She's Mine

by A A Chaudhuri

  I ask you if you need any help, at which point you bend down, lean over to me and whisper, ‘Bit of a dicky tummy. I’m going to my room for some privacy. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  Then you smile and kiss me on the head. Worried and sad that you’re feeling unwell on your wedding day, I again offer to go with you, but you insist on going alone, and say you’ll get word to me if you need me. I don’t protest and watch you go off, then get distracted by your father who asks if I’d like a top-up of my champagne. I say, ‘Yes please,’ and once I’m topped up, he gets sidetracked by another guest and I take the opportunity to look around for Nate. He’s been sitting with your and Greg’s other close friends whom we’ve known for some time but is nowhere to be seen.

  It occurs to me that he might have gone to the bar, and so I excuse myself to go and investigate. But he’s not there either. Feeling frustrated, I realize you’ve been gone a good twenty minutes, and I’m worried you might be seriously ill. I know you’re in Room Thirty at the end of the corridor – a few doors down from our room – so I head up the grand, sweeping staircase to go and find you. But as I turn the corner, I see my husband emerge from the far room, your room. And almost as soon as he does, he swivels back round and I see a hand grasp his neck and pull him back in. The hand is wearing a large emerald-and-diamond engagement ring, along with a diamond-studded platinum wedding band. Beautiful and instantly recognizable.

  It’s your hand, and they are your rings.

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Janine

  Now

  Oh, Greg, you poor man. I look at you. Mute. Every inch of you paralyzed by shock. Exactly the reaction I’d expected.

  I get no satisfaction from seeing you suffer like this, although – it has to be said – you’ve been unforgivably weak all these years. You didn’t have to stay with her, you could have left her years ago. Christ, if you felt unable to exist without a woman in your life, you needn’t have looked further than Miranda. As much as she irritates me, I can’t fault her devotion to you. Granted, I couldn’t resist telling her about your affair (just hearing the shock in her voice, imagining the look on her face, was priceless) but she would have been a better mother to your messed-up kids than Chrissy.

  But despite Chrissy pushing you away, despite her being a terrible wife and mother, you stayed, and that makes you pathetic in my eyes. A real man wouldn’t have stayed. You’re a master of your own misery as far as I can tell, and therefore it’s hard to have sympathy for you.

  I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed watching her suffer all these years. And now my daughter and I have taken her suffering to new heights, although her biggest shock is yet to come.

  I wanted to kill myself when I discovered her betrayal. She knew how much I loved Nate. He was my world and I worshipped him. And she knew what a miserable life I’d had before she and I became friends. When she befriended me in the dinner queue at our university halls, she restored my faith in human nature. At eighteen, I’d finally made a best friend. Someone who, unlike me, was stunning, but also funny and warm, and for the first time in my life I was happy, and I finally believed that not all successful, attractive women were stuck-up, manipulative cows. Never for a second could I have imagined that your wife was, in fact, the worst of them; capable of inflicting indescribable pain on those who loved her most. But I was wrong. And when I realized she’d had sex with my husband at your wedding, my heart shattered into a million pieces. The realization that my best friend, whom I trusted completely, was – behind all the smiles and gestures of affection – a compulsive liar; a wicked, disgusting Jezebel who had – without any hesitation or remorse, and for God knows how long – been sleeping with my husband was like a pain akin to grief.

  Looking back, I’m not sure how I got through the rest of your wedding celebrations; through the evening reception, your first dance, talking to guests as if everything was fine and agreeing what a wonderful day it had been, and yes, of course, I was so happy for the new Mr and Mrs Donovan. And I don’t know how I stopped myself from standing up and announcing to your guests what an evil, cheating whore the bride was, and that your wedding was nothing but a sham. I can only imagine how delighted Miranda would have been. Especially as Duncan – in his usual undiplomatic fashion – had likened her to a goddess in her wedding gown while Miranda was standing right next to him.

