If You Only Knew Page 17

  “I’ll buy whatever she’s using on her,” I tell one of the sales assistants.

  “Your daughter is going to be so happy,” the girl says.

  My heart feels like it’s being squeezed, but I still manage to utter: “No, she’s not my daughter. She’s my neighbour.”

  The girl is astonished. “You look so alike,” she exclaims.

  She’s right. I see it too. Even Mum saw the family resemblance. But I try hard not to think about it, never dwell on how the shape of her face has the same roundness. How her nose is slightly upturned just like mine. How her earlobes attach to the side of her neck in the same way mine do. “It’s the red hair,” I tell the woman now, wanting to get her off my back.

  Maya joins us as I’m paying. “I thought she was your mum,” the sales assistant tells her, motioning towards me.

  The smile fades from Maya’s face and her eyes cloud over, the change in demeanour so obvious that even the sales assistant looks at me questioningly. But then Maya smiles and her whole face lights up. “She’s more like an older sister,” she tells her.

  *

  My heart is beating fast as I pull into the McBrides’ driveway. We’ve made good time getting back from the city and I hope that the party preparations are finalised. I’d managed to sneakily send a text to Ellen, letting her know we were on our way.

  The McBrides’ house doesn’t look like a party is in full swing inside. It’s mostly dark, except for the kitchen. Ellen must be beside herself with excitement and anticipation for her daughter to walk in the house and find a party in her honour. This should have been me.

  Parking in front of the house, I start getting out of the car. Maya looks at me inquisitively. “I’m not going to miss seeing your mum’s face when she sees the new look,” I say. It’s not a complete lie.

  Maya puts her key in the lock but Ellen pre-empts her and cracks the door open. She proceeds to open it slightly wider, enough for her head to fit through, and she looks at her daughter. I can see Ellen examine every inch of Maya’s face and then she smiles. I realise at that point that I’d been holding my breath, hoping that Ellen would approve of Maya’s new hairstyle and that she doesn’t think I’ve allowed her daughter to go too far, or crossed the boundary between them and me.

  “I love it,” she says, opening the door wide.

  We’re greeted by a deafening sound that startles even me, despite expecting a warm welcome. “Surprise,” shout some thirty people in unison, all crowded in the entryway of the McBrides’ house. My eyes scan the crowd until I find Miles and the children. Leah looks adorable in the tartan dress I picked for her, even though the bow in her hair looks a little lopsided. Julian looks older in his new jacket. My heart hurts a little as I remember that I gave up spending the day with my two children to be with Maya.

  “You were in on this?” Maya’s voice jolts me back to the here and now. When I nod, she continues: “Darn, you’re good. I didn’t suspect a thing.”

  And then she reaches out and hugs me, her arms tight around my neck, her head nestled against mine. For long seconds she doesn’t let go and I put my arms around her, not wanting the moment to end, smelling the sweet scent in her hair. Tears sting my eyes and I blink away furiously. “Thank you Mrs P,” she says when she finally lets go. “This was a great day.”

  Chapter 21

  “It looks pretty,” Leah exclaims. She’s standing with her small legs wide apart, her hands on her hips, looking at the Christmas tree.

  “You did a great job,” I say, patting my little girl’s head. “You all did.”

  Turning around, I look at Maya. “Thank you,” I mouth.

  She smiles, bending to pick up boxes that are strewn all over the floor. Her hair sweeps across her face, covering it from view and I have to fight the urge to tuck it behind her ears, stroke the glossy strands. Instead I clench my hands together, glad the mess is making her stay for a while longer.

  As I help her pick up bubble wrap, I accidentally touch her hand. Squeezing it tightly, I smile at her. Maya smiles back and for a moment I’m lost in her beautiful eyes.

  “Miles can put these back in the attic.” I motion towards the boxes piled haphazardly in one corner of the living room. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Do you still have any of that homemade lemonade? That was pretty good.”

  “No, but I have the store-bought stuff.”

