The Girl You Gave Away: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller Read online

  When I told her about the daughter I’d given up for adoption when I was a teenager, she did her best to look surprised, and even muttered a few words of sympathy.

  ‘What I can’t work out is how Jade knew so much about me. I know there’s a lot of data out there, but I don’t think she has the know-how to access it. Somebody must have helped her, Hilary.’ I paused dramatically. ‘And I’m wondering whether it was you.’

  She flushed at this point and stuttered through her answer. ‘Me? What … n-no. No, I’d never … n-never do a thing like that.’

  ‘I’m sorry to accuse you. I know you’re not the kind of person to go behind her boss’s back, but I’m stumped. I reckon Jade found me online through Whitesteed Nursery and …’ I let Hilary finish my sentence in her head.

  ‘Yes, yes, I understand, but … it wasn’t me. I promise.’ She fiddled with the buttons on her cardigan. I paused, sensing an imminent confession. After a few moments, she swallowed hard and said, ‘I had no idea about your daughter, honestly … well, not until Tom told me. And that was only because … well, I’m afraid … er, I told him about the money you withdrew from the emergency fund.’

  Now it was my turn to act surprised. ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘I was worried about you, Erin. I didn’t believe the story about the credit card debts – I knew something was wrong. Why did you need so much cash? I thought maybe a parent was blackmailing you. As you know, we have had some trouble recently …’

  ‘Yeah … well … I was being blackmailed, but not by a parent.’ I didn’t bother to elaborate, as she probably knew all about it anyway. We were dancing with the truth and it was making me dizzy.

  Hilary must have been feeling the same, because a few moments later, she made her excuses and left the office. I sat at my desk trying to process our conversation. Had she lied about helping Jade? I decided not. Her reaction had seemed genuine, and to be fair, she had confessed about her communications with Tom. The meeting had been painful and awkward and my relationship with Hilary would never be the same again. Our trust in each other had been broken. She was probably sitting at her own desk right then, writing her resignation letter.

  I’d potentially lost my right-hand woman, and for what? I still didn’t know who had given Jade all the information on me; I had no idea whether she’d been acting alone or whether someone had been pulling her strings; and the identity of the impostor, who incidentally had ten thousand pounds of my hard-earned money, was still a complete mystery.

  By the time I arrived home, I had a raging headache. I let myself in and went straight to the kitchen in search of some pain relief tablets. I took my glass of water into the sitting room and lay down on the sofa. I was so choked with emotion, the pills were hard to swallow. Closing my eyes, I tried to relax, but the headache seemed to be getting worse rather than better. I didn’t usually suffer from migraines, but it felt like one was coming on.

  I must have been resting for about half an hour when I heard a key turning in the lock. ‘Chloe? Is that you?’ I called out feebly.

  ‘No, it’s me,’ said Tom, walking into the room. He was home early for once. I lifted my head tentatively to look at him, wincing with pain. He looked tired after a long day in the classroom. There were grey shadows under his eyes and his body was slumped.

  ‘Hi, darling,’ I said. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I gather you spoke to Hilary.’

  So, I thought, they’d already been in touch. It was still two against one.

  ‘Please. I’m not up to another row. I’ve got a migraine.’

  ‘I can’t go on like this, Erin,’ he continued, ignoring my pleas. ‘It’s doing my head in, I can’t sleep, can’t function at work, can’t do a thing.’ He sank down into the armchair. ‘I can’t even bear to be in the same space as you right now. You … you disgust me.’

  A sharp stab of pain hit me right between the eyes and then reverberated throughout my body. ‘You mean you’re leaving?’

  ‘No … no … I don’t know. I need to get away, think things through properly, sort out my feelings, decide what I want to do.’

  I nodded uselessly. ‘Where will you go? A bed and breakfast?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m going to stay with Mum for a bit.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘So she knows.’

  ‘Of course she knows,’ he replied irritably. ‘We tell each other everything.’

  I felt instantly ashamed. I liked Tom’s mum and we’d always got on well. If Val loved me half as much as she loved her son, it was still far more than I’d ever received from my own mother. ‘And what does she think?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, does it?’ He registered my expression. ‘If you must know, she’s very shocked and upset and would rather you didn’t get in touch or call round.’

