by Susan Lewis
‘What is it?’ his father cried. ‘What – who are you talking about, Ruby?’
‘Mary fucking Poppins,’ Ruby answered. ‘Who else?’
36
It hadn’t been Kirsten’s intention to fall asleep right after she’d spoken to Laurence, it was simply that the moment she’d put the phone down she’d felt suddenly so weary that she hadn’t had the energy to stand up. Deciding to give herself a moment or two to gather her resources she’d sunk back on the bed and the next thing she knew almost half an hour had gone by.
Now, as she struggled to her feet, she was hoping that the rest of her pregnancy wasn’t going to be as taxing as these early weeks for even though it seemed she was no longer destined to spend them in prison, she didn’t much relish the idea of spending them flat on her back either.
Smiling to herself, she went into the bathroom to freshen up. The truth was she’d happily endure anything that meant she’d hold Laurence’s baby in her arms at the end of it. Even as she grimaced at her mawkishness her heart seemed to trip over the flood of joy that rushed into it. She laughed and pressed her hands to her cheeks. It was so hard to believe that everything really was going to be all right now, that they were close to finding out who really had killed Anna and Jake, that she could tell Laurence about the baby, that they could work towards fulfilling their dreams . . . Oh, please, please, please, God, she prayed, clasping her hands together, let us be able to keep Tom. Let us stay together.
Suddenly the warmth drained from her smile and she turned to look out of the bathroom, across the bedroom to the open door leading to the landing. In the same instant that she heard the noise again she recalled Laurence warning her either to lock the doors or go to his mother’s.
‘Oh my God,’ she breathed, praying that she was mistaken, that the noise had come from outside. But no, there was definitely someone moving about downstairs and whoever it was didn’t seem to care that they might be heard.
Maybe, she thought, they didn’t realize she was in here. If that was the case then perhaps she could close her bedroom door and call the police without them knowing she’d done it.
She started towards the phone then jumped back as it suddenly shrilled into the room. To her amazement after two rings it stopped then she heard Jane’s voice downstairs saying hello.
Immediately Kirsten relaxed and only then did she realize how furiously her heart was beating, that her entire body had broken out in a sweat. She waited a moment, then hearing Jane replace the receiver, she went back into the bathroom to brush out her wet hair.
A few minutes later, still wearing her towelling robe, she tripped lightly down the stairs feeling stronger than she had done in days. By now though, she was getting used to the fact that her energy only came in short bursts so she was glad to think Jane was there, if only to help a pregnant old lady out to the taxi when it came.
‘Hi,’ she said, seeing Jane standing in the doorway of the kitchen. ‘You gave me quite a fright just now, I didn’t hear you come in. How did you know I was home?’
‘I heard it on the news,’ Jane answered.
‘Of course. Who was that on the phone?’
‘Just my dad ringing to see if I’d got here all right.’
Kirsten nodded and wondered why Jane continued to stand in the doorway as though . . . Kirsten’s head went to one side, curious . . . as though she was barring the way. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ Jane said, her teeth baring in the nervous giggle Kirsten hadn’t seen in weeks. ‘How are you?’
‘Right at this moment it’s hard to put into words. Are you sure you’re OK?’ Kirsten said, looking at Jane closely.
‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine,’ Jane repeated.
Kirsten shrugged then turned into the sitting room. As she picked up the bellows to liven up the fire she was wondering if Jane was reacting to the belief that she might have killed someone. Kirsten sighed, watching a fountain of sparks fly up the chimney. What was she going to say to put Jane at her ease?
She had already drawn breath to call out to Jane when she turned to look over her shoulder and found Jane standing so close to her that the air was expelled from her lungs in a breath of surprised laughter. ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d gone into the kitchen.’
Jane looked at her, her pinched, pale face as motionless as her staring eyes. ‘Why did they let you go?’ she said.
Kirsten blinked. Then suddenly her stomach heaved. ‘Oh Christ,’ she muttered and clasping a hand to her mouth she ran past Jane and into the downstairs bathroom.
‘Sorry about that,’ she said, coming out a few minutes later still watery-eyed and slightly breathless. ‘It must be the food they gave me yesterday.’
