until she knew the truth. This was it. Time to get it out there
in the open. She couldn’t keep it to herself for a second longer.
‘Who is Helen Parker?’ she asked steadily. Esme remained silent as Jessica’s question echoed around the cottage. As the words struck both women, Jessica became intensely aware of the silence. Even the cottage stilled as if it, too, was listening in. When Esme still hadn’t answered, Jessica turned around to face her. ‘Esme? I need to know who Helen Parker is, and I know you know, so you may as well be honest with me. It’s the least you can do.’ She swallowed, her throat tight.
Esme stared down at the floor, completely still and silent. When she finally lifted her head back up, tears were streaming down her cheeks. She knew. Jessica went dizzy and had to sit down in the nearest seat. So she had been right. The McAdams were not her parents. This Helen Parker had something to do with her. The wristband had been all the evidence that she’d needed really. And the look on Esme’s face was further proof that her suspicions were indeed correct. The woman was as white as a ghost, cheeks tear-stained, expression shocked. Her lips kept moving as if to form words, but she didn’t appear able to actually say them out loud. Finally, she did.
‘Jessica, I’m sorry,’ she choked out between quiet, small sobs. ‘I wanted to tell you. I did. I just couldn’t. It was never meant to be my job to tell you.’
‘You allowed me to attend my parents’ funeral, knowing full well that they weren’t even my real parents,’ Jessica seethed, her stomach reeling. Never before had she felt so angry, so livid, so damn horrified by such a turn of events. As if her parents dying hadn’t already been enough to deal with, now this? ‘How could you?’ She returned her eyes to Esme. ‘You lied to me my entire life. All of you did. How can I ever trust you again? What am I supposed to think? How am I supposed to react? What the hell am I supposed to do?’
Esme rushed to Jessica’s side and knelt down, clutching at her desperately, moving Jessica’s hair away from her face. ‘But they were your parents, Jessica, maybe not biologically but…’ She took a shaky breath and swallowed. ‘The secret was never supposed to carry on for as long as it did. They were supposed to tell you, they were, but then they died, and I was the only other person who knew. I couldn’t bear to tell you, I couldn’t bear for you to look at me the way you’re looking at me now. You hate me. It was never meant to be this way. You’re the most important person in my life. You always have been. How could I tell you something like that? The right time never would have appeared!’
‘Did you not think that after you rushed away from Bluebell House like that, after I’d noticed the box, I’d not wonder what was going on? And how you reacted to those postcards? It all makes sense now.’ She brushed Esme’s hands from off her thighs and stood up. She could feel herself beginning to unravel. She didn’t want to be so nasty to Esme, she still loved her after all, but she just couldn’t look her in the eye at that moment. She felt she’d been cheated of her whole life. ‘I trusted you, Esme,’ she whispered into the stunned silence that surrounded them. She couldn’t quite believe it herself. ‘I trusted you like I’ve never trusted anyone before, but you’ve been hiding this from me for my entire life!’ Her voice rose in pitch and volume, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to control it. ‘I feel sick to my stomach. The three of you, you and them, you’re disgusting.’ She headed towards the cottage door, but paused before she reached it. ‘I had questions to ask you, but right now, I need to be alone. I need to gather my thoughts and try to make some sense out of them. I just hope you’re happy.’ She took a last look at Esme’s face, crumpled and drained, empty of its usual cheeriness, then left, unsure of where to go to find solace.
***
‘There you are,’ Rueben said as he descended the stairs, hair still mussed from sleep. He stretched his arms above his head and smiled at her charmingly. ‘I’ve just been trying your phone. Then realised you’d left it here when I heard it ringing from under the pillow. Everything okay? Where’ve you been so early in the morning?’
Jessica paced up and down the hallway. She paused when she heard Rueben’s voice. ‘No. Everything is not okay.’ She tried, she really did, to keep her face from showing exactly how she felt, but she couldn’t. The emotions were too strong, too powerful to keep from appearing in her expression. She could feel her bottom lip refusing to stay still, her eyes pooled with yet more tears, and she was just seconds away from explosion. Rueben rushed forward and covered her with his arms, his familiar scent surrounding her. She inhaled it hungrily.
‘Hey, come here.’ Rueben cradled her head against his chest and stroked the back of her hair comfortingly. ‘What’s happened? Tell me.’
