Come Back to Me (27 page)

As the sun cast the dusky pinks and mellow oranges of dawn onto the river, the first boats were already making their leisurely way along. The city was lazily yawning and stretching, preparing for another busy day. By contrast, as he stood on the hotel room balcony, Alex's mind was frantic. He had given up all thought of rest some hours ago.

He was out of his depth here. How had it come to this? How come it always felt like he was on the back foot, desperately parrying what everyone else could throw at him?

In his hand was his plane ticket. He had been thinking all night of heading to the airport, catching a plane back to Chloe. He'd been intent on calling her yesterday evening, but Amy's revelation had thrown him completely off-kilter again. He didn't know how much more he could take; the whole thing was becoming a bigger and bigger mess. He tried to imagine how he would be feeling in Chloe's position. He
felt he had let her down, and for what? A girl from his past he thought he owed something to; a girl who this morning he didn't feel he knew at all any more.

He was so angry with Amy.

But then, as always, his thoughts came back to the fact that nothing was her fault. She, more than anyone else, was the victim in this.

He was not that far away from the street where she'd been snatched. He wondered if it would be cathartic to go back there, or whether he would be torturing himself by retracing the steps of a journey that was immeasurably painful the first time around. He had no fucking idea. No clue about the rights and wrongs of any of this.

He leaned against the balcony railing and breathed in the fresh morning air, trying to think of the way forward. Maybe the problem was that he was letting things happen; the empathy he had for everyone else was colouring every action he thought about taking, converting them to inaction. In fact, his decision-making abilities seemed so far to have been paralysed.

But not any more.

He stood back from the railing, stretched, and headed inside.

 

Amy was asleep, a mound under the sheets, her face buried in the pillow. Alex grabbed his phone and went down to the lobby.

Chloe's mobile rang until her voicemail cut in. He had forgotten it was late at night there; she might well be asleep.
The soft, cheerful sound of her voice made him unbearably homesick. After the beep, he tried to leave a message.

‘Chloe, I'm so sorry about all of this. I –' He paused, trying to think of what to say. ‘I want to explain, please give me that chance –' He didn't know what else to add, so in desperation he hung up and tried the number again, not expecting an answer, but then heard a click as it connected.

‘Alex?' Chloe's voice came on the line, low and cautious; for him it was like water on parched skin.

‘Thank god. Chloe, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?' There was a pause. ‘No, of course not. Stupid question. Did you get any of the messages I left? I've wanted to talk to you so much; to explain. I shouldn't have left like that –'

‘I deleted a lot of the messages, Alex. I was too upset to listen to them.' She sounded weary and reserved. Not like her usual self at all. He cringed at having done this to her. To them.

‘Okay, then I need to tell you – we're in Australia because there's a trial – for the murder of another girl. It's the same people, Chloe … Amy wanted to come back … she's completely alone; I felt I owed her this. And it was now or never. Last time I let her down … this time I wanted to do something … These monsters need to get put away.'

‘And what do you think you're doing to me now? For god's sake, Alex –
Australia
?'

He didn't know what to say to that.

‘Just how long are you planning to be in
Australia
? Why haven't you called before?' she said, still sounding tired.

‘I know, I'm sorry,' he began. ‘It's just, it's hard to get a moment alone …'

He trailed off, but she didn't miss a beat. ‘Please don't tell me you're sharing a room with her, Alex.' There was an edge to her voice, and his mind was shouting,
Lie, lie, don't let her think this of you
, but the words wouldn't reach his mouth, so, stupidly, he paused for too long, until saying anything would have been worthless.

There was an almighty silence. Then he heard her voice again, and it was cracked with rage. ‘And what about a
bed
, Alex, are you sharing a bed too?'

‘NO! Chloe, don't …' he said, but the line was already dead.

He remained frozen for a moment with the phone dangling uselessly from his hand. Then a wave of weariness crashed over him, and he headed back to the hotel room, lay on his bed, and tried to rein in his rising emotions.

After what seemed like hours, sleep finally descended on him.

 

When he woke up, Amy was dressed and sitting by the window.

‘What time is it?' he asked, trying to clear the fug from his head; remembering with a pang that his conversation with Chloe hadn't been a dream.

‘Half-past twelve,' she replied.

‘Bloody hell.' He ran his hand over his face, slowly coming to. ‘How long have you been awake?'

‘A while.' She wouldn't look at him.

‘Amy?'

She remained stone-still.

‘Amy, look at me.'

Slowly, she turned her head. His heart sank. Her face was stricken and tear-stained.

 

He got up and dressed in silence, while Amy continued to stare out of the window. Then he put his hand on her shoulder.

‘Let's go and get something to eat.'

She shook her head.

‘Amy.' His tone lowered as he barked at her, his patience thinning. ‘It wasn't a question. Come on, let's go.'

When she lifted her head, she looked taken aback. But she did as he said, getting up and slipping her shoes on, and they headed out the door. This time, Alex was determined to excavate right to the bottom of all their secrets, and uncover some answers.

