Until You're Mine (36 page)

‘We’re going to need to take the camera in for a look, I’m afraid,’ Lorraine stated sympathetically.

Zoe shrugged. ‘Fine. It’s in my room at the Morgan-Browns’ house. Help yourselves.’

‘Adam?’ Lorraine hoped a prompt might get him to ask something expedient.

‘Are you sure you didn’t photograph Carla Davis’s personal information?’ he said uselessly.

‘I am certain, DI Scott,’ Zoe said. ‘Why would I do something like that? I’m a nanny.’

‘No one implied you were anything else,’ Adam said thoughtfully.

*

‘How did she know your name?’ Lorraine asked. She hugged her jacket around her and pulled her scarf up over her ears, determined not to let Adam know she was freezing. The last thing she wanted was him offering her his overcoat. Not that there was much chance he’d do that. Any last remnants of chivalry had long been gobbled up by the marriage-eating monster.

‘Because you told it to her, stupid.’ Adam gulped his coffee greedily.

‘No. I told her
both
our names. She assumed which was which.’ Lorraine took Adam’s paper cup and chucked it into a bin as they walked past. ‘Don’t know what’s got into you, Adam Scott. You know you can’t take caffeine.’

‘Then it must have been a lucky guess.’

‘I suppose,’ Lorraine said, though she didn’t believe that for one minute. There was something more astute about Zoe Harper than that, as if she’d been interviewing the pair of them, not the other way around.

They’d wasted no time in flicking through the pictures on the camera that Zoe had willingly handed over when they took her back to the house on St Hilda’s Road to fetch it. As she’d already told them, there was nothing more incriminating on it than a few pictures of the twins in a ball pit, and a badly shot video of a sibling fight taking place on the swings.

‘Forensics can still take a look,’ Lorraine had said, bagging the item. ‘They might dig up something.’

Adam had agreed.

‘Hurry up, I’m freezing,’ Lorraine said. She could tell Adam was deep in thought about something, she just wished he’d do it in the car with the heater on. ‘By the way, about that ring Zoe was wearing. I recognised it.’

He glanced sideways at her as they strode along the pavement. ‘It looked a bit tasteless if you ask me.’

‘I wasn’t asking you what you thought of it. It’s incredibly similar to the ones Cecelia Paige makes. Unmistakably so, in fact. I saw lots of her work when I went to her flat. It was like a magpie’s nest or Aladdin’s cave. Stuffed full of . . . crap, basically, apart from this amazing jewellery that she makes. She might seem a bit unhinged but she’s really talented.’

‘So you think Zoe does know Cecelia then?’

‘I’m certain of it.’ Lorraine got into the car. She’d never felt so cold.

‘Me too,’ Adam said, getting in the driver’s side. Lorraine wondered why he sounded so dejected about the revelation.

‘Which means?’ Lorraine said, wanting Adam to offer up his thoughts first. When he didn’t, she continued, ‘If you ask me, Zoe Harper’s not quite who she says she is.’ Lorraine pulled off her gloves and took out her phone. She was going to get some checks done. ‘And if you asked me again, I’d put my money on Zoe Harper being Heather Paige.’

EVERY TIME I
lost a pregnancy, a little part of me died too. I don’t think Martin ever understood this, or my friends, or the obstetricians and the nurses who picked up the immediate pieces of my life. Three times I’ve given birth to a stillborn foetus, and I’ve pretty much given up counting the number of times that a tiny life has dribbled into my underwear.

All in all, it’s made me feel like an unworthy shell of a woman over the years, a freak incapable of carrying a live baby full term; and, after so much internal anguish and pain, I came to the conclusion that it was a conspiracy, an unwritten warning emblazoned on my soul to all potential sons and daughters: stay away from this woman. She is not a good mother.

I was in Debenhams. I’d gone to get a few items for the twins and a dress for me. James and I had been invited to a christening, and I had nothing suitable to wear. The thought of spending a morning in church while everyone cooed over someone else’s baby was abhorrent, but James and the father had been friends since their schooldays so I knew I would have to go. I tried not to be affected by other people’s good fortune and their perfect families, but the plain fact was, jealousy stuck in my craw like a bowlful of mud shoved down my throat.