Jane was standing in the hall, watching her with that same deadened expression.
Kirsten smiled awkardly. ‘Shall we have a cup of tea?’ she said, waving an arm towards the kitchen.
‘Why did they let you go?’ Jane repeated.
‘Well,’ Kirsten said, eyeing her curiously, ‘mainly because I didn’t do it. And because they’ve identified the voice on the tape.’
‘Whose voice was it?’
‘I’m still not sure yet. Jane, at the risk of repeating myself, are you sure you’re all right?’
Jane turned away, walked into the sitting room and picked up a bundle of blankets.
‘What have you got there?’ Kirsten asked, going in after her.
Jane cradled the bundle to her meagre chest, lowering her head so that Kirsten could no longer see her face. Kirsten was on the point of repeating the question when she heard footsteps on the stairs and turned round.
‘Tom!’ she cried, seeing his little face peeping over the banister.
‘Granny bought me a new train,’ he said. ‘I’ve been playing with it.’
‘Have you?’ Kirsten said, feeling a strangeness in the air she couldn’t quite comprehend.
‘Want to play too?’ Tom offered.
‘Um, uh, yes,’ Kirsten answered.
‘No,’ Jane said as Kirsten started towards him. Her voice was muffled by the blankets, strangled by tears.
Kirsten paused.
‘Don’t, Kirsten, please,’ Jane begged, lifting her head to look at Kirsten. Kirsten looked back, perplexed and oddly unnerved by the intensity of feeling that was making Jane’s normally bland face almost unrecognizable. After a moment she turned to Tom. His wide blue eyes moved anxiously between Kirsten and Jane.
‘Jane, you’re frightening him,’ Kirsten said softly.
‘Tom, go upstairs and play with your trains.’ Jane’s thin, choked voice held an unexpected note of command.
Tom looked at Kirsten.
‘Go on, sweetheart,’ Kirsten said. ‘I’ll be up in a minute.’
Obediently Tom turned round and climbed back up the stairs.
‘Jane, what is going on?’ Kirsten demanded. ‘What’s happened to you? I’ve never seen you like this before.’
Jane looked at her for a long time, then suddenly something in her seemed to fracture and to Kirsten’s amazement she could see an unsteady emotion beginning to surface. ‘You don’t care what’s happened to me,’ Jane sobbed. ‘You don’t care about anything except yourself and Laurence.’
‘But that’s not true. Of course I care about you,’ Kirsten insisted.
Jane was shaking her head, jerking it backwards and forwards almost as though she didn’t know what she was doing. ‘No, no you don’t. You want to get rid of me. I heard you telling Laurence.’
Kirsten’s head was starting to spin. ‘You must have misunderstood . . .’
‘No, I understood,’ Jane interrupted. ‘I heard what you said. I was there in the room when you said you felt as though you’d stepped into Pippa’s shoes. You didn’t mind taking Laurence and Tom, but you didn’t want me.’
‘Oh God,’ Kirsten groaned. ‘You did misunderstand.’
‘No! You never had any time for me, you never
held me the way you hold Tom . . .’
‘But Jane, he’s just a child.’
A hot colour was flooding Jane’s cheeks, her teeth were bared in a quivering grimace of heightening emotion. Tears flowed from her eyes as mucus seeped from her nose. ‘He’s not your child though is he?’
‘No, he’s not mine, but . . .’
‘It was me who told him to call you Mummy. I did that for you . . .’ To Kirsten’s amazement Jane raised a hand as though to strike her. Kirsten caught it, squeezing the frail bones in her grip.
For a moment, Jane’s eyes bored into hers, then, quite suddenly, the fight seemed to leave her and pulling her hand free she sat down on the sofa with her bundle of blankets. ‘Sssh, sssh,’ she soothed, ‘there’s no need to cry. Mummy’s here.’
A curl of unease twisted through Kirsten’s gut. ‘Jane,’ she said, moving tentatively towards her.
Jane raised her head and Kirsten stopped, arrested by the inexplicable sadness that was now suffusing the pale, grey eyes. ‘Do you want to hold him?’ Jane said.
