by Maggie James
‘Come on, darling. Time to go.’ I ignored his frustrated protests. ‘We’ll play at home, my love.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the woman approaching. I turned away from her, Daniel struggling in my arms, but she was too quick.
‘Is that your little boy?’ she asked. I barely managed to force a reply past my bone-dry mouth.
‘Yes. He’s called Matthew.’ The lie came easily despite the difficulty of speaking.
‘He’s gorgeous. How old is he? He must be about four, am I right?’
‘Yes.’ I turned away, pretending to be straightening Daniel’s clothes. The woman’s questions threatened danger to my precious darling and I cursed the terror within me preventing me being a better liar, a more convincing actress. I started to move away, clutching Daniel’s hand, desperate to put as much space as possible between her and my boy. My mind went into overdrive. I’d pack the instant I got Daniel back to the flat. We’d get on a bus for Manchester, Leeds, anywhere, find somewhere else to live, put London behind us.
‘He reminds me of my little boy when he was that age.’ She paused. ‘Are you all right? You don’t look well.’ I found myself able to look up at her then; I detected no undercurrent of suspicion, no threat, in her voice or her face. Only concern.
I swallowed hard, fighting to regain control of myself. ‘Yes. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.’ I took refuge in another lie. ‘I get bad migraines…got one coming on now. Need to get home before it takes hold.’
‘You go and put your feet up, love; take care now, you hear?’ My nerves started to fade. She was just a friendly bystander, a doting mother like me, not the threat to my happiness I’d feared. The sweat on the back of my neck started to cool; I broke away from her, satisfied I’d been imagining things. Tension still haunted me for the rest of the day, though; the fear of being wrong, the terror that the woman had recognised Daniel and reported the incident to the police. I imagined the knock on the door; saw myself opening it to some grim-faced officer who would take my boy from me. The urge to watch the news that night was overwhelming; Daniel’s case was featured again but I relaxed on hearing the police say there was still no progress in finding him. The whole incident had shaken me up, though, and I didn’t take Daniel out for another week or so, until my nerves had subsided and my confidence had returned a little.
It took about a month before the case started to fade from daily media attention; a missing child was serious stuff, no doubt about it, but there were only so many times the police could assure the public they were doing everything possible. After a while, I no longer had such a strong compulsion to watch the news. The tension I’d carried inside me ever since the night I’d taken Daniel began to ease, a sense of contentment replacing it. I had my boy safe with me, and I was a mother again. Life was good.
After a couple of months I judged Daniel to be ready for a local playgroup I’d found. It wouldn’t be long now until Daniel started nursery school, and the playgroup was important to get him used to interacting with other children. We went every afternoon, and, thank God, Daniel took to it straight away. He was still withdrawn a lot of the time at home, which hurt me, so it was good to see him laughing and playing, seemingly carefree.
I’d already put his name down for the nursery class attached to the nearest primary school. The headmaster made comments about how I’d left things very late, and I played the dizzy blonde and murmured yes, so sorry, but I’d only recently moved to the area for work purposes, and how I’d been so busy with sorting things. The same fear I’d experienced with the woman in the park rose up once more, making me stumble over my words; I prayed he’d put it down to me being the timid type. I needn’t have worried; he made no connection between the reserved four-year-old in front of him and the laughing Daniel from the photograph the police had released. As much as I hated his withdrawal on one level, Daniel’s behaviour, along with his cropped hair, was helping disguise his identity; the public had imprinted on its mind an image of a smiling, curly-haired Daniel, so unlike how he was now.
I still worried about him. Perhaps it was selfish of me, but my boy wasn’t as warm and loving towards me as I’d hoped he’d be. He seemed reluctant to hug or kiss me. I tried to put his reticence down to him being a little boy; they weren’t known for liking that sort of thing, and I figured perhaps Daniel hadn’t been used to a lot of physical affection before from his parents or the nanny. Me, I’d have hugged and kissed him all day; I thought him delicious and I adored him more and more as time went on.
