The Au Pair

by Emma Rous

Vera’s gaze slides to me.

  “You thought he was going to tell us I was Laura’s daughter,” I say. “Didn’t you?”

  In the seat next to me, Danny hangs his head.

  Vera takes a deep breath and appears to reach a decision. “I have to admit, I used to wonder—Ruth said someone was coming for her baby, and Danny looked so much like Edwin . . . And your coloring is similar to Laura’s, Seraphine, and tall, long-bodied women like Laura can sometimes hide their pregnancies. I thought perhaps Ruth agreed to take you on, but Laura’s boyfriend, whoever he was, was coming to claim you for himself.”

  My heart knocks erratically. Which of us is going to tell her the truth?

  Vera blinks at me. “But it didn’t matter. And Laura had the good sense to stay well away from Summerbourne—until now. Until you tracked her down.”

  The events of the past couple of weeks jostle in my mind, and I think of the wadded shreds of paper I pulled from that smelly park trash bin.

  “The letter,” I say.

  Edwin and Danny both look at me. Vera inhales sharply through her nose.

  “You wrote that to Laura, didn’t you?” I stare at her, and even now I don’t want to believe it. I want her to laugh, to explain, to say we’ll get this all sorted out, don’t worry. I dig my nails into my palms. “You took her address out of my handbag, and wrote her that letter, threatening her daughter. You meant me, didn’t you?”

  Vera twists her rings, and then stops. “I panicked,” she says eventually. “I wanted to make sure she didn’t talk to you. She tried to tell me something that day, about you two, after Ruth fell, and I—I wouldn’t listen. But when you said you’d tracked her down, I tried to work out—what was she most likely to say? And I thought—your hair, your skin tone, Seraphine—perhaps you really were her daughter. I’m so sorry. I was trying to protect you.”

  “Protect me?” I shove my chair back as I stand.

  Vera begins to rise too, but at a gesture from Martin, she sinks back onto her seat.

  “Yes,” she says.

  “You wrote that message on the mirror.” Edwin and Danny both turn in their seats to stare at me, bemused. “You burned that word into the grass . . .”

  “Your father . . .” Vera says, then checks herself. She is no longer looking at any of us. “Dominic was fine when I left him. We parted on good terms. I decided to take in the view along the cliffs before heading back to London. I rang Ralph from the boatyard, and he gave me a lift back to the station.”

  There’s a rhythm to her speech that makes her words sound rehearsed. I sway on my feet, waiting for either of my brothers to say something, but they remain silent. Martin is a large, calm presence in the corner, taking it all in.

  “Dominic was fine when I left him,” Vera says again.

  Danny gets to his feet then, taking his time, watching her. “I don’t believe you.”

  Vera gives him a pleading look. “When you rang me about the accident, I was back in London. I was so shocked. I always worried about Dominic using that ladder, but I never imagined . . . and then, by the time I got back to Summerbourne, the morning’s events were the last thing on my mind.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Danny’s voice is louder this time.

  “He was fine when I left him,” Vera insists. “You have to believe me.”

  “And Mum?” Edwin asks, his voice cracking. “Martin has old statements that say”—he swallows—“someone witnessed you push her.”

  Vera looks from him back to Danny. “Your mother fell. Or jumped. It happened so quickly. I didn’t—”

  “She wasn’t my mother,” Danny snarls.

  Edwin leaps up then and grabs Danny’s arm, turning him away from Vera. “Danny, wait . . .”

  I meet Martin’s gaze, and his expression is alert, calculating. I have no idea whether we’ve had four minutes or forty in this overheated box of a room.

  “What do you mean?” Vera pales. She reaches trembling fingers toward the mug of tea, but doesn’t touch it. “Who—?”

  Danny stutters, seemingly unable to name his biological mother. “Seraphine’s your real grandchild,” he says in the end. “She’s Ruth and Alex Kaimal’s daughter.”

  Vera stares at him. Then looks at me. She shakes her head. And then her focus turns inward, as though she’s scanning her memories, searching for something to prove or disprove this.

