Close My Eyes (36 page)

The little boy growls in annoyance, dodging the girl’s hand as she lunges to grab him. He sprints away to the point where the playground meets the drive. I keep my eyes on his face.
He’s grinning now, one eye on the girl as he chats with the little boy next to him. They are pointing to the horse-chestnut tree on the far side of the playground, gearing up for another
race.

The grin falls away and the child’s mouth sets in a determined line again. As they start running, Lorcan whispers in my ear.

‘I’m going to get that girl talking,’ he says. ‘You speak to the little boy. Find out what you can.’

I nod and head for the racing boys. My son – how strange those words sound – is putting everything he has into the sprint. Despite the other boy’s longer legs, for a few
moments he is going faster . . . he’s going to win. I will him to. And then he trips and slams into the ground.

The other boy reaches the horse-chestnut tree first and punches the air with a whoop.

‘I beat you, Ed, you sucker!’

Ed.

I rush over as he picks himself up off the ground. His knee is grazed – red raw.

‘Are you all right?’ I gasp.

Ed ignores me. His lips are pressed tightly together, like he’s trying not to cry. The grim determination on his face has collapsed. For a second, all I can see in his eyes is defeat. And
shame. I’ve seen that look before. A shiver snakes through my entire body as the memory overwhelms me – a man pressing his palms against a rough pillar.
These stones heal the
sick.

It’s more than just the set of the features. It’s like the ghost of my father has just drifted across the boy’s face.

My father. My son.

I glance over my shoulder. Lorcan is talking to the girl who was calling Ed. It doesn’t look like she’s noticed him fall over.

The other boy runs off and Ed looks up at me.

‘Hi.’ I squat down so I’m at his eye level, with the horse-chestnut tree behind me. ‘You’re Ed, aren’t you? You’re brave not to cry about hurting your
knee.’

The boy looks at me with huge, serious, brown eyes. He glances over at the girl who was calling him. She’s busy pointing out of the school gates, explaining something to Lorcan.

‘I thought you ran very well,’ I say. ‘You’re fast.’

‘I’m the fastest in my class.’ The way he says it sounds like a fact, not a brag. The same knack of delivery that Art has. My heart beats faster.

‘Are you all right?’ I say.

The boy sticks his lip out. He’s obviously deciding whether it’s okay to talk to me. Then he looks around, taking in the other mums and kids and the sunshine. His gaze fixes for a
moment on a curling tear in the wire fence that separates the playground we are in from the one next door. I hold my breath, hoping the environment is sufficiently secure for him not to start
screaming for help.

Clearly he decides it is. ‘I’d have won if I hadn’t fallen over,’ he says.

‘I could see that.’ I gulp, desperate for more information. ‘So what’s your name – Ed
what
?’

The boy stares at me, instantly on his guard. ‘I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.’

‘Of course.’ Out of the corner of my eye I can see that the girl has clocked me. Lorcan’s still talking to her, but she’s edging towards us. I can hear them both now
– Lorcan is talking in an English accent, pretending his kid has just started at the school.

‘Is that your mummy?’ I ask, my palms sweating.

Ed wrinkles his nose. ‘No way, that’s just Kelly. She looks after me.’

Well, that’s something. At least Art’s mystery woman isn’t a child herself. My mind skips again through the options. There’s Sandrine, of course. And Hen, though I
can’t see how. Charlotte West is older than I would have expected. Or maybe someone Art knows through work, like Siena, his secretary, or Camilla on reception. Or another client’s
wife.

Ed gazes up at me.

‘Where do you live?’ I ask.

‘A bit away,’ he says solemnly.

‘Just one more thing?’ Lorcan’s voice sounds close now.

Kelly is almost here. I don’t have much time.

Ed is gazing up at me. I can’t stop staring at him, soaking up his innocent little face and round dark eyes, while my heart surges with emotion. I know I should move away. That I have his
name and I know where he goes to school . . . that I’ll only frighten the child if I try to say much more . . . that Lorcan can’t hold his nanny off for much longer . . . but I
can’t stop looking. I take out my phone, praying none of the adults notice what I’m doing.

‘Say “cheese”!’ I say.

Ed frowns. I take the picture fast.

‘Thanks.’

