by Emma Rous
Dominic’s car roared onto the drive just after nine o’clock. It promised to be another warm day, and Ruth had settled herself on the patio with the baby in her arms. Dominic’s smile was broad as he bent to kiss her, and then to kiss the baby’s head.
“Was it awful, darling?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said. They smiled at each other. “I couldn’t have done it without Laura,” she added, and Dominic gave me a grateful grimace before intercepting Edwin as he wandered past on the lawn. He swung the little boy up in the air and tried to make him laugh, but Edwin burst into tears.
“What on earth’s the matter?” Dominic asked.
“I wanted a brother,” Edwin wailed.
Dominic suppressed a smile. “She’ll be just as good as a brother. Even better. She’ll be your best friend.”
Edwin sniffed. “Joel’s my best friend.”
“Well, okay. But your sister, Seraphine, says you can have chocolate biscuits for breakfast, to celebrate her arrival. What do you think of that?”
The corners of Edwin’s mouth crept upward. “Okay.”
Dominic rocked the baby and sang to her while Ruth went upstairs to have a shower. I retreated to the annex to wash and dress, and to finish my packing. I lifted my resignation letter from its drawer and laid it on the desk; it took mere seconds to date and sign. I was still contemplating the finished result when I heard Dominic call me from the day nursery. I flipped the letter facedown.
“Oh, Laura. You wouldn’t mind just taking a picture of us all, would you? While the baby’s settled, before she needs feeding again.”
I followed him out to the patio and waited for them to arrange themselves into a little happy family tableau. Dominic put a new film in the camera and wiped chocolate from around Edwin’s mouth. A familiar squeak drifted across from the far corner of the lawn as Michael emerged from the trees, pushing his wheelbarrow toward the vegetable garden.
Edwin shouted, “Mister Harris! I’ve got a new baby!”
Dominic and Ruth both turned and waved to Michael, and he called out congratulations.
“Take a couple,” Dominic said as he handed me the camera, but I felt neither physically nor mentally able to concentrate on getting a good shot. I pressed the button once and handed it back.
“I don’t feel well, I’m sorry,” I said.
“Goodness, you should have said.” Dominic frowned at me. “Go back to bed. You must be shattered. Ruth, I’ll go and ring your mother.”
I was trailing after him into the house when he swung back in the doorway as if he’d just remembered something.
“Oh, I’ll let Alex know too. He rang me last night—he’s at the cottage, wanted me to let him know as soon as we had news.”
The color drained from Ruth’s face. The baby had just latched on to feed, but jerked her head back and began to cry, as if she’d detected the sudden change in Ruth’s mood.
“No,” Ruth said. “Don’t. Not Alex.”
Dominic blinked at her. “Oh. Okay.” He glanced at me. “He asked me to remind you to get in touch with him, Laura. Keep your promise, he said.” He smiled, and I realized he was enjoying the hint of romance this suggested. When it became clear I wasn’t going to respond, he shrugged. “I’ll go and ring Vera, anyway.”
I was poised to follow him in, but Ruth’s glare froze my limbs. I wanted to protest my innocence, to claim that I had no idea what promise Alex was talking about, but it took all my effort just to stay upright. She scrambled to her feet with the crying baby pressed against her shoulder and advanced on me, her body quivering.
“You traitor!” she hissed. She jabbed my collarbone with her free hand as the baby wailed. “You deceitful little snake. I trusted you. And you’ve been on his side all along, haven’t you? Haven’t you?”
I shook my head, and as I stepped back my foot caught on the leg of a chair and I stumbled.
“I can’t believe I trusted you,” she said. “You betrayed me.”
She shoved me hard in my chest, and I fell backward onto the stone slabs. A sharp pain gripped my abdomen, and I curled over on the ground, trying to catch my breath.
“Go,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “Pack your things and go. Leave us alone. I never want to see you again.”
27
Seraphine
I CAN’T TEAR my eyes from Laura’s face as she finishes telling us about the birth of Ruth’s baby, Seraphine.
