Not My Daughter: An absolutely heartbreaking page-turner

by Kate Hewitt

  But he just shakes his head, and then he scoops his keys off the counter. ‘I’m going out.’

  ‘Going out? Where—’

  ‘Just out. I need some space, Milly. I’ll be back later.’ He leaves without looking back at me.

  I stand there, staring around the empty room in disbelief. After a few minutes I start tidying up, because I don’t know what else to do. I’ve read the statistics; I know parents who lose a child are more likely to divorce. But I don’t want that to happen to Matt and me. I don’t want to add another grief onto an already unbearable one.

  But what if I don’t have a choice? And, even worse, I think as I mindlessly put cups into the dishwasher, what if Matt is right and none of this really matters?

  Thirty-Two

  Anna

  ‘Hey, Anna.’

  I stare at Jack in shock, amazed to see him at my front door, even though I’ve just buzzed him in, after he’d texted me this evening asking if he could come over.

  It’s been a month since Milly and I had a drink together, and I hoped that our friendship might restart. It hasn’t, and Milly hasn’t been in touch even once; the carefully worded text messages have gone without reply.

  I know I can’t blame her. Who has emotional energy for fraught friendships when their child is dying? And yet I think of them, and of Alice, almost constantly. I wish I had stayed part of their lives, so I could be the support to them now that I know they must need. Instead, I’ve been shunted off to the very periphery of their lives, which I know is my own fault. If I hadn’t made that desperate, pointless bid for custody… if Jack hadn’t said…

  I give him a not-entirely friendly look. ‘What are you doing here, Jack?’

  He looks a bit taken aback by my animosity, but I haven’t seen him in five years, and the last time I saw him I asked him to go away. What did he expect?

  ‘I just wanted to see you. You know about Alice?’

  I stare at him in disbelief. Do I know about Alice? ‘If I didn’t, was that how you were going to tell me?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He runs a hand over his face. ‘I wasn’t thinking. It’s just so… crap, you know?’

  ‘Yes. I know.’ And crap is a massive understatement. I consider mentioning my brother, how they found out about Alice’s diagnosis, but then I decide there’s no point. It doesn’t change anything.

  ‘It’s just so hard to believe…’ Jack continues. ‘I mean, what are the chances? Both of us having this crap gene.’

  ‘Very slim, apparently.’ One in fifty thousand, or so the internet says, and Alice’s version is even rarer than that.

  ‘If we hadn’t…’ He swallows hard and looks at me. ‘If it hadn’t been both of us…’

  ‘I know.’ I torture myself with that thought enough; I don’t need Jack to say it. ‘How was anyone to know?’

  ‘I know. I know. It’s just so rough. I keep thinking about her. She’s such a cute kid.’

  I feel a twitch pass across my face and I struggle to keep my voice even. ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  Jack looks surprised. ‘You mean you haven’t seen her…?’

  Does he actually not know that I’ve been estranged from Milly and Matt since that day? Is he so unbelievably clueless? I just shake my head, because I have no words.

  ‘I thought you guys would have made up, after all this time.’

  ‘It hasn’t happened that way.’ A pressure is building in my chest. ‘But you must not have kept in decent touch, if you don’t know that.’

  He hangs his head a bit, shamefaced. ‘I moved back to France a few years ago… but I’ve come for visits. Milly and Matt brought Alice out one summer…’

  And they must not have ever even mentioned me. I turn away, because I don’t want him to see my face. All of this hurts. I’ve missed so much, so many days out and dinners in and long, lazy holidays, and now it’s too late. I can’t stand the thought. I can’t stand to rewrite history in my mind, a montage of cosy moments where I stayed involved in Milly and Matt’s – and Alice’s – lives. Where I mattered.

  ‘How are you doing, Anna?’ Jack asks, his voice gentle. ‘I keep thinking of Milly and Matt, but then I realise this affects you as well. More than… well, more than anyone else, besides them, maybe. You loved Alice…’

  An unruly sob escapes me and I press my fist to my mouth. I’ve cried enough in front of Jack Foster.

  And yet I do cry, and he does see, as another sob breaks over me like a wave, and suddenly Jack’s arms are around me. He’s the last person I’d expect to turn to for comfort. The last person I’d expect to offer it.

