The Girl You Gave Away: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller Page 8

  ‘No! Not at all, it’s not that,’ I protested, blushing. ‘It’s my fault, not yours. I’ve been really silly … I can’t explain, it’s complicated. I just need a bit of time to … find a way to break it to them. I don’t know how they’re going to react.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well … they might be angry with me for not telling them before.’

  ‘You are going to tell them, though?’

  ‘Yes! But the timing’s not great, for various reasons … I can’t do it right now. You do understand, don’t you?’

  ‘Not really,’ she replied flatly.

  I offered her a reassuring smile, but it was fake and she knew it. ‘There’s no need to rush, eh? We’ve got plenty of time.’

  She took my hands again, squeezing my fingers so tightly they hurt. ‘Yeah, suppose you’re right,’ she said. ‘All that matters is I’ve got you now, and I’m never, ever going to let you go.’

  * * *

  I just about made it back to the car. A turbulent river of emotions was surging through my body. The water was rising, the banks about to break, but I couldn’t allow myself to be swept away. I had to get home first.

  The journey went by in a flash. When I pulled up on the driveway of the house, my fingers were gripping the wheel so tightly, it took all my strength to peel them off. I rested my forehead on the steering column and took what felt like my first breath since leaving the café. I’d made it back safely, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember how.

  As I opened the front door, it was a huge relief to see that Tom’s bike wasn’t in the hallway. He often went for long rides at the weekend, all part of his fitness regime. I listened anxiously for signs of life – music coming from the bedrooms, the sound of the shower, a kettle boiling in the kitchen – but the house was silent. Thankfully, I was alone.

  I kicked off my shoes and staggered into the sitting room, heaving myself onto the sofa. I didn’t have long to get my act together. Soon Tom would wheel his bike through the front door, smiling and sweaty in Lycra. Or Oli would return from the library with a full head and an empty stomach. I didn’t have a clue where Chloe was – I needed to text her and find out what she was up to. There was cleaning to do, lunch to prepare, an evening meal to think about. Washing to put on, ironing to tackle. I’d always been Supermum – available at short notice to feed, support, advise, organise, sympathise with, tidy up after … My dear family was about to discover that I wasn’t that super after all. I couldn’t bear it.

  Tom arrived home two hours later. By then, I’d dried my tears, reapplied my make-up and changed into housework clothes. He stood in the kitchen doorway, cheeks flushed, hair stuck to his forehead, and watched me mop the floor.

  ‘How did it go?’ he asked, still panting from his exertions.

  I squeezed the dirty water out. ‘Um … sorry?’

  ‘At work. The budget thing.’

  ‘Oh yes, it was nothing as it turned out. Easily fixed.’ I deliberately looked away from him as I scrubbed at a stubborn patch of dirt. ‘How was your bike ride?’

  ‘Great, thanks. Did fifty K.’

  ‘Do you know what the kids are doing? I haven’t seen or heard from them all day.’

  ‘Oli went off to do some revision, took a packed lunch, bless him. I hope he isn’t overdoing it.’

  ‘And Chloe?’

  ‘She’s gone to Miranda’s. There’s a girlie sleepover tonight, apparently.’

  ‘Really?’ I frowned. ‘First I’ve heard of it. Did you actually speak to Miranda’s mum?’

  ‘No. I didn’t think it was necessary. Why? Do you think she’s lying?’

  ‘No, but …’ I recalled the web of deceit I’d woven around my own parents when I was the same age. Did Chloe have the lying gene?

  ‘I’ll check if you like,’ he said. ‘But stop worrying, I’m sure it’s fine. She’s a good kid at heart.’

  I put the mop down. ‘Why don’t you have your shower? As soon as this floor’s dry, I’ll make us something to eat.’

  I spent the afternoon catching up with my emails while Tom watched the rugby. It almost felt like a normal Saturday. Oli came home but only stayed long enough to dump his files and eat a pizza. A group of mates were meeting up in the pub to play pool. I was glad to see him socialising for a change; the poor boy deserved some time off. Chloe was at Miranda’s – allegedly. Tom and I would be alone all evening; there would be time to talk.