I’m Seraphine. Aren’t I?
But Alex took Seraphine away.
Laura starts to cough and flaps a hand. Her face below the bandage is blotchy; her voice has weakened. Edwin earlier carried a dining chair into the sitting room so he could perch next to her armchair, and he leaps up now to fetch her a glass of water.
Edwin has insisted we don’t speculate further on Vera’s arrest until we have more information from Martin, but I’m struggling to process Laura’s story while images of Dad’s accident and my mother’s suicide jostle in my mind.
I look across at Alex on the opposite sofa. If I’m Seraphine, then this man is my father. But he’s oblivious to my gaze, his eyes fixed on Kiara next to him.
Kiara opens her mouth as Edwin returns with the water for Laura. I’m expecting her to say, So who am I? but instead she says, “So, I’m Seraphine?”
I make a choking sound, and everyone looks at me.
“Yes,” Alex says, turning back to Kiara.
Laura puts her glass down, shaking her head. “No,” she says.
Kiara stares at her. Next to me, Danny’s expression darkens. I am aware of Joel flexing his fingers on my other side. Alex’s eyes slide toward me for a fraction of a second before flicking back to Kiara.
“Are you okay?” Edwin asks Laura.
She nods.
“You’d better carry on, then,” Edwin says.
Laura clears her throat.
28
Laura
July 1992
I STAGGERED BACK to the annex, groaning at the pain in my abdomen, making for the bathroom to splash water on my face. As the muscle spasm eased, a sudden gush of fluid onto the floor sent a shock wave of cold terror over me. My suitcase was packed, my employer had just sacked me, but I wasn’t able to run away from this. At some deep level I’d understood for months that this day was coming, that it was inevitable. There’s only so long you can remain in denial about a new life growing inside you.
In later years, I read all I could on denial of pregnancy, from dry scientific papers to sensational tabloid articles, and all the parenting forums in between. It happens in around one in four hundred pregnancies, and sometimes persists right up until delivery. The underlying causes are poorly understood, but the only doctor I ever discussed it with told me that mine was a classic case: isolated from friends and family, surrounded by people wrapped up in their own problems, at a stage of life not compatible with rearing a child. The fact that I was taking the contraceptive pill, and that I’m tall and gained weight all over without a distinct bump, made its persistence all the more possible.
I lost all track of time on those hard bathroom tiles. Sometimes curled on my side, sometimes crouched on all fours, alternating between intense contractions of muscle and pauses for gasping in more oxygen. My mind surrendered to my body, and my body knew exactly what to do. A scream filled the room as I pushed the child out of me, and some period of time later it occurred to me that the noise must have come from my own throat. I opened my eyes. The tiny infant lay motionless in the corner under the sink, a blue tinge to its skin, the cord between us pulsing feebly.
A faint noise in the background had barely registered in my consciousness, but suddenly, a voice outside the door snapped me out of my stupor.
“Laura? Are you all right in there?”
It was Dominic. I tried to sit up, but my hand slipped on the tiles. Pa
in shot through my elbow. The door handle creaked.
“Bloody hell.” For a moment he filled the doorway. Then he was on his knees, bending over the baby, clearing slime from its nose and mouth. He rubbed it with the hand towel.
“Come on. Come on.”
A wet splutter came from the tiny body, followed by a wheezing sound. The blue sheen faded as it filled its lungs with air.
Dominic cradled it against his chest and stared at me. “Is it mine?”
I closed my eyes. I nodded.
I was vaguely aware of him scuffling and murmuring, but was jolted awake again by something bumping my side. Dominic leaned against my arm, pressing the baby onto my T-shirt.
“He’s hungry. You need to feed him.”
Despite my reluctance and the baby’s feeble appearance, some shared primeval instinct helped him achieve a few minutes of sucking. Dominic retrieved Ruth’s birth kit from the day nursery and cut the cord. All I could think about was my suitcase and my escape route, but when I finally looked at Dominic’s face, I was surprised to see no anger there. His eyes glistened as he gazed at the infant.
