If You Only Knew Read online

  “I wasn’t stalking them,” I defend myself. “I just wanted to make sure she was ok. That she had a good life. Was well cared for.”

  “You could have done that from a distance. We didn’t need to move to the same street.”

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I look up at my husband. And the desire to tell him the truth, to explain my feelings for Maya becomes so important after my years long need to keep any connection to this hidden. “I wanted to be in her life. I wanted to get to know her, find out who she is. I wanted to make sure I did the right thing by giving her away. I couldn’t help myself.”

  Miles purses his lips as he continues to stare at me, seeming to judge me for how bad a person I really am. “Does she know?” he finally asks.

  I shake my head. “No, she has no idea. I never wanted her to know. I only wanted to make sure she was ok. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I tried. But I couldn’t.”

  Miles exhales loudly and rubs his forehead. He pulls a stool and sits down, resting his elbows on the island. He looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time. I cannot read the emotions on his face. Is he angry? Surprised? Scared?

  Then, when I think I cannot stand his silence any longer, he says: “What were you thinking? You have two other children. We have two other children. Have you forgotten about them? Don’t you realise that you’ve put them in danger too?”

  The words escape me. It almost feels like part of my brain has been paralysed and no longer able to form coherent thoughts. Instead there’s a jumble of emotions. Among them is regret at the series of actions that have led me to today. I had been so adamant after the incident to get as far away as possible from where it all took place. I wanted to make sure that the past never caught up with me. I packed everything related to that night and its aftermath and tried to push it out of my mind.

  But every night, when I went to bed, I dreamed about the little girl that I had given up. I could not get her out of my mind. Her face shone just behind my eyes and I longed to hold her. Sometimes I’d rummage in the back of my closet until I found the hospital bracelet, its clean cut edges a stark reminder of our severed relationship. I wondered how she’d grown, what she was doing, who she had become. And I felt a need to be in her life, making the move to this street essential to my happiness. I needed to be near Maya, to see her grow up. It was a force bigger than me, one that I couldn’t resist.

  A buzzing sound forces me back to the here and now. Miles looks at his phone and stands up. “It’s the hospital.”

  The slam of the front door sounds final. It feels like the door closing on the life I’ve built, the life I love so much. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, what Miles is going to do. Will he help me continue to cover up my past or is he going to turn me in? Does he hate me for what I did, and for lying so much? What I’m sure of is that things will never be the same again.

  Chapter 29

  For long minutes I sit at the kitchen island, staring into the dim room, trying to wrap my head around what happened. But it’s too much for me. My brain doesn’t want to process the events of tonight. It keeps whirring and whirring without focusing on anything in particular.

  When the door goes, I know it must be Ellen. With effort I force myself to get up from the stool. Bracing myself, I open the door. “I saw Miles drive off. Figured I’d pop by, see if you felt like a chat.”

  Ellen’s holding a bottle of wine, looking far less breezy than she sounds, and her company is the last thing I need. But I can’t find the courage to send her away, tell her I need some time to myself. Instead I swing the door back automatically. “Yes, of course.”

  She starts following me into the kitchen. Then, two steps away, I stop in my tracks. The box is still open on the island, its implicating contents spread over the white marble. Ellen will take one look at her driver’s licence, my hospital band with Maya’s birth date written on it, the newspaper cuttings, and she’ll know what I did. That it was me all along.

  “Is everything ok?” She’s right behind me. I can smell her expensive geranium face cream, the minty breath, the laundered clothes. She’s going to find out. She’s going to hate me. Probably go to the police. She’ll never agree to keep my secret. Not when it involves Maya.

  I need to send her away, come up with an excuse, tell her I have work to do. She’ll understand. But my brain is frozen and I cannot think of anything. Of a way out of this.

  Think, think, I urge myself. Quick. There are no seconds to spare. I need a solution right now. Squaring my shoulders, I almost collide into her and we both step back. “I’m sorry Ellen, I just remembered some paperwork that I need to finish tonight. Can we take a rain check?”

  Her face crumples, her shoulders stoop. “Yes, of course,” she says. “I should have called.” She’s already turning around, then she shifts the bottle to her elbow as she digs into her oversized bag and takes out a large brown envelope. “I wanted to bring Maya’s adoption paperwork. They’re copies – the originals are in the safe.”

  “Thank you. I’ll look at them later. Is there anything that was said or done that’s not documented?”

  Still standing awkwardly in the entryway Ellen looks down at her hands, pursing her lips into a straight line. Her face is ashen, her eyes wide open, fear etched into every pore. She takes another deep breath before continuing. “We paid the lawyer a lot to keep us top of mind with any clients.”

  *

  One after the other, I look through the documents that Ellen brought. Opening the file is like stepping into the past, back to the last time I visited Steven in his grey office. On the bus I’d thought about the extent of what I was going to do, the fact that this was the absolute last chance for me to change my mind. For a fleeting second I had considered the possibility of taking her back, of flying back to England, going to my parents and telling them the whole story, of asking for their help to bring up my child.

  But I quickly shook off the thought and signed the documents without hesitation, knowing that I was doing the right thing both for myself and the baby. And for the couple who had adopted her.

