Her voice is determined, as is her gaze – it’s as if she’s desperate to know. My mind wrestles with the idea of telling her, knowing it would be counter-intuitive to any chance of her and Daniel getting back together. But despite being annoyed with her – despite being here for Daniel – I find myself wanting to tell her. Truth is, I need to tell someone, because keeping it to myself is killing me. And despite the note warning me not to tell the police, I think to myself, what harm can there be in telling her? She’s a professional, and I know whatever I say in this room is confidential. So how will the sender ever know?
‘OK, you’re right,’ I sigh. ‘When I got home last night, there was an envelope on my pillow. Inside it were two photographs of me with my lover, taken not long before Heidi was kidnapped.’
For once, she looks amazed. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Am I sure? Of course I’m sure. I saw them with my own two eyes, held them in my own two hands.’
‘Have you told the police?’
‘No.’ I tell her about the accompanying note.
‘What have you done with them?’
‘I hid them in my underwear drawer.’
‘Look, this is serious, Christine, and out of my remit. You need to tell the police.’
‘But what if Heidi’s alive? How can I risk telling them? The sender might kill her.’
‘Whoever sent the photos is messing with your mind. They’re playing a game, and right now, they’re winning. They want to make you sweat and suffer.’
‘But why all these years later? Surely they must know I’ve suffered enough?’
‘Do you think? Whoever’s been sending you this stuff clearly doesn’t agree. He or she knows you’ve kept your affair to yourself all this time, but presumably doesn’t know you’ve finally confessed. All they’re focusing on is you being so caught up in your affair you took your eye off your child. Which is probably why they never returned her. They didn’t think you could be trusted with her. That’s what the first note implies, anyway.’
Once again, her cold analysis stings me like salt on an open graze. It’s almost like she sympathizes with the kidnapper. But I guess she’s right. The photos are a reminder of all that. The fact that I failed my child because I was obsessed with him. And it dawns on me, how could I possibly explain this to Heidi if I ever saw her again? There’s nothing I could say that would make things right. She would only see it as me choosing him over her, no matter how sorry I am now.
Something else occurs to me. Something that should have triggered alarm bells when Dr Cousins previously asked me if I’d told anyone I was going shopping at Peter Jones the day I lost Heidi. Aside from my mother, the only other person who knew I was going there was Miranda. We spoke when I was on the bus, when Heidi and I were on our way to Sloane Square. It suddenly hits me that Miranda’s been secretly jealous of me for years, no doubt hates me for having Greg’s children. And Greg’s only recently admitted how she’d warned him he was making a mistake marrying me and that I couldn’t be trusted. And now I wonder, was she so driven by jealousy, by the desire for revenge, that she felt compelled to rob me of the single most important person in my life?
Could she have taken Heidi?
‘Call the police now,’ Dr Cousins says. ‘I’ll make myself scarce.’
She leaves the room, and I fish out my phone from my handbag. I dial DI Phillips’ number, and when he picks up I tell him about the photos. He instructs me to go home and wait for him there, he’ll be over ASAP.
I put my phone away, then go and find Dr Cousins in her kitchen, making tea for us both. She offers me one of the mugs.
‘Oh, that’s kind of you,’ I say, ‘but I’ve just spoken to DI Phillips and he told me to head home straight away. He’s going to meet me there shortly.’
‘OK, no worries.’ She smiles, going over to the sink and throwing my tea down the plughole.
‘Thanks for listening,’ I say.
‘Not at all. Telling the police is the right thing to do,’ she assures me. ‘You just needed a little push, and that’s what I’m here for. To help you every step of the way.’
Once more, I go from feeling cross with Dr Cousins to appreciating her. I remind myself that her harshness is purely a tactic designed to wake me from my passiveness, make me do the right thing.
