In Her Wake

by Amanda Jennings

  I smile at him.

  ‘Would you like to meet Stacey?’

  His place is small and lived in; it feels like a home, with school work piled on the table in the corner of the living room and DVDs scattered on the floor by the television. Something is bubbling away on the hob in the kitchen. The girl I’d seen with him that day is sitting on the sofa, watching television, eating a packet of crisps.

  ‘Stacey,’ says Craig. ‘This is Morveren.’

  The girl looks up and smiles. She puts her bag of crisps on the sofa beside her then wipes her hands on her leggings. ‘Hi,’ she says, a little shyly, and I can see Dawn in her immediately. ‘Are you feeling better?’ she asks, as she turns off the television with the remote.

  ‘Much better, thank you.’ I sit next to her on the sofa and become intensely aware of the baby inside me. ‘It’s good to meet you.’

  ‘You look like my mum.’

  A lump catches in my throat.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ Craig says from behind me. ‘Tea or juice?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ I say.

  ‘Stace?’

  ‘I’ll do it, Dad.’ She stands up. ‘Juice?’

  ‘Lovely,’ he says.

  ‘She’s a pretty girl,’ I say, when Stacey leaves the room.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he says. ‘And clever, too. A real hard worker.’

  ‘You must be very proud.’

  ‘Couldn’t be prouder of anything.’ He laughed. ‘And I’m flattered you thought any girl so young and beautiful would fancy someone like me.’

  I feel myself blushing and look down at my hands. ‘I’m sorry about—’

  ‘It’s fine,’ he says. ‘No harm done. How were you supposed to know?’

  Stacey comes back with two glasses. She hands one to Craig, then sits back down.

  ‘Mum says you’re going to have a baby.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘That’ll be so cool,’ she says, her eyes shining. ‘It’ll be like having my very own little brother or sister and I’ve always wanted one.’

  I resist taking her hands in mine and dancing around the room. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It will be just like that.’

  I don’t stay long. I am aware of David in the car and don’t want him getting impatient. In any case, Craig and Stacey and I have plenty of time to catch up and get to know each other.

  ‘You can come over any time,’ Craig says. ‘You’re family, after all.’

  ‘Thanks, I’d like that.’ I turn to Stacey. ‘And how about we go for a coffee together soon?’

  ‘Sounds great.’

  I get back into the car and David drives us into St Ives. The silence in the car is oppressive. I can hear him breathing. Can feel his irritation growing in the way he beats his fingers on the top of the steering wheel. He parks in one of the car parks towards the back of the town and we walk down towards the harbour. He tries to hold my hand but I cross my arms so he can’t.

  ‘I knew you’d find it too hard to cope on your own.’

  ‘I didn’t do badly.’ I tighten my arms around myself.

  ‘Drinking a bottle of vodka and then throwing yourself into the sea?’ he says with a disparaging laugh.

  I stop and he turns to see why. I am about to question him, ask him why he feels the need to say that, but then he smiles, like he always does, to show me he means it with affection, and so I start walking again and let his comment slide, and as I do I begin to feel my old life creeping back.

  We reach the harbour and Phil’s café. Drizzle begins to spritz my face. I look up at the sky; it’s the same dirty white it was on the day I first stepped off the train in Penzance.

  ‘What do you feel like?’ I ask him. ‘Phil does a great cappuccino.’

  But it isn’t Phil behind the counter.

  ‘Is Phil here?’ I ask the new man.

  ‘No, mate, he’s gone.’ The man has an earring in his right ear, spiked grey hair and an accent from the east end of London.

  ‘Gone? Gone where? I only saw him a week ago.’

  ‘He left pretty quick. He’s gone back up north.’

  ‘He’s coming back though?’

  ‘Don’t think so, not to live anyway. I’m looking after this place until they find someone permanently.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’ I can’t hide my disappointment.

  ‘Now, what can I get you?’

