Chapter 45
45
GEMMA
I slept badly again, flitting erratically between dreaming about Jack being bitten by snakes while a newborn baby screamed in the background, and worrying all over again about Crystal and what I should do about her. Boxing Day morning was bright but cold, and over breakfast, Mum suggested it might be nice for us all to go out for a little walk, to give us an appetite for the hearty dinner she had planned.
‘Actually, Mum,’ I said while I helped her load the dishwasher. ‘If you and Dad don’t mind taking Poppy out for a while?—’
‘You just want to stay here and rest? Of course, that’s absolutely fine, I must admit you do look tired, darling – your dad and I are both quite concerned about you?—’
‘Well, in fact I need to do something. See someone. It won’t take long, but… well, if I don’t do it today, I’m worried that I’m going to… lose the momentum.’ I sighed, looked Mum in the eyes and admitted, ‘Or change my mind.’
‘Crystal?’ Mum guessed, pushing the kitchen door closed and lowering her voice. ‘I could tell you were upset about the jacket – the Christmas present.’
‘It’s not just that. I… think you and Dad might have been right all along. I should have been more worried about the amount of time she wants to spend with Poppy.’
And before I could stop myself, I was spilling it all out: how Crystal had been pretending to be Poppy’s mum, how she’d bought Poppy the matching dungarees and clothes from Like Mother Like Daughter , and how I’d found dozens and dozens of photos of Poppy on her phone.
‘I know I shouldn’t have been looking,’ I added, but Mum shook her head.
‘I don’t blame you. I would have done the same. Poppy’s your child – you needed to know; I mean, she could be sharing those pictures on Instagram or whatever, and saying she was her daughter?—’
‘She said she doesn’t do that. She’s told me she doesn’t use social media at all – I’d already looked for her, but I’ve tried again, and it’s true, there’s no sign of her on any platform that I can find. But I don’t feel comfortable with what she’s doing any more – any of it.’
‘You need to set boundaries. That’s if you even want to stay friends with Crystal?—’
‘It’s not even her real name,’ I said. ‘I never told you that, did I?’
‘ What? Well, that rings alarm bells right away, Gem. How did you find out?’
‘She told me.’ I shrugged. ‘Soon after I met her, actually. Apparently she just prefers Crystal to her real name. It’s what they call her at the self-help group she belongs to. Her real name’s Suzanne. Suzie. It never bothered me, to be fair – I mean, lots of people call themselves by different names if they don’t like their own.’
‘Well, it sounds to me like you’re talking yourself round, trying to sympathise with her, when you really need to challenge her. Like Mother Like Daughter indeed! It’s insulting, that’s what it is – insulting to Poppy’s real mother – you. ’
‘I know. I was furious about it. So – yes – I need to talk to her, on my own, and the sooner the better. So…’
‘We’ll take Poppy out for a walk. Tell her you need to go somewhere – get a bit of shopping, whatever.’
‘On Boxing Day?’
‘She’s too young to wonder about it. Pick up something from the Co-op as you go past. A loaf of bread, maybe – I could do with some more.’
‘OK.’ I opened the kitchen door and called out to Poppy, giving her my excuse, and before I could change my mind, I was in the car. Heading to Crystal’s place.
It was the first time I’d been there, but I knew the address. I wondered, too late, whether she was likely to be out, but I was pretty sure she’d said she was going to be at home on her own for the whole holiday. I pressed the buzzer for flat 14 and it only took a few seconds for her to respond.
‘Crystal, it’s me – Gemma.’
I could hear her gasp with surprise. Well, she probably hadn’t expected to hear from me again until we were back at work.
‘Come in,’ she said, buzzing the main entrance door open. ‘I’m on the second floor.’
I ignored the lift, climbing the stairs instead to give me a few extra minutes to compose myself. I needed to be calm, to say what I had to say.
Crystal met me at the door of her flat.
‘I didn’t expect to see you today,’ she said. She sounded wary – unsurprisingly – but at the same time, there was a light in her eyes, as if she was… what? Excited? Pleased?
