Behind the Lie

by Amanda James

  Jowan enters the room first and I hear his intake of breath and a faint beep, beep. Puzzled, I peer round him and press the back of my hand to my mouth. On a bed, flanked by a monitor and with an oxygen mask over her mouth, I see a little girl, her head swathed in a bandage, her skin as white as snow.

  I’m rooted to the spot until Jowan takes my arm and leads me back into the kitchen. Yvonne pulls out a chair at the kitchen table and indicates we do the same. She rubs her eyes and says, ‘Verity is eight. Seven months ago she started to get headaches and eventually was diagnosed with a brain tumour. It was in an inaccessible place, however, and I was told it was inoperable. Being a mother, I couldn’t accept it… wouldn’t accept it.’ She allows her eyes to meet mine for a second. ‘Being a nurse, I know what a state the NHS is in and that there’s a shortage of surgeons with this particular expertise… so we got a second opinion and there was light at the end of the tunnel. A surgeon in the US.’

  ‘That’s why you needed the money,’ Jowan says quietly. There are plenty of words waiting on my tongue too but I can’t find the appropriate ones.

  ‘Yes. I managed to raise some against the house, some in the local community, and my ex-husband chipped in. We still fell far short of the £100,000 needed though, and time was running out. I was working in maternity at the time, Mrs West, and confided in someone one day when I couldn’t do my job properly because I was too upset. A few days later that person told me they’d give us the £100,000 if I agreed to…’ Her voice cracks and she takes a few breaths. ‘To do what I did.’

  ‘The bastard!’ Jowan says. ‘Who was it?’

  Yvonne shakes her head. ‘I dare not tell you.’ She looks away and then back.

  I say nothing, but kiss the top of Iona’s head, rock her to and fro. The anguish in Yvonne’s eyes is almost too much to bear. So is confirmation that someone working with Simon is actually a monster. A creature… a vile, despicable creature.

  ‘Was your daughter’s operation successful?’ I hear myself ask in a remarkably calm voice. It’s as if I’m outside myself, looking in on the scene through a window.

  ‘Yes, it’s early days, but there is every sign it has been. I only hook up the monitor and oxygen when she sleeps; it gives me piece of mind. If you’d have come round last week we’d have still been in the States. Verity was in hospital a good while. Luckily my profession means I can help with the aftercare – there’s another specialist nurse and a colleague who comes in too, to give me a break.’

  ‘It must be very stressful,’ Jowan says, and I don’t know how to react. There’s a part of me that sympathises, can see exactly why she did it, but that can’t excuse what she’s done to me… to Ruan.

  Yvonne looks at both of us. ‘I just wish I could do something to make things right and…’

  ‘Well, you should have thought of that before. Have you any idea how stressful my life is!’ The words are out before I can consider their impact. ‘You have your daughter; yes, she’s ill, but hopefully she’ll recover and you’ll both live happily ever after. But my son… my baby was ripped from my body, literally… helped by you, I might add…’ I jab my finger at her. ‘Then given to somebody else. My husband had to come and tell me he was dead. Can you even BEGIN to imagine what that was like for me? For both of us?’

  Iona starts to cry; my yelling has startled her, and Yvonne starts too, covering her face with her hands, huge, racking sobs shaking her entire body. Jowan puts his hand on her shoulder and she brushes it away as if it is an affront. ‘Please don’t be nice. I don’t deserve it,’ she says through her sobs.

  ‘No, you bloody well don’t,’ I say, ice in my voice.

  Jowan looks at me but says nothing. Good, because, if he did, he’d be bloody sorry. I bounce Iona on my knee try to shush her but she’s not having it. I think she’s hungry. ‘You said in your letter that you knew nothing more about Ruan’s whereabouts. Is that the truth?’ Yvonne blows her nose and nods yes. ‘Well, I need to feed my daughter. While I do that I’d like you to at least trouble your brain enough to see if there’s anything that might help me.’