  ‘I’m sorry, Anna,’ Jack murmurs as he strokes my hair. ‘I’m sorry for everything. I keep thinking back to that day, you know…’ Of course I know what day. ‘And wishing I could have acted differently. Been… more understanding. Shut my damn mouth.’

  With what feels like immense effort, I step away from him as I wipe my eyes. ‘That’s in the past, Jack. Long in the past. It doesn’t matter anymore.’

  ‘I think it does.’ He gazes at me steadily. ‘If it hadn’t… if I hadn’t…’

  ‘Alice would still be ill. She’d still be dying.’ I make myself say the words, even though each one cuts me inside. ‘Nothing can change that.’

  ‘But you’d have known her,’ Jack says sadly. ‘You’d have been involved in her life, all along…’

  Which is far too painful to think about, so I turn resolutely towards the future, what little of it there is. ‘I wish I could be involved now. Not just for my sake, but for theirs. They need support, Jack. This has got to be so hard, and they’re making it harder by keeping to themselves. Have you seen them? How are they coping?’

  ‘Coping is the word.’ He grimaces. ‘I don’t really know. Milly seems… manic, I suppose. And Matt barely talks. It’s been really rough on both of them.’

  ‘Do they have help? Parents, or people from school?’

  ‘A bit. Milly’s parents aren’t up for much and Matt’s and mine have never been too involved in, well, anything.’ He laughs, a humourless sound. ‘They have their own interests.’

  ‘Nice.’ I shake my head. ‘What about friends from school? Work?’

  ‘I don’t really know.’ He looks a bit shamefaced, and I wonder how much he’s helped. Has Jack ever been the kind of person to go the distance?

  ‘Never mind,’ I say. ‘I’ll go over there.’

  Jack looks both relieved and uncertain. ‘Are you on good terms with them, Anna? I mean—’

  ‘I know what you mean. And no, I’m not on any terms with them, not really. I had a drink with Milly about a month ago.’ I think of Matt’s refusal to let me see Alice. Yet am I really going to let that stop me? ‘Still, we surely can put aside our differences for Alice’s sake. They need support.’ And in the past, that has always been given by me. Why should things be any different now?

  When I tell Will my plans, however, he seems reluctant. He hasn’t liked what he considers my obsession with Alice; too often when we’re meant to be watching something on TV, I am on my phone, searching out the latest medical research on Batten disease, hoping for some last-minute breakthrough. When we’re out and about, I’m distracted and distant; I try not to be, but whether I wanted it to or not, Alice’s condition has taken over my thoughts.

  ‘Do you really think this is a good idea, Anna?’ he asks as I stir the huge pot of soup I’m making to take over to their house. ‘You told me that Matt refused to let you see Alice.’

  ‘And I won’t see her.’ Although I am hoping to, even if just a glimpse. ‘They need help, Matt. Jack said they don’t have much support.’

  ‘And you want to be the one to give it?’ He sounds sceptical, and I can hardly blame him, considering everything that has happened.

  ‘I always have before.’

  ‘True, and that didn’t turn out so well. I’m thinking of you, Anna—’

  ‘And I’m thinking of them.’

  He nods slowly. ‘Yes,
but things have changed since you helped them before—’

  ‘Exactly. Things have changed. Now is the time to step up.’ I look at him levelly, and he looks back, and then, after a long, tense moment, he shrugs.

  ‘I understand why you feel the way you do, I just don’t agree with it.’ He sighs. ‘But fine. Go.’

  ‘I wasn’t actually asking your permission,’ I say a bit sharply.

  ‘And I wasn’t giving it. I think this is a bad idea. I think this is only going to hurt you in the long run, and yes, it’s you I care about, not people I’ve never met, although I recognise that you care about them. But I really do honestly believe that you need to let go, Anna. Let go of Alice.’

  ‘I will have to soon enough,’ I remind him quietly. ‘Will, don’t you think this is the right thing to do? They need help.’

  ‘And they have people in their lives to help them, no matter what Jack says. What does he know? You told me he said he’s been in France for years.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Anna, what I’m afraid of, what worries me, is that you’re not doing this for Milly and Matt. You’re doing this for yourself, and it’s going to end badly.’