  But maybe, in my heart of hearts, I do know how I made it through. It wasn’t out of respect or sympathy for you, Greg, that I held back. It was purely because I was weak and lacked courage. And, I suppose, too overcome with shock.

  I was quiet with Nate when we eventually retired to our room. He asked me what was up – can you imagine that, the unscrupulous bastard?! I remember cringing when he tried to touch me, get frisky with me, utterly repulsed by the idea, knowing that only a few hours ago he’d been inside her. I turned my back on him in our romantic four-poster bed at the luxury hotel you and she had taken over for what was supposed to be the happiest day of your lives; said it had been a long day, I was whacked and needed sleep. I think he was surprised because I rarely spurned his advances unless I was genuinely ill.

  But I didn’t sleep, of course. All I could think about was him and her having an affair behind my back, behind your back. Fucking each other’s brains out. Wondering how long it had been going on, whether it had started before Nate and I were married, whether they’d screwed each other in Mexico on my wedding day. And I wondered how I could have been so naive, so stupid to think that a gorgeous, successful woman like her could have befriended someone like me. And I came to realize that I’d been a kind of pet project for her – some charity case she’d taken on because she’d always liked challenges, and so adopting me as her friend was just another challenge she’d set herself. Another boost to her massively inflated ego. Likewise, I remember thinking, was it really any wonder that a man like Nate – Chrissy’s male counterpart in terms of brains and beauty – would desire someone like her? I was nothing compared to her; how naive I had been to think he actually preferred a plain Jane like me over a stunner like Chrissy.

  I thought about all the times in the past when pretty, successful women like her had got the better of me. Despite playing a few pranks on them here and there, I had submitted to their domination. But this time, I told myself things would be different because, unlike all the other times, I had truly believed Chrissy was my friend, and therefore her blanket betrayal of our friendship was unforgivable and had to be punished. Although I wasn’t sure how, I vowed to myself that I would get my revenge.

  * * *

  Of course, I knew how tough it was going to be, pretending to be her friend, acting normally around her and Nate, and you for that matter, plus still being ‘friends’ with Miranda, as if nothing had happened. But somehow, I found the strength to do so.

  I know that she and Nate carried on their affair after you two were married because I hired a private investigator to follow them. He photographed them entering and exiting their shady fuck-fest hotels, snatching a quick passionate exchange in some car park or on a hotel doorstep. And I kept all this ammunition, locked it safely away in a box in my wardrobe, still not knowing how I was going to use it. All I knew was that there was no point throwing the evidence in her face because where would that get me? I wanted her to suffer in a big way and for a long time, and so when, three months later, she told me she was pregnant, not long after I received the devastating news that I couldn’t have children of my own and there was a possibility of Nate being sent to Hong Kong at some point in the future, it came to me.

  Although it’s unfortunate that you, Greg, have had to suffer for her sins, it is what it is, and it couldn’t be helped.

  As I gave Chrissy a fake hug, congratulating her on her pregnancy – despite seething with jealousy inside knowing that, once again, she had attained something I could never have, and yet craved with all my heart – I hatched the perfect plan that would destroy her charmed life. When the time was ri
ght, I would take the one person who was most important to her, as she had taken who was most important to me. And I would raise her as my own.

  Her beloved firstborn, Heidi.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Miranda

  Now

  I end the call with my contact, stunned by what he’s told me, appalled by my naivety. Turns out Freya Cousins never attended Imperial College to study medicine, or any other UK university. And she certainly wasn’t attending a psychiatry conference at the Hilton Newcastle the day she slammed into the back of my car.

  I think back to that time. When she got out of her car, almost in tears, so kind and apologetic, thrusting her fake business card my way, immediately drawing attention to her profession. What was it she’d said?

  ‘I’m so sorry, I’m really not a bad driver. It’s just that I’m running late for a psychiatry conference at the Hilton, where I’m due to present a seminar on bereavement.’