I found new sweaters and trainers for the boys no problem. They were at playgroup for the morning so I’d taken the opportunity to dash out to the shops. Besides, it was part distraction therapy. The day before, my period had come. Once again, I wasn’t going to be a mother. I was a couple of weeks late and my breathless hope had been shattered. Something deep inside me told me it was more than my regular monthly cycle, that I had indeed conceived James’s baby before he’d gone off on a short mission, and now it had spontaneously aborted, I’d not be able to welcome him home with a tiny pair of baby bootees placed on his pillow as I’d planned.

It was holding on to this thought that sent me to the baby department of the store. As I wove between the displays of prams and cots, car seats and clothes, I was confronted by every stage of a baby’s early life – a place I’d never been to except in my dreams. It was a kind of punishment, I suppose.

‘Can I help you, madam?’ the assistant asked.

‘Oh, I’m just browsing, thanks.’ Stupidly, my hand went straight to my flat stomach as if there really was a baby growing in there.

The assistant smiled and I could tell she was considering asking when I was due, but the shop floor was busy. ‘Let me know if I can help,’ she said before heading off to offer her services to a young couple who, to be honest, didn’t look as if they could afford anything from this store.

I went dizzy among the soft sleep-suits hanging from tiny hangers on the display racks. The edges of the little plush clothes feathered into unreality, just the same as my vision and sense of self blended into the noisy world around me. There I was, out to buy a christening dress to wear to another family’s celebration, and I’d ended up in the baby department trailing my shaking hands over equipment I would most likely never need to own. All I could think of was how unfair it was; how, if I could only have the chance, I’d be the best mother that ever lived. Instead, I spent my days taking babies and children away from unfit parents. The irony made me laugh out loud.

‘Oh, sorry,’ I said. I’d ploughed straight into the woman from the couple I’d spotted before. I’d been watching them through my slightly teary eyes as they coveted everything from a white cot to a pram that doubled as a car seat. The woman was clinging on to a small fluffy lamb with a red sale price tag. It was probably the cheapest thing for sale.

‘Watch it,’ the man said. He was scruffy and belligerent and reminded me of the fathers I dealt with in my job. ‘She’s pregnant, you know.’

‘It’s all right,’ the young woman said. She was pale, almost to the point of appearing grey. She didn’t look very well at all.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I repeated. ‘Are you all right?’

The woman nodded and the man scowled and they went on their way. I wanted to tell them that I was pregnant too, compare due dates and talk about the benefits of eco-nappies and breast versus bottle, but I felt too empty to do much more than fumble my way through a rack of tiny dresses in Easter shades of yellow and pink. Everything went blurry again and I was just about to succumb to the tears, make a dash for the toilets or disappear into the lift when I heard a heart-stopping shriek. I glanced around but couldn’t initially make out where it was coming from.

Then I saw the woman I’d just bumped into flailing her arms about her head. My first thought was that I must have really hurt her, perhaps caused a spontaneous miscarriage. I suddenly felt contagious as panic gripped my body. I could barely breathe as I tentatively walked, wide-eyed, towards the couple. The man was trying to pin down the woman’s increasingly wild arm movements without much luck. Her eyes bulged as if she was possessed by a demon while her hands lashed out for whatever was within reach.

‘Madam, please, let me help you,’ the shop assistant said.

The young woman completely ignored her pleas to calm down and spiralled into further frenzy as she swiped down displays of toys and baby-feeding equipment. An entire zoo of fluffy animals went flying alongside the clatter of melamine plates and plastic bottles. She ripped clothes off their stands and sent them into a jumble of unborn chaos and shoved prams wheeling down the wooden aisles, narrowly missing the gathering spectators who were eager to see the woman who had flipped.

I knew I had to do something. I felt as if it was all my fault.

I went up to her, not caring if I received a swipe. ‘Please, calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself or the baby.’

She stopped momentarily when I said the word ‘baby’.

‘I don’t want the sodding baby,’ she spat out and then continued with her flailing until two security guards managed to restrain her. I was still beside her and dropped with her to the floor when her knees buckled. Her arms were pinned behind her back.