  She follows me into the kitchen and I pour us both a glass of lemonade. “Had it not been for you the tree would never have been decorated,” I say.

  The Christmas when Maya was born seems so far away. I’d told my parents that I wouldn’t make it home for the holidays, but at the last minute I decided to make my flight and surprise them. Only when I got there, there was no sign of Christmas, none of my mother’s over-the-top decorations, no smell of food being prepared in readiness for the big day. Years later, when the movie Christmas With The Kranks was released, I remembered how my parents hadn’t bothered to do anything as their only daughter wasn’t coming home.

  “It was fun. The kids loved it,” Maya says, sipping her lemonade. “Well, I definitely had a good time.”

  We gaze at the bright lights, lost for a moment in the promise of Christmas. “My friends are so jealous of my new hair,” she says at last.

  “I bet they are. It really suits you.”

  “I had a lot of fun last Saturday. Thank you for taking me.”

  “It was my pleasure.” I’m so close to asking her to go out somewhere with me again, but worry it would sound too eager. Instead I savour the moment, racking my brain to start a conversation that will make her stay longer.

  Maya shifts on her feet. She picks up her glass, but puts it down again. She looks at me, then away. I remain mum, fearful of scaring her off. Finally she opens her mouth and I find myself holding my breath, eager to know what’s on her mind.

  “Mummy, mummy, can we make the lights twinkle?” Leah asks, running into the kitchen.

  “Uhm, yes, I think so,” I respond. “We can ask Dad later.”

  Maya finishes her lemonade. “Gotta go.”

  “Why don’t you stay a little longer?” I ask. “I’ll make hot chocolate.”

  But Maya shakes her head and makes a face. “I have homework.” The moment is gone and I might never find out what she was about to say. I want to cry in frustration and run after her but instead fix a smile on my face and follow Leah into the living room.

  The following day marks the start of my annual hiatus from the office. Luigi had insisted when we first started out that we should close our office over the Christmas period. “Give the staff time to celebrate,” he said back then, even though the staff consisted of the two of us and an elderly secretary. Over the years, as the company grew, we became more flexible and although it's still more than a week to Christmas, I decide to stay home.

  That doesn’t mean that I don’t have any work to do. After dropping the kids off at school, I boot up my laptop and start going through my emails. Most are holiday greetings or other companies sending notices of their office closures. Scrolling down I come across an email from Luke Ross, the private investigator, sent in the early hours.

  I think I’ve found something. Call me.

  Picking up my phone, I quickly dial Luke’s number. We had worked together on a number of cases and his thoroughness has often helped the firm win a case. The drumming sound of my fingers tapping the dining room table makes me even more anxious as I wait for him to pick up.

  “Hello,” he mumbles.

  “Luke, it’s Elizabeth Perkins. Did I wake you up?”

  “No…. yes…. give me a second.” The creaking sound must be his bed.

  There’s a clanking noise coming from the other end of the line, and the swish of a tap being turned on.

  “Ok, so your Chloe Wilson case,” he finally says.

  “You said you found something. What is it?”

  “One second, I’m looking for my notebook.” />
  There’s a sound of papers being flipped and I chew on the end of my pen. “Yes, here it is,” he finally says.

  There’s a pause. “What is it?”

  “Hold on, my kettle’s boiling.” There’s more clattering, the sound of a cupboard being opened and slammed shut, the bang of a mug being placed on the counter, and the swish of water being poured, followed by the clinking of a teaspoon.

  “Ok, here we go,” he says, when I’m about to burst with frustration. “I’ve been looking into Ben Grant. Quite a ladies’ man, not sure what they see in him. Anyway, there’s one girl from his acting class who wasn’t too keen about his amorous approaches. She filed a written complaint with the coach.”

  “Do you have a copy?”

  “Elizabeth, how long have we worked together? Of course I have a copy. I will scan it and email it to you.”

  “How long ago was this? Can you find the girl?”