  Of course, when she said this, I forgot about being angry with her for denting my brand-new Audi. Immediately thought what a nice young woman she seemed, felt sorry for her, noticing the tears well up in her sheer blue eyes. In any case, there wasn’t much damage, it was no big deal. We’d pulled over onto the kerb on the next road. And that’s when she’d suggested we settle the matter privately. ‘It’s just that I made a huge cock-up with the provider I went with and my policy excess is already pretty steep. I really can’t afford for it to go up further if I make a claim for this.’

  Thinking back, being a lawyer, I wonder how I could have been so bloody stupid. I mean, I should have spotted something fishy then. Someone in her line of work choosing not to notify her insurers. But she had such a nice way about her I didn’t have the heart to say no. Now I know the real reason she didn’t want to get the insurers involved is that there’d have been no record of car insurance registered to a Dr Freya Cousins.

  She gave me her business card, with the same West Hampstead address she operated her so-called practice from, and told me to send her the invoice for the repairs as soon as I had it. I thanked her, wished her good luck, and we went our separate ways.

  That night, Janine called, telling me how depressed she felt, how she didn’t feel able to go on with life now that Nate was gone. And that’s when I remembered the business card Dr Cousins had handed me and – more specifically – her reference to giving a talk on bereavement. Although I was never one to believe in therapy, meeting Dr Cousins had felt like fate to me. Plus, her website was so impressive. Although now I realize why there was no photo despite thinking little of it at the time. I told Janine all about her and – as luck would have it – that she was only a couple of stops away on the Jubilee Line.

  But now I realize our meeting was no accident. No accident that Dr Cousins banged into my car that day. No accident she happened to give me her business card and tell me where she was headed. No accident that she had revealed to me her experience in helping patients cope with their grief.

  And – as I realize this – I wonder whether it was also no accident that Janine called me that night, telling me how desperate she felt.

  With no time to lose, I call Greg. But frustratingly, he’s not answering. So I leave him a voicemail and tell him all I know.

  I just hope he picks it up soon.

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Greg

  Now

  Hearing Janine’s confession, seeing the smug look on her face, I want to put my hands around her neck and crush the life out of her. But my feet are cemented to the ground, and I feel utterly powerless. The realization that she – your best friend, Chrissy – took our daughter is horrifying enough, but hearing her reasons, hearing that you fucked her husband, one of my best friends at the time, on our wedding day, is akin to a dagger being thrust through my heart. Questions rip through my mind.

  When did it start? How long did it go on for? When did you see him? How could Nate have betrayed our friendship like that? Was he the one who convinced Graham Small to give Julia Keel what she wanted, because by then, being a few years older than us, he’d been made a partner and had influence at the firm? What exactly did he say to you on the phone the day Heidi was taken? How could he have gone along with Janine kidnapping Heidi, knowing it was a crime, knowing it would destroy our lives?

  I would see him every now and again, for Christ’s sake, when he was called back to London for meetings. But he always travelled alone. Claiming Janine was too frightened to travel with Sarah after what happened to Heidi. And we, in our grief, had sympathized. Later, when Sarah was older, less vulnerable, it was never the right moment. Either it was term time, or she was too busy studying. Again, with busy teenagers of our own, we empathized. We received occasional photos, mostly of Sarah in senior school. Photos which must have been of some random child, because now I realize that ‘Sarah’ is really Heidi. Granted, for a long time you had no inclination to leave the house, let alone fly to Hong Kong. But later, when it seemed you might be coming around to the idea and I secretly broached the subject with Nate, it was never a good time. And now we know why. They couldn’t risk it. Because surely we would have recognized our own daughter? Even when Sarah – or rather, Heidi – grew up, they’d say she was travelling or too busy with her friends. And, more recently, too tied up with her high-powered job. But the truth was that they couldn’t risk us identifying our missing daughter.

