Poison Heart (27 page)

‘What about you and Laura? Three whole years – congratulations!’

He didn’t reply and I was worried this was too personal, but he raised his eyes as the gulls swarmed overhead desperate for scraps. ‘She’s so completely comfortable.’

‘Like a pair of old shoes,’ I joked.

Luke smiled, but seemed sad at the same time. It was ages before he spoke again. ‘I don’t think we’ll make it, Kat. We want such different things. Laura’s given me some kind of ultimatum.’

‘I’m so sorry …’

I trailed off, not knowing what to say and shocked because I was glad at this news. I didn’t understand why, because I didn’t have feelings for Luke. I couldn’t have feelings for Luke.

‘It’s OK,’ he replied easily. ‘We’ve both changed … it happens.’

I squeezed his hand and we studied the turbulent water fighting against the wooden sleepers of the sea wall. As I stared into the murky water with its yellow foam I felt a horrible prickly fear run down my spine about something that was to come.

‘I feel like I’m drowning,’ I said simply, ‘and Genevieve’s with me but she doesn’t want to be saved, she wants me to go with her.’

Luke dug his hands deep into his pockets. ‘That’s just a projection of your fears …’

Suddenly the heavens opened. Luke pulled me to my feet and we ran to the car together, panting. He turned on the wipers and we stayed for a few minutes watching the awesome power of the rolling sea, the horizon just a grey mist of water and sky converged.

‘Things have gone way too far now,’ I said with unusual decisiveness. ‘The burning building changes everything. I have to try to stop Genevieve. End the mystery once and for all.’

Luke raised his eyebrows at me. ‘You sound determined.’

I nodded grimly. ‘I’ve put this off for too long, Luke. I know exactly what I should do next.’

Mum?’

She was out of bed but still in her dressing gown. I’d been kidding myself that she was doing well, but evidence to the contrary was staring me in the face – the sunken eyes, extra worry lines that had appeared overnight and a permanent look of apprehension. She was living on her nerves, and the slightest noise made her jump out of her skin.

‘Mum, we need to talk. You have to tell me what’s going on.’

Two cups of coffee lay untouched on the table as we sat by the fire together, the wind howling outside and rain lashing the windows. Impatience was making me edgy, but I knew it was important to let her do this in her own time. It took her ages to begin and I really thought she was going to bolt, but finally she took a deep breath.

‘I was living close to York when you were born.’

I wasn’t supposed to know this so I appeared suitably surprised. ‘You mean I wasn’t born here?’

‘No … I was still a student when I fell pregnant and I hid it from everyone for as long as I could. I didn’t tell you because … well … I’m not sure really.’

Mum looked at me wistfully and I wondered if she was remembering my father, whom she never talked about.

‘Why did you hide it?’

She clenched her fists together until her knuckles were white. ‘My parents … Gran and Grandad were quite strict
and were so pleased that I’d gone to university; I couldn’t bear to let them down.’

‘Were you living in halls?’ I asked innocently.

‘No … all the places went to first years. The only accommodation I could get was outside the city, a dingy room in a big old house with five or more other dingy rooms … damp, mice, peeling wallpaper …’

Mum reached for her cup and took a gulp, spilling some on to her dressing gown, but she didn’t even notice. She stopped and I realized that I was going to have to coax her and it was important to choose my words carefully.

‘Did that place … I mean … is it possible it could have a connection to Grace … or Genevieve as she calls herself now?’

‘I can’t be certain,’ Mum answered with a tinge of desperate hope. ‘It might all be a terrible coincidence. I mean there’s no proof … just a name.’

Her voice said one thing but her eyes told me another. There was one way to sort out Genevieve’s identity once and for all. I steeled myself, feeling that I was on the brink of something immense. ‘Would you remember Grace’s date of birth?’

Mum reeled off the date immediately which took me by surprise, but I reasoned that it was only four days before mine so it would have stayed in her memory.

‘Then there’s no doubt,’ I replied flatly. ‘The college confirmed Genevieve’s birthday from their computer records. Genevieve and Grace are the same person.’

Mum barely reacted and I figured that, deep down, this wasn’t a shock to her. But my stomach lurched and wild thoughts ran through my mind as I remembered the photograph of the unknown baby: Mum had postnatal depression and didn’t know what was going on; Genevieve’s mother had tricked her into taking the small sickly infant and kept the strong, healthy one herself; or they’d both undertaken some strange experiment to raise each other’s child and see how they turned out. This was utterly mad and I was impatient for answers, but it was important not to frighten Mum. I took a few deep breaths and composed myself.

‘Did you know Genevieve’s mother well?’

‘I knew
of
her,’ Mum stressed, and I could tell it wasn’t in a nice way. Her brow wrinkled as she struggled to remember. ‘People were aware she was taking drugs, but everyone looked the other way … We all walked by and didn’t want to get involved, it was easier that way.’

‘So … what changed?’

Mum’s eyelids slowly closed and her voice faded. I had to lean my ear towards her just to catch her words. ‘She became a mother … and now it wasn’t just herself she was destroying.’

I knew the answer already but I still had to ask. ‘Was I there … at the same time as Genevieve?’

Mum didn’t deny it. She let her head fall to her chest and cleared her throat with difficulty.

‘The night you came home from hospital you slept
like an angel, perfect and beautifully still and in the morning … you were so peaceful.’ She stopped and one large tear rolled down her face and splashed on to her leg. ‘And I heard the crying again … frantic … inconsolable … so I went down to look.’

I jumped as Gemma strolled into the room as if she owned the place. She curled up at my feet and I brushed her fur, glad of the distraction. ‘What did you see?’