  I stare down at the soup as I stir it, trying not to feel hurt by his words. ‘We already know it’s going to end badly. I just want to be there when it does.’

  He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything more, and the next evening I drive to Milly and Matt’s house. It’s mid-February, the same time of year Milly came home and I walked out. Five years ago now, which feels like forever and yet no time at all.

  I park the car in front of their house and gaze at it – the hanging basket by the front door, now empty, swinging a little in the breeze; the spill of warm light from the picture window out front, with the drapes drawn across. It’s half past six, early enough that Alice won’t have gone to bed. But have I really come over here just to see her, or did I mean what I said to both Jack and Will about offering support? Will they even accept it?

  Slowly I get out of my car, taking the bag I’ve brought with a tray bake of brownies and the pot of home-made chicken soup. Paltry offerings, but I don’t know what else I have to give.

  I feel sick with nerves, my stomach knotted with anxiety, as I press the doorbell and wait. I question whether I should have come, if Will is right and this is essentially a selfish act. I hear muted voices, the sound of someone coming down the stairs. Then the door opens, and Matt stands there, slack-jawed at the sight of me before his expression hardens.

  ‘Anna.’

  ‘Hi, Matt.’ It’s been strange, how hostile Matt has been to me, even more so than Milly, and so unlike the easy-going guy I used to joke around with. He stands in the doorway now, his body blocking my entrance, clearly not willing to move. ‘May I come in? Just for a few minutes…’

  ‘Matt,’ Milly calls from upstairs. ‘Who is it?’ I hear the sound of splashing and then a giggle, and I realise Alice must be in the bath. I picture her sitting in a froth of bubbles, hair piled on top of her head, a grin for her mummy as she pops the translucent bubbles one by one.

  ‘It’s Anna,’ Matt says flatly.

  Silence from upstairs. Then, ‘I can’t leave Alice…’

  ‘I’ll take care of it.’ Which makes me sound like some sort of pest problem. I heft the bag I’m carrying so Matt can see it.

  ‘I brought some food…’

  ‘Come in,’ he says rather ungraciously, and steps aside so I can squeeze past.

  It’s strange being in their house again. I was here a few months ago, to tell them about my brother, but I didn’t notice any details because I was so distraught. Now I look around, and see evidence of Alice everywhere. Crayoned pictures Sellotaped to the fridge. A basket of toys, with plastic unicorns and princesses featuring heavily. A half-done puzzle of a fairy castle on the coffee table. A plastic juice beaker, the kind for a small toddler, by the sink.

  ‘Shall I put these in the kitchen?’ I ask, and Matt shrugs. His animosity feels palpable, like a thick, oily substance coating the air, making it difficult to breathe.

  I unload the soup and brownies on the counter and spend an inordinate amount of time folding the bag while Matt just waits. Does he expect me to leave now? Should I?

  ‘How are you both managing?’ I finally ask and he makes a huff of sound.

  ‘How do you think?’

  ‘I’d like to help…’

  ‘We don’t need your help, Anna.’ The rebuff is quick and absolute, and despite everything, it still surprises me. It still hurts.

  I stare at Matt, noting how he clenches and unclenches his fists, his stance one of complete aggression, as if I’m the enemy. Still.

  ‘Matt…’ I take a deep breath. I wasn’t going to talk about the past tonight. I didn’t want to resurrect old ghosts, have them drift around us, but with the sound of Alice splashing in the bath upstairs, I find myself saying words I didn’t expect to, even though I’ve already said them to Milly. ‘Matt, I’m sorry.’

  He doesn’t reply, doesn’t acknowledge my apology with so much as a flicker of an eyelid.

  ‘I’m sorry for before,’ I clarify. ‘For thinking, even for a moment, that Alice was… that I was…’

  ‘Anna, don’t.’ The words are savage, bitten off. ‘Not now.’

  ‘I don’t know what possessed me,’ I continue haltingly, determined now to say what I have never had the chance to say to him. ‘It was such a strange time, and I didn’t expect to feel the way I did…’

  He takes a menacing step towards me. ‘Don’t you dare make excuses now,’ he says in a low voice. ‘Don’t you dare, when you tried to steal our child—’

  ‘I didn’t steal anyone.’ For the last five years, I’ve tortured myself with guilt even as I’ve nurtured my anger, but I want to be finished with both now. Surely, considering Alice’s condition, we should put this behind us, finally and forever? We should be able to.