Ed just stares at me. This is my child. My baby. It’s like a switch has been flicked on in my heart and I realize just how empty and abstract my previous imaginings were. This child who
stands before me is real – a flesh-and-blood mix of my body and Art’s. Love grabs me like a fist. It holds me prisoner, as real as the child in front of me.

It’s a love I would die for.

‘We have to go, Ed.’ Kelly sails past me, grabbing the little boy by the wrist. She stares at me as she drags him away, her eyes widening in horror. So, like Bobs, she’s seen
my picture. She knows who I am. She’s been warned against me. ‘Come
on
, Ed.’

My insides twist with panic. Knowing Ed’s name and school isn’t enough. Art could take him away from here this afternoon. They could vanish, never to be seen again.

The little boy grumbles, but lets himself be led away. Kelly is practically running now.

I start after them, a brisk, urgent walk. ‘We have to follow them,’ I say.

The area by the school gate is crowded and I lose sight of them several times, but Lorcan forges a path through the people and we reach the car a few seconds later.

Kelly and Ed are visible, several metres along the road. Ed is clearly making a fuss at being dragged along. After a moment, Kelly opens the door of a large 4x4 car and Ed disappears into the
back seat.

I look down at the photo on my phone. The expression is Art’s but there’s something about the set of the mouth and the curve of the nose that reminds me of my dad again.

This is my son. The words seep through my mind, becoming real as I think them. This is my son.

Now I have found him, I can’t lose him again.

Lorcan starts the engine and manoeuvres away from the kerb. We stay behind the 4x4 for a couple of streets. My whole body is tense, desperate not to lose sight of the car.

‘What did the nanny say?’ I ask.

‘Nothing,’ Lorcan says. ‘She just kept looking over at you. I pretended I had a kid who’d just started at the school, but she wasn’t really listening.’

The big car drives on. I’m leaning forward in my seat, trying to catch a glimpse of Ed. After a few minutes, the car stops outside a large, gated house.

I peer through the windscreen, watching as the iron gates to the house open. The 4x4 drives through. As the gates shut behind it, Lorcan drives slowly by.

‘Okay, well, we have an address now.’ He looks at me. ‘Are you all right?’

I nod. I’m trying to convince myself, as much as Lorcan. I could so easily fall to pieces right now, but I mustn’t. I have to stay strong for Ed. I gaze up at the house where he
lives with the woman he thinks of as his mother . . . with Art visiting when he can. Clearly they have plenty of money. And Ed seemed well-nourished and content. A happy child. That’s a
consolation, at least.

For the first time it strikes me that this isn’t a child desperate to be rescued, but an ordinary boy settled into a normal, comfortable life. The house is three storeys, detached, brick.
There’s a lawn at the front. There are rose bushes. There are oak trees. And there is the locked, high gate.

I look down at my nail-bitten hands. All my life I’ve been on the outside. As a child, hiding my dad’s long absences; as a teenager, not wanting to admit to his death, which made me
different from other kids. And on and on. Always on the outside. And here, now, I’m on the outside of Ed’s life. I don’t have a part to play. I am not needed.

Maybe, though it hurts like hell to even think it, I will cause him more harm than good by coming into his life.

‘Gen?’ I realize Lorcan is speaking to me. I turn to him, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my stomach.

‘I think we have enough to go to the police now. All it’s going to take to confirm what we already know is some DNA, which they’ll
have
to organize once they hear our
story. That will just take a few days, then—’

‘We can’t wait a few days,’ I interrupt. ‘Art could take Ed out of the country by then.’

Lorcan puts his hand on my arm. ‘Easy,’ he says. ‘The police will be able to stop them leaving the country. We just need to explain what we’ve found out.’

I glance over at the house again. ‘I don’t want to leave him.’

‘Okay.’ Lorcan frowns. ‘How about this . . . we’ll call you a cab. You go to the police. Explain everything. I’ll wait here. If someone takes the boy, I’ll
follow them.’

I think it over. It makes sense. The only alternative is for me to stay and for Lorcan to speak to the police, but this is my story. It should come from me.

‘Trust me, Gen,’ Lorcan says. ‘I know it’s hard, but it’s your best option right now.’

‘Okay.’ My phone rings. I look at the screen expecting the call to be from Art, but instead I see Hen’s name. I hesitate, then take the call.

‘Hello?’