‘I was right,’ she said into his t-shirt, the tears coming freely now. And there really wasn’t any point in holding them back. She couldn’t even be bothered to try. ‘What I said yesterday, about my parents. I was right. I just went to see Esme. I asked her. And she said—’ She took a step back from the embrace and looked right into Rueben’s eyes, trembling slightly, hardly able to believe that the conversation with Esme had happened. ‘She said that they weren’t my parents, Rueben. She was crying, and saying sorry, and I was right. I was right about everything. From the postcards to the baby box. I was right about it all.’
Rueben tugged her back to his chest fiercely. ‘Bloody hell, Jess. I’m so sorry.’ He kissed her forehead fiercely. ‘I can’t believe this.’
‘I don’t know what to do, Rueben. I feel like everything I knew before wasn’t even real. Who am I? Who am I really? What do I do now?’ She began to cry again, taking solace in the man whose arms were wrapped around her, wanting to be as close to him as possible. ‘Where do I go from here?’
Chapter Eleven
Esme didn’t try to speak to her after their confrontation in the morning, and Jessica paced continuously around Bluebell House like a caged animal. Rueben didn’t know where to put himself and ended up watching her instead, concern causing his eyebrows to dip in the middle.
‘Jessica, I think you should go back to Esme,’ he reasoned as he watched her begin yet another circuit of the room. He was growing dizzy just watching her. ‘Talk to her. Try to stay calm. Ask her your questions.’ Rueben glanced at her worriedly. She looked pale, anxious, and she hadn’t stopped chewing on her lip since he’d let go of her in the hallway earlier on. ‘I’m going to make you something to eat, okay? You need to eat.’ He gave a firm nod and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Jessica alone.
What was she supposed to do? Jessica wondered. Sit and eat a sandwich like nothing had happened? Like her life hadn’t just been turned upside down? Like she hadn’t just found out that the people who she thought were her parents, the people whose funeral she’d attended, were not, in fact, her parents at all? Slowly creeping towards becoming hysterical, she paused in her pacing of the empty lounge, placed a hand against the fireplace to steady herself, and swallowed. If they hadn’t been her parents, then who the hell were they? Had there been any connection between them at all? Were the McAdams just two people who had fostered her? Were they related? Had she been living with strangers for the entirety of her life? If so, where were her real parents? Where was her biological mother, Helen? Was she still alive? Why had she sent postcards from Paris? What the bloody hell was going on here? She felt like someone had just pulled up a rug up from beneath her feet and sent her flying into a completely new world where nothing made sense.
‘Here you go.’ Rueben forced a plate of sandwiches towards her when he returned and stared at her sternly. ‘Eat. And while you’re doing that, I’m going to tell Esme to come to Bluebell House. No! Don’t argue with me, and don’t look at me like that, either. If you don’t ask your questions, Jess, you’re never going to know the truth. And you’re just going to continue walking around and around this room, sending yourself crazy. It needs to be done, and you’ll thank me for it afterwards. Now, eat, and I’ll be back after I’ve phoned her.’
Holding the plateful of sandwiches, Jessica opened her mouth to argue a
gainst him, but then realised, as she closed it again and looked down at the food, that Rueben was right. She nodded, picked up a sandwich and took a bite, eyes remaining steadily on him as he left the room.
***
When Esme arrived later on, Rueben shoved his arms into his jacket, threw Jessica a meaningful look and left Bluebell House. She watched him leave, quelling the urge to call him back, then turned to Esme’s apologetic face. ‘Let’s sit on the porch,’ she said, heading down the hall.
Once they were sat down opposite each other, every question that Jessica had thought to ask since leaving Esme’s cottage that morning seemed to flutter out of her mind, right when she needed those questions most. She stared across the table at Esme, trying to scramble around for a question, any question at all. Once the silence had stretched out for far too long, Esme spoke first.
‘Helen Parker is your mother’s sister,’ she said slowly, eyes still not meeting Jessica’s.
Jessica frowned at Esme’s face, trying to make sense of it. ‘She wasn’t my moth—’
‘Fine. Helen Parker is Miriam McAdams’ sister.’ Esme corrected herself. ‘As you rightly figured out, Helen Parker is your birth mother.’ Jessica nodded slowly, so Esme continued. ‘You were born in England, and lived with your mother, Helen Parker, until you were three years old. It was then that Helen made the decision to hand you over to her sister, here at Bluebell House.’
‘Why?’ Jessica studied Esme’s face eagerly.
‘Jessica, your birth mother had a lot of problems. Mental problems. I’m not completely certain of why or how she suffered, but I’ve never faltered in believing that you coming to Bluebell House was the best decision she could have made for you.’
Jessica slammed her hand down onto the table between them both, causing Esme to jump. ‘You have no right to that belief. No right at all, Esme.’