Other People’s Diaries (29 page)

R
ebecca sat next to the bed, watching her daughter sleep. God they'd been lucky.

When they had reached the shattered Saab, Bianca had been unconscious, a thin trickle of dark red blood running down her face.

Jeremy had called an ambulance and arranged for one of the neighbours to take Sam inside. Rebecca had felt totally useless, her mind locked up like some kind of malfunctioning computer.

Bianca had regained consciousness within minutes but she'd looked frighteningly pale. The police had kept onlookers away as the paramedics lifted her out of the car and onto a stretcher and then into the ambulance.

Rebecca had held Bianca's hand for the short journey, Jeremy following behind in his car.

Bianca had concussion, a broken arm and lots of bruises. She had to stay in overnight for observation, but should be released tomorrow.

Every time Rebecca had turned her mobile on during the day, it had shuddered with the torrent of texts and phone messages that had poured in. It seemed that it wasn't too hard to identify her from the newspaper article even without surnames. Rebecca had ignored all of the messages, only calling Claire to see if she knew how this had happened. Claire had known as little as Rebecca.

Bianca had been on painkillers all day, speaking to no one, and had finally drifted off to sleep about six o'clock.

Jeremy had left to call his parents, who had arrived midmorning to take Sam from the neighbours. They'd managed to shield him from the worst of the crash, but he knew something terrible had happened to his beloved ‘Anka'.

With Jeremy gone, the atmosphere had settled oppressively, lying over the room like a heavy blanket.

Rebecca ached to hold Bianca's hand but she didn't move, fearing that her touch might wake her. She didn't think she could take any more silent contempt today.

There was a tap on the open door.

‘Come in,' she murmured, assuming it was another nurse.

But no nurse appeared and Rebecca looked over her shoulder.

Peter was standing in the doorway.

His jeans were worn to a soft blue and the collar of his polo shirt was folded underneath as if he'd thrown it on quickly.

Rebecca looked at him for a moment.

‘Is Claire here?' she asked, knowing the answer.

Peter shook his head.

‘I didn't think they would let anyone in here,' Rebecca commented, marvelling at how level her voice sounded.

‘I told them I was Bianca's father,' Peter replied evenly. ‘I am, aren't I?'

Rebecca had imagined this scenario many times. Even had different replies ready. But suddenly they all deserted her. Panicking, she glanced back at Bianca, relieved to see that she was still sleeping.

‘Be quiet,' she hissed.

Peter ignored her. ‘Aren't I?' he demanded.

Rebecca moved her hand closer to Bianca's.

‘Yes,' she said in a voice little more than a whisper.

Peter's retort came back like a slingshot. ‘My God, Rebecca! Why didn't you tell me?'

Bianca stirred. Instantly, Rebecca stood and moved past Peter in the doorway, forcing him to follow her or be left alone with the sleeping girl.

Mind spinning, she walked past several rooms until she came to a small alcove. She turned to him. ‘Peter, I'm sorry. I really am, but we can't do this now.'

‘Tell me when would be convenient for you, Rebecca? When were you planning on telling me that I am the father of your sixteen year old daughter?'

A nurse walked by and paused. ‘Is everything all right, Mrs Jackson?'

Rebecca mustered a faint smile. ‘Yes, thank you. It's fine.'

The nurse walked on with a glance back over her shoulder.

Peter slumped against the wall. ‘Is she going to be all right?'

Rebecca rubbed her eyes wearily and nodded. ‘Broken arm, lots of bruises. She'll be pretty sore for a while …' Her voice trailed off.

‘Why, Rebecca?'

Peter's words were so soft she could hardly hear them.

She looked over at him. His face hadn't changed that much. His hair was still a sandy type of blond, his eyes somewhere between green and brown. His features had hardened and fine lines radiated from the corner of his eyes. Certainly older, but still good-looking.

It didn't take much effort to picture the boy she'd admired from a distance for years. The attraction had been mutual, she'd known that. But somehow one of them would always be seeing someone else while the other was not. Their paths were always parallel, but never converging. Until the after-formal party. Rebecca had gone with her Swedish boyfriend but that had always been a half-hearted affair, both of them knowing it was just a bit of fun before he went home.

Rebecca didn't normally drink much and after several beers was feeling very light-headed. The party was being hosted by one of their class mates who had liberal parents and a house on ten acres of land. She'd wandered past the spill of the lights, thinking some fresh air might sober her up. Peter had seen her go and followed her. Their first kiss had left her with sensations she'd never felt before and they'd lain in the long grass together. Alcohol and long-suppressed emotions had been a
potent mix and they'd gone much further than either of them had intended.

Now, so many years later, she had to try to find the words to explain what had happened next.

‘Everything is so different now,' she began. ‘We have jobs, we're married. You would like a child.'

Peter's face tightened but he said nothing.

‘Peter, remember how things were for both of us seventeen years ago. You were starting uni. By the time I knew I was pregnant, you had started seeing Claire.'

Even after almost two decades, she could still feel the piercing hurt when she'd found that out.

Now that Rebecca had begun, the words fell out in a torrent.

‘You got your degree. I didn't even get to study. There didn't seem to be any point in ruining your life as well.'

She looked him full in the face. ‘The easy part was deciding not to tell you at the beginning. The hard part has been not telling you since then. I've thought about it every single day – wondered whether I was doing a terrible thing not letting you be part of Bianca's life. But it seemed to get harder every year to tell you the truth, and easier not to. I kept hoping I'd hear that you and Claire had children – I thought somehow that would make it better. But you didn't …'

Peter rubbed his forefinger hard across his lips and shook his head slightly.

‘I'm sorry, Peter. I really am.'

