Chapter 47
47
GEMMA
I’d taken the post-Christmas week off work as holiday, and I was up to date with all my self-employed work too, so I was able to spend plenty of extra time with Poppy. I decided against contacting Crystal until I went back to work, but as New Year’s Eve approached, I felt a stab of conscience. She’d be on her own again. And, once Poppy was in bed, I would be, too. Once we had Poppy, Jack and I hadn’t been in the habit of celebrating New Year. Like most parents of young kids, we were too exhausted to stay up until midnight. But it was going to feel strange and lonely this time. Even though Mum usually went to a New Year party at one of her friends’ houses, she’d offered to be with me instead this year. But I’d said no. There was no way I was going to let Mum give up her own social life just to keep me company. I should have made more effort to keep in touch with my own friends, and I knew I needed to try to put that right.
But… I did have Crystal.
I called her on the thirtieth.
‘Would you like to come over tomorrow evening? Or are you doing something?’
She gave a snort of laughter. ‘Me, doing something? Of course not. I’d love to come over, Gem, if you’re sure?—’
‘Good. We can just celebrate… quietly. Watch a film, or one of those ridiculous countdown-to-midnight programmes or whatever. I’ll make a curry.’
‘I’ll help. And I’ll bring wine.’ She paused. ‘If you don’t mind me staying the night.’
‘Of course,’ I agreed. Perhaps we’d have the talk about how involved she should be with Poppy, the talk I hadn’t even had the heart to attempt on Boxing Day after hearing about her daughter. Her daughter ! I still couldn’t quite get my head around it. How had she kept such a massive piece of information from me, when we’d shared so much else? It didn’t make sense, although I’d realised, as I’d been thinking about it during the week, that it did explain how she’d always seemed so experienced with young kids. In a way, I was glad that was the reason, that it wasn’t just because she and Poppy seemed to have a special bond. But she’d told me a whole network of lies, just to make sure I didn’t know about her daughter – and why? I wasn’t sure, even now, how much I could trust her.
Crystal seemed particularly happy and excited when she arrived for New Year’s Eve. Dressed as flamboyantly as ever, in a purple flowery smock worn over a yellow shirt and pale blue leggings, with her hair tied in a yellow scarf, I almost felt like I needed sunglasses just to look at her. Poppy was beside herself with excitement to have her ‘friend’ back to play with her again, and within minutes they were chasing each other around the house. I wondered if this was how it felt to have two children, albeit one much bigger than the other, and although it still irritated me, and I still wasn’t particularly happy about it, I knew Poppy loved her and I worried about how long it would take her to get over it if I did have to stop Crystal from seeing her.
It wasn’t until Poppy was finally in bed an hour or so later, tired out by all the fun she’d had with Crystal, that we could talk properly.
‘I’ve been desperate to tell you,’ she said as we chopped onions and garlic, ‘after you called me yesterday, I had another call.’
I looked at her expectantly. ‘From your daughter again?’
‘No, but… it was from Sarah, the social worker, the one who always takes me to visit Evie. We’ve got quite close, over the years; she always does her best to try to help me. She said she’s been talking to the foster mum, who’s told her that Evie is definitely coming round to the idea of seeing me now, and she thinks it would be worth trying to increase my visits to twice a month.’
However I felt about Crystal, whatever my reservations about her spending time with Poppy… I was a mother too and I couldn’t help feeling a massive surge of sympathy.
‘Oh, Crystal, I’m so happy for you?—’
‘It doesn’t necessarily mean it’s going to work. She’s warned me that, if increasing the visits ends up making Evie unhappy or uncomfortable in any way, we might have to go straight back to only once a month. But?—’
‘But it’s a good sign, surely. It sounds like she’s beginning to accept you, doesn’t it?’
‘I’d really like to think so, obviously.’ There was such a light of hope in Crystal’s eyes – how could I not feel for her? ‘But I still need to tread carefully.’ She dropped her eyes, her voice faltering slightly. ‘It would feel worse than ever if I started to see her more often and it didn’t work out.’
‘Don’t think like that. I’m sure it’ll work out.’
Crystal smiled, looking grateful for the encouragement, and we carried on preparing the curry in silence. I didn’t know how I was going to broach the things I wanted to say, now. I still felt uncomfortable with the idea of her taking Poppy out on her own, but now she’d told me about her hopes for a reconciliation with her own daughter, I hated having to burst her bubble. I had to do something, say something, though – I couldn’t let things go on the way they had been.
‘Anyway,’ she said, throwing onions into the hot oil in the pot, ‘I’m sorry, love, I haven’t even asked you very much about your Christmas, at your mum’s?’
‘It was really nice, thank you. How was yours—?’ I stopped, shaking my head. How did I think it was? It must have been awful, sitting on her own all day, knowing I was annoyed with her about the present she’d bought Poppy.
She shrugged, shook her head. ‘No, tell me about yours. Did Poppy enjoy spending it with her grandparents?’
‘Yes, she did. And – oh, there is something I haven’t told you. I’ve got some news. About Jack.’
Crystal looked up at me in surprise. ‘Really? You’ve heard from the child support people?’
‘No. My dad hired a private detective.’
‘ Did he? Well, good for him. And has he had any luck?’
‘Yes! Can you believe it – Jack’s been found, with his whole family, living in what Dad described as a commune, somewhere deep in the Australian bush.’
‘Well, that’s great news, isn’t it?’ She sounded almost more pleased than I was. ‘They’ll make him pay you maintenance for Poppy.’