  “I’m working on tracking her down but this was three years ago. Don’t get your hopes up; I only have her name and not much more to go on.”

  “Luke, I need this,” I stress.

  “Just be realistic, ok?”

  Putting down the phone, I stare at my computer screen, unable to focus on the words. “Don’t get too excited,” I say loudly to myself.

  With tremendous effort, I force myself to concentrate on work, preparing questions for Ben’s interrogation during the upcoming trial, trying to think of how he would answer and coming up with additional questions.

  The alarm startles me and for a moment I’m disoriented. Then I remember. School will be out shortly and I need to shift my attention to the children. Putting on my coat, I head outside, looking towards the McBrides’ house as I walk to the top of the driveway. The front door is no longer red, as it was when I first drove through the street. They changed it the year after we bought the house, sometime in August. Ellen had pansies planted to match the dark blue door.

  A battered black Ford comes chugging along, starkly out of place. The windows are tinted and I cannot see the driver. It goes round to the end of the street and turns. It slows down as it drives past me again and even though I cannot see the driver, I feel his or her eyes on me. I cower under the scrutiny, my heart beating fast.

  Forcing the thoughts out of my head, I walk to the school, enjoying the crisp air, the sun shining weakly from among the clouds. Outside the school I make small talk with a few other parents. The kids’ faces light up when they see me waiting for them and I feel guilty that my stress messes with my enthusiasm for what they want to do. We take the long way home, meandering through the streets, as the children excitedly tell me about their day, what they’ve learned and what they’ve done. Normally it would be Maya picking them up, or our other sitter. I was lucky if I got home early enough to spend time with them, and even then, they’re already tired.

  Back home I put the stereo on and blast Christmas music around the house, while the kids make Christmas cards, covering the white countertop in stubborn crayon marks. Leah sways with the beat as she glues paper flowers to her card, her light brown brows twisted in concentration. Her tiny fingers are covered in glitter. Julian cuts his card into an oval shape and it amazes me how steady he is with the scissors.

  They are reluctant to go to bed; the dramatic change in the weather making them both scared of the thunder roaring outside and the rain making a heavy drum on the windows. It took some coaxing but finally they’re asleep, Julian holding on tight to his dinosaur book. It’s his latest obsession, started by a school trip to the Natural History Museum, and he wants to know everything about the extinct creatures.

  Back downstairs I plan to do some more work on Chloe’s case before Miles gets home from a late shift and accuses me of obsessing about her. Making myself a cup of herbal tea, I get comfortable on the sofa. I’m not hungry, having nibbled from the children’s plates, and will eat with Miles later.

  I’m focused on work when I hear the frantic knocks on the door. Looking up from my paperwork, I hear it again. Putting the file down I walk through the dimly lit hallway. Maybe Miles forgot his keys. A gust of wind blows in when I open the door. But it’s not my husband standing in the puddles of rain. It’s Ellen and she’s crying hysterically.

  “What happened?” Opening the door wide, I reach out for her arm and pull her in. Her light t-shirt is soaked through and she’s shivering in the cold December weather. She walks in, still shaking uncontrollably. I’m not sure whether it’s from the crying or the cold. A puddle starts forming in the hallway.

  “It’s Maya.” Her voice breaks as she speaks.

  My heart stops. “Is she hurt?”

  She shakes her head. “No, no, not that.”

  Heaving a sigh of relief, I put my arms around her shoulders and walk her to the living room. “Here, come in.” She sits hunched over on the sofa and continues to cry. Standing in front of her, I’m at a loss. Should I sit next to her or give her some space? Put pressure on her to tell me what happened or allow her to take her time? “Shall I make you some tea?” I ask. Ellen nods without looking up and I hurry into the adjoining kitchen and put the kettle on before rushing into the bathroom to get a towel. “Here, dry yourself up.”

  Putting a steaming mug of tea on the side table next to her, I run upstairs to get a blanket, draping it over her legs. Her head is bowed. She’s still trembling. Fat tears are rolling down her cheeks.

