Chapter Nineteen
The first text comes through in the middle of the night, the frantic buzz of my phone disturbing me from what feels like the first deep sleep I’ve had in weeks.
[DNA Match] Your DNA Match samples have been received.
I clutch at the duvet, bringing it up to my chin.
The room is cold, those long, humid summer nights left in the past once again.
But I can’t work out whether it’s the cool night air or the chill crawling like fingertips up my spine making me shiver.
Received. Someone out there is about to know the truth.
Will the analyst or geneticist recognise Skyla’s name from the paperwork I had to supply?
Or will it just be some bored lab technician who couldn’t care less, who just wants to get their job done and go home for the night?
I can only hope it’s the latter, because the Rushmore name isn’t really something you can ignore.
Could they leak something to a journalist, or would that be a crime in itself?
He hadn’t stirred, and I wondered what he’d been doing all night with the girls.
It bugged me into my sleep, made it hard to drift off, and now that I’m awake, my mind feels like it’s burning thinking of the outcome of the DNA test results.
There are only two possible outcomes, and one of them is so life-altering I’m suddenly horror-stricken.
My thoughts are loud in my head while the night remains silent, time stretching along with my vigil.
To get my mind off things, I open up the security camera app on my phone and scroll through tonight’s footage from the living room.
My eyes stare fixedly at the clips of James, Skyla and Raven, sitting on the sofa, watching whatever was on the television.
Nothing out of the ordinary. There’s a certain exhilaration working itself into my veins as I scroll through the files, and I hate that it feels like I’m snooping on my family, but that is exactly what I’m doing.
My mind is getting ahead of itself, already trying to work out how to handle things I think are going to be captured on camera but aren’t.
Here it is, my anxiety getting worse again.
It’s happened before, and I know I should call the GP, get back on Sertraline.
But anxiety is a messy business, and I poke at it like I’m stoking a fire. Feeding the flames.
I continue to scroll, stopping now and again on certain clips, but nothing seems out of the ordinary.
I hate that there’s this strange disappointment to that.
Like I want there to be something amiss.
What is that about me? Self-sabotage? Torture?
I wish I knew, because I know that I don’t actually want to find something bad.
I don’t want anything fracturing my family more than it already is.
So, when I see the thumbnail of a clip with James and Raven alone, the nausea makes my mouth water.
I stare at it a while before opening it up, preparing myself for the worst — and what would that be, exactly?
I know James better than to think he’d shag someone her age or even attempt it.
He isn’t like that. It’s more her I’m worried about.
Her manipulation. Her tactics. I wish I’d warned him sooner.
As the video plays, I find myself wishing there was sound to these clips, as tinny and as bad quality as it may be, because James and Raven aren’t just talking in the clip.
They’re arguing. That’s what it looks like anyway with their limbs flailing around, making the footage lag.
Where is Skyla, and what the hell are Raven and my husband fighting about?
After googling things like ‘can you get sound from security camera footage’, I realise there’s no hope unless the camera has a microphone built into it, which it doesn’t.
I play the footage again and again, trying to read their lips but it’s too pixelated.
Out of all of the money we have, you’d think James would invest in better quality security cameras, though this was an extra that came with our Ring doorbell I think, and he either forgot or doesn’t know that I set it up by the bookshelf.
So he didn’t know this interaction was being recorded, yet I have no way of knowing what was said in it.
The sleep I was craving has sailed away, so I get out of bed and take Alfie out for a sunrise walk in the meadow.
The petrichor is earthy and strong, stirring up from the damp soil.
It’s my favourite time of day, before the noise of life storms in.
But today, my mind is already bellowing.
I want to enjoy it, watching the bees trying to warm themselves up, walking through the chicory and white deadnettle.
I breathe in the heady earth, infused with mint and aniseed, listening to the crunch of seed heads beneath my boots.
Alfie sticks his nose into the earth, chasing after muntjac deer nestled in the grass.
As the sun slowly rises, I feel it. A shift.
