Wish You Were Here, page 14
‘How did you get this address?’ Sian asked her.
Ana laughed, her head weaving as she tried to stand still. ‘Let’s just say we have a friend in common,’ she said.
Sian stared down at her, trying to work out what the hell that meant.
‘We should bring her in,’ Kris said.
Sian glanced at him and then back at the young woman and realised he was right. She might have been wearing a beer coat but she certainly wasn’t wearing a real one, and it was chilly outside. The cold was beginning to cut through the warmth inside their house too.
‘You better come in,’ she said to Ana, who did as she was told and then stood awkwardly in the space next to the stairs.
‘Sit down then,’ Kris said, pointing at the sofa. ‘Glass of wine?’ He hesitated. ‘You are eighteen, right?’
Ana rolled her eyes.
‘I think she’s already had enough,’ Sian said, frowning.
Ana perched on the edge of an armchair. She was pulling at the overlong sleeves of her sweater again, even more fidgety than the last time Sian had seen her.
‘I’ll get on with dinner,’ Kris said. He walked behind Ana on his way back to the kitchen, raising two eyebrows and somehow communicating, silently, that Sian could call on him for help if she wanted to. She smiled and then looked across at Ana, who glanced at Kris’s back as he walked into the kitchen area.
Sian offered Ana a drink of tea or coffee, then water, but she shook her head at all of it. She wanted to get to business. She had a shoulder bag, which she unzipped, placing several tatty pieces of paper on the table.
‘Proof,’ she said. ‘My mum is not telling the truth. Which means you can’t say that anything she’s shown or told you is reliable. She’s a liar.’ She sounded triumphant then and fixed Sian with her glazed eyes and a half smile, making small stabbing gestures towards the pieces of paper on the table.
Sian picked up the A4 sheets, examining them. There were several printouts from a well-known genealogy website and a photocopy of a birth certificate. The birth certificate was for a Nicole Watkins. ‘Your mum?’ Sian said, holding this up to Ana.
‘Yes,’ Ana said. ‘And she always told me her former name was Smith. I bet she said that to you, too.’
‘She did,’ Sian confirmed. This did make her a liar, but people had all sorts of reasons for wanting to lose connection to their birth names and parents. Not all of these were about criminal deception and very, very few would be anything to do with stealing babies. It was more than a stretch to come to this kind of conclusion.
‘She’s a liar. She lied about her name. I’m certain she lies about why we don’t see her parents. I know she’s lying to me about who my dad is. Why would she do this if she’s got nothing to hide?’
Sian was nodding as Ana spoke. ‘I hear you,’ she said, ‘and she’s hiding something. But that doesn’t mean it’s anything nefarious.’ She cleared her throat. ‘She may just be trying to protect you from something.’ This was her gut feeling about what was going on.
‘So, what next?’ Ana said.
‘Leave it with me,’ Sian said. ‘I’ll dig and find out more.’
Ana nodded. She was swaying slightly in her chair. ‘You’re going to go and see Mandy Johnson,’ she said. ‘Soon?’
Sian nodded. ‘Yes, later this week. Before the weekend, for sure. It just depends on other jobs.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘And that means you must think there’s a chance I’m right. You must think so, at least a little bit, if you’ve been trying to talk to Mandy,’ she said. She used the name in a familiar way, as if Mandy were someone she knew.
‘I have to explore all possibilities and keep an open mind to do my job properly. I want to talk to her, see if there’s any credence to your idea that you might be Courtney.’ She hesitated. She didn’t want to upset Ana any more than she already had. The young woman looked unstable, on the edge of something. ‘I’m dotting my i’s and crossing my t’s,’ she told Ana, ‘but I don’t want you to get too excited. I’m not convinced this will achieve anything.’
Ana’s face didn’t betray any emotion. She just stared back at Sian and held her gaze. Her blue eyes were solid blocks of ice. Sian noticed her hair was beginning to fade and had hints of green in the ends. Although maybe she’d dyed it that way, an effect.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sian said, ‘I really am. But I have to be honest with you. I don’t think you’re Courtney, and the main reason for that is that I don’t believe Courtney is still alive. If I do meet with Mandy Johnson, what I expect is for the meeting to confirm this.’