  ‘Two cappuccinos, please,’

  ‘Ah, you’re not Tori are you?’ he asks, wiping his hands on his apron.

  I glance at David who raises his eyebrows.

  ‘Yes, that’s me. Sort of.’

  ‘He asked me to give you something when you came in.’ The man disappears and returns with a letter. ‘Here you go.’ I take hold of it and thank him. ‘I’m Ed, by the way. I’m glad you showed up. I was a bit worried I wouldn’t know who you were and he was quite keen you got the letter. He said you had green eyes and liked your cappuccinos.’ He winks and I smile. ‘Right, now, two of the same coming up.’

  He certainly doesn’t have Phil’s craftsmanship, but when I take the coffees he smiles brightly.

  ‘It’s good to meet you, Tori.’

  ‘Actually, my name is Morveren.’

  Ed looks confused.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ I say. ‘Phil knew me as Tori, but it’s not my real name.’

  I join David on one of the tables outside, protected from the drizzle by a stripy sun-awning ‘You know, I still have no idea who I am,’ I say to him. ‘Am I Bella or Morveren? An only child or a sister? Phil thinks I’m Tori. Miss Young thinks I’m Bella. You do too. Dawn and Mum only know me as Morveren.’

  ‘Well, as Shakespeare said, a rose is still a rose.’

  ‘I’m not sure this is quite what he had in mind.’

  While David checks his mobile phone, tutting under his breath as he reads an email, I open the letter.

  Tori,

  I wanted to say goodbye face to face, but you’ve not been in for a bit. I’m off to see if I can make a go of it with my wife. You got me thinking. I still love her and if we can get back together I’d be the happiest man alive. Life is short and we only get one shot. Might as well be heudh (that means ‘happy’, love).

  Hope the weather stays good.

  Phil

  I fold the letter and slip it into my back pocket. ‘Phil has gone back to his old life,’ I say, looking out across the harbour. The breeze buffets my hair and strokes my face with rain that’s barely there.

  David makes a grunting noise, but doesn’t look up from his phone.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ I say.

  He lays his phone on the table and looks at me.

  ‘Do you remember what you said that day in Norfolk?’

  ‘Norfolk? Well, I certainly remember Norfolk. I don’t remember everything I said. I said lots of things, didn’t I?’

  ‘When you gave me the ring.’

  David looks puzzled. ‘I asked you to marry me.’

  ‘You didn’t ask me to marry you, David. You told me to marry you. You said, Marry me. There was no question mark.’

  He laughs at me and furrows his brow. ‘I don’t think it needs to be a question. It can be statement of intent or even a plea.’

  ‘You tell me what to do all the time. You do everything for me. You overpower me.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘You make sure I’m warm enough. You tell me when to get out of bed. You found me my job. You check to see if I’ve fastened my seatbelt properly. Even if I’ve checked myself.’

  ‘That’s habit. I love you and I want to keep you safe. All of those are things people do for those they love.’

  ‘You won’t let me cook.’

  ‘You don’t like cooking.’

  ‘But that’s just it, David. I do like cooking.’

  ‘You should have said then.’

  ‘I didn’t know I did. I’d never had an opportunity to find out.’

  ‘And you think this is my fault? Is t
hat what you’re suggesting? Surely, if you tell me you don’t cook and then you don’t cook, unless we’re to starve, what am I to do?’

  ‘I’m not saying it’s your fault. I know it’s mine, too. Elaine used to tell me what to do all the time. She wouldn’t even let me breathe on my own. When I left her, I headed off into the world totally unprepared. I was lost without her and I needed you to take over from her. I needed someone in control of me because I wasn’t strong enough. I’d never been allowed to be. I married you because you told me to and I was happy to be told.’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous and all this pseudo-analysing is rather upsetting. We have a marriage that works. You want to be looked after and I want to look after you. What’s so wrong with that?’