  As I would have predicted. Mother and son were devoted to each other. If anyone hurt Tom, Val felt his pain, only stronger. It worked the other way around, too. As a little boy, Tom had been his mother’s shoulder to cry on during her marriage to an unfaithful husband. Val had moved aside – a little – when I came on the scene, but now I’d proved myself a bad wife, she’d clamp herself tightly to him again.

  ‘So when are you moving out?’ I said.

  ‘Tonight. I packed my bags this morning.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I’m here to collect Oli.’

  ‘Oli?’ I eased myself onto my elbows, blinking in the harsh light. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He can’t work here; the atmosphere’s toxic. His whole future’s at risk,’ he added accusingly.

  ‘Yeah, okay, I get it.’ My hackles were rising. ‘I would have liked to have been part of that discussion, but if that’s what he wants to do …’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘And Chloe? I expect you asked her too.’

  ‘Yes. She wants to stay here. You know what she’s like about her friends, all that fear of missing out … Staying five miles away with Granny is just not cool.’

  ‘Well, it seems like you’ve organised it all without me knowing. Secret meetings in the park, was it?’

  ‘That’s rich, coming from you,’ he snapped, rising to his feet. ‘I’d better see how Oli’s doing with his packing. Mum’s cooking dinner for us; I don’t want to be late.’

  He left the room and I heard him climbing the stairs, calling out Oli’s name. Tears started to sting my eyes and the headache intensified. I didn’t go up and try to persuade my son to stay. Losing Tom was heartbreaking, but if staying at Granny’s meant Oli would resume his studying, then I was all for it.

  A few minutes later, Oli came down carrying a rucksack and a shopping bag stuffed with books. I was in the kitchen by then, making a cup of camomile tea. I had a cold damp flannel pressed against my forehead and was staring out of the window at the garden. The sky was leaden, the clouds rimmed with low evening sunlight. It looked both beautiful and forbidding.

  ‘I’m off now,’ said Oli. I turned around to face him. He looked at me sheepishly. ‘Sorry, Mum, it’s just that … I think maybe …’

  ‘It’s all right, I understand.’

  ‘I’m still not sure it’s what I want – Cambridge, I mean.’

  I put my finger against my lips to shush him. ‘Don’t think about that now. Just do your best in the exams, then we’ll talk about it.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He brushed a strand of hair from his face and gave me a sad smile. ‘Anyway, Dad’s waiting.’ He stepped forward and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Love you.’ It was the kindest thing anyone had said to me in weeks.

  I listened to their departure. Finally the car reversed out of the driveway and the sound of its engine faded into silence. I was alone. The oven clock told me it was past six. Picking up my mobile, I checked it for messages from Chloe, but strangely, I hadn’t received any.

  Where was she?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Erin

  March 1995

  They’ve stopped it. I’ve been given an
injection to halt the contractions. Apparently I hadn’t yet gone into labour proper and it’s better for the baby if they delay it. By their calculations, I’m only thirty-three weeks pregnant, which means she would have been premature. This is considered an undesirable outcome.

  ‘Are you sure this drug is safe?’ asks my mother. I’m unclear whether she means for the baby or me.

  ‘Completely,’ the doctor replies. I’m lying on a bed in the pre-natal ward and they’re standing on either side, speaking across me. ‘Although I don’t know how much luck we’ll have,’ he continues. ‘Often, once they decide they want to come out, there’s no holding them back. She might go into labour within the next forty-eight hours, or we might get an extra week. We’ll keep her in for a few days so we can monitor her closely.’

  He turns to me, like it’s an afterthought. ‘If you feel the pains coming back, you must let us know immediately, promise?’

  I promise. The doctor leaves and Mum sits down on the visitor’s chair. ‘Well!’ she says, letting out an exasperated sigh. There’s an unspoken accusation that I’ve caused an almighty fuss and put everyone to a lot of unnecessary bother. An ambulance was called; the consultant was summoned from his clinic. My father left work and is on his way to the hospital – ‘for no good reason’ – and it’s too late to stop him now.