  “Gran,” Edwin says. “Dad and Laura. Danny’s their son.”

  Vera draws in a breath, her gaze flicking around the room, looking at anything but us while she thinks. Danny draws himself up, and steps closer to the table. He bends forward, bringing his face down to Vera’s level, and finally, she looks at him.

  “You killed them, didn’t you?” Danny says. “Mum and Dad. Ruth and Dad.”

  Vera’s voice is strained. “No.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Danny draws a shaky breath. “I hope they lock you up and throw away the key.”

  Martin’s colleague stands aside as Danny marches from the room.

  The anguish in Edwin’s eyes as he looks at Vera before setting off to follow Danny makes my heart ache. I glance over my shoulder as he tugs me through the door, but Vera isn’t watching us leave. Her head is turned away, her expression distant; she has already retreated inside herself.

  Only Martin watches us go, and there is a gleam of satisfaction behind his sympathetic expression. I don’t know how helpful our visit has been to the investigation into Vera’s alleged crimes, but I suspect the glimpse it’s given Martin into the puzzle of the Summerbourne twins will make up for any official disappointment. Martin’s colleague closes the door softly behind us, and we flee to the fresh air and freedom of the car park.

  Edwin drives, and I sit in the passenger seat. Danny doesn’t speak a word to either of us on the journey home.

  35

  Seraphine

  I STAND WITH Joel in the Summerbourne hall. He has offered to drive Laura back to her home in London tonight, to give us three—Edwin, Danny, and me—a chance to sit down together and talk. Not that Danny is aware of this plan, since he stalked off toward the cliffs as soon as we got back from the police station, declaring he wanted nothing more to do with any of us. If he’s not back by dusk, I will go and find him.

  Laura is taking a stroll around the garden with Edwin before she leaves—for old time’s sake, she said, although I suspect she wants to talk to Edwin alone. I’m surprised to find this doesn’t bother me. The truth is exposed, and we each have to process it in our own way, and anyway, I’m inclined to see Laura less as a threat now, and more as an ally.

  Alex and Kiara are out on the driveway, transferring items from Kiara’s car to Alex’s. They’re going to drive back to Leeds together tonight, and arrange for Kiara’s car to be collected during the week. If I turn my head now, I can see them through the hall window: Kiara closing the trunk of her car and clutching a bag against her chest, Alex reaching an arm out as he walks toward her.

  “You’ll be okay,” Joel says, and I turn away from the scene of my father hugging the daughter he wishes was his.

  Joel stands at the bottom of the stairs, his thumbs tucked into his jeans pockets, watching me. The shape of him makes me think I would fit against him perfectly if I stepped closer—my cheek against his chest, his arms curved around my back. But a swell of memories makes me keep my distance: my shame at believing he might have been Laura’s attacker; my horror that I caused the injury that gave him his scar; my lingering embarrassment about the night I kissed him and Ralph Luckhurst punched him.

  A thought occurs to me. “It’s Ralph’s fault,” I say slowly, and then I wince. Of all the people to bring up, of all the names to mention.

  Joel tilts his head as if he hasn’t heard me properly. “What is?”

  I cross my arms. “It’s Ralph’s fault Laura was injured, isn’t i
t? If he’d told the police, when he heard about Dad’s accident—that Vera was here that morning . . .”

  Joel nods warily. “Yeah. It might have changed things, I suppose. But it’s not like he lied. If the police didn’t ask him . . .”

  “I could have asked him!” I swipe at a tear on my cheek, annoyed by it. “If I’d talked to him . . . It was too late for Dad, but I could have stopped Laura being hurt.”

  “Seraphine.” Joel waits until I look at him directly. “Ralph is responsible for his own actions. Don’t blame yourself for any of this.”

  “But we used to be friends. And I didn’t know how to keep that, when we stopped—” I wave a hand, appalled that I’m even attempting to describe my relationship with Ralph to Joel. I take a deep breath. “What if he didn’t say anything to the police because of me?”

  Joel frowns. “Why? To protect you? From finding out what your grandmother had done?”