  After dinner, we sprawled on the sofas, taking one each, and flicked through the movies on our streaming service. As usual, we couldn’t agree what to watch, dividing on strictly stereotypical lines – I liked costume dramas and romances and Tom liked thrillers and action adventure.

  ‘Perhaps we should just turn the telly off for a change and chat,’ I said, half hoping that he’d disagree. My heart was starting to thump in my chest as phrases formed in my brain. There’s something I need to tell you … Something I need to confess …

  Chapter Twelve

  Jade

  March 2020

  Jade is making her way across London. Victoria line to Highbury and Islington, then the Overground to Hampstead Heath. It’s a route she knows well. She sits in the carriage and looks out of the window at the endless Victorian houses that back onto the railway line, boasting loft conversions and roof terraces and enormous downstairs extensions that take up most of the gardens. She gazes at set upon set of bifold doors leading to wooden decking or plastic lawns, counting high-sided trampolines on the fingers of one hand and hot tubs on the other. So many people and so little space. Yet still people pay a fortune to live there.

  Although she grew up in north-west London, she has never really felt like a true ‘north-weezy’ girl. She prefers living in the east: it’s poorer, dirtier and more dangerous, but there’s something honest about it. As soon as she moved there, it felt like home. Maybe it’s because she was born in Essex. She doesn’t know anything about her ancestors on her father’s side, but she knows the county is full of people whose families originated in the East End. It must be in her DNA.

  She doesn’t often come back to Hampstead, not unless she can help it or she’s in trouble, but she woke up this morning and instantly knew that was how she wanted to spend the day. She needs some home comforts, a bit of TLC. All the drama over her birth mum has made her feel unsettled. It’s been like being on a ship in a storm, staggering around the deck gripping the side rails to stay upright, stomach roiling, the wind lashing against her face. It reminds her of that horrible school trip to the war graves, crossing the Channel by ferry, then trudging around cemeteries in the pouring rain, staring glumly at the endless rows of headstones of strangers who died a hundred years ago. Everyone cried; it was so depressing. She’s been feeling like that a lot recently – all sad and churned up inside. It’s grief, she thinks.

  She gets off the train at the usual stop and walks up the hill. They’ve no idea she’s coming today. Although she might have made a wasted journey, she prefers to turn up out of the blue. Otherwise Mummy cooks her favourite food and Daddy makes sure he’s at home so they can have a deep chat about how she is really. Sitting at the table trying to eat with the two of them staring at her like she’s an exhibit in a museum is enough to give her a panic attack. They know this, but can’t stop themselves; can’t bear not to swamp her with questions. This is why she hardly ever sees them any more. It’s too much pressure, being cooed and worried over like she’s a newborn baby. She can’t be the daughter they think they deserve, no matter how hard they try.

  Her wealthy lawyer parents, Stephen and Sarah, are her guilty secret. When she meets somebody new, particularly if they’re homeless, she tells them she was rejected by a mean, horrible adoptive family and brought up in care. She got the story off the telly – some documentary drama about children’s homes. It’s easier than telling the truth.

  Nobody could ever understand what pressure it is to have parents who are so loving and supportive, who have fough
t for years to get a proper diagnosis of her neurological problems, who have paid for private therapies and special tuition to help with schoolwork, who put money in her bank account each month so she doesn’t get into debt. Amazing really, when you consider they aren’t even related by blood.

  ‘We chose you, darling,’ her mother always says. ‘You were the baby we wanted more than anything in the world and we will never, ever let you down.’ The only problem with that is that if any letting-down needs doing, it always has to be done by Jade herself.

  The worst part – and this is weird – is how they totally forgive her whenever she does bad things. She’s lost count of the number of times they’ve collected her from the police station for being pissed and starting fights. Sometimes she wonders what she would have to do to make them turn their backs on her. Murdering either of them is the only thing she can think of. Can you kill someone because they love you too much?

  She rummages in her bag for her keys to the mansion block: one for the main entrance and two for the apartment itself, which is on the top floor. Posh flats, it seems, are known as apartments – she has no idea why. The family has always lived there and she’s secretly very fond of the place, particularly her bedroom, which is twice the size of Mia’s living room. It has amazing views over north-west London; when there’s no cloud, you can just about see the double arches of Wembley Stadium.