‘God, Rebecca … when I heard that you were pregnant, I wondered if I could have been the father. But when I spoke to you, you seemed so sure it was that Swedish guy.'

Rebecca nodded. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing for everyone. When you called me, I had my story ready. I just changed the dates a bit, made it look like it couldn't have been you. The truth is, I never had sex with Sven.'

Rebecca hesitated and then asked, ‘What made you suddenly so sure Bianca was your daughter?'

Peter sighed. ‘I guess I always wondered. When Bianca was at
our place the other day, I noticed that she was left-handed like me. There was just something about her that seemed familiar. Still, I told myself, there was no point in digging up old bones. But when Claire told me she'd been in a car accident …'

He took a deep breath and spoke slowly, enunciating each word. ‘I might have been crap. I might have told you to get an abortion or denied that she was mine. But, you know what, I might not have been too. And you never gave me a chance.'

He looked hard at Rebecca. ‘You can't know what it feels like to suddenly discover you have a child. Claire has been desperate for a child for years and I thought I'd stopped caring. But knowing I already have one changes everything. I have missed so many things. Seeing her learn to do things. Birthdays … teaching her to ride a bike. Who taught her that – was it Jeremy?' He tried unsuccessfully to keep the look of jealousy off his face.

‘No,' Rebecca replied quietly. ‘I did.'

Peter looked away. Rebecca could see the Adam's apple in his throat move as he swallowed.

He waved his hand toward the room down the hallway where Bianca lay. ‘She's almost an adult and she doesn't even know who I am.'

Peter dragged his hand across his face wearily and looked down at his feet.

‘I'm sorry,' Rebecca said softly.

When Peter spoke again, it was almost a whisper. ‘Why didn't you return my call after the formal party?' He turned his head toward her.

Rebecca looked at him in confusion. ‘What call? You said you'd call and you didn't. And then you started seeing Claire a month after that.'

‘But I spoke to your mother – you were still in bed. She said she'd get you to call when you woke up.'

‘She never gave me the message,' Rebecca said. ‘She must have forgotten.'

They looked at each other silently for several seconds.

Rebecca shook her head. This was ridiculous. A teenage fancy had nothing to do with where they were now.

Just then, Jeremy came striding down the corridor. He stopped short when he saw them.

‘Peter,' he nodded, clearly wondering what was going on.

There was a pause, a couple of beats too long for comfort. Finally Peter broke the silence. ‘I should get home.'

He looked at Rebecca. ‘We need to talk about this again tomorrow.'

Slowly he turned and walked back the way Jeremy had come in.

‘Rebecca?' Jeremy turned to her. ‘What was that about?'

Rebecca looked at him desperately. ‘Don't hate me,' she begged. ‘Please don't hate me.'

The words she'd kept inside for so many years tumbled out. ‘Bianca's father isn't Sven, the Swedish guy I went out with at school. Peter is her father. Nobody has known until today, not my parents, not Peter, not Bianca, no one. I always meant to tell Bianca one day – almost did a couple of years ago. But somehow I didn't. Then she started being difficult and it just seemed like one more problem to resolve.'

Jeremy was looking at her unblinkingly. Rebecca had a sudden sense that she was talking to a stranger, not the man she'd been married to for five years.

‘When we met I told you the story about Sven, like everyone else. I didn't know I'd marry you then. Every day I didn't tell you the truth it just seemed harder to, and somehow it seemed wrong to tell you before I told Bianca.'

Jeremy's face was stony.

‘I'm sorry.'

Jeremy shook his head slowly. ‘Too many secrets, Rebecca.'

He turned, heading toward Bianca's room. Presumably to get his car keys and leave.

He stopped suddenly in front of Bianca's door.

Rebecca stopped beside him.

Bianca was standing next to the bed.

‘Bee?' Rebecca walked toward her.

She expected Bianca to push her away, hit her even.

But Bianca let Rebecca fold her into her arms.

Her world was crashing down upon her, but still Rebecca felt an overwhelming sense of happiness to be able to hold her daughter again.

She pulled Bianca down beside her on the bed.

Her face pale against the white hospital gown, Bianca looked much younger than her sixteen years.

‘Why didn't you tell me?'

Rebecca took a breath. Why hadn't she told Bianca, told Peter, told Jeremy? She could have avoided the years of guilt, the nagging feeling that pulled her from sleep and never left her.

Rebecca had truly felt she was doing the right thing at the beginning. But the lie had grown and become worse over the years. Telling Bianca and not Peter had never really been an option. Whenever she thought about coming clean, the repercussions seemed too great and so instead she took the line of least resistance – which was to do nothing.

‘Bee … I'm so sorry. I always planned to tell you. I just could never figure out when the right time was. I didn't mean it all to be a lie … it just happened … and I didn't know how to back out. I was trying to protect Peter, we were just kids – almost the same age as you are now …'

The excuses sounded lame even to her own ears.

‘Do you love him?'

‘What? No – God.'

Rebecca remembered she was talking to a sixteen year old. A girl who might pretend to be grown up but who two years ago had still subscribed to a pet magazine. Babies, love and marriage all existed together in the land of princesses and fairy stories that Bianca hadn't left that long ago.

‘No sweetheart. I thought I did at the time, but that was so long ago. I love you and Sam – and Jeremy.'

As she said his name, Rebecca looked up. Jeremy had gone.

‘That's not true.' Bianca's words were quiet. ‘You don't love me. You don't have time.'

Her words wedged in Rebecca's chest. Bianca was right, though. Rebecca treated her like the other responsibilities in her life – to be dealt with at the appropriate, prearranged times. But
a teenage girl who was so unhappy needed much more than that. Rebecca's whole body ached with the thought of all the things she'd done wrong.