‘Yes.’ I sighed. ‘Oh, of course I’m pleased about that, yes. But?—’
‘He should pay. It’s disgusting the way he’s just gone off, living his own life, hiding away and not caring, not giving a stuff about how you’re supposed to manage with his daughter on your own!’
I looked at her in surprise. She’d dropped her knife in the vehemence of this speech and was grabbing a cloth now to wipe garlic from the worktop.
‘Yes, you’re right,’ I said quietly. ‘But it was the rest of what the detective found out that really upset me. Apparently he’s got another child – a baby boy – with some new woman. No wonder he doesn’t care about Poppy any more. Or me.’
‘Oh, he has, has he?’ Crystal said. ‘Well, I wonder how long he’ll stay with that poor woman before abandoning her for someone else without a backward glance?’
‘It’s weird, though,’ I said, thinking back on my time with Jack. ‘He was never a flirt or a womaniser. I mean, when we were together. He just wasn’t like that at all, he never looked at anyone else, never made me feel like I couldn’t trust him. He really loved us – me and Poppy. He said we were his world.’
‘And you think he just happened to fall wildly in love with this woman in Australia, so much so that it made him forget all about you? All about his little girl? You think it was the woman’s fault? No, I bet she doesn’t even know he has a partner and child back in England.’
‘Perhaps I never really knew him at all,’ I said, miserably. Crystal’s reaction was making the whole thing hurt desperately, all over again. But I knew she was right. Jack couldn’t have been the man I thought he was, could he? The Jack I thought I’d fallen in love with wouldn’t have behaved like this. It was time I accepted that. ‘Perhaps everything he ever said was a lie.’
‘Men like that never change,’ she agreed. ‘I bet he’ll treat the new woman just the same sooner or later, leave her in their commune with her baby and head off somewhere else, with someone else.’
‘It’s so depressing. Aren’t there any decent men around? Not that I’m interested in finding one,’ I added, and then bizarrely, started laughing at myself.
‘Who cares?’ she agreed, laughing too. ‘Who needs them? Where’s that bottle of wine I brought with me – shall we have a little glass while we finish cooking? I know you don’t normally drink unless Poppy’s with your mum, but?—’
‘But it’s New Year, and I’ll only have a little one, and?—’
‘And we’re both celebrating,’ she finished for me, removing the cork from the bottle with an impressive pop.
‘Are we?’ I didn’t feel at all like celebrating, to be honest. I felt pretty depressed, having just forced myself to admit my boyfriend might never have loved me the way I thought he did.
‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m celebrating my daughter calling me Mummy – even if it was only once, even if it never happens again.’
‘Oh, don’t say that!’ I paused. ‘And what am I celebrating?’
‘Obviously, you’re celebrating finally looking forward to getting some dosh out of that love-rat.’
‘Fair enough.’ She handed me a full glass and I raised it to hers. ‘Cheers. Here’s to the end of a rotten year.’
‘And the start of a better one,’ she added.
I wasn’t sure how it had happened, but suddenly I seemed to have forgiven her. By the time we’d finished cooking and sat down to enjoy our dinner, I’d almost forgotten why I’d been on the point of talking to her about her involvement in Poppy’s life. She was a good friend. We laughed a lot together. She loved my daughter – what was so terrible about that? So she’d made some mistakes, but I understood why, now, and I sympathised with her so much about her daughter that, for that one night, as we celebrated together at midnight, I forgot to wonder – as I had been doing constantly during the previous few days – why her daughter might be in foster care. And why she was so reluctant to tell me.
We went to bed late, and when I woke up on New Year’s Day, the house was in silence. I almost turned over and went back to sleep, but then I glanced at the clock: it was after nine o’clock, but Poppy hadn’t come in yet from her bedroom, as she always did. She never slept this late.
I jumped out of bed and ran into her room, to find her bed empty, the princess-themed duvet thrown back, her pyjamas in a heap on the floor.
‘Poppy?’ I called as I ran down the stairs. She knew never to go downstairs on her own until she’d seen that I was up. Crystal must have come upstairs to see her and got her up. Well, I guessed she would have been hungry for breakfast by now – thank goodness Crystal had woken up, at least.
But the kitchen was silent and empty. I went into the living room, half-expecting them both to jump out at me shouting, Surprise ! It was just the sort of game Crystal would play with Poppy. But no, there was no sign of life in there either; Crystal’s duvet and pillow from the night before were neatly folded on one side, but there was no pile of clothes, nothing else to show that she’d even been here.
My heart beating faster now, I ran back to look in the kitchen again. There were no plates or dishes on the table, no crumbs, no sticky knives or spoons… nothing. I dashed back out into the hall, where Crystal had hung her coat the night before. It wasn’t there, nor were her shoes. And… nor were Poppy’s little boots, or her warm winter coat, her hat, her mittens…
I opened the front door, the cold wind whipping my hair across my face, making me shiver in my thin pyjamas. But it wasn’t just the cold that now had me shaking from head to foot. It was the realisation that Crystal’s car had gone. She’d put my daughter in her car – presumably without even the benefit of a child-seat – and had disappeared with her.
I’d had a glass of wine – just one – and stayed up so late that I’d slept in, for the first time since Poppy was born. And without me hearing a thing, Crystal had taken Poppy. She’d done what, in a corner of my heart, I’d always feared she’d do one day. She’d let me drop my guard, she’d talked me into trusting her again, and she’d used the opportunity to steal my daughter.