Stitch-Up (26 page)

“I don't want to talk about the kidnap.” My voice sounded strange, distant somehow. “Not right now.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Of course you don't, my poor baby. It must have been terrifying for you. Such an ordeal.” She beckoned me with small hand movements. “Come here, Dasha. I want to check you're for real. That I'm not dreaming.”

Instead of going over, I crossed to the other side of the room, wanting to put distance between us. The dark space seemed to stretch all the way back to the moment when she had given me up for adoption. It represented my mother's years of absence.

A look of confusion scudded across her face.

I cleared my throat, the sound of a marble hitting the floor. “I want to take things more slowly, Mum. I've got so many questions.”

“Okay. Okay.” She held up her hands and backed off. “We'll take things more slowly, if that's what you want. It's just you… here… it's hard to get to grips with. To believe…” She lost momentum and tailed off sadly. She walked over to the standing lamp and switched it on. “Sorry about the lights. A fuse blew. Everything's gone haywire since the pipes burst.” When she turned back, she was smiling and appeared less agitated. “That's better!” she said. “Now I can really see you.”

Her eyes travelled across my face, taking in every feature. When she smiled I noticed the lines around her
eyes wrinkled up. Fascinated, I studied her more closely. In my world, adult's faces were as taut and smooth as masks. Plastic. They didn't register emotion. I loved the way the lines around Maxine's face and mouth highlighted her smile, authenticating the emotion somehow.

“It's uncanny! You look so much like me.” She smiled again. “Totally uncanny!” Her wrinkles made her easy to read. She was genuinely pleased to see me.

“I know,” I mumbled, relaxing a little. “Spooky, isn't it?”

We carried on studying each other for a little longer, and then my mother murmured, “The truth is, Dasha, there hasn't been a single day since I gave you up for adoption that I haven't thought about you. I've missed you every day. Every night. Every minute.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her left eye. “You are always in my thoughts. My beautiful baby daughter.”

I pictured my mother handing her baby daughter over to a nurse, who would in turn hand me over to the Golds in an elaborate and expensive game of pass the parcel. I clenched my fists; I could feel a dark, furious force rising up from my gut.

I would have been so tiny, so fragile and so totally helpless.

Something clicked, but in a bad way. Boom! And every negative emotion I'd experienced since my mother had showed up at my parents' house ripped through me, like a storm twister. All the anger, resentment and doubt exploded somewhere deep inside me. But my fury sharpened my thought processes so everything fell away, apart from the one question that mattered: “Why did you abandon me?”

My mother flinched. “I didn't abandon you,” she said gently. “Not in my heart.”

“Like hell. Mother goes MIA for sixteen years. If that's not abandoning me, I don't know what is.” My voice trembled with emotion.

She was walking towards me, arms wide, as if another hug would solve everything. My chest constricted because the idea of touching my mother right now felt about as natural as hugging a stranger. I stepped back. My legs pressed against the sofa. Not this. Not now. Next minute my mother's arms folded around me. This time it didn't feel right. The stiffness of the embrace jarred. Our bones knocked and stuttered against each other.
We didn't fit
.

I pushed her away.

“What's wrong, Dasha?” Pain flashed in her eyes.

“Just answer my question.” It was as if I couldn't carry any more. I couldn't live for another second without knowing the answer to this one question. “I need to know why you
abandoned
me?”

“I didn't abandon you.” My mother's eyes took on the faraway look, which I'd seen in her wedding photo. She seemed to be retreating into her own world.

“That's how it feels.”

“I gave you up for adoption, Dasha. It was complicated.”

“Yeah. Right. You didn't give me up. You sold me. I've seen the files.”

She wouldn't meet my eyes.

“You signed me up to FuturePerfect, had my genes
mapped and then you sold me to the Golds. How could you do that?” I glared at her. “Was it for the money?