‘Is Poppy not with you?’ she asked, looking behind me. I shook my head, presuming the pleasure in her eyes would quickly disappear once she realised I was on my own… but to my surprise, she nodded and said it was just as well, as we needed to talk.
‘Yes, we do,’ I agreed.
She held the door open for me and showed me into a comfortable-looking living room. There were fabric prints on the walls, brightly coloured throws on the sofa, a huge patchwork floor cushion on the rug in front of the fireplace. Somehow it all looked very Crystal – and at the same time, somehow quite sad, quite… lonely. I shook myself, remembering why I was here.
‘Would you like a tea or coffee?’ she asked. ‘Sorry, I’ve only got decaf.’
She marched off into the kitchen, leaving me feeling slightly perplexed. She must have known why I wanted to talk – she’d said herself that we needed to. When she’d left my place the previous morning, she’d seemed so distressed and regretful, I was sure she knew I was upset with her, that I was going to demand answers, or stop her from seeing Poppy – and yet today, she didn’t seem overly concerned.
‘I won’t be a minute,’ she called over the sound of the kettle boiling.
But I didn’t answer. Because I’d walked over to the fireplace and was looking at the picture she had in a frame on there. It was of Poppy, wide-eyed and smiling, her lovely red hair tied in a tiny ponytail on top of her head. She was wearing a blue jumper that I’d never seen and certainly hadn’t bought her, and… I glanced down at the rug I was standing on and felt my mouth drop open in shock. She was sitting here . On this rug. In this room. What the…?
Before I could look back at the picture for closer scrutiny, it was suddenly whipped from off the shelf and I turned to see Crystal behind me, red in the face but not meeting my eyes.
‘I’ll put it away,’ she said. ‘I know what you think, and you’re right, I’ve done some serious soul-searching and I know I take too many pictures of Poppy and it’s not fair. You’re her mum and I realise I’ve been making you feel sidelined by me spending so much time with her.’ She paused, and went on, more quietly, ‘I know you think I’ve been playing games, pretending to be her mum, but I haven’t, not really, people just seemed to think I was. I never meant to hurt you, Gemma, this was what I was going to talk to you about, but?—’
‘Show me the photo,’ I said. ‘It was taken here , Crystal, wasn’t it? Here in this room! Have you been bringing Poppy here, to your flat, when you were supposedly just taking her out for walks, to the shops, or the park?’ I held my hand out for the picture, but Crystal was already backing away from me, holding it behind her.
‘What?’ She was laughing now. ‘Of course it wasn’t taken here – I’ve never brought Poppy here. I promise you I haven’t. Ask her! Why would I bring her here?’
‘Show me!’ I repeated.
‘No, I’m going to put it away, like I’d already promised myself I would. I’m not even going to look at it again, OK? But you’re wrong, I might have taken some liberties, I might have got too close to Poppy, but I’ve never once brought her home with me. You do believe me, don’t you?’
She’d backed all the way to the door out to her lobby now, and immediately turned and headed – I presumed – to the bedroom beyond. I stood, staring after her, wondering if I should go after her, whether I should have insisted on a proper look at the picture – but how, exactly? Should I have wrestled her to the floor to grab it from her? Already I was starting to doubt myself. She was admitting to everything I’d suspected her of – taking too many photos of my daughter, and – although she was trying to persuade me she hadn’t deliberately pretended to be her mum – admitting letting people think it. Why would she admit to all of that, but categorically deny ever bringing her home with her, unless it was true that she hadn’t? Perhaps I was imagining things. It certainly didn’t look like my home in the background but I supposed my living room carpet was a similar colour to the rug here. And to be fair, Poppy had a couple of blue jumpers and maybe it could have been the one she didn’t wear very often because she’d almost outgrown it. Perhaps I had jumped to conclusions, perhaps I was so wound up about Crystal now that I automatically assumed the worst – that she’d been buying Poppy new clothes without telling me, bringing her home here…
‘I’ve never seen Poppy with her hair in a little ponytail like that, before,’ I said when Crystal – smiling broadly again now – came back into the room. I heard the icy tone of my voice but she didn’t even flinch.
