Claiming Noah (26 page)

‘I didn't expect you to be out so soon.' He indicated the cigarette. ‘I didn't know you smoked.'

‘I don't. I haven't smoked since high school. I just bought a packet last week; I thought it might be a good distraction.' She took a last drag of the cigarette and then dropped it to the ground and crunched it into the asphalt with the heel of her boot. ‘Come on, let's go, I can't stand being here any more.'

Spencer opened the car door so Catriona could climb into the passenger seat. He took one last look at the prison before getting into the car and driving out of the car park and back on to the main road.

Catriona studied Spencer's profile as he drove. She thought he seemed remarkably calm considering he had just visited his friend in prison.

‘Is it hard for you to go back in there?' she asked. ‘It must bring back a lot of memories.'

‘It does. But that's good in a way. It makes me appreciative of what I have now. There's no better deterrent from breaking the law again than reminding yourself just how horrible it is to be locked up inside.'

‘I'm sure.'

‘So, how are you feeling?' Spencer asked. ‘That must have been hard for you, seeing James in prison.'

‘It just makes it all very real. It's easier to pretend he didn't do all of that if I don't have to speak to him.' She paused for a few seconds as she contemplated whether to ask Spencer the question that was weighing on her mind. She wasn't sure how he would react, but she had to ask someone. She couldn't ask her mother or her friends because they all had children and wouldn't be able to give her an impartial answer.

‘Spencer,' she said. ‘What does it say about me as a mother that I didn't even realise that James had switched our baby? They weren't even the same age, for God's sake, they were a month apart. How could I not have realised?'

When Spencer took a few seconds to respond, Catriona guessed that he had wondered the same thing. She turned away from him and stared out the window, wishing she hadn't said anything.

‘They were only babies,' Spencer eventually answered. ‘And they were brothers. They would have looked incredibly similar. There probably wasn't any way you could have realised.'

‘You know that's not true. Most mothers notice if their baby grows a new hair on their head. They can't have been so similar that there weren't any clues I should have picked up on.'

Spencer shrugged. ‘Maybe. But does it even matter now? You're a great mother. I can see how much Sebastian loves you . . .'

Appalled at the words that had just left his mouth, Spencer shot her a quick look of apology. ‘I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean to mention Sebastian's name. I'm sure I'm just making things worse.'

Now it was Catriona's turn to shrug. ‘Don't worry, I don't know what to call him either. I can't bring myself to call him Noah. It just doesn't feel right.'

She was silent for a few minutes before changing the topic. ‘So, how's Jess? How's it going for you two?'

Spencer briefly took his eyes from the road to glance over at Catriona with a wry smile on his face. ‘Do you really care? I know you're not a fan of hers.'

‘I never said that,' she said, affronted. ‘Did she say something to you? I've been nothing but nice to her.'

Spencer pulled up to a set of lights. He leaned back against the seat and smiled at Catriona, who was trying her best to maintain a look of shock on her face. ‘Relax, she didn't say anything. She thinks you're great. But I know you well enough now to know that the way you act around her isn't the way you feel. You're never that nice.'

‘Gee, thanks for that. Tell me what you really think, why don't you?'

Spencer laughed before a more serious look came over his face. ‘Look, she's fine. She's nice, she's fun, she doesn't ask much of me. She's not waiting for me to propose to her and she doesn't care if I never do. It's easy and that's what I need right now.'

‘Yeah, I guess that makes sense,' Catriona said. Then after a few seconds she added, ‘But why don't you want more than that?'

They had reached Catriona's house. Spencer pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine before he answered her question. ‘Well, maybe I do want more. But who'd want me? I've made a mess of my life, and no woman is going to want to take that on. I could never expect them to.'

Catriona felt a rush of affection for Spencer: for the man he was and for the man he could have been. Without realising what she was doing she leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. His stubble grazed her chin and the masculine smell of him made her head swim. It felt exhilarating and exciting.