They bought sandwiches and drinks and headed down to the river, finding a spot on the foreshore away from people, listening to the raucous cockatoos flapping from tree to tree. They were alone, except for the occasional walker or cyclist briskly crossing their path.

‘Last night –' Alex began.

Amy held up her hand. ‘I'm sorry, I was drunk.'

‘Yes, well, for a start that isn't like you –'

She bit back, indignance hammering against her throbbing hangover. ‘Alex, really, how would you know what's like me? You haven't seen me for ten years! You're now a married graphic designer; how the hell do you know what I've become?'

What on earth have I become, she thought as she finished, momentarily quaking inside.

‘Okay, point taken.' He paused, took a deep breath. They
both knew what was coming. ‘But, Amy, you said – you had a
baby
?'

She nodded, staring out across the flat water of the river.

‘So it's true?' Alex said softly.

She nodded again.

Another long, weighty pause. Then, ‘Was it mine?'

She shook her head. She wouldn't look at him; she didn't want to see his expression. She couldn't believe there were more tears left in her, but here they were again, falling silently down her cheeks.

‘Amy,' he said, and before he could ask any more, she was compelled to start talking.

‘You don't understand at all,' she said quietly. ‘Being … attacked like that … it causes scars that can't ever fully heal. But it's more than just a few marks on your body or in your head. In that one day, I lost everything. My self-confidence was gone. My trust in people was gone. I lost my parents, who didn't see me as their innocent girl any more, but as their daughter “the victim”. I lost my friends, as I couldn't face any of them. I felt like what had happened was written all over me, that people knew how disgusting and violated I was as soon as they looked at me. I felt worlds apart from everyone; I couldn't even understand what I'd ever had in common with anyone.'

Her voice was unnaturally high, breaking as she spoke. Her throat felt heavy with the truth of what came next as she looked at Alex. ‘And I lost you.'

Alex tried to meet her eyes, but he could see too deeply into them. He flinched and bowed his head.

‘We lost each other,' he said to the grass. ‘And I know that there's nothing I can say to put that right.'

But she was not ready to be silent and listen to him.

‘When something so utterly vile happens to you, it feels like a new person has taken over your body – like you've been possessed by this stranger. And you're forced to live with them and get to know them, and respond to their wants and needs and desires, because they are you … and yet, they are not you. And while this walking ghost takes over your life, you are desperately trying to find ways to exorcise it – but you never can, because a living, breathing memory has given birth to it, and unless you can get rid of every second of that memory, you can never regain full control of yourself. So I've been wandering like a lost soul within the confines of my own body, hoping beyond all reason that one day I might come back and be myself again. And I'm still waiting, Alex. I'm waiting and hoping and praying … I don't know how much longer I –'

Her voice rose and was absorbed into the wind. She couldn't go on.

Alex's arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her close. She clung on to him desperately, crying, not noticing until her tears began to subside that his body was heaving too.

‘I'm so sorry, Amy,' he whispered into her hair.

After what seemed like a long time, they were both calm and quiet again, staring out across the water. Something had shifted in Amy, and, remarkably, it felt a little like a brief snatched moment of peace.

‘Are you going to get in touch with your mum?' Alex asked.

‘I don't know.'

‘I think you should.'

She looked at Alex. He was still watching the water. ‘I'm not sure she'll want to talk to me after what happened with Dad.'

‘Amy, your dad was an old man –'

She interrupted, ‘Who had a heart attack because of stress. I'm sure of it. If I hadn't – if it hadn't happened, he wouldn't have died.'

‘You don't know that.'

‘No, I don't, not for sure, but I'm pretty certain. I ran away because I was desperate, but I was so selfish – I didn't think about the effect it might have on my poor dad. I just knew that people love to gossip, and when you're the victim everyone looks at you and feels so sorry and sad for you, and then they go home and curl up on the sofa and feel so grateful and smug that they're so lucky. I used to do it – I didn't know that what I was doing was so hurtful, but I did it. And I didn't want the sadness of my life to be the prop in someone else's self-esteem, for people to be looking at me and thinking,
Well, it could be worse, I could be Amy Duvalis
.'

She was expecting Alex to object to this, but he didn't say anything for a while. The silence between them was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Finally, he said, ‘Amy?'

‘Hmm.' She didn't look at him.

‘Please tell me about the baby.'

 

She knew that there was no going back after she told him. She knew he might well judge her. But she also knew it had to be said.

‘I didn't know for ages,' she began. ‘My head was so messed up, I didn't notice I'd barely had a period for months – I presumed it was all part of the trauma. There was no reason for me to think that … they had done a test in the hospital, and given me the morning-after pill. Twice, if I remember rightly, because I kept being sick and they were worried I was throwing it back up. Obviously, they were right. When I finally twigged, it was just from seeing myself in a full-length mirror one day – big boobs, rounded tummy. It suddenly dawned on me – it's crazy, I know.

‘At first I wanted to get rid of it. I was in Thailand at the time, and I went to a doctor …'

Telling it also meant reliving it.
The dirty waiting room. The wrinkled doctor touching her stomach, nodding, gesturing for her to take off her underwear. His impatience when she refused, grabbing her arm, causing her to run out of the place without even paying, the sounds of his unintelligible shouting chasing her down the street.