In the hallway, I put on my coat. But then, just as I’m about to leave, I spot something on the window ledge. A Jack Daniels cigarette lighter. It occurs to me that Greg had one just like it when he used to smoke. But then I realize they must be pretty common and leave without thinking any more of it.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Greg
Now
This morning, when you woke, Amber, I think you suspected something was up because I didn’t want to have sex. I tried to act normally, but it was a real struggle, so I faked a stomach bug and took off before breakfast. You texted not long ago to tell me I’d left my Zippo at your place, but I said it was OK, I had others (a lie), just keep it till next time.
Not that I’m sure there’ll be a next time.
I know I should have been a man about it and confronted you there and then. Asked you what the hell kind of game you’re playing with me and my family, because you’re obviously up to something. But I was too much in shock. The fact that you happened to be my son’s fiancée and my wife’s shrink without either of them realizing this until you came round for lunch is coincidence enough. (Come to think of it, I’m wondering if that’s why you called me that morning; to make sure I wouldn’t be able to make lunch, thereby enabling you to keep up your charade).
But picking me up in a bar doesn’t feel like coincidence. It feels planned. And it’s especially alarming because you go by a different name with me. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I intend to find out – although I first need to make sure you are who I think you are before I do anything rash. After all, Freya Cousins could be your secret room-mate, or your sister, although I realize I’m clutching at straws, desperate for this to be the case when I know how unlikely that is. There’s a website for a Dr Freya Cousins who specializes in bereavement counselling, but no photo. That’s not particularly unusual. Some people prefer not to have their photo on show to the world. But now I’m wondering if there’s a more unsavoury reason at root.
I press Dan’s door buzzer and pray to God he’s home. When I texted him earlier, he said he would be. Although it’s a weekday afternoon, he’s pulled a sickie because he said he can’t face work, what with all that’s transpired. Before long, I receive an unenthusiastic grunt, the door clicks open, and he’s there to greet me. He looks terrible, and I feel bad for what I’m about to do but it can’t be helped.
‘I saw Mum,’ he says.
‘Oh?’
‘She said she’d try and make Freya come round. Try and convince her to get back with me, now that her affair is out in the open.’
Poor boy. He’s smitten with Freya. The way I was smitten with you, Amber. But are you one and the same person?
‘But you’ve heard nothing from her yet?’
‘No. It’ll probably come to nothing.’
I inhale deeply, say, ‘Son, you never showed me a photo of Freya. Do you have one?’
He looks at me questioningly, then shrugs his shoulders and says, ‘Sure, I was waiting to introduce you to her in person, but obviously that’s not going to happen now.’
He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his photos. The entire time he’s scrolling, my insides are churning, and all I can do is pray that I’m wrong.
But I’m not. My worst fears are confirmed when he shows me a photo of a stunning blonde. It’s you, Amber. Or rather, Freya. Except that in this photo you have striking blue eyes. Contact lenses? I wonder.
‘Dad, what’s up? You’ve gone white. Are you feeling unwell?’
‘Yes, actually I don’t feel so good, son.’
I excuse myself to the bathroom and throw up.
Chapter Sixty-Three
&nbs
p; Christine
Now
DI Phillips is waiting for me on my front doorstep when I get home from seeing Dr Cousins. He comes in and explains that earlier two of his officers spoke at length with Julia Keel and concluded that there is nothing to indicate that she’s behind all this. She admitted to catching me with my lover shortly after Greg and I were married, and to blackmailing me, but insisted she’d been horrified to hear about Heidi’s abduction, and would never in a million years have wished such a thing on me. The officers – both highly experienced – believed her story and I have no reason to doubt their judgement. In any case, she was visiting a client’s offices in the West Midlands when Heidi was taken. I don’t feel disappointed; it’s what I expected.
There, in the back of my mind, I keep seeing Miranda’s face. The only person I can think of, aside from my mother, who knew I was there that day and had motive. I wonder, do I mention this to DI Phillips now? Maybe not just yet. First, I need to deal with the photos.
‘I’ve kept them in one of my bedroom drawers,’ I explain.