‘She’s sometimes asked me to do it for her when I’ve been looking after her while you’re working,’ she said. ‘I won’t do it again if you don’t like it – she always asks me to take it out again straight away, anyway.’
There was something about her tone, her avoidance of my eyes, that told me she was lying. Poppy had never asked to have her hair in a ponytail. She’d never expressed any interest in how her hair was done! But all the same, I was beginning to wonder if I was just making something out of nothing.
I sighed. ‘It’s OK.’
I sat on the sofa, waiting while she brought in the tea, trying to calm myself down and get my thoughts back on track.
‘Did you have a lovely Christmas with your parents?’ she asked, sitting down next to me.
‘Yes, I did, thank you. Look, I can’t stay long but you’ve already guessed what I wanted to talk to you about. You’re right: it has to stop, all this pretending to be Poppy’s mother, all these photos, and frankly the last straw was the present – the mini- me outfit – if it wasn’t for the fact that it would upset Poppy so much, I’d ask you to send it straight back. It’s just?—’
‘Too much. I know.’ She dropped her head. ‘I’m really sorry. I got carried away.’
Despite everything, I felt… not only a sense of relief just from knowing that she wasn’t going to argue, but I suppose, a little frisson of sadness for her. Perhaps I’d been too harsh in my judgement. She loved Poppy, that much was clear, and whilst it had without a doubt been right to tell her enough was enough, that I couldn’t let her keep pretending to be me, or buying such inappropriate gifts, nevertheless she had no kids herself, she was completely alone in the world and she’d been a lot of help to me.
‘OK,’ I said, taking a sip of my tea. ‘Look, I really still think I need to insist on a bit of space between us for a while. I mean, not so much between us , as between you and Poppy. It’s not fair to let her to get so attached to you.’
She nodded. ‘I know.’
‘But I do understand – well, I’m trying to. I mean, I know you haven’t got any children of your own, so…’ I paused, looking at her in surprise. She was giving me a secretive little smile. ‘What?’
‘Gemma, like I’ve said, you’re absolutely right and I’m… absolutely sorry. But I’ve got something I need to say, too. I told you a little lie when we first met.’
‘A lie? Oh – about your name? I know, and really that’s irrelevant, you can call yourself whatever you like, why does it matter?’
‘It doesn’t. It’s something else.’
I felt a little shiver of anxiety. ‘Well, come on then – what is it?’
‘You’re going to be cross. You’re going to wonder why I didn’t tell you.’ She was looking nervous now.
‘Why would I be cross? What is it? It can’t be so very bad, can it? Well, come on, just tell me!’
There was a long pause. She looked down at her lap. I could almost hear her heart beating in the silence, her anxiety was so palpable, and mine was increasing in sympathy. What on earth could be so earth-shattering that she was this nervous to tell me? Then she looked up, suddenly, and spoke in a tumbling rush of words:
‘I lied when I told you I haven’t got any children. I have. I’ve got a daughter – but she doesn’t live with me.’
I stared back at her, a feeling of horror coming over me.
Please don’t tell me she’s having some kind of psychotic episode – referring to Poppy now as her actual daughter ? I have no idea how to handle this.
‘My daughter lives with foster parents,’ she went on smoothly, ‘on the Isle of Wight.’
‘What?’ I gasped. ‘No! Really?’ I stared at her, trying to make sense of this. ‘Are you joking? I can’t believe you’d actually lie to me about something like that.’
‘I didn’t tell you because I was worried what you’d think – that you’d think the worst, because I’m sure people think children are only put in care for the worst possible reasons. But it’s not my fault,’ she said, emphatically. ‘I was a good mother – I mean, I am a good mother. But my daughter was taken away from me, and she’s been – she can’t help it, she doesn’t understand – she’s been punishing me for it, refusing to talk to me, not wanting to even see me. But finally, now, finally, after three and a half years, she actually called me yesterday. And she called me Mummy. I…’ She gave that little smile again. ‘Finally, I have some hope.’