Kirsten stared down at the bundle Jane was offering. Jane’s delicate fingers pulled open the blankets. The instant Kirsten saw the tiny face a hand flew to her mouth to stifle the scream as she recoiled in horror.
‘Jane, for God’s sake what is this?’ she gasped.
‘He’s just a baby,’ Jane answered.
Kirsten’s heart was pounding. She lowered her eyes again to the huge staring blue eyes, the cupid-bow mouth and the hideous black cracks that were fracturing the lifeless white face.
‘Sometimes I used to pretend he was yours,’ Jane said. ‘I pretended that you’d lied to Laurence about the abortion and that I was looking after him for you.’
A sob of disgust and fear erupted in Kirsten’s throat. How could Jane have harboured this kind of madness and no one ever have noticed?
‘Here, take him,’ Jane offered again. ‘He’s a very good baby.’
Kirsten started to back away. ‘I don’t want to hold him,’ she said. ‘He’s not . . .’
A feral rage contorted Jane’s face, so suddenly and so terrifyingly that Kirsten reeled back as though she’d been struck. Jane ripped away the blankets, swung the baby into the air and hurled it savagely against the wall. ‘Then I don’t want him either,’ she screamed.
Kirsten watched in horrified disbelief as the fragile body smashed in a thousand pieces and tiny fingers and toes scattered over the floor.
As the final remnant of porcelain came to rest Kirsten lifted her eyes back to Jane. Jane’s grief stricken eyes were fixed sightlessly ahead, her hands were pushed together in her lap.
Long minutes ticked by before Jane’s head suddenly jerked towards Kirsten. ‘I know you got rid of the baby, I know you did it to punish Laurence for leaving you,’ she cried, ‘but I didn’t want you to be like that. I wanted you to be kind and care about him.’
Kirsten’s head was throbbing. So many horrifying thoughts were looming from the corners of her mind that she couldn’t make herself think straight. The baby chimes on the phone, the female voice sobbing her name . . . What the hell was it all about? Why was Jane so tormented by an abortion that had happened so long ago, that had been nothing to do with her?
‘He had the most beautiful mother in the world,’ Jane cried beating her fists on her lap, ‘but you didn’t want him. You didn’t care about him . . .’
‘If he’d lived I would have,’ Kirsten said, so stunned she hardly knew what she was saying.
‘No. No you wouldn’t,’ Jane cried, shaking her head vehemently. ‘You never wanted him. You never wanted any children, it was why you got rid of me too. I was prepared to forgive you, in the beginning . . . I did forgive you. And I loved you . . . but you never loved me.’
‘Jane,’ Kirsten breathed, ‘I don’t understand what –’
Jane’s grey eyes were glittering, her lips were a tight line of resentment. ‘Why did you tell everyone you got rid of me!’ she said. ‘Why did you tell them I was aborted when you knew it wasn’t true?’
Kirsten looked at her, so shocked that nothing in her could respond.
‘Well say something!’ Jane cried, saliva collecting at the corners of her mouth as her cheeks quivered with frustration.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Kirsten answered. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! You know who you are. You know who I am and what I am to you, so stop all these lies, Kirsten –’
‘Jane . . .’
‘Jane? Is that the name you chose for me? Or did you let someone else choose it? How well did you know me when you let me go, Kirsten – when you gave me to strangers? Well enough to name me? Did you ever feed me?’
‘In God’s name, Jane, what are you talking about?’
‘Stop pretending!’ Jane screamed, leaping to her feet. ‘You’re my mother! You know you are, so stop lying!’
Kirsten’s eyes darted towards the stairs. She was so stunned that for the moment the only coherent thought in her head was that Tom shouldn’t hear any of this.
‘Why did you tell everyone you’d got rid of me?’ Jane raged on, her face strained with bitterness. ‘Why did you tell them you had an abortion when the truth was you gave me away? Your own child, a defenceless baby not even a year old and you gave me away. Why, Kirsten? Why did you give me away?’
‘Jane,’ Kirsten whispered, ‘I’m not your mother . . .’
‘You are! You are, you are! Was it because my father left you?’
‘Jane, please listen to me. I’m not your mother . . .’
‘Stop lying! You’re my mother. Look at me, can’t you see the resemblance? I look like you . . .’
