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chapter 65
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At first, Lottie thinks it’s an adventure. She’s excited when I tell her we’re going to play a game and hide from everybody until my special surprise for her is ready. I say we need to cut her beautiful, distinctive blonde hair and, instead of objecting, she asks me if she can do it herself. I hand her the scissors and she hacks off a huge hunk and flings it on the floor, laughing.
‘When are we going to see the surprise?’ she asks.
‘Soon,’ I tell her.
My plan was to stay at the hotel for a few days and then explain to Lottie who I really am, and take her home with me.
But to my shock, the woman who calls herself Lottie’s motherdoesgo to the police. Her name is Helen Birch, and she says she adopted Lottie – she calls her Flora – from Poland two years ago, when the little girl was four.
I don’t know if she’s lying or if somehow my daughter was traded to an intermediary and Helen Birch is a victim, just as I am.
This changes everything. Even though I knew it might happen in theory, I never really thought it’d come to this.
The enormity of what I’ve done hits home for the first time. As far as the world’s concerned, I’ve kidnapped an innocent child from her mother. I’ve become the monster of my ownnightmares. I can’t take Lottie home now until I can prove, beyond doubt, that she’s my daughter.
I go online and select a DNA testing centre accredited by the Ministry of Justice, which follows strict procedures to maintain chain of custody, meaning its results are court-approved and accepted by family law courts.
I bag up the toothbrush I bought Lottie, along with my own, and post them to the centre, using Jack’s office as the return address. Because of a backlog, it’ll take two weeks to get the results, but I want them in the public domain. It’s the only way I can show I’m telling the truth.
I follow every development in the story obsessively, waiting till Lottie’s asleep before going online and trawling through news sites and social media. The police parade Helen Birch on television, and she doesn’t come across well. It doesn’t take long for the press to turn on her, just as they did me.
A part of me feels sorry for her. I know what it’s like to blame yourself. I know what it’s like to tell yourself you only took your eyes off your child for a second, that it could’ve happened to anyone, even though you know it isn’t true. It didn’t happen to anyone, it happened to you, becauseyoulooked away.
But it’s not all plain sailing my end, either. As the novelty of our adventure wears off, Lottie starts to chafe against my rules, even though I explain they’re for her own good. I don’t risk taking her out in public, except when I’m forced to get food. She’s more of a handful than I expected and I find it harder to bond with her than I’d hoped. Stressed and confused, I lose my patience with her quite quickly.
‘Where’s my mummy?’ she demands, with increasing frequency.
My heart cracks open. I know it’s too early, that she’s not yet ready for me to tell her the truth, but in the end I can’t help myself.
‘I’m your mummy,’ I say.
She flies into a rage, kicking and biting. My legs are soon covered with bruises and I give her my iPad to placate her. She plugs herself into YouTube and watches Minecraft videos for hours on end. She never used to like watching TV; she always had too much energy to sit still for anything.
It makes me realise anew how much I’ve missed, how much has been stolen from me. The child I knew has gone. This girl is like a stranger to me.
None of this is going the way I thought it would. I expected Lottie to be upset at first, but surely she realises by now I’m doing this for her? I know it’s foolish to expect her to remember me, but it hurts she can’t see how much I love her.
Her precious ‘mummy’ wasn’t any kind of real mother to her. I watched them together for several days before I finally made my move. Helen Birch didn’t pay any attention to Lottie, letting her play on the beach alone for hours at a time. I doubt she even misses her now she’s gone.
Whereas I’ve proven my devotion. I’ve risked everything for her.
But Lottie doesn’t make it easy. She’s sulky and rude, and throws a tantrum whenever she doesn’t get her own way. She behaves like the three-year-old toddler she was when she was taken from me, rather than like a child of nearly six, and I wonder if, by taking her, I’ve caused her to regress. She seems well-cared-for, but I’ve no idea what she’s been through in the last two years. And we’re both suffering from cabin fever, trapped within the same four walls day after day.
So I try to make allowances, but when I give an inch, she demands a mile. I feel as if I’m failing her all over again. I’ve never been a hands-on mother before; Luca was the one who looked after Lottie. I’m building the plane as it flies.
I realise now I’ve constructed a rose-tinted view of mydaughter, which is running up against hard reality. I tell myself this isgood. This is what mothering is all about and I’m not going to run away from it this time.
Jack and Quinn keep calling, but I let my phone go to voicemail. They’re both smart enough to have made the connection between me and a missing child from South Weald. I’m gambling on their loyalty – to me, to the story – to stop them from going to the police until I’ve had a chance to explain myself. I need to keep them at bay for a while yet.
But I’m staying in constant touch with Dad. He wants me home, but I’ve told him I need some time on my own to process Mum’s death. Harriet’s with him; it’s about time she pulled her weight. He’s insisted on an autopsy, because he still refuses to accept there was nothing that could be done to save Mum, and while this breaks my heart, it buys me time, because a funeral can’t be held until it’s done. Lottie and I will be back home before then, once the fuss dies down and I have the DNA results.
But the fuss doesn’t die down.
Flora Birch’s name is on everyone’s lips. I see her photograph everywhere. I move us to a B&B in a rundown part of Barnstaple and pay cash in hand. Our room smells damp and musty, and Lottie complains the sheets feel slimy. She’s fractious and complaining, and constantly,constantlyhungry.