‘Be careful, she’s pregnant,’ I told the guards. They slackened their grip. Tears streamed down the woman’s face as she sobbed and hiccuped her way through the remains of the outburst. ‘It’s going to be OK, just breathe calmly if you can.’ I showed her how to cup her hands over her face as her ribs forced air in and out of her lungs as if the world was running out of oxygen. It couldn’t be good for her baby.

Eventually, her state levelled and it finally seemed as if she was listening to me. The crowd dispersed thanks to the shop assistants, while the woman’s partner was stroking her head and holding her hand. She didn’t seem to know where she was.

‘Is there somewhere she can sit for a while?’ I asked the assistant, who willingly took us to a back room while her colleagues began to clear up the mess. Between us, the man and I got her sitting down and sipping on a glass of water. The colour was finally returning to her cheeks.

‘I don’t want this baby,’ she said through trembling lips. ‘I’m scared.’

An icy flood powered through me but I kept the welling dam under control. She knew nothing about me, our lives were entirely separate, yet she would never know how hard she had just pinched the deepest nerve in my heart.

‘I’m Claudia,’ I told her gently. She wasn’t thinking straight. Of course she wanted her baby. ‘I can help you. There’s no need to be scared.’ At this she seemed to relax. ‘Your body is undergoing amazing changes right now and believe me, it can do crazy things to how you feel.’ I gave her a reassuring smile.

Her hands shook as she sipped the water. ‘You’re pregnant too?’ she whispered.

‘Yes,’ I said, nodding. It just seemed the right thing to say, under the circumstances. I wanted to win her trust, to keep her calm and, most importantly, to prevent her from doing something she would regret for the rest of her life. ‘So I know exactly how you feel.’

‘I feel so sick all the time and my mind plays tricks on me. I don’t know which way up I am these days and I can hardly keep awake yet I never sleep at night. I’m not even three months gone so heaven knows what I’ll be like at the end.’ She let out another stream of sobs. ‘If I even get to the end.’

‘You’re a beautiful pregnant woman and you’re going to have a happy, healthy baby,’ I told her. ‘Every baby brings its own love into the world with it. These feelings won’t last long.’ I looked at her partner. The shop assistant had left us alone. ‘You’ll feel so much better soon, probably by this time next week. Probably by tonight, even,’ I said with a small smile. I had to give her hope.

‘I’m booked in for a termination,’ she whispered to me. I saw the shame in her eyes but didn’t want her to know how I felt. I willed myself to hang on, to keep control of my feelings. It wasn’t her fault I’d had such rotten luck.

‘That’s a big decision,’ I said.

She immediately nodded. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘No one can tell you that,’ I said. ‘But you have another human growing inside you. You must cherish that life as you would your own.’ I saw the flash of light zip between her teary eyes as if a particularly painful realisation had just woken her up.

The young couple held each other in a vice-like grip. The woman snuffled helplessly, and he rocked her gently as if she were a baby herself. I thought about taking their names, about passing on their details to their Social Services department, to at least let them know of the woman’s emotional state, but I realised that it would most likely be my department, if they were local as their accents suggested, and that I would end up dealing with it. In the end, I decided to let it drop.

‘I feel better now, thank you,’ the woman said, standing up. She steadied herself on me, the nearest thing to her, as she wobbled to her feet.

‘Will you be OK?’ I asked.

‘We’ll be fine,’ the man said, rather too gruffly, I thought, seeing as I’d given up my shopping time to help them.

I felt my eyes prickle with tears as the woman made to leave. It felt wrong. ‘Take care then,’ I said, reaching out for her hand. We exchanged a brief squeeze of fingers. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be OK?’ I repeated in what I suppose was desperation. I didn’t want her to leave. I was worried that she’d change her mind and go ahead with the termination. But really, what business was it of mine?

She nodded. ‘Thanks for your help,’ she said with a smile, and then they were gone.

I left the back room of the store and wandered about the nursery department in a daze. If I couldn’t have a baby of my own, then I couldn’t see a life ahead for myself. The tears came. Then I thought of James and the boys and things didn’t seem quite so hopeless. I was being self-indulgent and selfish.

I left the shop without a dress and headed for the car park. It was only as I slumped in the driver’s seat that I realised I’d left my shopping bags containing the boys’ clothes in the store room. I didn’t care. I just wanted to go home.