It wasn’t hard to find out where Aiden lives now. He still runs his business from the same place in Ealing, and all I needed to do was make sure I got there before he left and follow him home from work. It felt wrong, intruding on his life in that way, and I had no idea what I’d do if he turned around and spotted me, but my desire to find Kayla was far greater than dealing with the consequences of discovery.
I wasn’t expecting him to still live in Putney, assuming it would hold too many painful memories. For me, I had to get as far away as possible.
From across the street, I take in every detail of the house. It’s nothing like the Edwardian property we rented together. It was always our plan to buy once we started a family, and I wonder if Aiden owns the one I’m standing before. It’s a small semi-detached new build, and I’m sure he’d be able to afford it on his own.
There are lights on, so I know he’s home, although I can’t see anything through the blinds.
Kayla will be in there, and I want to picture her, but somehow the image of her from earlier has vanished from my memory. All I can see is a three-month-old baby, staring at me, expecting me to know what to do, to make everything better.
It’s past nine p.m. now, heading nearer to ten, so she’ll definitely be in bed – I know with certainty that Aiden will be strict about her bedtime routine. The reality is, though, I actually have no idea what their lives are like now, how they spend their time together or what kind of relationship they have. They are both strangers to me, where once I knew every inch of my baby, and thought I knew my husband.
It is strange to give him that label; he will have long ago stopped thinking of me as his wife, even though neither of us has tracked the other down to file for divorce.
Do I really think I’m going to knock on the door? No time of day would make it easier, but so late at night? It’s not as if I briefly walked away from my life. It’s been two years and three months, give or take a few days. Two years which feel like seconds as much as they are a lifetime. But that email means the clock is ticking, so I must act now.
My feet move forward, taking me in a direction I’m desperate to go in, yet terrified of. Towards Kayla. I can do this – I just have to keep moving.
The front door opens, and I freeze. I’m not ready to be seen yet; it won’t be on the terms I’ve prepared myself for. I want to be at the front door, not standing here across the road, purposeless. I need to have rung the doorbell, to ensure that I am the one who has found them, not the other way around. Even though it’s already clear that I’ve been found.
There’s no hiding place here. I am out in the open, illuminated by the street lights. There is nothing I can do. So I stop where I am – perhaps I’m not able to move even if I want to – and wait for fate to determine what happens. The loss of control is my worst nightmare.
It’s her. The woman who was looking after Kayla this afternoon. She looks older than I assumed she was: nearer to thirty than twenty. Strange that she’s still here when Kayla would have gone to bed hours ago. Then, just as my mind starts piecing together this scenario, Aiden appears behind her and pulls her towards him, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her on the forehead. She nestles into him, and I want to turn away but I can’t. Once again I’m frozen. Mentally and physically.
Seeing Aiden with someone else shouldn’t send excruciating spasms of pain through my body and weaken my legs. No. He stopped being mine the second I walked away.
But this changes everything. I am already far too late.
When I get home an idea takes shape in my mind and I can’t let it go. I need to know everything about my daughter, including who the woman is. Although I don’t know her name, I can look on Aiden’s Facebook account and see if there are any details of her on there. He’s never used social media that much but it’s worth a try.
I deleted my own Facebook account years ago, when I was pregnant with Kayla, because suddenly it felt too intrusive to have my life out there. Even though I’d never been one to share personal things on it, it felt good to have no record of me on the Internet. Yet when I wanted to find Aiden, I set up an account with a fake name so that I could see his. The irony of this strikes me now as my mind flits to the message I received that morning as I log on with my new email address, using my middle name, Farrah. I go straight to Aiden Conway’s profile. My husband. His profile picture is an old one, one I took of him while we were on holiday in Portugal, and I’m shocked that he still hasn’t changed it, especially given that he has clearly moved on.
My stomach churns as I scroll down the page. Surprisingly, Aiden’s account isn’t private. Possibly because he doesn’t use the account much, but Aiden hasn’t been strict with his security settings and I can see a few photos from the past year or two. There aren’t many, just some of Aiden with work colleagues at a Christmas party, but the most recent one is one he’s been tagged in.
Nicole Richardson has tagged Aiden Conway in a post.
And now I’m staring at the woman I saw earlier at his house, and at the park with Kayla on the first day I went there. Nicole Richardson has her arm around Aiden, their faces so close together that it’s hard to tell where one begins and the other ends, as if they are one person.
I can’t breathe. They look so in love, so right together that it’s hard to see how Aiden and I ever fitted each other. That photo makes it look like no one else in the world exists except the two of them. And Kayla, of course.
Desperate to see a photo of my daughter, I keep scrolling through Aiden’s timeline, not surprised when I find no trace of Kayla. Aiden would never plaster our daughter all over social media; he was too protective of her, too private, even when she was a newborn baby.