  I’m startled by the sound of the garage door opening. My heart lifts at the thought that my husband is back. That he hasn’t abandoned me. At least not yet.

  Miles looks haggard. It’s like he’s aged years in the space of a few hours. His face is drawn, his lips pale and there seem to be new wrinkles around his eyes. He stands next to the sofa, staring down at me, the silence between us becoming more uncomfortable by the second.

  Closing the file, I put it on the sofa beside me. “What is that?” Miles asks, motioning to the folder.

  “Maya’s adoption papers. Ellen brought them over.”

  He reaches out and picks it up. He fiddles with the cardboard corners. He’s never touched any of my work documents, knowing the importance of confidentiality. He looks as if he’s going to open the folder, but at the last second puts it back down.

  “Do you know who has been sending you the letters?”

  I shake my head. “No,” I say in a small voice. “But he called someone that night, told them my name. That must be how they found me.”

  “Are you being followed?”

  Part of me wants to tell him that I’ve seen the same car on my way to work, pulling in behind me. That sometimes I see the same man on the bench right across from my office, just sitting there, staring right ahead. That sometimes I feel I can’t tell the truth from its opposite any more. But I cannot bring myself to share the depth of my paranoia. “I don’t know,” I say instead.

  Miles pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing the area slowly. “Has there been any other contact?” he asks.

  Shaking my head, I’m grateful that for once I’m able to tell him a fact I’m certain of. “What if they tell the police about you?”

  Blood rushes to my head and I feel faint with fear. It’s a scenario that I’ve considered many times, always shoving it to the back of my min
d, too terrifying to conceive. When I don’t answer he continues. “And what if they try to harm you? Or try to harm our children? Have you thought about that?”

  “Yes, of course, I think about it every day,” I say, my voice trembling. The fear of this anonymous person has stayed with me since the first time I received a letter. Especially when we moved and the letter arrived at the new address. But I still lacked the courage to talk to the police.

  He sits down next to me, putting the file on his lap. “Tell me everything. What do the police know? How much trouble are you in?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been so long, almost seventeen years. The case was closed and I thought it was over. That it was only there in my nightmares, in my phobias. I knew what I did would always haunt me. That would be my everlasting punishment.”

  “And what about the letters? Surely you couldn’t have thought you were fine with someone else out there knowing what you did?”

  “Of course I’m worried. But I thought since they hadn’t said anything yet, maybe they wouldn’t.”

  “That’s a big ‘maybe’,” he says, his lips curled into a snarl.

  “And I thought maybe whoever was threatening was also afraid their wrongs would catch up on them too, if they were some sort of accomplice.”

  “And what about the evidence on the scene?”

  “I don’t think I left anything that would link me to him. I cleaned the place well. At least I think I did. I was in shock and acted on my instincts.”

  Miles’ face bears an expression I cannot read. He shakes his head, small jerking movements from one side to the other. “How did you even manage to do that? Know what to do? Have the concentration needed to cover everything up?”

  Shrugging, I look down. It’s a question I’ve asked myself many times, wondering why I had not panicked and been unable to do what needed to be done, and how on the thin line I’ve been treading, I haven’t slipped before now. “I don’t know. My defences took over. I wanted to erase what happened, and make sure I was never caught.”

  Miles nods slowly and I hope that he can sympathise. But then he asks: “Have you ever thought about turning yourself in? Coming clean?”

  This is the reaction I’d been dreading. It’s the main reason I never told my secret to anyone. I never wanted to be forced to do something I wasn’t ready for. “Do you think I should?” I ask, wanting to know what’s going on in his mind.

  “I don’t know what to think. How could we have been together for all these years and you never told me? Not about the rape, not about Maya. Who are you?” He looks confused for a moment, and my heart bleeds for him and for us. “I’m not even sure I want you around my children.”

  The last words cut through me, a veiled threat that he’ll take away the kids.

  “I’m their mother,” I try, my jaw set.

  “Then start acting like it!”

  *

  For hours I toss and turn, my head bursting with thoughts and fears. Miles’ reaction was worse than I expected. And with the investigation underway, who knows whether I’m going to be found out. Every time I close my eyes I see Maya’s face. It pains me to think how lonely she must be feeling, unable to speak to her parents about her desire to track down her biological mother. I wonder whether we’d have had a closer relationship had I kept her.

  Julian and Leah’s sweet faces flash in front of my eyes as Miles’ words reverberate in my ears. How is this going to affect them? What will their lives be like if I’m caught? The risk of losing them, just like I’d lost Maya, sends shivers down my spine and I shiver despite the warm blanket.

  The house is empty when I go downstairs the following morning. The kitchen is devoid of the clutter Miles always leaves behind him. Silence surrounds me. There are none of the sounds of our usual morning routine. The children eating their breakfast noisily. The swish of the newspaper as Miles turns the pages. The smell of coffee.

  My heart starts beating faster, my breath coming in short gasps. Kicking off my heels, I run upstairs, taking two steps at a time. The children’s rooms are empty. Their pyjamas are on the floor of the Jack and Jill bathroom.