  ‘I didn’t imagine it,’ I say quietly. ‘It was definitely happening.’

  ‘Huh! And how would you know?’ She gives me a contemptuous glance, and I remember that she is an old hand at this game. Four children, all born respectably within wedlock, even if the last one was an accident.

  She checks her watch. ‘I suppose I might as well wait for your father, then we can go home together.’

  ‘You can leave now if you like. Wait for him in the car park.’

  ‘Well, yes, I might do that.’

  ‘I’m feeling woozy anyway, and a bit sick. Maybe it’s the injection.’ I glance at her for sympathy, but there’s none to be had. She clearly finds being here excruciatingly embarrassing, and is desperate to get away.

  ‘Yes, you should rest. I’ll take myself to the cafeteria and wait there.’ She stands. ‘No point in coming back tonight. I’m sure the nurses will call if there’s any news.’ She leaves without wishing me luck or giving me a kiss goodbye.

  The girl sitting on the bed opposite has been witness to all of this. ‘That your mum?’ she asks as the ward door swings shut, leaving the two of us alone. I nod.

  There are four beds in the ward. One looks unoccupied; the other has a vase of flowers and a small plastic bowl of fruit on its side cabinet.

  ‘That’s Julie’s bed,’ she says, following my gaze. ‘She’s off having a scan. The other one was an Italian woman. She never said much. They induced her this morning; she’ll be in post-natal by now, I expect.’ The girl, who only looks a few years older than me, smiles warmly. ‘Sorry, I’m Gemma. And you?’

  ‘Erin.’

  ‘Hi, Erin. Welcome to Tulip Ward.’ She shifts around uncomfortably. ‘Been here a fortnight so far. Going out of my bleedin’ mind.’

  ‘Why? Is something wrong?’

  ‘I’ve got abruption of the placenta,’ she says, almost proudly.

  ‘Oh. What’s that?’

  She goes on to explain in gory detail, and I feel even more sick.

  ‘When’s the baby due?’ I ask, looking at her small bump.

  ‘Not for another three months. Probably won’t make it to term. It’s touch and go. They’re trying to keep me going as long as possible, for the baby’s sake.’ She looks me up and down curiously. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Thirty-three weeks, but they’re not totally sure.’

  ‘How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘Fifteen,’ I mumble, feeling my cheeks going pink.

  ‘Hmm … thought so.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Eighteen. And no, I’m not married. Not yet. Working on it, though,’ she laughs. ‘My boyfriend’s a bit … you know, not too sure about settling down.’

  ‘I expect he’ll change his mind when he sees the baby.’

  ‘Hope so.’ She chews her lip and thinks for a few moments. ‘So, what’s the plan? Are they letting you keep it? Social services, I mean.’

  ‘No. I’d like to, if I could, if they’d let me – but Mum and Dad won’t …’ I tail off. ‘I’ve got no choice really.’

  ‘Adoption?’

  ‘It’s the best thing,’ I say, adding quickly, ‘for the baby.’

  ‘I guess …’ She doesn’t look convinced. ‘What does your boyfriend think?’

  ‘Don’t have one.’ I look down at my hands, twisting them in embarrassment. ‘Not any more, anyway.’

  ‘Oh bless … You poor love. You’ve had a really shit time of it, haven’t you?’ I sniff tearfully in agreement. At last it seems I’ve found someone who understands how I’m feeling, someone who doesn’t judge or disapprove. I could hug her.

  Gemma heaves herself off the bed and waddles across holding out a box of tissues.

  ‘Take as many as you like,’ she says, as if offering chocolates. ‘You’ll be okay. It’ll all be over soon – you can go back to your life and everything’ll be normal again.’

  But my life will never be normal, I already know that.

  * * *

  After lunch – a rubbery piece of chicken and slimy mashed potatoes, followed by sponge pudding soaked in watery custard – a woman from social services arrives to see me. I’ve never seen this one before. She looks flustered, as if she’s already late for something else.