‘I was in denial till I was about six months gone. I was checking in with Mum and Dad most weeks, telling them I was okay, not mentioning it to them at all. I was bracing myself to come home, but also putting it off.'

She closed her eyes, remembering how her dad would plead every time for her to come back, or at least tell him where she was. How she wished now that she hadn't refused him.

‘After I began to accept what was happening, I wanted the baby to be yours,' she said, not daring to look at him. ‘I dreamed of presenting you with your child, and your overjoyed face when you saw us, and the dream sustained me. In
fact, I was convinced it was yours – although I still wouldn't come home. Looking back, I'm sure that somewhere in my subconscious I knew that if I did, I couldn't keep alive the spell I'd woven around myself – there would be too many questions.

‘Then, when I was eight months pregnant, I called home …'

Another raw, crippling memory.
Her mother, the calm, practical one, had been hysterical. Her dad had already been dead three days from the heart attack. Her mum was alone. She had begged Amy to come back.

‘In the emotion of it all I promised I would come home, but I knew I couldn't. Even if I'd wanted to, no airline would have let me on a plane – I was enormous. I was in a state of terrible grief, I was inconsolable. And alone. I don't remember much about the week after that phone call.'

Bangkok, a dirty, bare-walled room with a faint smell of sewage. A bed with a grey sheet, on which she had lain all week. The concerned owners – an old, hunched Thai couple – whispering whenever they saw her …

‘My waters broke one morning about a week after I heard about Dad, and the hostel owners took me to hospital. The wife even stayed with me, and held my hand, and gave me instructions in faltering English when I didn't understand what was going on, and calmed me down when I tried to push doctors away from me.'

And cooed over the baby when it was born, and looked quite upset when Amy wouldn't really look at the child.

‘The birth itself was horrific. But that night, after I had her, I couldn't help myself. I
looked
at her, and, beyond my
expectations, the whole mother-love thing happened. She was beautiful. Actually, I was enraptured for five whole days while I was in hospital …' She paused; took a slow, deep breath.

‘Then, when we were leaving, they gave me her medical records.'

She had taken them so readily, just a form listing a few details. Her eyes had scanned once … and then again, more slowly, everything inside her shattering in a blast of grief as the truth had torn through her.

‘Do you remember my dad making us find out our blood groups before we went on our trip, just in case?'

Alex nodded. He knew what was coming, and closed his eyes as he listened.

‘She was A negative. We were both O. She wasn't yours.'

Alex's eyelids flicked open after she'd said it and he stared at her. She held his gaze.

‘I took her away anyway, but I was in terrible, terrible shock. I couldn't live in denial any more – I couldn't ignore such concrete evidence, I couldn't un-tell myself the truth.

‘That night I tried to persuade myself I could keep loving her, but something had changed and I couldn't turn it back. God, it was awful; in a way I loved her beyond anything I'd imagined, but I was in turmoil and I knew – I just knew – I couldn't keep her. What if she looked like one of
them
? What if she asked about her father when she got older? It's hard even to describe what was going on – it was like my head was full of demons whispering relentlessly, and I was just fighting to breathe. I was insane at the time, crazy with choices that all appeared to lead to terrible consequences.

‘I had a bath in my room. I hadn't had a proper wash in the hospital. I filled it with water …'

Her voice was cold and almost alien to him.

‘Amy –' Alex began, eyes widening in alarm. ‘Don't. Please stop. I don't want to hear any more.'

‘I thought about it,' she said, ignoring him. ‘She was sleeping, and I thought about gently putting her in the water and letting her sink to the bottom. Only for a fraction of a second, but I was horrified at myself nevertheless. After that, I knew what I had to do. I couldn't be trusted around her. And this beautiful little thing deserved a chance. But she couldn't stay with me. I couldn't even take her home to my mum and ask for help, not with every millimetre of that space screaming out the absence of my father.

‘So I did the only thing I thought of at the time.'

Trembling, the scissors on her penknife moving towards her soft, vulnerable head, taking a small lock of downy hair, a tiny keepsake.

Alex braced himself, tensed, waiting.

‘I wrapped her in a shawl, then put her in a cardboard box. And I left her on the doorstep of a nearby Buddhist monastery.'

The spot behind the wall where she had stood for what felt like hours – though it was probably only minutes – watching that box until the door opened. Stray dogs sniffing at it, chickens running next to it, her heart thundering.

‘So many times I nearly ran back. In fact, I was about to, when the door opened and a monk stood there …'

He had been blinking in the early light, as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Wrapped in orange
robes with his alms bowl under his arm. Middle-aged, bald, bespectacled. Kind-looking.

‘He just peered into that box, picked it up and carried it inside and closed the door, like he was collecting the post, no emotion showing on his face at all.

‘And then she was gone. And I left.' Amy released all the breath in her lungs with a huge sigh, then covered her eyes with her palms and mumbled towards the ground.

‘And that was that.'