Something is going to happen today that sends our lives on an entirely new journey, because the DNA samples have been received.
They will soon be processed and on the way back to me.
Today, or tomorrow, Raven becomes our daughter, or our enemy.
* * *
Hours later I’m standing in the kitchen surrounded by bowls, mixing spoons and a dozen ingredients spilling onto the countertops.
‘Right team Rushmore, are we ready?’ I cry. I’ve drawn flour on our faces like war paint, and I look between James, Skyla and Raven, gauging their enthusiasm.
‘Yeah!’ James roars. The smile he brings to the table is as if the last words we spoke to each other weren’t ones of doubt, perhaps even irritation. He may be putting on a show, but then, I am too. The one thing we can’t do is ruin tonight.
Every other month, Harper crash-lands in our house with her boys and we host a bake-off inspired family night.
It’s always a bit of fun, although out of everyone my baking abilities are probably the worst. I can make homemade pasta, dish up the tastiest consommé and roast the hell out of a chicken — but I tend to draw the line at pastries and cakes.
Following the rules has never been my strong suit.
I like to explore a bit too much with my food and find the strict measurements in baking too restricting.
But tonight, knowing a lab technician out there has those DNA samples, that they’re working on them, that the answers I need will soon arrive at my door, it’s those things pushing me forward.
Harper’s presence and getting lost in the world of flour and bicarbonate of soda, of mixing bowls and whisking, isn’t so bad tonight.
It’ll take my mind off things for a while, at least.
It’s a wonderfully rare time where Harper is able to stop making everything about herself too. She stops trying to talk about her life and her successes, and actually focuses on the task at hand, beating me at baking.
To make a point of things, I don’t drink tonight.
I don’t know if James even notices I haven’t poured myself a glass when I pour him and Harper some wine.
I like to think he can see I’m trying, even though I don’t really feel like I need to try.
I know I don’t drink too much. I’m also trying to keep things amicable between me and Raven, just for tonight — because James is right.
I wouldn’t want her ending up in the foster system.
The stories Harper’s told me about it are horrific and no child deserves to go through that.
Not even her, no matter how she torments me.
Opening my heart and home to her for a few days is the least I can do, isn’t it?
Besides, maybe it wasn’t her in that massive black car trying to run me off the road.
There are enough people with a vendetta against me.
It could’ve easily been someone else. And the coffee spill?
Coincidence? Allowing myself to believe that makes me feel better about everything, lighter, and that is exactly what I need right now.
It’s funny watching Harper as a parent, delegating tasks between Jake and Luke.
As usual, the boys, loud and obnoxious, pay Skyla no attention, but Jake comes to Raven’s beck and call when she finds whisking too strenuous.
It’s impressive, the way she operates. Tonight, butter couldn’t melt with her; she’s so convincing in her sweet, spirited nature that she almost has me.
But I know what’s beneath the surface, even if everyone else chooses to ignore it.
Something upbeat and whimsical is pulsing from the speakers, an enjoyable background noise as we all charge around the kitchen.
Alfie is elated, hoovering up every dropped dollop of batter he can find and there’s laughter ringing over the music.
With the timer set and a batch of baking in the oven, we all start trying to clear up.
James approaches me slyly, a wicked glint in his eyes. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he grabs me and smacks my bum.
‘Oi!’ I laugh, twisting to see white handprints on my trousers. He returns the laugh, and a look passes between us, something tender but mischievous. Something revived right out of our youth. He bends to kiss me, and I can taste the wine on his stained lips.
‘Get a room, you two!’ Harper pretends to gag but bursts into giggles as James attacks her next, getting flour all over her shoulders and in her hair.
It’s nice to watch James being so jolly, to be around so much merriment.
It’s close to a perfect moment. There’s a warm yeasty fragrance in the air, and the mess we’re making doesn’t even seem to matter.
I smile, touching the charm on my bracelet, a little silver R, for Robin.
She’d have loved this moment. It’s close to pure happiness; if only she were here, it would be.
‘No!’ Skyla squeals as James flings flour in her direction.