His Kidnapper's Shoes (15 page)

He glanced at his watch. Half past eleven. He figured he’d go round to Katie’s after he’d caught up on some more sleep, about two o’clock.

He woke up again early afternoon, head still throbbing but definitely better. Time to set off for Katie’s flat in Putney. He hadn't a clue how to tell her what he'd discovered without it sounding like a bizarre joke.

She answered his ring on the doorbell immediately, all curves and spice in her trademark tight jeans and figure-hugging top, and pulled him straightaway into a fierce kiss. All thoughts of what he'd come to tell her vanished from his mind, his only thought the sensations she provoked in his groin. God, he yearned to fuck her senseless, to celebrate his discovery with sex, fast, furious and feral, their fucking marking a new start for him. Not yet, though. He'd tell her first and then they’d hit the sack.

He pulled her into the living room, sitting down beside her on the sofa.

‘Katie…’ His hands reached out and grabbed hers. ‘I’ve got some news. Incredible news. You won’t believe what I’ve found out.’

‘About your real mother?’ Excited impatience sprang from Katie. ‘Did Laura Bateman tell you the truth when you confronted her?’

‘She didn’t tell me anything. Same old story of denial. No surprise there.’

‘What then?’ Puzzlement clouded her face. ‘Did you tackle your stepfather instead? Did he reveal something to you?’

Daniel snorted. ‘I haven't seen the bastard in years and even if I did there's no way in hell he'd ever say or do anything to help me. Found it all out myself, Katie. I've discovered who I am, where I come from, my real parents, everything.’

‘How?’ Bemusement drew her forehead into lines, endearing puckers Daniel longed to smooth away. He relished sweet satisfaction over the news he'd soon reveal, picturing her reaction. Disbelief first, probably, then shock and amazement once he convinced her he wasn’t bullshitting. Then a hundred eager questions, prising every detail out of him.

‘The British Library.’ He savoured the moment. ‘That's how I found out the truth. Checking through the newspaper archives.’ He drew in a breath. ‘I was kidnapped, Katie. My real name is Daniel James Cordwell.’

She gasped, the sound strangling itself in her throat. Taken aback, he checked her face, gauging her reaction.

Not what he was expecting. Shock, definitely shock, but the incredulous response he'd anticipated was missing. Instead – what was he seeing? Anguish, although he had no idea why. Katie’s expression spoke to him of denial, of wanting to crawl as far away as possible from what he was saying. His confidence slipped several notches, making him stumble over his next words, uncertain as to what her reaction meant.

‘Katie…what is it? What's wrong?’

He'd never seen her so pale. This wasn't Katie, his confident sassy girlfriend. Something in her expression reminded him of the time she'd seemed strange to him a while ago when talking about her sister. He didn't like it, didn’t understand it but something told him not to press her, to wait for her to speak.

‘No way. No way, Dan. This is crazy. You're talking bullshit.’

He didn't answer, not trusting himself to reply.

‘What’s happened? Why are you saying this?’ She gulped, walked quickly from the room into the kitchen, returning with a handful of paper towels. She wiped her face, blew her nose.

‘You’re not making any sense.’ A sob came from her. ‘OK, so your mother isn’t your mother and you need to find out what’s behind all that, but you being kidnapped?’ She shook her head in confusion and denial, more tears running down her face. He'd never seen her cry before. He still had no idea what lay behind her reaction.

‘Katie.’ She wouldn’t look at him. He continued anyway. ‘Katie, I read the newspaper reports of the kidnap. I saw the picture of my mother and I recognised her as the woman who used to sit beside my bed. The girl I remember, the girl with the dark hair - she was my nanny.’

‘No.’ Katie shook her head. ‘No, I don’t believe this.’ Her voice started rising in pitch. ‘It’s all coincidence. Just because you find out your mother isn’t your mother – it doesn’t follow you were kidnapped. You have no proof of this.’ She dabbed at her face with a paper towel. ‘You should have thought this through before barging in here, spouting crap like this. I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it.’

‘Katie…’

‘Don’t do this to me, Dan.’