  “No, I mean—maybe he didn’t say anything because it was my family, because he didn’t want anything to do with me.”

  Joel unhooks his thumbs and steps toward me, but I step back, and he stops.

  “Ralph owes your gran a lot of loyalty,” Joel says. “She’s always helped his family out, hasn’t she? Supporting Helen, Daisy’s job. I’m sure he was just—he didn’t want to cause her trouble. He was just putting his own family’s needs first.”

  A noise outside makes me glance again through the window. Alex and Kiara are peering into the trunk of Alex’s car now, heads close together.

  “You’re looking for ways to blame yourself, Seraphine, and you mustn’t,” Joel says.

  I turn back to face him.

  “Doctor’s orders,” he says. “I mean it.” There’s something in the warmth of his tone that eases the ache in my muscles. I frown at the scar on his jaw, the lift of his eyebrows, the hint of his smile.

  “You saved her, didn’t you?” I say.

  “Who?”

  “Laura. I put her in danger, but you saved her.”

  “Well, I found her, yeah.”

  I shake my head. “You did more than that . . . You saved her life.”

  Joel steps closer to me, and his voice is soft. “I guess I was in the right place at the right time.” He reaches out slowly and takes my hand in his. “And do you know why?”

  I watch his thumb stroke across my wrist.

  “Because of Michael,” I say.

  “Because of you,” he says. “I could have waited for Grandad to come home, but I thought I’d go and look for him because I wanted to clear my head. Not because I was particularly worried about Grandad. Because I was thinking about you.”

  I look up at him, trying to resist the hypnotic nearness of him, trying to puzzle out his meaning.

  “Are you trying to convince me that Laura was saved because of me?” I ask him. “Nice try, but I’m not that gullible.”

  His widening smile reminds me forcibly of carefree childhood days: heading out to pick blackberries, racing down the lane on our bikes, pedals pumping, the wind in our hair.

  “What can I say?” He shrugs, and he’s impossibly handsome with this glint in his dark eyes, this almost-laugh on his face. “It’s the truth. I was in the right place at the right time because I was thinking about you.”

  I shake my head at him, but I can feel my own smile responding to his.

  “I’m always thinking about you,” he says.

  And then I kiss him. I kiss Joel Harris, and he kisses me, and it turns out we do fit together perfectly.

  Joel pulls away first. The front door creaks on it hinges behind me, and I press my forehead against his chest for a moment. Blackberries, hearts pumping, the wind in our hair. I don’t want to see anyone but Joel.

  “Seraphine.” It’s Alex. My father. When I turn, his gaze drops to the floor tiles between us. I feel disconnected when I look at him, and I see a reflection of my bafflement in his own eyes.

  Kiara stands just behind him on the doorstep, and she makes an attempt to smile at me. I squeeze Joel’s hand tighter and wait for somebody to speak.

  “Is Danny not back?” Kiara asks.

  “No,” I say.

  “Edwin and Laura are in the garden,” Joel says. “Would you like me to go and get them?”

  “No,” Alex says. His clipped tone echoes mine, and we make eye contact for a split second. I almost want to laugh; is this what we have in common? A genetic tendency to snappiness?

  Kiara gives Alex a sideways look. I get the impression she’s tempted to contradict him, to insist on saying good-bye to her newly found mother and half brother, but it’s clear that Alex is desperate to get away from us all, and in the end she doesn’t argue. She looks tired.

  “Can we ring you?” she asks me. “In a few days, maybe?”

  I nod, not trusting my voice again.

  Alex makes a brief gesture, flexing his fingers as if under different circumstances he might offer a hug. “I’m sorry, Seraphine,” he says, and then they turn and trudge away over the gravel, and I shove the front door shut and lean against it.

  “You’ll be okay,” Joel tells me again, and I smile at him, not because of what he says, but because he’s here, with me.

  When they reenter the house, Edwin fusses around Laura, checking she’s taken her painkillers, insisting she accept a sandwich and a flask of tea for her car journey.

  “You do know Joel’s taking her home by car, don’t you?” I ask him. “Not horse and wagon.”