  Mummy and Daddy keep her room exactly as she left it when she was a teenager. She’s told them they can redecorate if they want, but they won’t hear of it. It’s the kind of thing people do when their kids are stabbed or killed in road accidents – the bedroom becomes a time machine that the parents can go into and shut the door, taking themselves back to when everything was okay and the child was still alive. Perhaps that’s what Mummy does when she’s feeling depressed about how her beautiful little girl has turned out.

  When Jade first ran away at fifteen, she only took one small rucksack, the contents of which were quickly stolen. After three terrifying nights on the streets, Daddy found her and brought her back. A year later, she left again, met a boy who was a drug addict and lived with him and about ten other people in a squat. But he overdosed and died, which really upset her, so she came home again and was there for a couple of years while her parents tried to get her what they called ‘the right help’.

  It wasn’t the right help, though; it just made things worse. For the next few years, she drifted. Not studying, not working, constantly getting into trouble, mixing with dodgy people, walking out, living on the streets for a few months, then getting ill or beaten up and having to crawl back to Mummy and Daddy. The cycle kept repeating itself until one day she decided she’d had enough. They didn’t want her to leave, begged her to stay so they could look after her and keep her safe, but she was twenty-two and needed to grow up.

  She’s twenty-four now, nearly twenty-five, and she still doesn’t feel like an adult. Perhaps she never will.

  * * *

  ‘Stephen? Is that you?’ her mother calls out from her home office at the end of the corridor as Jade lets herself in.

  ‘No, it’s me,’ she replies.

  ‘Jade? Darling!’ Sarah rushes towards her. ‘Why didn’t you say you were coming?’

  ‘I’m not staying long.’

  ‘It’s lovely to see you. You’re looking great. Come here, give us a hug.’

  ‘No thanks.’

  Sarah lifts her arms in instant surrender. ‘Sorry, I forgot, my bad. Personal space, we talked about it last time.’

  Jade rolls her eyes to the incredibly high ceilings. Mummy has this theory that because she wasn’t cuddled from the moment of birth (how does she even know?), she has difficulties being physically intimate with people.

  ‘Tea? Coffee? You’ll stay for lunch, surely.’ Sarah goes into the kitchen and opens the fridge before Jade has a chance to respond. ‘Hmm … There’s hummus, feta … I can probably whip up a Salade Niçoise. Or we can go out if you prefer. I’ll call Daddy and see if he can pop home.’

  ‘No,’ says Jade firmly.

  ‘No to what?’

  ‘All of it.’

  ‘Oh. Okay then.’ Sarah shuts the fridge. ‘So how are things? Daddy and I were saying just the other evening that you must be thinking about where you’re going to go once you leave the hostel. Have you found somewhere new to live yet?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jade is surprised by this answer; she wasn’t expecting it to come out of her mouth. Telling her mother what she wants to hear has become something of a reflex action.

  ‘Oh! How exciting! Absolutely sure you don’t want coffee?’

  ‘I don’t drink coffee. I don’t like it, I never have—’

  ‘Sorry, sorry, I know … stupid of me.’ Sarah gestures to the large kitchen table. ‘Sit down. I’m dying to know all about the new place. You must make sure you give me your address before you go. We promise we won’t come and bother you; it’s just for emergencies, you know. In case anything happens.’ She grins, pushing her shoulders up to her ears.

  Jade glances out of the window at the distant rooftops and patches of greenery while Sarah noisily makes a cappuccino in their Italian coffee machine.

  ‘I found my birth mum,’ she says suddenly.

  Her mother freezes, cup in hand. Her back is turned to Jade, but it’s obvious she’s shocked. After a couple of seconds, she turns around. ‘Gosh! That’s a surprise. I thought you’d decided … I mean … we talked about it a lot and you said you didn’t want to have anything to do with her, that you would never forgive her for—’

  Jade juts her chin out defiantly. ‘Yeah, well I changed my mind, didn’t I?’

  ‘Obviously!’ Sarah laughs weakly. ‘Well, that’s, er … that’s very healthy. A step forward, I’d say. Good for you.’ She brings her coffee to the table and sits opposite Jade. ‘Have you met her yet?’

