Behind the Lie: A nail-biting psychological suspense for 2018. Amanda James
Chapter Twenty-Five
I close my eyes. I want to shut out the bright lights, to block from my ears the incessant beep of monitors, the clink of instruments on metal trays, the rustle of a plastic apron as a nurse follows hushed instructions from the surgeon. My husband, Simon, has tried to prepare me for this moment, but how can I be? Nobody could.
Not for this.
My heart is racing and a weight of despair crushes my chest. I can’t give up yet though. Mustn’t. Simon has told me that I can’t think the worst, must be positive. I cannot voice my fears or they could become real. I hold tight to my husband’s hand and he whispers encouraging words.
The wail of an infant snaps my eyes open once more and I let out a moan. It’s a mixture of both hope and despair, because there should be two, you see.
Two babies.
Moments later, the surgeon tells us we have a little girl. I want to ask about my son, but I can’t say the words. There are too many people in the room, nurses, assistants, an anaesthetist, and God knows who else, and it sounds as if they are all talking at once. I can hear someone saying something about weight and then a nurse is rushing around; I can’t tell what she’s doing; there’s a green operating sheet hanging in front of me. Suddenly my daughter is in my arms and an overwhelming rush of love takes my breath. Before I can speak again, I realise that the surgeon has left the room and a nurse too, I think. It’s so hard to see everything that’s happening and I begin to panic again. Simon calms me, explains they are just doing my stitches.
My husband takes my daughter’s tiny hand and says she looks just like me. He is flushed with pride and tells us both how much he loves us. I ask where our boy is and he tells me not to worry, that a nurse has just taken him to have some checks, that it will all be fine. I think he sounds less than convincing. Then a male nurse comes in, whispers in Simon’s ear. He passes my daughter back to me, asks if I will be okay for a few minutes without him. I ask why, but he doesn’t answer.
He is gone for some time and when he returns his grey eyes are moist and he whispers in my ear that he’s so sorry but there was nothing that could be done and that our worst fears have come true; that he’s so, so sorry, but at least we have our healthy baby girl. He kisses my cheek tenderly and I want to scream, because my baby boy is gone.
Gone for ever.
Five weeks earlier…
The kiss of an ocean breeze wakes me from sleep. I watch the white gauze curtain’s gentle rise and fall at the open bedroom window, listen to the shush of the waves hurrying in their ceaseless journey back and forth along the sand, and take a deep breath of morning air – ozone and lilies. Wonderful.
Waking to nature’s alarm clock in my beloved Cornwall on a sunny spring morning is infinitely preferable to the shriek of a digital one in our twelfth-floor London apartment. I reach out and caress the stems of white lilies by my bed and remind myself that I am very lucky to have both homes. In fact, I think that my life is just about perfect right now. Okay, so there are one or two shadows, I suppose that’s what you’d call them, darkening my positive thoughts some days, but nothing I can’t handle.
A lazy smile on my lips, I stretch my limbs and run my fingers over the distended mound of my belly. My hands pause. Was that a response?
Yes.
One kick and… another.
It hardly seems possible that just two years ago my belly was as flat as an African veldt and my whole career depended on my face and body. My five-feet-nine fashion-model body. I’d have been horrified to find myself pregnant back then, but now I am overjoyed. Overjoyed times two, because I am carrying twins. My laughter escapes as I stroke my tummy again.
In the kitchen now and halfway through a bowl of cornflakes, my mobile rings from somewhere in the hall. I pull my dressing gown across my bump and hurry over – probably left it in my coat pocket again. Yes, I did…
‘Hi, Holly! Didn’t wake you, did I?’
The sound of my oldest and best friend’s voice on the line warms my heart. ‘Demi! No, of course you didn’t wake me. It is,’ I glance at the kitchen clock, ‘nearly nine o’clock. Been up for hours!’
‘Really?’
‘Of course not. More like ten minutes.’ We laugh. I never was good at getting up early. Demi used to call for me on the way to school and always had to wait while I rushed around like a maniac.
‘Typical. Look, I know we said we’d meet up tomorrow, but can I pop over this morning instead? I’ve doubled booked myself.’
‘Yeah, of course. The sooner the better. I have bacon, but bring eggs and I’ll make us breakfast.’
‘Bacon and eggs? I remember a time that you’d rather die than eat that. How you survived on just coffee and… um… fags I will never know.’ Her chuckle sounds like it’s embarrassed, not amused.
The little pause before she said fags wasn’t lost on either of us and a bit of sunshine went out of the day. We both know that her runaway tongue had been going to say drugs. All that is over now. A hundred years ago. At least that’s how it feels – my life has changed irrevocably.
‘Ah, yes. Dark days, Demelza. Dark days indeed. But now everything is different, thank goodness. Oh, and can you bring some fresh white bread?’
‘Are you sure you are Holly, the “to die for” former fashion model, or am I speaking to a charlatan?’
‘I am the former fashion model, but I think you’ll find my figure is no longer to die for… well, it could be. Depends how you look at it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Let’s just say that I’ve changed in the two years since we last met. You’re going to be in for a big surprise.’
From behind the slats at the window, I watch a battered blue VW Camper trundle along the unmade beach road and pull up outside. Bloody hell, Demi must have had that for nearly ten years. It was old when her dad gave it to her for her sixteenth birthday, but that was Demi all over. Why change it if it still worked? Besides, it fitted with her laid-back, adventurous nature and surf-dude style. I watch her get out of the van and the breeze tug at her tangle of copper curls as she turns her expectant green eyes to my beach house. Oh, it is so good to see her again. A little piece of my past right there and ready to reunite with my present. A little piece of the past that I missed more than I realised until this moment.
Demi runs up the sandy incline, a carrier bag of groceries in her hand, and I dodge away before she sees me at the window. I don’t want to give away my secret until I open the door. I want to see