‘Very. Scientific. Doctor.’ Ana made each word its own sentence, dripping with sarcasm.
‘My opinion is based on the science, actually,’ Sian told her. ‘The statistics and probabilities around abduction. But if you want something with test tubes and absolute certainty, you can always give me a sample of your DNA.’
Ana shook her head. ‘You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Take my DNA and then you could pretend you’d analysed it and lie to me about that too, like all the rest, because my mum and Mandy Johnson have paid you to. Don’t think I don’t know.’ Her voice was getting louder, and Kris put down his wooden spoon and walked across the room towards the pair of them.
Sian stared at Ana. This girl was deeply troubled. ‘You’re not thinking straight. And you’re making yourself ill with all that crap you’re putting inside you. I’m honestly starting to think a doctor might be more help to you than I can be.’
Ana let out a horrified laugh. ‘Yeah, thanks so much for the gaslighting,’ she said, narrowing her eyes. ‘Coming from you! You’re as fucked up as the rest of us so stop pretending to be oh-so-logical, Dr Sian Love. So logical you need all the therapy.’ She stood up, unsteady on her feet as she picked up the shoulder bag. ‘Fuck you very, very much,’ she said. She staggered to the door and out of it. Kris closed and locked it behind her, turning to Sian and rolling his eyes.
‘My oh my,’ he said.
‘Yeah.’ Sian shrugged. For a moment, she considered getting up and following Ana down the street, insisting on getting her help. But she didn’t think that Ana would welcome that. There was something familiar about this young woman, something Sian truly understood. The mess she was. That ice in her eyes. This gave Sian a massive hit of recognition, but one that had nothing to do with Courtney Johnson.
Sian wanted to help Ana, but she also knew that the only help she’d accept would have to come from within. She needed to see a counsellor. Maybe was already seeing one.
Then it hit Sian, what she’d said. We have a friend in common. You need all the therapy. And she suddenly knew exactly where Ana had got her address from.
The medical centre was busy when Sian arrived. She walked straight past reception. She could hear someone calling after her, asking what she was doing, but she ignored them. She headed straight across to the room she knew Morgan saw her patients in. She didn’t knock but walked right through the door.
A middle-aged woman was sitting facing Morgan and wiping at her face with a large paper tissue. Morgan was still holding the box of tissues that she’d clearly offered the woman, perhaps just a moment earlier. They both turned with the sound of the door and stared at Sian.
‘I’m with a patient,’ Morgan said.
‘Yeah, I can see that.’ Sian felt her eyes narrow as she looked at her therapist. ‘Given this one my home address too?’
Morgan looked up at her and frowned. ‘What?’
‘You know, like Ana Renaux?’
Morgan still stared at her, looking really confused.
‘Yeah,’ Sian said, but she was feeling less sure of herself now. Her anger had calmed a little, and, although she was still full of disdain for Morgan, she realised that her patient hadn’t deserved to have her session hijacked like this. ‘I found out we have a client in common,’ Sian said. ‘But you already knew that.’
Morgan walked towards the doorway. She stood close to Sian. ‘You need to go.’ Her words were whispered but also kind of spat towards Sian. ‘And you know I can’t talk about any of my clients no matter if they are someone you know or not.’
‘Oh, all professional now, are we?’ Sian’s voice was still loud but not quite as raised as it had been. The door to Morgan’s consulting room opened and a woman walked in. Sian turned towards her and held up a hand as if to stop her interrupting.
‘Is there a problem?’ the woman said. Sian looked at her now and thought she was probably the practice manager, or one of the more senior receptionists.
Morgan looked from Sian to her client and then to the woman at the door. ‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘I can deal with this.’
The woman nodded and left the room. Morgan turned back towards Sian and faced her full on. Their eyes locked. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sian, but for now I need you to walk out of here. If you go to reception, they can check my diary and make an appointment for you to come and talk to me about what’s bothering you. Or you can email me. Or just come next Wednesday, as usual.’ She closed her eyes and then opened them again, looking suddenly tired and older. ‘But I need you to leave right now, or I’ll get security.’
