KEW, SOUTH-WEST LONDON
Friday, 3 September; 1.55 p.m.
I still wasn’t sure what had happened. In one way, those intense days in the hospital remained vivid in my mind; in another, they were a blur of such mixed emotions that I couldn’t work out what was real – and what I’d imagined. All I knew was that the babies had worn identity bracelets, and the neonatal unit was rarely quiet: people had been constantly milling around.
Plus, Billy had his ‘magic fingers’. Although I had seen him only fleetingly after my caesarean, before fainting when Mary took me to visit him in special care, I’d seen him again soon after that and distinctly remembered noticing his webbed hand. An accidental mix-up seemed so unlikely, given Billy’s unique physical characteristics.
As far as I was concerned, that left only two possibilities. First, and least likely in my mind, was that Eve was right and a crime had been committed. But I struggled to think how: only the doctors and midwives had direct access to the wards.
Admittedly, visiting times were chaotic, but only Daniel had visited me, no one had come to see Eve, and I doubted anyone could swap two babies without the medical staff noticing.
Moreover, I was still far from convinced that such a swap had even taken place. Billy’s syndactyly condition could have been a coincidence, I reminded myself. After struggling with grief for so long, it was possible that when Eve had seen Billy’s photo in that magazine, she’d remembered their shared characteristic and had seized on it as false proof of something more.
The thought also reminded me of the deluded, possibly dangerous state of her mind. ‘Are you sure it’s safe to leave them alone?’ I said, as Daniel joined me in the kitchen.
‘I’ve double-locked the front door. Billy’s going nowhere. Nor is Eve.’
His harsh tone made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. ‘How is he?’
‘Fine. Actually, he’s having fun. He wants Eve to stay for tea. I’ve told him she can spend the afternoon. Maybe that will help her get this … insanity out of her system.’
‘If only it were that simple.’ I sighed, swallowing hurt at the idea of Billy having fun with Eve; afternoons had always been our time for games and play.
‘She can’t replace you, Ruth,’ Daniel said quietly. ‘Billy has loved you his whole life.’
I shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d picked up on my deepest anxiety, but with the continued tension between us, and all manner of suspicions festering in my mind, somehow it hadn’t felt like he was still on my side.
It was a relief to feel some of our old affinity returning; it prompted me to confess the worry weighing most heavily on me. ‘Shouldn’t I have known?’ I whispered.
Daniel flicked on the kettle, before turning back to look at me. ‘Known what?’
‘You said I’ve been a good mum. What’s wrong with me that I never realised?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with you.’ His voice was flat and hard. ‘Eve is the crazy one.’
‘Are you saying you still don’t believe her, either?’ My heart leaped with hope. ‘It’s still most likely that this is all a scam, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Ruth.’ Daniel let out a heavy sigh. ‘I’ve said so all along, haven’t I?’
‘Billy’s hand condition could be coincidence. Grief does terrible things to your mind. I should know,’ I said huskily. ‘That magazine article probably pushed Eve over the edge. Seeing the photo of Billy. It must have reminded her of him. Me. Us. Everything we have that she doesn’t. She had to do something. Try anything.’
‘Exactly. We can’t let her get inside our heads.’
‘It’s not even that convincing,’ I said, talking myself out of any lingering doubts. ‘If Eve truly believed our babies were switched, why wait so long to do something? What kind of mother walks away from her own child?’ Bea had, I remembered. She’d been young at the time, but I had never heard her mention her lost baby, and for a time we’d shared everything.
‘Look.’ Daniel spun my bar stool around, so that I was facing him. ‘There’s still a way out of this. Once Eve has spent time with Billy, she’ll realise how being a parent would cramp her style. She lives on a boat. That’s what she’s always wanted. Or so she said. She likes her freedom. I’m sure we can find a way to … uh, convince her to disappear.’
A chill ran through me; I deliberately shrugged it off. Daniel had left the army years ago. He was a senior executive at an international bank; he wasn’t a backstreet thug. He wouldn’t harm Eve simply to make her go away.
‘You mean a court battle?’ I said, to be absolutely clear.
Daniel shrugged. ‘Of course. What else?’
‘Wouldn’t blood tests be easier? Like you said, a DNA test would give us categorical proof.’ I felt a flutter of panic at the thought that it might not give us the result Daniel wanted. ‘Eve can’t argue with science.’
‘No. She can’t. But things might still go to court. We’d have to prepare ourselves for that. The good news is that Eve is hardly a reliable witness. A young girl growing up on the streets.’ He shook his head. ‘No judge is going to hand over a child to someone like that.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Definitely. Ultimately, the courts would have Billy’s best interests at heart.’
‘I hope so.’ It suddenly hit me why Eve had been so keen to get Billy on her boat. He had followed her on board easily, happily. Children were adaptable, and they were adopted all the time. Billy would survive. I wasn’t sure I would.
I couldn’t bear the thought of him living in a different home, with another mummy. I’d moved from foster family to foster family as a child, always feeling that something wasn’t right. The sense of being an outsider had become embedded within me; I refused to let Billy grow up with that same feeling of unbelonging.
It tore me up to think of telling him I wasn’t his real mummy; I ached at the thought of him wondering, even for a second, if I’d lied to him. If I had stolen him.
Once I’d admitted the worry to myself, I couldn’t shake it off. ‘Maybe I did know.’
‘What?’
‘What if Billy really isn’t ours, but I’ve shut my mind to it? Buried it. What do they call it? Repressed memories. The mind blocking out something it doesn’t want to recognise. They’ve done studies on that kind of thing, haven’t they?’
‘You’re talking about major trauma.’ Daniel turned to look at me. ‘Damaged people who’ve endured something horrendous, their brains dissociating from triggering incidents. Or even shutting down memories entirely, to protect their sanity.’
‘Isn’t what I’ve been through traumatic enough? IVF is brutal. All those months, years of trying to have a baby, only to result in … you know.’ Ghost babies, I thought, tormenting myself.
I knew I didn’t have to spell it out more clearly – remind Daniel of how many times I’d convinced myself I was pregnant … the frantic, hopeful trips to hospital, always ending the same way: with grave-faced doctors proposing a psychiatric referral.
Daniel had been right there, every step of the way, patiently carrying me through my agony, forever masking his own.
‘I would have done anything to have a child,’ I said at last, when he continued to gaze silently, impassively at me. I drew in a breath. ‘And so would you.’