  Edwin gives me his stern big brother look, and the surge of relief it triggers in me takes my breath away.

  “I’ll walk down to Joel’s car with them,” Edwin says. “Check whether Michael needs anything. When I get back, we can go and find Danny.”

  I happen to have spotted Danny through the window when I fetched Laura’s handbag from the sitting room; he is lurking on the patio, no doubt waiting for Laura to leave before he comes back in. I nod at Edwin.

  “Sure, okay.”

  Joel curves his hand around my elbow and dips his face to mine. “Remember what I said?”

  I let my gaze run over his face, absorbing the details. “I’ll be okay?”

  “Exactly.” He kisses my cheek.

  When he steps back, Laura is watching me. Her lips suggest a trace of amusement, but underneath that is a sadness that makes my heart feel heavy. She has survived being attacked, and she has met her two grown-up children, and they have left her without even saying good-bye. We study each other.

  “You remind me of her,” she says eventually. “You’re strong like your mother.”

  I stand on the doorstep and watch them until they are out of sight.

  Danny makes a cheese sandwich at the kitchen table, scattering crumbs and ignoring the butter-smeared knife when it clatters to the floor. He doesn’t look at me. I open two beers and follow him through to the sitting room, and I sit on the same sofa as him and pass him a bottle.

  “Thanks,” he murmurs, and the absence of the word “sis” stretches like an abyss between us.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  He’s still the same person. But he’s not my brother. We share a half brother. Different halves. That’s as close as we can get.

  “Kiara’s my sister,” he says eventually.

  “And Laura’s . . .” I say.

  He waves his hand, cutting me off. “And Alex is your dad.”

  He finally looks at me. We stare at each other. Something shifts in his eyes then, and he drops his gaze.

  “Well, you got what you wanted, I guess,” he says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Summerbourne.”

  My mouth falls open, but no words form.

  “She’ll give it to you now, won’t she?” he continues. “Once she finds out you’re her grandchild and I’m not.
You’ll get the house you always wanted, from your murderer grandmother. Congratulations.”

  I shake my head. “Danny, that’s not fair. It’s not like that.”

  “It’s why you started all this, isn’t it?”

  “No!” I sit forward, reach a hand toward him. “That’s not why! I wanted—I just wanted—” I’m short of breath, and I can’t gather the words together. “If she gives Summerbourne to me, I’ll give it to you, okay? I just—I knew something wasn’t right. I just wanted to know where I came from. Who I was. Who I am.”

  He tilts his head back against the sofa and closes his eyes, and we sit for a while in silence, waiting for Edwin to get back. My twin brother is not my brother. He has a new twin sister. And she’s—a tear slides down my cheek—perfect for him.

  The silence lengthens. The heat of the day is fading, and I rub my arms, too drained of energy to get up and find a cardigan.

  Eventually, Danny sighs loudly. “I guess I should have known.”

  “What?”

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” He rolls his head back down and shoots me a sideways look. “I always wondered why I got all the good genes, and you didn’t. Now it finally makes sense.”

  I blow out a puff of air. “Danny . . .”

  “All those hours I wasted trying to teach you stuff. Trying to show you how to play cricket when you just wanted to read a boring old book on the cliffs. I should have realized then we weren’t related.”

  I shake my head, watching him through narrowed eyes.

  He leans back again, and gives an even more exaggerated sigh. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Thank God.”

  He’s still the same person. Even though my vision is blurred with tears, I manage to land a blow on his arm with my cushion. He lets out a huff of a laugh.

  “Be very careful,” I say, my voice scratchy. “I’m still older than you.”

  He makes a dismissive noise in his throat, and settles his head back more comfortably, but his expression retains the trace of a smile. I retrieve my cushion and hug it to my chest.

  Edwin returns, and the three of us drink beer and talk as the setting sun turns the Summerbourne sitting room orange and pink. I wonder what Alex and Kiara are saying to each other on their drive home. I wonder whether Laura will contact us again, or whether any of us will contact her. I wonder whether Vera will get any sleep tonight in her cell. I wonder whether Joel is thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about him.