Spencer didn't pull away from her, but once the kiss had finished and Catriona sat back in her own seat, surprised by what she had done, he sighed and shook his head. ‘Cat, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let that happen. You're not thinking straight, you're going through a lot at the moment.'

‘I'm well aware of what I'm going through,' she said. ‘I don't need you to tell me that.'

‘Please don't be mad,' he said, taking her hand. Catriona let him hold it, but she didn't look at him. ‘I'm incredibly attracted to you, I'm sure you know that, but you're my best friend's wife. He's done so much for me; I can't betray him like that.'

‘And what about what I want?' Catriona asked, hearing the bitterness in her voice but not caring. ‘Doesn't that matter? Don't I deserve to be happy? I have nobody who cares about me. My son is being raised by another woman and my husband is in prison. Don't I deserve to have someone in my life?'

Without waiting for Spencer to answer Catriona got out of the car, marched towards the front door, opened it and then slammed it behind her.

Friday, 7 March 2014

D
iana now knew why they called it a ‘media circus'. For the past three days and nights, ever since James Sinclair's committal hearing, there had been a congregation of news reporters camped out in her street, desperate for photos or interviews with her and her family. Even with the windows closed Diana could hear the drone of their conversations, the vehicles coming and going. The phone rang so frequently that Liam took it off the hook in a moment of frustration. There had been media attention when Noah first arrived home, but hearing James Sinclair's statement and the fact that he had entered a not-guilty plea had reignited the media's interest. Now they wanted to hear Diana and Liam's side of the story.

Eleanor had moved into Diana and Liam's study soon after Noah arrived home, to help him adjust and to provide support to Diana. Liam didn't appreciate what he considered her intrusion, and with Noah back in his nursery, and Eleanor in the study, there was no spare room in which he could sleep. The only option was the couch, or with his wife. They hadn't slept in the same bed since Noah went missing two years earlier. At first, Diana thought it would be good for their relationship if they were to share a bed again; she thought the proximity might remind them of how it had been between them before Noah was kidnapped. Many nights Diana lay on her side facing Liam, watching his chest rise and fall in his sleep, reaching her fingers across the space between their bodies, which felt as wide as a chasm. But she always stopped short of touching him, not able to penetrate the insurmountable barrier of anger and remorse between them. When she woke in the mornings Liam was already up and had made his side of the bed, the sheet tucked tightly under the mattress as if no-one had slept there.

Not only was there no affection between Diana and Liam, they could barely converse any more. When they did speak their conversations were stilted and formal, and only when necessary. For now that mainly meant conversations about Noah and how to handle the media throng outside. Liam told Diana that if they gave one interview to a journalist, then the novelty of the news story would wear off and the rest of the crowd would disappear.

‘It's just an hour of our time,' he said. ‘A quick interview, a few photos of us playing happy families and that's it. In a few days we'll be old news and they'll have moved on to something else.'

But Diana wasn't convinced. The thought of letting strangers into her life at a time when she already felt so exposed was unappealing.

‘What about Noah?' she said, looking over at him. He was sitting on the living-room floor, putting a puzzle together. ‘How do you think he'll feel about having cameras shoved in his face? He's having a hard enough time adjusting to us, let alone having to deal with that. He'll be so scared.'

‘It's one camera, don't exaggerate. And it will be over with quickly.' Liam walked over to the window and pulled back one of the curtains to reveal the reporters waiting outside. The crowd hadn't dissipated at all from the previous day – if anything, it seemed to have grown larger. ‘Do you have any other ideas of how to get rid of them?'

‘Can't we call the police?' Diana asked. ‘Surely this is an invasion of privacy.'

‘They're not on our property. They're not doing anything illegal.'