  I somehow find my voice, ask, ‘How did you get Nate to go along with this? You both committed a serious crime. If you’d been caught back then, you’d have gone to prison for a very long time. He was a lawyer, for goodness’ sake, his job was everything to him.’

  ‘I didn’t care about that. It was a chance I was willing to take because your bitch of a wife broke my heart. She took what was most precious to me, and getting my revenge was all that kept me going. I made it clear to Nate that if he didn’t go along with it, I’d go public with the photos of him and her and ruin not just his career, but hers too, and make a laughing stock out of you. His career – making partner – was everything to him. He loved his work, loved being a big shot, and it would have killed him to lose all that under such disreputable circumstances. And, as you know, at the time he was being transferred to Hong Kong, so it was the ideal opportunity to snatch Heidi and take her with us.’

  I am stunned, and yet I find myself asking more questions. ‘Is that why he phoned Chrissy that day? To distract her?’

  ‘Yes. The week before I took Heidi, I told him I knew everything. For the first time in my life, I called the shots. I held the power in our relationship. And I can tell you, Greg, it felt fucking fantastic. I followed Chrissy and Heidi that day, watched them from a distance, waited for my chance to pounce the moment she walked away, banking on the fact that she would. And Heidi knew me, of course, so she wasn’t afraid, didn’t make a fuss at all. I’d done my homework on where the CCTV was. The only thing that had threatened to ruin my plan was bloody Miranda.’

  I’m confused. ‘Miranda?’

  ‘Yes, I saw her standing at the entrance to Peter Jones – who knows why, perhaps Chrissy had told her she was shopping there, and she’d offered to join her. I was so mad, but then she got a call, and I watched her face fall, before she started running in the opposite direction. I was so relieved. Of course, later we discovered her deadbeat father had had a heart attack which explained her rapid departure. Though, if it were me, I wouldn’t have bothered.’

  Janine’s eyes are glistening as she talks, she seems to be enjoying herself, and although I understand what drove her to it, I realize there is something seriously wrong with her, and that perhaps her unhappy childhood had a more detrimental effect on her mental health than any of us ever imagined. It’s clear to me that over time, her grief and her obsession with getting revenge against you have soared to dangerous levels.

  ‘How did you get her to Hong Kong? The police circulated her photo everywhere.’

  She hesitates, as if thinking how best to answer, then
says, ‘Back then, before 9/11, before the rise of ISIS and other extremist cells, border control was slacker, and it was much easier to get away with a fake passport. And so I got one off the black market for Heidi, using a different name and gender. For two months I hid her in our house because, well, I couldn’t take off immediately, could I? What best friend would do that? I had to be there for you and Chrissy in your time of need. Especially as I knew Miranda would be.’

  I remember going over to Janine and Nate’s during that time, when we were still searching for Heidi. But all along she was right under our noses, upstairs in their house, alone and no doubt drugged to her eyeballs to ensure she wouldn’t cry. My heart aches with such pain, I almost can’t breathe. Again, I remember Janine slapping me across the face when I had a go at you for losing our child. Who’d have believed she was such a good actress?

  Janine continues. ‘Then, when it was time for us to leave for the Far East I cut her hair, dressed her up in boys’ clothes, and she and I took the ferry from Portsmouth to France, then drove to Italy. Nate flew out separately, telling people over there I had a few last-minute things to sort out. From there, we took a night flight from Rome to Hong Kong, where Nate was waiting for us.’ She pauses, smiles. A sickly-sweet smile that makes me cringe. ‘She was such a good child, no problem at all. She didn’t cry or ask for Mama, and so I realized she felt safer with me than she did with her. I was more of a mother to her than Chrissy ever was, because I devoted myself to her 100 per cent. I wasn’t off shagging another woman’s husband.’

  Hearing what she has to say, seeing the triumphant look on her face, I am consumed with hatred for this woman – for what she put our daughter through – but even so, I need more answers.

  ‘And when you got there, how did you explain her to everyone?’