She stared straight ahead and spoke without emotion. ‘There was a heatwave, and even at nine in the morning it was a scorching day. There was a pram parked next to bags of rubbish … I could see a face … she was dirty and had soiled her nappy … waving her arms frantically in the air and a wasp was crawling over her. She’d been crying for so long that she was all blotchy and her crying was hoarse …’

I felt prickles again and wished I could spare Mum this pain. Gran’s words suddenly came back to me – she’d talked about a death from a drug overdose which had affected Mum deeply.

‘Was her mum … OK?’ I asked cautiously.

Mum shook her head and quickly wiped her face. ‘There was nothing I could do, nothing anyone could do … I was frozen with shock …’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I said immediately, but Mum ignored me and continued talking in the same monotone.

‘But that’s when I knew … I was in that exact place at that time … I was a mother too, and it was my
duty. I felt it so deeply that nothing could have stopped me.’

This sounded a bit strange. ‘You phoned the police?’

Mum didn’t answer.

‘You phoned the police?’ I persisted.

‘They did come,’ she replied. ‘I remember them coming.’

‘And what happened to Genevieve?’

Mum’s mouth twisted in anguish. ‘I’m not sure. I was far away, back home with Gran and Grandad. It was so remote there and cut off from everything, but that was what I needed.’

Warm relief engulfed me. These were the answers I’d been seeking. Mum was only guilty of acting like a caring person. If she hadn’t decided to investigate that morning, it could have been much worse. Genevieve could have died too. I felt like a balloon that had slowly deflated and I could breathe easily again. I’d been so stupid, coming up with bizarre scenarios when the explanation was so simple – sad but simple.

‘You never told anyone?’

‘Not until today.’

I stood with my back to the fire, warming my legs. Now I could view Genevieve as a person with psychological problems and stop obsessing about her having some kind of supernatural hold over me.

‘I’m almost an adult now, and it’s obvious to me you couldn’t have saved Genevieve’s mum. Anyone could see you did nothing wrong.’

‘Anyone but
Genevieve
,’ she corrected.

This was entirely likely, but it was important to offer Mum reassurance. ‘She will understand.’

Mum suddenly sat bolt upright in her chair. ‘That girl, Genevieve … I don’t think she’s very stable.’

This didn’t seem like the time to describe how disturbed Genevieve really was. I still didn’t know how she’d managed to track us down, but she must have distorted everything in her head so that Mum was somehow culpable. And it was easy to see why she hated me – I still had a mother and she didn’t, which was probably why she made those threats about taking over my life.

We sat in silence, listening to the storm. It felt nice to be cocooned together like this, all the distance between us removed. I tried to drink my coffee but it had gone cold and there was a skin of milk floating on the top. Mum was still chewing something over, and I waited for her to continue.

Eventually she spoke. ‘And … Genevieve’s childhood? Was it very unhappy?’

I rolled my eyes. ‘By all accounts … but … she was a problem child. No matter how many people tried to help, she always ended up alone.’

The effect of these words was startling. Mum looked devastated and her fist jammed in her mouth. She began to sob – huge noisy sobs that shook the whole of her body. ‘I should have intervened, Katy. We were both young mothers, but I had Gran and Grandad to support me; she
had no one. A few minutes sooner and I might have been in time …’

‘You had your own problems,’ I soothed.

‘I’ve ruined two lives …’

I knelt on the floor next to Mum’s chair. ‘Genevieve’s mum died because she didn’t give up drugs, not even for her baby. She didn’t take responsibility and she paid the price.’

Mum’s lips formed themselves into a small O of despair. She looked like a frightened child. ‘I’ve no right to judge;
I’ve
been a terrible mother …’

‘You haven’t,’ I argued. ‘I’ve never been unhappy or neglected.’

Mum was still distressed and I kicked myself for not handling this better.

‘This has always haunted me,’ she cried. ‘You can never escape from the past, no matter how hard you try.’

‘I’m going to talk to Genevieve,’ I announced. ‘Make her see that you did nothing wrong.’

Mum shook her head stubbornly and her bottom lip stuck out. ‘Stay away from that girl. She’s determined to make me pay … she’s getting to me through you.’

‘Not any more,’ I insisted. ‘She can’t hurt me now because I know the truth.’

Mum suddenly slumped in her chair. ‘The truth is not always what it seems,’ she answered with difficulty.

There was no point saying anything else. Mum seemed to have gone somewhere in her mind, to that place that I could never follow. I helped her back to bed and she
responded mechanically and was asleep in less than five minutes. I studied her face for a moment. I had hoped the confession would be a weight off her mind, but it didn’t seem so. Even asleep, her forehead was deeply scored and her mouth twitching as if she was plagued by bad memories. But she’d opened the floodgates and maybe now she could heal.

I sent Luke a long message telling him everything that had happened and how the mystery was finally solved, and also to thank him for all his help. In a strange way, I was sad, because we’d made such a great team. He was right after all – the mystery wasn’t weirdly spooky or inexplicable, just a sad tale of a woman who couldn’t cope and the consequences. Mum was a bystander who got caught up in it, and the repercussions were being felt even now. No one knew how Genevieve had discovered the truth, but it wasn’t really important. The only thing left was to convince her that my mother was acting in her interests and beg her to leave us alone. Closure – that was what we needed.

The dress was so sheer that it kept slipping through my hands like grains of sand. It was going to take all my patience and endurance to put it back together again, and the colour was impossible to match because it varied depending on the light. The moment I had a piece of thread ready, it seemed to change again. I worked from the inside, making a kind of cat’s cradle to support the layers of thread and gently joining the frayed edges together. If the fabric had been paler, I wouldn’t have got away with it, but in the end the tear was virtually undetectable.

We’d made arrangements to meet at Hannah’s at about seven. Mum wanted to see what I’d bought so I floated downstairs, doing a twirl as I reached the bottom.