I click on Nicole Richardson’s name, but her account has the highest security settings, so I can’t see anything aside from her name and profile picture. Closing Facebook, I shut my laptop and try to control my breathing.
Nicole Richardson, who are you?
Jamie opens the door and stares at me. I thought he’d be happy that I’m here, that I was doing something good, putting something positive into the universe to make up for what I’ve done. I could have stayed at home, agonising over my next steps, but I’ve come here now to show Jamie that I do care about him. Instead of being pleased, though, he seems disappointed. Almost on edge.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I shouldn’t have just turned up here. I know it’s late.’ I turn to walk away but he steps out and reaches for my arm.
‘Don’t go. I’m the one who should be sorry for just leaving like that earlier. What can I say – I’m an arse sometimes.’ He chuckles. ‘Want to come in?’
I glance up at the window of his flat. It’s usually Jamie coming to my place, so it feels odd being here. Out of my comfort zone. ‘I just came here to apologise,’ I tell him, making no move to go anywhere.
‘Well, can you come in and do it? I know it’s not cold out but I don’t really want to be standing barefoot on my doorstep. Excuse the mess, though – I didn’t think I’d have company this evening.’
Inside, Jamie tidies away the remains of his dinner, which he’s left on the coffee table, while I sit on the sofa and wonder what I’m doing here, despite my earlier determination to do this for him. I can’t get the image of Nicole Richardson out of my head and nothing feels right any more. There’s nowhere I want to be except with my little girl. And even though I have no right to want this – I don’t want her around a woman I don’t know.
‘Shall we watch something on Netflix?’ I suggest, because that way I don’t have to talk. Even though I’ve come here with the intention of proving to Jamie that I do want to be with him, I can’t seem to offer anything of myself right now.
‘Okay,’ Jamie agrees. ‘Netflix it is, then.’
Jamie convinces me to stay the night, and I lie in his bed, listening to the soft sounds of his breathing. I can’t tell if he is asleep as he’s facing away from me. I’ve been refreshing the inbox on my phone, wondering if another email will come, but so far there have been no more messages. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.
I’m distracted, even more so than usual, but I keep reminding myself that there’s nothing more I can do tonight. Kayla will be asleep, and there is no way I can go back round there at this hour and demand to see her. Finding out that Aiden is with someone else has thrown me off course, making it more urgent that I get to Kayla.
Does Nicole Richardson live with them? Does Kayla think she’s her mother? I only have myself to blame but these questions burn inside me, fuelling my anxiety, along with the fear that’s been there since I read those words. I know you lied.
‘Who are you?’ Jamie says, turning and resting his hand on my stomach. He traces the line of my thin C-section scar with his finger. Surgery to remove fibroids, I’ve told him, and he’s never pushed for more details.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
‘We’ve been together, what? Four months? And I feel like we barely know each other. Maybe it’s because we met in such a random way.’
An accidental meeting in a coffee shop. Something that could so easily not have happened if I hadn’t left my phone on the table. Jamie had come running after me, shouting at me to stop. I didn’t turn around to start with because I thought he was just trying to talk to me – I’d seen him looking in my direction too often in the coffee shop and, although he was attractive, I didn’t want to get to know anyone. Or for anyone to get to know me.
‘No, I don’t think that’s it,’ I say. ‘Sometimes it’s just better to stick with the idea we have of people,’ I tell him. ‘Safer. Don’t they say ignorance is bliss?’ This is definitely true; before the email came, and before I found out about Nicole, I at least felt I was on stable ground. Now the earth feels as though I could crash through it at any moment.
Jamie frowns. ‘And what does that mean?’
‘Nothing.’ But also everything. If he really knew me then he wouldn’t want me here in his bed. I know that as a fact. ‘Just that you probably like the idea of me,’ I tell him.
‘That’s all there is to like until you get to know someone, though. But why won’t you let me know you? And you don’t seem to want to know me either.’ He’s not sulking as he says this, merely stating facts. ‘I feel like you’re not… invested in us.’
I don’t speak. What can I say that won’t be a lie? He deserves more than this, even if I don’t.
‘I’m sorry, Jamie.’ Now I feel vulnerable. Exposed. Why can’t he just leave things as they are? The walls begin to close in on me.
‘Sorry for what? Not liking me enough?’
In a way he is so very wrong. He will never know the steps it’s taken for me to share even this little of myself with him. ‘Jamie, it’s late and I’m tired. Can we please talk about this another time? Please.’
‘Right, okay. Another time.’
He turns away and silence folds over us. I close my eyes, knowing there will be no sleep for me tonight.
And minutes later, maybe even seconds, Jamie speaks again. ‘You need to like me enough or leave me alone, Eve.’
As I stare at his back, it hits me how easily Jamie’s fondness would be able to turn to hatred.