She hears the text message ping long after she’s settled on the couch with Jade splayed across her chest. It’s from Paul:Can we talk? We’d like to see you. Please.
She doesn’t answer. Not yet.
The next message comes at midnight, this time from Penni, though it’s clearly written by Paul:Let’s talk. We’ll come over tomorrow morning at ten.
She’s about to delete it when Jade begins to cry – a thin, reedy sound that’s more bewildered than angry. Nicola gathers her up, pressing her close. She smells of the hospital and the promise of something new and untarnished.
The next morning, with Jade in her arms, Nicola opens the door to see Penni and Paul on the doorstep. Penni looks different, older – her eyes ringed with red, her lips a thin, defensive line. Nicola wonders if she looks the same to Penni.
Penni doesn’t speak, just steps inside, followed by Paul, with Bella tucked into an expensive-looking car seat, and they stand there in the compact hallway. For a moment, no one speaks.
Finally, Penni says with a note of sarcasm, ‘She looks like you.’
Nicola looks at Bella, then at Jade. Both so new and so breakable. Both so obviously theirs.
They sit in the lounge. The same lounge where the three of them planned this whole charade. Now it’s littered with bottles and breast pump parts and a half-opened pack of nappies.
Penni speaks first. ‘We need to work things out.’
Nicola nods. ‘I’m not letting Jade go.’
‘Thought you’d say that.’ Penni presses her lips together.
Paul tries to smile, but it comes out as a grimace.
Penni speaks coldly, clinically. ‘If you’re determined to split them up, then Paul and I think it’s best if we do it properly.’
‘What do you mean?’ Nicola asks, her heart beginning to thump louder.
‘Paul, Bella and I will live our lives without you and Jade in them,’ she replies.
Nicola’s chest constricts at the thought of never seeing Bella. ‘You mean, they won’t get to know each other?’
‘It will be too weird and upsetting for them, knowing that they’re twins who’ve been separated, don’t you think?’ Penni’s gaze is piercing, accusing. She wants Nicola to know that this is her fault.
Nicola doesn’t know what to think. She’s panicking. Feels blindsided. But she can’t seem to formulate a coherent response. Doesn’t know what she wants to say. Except that it all feels wrong.
After some back-and-forth conversation that she can barely remember, Nicola signs a pre-written contract they brought with them that states she won’t contact them or her other daughter. She doesn’t want to sign it, doesn’t even know if it’s legally binding, but it’s either this orthey’ll walk away and leave her with both babies and no lump sum, which she wouldn’t be able to cope with.
She gets the feeling that Paul isn’t happy with this arrangement, but is going along with it for the sake of his wife. After all, he’s the biological father of both babies, and he’s agreeing to never see Jade again. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe this is the closure they all need in order to get on with their lives.
Before they leave, they bring in all the baby gear that they no longer require. That they purchased when they thought they were keeping both babies. It’s all top-of-the-line stuff – hundreds of pounds’ worth. Nicola already knows she’ll sell most of it and buy second-hand.
Paul reassures her that they will cherish Bella and that the money will be transferred to Nicola’s bank account that day. At least they’re not backtracking on that part. At this point, she just wants them gone from her flat. She wants to start the process of trying to forget her other daughter. If that’s even possible.
That night, Nicola tucks Jade into her Moses basket and whispers into her ear, a little mantra for both of them:
‘You’re mine, you’re loved, and you’re enough.’
She doesn’t feel like the last part is true. But for now, it’s all she has.
Chapter Eleven
Jade
I notice, distantly, that I’m shaking. The tea in my mug sloshes perilously close to the rim, and I set it down on the coffee table with a clatter before I soak my jeans or, worse, my sofa bed. My scalp prickles and my chest is tight, and for a few seconds I think I might cry or laugh or have a panic attack, and honestly, I’m not sure which would be better. The room feels small, suffocating, as if Mum’s revelations have sucked all the oxygen out, leaving behind only this weird, heavy air that buzzes with her secrets.
I take a breath, slow and deliberate, and look at Mum, who’s pretending not to notice my silent meltdown. She’s nursing her own mug with that careful, unshowy neatness she applies to everything – small sips, a napkin tucked beneath for the inevitable ring. According to her, she wasn’t always so neat and tidy. But I can’t imagine her any other way – as if the world might fall to pieces if she ever let herself get messy. I wonder, suddenly, if her twin is the same. And what aboutmytwin? Does Bella fold her napkins and sip her tea carefully? Or is she the opposite – wild, carefree, effortless? I don’t know, and that unknown gnaws at me in a way I can’t explain.