‘Don’t bother,’ Sian said. ‘I’m going. And don’t bother about the appointments, either. Not one to chat with you, and not one to continue this…’ Sian looked around and then gestured around her too, as if the room illustrated her point. ‘This bullshit. I’m so done with it all.’ She was on her way to the door when she had one last thought and realised what it was she needed to say to Morgan.
‘I trusted you.’ Sian spat out the words and bit back tears. Then she turned and left the room.
NINE
Bexhill-on-Sea was an odd little place. There were a lot of grand houses and bungalows. Then there was the De La Warr Pavilion, a big Art Deco building that was an arts centre, and where Sian was meeting Mandy Johnson. Sian ordered coffee and examined the menu. Courtney’s aunt had agreed to meet with Sian, finally, after all the phone calls, emails and begging, with the insistence that whatever passed between them must remain strictly confidential. Mandy’s ‘team’ had even sent a non-disclosure agreement, which Sian had had to sign electronically and return before the appointment could be confirmed. Quite the machine.
Her phone buzzed as she sat down. A WhatsApp notification from one of her karate groups. She regretted giving them her number and downloading the app as they’d asked her to. It was all far too sociable. How was she supposed to go and hit people effectively if she got to know them too well? She muted the conversation and then turned her phone to silent. She looked around the room, checking again that she hadn’t missed Mandy somehow. She was pretty sure that the woman wasn’t here yet. She wished Kris were there, but he’d not been able to come after his shift was changed at the last minute, and Sian hadn’t dared try to change the date or time in case Mandy used it as an excuse to cancel.
A few minutes later, Mandy appeared in the doorway. She looked smaller than she did on TV. Sian found that people often did. Mandy looked around, skittish, and then saw Sian and headed over. Sian had sent her a picture so that she would know who she was looking for.
‘Hi,’ Mandy said, smiling and holding out a hand as she approached.
Sian stood up and took her hand.
‘Oh,’ Mandy said, ‘you’re very tall.’
People often said this to Sian, surprised to meet a woman of her height. It had used to make her slouch and make apologies, but she no longer responded to any comment. ‘Thanks for coming,’ she told Mandy, and they both sat down. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’
‘A cappuccino, please,’ Mandy said.
Sian got up and ordered it. She paid and the barista said he’d bring it over, so she went back and told Mandy. Then she pulled Ana Renaux’s folder from her rucksack and placed it on the table between them. ‘As I mentioned on the phone, I really don’t think this client is your niece. But I do feel I wouldn’t be acting properly without bringing this to your attention and asking you what you thought.’ Sian paused, checking herself before continuing, knowing she needed to find the right words here. ‘There is a resemblance,’ she said, ‘more than a passing one. But I’ve spoken to my client’s mother and she has all of the documents and photographs from my client’s early life. I’m fairly certain that the child belongs to her.’
‘OK,’ Mandy said.
The barista arrived with the cappuccino, placed it down. Both women looked up and smiled, quietly waiting for him to leave before continuing their conversation.
Sian took two photographs from her folder, ones she’d had properly printed on photo paper from JPEGs. One was of Ana, and the other showed the projected image of what Courtney would look like now. She put the two images side by side. ‘You see,’ she said. Now she looked at them here, on this plain wooden table, the resemblance seemed uncanny. Much clearer than she’d thought before. She looked up at Mandy, expecting a reaction of some kind.
Mandy looked at the photos then back at Sian. She barely blinked. Sian took in her face. Was she some kind of psychopath? Of course, she’d been looking for her niece for years and, despite brave words on TV about how she was certain Courtney was still alive, Sian didn’t believe she could really think that. But Sian would have expected something from her, when she saw these images and the resemblance.
Another blank look, and then a furtive glance at Sian. ‘I can’t see it,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’
Sian was confused. Personally, she didn’t believe that Ana was Courtney. At the same time, you’d have to be face blind not to see some resemblance here. Sian tried to resist the unscientific thought, more of a feeling, that Mandy Johnson knew something Sian didn’t.