  ‘Oh yes. Lots of times.’

  Sarah grips her cup tightly. ‘And how did it go?’

  ‘Really well. She’s so nice. I look just like her, it’s incredible. And she’s really happy I got in touch.’

  ‘Oh … that’s such great news.’

  ‘All the family know about me. I’ve never been a secret.’

  ‘Is that so? That’s great, Jade, I’m really pleased for you.’ There are tears in her mother’s eyes. ‘After all you’ve been through …’

  ‘I’ve got a brother and sister too. Oliver and Chloe. They’re much younger than me.’

  ‘Wow! You’ve always wanted siblings.’

  ‘Yeah, they call me their big sis. And I’ve met my birth mum’s husband, Thomas. He’s really nice too. I just know we’re all going to be close. Like a proper family.’

  She knows she’s hurting her mother with these lies, but she can’t stop herself. It’s much easier telling somebody else’s story than her own. She’s seen the programmes on the telly – mother and daughter rushing towards each other and embracing so tightly nobody could ever pull them apart.

  But maybe she’s gone too far now. Her mother is crying; she whips a tissue out of the box on the table and removes her glasses to wipe her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ she says. ‘I’m delighted, honestly I am, it’s just the shock. If you’d come to us first, we could have talked it through, helped smooth the way.’

  ‘I didn’t need any help.’ Anyway, thinks Jade, I had Amy.

  ‘You took a big risk; it was very brave of you. After some of the things you’ve said about her in the past … I mean … well, it’s quite a turnaround. We should celebrate.’

  ‘We already had a big party at her house,’ Jade says, on a roll now, giving her fantasies full rein. ‘She cooked a roast dinner with all the trimmings and loads of people turned up. They gave me presents.’

  ‘Did they? Gosh.’

  ‘She’s well rich, owns lots of kiddies’ nurseries; she’s got this massive place with a swimming pool in the garden.’

  ‘Oh! That’s a surprise. I suppose I alw
ays imagined, after such a difficult start in life … somehow I didn’t think—’

  ‘Yeah, that’s where I’m moving to. She’s always kept a room for me, hoping one day I’d turn up.’ This last lie, which has come out of nowhere, particularly pleases Jade.

  Sarah frowns, a flicker of disbelief crossing her face. ‘Really? Is that what she said?’

  ‘Oh yes. It’s a bit smaller than my room here, but it’s got lovely wallpaper.’ Jade is imagining a yellow background with splodges of white flowers. ‘And I’ve got my own en suite, just for me.’

  ‘Hmm … This all sounds a bit sudden, Jade. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing, moving in? You shouldn’t rush. How long have you known her?’

  ‘Only a couple of months, but it feels like we’ve known each other all our lives,’ Jade replies, remembering the television series.

  ‘Well … well …’ Sarah takes a gulp of coffee. ‘Such a lot to take in.’

  ‘And she’s probably going to find me a job in one of her nurseries.’

  ‘That would be wonderful, if it works out. Perhaps we could all meet up. I’d like to thank her for giving you to us.’

  Jade feels herself blushing. Why is Sarah always so frigging nice? ‘Well … maybe … Like you say, best not to rush.’

  ‘At least give me her address. Just so we know where to find you.’

  ‘Can’t remember it. You know what I’m like.’

  ‘Well, text it to me as soon as you know.’ There’s a slight testiness in Sarah’s voice.

  ‘Sure.’ Jade gets to her feet. ‘Anyway, I just need to pick up some things.’

  She goes to her bedroom, leaving her mother in shreds. Sarah’s pretending to be pleased, but it’s clear she’s devastated. No doubt she’ll be straight on her mobile, telling Daddy all about it, begging him to come home immediately. The sooner Jade gets out of here the better.

  It wasn’t the plan to tell such a fat pack of lies; it was Mummy’s fault for asking questions. Once the story started, it ran away with itself. The detail about the swimming pool was a bit much, Jade reflects, picking up a couple of cushions and her old bedside lamp, though she loved the part about Oliver and Chloe calling her big sis; that was a genius touch. It was a great story, with the perfect happy ending. And who knows? It might even happen in real life yet.