‘Hang on, hang on. I can’t get my head around this. Why was she taken away from you?’ I asked, my mind whirling. I wasn’t even sure yet whether I believed her. It all sounded so far-fetched, and so – sudden, out of nowhere.
‘That’s what I can’t tell you. Sorry. I just can’t.’
‘But…’ I was staring at her, completely stunned, suddenly feeling that despite all the hours and days we’d spent together, I didn’t know Crystal at all. I didn’t know who she was. She’d told me a pack of lies. ‘You can’t just – it doesn’t make sense – you can’t suddenly have a child, a daughter, that you’ve never told me about. Why are you suddenly telling me now?’
‘Because I know you’ve been having doubts about me. I know I’ve been a bit over the top with Poppy and I just wanted you to know I’m not… dangerous or anything, I’m not about to abduct her. I love her, I do, but I’m not some crazy woman, I know she’s not really my daughter. I have a daughter, it’s just that I’m only allowed to see her once a month.’
I stared at her, the truth slowly dawning. ‘So that’s where you go – on your mysterious weekend trips?’
‘Yes. And it’s only once a month because Evie always gets so upset, and then… I do, too.’
‘Her name’s Evie? Your daughter?’ I was still having trouble actually taking this on board. ‘How old is she?’
‘She’s six now.’ Crystal’s smile had dropped. She had tears in her eyes. I wanted, instinctively, to comfort her, but I couldn’t: I was still totally immobilised by shock. ‘Every time I go to see her, I always promise myself I won’t get upset… I try to be calm, and sensible, and rational. She’s only little, she still doesn’t understand, I always knew it would take time. But it hurts so much when she rejects me, every time – like I’m some kind of ogre, like I terrify the life out of her.’ She wiped her eyes, shook her head. ‘I make matters worse – I know I do; it probably scares her even more, seeing me cry, but it’s so hard .’
I swallowed. It was hard enough just to imagine it: only seeing your daughter once a month and having her reject you – I couldn’t even begin to understand how that must feel. But why? Why was Evie in foster care, why didn’t Crystal tell me, why wouldn’t she explain now?
‘But you said she’s phoned you, now?’
‘Yes. Just to thank me for her Christmas present – but, you can’t believe how much that has meant to me. To hear her voice, talking to me nicely, calling me Mummy, instead of screaming at me like she normally does: Get out, go away, you’re not my mummy, I hate you ?—’
‘Oh, Crystal.’ Finally, I reached out and put my arms round her. Whatever was behind all this, it didn’t matter. She was a mum, like me, and for whatever reason that she couldn’t tell me about, she’d been separated from her child, only allowed to visit her as a stranger, a frightening and unwelcome stranger. How awful it must have been for her. I felt like my own heart was breaking just at the thought of it. No wonder she’d allowed herself to get so attached to Poppy, no wonder she’d daydreamed about her being her own daughter. How could I resent that, now?
‘I’m so glad she called you. Perhaps there’s finally been a breakthrough and she’s going to accept you now,’ I said.
‘I daren’t get my hopes up too much.’
‘No. I can imagine.’
Crystal looked up at me through her tears. ‘Thanks for being so understanding, Gemma. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you before. I was so scared you’d think the worst about me – like I said, people tend to assume children only get taken into care because they’ve been ill-treated.’
‘I wouldn’t have assumed that,’ I said.
But as I drove back to Mum’s house a little later, I had to ask myself whether that was really true. What would I have thought, if she’d told me about this when we first met, before I got to know her properly? And, come to that, did I still know her really, even now? There were still gaps in her story, still things she wasn’t telling me. However much I sympathised with her now, it all felt odd. I knew, instinctively, that if I told Mum what had happened she’d give me that look of disbelief, she’d tell me I was being na?ve again and suggest that Crystal was giving me a sob story to stop me being angry with her. To stop me keeping her away from Poppy.
Luckily, I got back before Mum and Dad returned from their walk with Poppy. So I pretended Crystal hadn’t even been at home.