“No, I did it because I had to. You've got to understand, Dasha. I was young, broke and without a future. It's hard being a civilian with no options. I didn't want that for you. I wanted to give you a better life. The agency said your parents were beautiful, wealthy people, who would give you a wonderful home. They promised me that you'd have a global lifestyle. That you'd be one of the one per cent.”

“Big deal.” I fixed her with a steely look, enjoying her discomfort. “I still don't get it. Why did you sell me to a pair of psychos? How could you be so cruel? How could you care so little?”

“It wasn't like that.”

“What was it like?”

Maxine sank down into an armchair. “I want you to hear the whole story. Then, hopefully, you'll understand how complicated things really were.”

She took a few moments to gather her thoughts, as if sifting through various versions of her story, deciding on which would best suit. But once she got going she spoke quickly and fluently, as though she'd rehearsed the story in her head a million times, polishing it with each retelling. She was a good storyteller, too, knowing what elements to play up or embellish, weaving a web of words with which to ensnare her daughter, shaping it into a fairytale, reeling me in.

My mother stressed I had been a wanted baby, a love child, a happy mistake. She described how she had loved being
pregnant with me. “Every moment. Every second. Every nanosecond.” She made as if she were measuring out the smallest unit of time with her fingers. “It was the happiest time of my life. It was a magical eight months.” Tears welled up as she explained how I'd been so special to both her and Zac, curled up deep inside her belly – no bigger than a fingernail with a tiny beating heart. She touched her tummy and smiled. “Yes, you were very special to us. We wanted you to rule the world.” She went on to describe how the summer of her pregnancy had been so hot and sticky that she and Zac used to lie out in the garden at night to keep cool, looking up at the stars while thinking up names and speculating on which features and characteristics their baby would inherit. “But no matter what, we'd always give you Zac's smile.”

I smiled.

“And you know what, Dasha? You've got his smile.”

My smile widened.

My mother paused as if she were remembering those treasured moments. Then she let out a small sigh, before going on to recount how they'd cooed over the ultrasound, marvelled over their beautiful fairy-child floating in her own magical world. With a dreamy look in her eyes, she explained how they'd play music for me and how they'd even compiled my very own top ten
in utero
hits.

I was hooked. I'd been a wanted child. My parents had adored me. They had loved me to pieces. They thought I was special. It was as if she had cut a knot of anger in my stomach. I slowly began to relax.

My mother took my hand. This time I was smiling. All my earlier resentment and anger had receded. The connection was warm, real. It fizzed.

“This is the hard bit. I need you to try and put yourself in my shoes.”

I tensed. I knew what was coming.

My mother squeezed my hand. “You ready?”

I nodded as we sat down on the sofa, still holding hands.

She took a deep breath before going on to describe the events of that terrible night. How Zac had nipped out to pick up an Indian takeaway on his motorcycle. Her panic when he hadn't come home. The police phone call that confirmed her worst fears. The emptiness. The sadness. The infinite nothingness of a world without Zac.

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “And then there was you.” She sniffed back sobs. “I'd just finished university and I knew I wouldn't cope. Single. Home alone with a baby. I had no funds. This wasn't the life I'd dreamed of – I wanted the world.” She stared down at the floor. “I wanted a life.”

I withdrew my hand from hers. “You had a life –
me
.”

My mother looked down at her empty hand. “If only it had been that easy. You've got to understand. The man I loved – your father – had just been killed. I was a mess. It was far too late for an abortion. I was saddled with crippling student debt. I needed space. Looking after a baby would have driven me over the edge. You have to believe me – giving you up was the hardest decision I have ever made.
The hardest thing I have ever had to do. No mother wants to give up her child, and you were such a beautiful baby when you arrived. You've got to understand. It was the only way.” She leaned forwards and fixed me with a pleading look. “Please understand. I had no choice.”

“Yes, you did.” I jumped up and walked across the room.

“I'm sorry, Dasha. I was young. I wish I could go back and change things, but I can't. All I can do is pray we can work things out. That you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” I spun round angrily. “Just like that?”