  Yvonne shakes her head. ‘You have every right to hate me and I’m not surprised Neville said all those horrible things to me just now. But, unlike Neville, I know you understand why I did it. He has no children, but you are a mother. Oh, don’t get me wrong – I’m not excusing myself, or asking for forgiveness. But if you were me, Mrs West, wouldn’t you have done the same?’

  Iona fixes her big blue eyes on mine as she feeds and I can’t trust myself to answer that question. Would I? If Iona had only a few months or weeks left and then I suddenly had an opportunity to save her, despite the fact that I had to do something unspeakable… yes, probably. Yes, definitely. ‘So, can you think of anything that might help us, Yvonne?’ I say, allowing my tone to defrost somewhat.

  She asks if we want tea and I decide to accept; perhaps we might get somewhere if I go for the civil approach. Yvonne fills the kettle and says, ‘As I said in my letter, your son was to be well cared for with new parents. I asked the person involved why they would do such a thing, cause such pain to you, but they told me I didn’t need to know the details.’

  ‘None of it makes any sense,’ Jowan says.

  ‘No. In fact I’m a little surprised you didn’t ask your husband about it after Neville delivered the letter. I’d hoped you might have been on the way to finding your baby by now. I thought a lot about it while I was sitting by Verity’s bedside in the hospital.’

  Jowan explains why I haven’t mentioned it to him or involved the police and she nods. ‘Yes. I didn’t think of that. And you are right, I agree; this person is an influential and powerful individual. I knew I was putting myself in jeopardy contacting you, but I couldn’t live with myself. And if this person did find out about the letter and came round here to confront me, I would just deny it, of course. I would say that, in a weak moment, I let it all slip to a dear friend, and they must have written it. This person would be fuming, but what could they do? The main thing for me was that you knew your boy was still alive.’

  ‘Okay, what happened that day? If we go through it step by step, something might pop up,’ Jowan says, taking a mug of tea from Yvonne.

  She sighs and looks into her tea. ‘Well, as you know, I was one of those who assisted. Once I had placed your daughter in your arms, I took your son out of the room, down the corridor and into another, as instructed. In there I did all the routine checks to see that all was well and it was.’

  My heart lurches and I grab the table. The teacup clatters against the saucer and I feel like I’m floating. This information is unbelievable… it cannot… will not go in. Jowan stands up, comes close to me. His face is in mine. I’m struggling to breathe.

  ‘Holly, you okay? You look like death.’ My mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out. I rest my head on his shoulder, take deep breaths, tell him I’m okay, that I need to think. Then instinct kicks in and I whisper in his ear.

  ‘Don’t say a word to her about what I told you happened that day… about the photo… Just go with me, okay?’ He nods and sits back down, concern furrowing his brow.

  What we were told about our son being sickly was obviously all a lie. But the shock of it is already being replaced with joy. Deep joy. I have to hear it again though. Just to be sure. I look at Yvonne. ‘So he was normal, nothing wrong with him at all?’

  ‘Well, we were expecting him to be a bit small, which he was. But he certainly wasn’t the smallest baby I’ve seen, particularly not for a twin. He was healthy enough.’ She gives me a watery smile.

  My heart floods with love for him, but I don’t smile back. In my head a rage is building at how cruelly I have been deceived, but I can’t let it loose. ‘And then what?’

  ‘The person who paid for my silence came in about twenty minutes later and picked him up. Then another doctor came in. I was told to go then, so I gathered my stuff and left.’

  Jo
wan’s eyes light up. ‘If there was another doctor there, he or she might be able to help – what’s the name?’

  Yvonne shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Never seen him before.’ She looks at my incredulous expression. ‘Oh, that’s not unusual, believe me. There are lots of doctors who come and go – locums and…’

  ‘But he might also have been the guy this nameless person was giving my son to! Think, did he speak? Go over to see Ruan?’

  Yvonne twists her mouth to the side. ‘No, he smiled at the one who paid me and then looked at his notes… I think. He didn’t seem at all interested in your little one.’