He never called me Mummy unless I prompted him and I hated having to coax him. I craved to hear him say the word, as if Daniel saying it stamped a seal on the fact I was his mother now. I didn’t know what to think; he’d obviously found the abrupt change in his life more of a wrench than I’d anticipated, but at least he wasn’t reacting with temper tantrums. No, he’d chosen to withdraw into himself, his rejection of my love hurting me to the bone. I kept reminding myself he was very young and he’d surely forgotten about his birth mother and his nanny by now. After all, he never mentioned them anymore.
Overall, though, life was good. I loved spending my days with Daniel and being his mummy and it had been a long time since happiness had knocked on my door. I figured I deserved what I now had.
Only one thing was missing, besides finding a job when Daniel started nursery school.
I wanted to meet a man. Not for myself, but for Daniel. A man who would give my boy a home and be a father to him. Then I’d finally have what I’d always yearned for. A husband, child and a stable home life.
28
WORTH WAITING FOR
Yesterday Katie had left for Australia. Daniel had forced himself to join in the seemingly endless goodbyes at Heathrow, plastering on a smile, his nerves stretched tight. He’d watched Katie arrive, taking in her long-legged stride as she walked towards him and the rest of the family, all sass and confidence, an Oscar-deserving performance on her part. Behind the wide smile, she had to have been hurting every bit as much as he was. Hell, they’d talked of doing this Australia thing together. This wasn’t how it was supposed to play out.
In a way, he thought, her departure was good, despite hurting like mad on one level. His head was a mess, one hell of a mess, but amongst all the pain, he felt relief. They’d done the right thing, awful as it had been. The raw wound inside him called Katie could start to heal. She’d gone and now they both had the chance to move on.
The thought of Annie came into his mind for some reason. He needed a dollop of her plain speaking, delivered in that sex-soaked voice of hers. Why not? They’d chat, he’d down a few drinks and perhaps the knot of pain in his gut would ease a little. He wanted, if he were honest, to tell Annie about Katie, how her flying off to the other side of the world had left a gaping hole in his life. Probably best not to mention the fact she was his aunt and that they’d been having sex, albeit unknowingly. Despite the fact his gut told him she wasn’t the type to blab about anything he disclosed to her in confidence, such a move might be a step too far. Too much information to tell someone who was, after all, one degree removed from being a stranger. But what the hell, he needed a sympathetic ear right now. He’d tell her as much as he judged she’d be comfortable with.
The place was about half full when he arrived. He pulled out a stool at the bar in front of her. ‘Hey, you. Remember me?’
She laughed. ‘As if I’d ever forget such a pretty face. Not every day a celebrity walks in here. What will you have?’
‘Whatever the guest beer is. You OK?’
‘I’m fine. Things are picking up here.’ She held his glass against the pump and pulled. ‘Everything going well with your family?’
‘Yes. No. It’s complicated.’ Master of understatement there, he thought.
She handed him his beer. ‘Isn’t it always, with families? Remember what I told you, though. Enjoy what you’ve found. Don’t dwell on the past or what might have been. A lesson I’m trying to learn myself.’
&nbs
p; ‘Easy enough to say. The past can hold you back at times.’
She leaned across the bar. ‘Listen. I don't know why the hell I’m saying this, but anyway. It’s busy now, and likely to get busier, so we’re not going to be able to chat. Come back to mine for coffee afterwards, and you can get whatever’s bugging you off your chest.’ She laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t try to seduce you. I know I’m not the type a pretty boy like you would go for.’
Daniel stared at her. He realised she was talking straight, didn’t want or expect sex from him; she was face value, this woman, and he could go to hers and drink coffee and spill out his pain, well, part of it, and she’d understand. He’d come here for solace tonight, hadn’t he? And she was offering it to him.