“Yes. Sometimes things are tough. Complicated. That's life. You'll find out soon enough.” My mother stood up and held out her arms tentatively. “Give me a chance. Don't hate me. I want to make things up to you.”

“Is that why you came to the Golds' house?”

A look of surprise crossed her face. She smiled. “Yes. I was looking for you. I wanted to see you. I had to know if you were my baby.” There was something so warm, so genuine in her voice that I wanted to forgive her immediately.

Once again I could feel myself getting whooshed away on a sea of emotion. I pulled back. I had to ride the wave. I mustn't go under, not yet. I still had some detective work to do.

“But why did you sign up to FuturePerfect?”

“Really? You want to go into that?”

“Yes, I want to understand everything.”

She pressed her earlobe nervously. “Okay, if you're sure.” She looked reluctant to go into it, but glancing up and seeing my take-no-prisoners expression, she continued hesitantly.
“I'd heard rumours about this adoption agency, which guaranteed that kids who were on their books would get the best chances in life. A global lifestyle, if you will. There was one catch; they would only take on kids with advanced genes. Which meant, in order to get your baby signed up, you had to agree to all kinds of tests. Your child's DNA had to be screened for illness and mapped for intelligence, longevity, physical characteristics and a million other things. The agency wanted quality kids for their rich clients. They'd spotted a gap in the market; globals didn't want scrapheap kids – their words, not mine. By sequencing a child's genetic code FuturePerfect gave wealthy couples, who were prepared to pay for FuturePerfect's services, the chance to choose their kid's genetic make-up. They could read the code like a book, put their money on a winner.” She shrugged. “I thought it offered a solution for both of us. I would get money to continue my education, pay off my student loans and get my life on track, while you would get an unbelievable start in life as well as the stability that I couldn't provide. Things were rough for civilians. No jobs. No prospects. I had no bank of Mummy and Daddy to fall back on. I didn't want to end up living in Crunch Town. FuturePerfect offered me a way out. Once you were on FuturePerfect's books things started happening really fast. Not in a million years did I think your DNA profile would be accepted, let alone snapped up. But to my amazement they found a match for you immediately. Apparently your DNA profile fitted the Golds' wish list exactly. The whole process was anonymous. Top secret. Although recently,
I had begun to suspect you were my daughter. We look so similar, for starters. I could almost feel the chemistry through the television.”

“So that's why you came looking for me?”

“Yes. I wanted to make amends. The truth is I had regretted my decision to give you up for adoption instantly. But I had signed legal documents with a terrifying confidentiality clause. I'd taken a vow of secrecy. There was no hope of getting you back… Please don't judge me.”

Suddenly Latif's words came into my head:
Don't judge
. That was when I knew I had to climb into my mother's skin and try to understand things from her point of view.

I folded my arms and fixed my mother with a cool stare as I considered my options. I could leave in a huff, go back to the psychos, lose myself in the celebrity bubble. But was that what I really wanted? Alternatively, we could try and work things out, see what happened. Okay, things hadn't turned out exactly how I'd wanted. But I'd conjured up a fairytale happy-ever-after ending. I'd constructed a perfect mother and a perfect love, neither of which could have survived a minute in the real world. I unfolded my arms. I had to give my mother a chance. At least we were here together. That was a start. That's what I'd always wanted. And my mother was lovely, smiley and genuinely happy to see me – a bit sad, fragile. But life hadn't been kind.

“It's great to be here with you, Mum,” I said sheepishly. “Sorry about acting like a complete idiot and giving you a hard time.”

“No problem.” Her face lit up.

“The whole situation threw me. I've spent so long thinking about…” My arms windmilled. “What you'd be like. What this would be like. You know, the first meeting and stuff. I just freaked when it became real. Sometimes things just don't work out the way you expect.”

“So you're saying I'm a disappointment?” A mischievous smile played around my mother's mouth. “That I didn't live up to expectations?”