  “No!” The word comes out in a strangled squeak as I run back downstairs, almost slipping on the top step. But I don’t slow down. I need to get out of here, find them. He can’t take away my children. I lost a child once and I won’t let it happen again.

  Rushing into the kitchen, I pick up my phone from the island and dial Miles’ number. It rings once. Twice. A third time. My pulse quickens. Finally he answers. “Hello.”

  “Where are you?” I struggle to keep my voice even.

  “Uhm, I took the kids to breakfast before school. I left you a sticky note on your phone.”

  “I didn’t see it… You should have woken me up. I woke up and there was nobody in the house. I thought…”

  “What did you think? That I went behind your back? I’m not you Liz. I don’t keep secrets.”

  His words cut. I don’t know how to respond. “Gotta go. I have to drive them to school,” Miles says instead.

  The line goes dead and I’m left in the empty kitchen, all alone. The few minutes I spend with the children in the morning are precious. I want to cry. But I don’t have time. I’m already late. With shaking hands I pick up my bag and briefcase and head to the garage.

  Hours later I’m still shaken, the panic from this morning’s episode mingling with worry about meeting the detectives searching for Maya’s birth mother. “Nothing’s going to happen. This isn’t about you.” I repeat the mantra in my head as I walk out of the office and flag down a taxi.

  Tom and Ellen are already waiting outside. Their nerves are plain to see even from my cab window. Tom is pacing in a circle and Ellen is standing upright, twisting her hands. We discussed the case a few nights ago and they are not seeing eye-to-eye. Tom wants to tell Maya about the developments. Ellen is adamant that she doesn't want her to know.

  The hairs at the back of my neck prickle as we leave the bustling Westminster street and set foot in the police headquarters. Sweat begins to creep from my pores. The click of my heels on the white tiles sounds like the ticks of a clock, each second bringing me closer and closer to being discovered for who I am.

  “That’s them,” Ellen says, indicating a large man with a bushy moustache and a petite blonde woman. They walk towards us and introduce themselves as Detective Brown, the lead investigator, and Detective James.

  “You didn’t need to bring a lawyer,” Detective Brown tells Tom and Ellen when I introduce myself. We've been shown into a cramped office, the large desk covered with files, and invited to sit on mismatched chairs.

  Tom opens his mouth to respond, but I quickly jump in. “I’m here to help them make the best decision for the wellbeing of their daughter. As you can imagine your visit last month was a complete surprise to Mrs McBride. Mr McBride and myself would like to hear the whole story straight from you.”

  Detective Brown rolls his eyes and for a second I think he’s about to dismiss my request. Tell me that he doesn’t have time to waste. But instead he motions to his colleague.

  Detective James sits straight in her chair and takes a deep breath. “The DNA company alerted us about the match…”

  My concentration wavers despite the importance of knowing exactly what the police are saying. Detective James drones on in the background as my mind swims. Being here, in the police station, discussing John Larkin’s death feels surreal. This should have happened sixteen years ago. We shouldn’t be here right now. I shouldn’t be going behind Maya’s back.

  “We want to find Maya’s birth mother so we can question her, determine whether she knows anything about the murder,” Detective James continues.

  “Do you think she’s involved?” I ask before I can stop myself.

  The detectives look at each other before Detective Brown replies. “We don’t know. It’s a working theory and we want to find her to answer some questions.”

  “Do you think s
he’s still in England?” The question escapes before I can stop myself. “Maya wasn’t born here.”

  The two detectives look at each other, a confounded expression on their faces. “We don’t know yet,” Detective Brown says. I need to be more careful, appear less eager to find out more, make sure nobody suspects I have any other agenda other than supporting the McBrides through this.

  “What do you need from us?” Tom interjects.

  “We need your permission to unseal Maya’s birth certificate so that we can track down her birth mother.” Detective Brown looks straight at Tom and Ellen. “That’s the only involvement you have in this case.”

  “Will you keep us… uhm… Mr and Mrs McBride informed about the progress? Whether you’re close to finding Maya’s mother?”

  “It depends. This is a police investigation after all, spanning across two countries,” he says gruffly.

  “Of course,” I respond. “But detective, as you can imagine, Mr and Mrs McBride’s main concern is their daughter’s wellbeing. Maya is still young and we fear the impact of finding out that both her biological parents are suspected of murder might have long-lasting negative effects on her. That’s why it’s important for them to know how the investigation is going. So they can prepare Maya. Otherwise they will be reluctant to allow any action that can impact on their daughter.”

  “She’s the one who tried to track down her birth parents,” Detective Brown replies. “Anyway, this is a murder investigation and we will leave no stone unturned that might lead us to what happened. If need be, we’ll petition the court to overturn their decision.” He motions towards Tom and Ellen.

  “So, your request was a courtesy. Mr and Mrs McBride have no choice in the matter?” This conversation needs to get back on course. I need to find out what information they have.

  Detective James interjects. “We want to get their permission. But we don’t think we can wait another two years for Maya to turn eighteen to continue with our investigation. That’s why we want access to her birth records immediately.”