The day wears on; I endure more of the questions, and I lie on my bed and long for night to come so I can sleep and let oblivion take away my life for a few blessed hours.
And then the miracle I’ve been praying for happens. The door opens, and a nurse comes in.
‘You have a visitor,’ she says.
I glance up, expecting Ian, and find Daniel standing in front of me.
I feel exquisite joy for a second, before I register the expression on his face. He has the same look of anger and hatred as before, and my hopes wither.
He takes off his jacket, and slings it down beside me, grabbing a chair, dragging it towards the bed so he can sit opposite me.
One word is all he says, but underneath it are a thousand questions. ‘Why?’
I understand he needs answers and I could give them to him, if I chose to speak. Why, he asks. Because I believed it was meant to be when your four-year-old self came into my life. Because I thought I was doing the right thing. Because I loved you too much to be without you. Because I couldn’t think of anything else besides being your mother.
But I don't say any of those things. I can’t, not while he has such hatred written all over his face.
I look away, at his jacket lying beside me on the bed, at the pen tucked in the inside pocket, at the spare button that’s almost falling off. I itch to do the motherly thing and sew it back on for him.
He gets up and walks over to the window.
‘Do you have any idea what you did to me?’ The rage is boiling in his voice. I am confused. I’d be forced to say no if I were to answer his question. I always did my best for him. What did I do that was so wrong? Yes, I took him from his birth family, but they didn’t love him, not as he deserved to be loved. I gave him a home, and a mother who was always there for him, and I even married Ian so my boy could have a father figure in his life.
Why does he hate me so?
‘They’re wonderful. My real family. They’re everything I always wanted. My mother adores me and I can’t get enough of being with her. I never loved you, not at all. My grandparents are great people too. I have a proper father now as well. He’s a good man, one I can respect and be proud of.’
I flinch as his words lash against me, every one of them intended to inflict pain and let me know how I’m second best to the mother who preferred her career to him.
‘Not like the bastard you married,’ he continues.
I have no idea what he means. I married Ian for Daniel’s sake. He’s a good man, if a bit prone to wanting things his own way. I’d have walked out on him if I'd ever thought he’d behaved badly towards my boy, no question of it.
‘He was the reason I never went to art college, when painting was all I ever wanted to do. Did you realise that?’
His words confuse me. I always thought Daniel would study art and had been surprised when he hadn’t. But I thought the choice had been his; I’d assumed he’d decided there were no real career prospects in the art world. It couldn’t have had anything to do with Ian.
‘He hated me because I was another man’s child; because I was always in the way when all he wanted was you. He loathed me and he didn’t hold back in telling me so. He told me over and over again how worthless I was; how he wouldn’t pay a single penny to put me through art college. I couldn’t think of any other way of being able to go.’
He must be making this up to hurt me. What he’s saying can’t be true.
My Daniel has never been a liar, though.
And some small part of my brain, the part where instinct lies, tells me he’s speaking the truth.
Now I’m beginning to realise why he hates me. He’s been denied his art career, because of the man I chose to be his father. The man whose character I obviously misjudged.
Except I’m wrong. I begin to realise I don’t know the half of it. Daniel is speaking again. The strongest intuition of my boy having kept something bottled up inside for a long time hits me and how whatever he’s hiding is about to burst free.
‘I dreaded you going out, because then he’d start on me. He never did or said anything when you were around. You didn’t know, did you?’ I can hear the sourness in his voice. I still don’t understand what he means.
‘He’d slap and punch me once you’d left.’
Dear God. I feel as though I am the one being punched, hard in my gut.
But it’s nothing compared to what comes next.
‘He used to make me suck his prick.’
Shock hits me doubly hard. He didn’t just say that. He couldn’t have said something so awful.
‘He’d grab my head and fuck my mouth.’
I can’t deal with this. I can’t. It’s too abhorrent, too vile.
‘He didn’t stop there, either. He took it further.’
I pray to God to strike me dead so I can escape such unspeakable horror. I can’t believe this can get any worse.
But I’m wrong.
‘He’d fuck me as well. You know, fuck me, up my ass, and it hurt like hell, and I’d want to die, it was so awful.’
You and me both. There can’t be a God. I know that beyond all doubt now. If He existed, He’d let me die, and I wouldn’t be finding out that my husband raped my beloved child. An eternity in Hell would be better than hearing my Daniel, who I adore beyond anything, telling me this.
‘It went on for years. All the time I was a teenager. Every time it happened, I thought about killing myself. I was scared shitless of him. I kept quiet for you, you see. Thought you’d suffer a complete breakdown if you ever discovered what a bastard you’d married.’ He laughs, a bitter quality tainting the sound. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? I endured years of hell, because I wanted to protect you. Turns out if it hadn’t been for you, I’d never have been in that position anyway. Now do you get why I hate you?’
Yes. Yes, I get it, I really do. For once, I can’t bear to look at him, and I’m glad he’s still turned away from me.
‘So the least you can do, you bitch,’ he continues, ‘is tell me why you kidnapped me. Why you ruined my life.’
But I can’t. My tongue is frozen, but this time it’s because of the knowledge of what I’ve done to him. His anger held me silent before. Now, the mental horror inflicted by Daniel’s words renders me unable to speak, even though he wants me to.
‘Someone told me I should try to understand. To feel compassion towards you. But I can’t. I have no redress, you see. I endured years of abuse and there’s nothing I can do to get back at the bastard who hurt me. It all happened years ago and it would be his word against mine. My mother’s suffered enough. I don't want her hurt anymore, and if she found out about this, well, I don’t think she could handle it. I won’t do that to her. I won’t, you hear me?’ He’s shouting now.