  I’ve never seen her as distraught as this. The thought that Maya might be sick or in trouble scares me and I rack my brain to think whether there was anything different about the teenager these past few days.

  “Ellen, what happened? Please talk to me,” I implore, sitting down next to her.

  She turns towards me. Her eyes are red and puffy, wrinkles that I’d never noticed before spreading across her face like dark cobwebs. Her lower lip quivers when she opens her mouth to speak. “Can I trust you?” she asks.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” I say hastily.

  Ellen’s sniffles cut through the silence. She dabs at her eyes with a soaked tissue. Finally she speaks. She looks at me through swollen eyes that are shining with tears. There is a hurt so deep and a fear so big that it scares me. This is the look of a woman who’s terrified by what has just happened and has no idea what’s next.

  “Maya’s out with her dad, visiting his parents,” she starts. “They left early this morning and I’m not expecting them until later tonight. I think they set off an hour or so ago, so with the traffic…” Her voice trails off. “I was just watching TV, had just poured myself a glass of wine, when there was a knock on the door.” The hairs on the back of my neck stand up in fear.

  A roll of thunder reverberates through the house. Ellen snaps her head up. “It’s ok, just the weather,” I say in the same calm voice I would speak to Julian or Leah.

  “There were two people outside, a man and a woman,” she continues. “At first I thought they were collecting money for some charity or were looking for a different house, for a holiday party or something. But then they said they’re detectives and needed to speak to me.” She takes a sip of tea.

  Come on, come on, I mentally urge her as horrible scenarios rush through my mind. Ellen looks at me with haunted eyes. “I thought they were at the wrong house. When they said they needed to speak to Ellen and Tom McBride, I just got scared that they were impostors and would rob me. But they showed me their badges and they looked genuine. So, I let them in.” She starts crying again, her willowy frame shaking with the intensity of her sobs, pausing for what seems like forever.

  “Maya is trying to track down her biological mother,” she finally says, her voice breaking down as soon as the words are out of her mouth.

  A wave of heat rises through my body, starting at my toes and making its way to my head. I try to sort one problem from another. Why would the police be involved in a paternity issue?

  “She sent a DNA sample to a testing company in the US. They found a strong familial match in th
eir database.”

  My heart speeds up, each beat merging into the next. My temples feel like they’re about to explode. How did she even know to do this? Where did she find the money?

  Am I the one to blame? After all I was the one who told her about the use of DNA in reuniting families. But I never thought it would come to this.

  And then my fear intensifies as Ellen’s words boom in my ears. The familial match had to be to me. But who could have got their hands on my DNA? Still, fear overtakes rationale. The police must have told Ellen that I’m Maya’s birth mother. She’s going to take Maya away forever so that I never see her again. She must be here to tell me that she’s going to take me to court and accuse me of stalking her family. That she’s going to tell everyone what an impostor I am. That I’ve spent years acting like a friend when I was really this awful person who didn’t think twice about abandoning her baby in another country only to come and live next door. I wait for Ellen to start hurling accusations at me, about my lies and my false pretences. She’ll tell me she never wants to see me again. That I’m never to get close to Maya. That she’s already requested a restraining order and that the police are outside ready to question me.

  Staring at my hands, I try to think hard. How am I going to explain this? How can I spin this story? Help Ellen understand that I gave up the baby because I wanted her to have a better life. I need to find the right words to make her believe that I’m not here to take away her daughter. That I moved next door only because I wanted to see Maya grow up. Asking her to babysit my children was meant for her own good, to help her out. That I have not intentionally tried to keep her here longer each night and don’t mean any harm.

  When I look up, Ellen is shaking her head. “It gets worse,” she says.

  Warmth creeps up my body. My head spins and I feel faint. Here it comes. I’m scared. Terrified really of what’s going to happen next. Of what Ellen’s going to say or do.