He decided to take her up on her suggestion. There had been a connection established between them the other night; the mutual recognition of some deep past hurt, hence her offer of coffee. He could tell her about Katie, and she wouldn’t judge. Perhaps she’d give some hint of what had given her the look of pain that crossed her face in unguarded moments. She meant what she said; she had no intention of luring him into bed. It would be coffee and talking, exactly what he needed.
‘Best offer I’ve had all night. Thanks.’
‘It’ll be a long wait. I don't finish until two.’
‘You’re worth waiting for.’
She grinned. ‘God, that was bad. Are you always so corny?’
‘Sorry.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘Force of habit around women, I guess. Usually I spin a better line than that. I’m not coming on to you, honest.’
The night passed slowly, Daniel brushing off several attempts to pick him up from both men and women. He wasn’t here for sex, not tonight. He didn’t mind the time spent at the bar. He reckoned he’d be proved right; Annie would be worth the wait.
At two o’clock, Annie motioned with her head towards the door. ‘Wait for me outside. I’ll be five minutes, tops. My flat’s just around the corner.’
Daniel stood in the cold night air, hands in his pockets, and then she was beside him, bundled up in a thick coat, her bag slung over her shoulder. ‘Come on. This way.’
They walked up the stairs to her top-floor flat and she unlocked the door. ‘Make yourself at home, if you can find room. Excuse the mess, but I’m not the tidy sort.’ She gestured towards a battered sofa, strewn with books and magazines. ‘I’ll get the coffee perking.’
Daniel tossed aside some books - looked like she was into Gauguin, Matisse and Bertrand Russell - and sat down. He wondered about this woman, who took an interest in art and philosophy and worked nights in a bar, a woman who was nothing to look at but who had read him like the proverbial book.
She brought in two steaming mugs. ‘You managed to find space amongst the chaos, then. So tell me. What’s been so bad about this week for you?’
‘Do you always get straight to the point?’
‘Yep. Get used to it.’
‘Where do I start?’ Daniel sighed. ‘My ex-girlfriend flew to Australia yesterday. She’s emigrated.’
‘Ouch. Was it a painful split?’
‘Yes, very. Not what either of us wanted.’
Annie raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re going to have to explain that one. Why break up, if that was the case?’ She paused. ‘Was she married, Daniel?’
He shook his head. ‘No. We were both single. Everything had been going great between us. Except for the fact that…’ He had to tell her; it would make no sense to her otherwise. He kept his eyes on Annie, willing her to be OK with this. ‘We didn’t realise, not until I started delving into my past and all the stuff about the kidnap came out…I’d been dating my own aunt, Annie.’ He dropped his gaze. ‘She’s the kid sister of my mother, and neither of us had a clue.’
‘Shit, Daniel. That’s rough. Really rough.’ He didn’t hear any censure in her voice. ‘You loved her?’
‘Yes. Getting there, anyway. We hadn’t been together long, but Katie was special. Like no other woman I’d ever dated. She’d been planning on going to Australia before we met, but we’d started talking about me going with her, and I was up for it.’ He drained his coffee. ‘She decided to leave anyway once all this shit came out. It would have been too awful for me, seeing her all the time, and she felt the same way. It’s a close knit family, you see.’
‘What about the rest of the family? Your mum, your dad - that must have torn them up as well.’
‘They don’t know, and never will. The one good thing I can say about the whole screwed-up mess. She never told them much about me; she liked to tease her mum that way. She was going to tell them, but then we found out about all this.’
‘Yup. That’s one good thing.’
‘It’s ironic.’ Daniel shook his head. ‘She once referred to me being kidnapped as the skeleton in the family closet. Now I’ve been replaced by two new skeletons - Katie and me, and they’re never going to get out. My family’s been through enough.’
‘Yes. You have, too. You’ve lost your girlfriend, and had to come to terms with a whole new idea of who you are. Can’t be easy, Daniel.’
‘No. No, it’s not.’ Jeez, you don’t know the half of it, he thought.