“My son,” he said.
As soon as the baby relaxed into sleep, I pulled my T-shirt down and pushed him into Dominic’s arms, sliding away across the floor to put a gap between us.
“I can’t,” I said.
Dominic stroked the baby’s head, and his voice was soft, entranced. “It’s okay. He can stay here. He’s Edwin and Seraphine’s brother. He belongs here at Summerbourne.”
I stared at him. “But Ruth . . .”
“It’s not up to Ruth. He’s my son. He’ll stay here.”
I looked at the spindly limbs and wrinkled skin; the vulnerability of this tiny child.
I shook my head. “I can’t.”
But Dominic’s eyes were glowing now, and he smiled as he rewrapped the baby in a clean towel.
“Ruth’ll be upset, I know, but we’ll work something out. We can tell people the truth if she wants to, but she probably won’t want to. Better to tell everyone we had twins again. It’s what everyone wanted, what we all hoped for.”
My thoughts were jumbled. Upset? Ruth would be incandescent. I tried to picture her absorbing the news, examining the evidence, realizing just how extensive my betrayal of her had really been. I curled over on the tiled floor, clutching my abdomen. Deep at the back of my mind, I held on to my flimsy guarantee of protection, the one defense I had against Ruth: I knew her secret. She wouldn’t lose sight of that fact. If I had no other way out, I could tell Dominic in a matter of seconds that Seraphine wasn’t his.
Dominic managed to tear his gaze from the baby to scrutinize me. “Take a shower, Laura. Get cleaned up. Ruth’s upstairs having a nap while Seraphine sleeps. I’m going to nip to the station to catch Vera in a bit—she’s coming for lunch; she has no idea yet. I’ll take Edwin with me and give her the good news.” He smiled down at the baby again. “You know, I might just tell her we had two, and then when we get back I’ll explain it all to Ruth. She’ll understand it’s the best way. We’ll sort it out.”
I groaned as a spasm seized my abdomen.
“Afterpains,” he said. “Have you got some painkillers? When you’re ready, I’ll get a taxi to take you straight back to your mum’s. You can sleep on the way. By tonight, you’ll be tucked up in your own bed, and this’ll all be behind you.” He gazed down at the baby again. “Come on, my little summerborn boy.” But in the doorway he hesitated, looked back at me. “Do you want to give him a name?”
I shivered. There was a name I had always thought I would use if I ever had a son.
“Danny,” I said.
Dominic released a breath. “Danny. Daniel. I like it.” He seemed to forget where he was for a moment, gazing down at the baby, cupping the tiny head in his hand. “Hey, little boy. This is your home, Danny. You’re going to grow up here with your brother and sister, and you’re going to be very happy. Aren’t you?” He kissed the baby’s forehead, then turned to me, blinking. “Get dressed. I’ll get some clothes on this one, and put him in the bassinet in the day nursery for now. I’ll talk to Ruth when we get back.”
29
Seraphine
DANNY CRASHES HIS knee against the coffee table as he barges out of the room, setting the empty mugs and glasses on the tray rattling. I scramble after him, calling his name. He doesn’t slow until he’s out of sight of the house, round by the back of the stable block. The shed door hangs open, and when he slams it with the heel of his hand, it bounces back at him. He slams it again, harder.
“Danny.” I touch his shoulder, but he shakes me off.
“Go away.”
He presses his forehead onto the shed door, breathing heavily. Bees drone in the lavender hedge, and one bumbles out and zigzags toward me. I shoo it away.
“Danny.”
“She’s a liar. She wants—she’s trying to worm her way into our family. I don’t want to hear any more.”
I swallow. “I’m sorry.”
“Why is she doing it? Why is she saying these things?”
He turns to look at me, slumping against the wooden door. I shake my head, watching him.
“Why did you go looking for her?” His voice is quieter now but deeper, scratchy. “Why did you do this to us?”
My vision blurs suddenly. “I just want to know who I am! Can’t you see? I’m not Seraphine. Alex took Seraphine. I still don’t know who I am.”