She took out the baby pictures then, laying them across the table. ‘What about now?’
Mandy took hold of some of the photographs, examining them more closely. Then she sorted them into piles. ‘These ones are Courtney,’ she said, pointing. ‘And these ones are not.’ Pointing at the other pile. She was, of course, exactly right.
Sian took a deep breath and realised she’d been holding it in slightly. ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘that’s good enough for me.’
Mandy smiled a tight smile. She took a sip of her cappuccino. ‘That’s a shame,’ she said. ‘For just a minute, I thought it might be. You know.’ She huffed lightly. ‘Silly of me, really.’
Sian looked at Mandy, at the expression on her face. She’d seemed a bit more normal then, a bit more human. But Sian was not convinced. It felt like an act. She had seen it, when she’d shown Mandy the first photos. A total and utter blankness. Either someone who wasn’t expecting to find her niece anytime soon or the cold, dark eyes of a total psycho. Sian was not sure which, but she decided there and then that her business with Mandy Johnson wasn’t over.
The route back was via London, and the train from Bexhill was heaving with commuters. Sian considered waiting for a later one that was less crowded. She hated crowds. She wanted to get home, though, and so she got onto the train. She managed to get a seat next to a youngish man and his Staffy. The dog nuzzled up to her and so she asked if she could pet her. He said yes, and that kept Sian busy and distracted for at least ten minutes.
They settled in for the journey then, the little Staff nuzzled at Sian’s feet. ‘She’s my dog now,’ she joked with the lad, and he laughed. She got out her phone and looked at Twitter, then her email. There was a message from Dominic Wilkinson suggesting a meeting. She tried to reply with some dates and times but she lost reception and started to read an eBook she’d downloaded instead. She wasn’t on one of the speedy trains and it felt like they trundled along northwards, stopping and starting all the way.
When they eventually arrived, London was its usual busy, heartless self. Sian loved and hated it at the same time. Being back in the tube system gave her a weird sensation of coming home, even though she wasn’t from London and hadn’t lived there for years. It had changed, though. The tube stations and platforms were fresher, more high tech. The escalators were decorated with screens flickering between adverts instead of the old posters she remembered, the shabby things spotted with damp and nostalgia. The place had been ‘upgraded’ while she wasn’t looking, and now it only mimicked the Underground she knew. Being there felt like experiencing one of those neurological conditions where you started to doubt your own existence.
Sian negotiated the tube like a local and arrived at St Pancras station with time to spare. She hated this place, at least the bit where you waited for your train to travel north. It felt sad and desperate. You had to wait on a weird, hot concourse for your service to open for boarding, even though the train was usually sitting on the platform, empty, clean, and ready to leave. It felt like being part of a rugby scrum when the trains were finally announced and everyone ran down to the barriers to get through and on board. Sian tried to park herself in a coffee shop nearby until close to her boarding time but always found she rose a little too early and had to stand, staring at the departures board and willing it to change, for far too long.
Finally, her train was announced. Sian stood back and waited until the initial rush was over. Then she headed onto the platform and walked up the train, looking for her booked seat. Of course, as ever, all of the bookings were in the same carriage, which was nearly full. She carried on up the train until she found an area that was far less busy. She would never understand why the train booking system wasn’t set up to space people out. There were experiments about how people would spread themselves out on transport, given the option. It would be child’s play to programme the computer to do the same thing.
Sitting down in an unreserved section, Sian took an aisle seat. She checked her emails and then tried again to ring Gabriella Kennedy. Her client appeared to have completely fallen out with her after she’d told her who she thought her father was. She understood Gabriella’s anger, but it was hardly Sian’s fault. She sighed and got out her Kindle, opening a novel. She didn’t want to think too hard on this journey. She was at the point in her trip where she was missing Kris and Elvis madly. She hadn’t even stayed overnight but it was already too long, these hours away. She resolved not to take a trip like this without them again. That was unrealistic, of course, in her business. But she could tell herself she’d never have to and believe it for an hour or two while she got over the worst of her homesickness.