  ‘You would have, if you’d had the chance—’

  ‘No, listen. I admit, I consulted a lawyer. I was thinking of… of applying for custody. But I look back and I don’t think I would have ever gone through with it. Even the solicitor was discouraging me from—’

  ‘At least someone in the situation had some sense of morality—’

  ‘Matt, please. I know it was… it was wrong. But can’t you see it from my perspective, just for a moment? I was taking care of Alice all the time, for weeks—’

  ‘We trusted you—’

  ‘And even you had said you weren’t sure if Milly—’

  ‘And you threw it back in my face. A moment of weakness, when I was at my lowest—’

  ‘And what about me? What about my moment of weakness, my lowest? Did you ever consider that?’ My voice rings out, despairing, broken. ‘Did you ever think about how it felt for me—’

  ‘A normal person wouldn’t think that taking care of a baby when the parents are vulnerable means you then sue for custody.’ Matt’s voice is hard.

  I shake my head, impatient now. ‘I wouldn’t have gone through with—’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’ We stare at each other, a stand-off. ‘Is that it, then?’ I ask more quietly. ‘No forgiveness? No moving on? One strike and I’m out? Is that how you operate, Matt?’

  He stares at me for a long moment. Upstairs, I hear Milly call Alice softly, and I wonder – I hope – she is going to come downstairs. That I’ll get a chance to see her. But then I hear a bedroom door click softly shut, and I realise I should have known better. They are never going to let me see her.

  Then, when I am half-expecting Matt to order me out of the house for a second time, his face crumples. I watch in shock as his lips tremble and his eyes start to stream and he shakes his head, turning away from me to hide his emotion.

  ‘Matt…’

  ‘It’s my fault.’ The words are barely audible; I hear them, just, but I still can’t make sense of them. ‘My fault,’
he repeats, his voice choking. ‘I shouldn’t have left Alice with you.’ I reel back, shocked. What is he saying about me…? ‘I shouldn’t have failed Alice like that. Failed Milly.’

  Realisation sharpens into focus. ‘You didn’t fail anyone—’

  ‘I was happy enough to let you take all the night-time wake-ups, all the feeds, everything. I checked out, because it was easier. It’s always easier.’

  I have the uneasy sense that he is not talking about then, but now. ‘You didn’t check out, Matt, and in any case you had a lot to deal with. You still do.’ I shrug helplessly. ‘It was an impossible situation, just as it is now.’

  ‘Still…’ He draws a quick, ragged breath. ‘I should have been a better husband. A better father.’

  I stare at him, unsure where to go from here. Has he been angry at me for five years because he hasn’t wanted to admit how angry he is with himself?

  ‘That’s all in the past,’ I say finally. ‘It all happened a long time ago, and I’m sure you’ve been a wonderful father and husband in the years since then. What matters is now, Matt—’

  ‘Yeah, and you know what happens now?’ Matt swings around to face me, angry again. His moods are changing so quickly it makes my head spin, and yet I understand it. The grief is too overwhelming to make sense of. ‘What happens now,’ he continues in a low growl, ‘is that my daughter declines and dies. That’s what happens now.’ His lips tremble and he presses them together. ‘And I’m failing her now just as I failed her then.’

  ‘Matt, please let me help. I want to help you and Milly.’ My voice trembles. ‘Please.’

  He shakes his head, but the gesture seems aimed more at himself than at me.

  ‘How is Alice doing?’ I brace myself for his rebuff, but he deflates, that spark of anger already snuffed out.

  ‘She’s still in school, but she can’t hold a pencil easily or even drink from a cup,’ he states flatly. I recall her beaker by the sink. ‘She can’t bring a spoon to her mouth, at least not without getting food everywhere, and she keeps forgetting simple words. She’s also got 20/40 vision, which is only going to get worse, and the consultant thinks she’ll need crutches within the next few months. She’s had eight seizures since the diagnosis, and that’s on medication. That’s how she’s doing.’