Diana watched Noah pick up a puzzle piece and place it on the board. She remembered how tiny his hands had been when he was a baby, how they flailed around as if independent from his body. Now his moves were coordinated, his fingers dexterous. She felt their relationship had come a long way in the past month – he seemed to trust her now, and he had stopped crying at night – but there was still so much she didn't know about him. The most important thing was to make him happy and Liam was right; she couldn't keep him hidden inside. They had to get on with their lives and that wasn't going to happen while they were being treated like an exhibit at the zoo.

‘Well, who would we do the interview with?' she asked Liam.

‘I'll organise it. Just pick out something to wear and have a think about what you'll say. Nothing too personal, but don't be an emotionless robot either. The last thing you want is for people to compare you to Lindy Chamberlain.'

‘God, Liam, that's an awful thing to say!'

He chuckled to himself as he left the room. Diana watched his back as he left. This wasn't the man she married. She wasn't sure who he was any more.

•  •  •

The journalist and photographer turned up at their house at ten o'clock the next morning. Diana agonised over what to wear and eventually settled on a navy blue sleeveless dress and beige pumps, her hair wavy and loose, her face brightened with blush and mascara. She hadn't made such an effort with her hair and make-up since before Noah was born. She noticed Liam looking at her when she left the bedroom dressed and made up, but if he appreciated her appearance he didn't say anything. She dressed Noah in a pair of jeans and a red-and-white checked shirt. She realised after Noah came home that she didn't have any clothes in his size – all she had were his baby clothes – so one of her friends, a mother of older boys, kindly dropped over some things in Noah's size.

Liam greeted the journalist at the door. Before Diana saw the woman she heard the huskiness of her laugh, presumably in response to a joke Liam had made. Diana shuddered in anticipation of what she knew was going to be an agonising experience.

‘And you must be Diana.' The journalist followed Liam into the living room and offered her outstretched hand. Diana noticed the woman's manicured nails and felt embarrassed about her own, which were chewed down and hadn't seen the inside of a beauty salon in years. ‘I'm Leigha Patterson. I really appreciate you taking the time to speak with me.' When Diana didn't say anything Leigha gestured to one of the couches. ‘May I?'

‘Of course, sorry. Yes, please take a seat.' It had been so long since Diana had company in the house she felt like she had forgotten the protocol of how to treat guests. She perched on the edge of the couch opposite Leigha, trying not to slouch. Liam sat beside her and Noah sat at their feet, playing with one of his trucks. Diana felt like they were posing for an uncomfortable family portrait.

As Diana scrutinised the journalist, her modest satisfaction with her own appearance quickly disappeared. Leigha looked like a life-sized version of the Barbie dolls Diana used to play with when she was little: all blonde shiny hair, pink lipstick and a waist so tiny it seemed disproportionate to her body. Her jacket fell from her shoulders in a way that suggested it had been tailored for her, and her skirt skimmed over her thighs like it was made from butter. Diana glanced down at the dress she had been happy with minutes earlier. The navy colour was too conservative, the cut dated. Leigha's shoes were candy pink, the same colour as her nails, and her legs shimmered through sheer stockings. Diana wasn't wearing stockings; she didn't own any. She crossed her ankles and tucked her legs to the side, hoping no-one noticed them. Her fingers grappled for a tendril of hair to twist, but then she remembered the state of her nails and curled them inside her palms instead. She felt relieved that at least her hair was in decent condition – she had had it cut the week before, when her mother insisted she take a few hours for herself. It was the first time she had been to the hairdresser in over a year and though she wanted it cut shorter she asked just for a trim, leaving it long enough to touch the small of her back. She had thought Liam would appreciate her keeping her hair long, but later she regretted her decision because he rarely looked at her anymore and she wondered why she had thought he would still care how she wore her hair.

Leigha and the photographer had a discussion about optimal camera positions and lighting before she turned her attention to Diana and Liam.

‘So,' Leigha said. ‘You must be ecstatic to have this little man back in your lives.' She smiled down at Noah who looked up at her in curiosity, but didn't return her smile.