‘Jane, you’re nothing like me and even if you were, it’s just not possible.’
‘It is! You’re my mother and Laurence is my father! We’re a family!’
‘Oh God,’ Kirsten groaned, burying her face in her hands. ‘Jane, please believe me. I’m not your mother. I can’t be your mother because I never had a child. Never, do you hear me? And even if I had that child still couldn’t be you.’
‘Why?’ Jane cried, her brilliant eyes gleaming the challenge. ‘Why couldn’t it be me? Because I’m not pretty enough?’
‘Oh God, Jane, what do I have to say to convince you?’
‘You can admit to the truth, that’s what you can do. You can admit that I’m a part of you, that you carried me in your womb.’
‘Jane!’ I’ve never carried a child beyond three months, but even if I had it could never have been you. You’re too young. I was fifteen when I was pregnant, I’m thirty-seven now and you’re only twenty-two.’
‘You see, it adds up.’
‘No, it doesn’t! You’re not allowing for the other six months I’d have had to carry you. I’d have been sixteen by then, well and truly sixteen. But even so, Jane, I had an abortion.’
‘No, it’s not true,’ Jane said, banging her fists together. ‘It can’t be true. You’re my mother, I know you are. And Laurence is my father.’
‘Jane, I didn’t even know Laurence then.’
Jane’s nostrils were flared, her teeth were clamped together and her eyes glittered as she stared sightlessly into the fire. ‘Laurence is my father,’ she whispered. ‘I know he is. And you are my mother.’ Her eyes came up to Kirsten’s. ‘Please say it’s true,’ she begged.
Kirsten merely looked at her.
‘I can prove it,’ Jane said.
Kirsten took a breath as she pushed her fingers through her hair.
‘I’ve got the pictures,’ Jane declared, tears of desperation spilling down her cheeks. ‘I can show you. I’ve got them here,’ and before Kirsten could stop her she had run into the kitchen and picked up her album.
‘Here,’ she said, offering it to Kirsten. ‘Here are all the pictures of when you and Laurence got married. When you had me . . .’
Not knowing what else to do Kirsten took the album. Jane came to stand b
eside her and Kirsten could feel the trembling of her slight body. ‘See here,’ Jane said triumphantly as Kirsten turned to the first page. ‘There you are on your wedding day.’
Kirsten’s heart contracted as she looked down at the photograph that had had Pippa’s face cut from it and her own glued on beside Laurence’s.
Excitedly, Jane turned to the next page. ‘See here,’ she said, ‘this was when I was born.’ And there was a picture of Kirsten, one that Laurence had taken six years ago, with a tiny black and white snapshot of a baby stuck to it. Fleetingly she remembered Jane once telling her that Laurence had kept the photographs in the attic of his Kensington home. Obviously this was where Jane had got them.
On the next page was another photograph from the same era, this time of Kirsten and Laurence together and added to it was a picture of the baby Kirsten now recognized to be Jane. Around the picture of Jane were the same scissored edges as before. There were more, many more, and as Kirsten went through them, despite the fear mounting inside her, she felt as though her heart was breaking. It seemed that the only pictures Jane had been able to find of herself were those of when she was less than a year old and those that Kirsten and Laurence had taken when they were in New Orleans. There was nothing in between.
‘So you see, it’s all there,’ Jane said, tearing her eyes from a photograph of Kirsten, Laurence, Tom and herself that a waiter had taken for them at the Café du Monde and gazing beseechingly into Kirsten’s face. ‘We’re a family. I know you don’t want me, I know you’re trying to get rid of me again, but Laurence won’t let you.’
Silently Kirsten closed the album, put it down on the coffee table and turned to take Jane in her arms. As she held her she felt Jane’s fragile body start to convulse.
‘That’s it,’ Kirsten soothed, stroking Jane’s hair as the sobs tore painfully through Jane’s chest and her scalding tears soaked Kirsten’s shoulder. ‘Let it all out. Come on now, no one’s going to hurt you.’
Jane’s grip tightened, but after a while she pulled away. ‘Will you let me call you Mummy?’ she asked, her eyes still glistening with tears.