In order to convince her, he undid his belt, pulled down his jeans and boxers a few inches and twisted his body towards her. ‘Look, Katie.’ He pointed at his hip. ‘The newspaper article said Daniel James Cordwell had no distinguishing characteristics, apart from a mole on his right hip. You’ve seen it often enough. There’s your proof.’

She didn’t look at his pointing finger. She didn’t need to.

‘Oh, God,’ she said. ‘Oh, my God. It’s true, then.’

‘Yes. Katie, what’s wrong? Why are you reacting this way?’

The air hung thickly between them.

‘Katie, talk to me.’

After what seemed like forever, her eyes met his. Pain hit him at the torment in them.

‘Christ, Daniel, I wish to God there was an easy way to tell you this. The woman in the newspaper article, the one you recognised as your mother. Her name’s Sarah, isn’t it? Sarah Cordwell.’

Confusion pushed aside pain. ‘How the hell did you know...?’

She dropped her gaze before delivering the hammer blow.

‘She's my sister, Daniel.’

Then she was on her feet, running from the room into the hallway and into the bathroom. The door slammed behind her. Loud choking sobs hit Daniel’s ears.

He sat in stunned silence.

His mind flew back to being in bed with Katie, when she’d talked about her family. Oh, God. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be.

Sarah Cordwell. He’d never known the surname of Katie’s married sister. He was her son, Daniel James Cordwell. Katie was his aunt. His blood relative. His kidnap by Laura Covey must have been the skeleton in the family closet she’d mentioned.

He’d have laughed at the irony of the situation, if he hadn’t been so utterly distraught, if his guts weren’t twisting themselves into a double helix, the double helix of the DNA he shared with Katie.

He’d gone looking for an aunt, expecting her to turn out to be the sister of Laura Covey.

Well, he’d found an aunt all right. The problem was - she’d been sharing his bed for the last few weeks.

And holy shit, he’d always wanted to be part of a different family, a happy, united one that didn’t include Ian Bateman. He’d envied Katie her family set-up, with the devoted parents and the adoring sister. And there lay the irony. Turned out he belonged to it and always had done.

The only problem being - he was the loud, rattling skeleton in the family closet.

A bad case of be careful what you wish for, he thought.

He rubbed his hand over his face, forcing down the emotions blocking his throat. He’d met the one woman capable of turning Daniel Bateman, consummate player, into Mr Faithful, the only girl he’d ever thought he could fall in love with, and she turned out to be his aunt. An aunt whose penchant for sculpture had drawn her into the shop where he worked, the conversation they’d had about Balinese carvings bringing them together. The sense he’d had when he first met Katie of somehow already knowing her must have been déjà vu waving a red flag at him.

Dear God. He and Katie were over; they had to be. In order for him to be reunited with his mother and father, and even for Katie’s sake, he wouldn’t deny himself, or them, that reunion, what they’d forged between them would have to end. How he’d handle seeing her in the future, he had no idea. They’d have to make sure they didn’t meet for as long as possible, to take the heat out of the situation, until the passion between them had died. Their relationship had to remain a secret too, if he knew anything at this completely screwed-up point in his life. Her family didn’t need another skeleton in the closet. He’d release the one they already had, and he wasn’t going to replace it with another.

Christ. He’d told Katie this was a big can of worms – boy, he’d had no idea of the truth behind those words. An almighty can of maggots, in fact, and now he’d opened the can, they were crawling everywhere, leaving trails of filth over his life and his relationship with Katie. There was no way to seal them back up again, either.

Katie, oh, Katie. Would he turn back the clock, undo opening the can of worms, if it meant being able to continue with her, never knowing his real family, both of them oblivious to their blood relationship? Would he suppress the memories, the gut feelings, accept Laura Bateman as the only family he had, if he could keep Katie?

No was the answer. He’d rather find his roots than carry on unawares with Katie. His identity, or rather the fact he’d always felt as if he didn’t have one, meant too much to him. And he was pretty damn sure he’d have got to the truth anyway. Katie would have told him eventually about the kidnap and his doubts would only have grown stronger. He’d have met Katie’s sister, his mother, at some point and his gut would have flagged up to him their shared genes, as it had done when he read the newspaper article. Then, when the truth came out, Sarah Cordwell would have to endure knowing her son had slept with his aunt, a bombshell with enough power to blow his new family into the stratosphere.