  ‘But he wouldn’t, would he, not while you were there? They wouldn’t have wanted you to know anything more about it all than was necessary,’ I say, trying to calm my excitement. Then I blurt an idea that’s been circling for some time. ‘Tell me, was the one who paid you Jonathan, the senior partner? It makes sense. He was the one who operated… he was called away on an “emergency”, but that might have been just a cover for him to be absent from the operating room. Then he sent the male nurse to tell us what had happened later.’ I tell her about how Simon was taken to see our supposedly dead son. ‘Oh, my God… how completely despicable,’ she whispers and starts crying again.

  I believe she didn’t know that part, but she’s avoided answering my question about Jonathan. It’s hard to believe that he was involved; he’s a lovely man, or so I’d always thought. He’s been a good friend to Simon over the years, had come to our wedding. I take a moment to choose my words then say, ‘Look, Yvonne, I know you’re scared, but I promise I’ll keep you out of it all. I need to know if it was Jonathan… A shake of her head stops me. She can’t meet my eyes though and stares out of the window.

  ‘No, I can’t tell you who it was, but I can tell you who it wasn’t. Jonathan went off to an emergency like he said… he isn’t the one.’ She turns to look at me. ‘He knows nothing of what happened after he left the room.’ There’s honesty in her face – but do I believe her?

  ‘What did he look like?’ Jowan asks. ‘This locum doctor or whoever he was.’

  Yvonne wipes her eyes and looks at Jowan. ‘Now that’s one I don’t have to think about. He was really tall; I mean, well over six feet, maybe six-five, and aristocratic looking. Quite attractive.’

  My hand shakes on the bottle so much I almost dislodge the teat from Iona’s mouth. Hope comes out from a dark corner and pushes into my chest. I can hardly control myself. But that’s ridiculous. There’s no way, is there? ‘Did he have slicked-back hair and kind of…’ I swallow hard and try to calm myself. ‘Kind of a long, hooked nose?’

  She frowns and nods. ‘Yeah, yeah, he did.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ I say to Jowan. He reaches for my hand across the table. My heart’s pounding; I feel light-headed, dizzy with excitement. I look from Yvonne to Jowan and back again. ‘It sounds like it could be someone we know… If it is, we have him; we have the man that has my baby!’ I cry and burst into tears.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Simon looked out of the plane window at a cloud in the shape of a walnut whip and decided he might possibly be falling in love with Lauren. No matter how much he told himself it was ludicrous, that it was lust, not love, he couldn’t kid himself any longer. These past few days in Germany had felt like the beginning of a new adventure, a breath of fresh air blowing away the stale smell of the mundane. Holly was becoming the mundane. Holly was becoming boring, predictable, uninspiring. Other women had babies and managed to look nice for their husbands, didn’t they? Made sure they didn’t stink of baby, did their hair and put a bit of make-up on now and then? Was it too much to ask? Granted they had lost their son, but he’d tried to make sure she had everything she could ever want to compensate, put up with her moods, her reluctance to even come near him.

  Lauren took a sip of her G&T and gave him a lovely smile. Then she squeezed his thigh and rested her head on his shoulder. Her hair smelled divine, no baby sick there. And he’d had no idea she was such a clever woman, talented too. No. This jaunt to Germany was supposed to have been for a short conference and then he’d planned to spend the rest of the time in bed with Lauren. But it had all turned out so differently.

  Yes, of course they’d had lots of sex, but Simon had discovered Lauren knew so much about art, history, politics, you name it. They’d visited galleries, the theatre, walked around the streets of Frankfurt seeing the sights, and never once had he looked at his watch, or been stuck for something to say. The time spent with Lauren was so easy, natural… right. These days he had to struggle to find a topic of conversation when he was with his wife. Yes, he’d promised himself he’d finish with Lauren for the sake of his marriage, but right now he didn’t know what the hell to do.

  It was such a tragedy that Lauren had ended up in the casino. A bright star fallen to earth when it was obvious the heavens were empty without her. Born into a single-parent family in Bradford, her university career had been cut short because her mother had fallen ill. Lauren, of course, felt duty bound, so the history of art course went, along with her dreams. When her mother died, she felt it was too late to go back. Something had died within her too, she’d told him.