As I lead the way upstairs, I feel grateful to Dr Cousins for convincing me to contact DI Phillips. The photos are too big a deal to keep from him, and I’ll feel safer knowing the police are keeping a watchful eye over me. We enter my bedroom and I go over to the relevant drawer. But when I open it and feel for the envelope underneath my bras and pants, it’s not there.
‘That’s odd,’ I say, looking over my shoulder at my visitor.
‘What?’
‘They’re not here.’
‘You sure you didn’t put them in another drawer?’
‘Yes, quite sure.’ But just in case, I look in all my drawers, but the envelope’s nowhere to be found.
I feel both angry and embarrassed, and as I run my hands through my hair in frustration, I realize Heidi’s kidnapper has been here again.
DI Phillips looks at me strangely, then his gaze flits to the pill bottle beside my bed. I should probably just ignore it, but I feel the need to explain.
‘I’ve not been sleeping well. They’re just to help me nod off.’
‘I see,’ he says with a doubtful look.
I can see it on his face. He thinks I imagined the photos. That I was so high on pills, I was delirious. But he’s seen the note, the email, the dress, with his own eyes. He knows I wasn’t imagining them.
‘Maybe you should lie down, Christine,’ he says.
Jesus, I don’t need to lie down! Again, I know exactly what he’s thinking. That I’m completely off my trolley.
‘Please believe me, the photos were left here on my pillow.’ I point to the pillow for emphasis, but he shakes his head.
‘OK, OK, calm down. Maybe they’ll turn up. But I do think you need to rest. Dr Cousins thinks you’re putting yourself under a lot of strain, and that it’s affecting your mental health.’
‘Dr Cousins? You’ve spoken to her? She said that?’
I’m confused. And mad with my shrink. Again. Every time I give Dr Cousins the benefit of the doubt, she goes and does something to piss me off. She’s not supposed to discuss me, or anything I’ve said to her, with anyone. Even the police, unless I confess to murder or something. It’s a patent breach of patient/doctor confidentiality. So what is she playing at?
‘Yes. She called me while you were on your way here. Said she was concerned for your state of mind.’
Sneaky bitch. How could she? ‘Well, she shouldn’t have done. That’s a clear breach of trust.’
‘Yes, maybe, but she was worried you might be delusional.’
‘Delusional? Why?’
‘Well, the dress, for one.’
I can’t believe she’s doing this. It makes no sense and it’s so unfair. ‘DI Phillips, you saw the dress for yourself. I didn’t imagine it.’
‘Yes, I saw it.’
‘And then there’s the note, the email.’
‘Yes.’
I look at him, and again I realize what he’s thinking. He’s wondering whether I might have written the note and email myself. But for what purpose? To gain attention? To get the case reopened? It also dawns on me that in this day and age it would be perfectly possible to get hold of a replica dress on the internet and stain it to make it look like Heidi’s. But the idea I would go to such lengths is ridiculous.
I just can’t believe Dr Cousins: pretending to care, assuring me I could confide in her when she’s been talking about me behind my back and making up stories that aren’t true. Practically implying all this is some sort of elaborate attention-seeking ploy of mine.
Well, it’s not, for pity’s sake! Someone else sent all those things, someone who’s trying to set me up, make me look crazy. And now I’m wondering if my psychiatrist is involved somehow. And maybe Miranda? After all, it was Miranda who first introduced Dr Cousins to Janine. Miranda who tried to warn Greg off me, and no doubt wants me out of the picture. But does she know my secret? If she does – although I don’t want to admit it – it makes her actions more justifiable.
‘She also says,’ DI Phillips goes on, ‘as have others we’ve questioned – namely your husband, your children and your friend, Janine – that you drink quite a lot, and we all know how alcohol can play with a person’s mind.’
This is insane. I study DI Phillips’ face and see that he’s deadly serious. I feel like I’m about to burst with fury and humiliation. ‘I like a glass of wine, yes, but I am not an alcoholic and I haven’t made all this up under some alcohol/drug-infused stupor. I am perfectly sane, OK?’