Danny’s chest rises and falls rapidly. Even though we’re a couple of meters apart, I reach out a hand to him. “Come back with me.”
He laughs without humor. “No way.”
“Please, Danny. I can’t do this by myself.”
“Don’t then. You started this, remember. You don’t need me. I’m not even your—”
“Don’t say that.”
“We’re not related.” He makes the same laughing sound again, but there are tears on his cheeks now too. His voice comes out as a harsh whisper. “I’m not your brother.”
We stand facing each other for the longest moment, our breathing in unison, our eyes locked.
“You are,” I say.
He shakes his head, his mouth forming a grimace that looks almost apologetic.
“Go,” he says. “Go on, go back in. You need to hear the rest. Maybe Alex is your father. Maybe he isn’t. Go back in and ask her.”
“Not without you.”
He chews the inside of his cheek. “I can’t.”
“Please, Danny.”
He growls. “Don’t.”
“Please. I can’t do it without you. I need to hear the rest. I need to know.”
He closes his eyes, and I wait. The scent of lavender is overwhelming. We are meters away from where Joel told those students we were the Summerbourne sprites. If Danny doesn’t say something soon, I’m going to lie down on the warm grass right here and never get up.
“Okay,” he says eventually. “Okay. But after this I never want to see that woman again.”
The clink of ice in glasses and the gentle hum of conversation adds to the surreal atmosphere as Danny and I sidle back into the room in which our relationships are being torn into shreds. Edwin gives us a flat smile, and Joel passes me a glass of iced water as I sink onto the sofa next to him. Joel’s solid presence reminds me that my childhood was real; my childhood was mine. No matter what Laura tells me, no matter where I came from as a baby, my experiences as a girl called Seraphine living in this yellow-bricked house will still be valid. Won’t they?
Alex is murmuring to Laura in a dazed tone, as if he can’t quite remember why he’s here. “I knew there was something wrong with you when I came back that summer. You looked—different. I knew something wasn’t right.”
“I put on two stone,” Laura says, and there’s something about the brief widening of her eyes
that makes me think she’s suppressing exasperation—with herself or with Alex, I can’t tell. “I had to buy new clothes, baggy clothes, stretchy leggings. I told myself it was the long winter indoors, not swimming anymore, all the baking we were doing. It’s hard to explain.” She frowns intensely, absorbed in her thoughts. “It’s like—on one level, I knew. I knew a baby was in there, that it was going to have to come out at some point. But I—” She shakes her head.
“You didn’t know what to do about it?” Alex suggests.
“Not even that, really,” Laura says. “I just—it didn’t seem fair. I know that sounds childish. But it didn’t seem fair, that it had happened . . .” She waves a hand, composes herself. “I’d taken the pill. It just didn’t seem fair.”
“Did nobody guess? I can’t believe someone didn’t work it out.”
“I didn’t exactly mix with many people that year. Your midwife saw it, I think—the way she looked at me. She thought I might be Ruth at first, when she opened the door to me. But in the village, I was just the Summerbourne nanny—a minor character, not very interesting because I refused to give them the gossip they wanted about the glamorous Mayes family.”
“Dad.” Kiara places a hand on Alex’s arm. “Seraphine and Danny are back.”
Alex blinks at us.
Edwin is still perched next to Laura’s armchair, and he takes her empty glass now and sets it on the coffee table.
“Are you okay to carry on?” he asks her.
Danny makes a low growl in his throat, but I think I’m the only one who hears it, and I squeeze his hand.
Laura settles back in her chair. “Yes,” she says. “I’m nearly done.”
30
Laura
July 1992
AS DOMINIC’S FOOTSTEPS receded, I hauled myself onto my hands and knees in preparation for a new contraction. I knew I still needed to deliver the placenta. But instead of a final stage of pushing, I felt like I was being dragged backward in time. The strength of the spasms built up again, and again I lost all sense of time and place, until it was over and I was shaking on the bathroom floor.