  Julie is back from her scan and is sitting on the edge of Gemma’s bed, chatting and flicking through magazines. She’s the eldest of the three of us – in her mid-twenties, I think. Overweight, with swollen ankles. Married, having her second kid, that’s all I know.

  ‘You must be Erin,’ says the social worker, drawing the curtains around us. ‘Mind if we have a chat? I’m Imelda.’ She apologises for not being the person I normally see. ‘You caught us on the hop! We weren’t expecting you to pop for weeks.’

  ‘They stopped it,’ I say.

  ‘Yes, love, I know. Otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting there all cool as a cucumber, would you?’ She chuckles while diving into her bag and sorting through what looks like a load of forms. ‘Mind you, it won’t be long. The injections don’t make much difference. You’ll probably go into labour again within a day or so. Are they keeping you in?’ I nod. ‘Best place … Got everything you need?’

  I shrug. ‘Think so. Mum threw a few things into a bag while we were waiting for the ambulance.’

  ‘Is she still here?’ She looks around as if expecting to see my mother lurking in the corner or hiding under the bed.’

  ‘No, she’s gone home.’

  Imelda tilts her head and gives me her best empathetic look. ‘How are you feeling, love? Nervous? It’s a big thing, having a baby, especially for a girl of your age, but you mustn’t worry, you’re in excellent hands.’

  The truth is, I haven’t thought about the actual birth much. For me, it’s the end, the stop where I get off and head in the opposite direction. But for everyone else here, it’s the beginning.

  ‘I think I’m okay,’ I say.

  ‘Positive attitude, I like that!’ she grins. ‘Now, have you discussed pain relief with anyone?’

  ‘Sort of. I know about the different types. I’ll just see how it goes.’

  ‘Great, keep an open mind, that’s good. And is your mum going to be with you in the delivery room?’

  ‘No! I mean, I hope not … She … um … I don’t think that would work.’

  ‘Okay … Well, the staff here are fantastic, they’ll look after you. And …’ She pauses, lowering her voice. ‘It’s been explained to you what happens next, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If you want to spend a little bit of time cuddling Baby, that’s fine, but he – or she – won’t come back to the ward with you, you
do know that, don’t you? I know it sounds cruel, but we find it’s better this way. Easier for everyone, including you. There’ll be some papers to sign, as I’m sure my colleague has already explained, saying you agree with what’s happening, yes?’ Imelda smiles. ‘It’ll be emotional, but you’ll be okay, I promise. Just focus on the fact that you’re doing the right thing for Baby. And for you too.’

  I keep nodding like I understand and totally agree with everything she says, but inside, I’m in turmoil. When she leaves, I feel angry that this is happening to me, that I’m letting it happen. This is my baby, I think, why should I give her away? This could be my only chance to have somebody in my life who will always love me – deeply and unconditionally.

  Shall we run away? I say silently as I stroke my bump. Just you and me against the world?

  I have a sudden urge to rush out of the hospital, to escape Mum and Dad, the doctors and midwives, the teachers and social workers – all the grown-ups conspiring against me, forcing me to sign away my precious child. I won’t let them. I’ll give birth in a ditch, I don’t care. And if they find us, I’ll refuse to hand her over.

  My pulse races at the daring of it. I imagine scenes of running and hiding, being chased through dark streets with a whimpering bundle in my arms, sheltering in doorways, begging for food, raiding dustbins …

  But I know I won’t do anything of the sort. I’m too much of a coward; I wouldn’t survive a day.

  The hours tick by. Gemma lends me a couple of magazines and I flick through the pages, looking at the photos but not reading any of the words. Julie has a bath. The nurses come round every so often to take blood pressure and check our temperatures. They write notes on the pads at the bottom of our beds. Then it’s teatime. Another inedible meal washed down with a cup of tea. How long am I going to be here for? I wonder.

  I unpack the plastic carrier Mum brought with us. A hairbrush, my toilet bag, two pairs of undies, and a clean nightie. A pair of flip-flops to wear as slippers. Everything seems unreal. The back pains have subsided and all I feel is exhausted. Am I really going to ‘pop’, as Imelda put it, within the next few days?