‘It would have all been different if that woman hadn’t kidnapped me.’ Bitterness tinged his voice. ‘I love to paint, you see. It’s all I ever wanted to do, growing up. Go to college; make a name for myself in the art world. But I couldn’t. My stepfather hated me and refused to pay for me to go. I couldn’t see a way to make enough money to fund a degree myself; I didn’t want huge student loans either. Painting’s not renowned as being a big money earner for most artists.’ God, he hated how petulant he sounded. ‘My new family, they’re all creative and talented; well-off as well. My parents, they wouldn’t have hesitated to send me to college. So I didn’t only lose my girlfriend, I lost my art as well.’
‘You hate her, don’t you? The woman who took you?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Do you know why she abducted you?’
‘No one does. She won’t talk. Retreated into her own little world and isn’t saying anything. I’ll probably never find out.’ He sounded bitter again, he realised. ‘She had a child of her own at some point and I ended up with his name and birth certificate. The police are looking into all that. But she told so many lies; it’s hard to tell.’
‘Have you thought why she took you and raised you as her son? She must have had a powerful reason to do what she did, Daniel. Did you ever think she might deserve your compassion, rather than your judgement?’
Anger surged hotly within him. She had no idea. He’d been wrong to think she’d understand.
‘Hey, don’t look so pissed off, mister. I realise you didn’t like hearing that. But think about this. Try walking in her shoes. You say she won’t talk. That’s a sign of someone who’s been damaged by life and I’d bet a load of money a sad story lies behind all this. You reckon you’ve had a rough deal - well, perhaps she’s endured a hell of a lot worse. Suffering heartbreak can send you off the rails. Believe me.’ She looked away.
Shame for his petulant behaviour replaced Daniel’s anger. ‘I’m sorry. You’re probably right. She has a history of mental health issues. Bouts of depression, stuff like that. Perhaps she lied about or kept hidden other things as well. I hardly know her, I suppose, in spite of living with her for so long. I need answers, though. Answers she doesn’t seem willing to give.’ He picked up his empty mug. ‘Any chance of a refill? Or have you had enough of me and my self-pity?’
‘Refill coming up.’ She took his mug. ‘And there’s something else you’re not telling me. Oh, don’t try to deny it,’ she said, seeing him start to shake his head. ‘You’re hiding something, besides losing your girlfriend and missing out on going to college and all the rest of it. I’ll listen, if you want to share. It’s your call.’ She went out to the kitchen.
She was sharp, this woman, to detect the festering secret he’d shoved deep down inside for years a
nd which he never permitted to surface, except on the occasional visit to certain seedy sex clubs. But she had sniffed out his shame with unerring precision. Sharp didn’t even begin to describe her. He wondered if he could bring himself to tell her what he’d never told anyone before.
But, he remembered, there had been nobody he trusted enough.
His gut was telling him he’d never find a better person to spill the ugly horror of what had happened to him than this woman. Not tonight, though. It was too soon to go down that road and he wasn’t sure if he could, not yet anyway. Far easier to keep everything bottled up, under control except for when he went to those clubs, the way he’d dealt with the whole crock of crap for years. Right now, he needed to deflect this conversation; things were getting too intense, too near the mark, for him. And he wanted to find out more about Annie.
She returned with the refilled coffee mugs. ‘So, mister. You care to share your deep, dark secret?’
‘Not sure this is the right time. Or whether I’ll ever think the time is right. Listen, I’ve been rattling on to you about my life, my problems. Enough of me; I want to hear about you. What made you work in a pick-up joint serving beer? When you’re into art and…’ He picked up a book. ‘Forgiveness: A Practical Guide’? Who are you, Annie? What’s your story?’
‘It’s not a pretty one, Daniel. I’ve never talked to anyone here in London about what happened, not since packing my bags and walking out on my life nearly six months ago. Not sure I’m ready to tell you now.’
‘Then don’t. As you said to me, it’s your call. If you choose to, though, I’ll listen; you’d be doing me a favour. I've been a bit self-absorbed lately. You'll give me something to think about besides my own problems.’ He smiled at her. ‘Up to you.’