  ‘I’m different now. I have been alone and I had to cope and I did. Maybe not like you would have done, but I did. You told me I wouldn’t cope alone so often I believed it. I might cope hopelessly, but I’m getting there. I don’t want to be scared of being in control of my own life anymore. If I fall flat on my face, if I make mistakes, it doesn’t matter, because I tried.’ I put my hand on his. ‘Does any of this make sense?’

  ‘Not really. I think everything that’s happened to you has got you confused. I understand that, but I don’t think you do.’

  ‘If I ask you something will you answer me honestly?’

  ‘If I can.’

  ‘Was I the first of your students you slept with?’

  He looks shocked. ‘Why are you asking me that?’

  ‘I want to know if I was the first.’

  Silence.

  ‘Was I?’

  ‘No,’ he says, his voice suddenly defiant. ‘You weren’t.’

  ‘Was I the second?’

  He doesn’t answer.

  I look out across the sea. The gulls are circling in large, screeching groups behind a fishing boat that chugs slowly back through the opening in the harbour wall.

  ‘You were the last, though.’ He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses it. ‘And the only one I married. You are my precious girl.’

  We sit within feet of each other but are a million miles away. Our marriage is finished. It was finished when I chose not to rely on him. When I slipped Henry Campbell’s letter into my pocket and told him I’d burnt it. When I realised there was more to me than just being someone’s possession, that being controlled isn’t the same as being loved and that to find out who I really am I need to fly free.

  ‘It’s over, David.’

  He shakes his head and grabs at my hand. I pull away from him and stand up. I cross the road and step onto the sand of the harbour beach.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re saying,’ he says, following me. ‘I told you, you’re confused. You’ve only just got out of hospital for God’s sake.’

  ‘I don’t love you anymore,’ I say, turning to face him. The drizzle is heavier now and strands of hair around my face stick wetly to my skin.

  ‘Because of the other girls? They meant nothing. Nothing at all.’

  ‘No. Not because of them.’

  ‘Then what’s put this idiocy into your head? Because you’re wrong, I know you love me.’

  ‘You see? That’s the problem. What you just said. Telling me. All the time. That’s what’s put this in my head. I don’t want this anymore. I’m a different person, David. More than just by name. These last few months have changed me, and I’m sorry, I really am, but our marriage is over.’

  He puts his hands on my shoulders and his eyes lock onto mine so intensely I have to look away. His fingers dig into my shoulders. They squeeze tighter and begin to hurt me.

  ‘Don’t do this,’ he says. His eyes are hooded, not with love or even desperation, but anger and affront.

  A gull cries overhead.

  ‘I won’t let you do—’

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  David’s fingers release their grip and his hands fall to his sides. His eyes search my face, but I look away from him, listen to the gulls and the waves and the children playing.

  ‘Pregnant?’

  ‘It’s not yours.’

  ‘Whose? Whose baby is it?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘How long have you been seeing him?’

  ‘I’m not seeing him. We had sex three times.’

  ‘But how could you? While I was worrying about you? Day and night. I didn’t stop thinking about you. I couldn’t sleep or eat. I couldn’t work. How could you?’

  I don’t reply.

  ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘No, I don’t love him.’

  ‘Why are you doing this to me? I was there for you always. I cared for you and loved you and now you do this to me?’

  ‘I’m sorry, David.’ I reach out to touch him, but he shakes his head and steps backwards.

  His desperate eyes flick back and forth over my face. ‘Is this why you said all those things? Because of this baby?’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘You thought I wouldn’t want anything to do with you so you were pushing me away.’ He puts his hands over his face and is silent for a few minutes. I don’t say anything. I let him process what he’s feeling. Soon he lowers his hands and looks at me. ‘I think we can still make it work. Get rid of this baby. We will forget all about this. It’ll be like it never happened. Get rid of it and we’ll start again.’

  ‘No, David,’ I say gently, my body flooding with strength and conviction. ‘I’m keeping my baby.’

  ‘Then it’s over.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It’s over.’