  Lauren had shown Simon photos of her own artwork on her phone. Quite stunning and he had a good eye, or so he was told. He’d picked Lauren so it must be true. It was when she’d been telling him about her past that he’d experienced a kick in the gut. Simon, to his surprise, felt exactly the way he’d felt when he’d seen Holly for the first time on the catwalk. That had been love at first sight, so he’d told himself he couldn’t possibly be in love with Lauren. After all, he’d seen her many times before. Nevertheless, the feeling wouldn’t leave him alone, even though he’d tried countless times to talk himself out of it… and right now, looking at the clouds, with Lauren’s head on his shoulder, he knew he had to have her, make her his own.

  Guilt laid a heavy hand on his shoulder just as the steward came round to take their orders for lunch. Here he was in first class, having a whale of a time with his mistress, while his poor wife and daughter were at home looking forward to his return. Of course it would be hard to leave Holly and Iona, and could he in fact really do it? Should he even be thinking about it? Simon slid his hand into Lauren’s and tried to picture his future with each woman in turn.

  In the one he shared with Holly, he saw gloom, a yelling baby, misery, a grudging sex life and boredom. He was in a box with no way out, trapped. Suffocated. In the one he shared with Lauren he saw freedom, excitement and adventure. He could set her up in her own gallery – she would love to spend her days painting – and the evenings would be spent in bed, out at the theatre, at the finest restaurants. He liked helping people up. Out of the hole they were in. He’d done that with Holly, saved her. Wasn’t it Lauren’s turn now?

  Lauren made him feel like a teenager again – no responsibilities, free of children and a nagging wife. If he was honest, babies had never been on the agenda for him really – the twins had been unplanned. Yes, he’d been happy about the pregnancy, but was that because that’s how he was supposed to feel? Social pressures and the like? Lauren had already said she never wanted children, which suited him. Besides, he doubted he’d make a very good father. Of course he had a fondness for Iona, but… shouldn’t he feel more? Though, given his own upbringing, he shouldn’t be surprised. His parents had never really had much time for him; they were always more interested in each other. Simon had tried so hard to impress them, particularly his father, but his efforts had never been enough. But then there was what happened with Ruan; his loss had crushed him.

  Plans would need to be made shortly. There would have to be some money put aside for Holly and his daughter; a home too. Perhaps the beach house? The further away the better. He’d see Iona now and then, of course. It would be easier when she was older, had a personality. Lots of people he knew had broken marriages, so she’d be fine. Besides, he’d given her life, so wasn’t that the
greatest gift?

  Simon sighed and swallowed the remainder of his whisky, and then thoughts of how happy he’d been with Holly in the past, along with yet more guilt, brought a lump to his throat, so he pressed the buzzer and ordered more whisky. Should he at least give her one more chance to make amends? He was buggered if he knew… Damn it, man. Make up your mind! One thing was for certain; whatever happened, he couldn’t see a future without Lauren.

  Simon drew Lauren to him and gave her a lingering kiss. For now he decided to not decide, to let things take their course for a bit. What was the point in spoiling such a lovely trip away with thoughts of life-changing plans that didn’t have to be made quite yet? Besides, he had one more night with Lauren before he was due back. A night at the Waldorf had been booked as a last-minute surprise for her; he’d phoned while she’d been in the shower that morning. How she’d love that. It was time she had more of the finer things in life; God knew she’d had precious little of those up until now, poor baby. Yes, Holly had better up her game, or it would soon be game over. He had given her his all and she never gave anything back. It wasn’t fair. He was only human after all, wasn’t he?

  Out of the window the walnut-whip cloud had disappeared and there was nothing but blue sky as far as the eye could see. That was just how Simon liked things.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jowan is left holding the baby while I search through boxes in the walk-in-wardrobe. Search is not quite the right description for what I’m doing. I’m pulling and emptying contents, pulling and emptying. How can two people accumulate so much stuff in such short time? I pull out another box from under the bed, empty it, rifle through it, slap my hand against my head in frustration. For God’s sake, stop it. I need to calm down, be more methodical, but my hands are moving too fast, seem to have a mind of their own.