‘Oh, Gen.’ Her voice is at breaking point, teary and strained. ‘I’ve been so worried about you. Art’s been on the phone every five minutes. He’s frantic. Why
have you run away? I keep thinking about your face when I talked about Art and I’ve been so upset all day that you could even think that we . . . that me and Art . . .’ She pauses for
breath and I can hear her sniffing. ‘Oh, Gen, please tell me you believe me,
please
.’

I stare out of the car window, feeling numb. Part of me wants to tell Hen what I know just to hear her reaction . . . that Ed exists . . . that Art has a double life with some other woman . . .
that people have been killed to keep this information hidden . . . But it’s hard to say the words.

‘Gen?’ Hen is clearly on the verge of tears. ‘Please talk to me.’

My mind flashes back to her conviction that Art’s ‘MDO’ payment stood for Manage Debt Online. Hen knows more than she’s told me. I’m sure of it.

‘What do you know, Hen?’ I ask. ‘If you want me to trust you, you have to be honest. I
know
there’s something you haven’t told me, so please don’t
lie. It was about that money, wasn’t it? Something about Art being in debt?’

‘He isn’t . . . it wasn’t . . .’ Hen sobs. ‘Oh, Gen, no.’

‘No what?’

‘Nothing.’ She sniffs again. ‘It’s nothing.’

She’s definitely hiding something. I can hear it in her voice. ‘Okay, if you’re not going to tell me . . .’ I wait.

There’s a tense pause, then Hen’s voice cracks. ‘It was . . . it is, oh Gen, I didn’t want you to know . . .’

My stomach twists into knots. ‘Know what?’

Hen takes a deep breath. ‘Art paid that fifty grand for
me
,’ Hen explains. ‘I was broke, okay? Nat had just been born and I was in terrible debt, worse than I ever
admitted to you. I’d signed up with Manage Debt Online because I thought it would all be clean and simple and done over the internet, but they’re loan sharks. When I couldn’t pay
the loan back, they added interest, then they came after me, threatening me . . . and Nat . . .’

I think back. Hen was certainly in debt all the time I knew her, until her marriage to Rob. But could things really have been that bad without her telling me?

‘Why didn’t you say something?’ I said.

‘At first because I was embarrassed . . . ashamed, almost . . . I mean you were so sorted about everything. You’d got your books published, you’d found Art . . . I had nothing.
No job, no man.’ She pauses. ‘Then you lost your baby and my worries seemed pathetic next to that, so . . .’ She tails off.

‘But you told
Art
?’ She’s surely making this up. ‘
Art
gave you fifty grand?’

‘He
loaned
it to me,’ Hen insists. ‘He found me crying when I came to see you after Beth . . . I poured it all out to him and he offered to help. God, Gen, I paid him
back. Bits here and there for years. And Rob paid off the balance last year, so it’s all over, Gen. Finished.’

I still can’t believe this is all Art’s MDO payment amounts to. ‘So why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Tell you what?’

‘That you needed the money? That Art gave it to you? Why didn’t
he
tell me?’ Terrifying possibilities crowd my head. My husband and my best friend in hushed
conversation behind my back. One thing leading to another. Secrets.

More
secrets.

‘Were you . . . did you . . .?’

‘
No
,’ Hen wails. ‘No, Gen, how can you think that? I just owed a lot of money and Art helped. You
know
I was in debt back then.’

‘Why didn’t you say something when I asked you last week?’

‘I couldn’t tell you last week because I didn’t tell you eight years ago. And I didn’t tell you eight years ago because . . .’ She hesitates.

‘Why?’ I sit up in the passenger seat, trembling. I’m aware of Lorcan beside me. He’s staring at me, his eyes filled with concern. ‘Give me one good reason why you
didn’t tell me, your best friend, that your debts were that bad?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

What the hell does that mean? ‘I don’t—’

‘For goodness’ sake, Gen; your baby had just bloody died. You couldn’t look at mine without crying.’

‘But you could have still told me.’

‘Could I?’ Hen’s voice hardens. ‘The way I remember it, no one else was really allowed to have anything bad going on in their lives back then.’

I gasp. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘Yes, it is,’ Hen snaps. ‘D’you have any idea how hard it was for me to be a single mother . . . a first-time mother . . . and have my best friend completely cut off from
me?’

‘I know I wasn’t there for you but—’