‘But when your husband found you on the kitchen floor with the note, it was clear from the used wine glass on the sideboard next to you that you’d been drinking. Correct?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Look…’ He holds up his palm as a peace offering. ‘No one’s accusing you…’
‘Well, it certainly feels like they are.’
‘But maybe you need to cut down on the drinking and the pills, so we can sit down and think clearly about what’s happening here.’
He doesn’t trust me, I can see it in his eyes. There’s no point in telling him about Miranda now. He won’t believe me. I want him out of here, so I can be alone and try and gain some sort of perspective on the situation. I’m hurt, confused and angry; I can’t get over the fact that Janine told him I drink too much. That hurts the most. Her betrayal. I know she’s an honest person, but it feels hugely disloyal, not like her at all, and I wonder why she’d want to paint me in such a bad light.
Five minutes later, I close the door on DI Phillips. I badly want a drink, but I resist. I can’t give him any more leverage over me.
But then something happens which weakens my resolve and has me reaching for the bottle.
A text from a number I don’t recognize. There’s an attachment, and when I open it my knees nearly buckle with shock.
It’s a photo of Ella kissing another woman.
And she looks exactly like Dr Cousins.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Greg
Now
I’m on the Tube heading for St John’s Wood, hoping to catch you at home, Chrissy. After I threw up at Dan’s, I made tracks fast. Just said I must have eaten something dodgy but didn’t want to chance passing anything on to him. I realize how odd my behaviour must have seemed, even for a supposedly sick person. But I had no choice. I had to get out of there; the realization that I’ve been screwing our son’s fiancée for the last six months filling me with disgust.
Dan is so madly in love with this woman, finding out – after she’s just gone and dumped him – that his father’s been sleeping with her too; no, make that fucking her brains out, is going to kill him. Even though I had no idea who Amber really was, I hate myself for what I’ve done, and I feel helpless, adrift, simply because there’s nothing I can do to change the situation, to make it better. Which is why I couldn’t look Dan in the eye when I emerged from his bathroom. I feel unfit to be his father and I honestly don’t know how I’ll ev
er be able to face him again.
As I stand gripping the rail in the crowded Tube carriage, all I can think about is Amber/Freya/Dr Cousins and what the hell she is up to. Was it pure chance she crashed into Miranda’s car that day? Or was it premeditated? Why has she targeted Dan, you and me? Have we done something unforgiveable to her or her family without realizing it? Does she bear a grudge against us for some reason that, right now, eludes me? Or is it part of some sick psychological experiment she’s conducting?
Is she mad herself?
Is she even a real psychiatrist?
There’s something sinister going on here, and I wonder if it’s connected to the messages we’ve received from Heidi’s alleged kidnapper. One way or another, I intend to find out.
And then, just as the Tube comes to a stop, another thought occurs to me. One that makes me shiver, despite the carriage being hot and airless.
Janine introduced Dr Cousins to you, and she caught Amber (or rather the back of her) with me in Deco’s, when I had no idea that Dr Cousins and Amber were one and the same person. But now that all this is happening, I’m suddenly thinking more clearly and remembering things that should have occurred to me at the time. Should have set alarm bells ringing in my head. Deco’s is so named being adorned in the Art Deco style. From its lighting to its crockery to its furniture, to its mirrors. And that’s when a startling realization hits me. Was it really just the back of Amber – or rather, Dr Cousins – Janine saw? Because now I remember, as clear as day, that hanging on the wall at the back of the room, where I’d deliberately chosen to sit, was a whopping great mirror. Big enough, as Janine held eye contact with me, for her to have glimpsed Dr Cousins’ face in it. And so, assuming she did, assuming she saw her holding hands with me, gazing into my eyes, why then, did she behave as if they were two different people? Why didn’t she tell you that I was cheating on her with her psychiatrist? Why in God’s name did she keep quiet about that?
She's Mine Page 24