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If I can get to my room, I can figure out who my mother was talking to, which I can only assume is my father, though she told me he’s dead.
“It’s been busy,” she tells me, but she doesn’t meet my eye. Something I learned whilst doing my studies was anyone who can’t make eye contact is hiding something. I’ve learned how to read people over the past four years. Even though I still have years to go before I graduate, I know for a fact what I studied so far is true. “I have a few meetings coming up this week. I may be out of town for a while, so I’d like you to make sure you’re driven everywhere. Don’t go out partying, please.” She looks at me with worry in her eyes. “Also, I’d like you to ask Alexia to stay. Perhaps you both can do those spa weekends you enjoy so much.”
“I don’t understand. I thought your meetings were over for the year. You said you had booked time off for us to head to Europe for a couple of months before coming back for our annual market adventure.” It’s something Mum started when I was little. We would go to every market in London in November.
“Miren,” she says then, and I can tell I’ve annoyed her by the way her face creases. “Just do as I say.” Her order is clear. There won’t be any debate about this, so I nod.
“Maybe we can have supper together tonight?” I ask her in the hopes that she agrees. If she does, I can finally sit down and tell her about the person following me. I’m pretty sure after hearing her conversation, it’s related to whoever was on the line.
“Yes, yes,” Mum says before waving a hand in the air and making her way back to her office. Something tells me she’s about to open the bottle of Dunville’s whiskey that sits on her liquor cabinet. Sighing, I turn and make my way up the stairs.
In my bedroom, I settle at my desk and open my laptop. There must be a way to find out who my father is. Or even if Mum has had any relationships before I was born. Opening my browser, I wonder if I could ask one of her investigators for help but decide against it. If I do, they could easily go to her and tell her what I’ve done. No. I need to be careful.
In the search bar, I type in my mother’s name and hit Enter. Once the results load, I scroll through the websites, but nothing jumps out at me. Everything they have on Mum is from her work life. There isn’t anything personal. It’s as if she doesn’t exist past her finance company.
Unless she changed her name. Perhaps my mother was married, and she didn’t tell me. As far as I know, she and my father weren’t together. I was the result of a one-night stand, but maybe I wasn’t. She could have told me one story and kept the truth to herself. Seeing today how easily she lied, I wouldn’t put it past her. And that’s what scares me.
If Mum is hiding something, the man following me might be looking for her. Perhaps he wanted to see where I lived in order to get to my mother. The thought of that sets me on edge. I push to my feet and go to my bedroom window. From here, I can see our small, yet quiet street and try to note if anything seems amiss.
I look left and right, taking in every car, every person strolling by, but nobody seems out of place. But then again, if someone is stalking me, they’re not going to make it obvious. They won’t be visible, and that makes me even more nervous.
I should go down and talk to her. Decision made, I turn away from the window. It’s not giving me any answers anyway, and I make my way down the hall. Taking the steps one at a time, I walk to my mother’s office and push open the door. But I’m startled to find she’s not there. I’m pretty sure I saw her coming this way earlier.
“Mum!” I call out, hoping not to startle her. But there’s no response.
I go in search of her in the kitchen, living room, and then down to the basement where she keeps her wine collection, but she’s not there. Her car was still parked out on the street, which is strange. If she were to go out, she would drive. My mother doesn’t trust anyone to drive her anywhere. It’s one of the reasons we argue about me travelling to school and back. As much as I appreciate our driver, I would love to have my own car. For some reason though, she’s never liked the idea of me driving alone.
I search the whole house, even the attic, finding no sign of my mum. Panic sets in as I pull out my phone and hit dial on her number. It rings, but when she doesn’t answer, the call is sent to voicemail. Her voice comes through telling me to leave my name and number after the tone. I hang up and try again as I make my way down toward the entrance hall.
But it’s when I hear the ringing in her office that alarm bells blare in my ears. Something is wrong. I’m sure of it. In her private sanctuary, I search for the device and find it in a drawer of her desk. I take it out and set it on the desktop. My gaze catches onto the folder that’s perfectly nestled in the compartment, and I pull it out. On the front is the wordPRIVATEin bold, capital letters, while the rest of the cover is blank.
My fingers tremble as my legs give way, and I flop onto her leather chair. The soft cushion under me offers support, but when I open the folder and my focus lands on the photo attached to pages of documents, my heart stutters.
My mother lied to me. She’s been lying to me since I was little. Emotions coil in my gut, tightly knotting in both anger and frustration, but also a hint of sadness. There, right in front of me, is a photo of my father. It’s so clear that’s who the man is because I look just like him.
All my life, I’ve wondered why my mother’s bright red curls are nothing like my wavy chocolate brown. In truth, I may have a tinge of red in my hair if I stand in the sun, but it’s my pale blue-grey eyes that are nothing like her green ones. But they look exactly like the man’s in the photo.
Setting it down, I focus on the information.
And that’s when, for the first time in my life, I see my father’s real name.
I’m about to turn the page when the hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and suddenly, there’s a cloth over my mouth. I struggle with the strong hand holding it in place, but I’m no match. No matter how much I claw at the flesh, I can’t fight off the attacker.
And as my lashes flutter closed, realisation dawns on me that the person who had been following me has finally caught up. That’s when everything goes black.
THREE
MIREN
When my eyes flutter open,there’s a pounding in my skull. It feels as if I’d been drinking far too much alcohol and not enough water. My mind is fuzzy as I roll over and wince at the throb behind my eyes. I’m pretty sure I didn’t go out partying last night. I look around at the darkened room, and reality slams right into me.
It’s not my bedroom. The last thing I remember is seeing a photo of a man who I thought was my father. The memory is so clear, and his face is still ingrained in my thoughts. I never thought I would ever see him, but my mother’s secrets have slowly come to light. Her lies are now revealed, and I don’t know what to make of it.
Pushing to my feet, I take in my surroundings. It’s not a bad bedroom. There’s a lovely king-sized bed, along with heavy, suede curtains and a dresser. When I pull open the curtains, it’s raining.
I’m not entirely sure where I am, but it’s most certainly not London. It’s still dark out, but there isn’t a flickering light from my viewpoint, which means the house I’m in must be outside the city. It looks like I’m in the countryside.
I leave the curtains open as I explore the rest of the room, but there’s not too much else to find. The cupboards are empty, as are the drawers in the vanity unit. The door to the actual room is locked, so no matter how much I try, I can’t get out.