He shook his head in disbelief. Several good parts did exist in what he’d unearthed. He’d had his gut feelings confirmed, he’d tracked down the two women for whom he’d been searching for so long, and he’d found his birth family. The discovery of his identity would have seemed almost miraculous if it hadn’t been for the inevitable break-up with Katie. That was the bad part. Finding the truth had come with a price tag, an expensive one – losing the woman with whom he’d been falling in love.

He realised he should go to her. He walked to the bathroom, pounding on the door, calling her name into the silence stretching before him.

Eventually the door opened and she came out, pushing past him, her eyes refusing to meet his. He followed her into the living room, forcing himself to say something to cut the silence between them.

‘Christ, Katie.’ He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, unable to look at her. ‘This whole thing is so incredibly fucked-up. I mean…your sister is my mother? We’re related? Jeez, I can’t wrap my head around all this.’

‘I can hardly believe it either.’ Her voice was thick with tears. ‘I mean…we used to play together as kids. Sarah would bring you over for games of hide and seek. You don’t remember?’

‘No. I was four years old, Katie. I remember my mother…and the nanny…nothing else from back then.’

‘I don’t remember much either. I was only six years old myself.’ She was calmer now, her face still pale with shock though. ‘What I do remember is knowing something terrible had happened to my sister. To you as well. Oh, Mum and Dad did their best to explain it to me.’ The tears started to flow again.

‘I remember them telling me how you had been taken away by somebody bad, very bad, but everyone would do all they could to find you and bring you home safely. Mum told me how terribly upset Sarah and Howard were they’d lost you. She shook her head. ‘I remember crying and Mum comforting me. Sarah looked so heartbroken, so distraught. I’d ask every day when you were coming home, when Sarah would laugh again as she used to. She was never the same after you’d been abducted. Oh, she’d come over, and she’d play with me, like she did before, but she didn’t smile anymore. Later on Mum told me she’d become ill, seriously ill, but they hoped she’d get better.’

‘Did she have a breakdown?’

‘Suicide attempt. About a year after you’d been abducted.’

Christ. This didn’t get any better, he thought. Whoever said the hard way always got easier was completely off-beam. ‘What happened?’

‘She cut her wrists in the bath. Howard came home early from work, thank God. Seems he had a gut feeling something wasn’t right. She’d lost a fair bit of blood but he got to her in time. Back then, all Mum said was that Sarah had gone to the hospital, but she would be all right. I don’t remember what she told me was wrong with her. Anyway, Sarah needed loads of help for a long time after they discharged her. Counselling, therapy, that sort of thing. I didn’t find out about all this until I was a lot older, when I asked Mum about the scars on Sarah’s wrists. Howard helped her pull through it all. He’d not realised how bad she’d got before the suicide attempt but afterwards…well, Mum says he was incredibly supportive. I think it would have killed him to lose Sarah. He’d already lost you, remember.’

‘They must have given up hope I’d ever be found.’

‘I think they did. Oh, nobody ever actually said so. Especially around me. The story was always that you’d be found one day, and soon, and the bad person who had taken you would be punished. The police didn’t find any solid leads, though. Mum told me that after a while, as time went on and you remained missing, everyone’s worst fear seemed to become more and more likely, that some perverted monster had taken you. Everyone thought you had to be dead if that were the case. She also told me they actually hoped you were dead, rather than alive with a paedophile, which they found too awful even to think about.’

She paused. ‘That was why I never made the connection when you told me your doubts about your parentage or when the DNA results came back negative. Never once did I consider you might be my nephew. When I was old enough to think about things properly, about what might have happened to you, well, I believed you must be long dead. I thought whoever took you must have killed you. The odds of you still being alive…they didn’t seem good. It seemed more likely you’d been taken and murdered by a sexual predator, as much as I hated to think about such a thing.’