He continues to stare out of the window, and I look back at his jacket, at the pen tucked in the pocket, at the spare button hanging by a few threads. It would be so easy to pull it off, and then I’d have a tangible reminder of my beloved Daniel with me, something I don’t possess right now. It’s not much, but better than nothing.
My fingers stray towards the jacket.
‘For God’s sake, tell me. You owe me that much. You lied to me for years. You can at least tell me the truth now.’
But I can’t. I want to tell him, but I’m too much in shock over what he’s said. I realise I’ve been existing in a dream world, thinking Daniel would come to me one day, and I’d tell him how it was, and how he’d understand, how the hatred would fade from his eyes.
Yes, I’ve been living in a fool’s paradise. I didn’t understand the truth before, and now I do.
So I stay silent.
‘Fuck you. Guess you’re never going to tell me. You selfish bitch.’ With one quick move, he grabs his jacket and then he’s banging on the door, shouting for someone to open it. Then he’s gone.
32
ALL SCREWED UP
Daniel peered at Annie’s digital clock. He hadn’t intended to sleep in so late but then he’d never thought he’d end up back at her flat last night. That had been before the abortive visit to Laura Bateman, though; after he’d stormed out on her, a desperate urge to offload his pent-up fury overwhelmed him. Getting plastered again on cheap beer back at the flat held little appeal these days. He’d gone to the bar later on in a funk, furious and in need of another comfort fuck, hoping Annie would be working that night. She’d clocked his dark mood immediately but didn’t say anything, merely poured him the first of a couple of Scotches before telling him he’d be on soft drinks for the rest of the night. Later on, she’d informed him he’d be coming home with her after the end of her shift, her tone not giving him the option of saying no. Not that he would have done. He’d bundled her into the bedroom as soon as they got back to her flat, pulling off her clothes and shagging her as hard as he knew how until both of them collapsed into an exhausted sleep.
She stirred, and he leaned over and dropped a kiss on her forehead. ‘Morning, sleepyhead.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Nearly eleven. Thank God it’s my Saturday off.’
She threw back the covers and got out of bed. ‘Breakfast coming up. Don’t go anywhere.’
Half an hour later, she came back, carrying a piled tray. ‘Move over, sunshine. Get this down you and you’ll feel more like talking.’
‘About what?’
‘About whatever you’re not telling me. Something happened yesterday, something that made you walk into the bar last night with a face like a funeral procession and needing to shag me senseless. Not that I’m complaining about the last part, believe me.’
‘You remind me of my ex. She was like a terrier down a rat-hole when she wanted to get information out of me.’ Daniel shook his head in amusement. ‘Are you sure you’re not her in another body?’
Annie laughed. ‘I’d bet a truckload of money my body is very different to hers. With that pretty face of yours, I don't doubt all your exes have been equally good-looking, whether they’ve been men or women. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I saw the way you and that guy checked each other out the first night you came in the bar. You’ve had your fair share of men and don’t you deny it.’
‘Guilty as charged.’ Daniel held up his hands in mock protest. ‘What’s my sentence?’
She gestured towards his plate. ‘You have to eat all that. Shut up and dig in. You can talk later.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
The silence stretched between them as they ate. His breakfast finished, he put his plate down beside the bed, turning to her. She opened her arms and he pillowed his head on her breasts, relaxing into the warmth and comfort of her body. The faint remnants of her perfume lingered about her from last night and he inhaled the heady scent, turning his mouth to place a kiss on her skin. Her arms wrapped around him, her hands stroked his hair and he recognised the same sense of security he’d always had when he thought of his mother, sat beside his bed so many years ago.
Annie spoke first.
‘I’m here for you if you need to talk. I’ll listen. Whatever you want to tell me.’
He found himself wanting to, needing to, unburden his thoughts to her. Not the frenzied yelling of yesterday, the words spewed out in a torrent of hate and fury. Shouted at a woman who, despite hearing the awful truth she’d condemned him to by her actions, still sat silent and unresponsive, submerged deep in the enigma of her mind. No, he’d talk to Annie instead, pour all the crap out to her and let her common sense and compassion wash over the pain, as it had before.
The stopper had been well and truly taken out of the bottle yesterday when he’d confronted Laura Bateman. With Annie holding him, the words started to come.
‘I went to visit the woman who kidnapped me yesterday. To demand answers. Why she took me; how she could justify doing something so terrible.’
Annie nodded. He had an idea she wasn’t surprised. ‘Did she say anything?’
‘Not a thing. She’s still not talking. I had plenty to say, though.’
‘I’ll bet. You probably told her how much you hate her. Did you tell her why, though?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’ll be whatever you’ve not yet told me. The real reason you’re so mad at her.’
‘You’re right. She’s not the issue, though, Annie. She never was, not really. The problem was the bastard she married.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘He was an asshole.’ Daniel heard the tremor in his voice, the barely disguised fury.
‘Sounds like it, what with not letting you go to college. But there’s a whole lot more, right, Daniel?’
‘Yes. It’s ugly as hell, too.’
He clenched a fist around the bed sheet. Should he really tell Annie about the shit that had smeared itself all over him years ago?
Yes. Because he’d never get a better chance than right now. No psychotherapy or counselling for him; he’d never even considered revealing the raw hurt Ian Bateman had inflicted on him to some stranger, having them prod and poke into his psyche. Something about Annie made him feel relaxed, as though she wouldn’t judge him for anything he told her. Hell, she’d already proved that, when he’d told her about his relationship with Katie. She might speak plainly, but she’d understand.
The walls seemed to be closing in on him; he took a breath, forced the panic back down.