  And then he turns and stumbles away from me across the sand like a broken soldier.

  SEVENTY

  My mobile phone rings and I recognise my solicitor’s number so I excuse myself from the kitchen and slip outside the door to stand on the patch of crumbling concrete that constitutes the tiny back yard.

  ‘So,’ she says, after we exchange perfunctory pleasantries. ‘I’m actually calling about Dr Campbell’s estate and, specifically, the dormant trust fund in your name that I’ve been looking into.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’ I’m not sure I’m that bothered about raking over the details of the will, but I don’t tell her this, instead I stay quiet and let her talk as I pick at the paint on the rotting door frame with my fingernail.

  ‘So, it transpires that…’ She pauses, perhaps to find her place in her notes. ‘The payments into this fund came from a variety of different sources. Some were family members of the Campbells.’

  My ears prick up at this. ‘But they were estranged from their families.’

  ‘There are several payments made from Fraser Campbell, who is Henry Campbell’s brother, and also from their father’s account. There are other payments too, from a variety of sources in varying amounts. A nursery in Bristol and a Christian association amongst others.’

  ‘But why would all these people pay into an account with my name on it? What was the money used for?’

  ‘Well, the payments out of the fund, which were administered – as I told you previously – by Dr Campbell, were paid to a number of institutions and individual professionals. And all of them were located,’ the solicitor hesitates again, ‘in France.’

  ‘In France?’

  ‘Yes. One recipient was a hospital. Another a hospice called L’Hospice de Fragonat, in Les Sages des Montes, not far from Lourdes and about six miles from Vaiches.’

  ‘Vaiches?’ My heart skips a beat. ‘But isn’t that where the campsite is? The one I went missing from?’

  ‘Exactly. And the dates coincide with your disappearance.’

  ‘But … I don’t understand.’ My head grapples with what she’s telling me, but none of it makes sense.

  ‘The payments were covering treatment.’

  ‘I was in hospital?’ I press my fingers against my temple and squeeze my eyes shut. ‘So the Campbells admitted me to hospital? How come the police didn’t find me?’

  �
��No, the monies were transferred before you were taken from the campsite. The last payment out of the fund was to the hospice. It was made the day after your parents reported you missing. I hope you don’t mind, but I telephoned the hospice. Given your circumstances and the coincidences, I wanted to dig a little deeper.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Remarkably they had records, sketchy handwritten notes, but they were there. The lady I spoke to was very helpful. She said that Bella Campbell was discharged from L’Hospice de Fragonat on August the sixteenth 1989. Two days after Morveren Tremayne was reported missing.’

  ‘But there isn’t a Bella Campbell. I’m Bella Campbell.’

  ‘There was another child.’

  My stomach turns over. ‘What? Bella is real? They had a real daughter?’

  ‘They did. Again, her medical records are fairly limited – nothing like what we would find today – but what notes there are show that Bella Campbell was a very sick child. She was suffering with an inoperable brain tumour, and receiving treatment at a specialist neurosurgery not far from Paris for several months before being discharged. She was then transferred to Fragonat at the end of July for palliative care; she was never going to survive.’

  ‘They knew she was dying?’

  ‘Yes. They knew.’

  They knew she was dying.

  And so they replaced her.

  SEVENTY-ONE

  Henry Campbell – 15th August 1989

  ‘You have to take her to the police.’

  ‘No, she’s staying with me.’

  ‘What on earth are you saying? I don’t believe what I’m hearing.’

  Their voices were strained, low, angry whispers designed not to wake the little girl who lay sleeping in the bed.

  ‘I’m saying this child is a miracle. I am supposed to save this child. We will lose Bella, but I’m supposed to be a mother. I’m supposed to be this child’s mother.’

  ‘But she has parents who are looking for her.’

  ‘They are monsters, not parents! Henry, look, she’s covered in bruises. She’s thin and terrified. She called to me.’

  ‘For crying out loud. Are you listening to yourself, Elaine?’