I blink at her. But if that’s right, then that would mean…
I look down at the image Ken’s just sent over. You can tell it’s old by the faded tones and the style of clothes they’re wearing. The woman in the middle, Vanessa, I assume, is in a hospital bed, holding a newborn wrapped in a white receiving blanket, looking down at her precious gift with a worn-out smile. Two men stand either side of her, one of them – Ray, I assume – is half sitting on the bed with her, leaning over to peer inside the blanket at his new arrival, while Uncle Ken beams proudly next to them, a can of lager raised in his hand.And then I see it.
‘… And so I’ve contacted Katy Russell again, to apologise, and sent her Erin’s photo this time, like I should’ve done in the first place, and…’
Adriana is still explaining away in the background, but I’ve stopped listening.
There, in the photograph Ken has just sent me, just visible in the left-hand corner, is a plaque that reads, ‘Maternity Department’, and underneath it is another sign, a smaller one that reads ‘Matilda Ward’.
I almost leap over my desk.
‘You, Adriana,’ – I seize her by her forearms – ‘are a genius!’ It’s all I can do to stop myself from picking her up and giving her a twirl. Matilda Ward – Tilly Ward. She’s used the name of the ward she was born on. How had she done that so successfully? Had she taken the identity of a dead person named Matilda Ward, someone who had passed away young, and assumed it as her own? She had to have done because her ID had all checked out, it was all legit, British birth certificate, National Insurancenumber… all the dates added up. I pause for a moment, stunned.Wow. What a clever girl she really is.
Adriana glances at Mitchell, eyes wide in shock.
‘So, you’re not mad then, boss?’ Mitchell’s brow is crinkled in confusion.
‘Define “mad”, Mitchell!’ I say. ‘I have to go somewhere.’
‘But I thought… the briefing boss… what shall I tell Archer?’
I grab my car keys and the phone from my desk and throw my coat on.
‘Tell her I’ve gone Christmas shopping – I won’t be long.’
FORTY-EIGHT
ERIN
Her face is a picture – shock, surprise, confusion, disbelief,horror –it’s all right there, in front of me. I only wish I had a camera to hand so that I could capture this moment and keep it forever.
‘How are you, Samantha?’ I feel light-headed with adrenalin, but strangely calm. ‘It’s been quite a while.’
She takes a few steps back as I make my way towards her, forcing her deeper into the apartment. ‘I don’t suppose you were expecting to seeme, were you,hun?’
‘I’m sorry, who… who are you?’ Her eyes are like moons, but there’s no mistaking them, that dazzling emerald green… ‘I think you may have the wrong person… My name isn’t Samantha, I’m Tilly – my name’s Tilly Ward. Why are you here?’ She glances left to right, quickly, as though searching for a potential means of escape. That’s when I see the hearing aid, behind her right ear. ‘Are you a journalist? Because if you are, then I don’t want to talk to you… The police have advised me not to. Please can you just leave? I’ll have to call them if you don’t.’ She clutches her heaving chest with a hand as she cowers away from me.
For a brief moment, I suddenly doubt myself, wonder if maybe I have got it wrong and that she actually reallyisTillyWard, the same Tilly Ward who emailed me only yesterday, looking for solidarity and words of comfort in our shared experience and victimhood. It makes me sick to think that even till the bitter end she’s been messing with my head. I pull the gun out of my left pocket in one deft move, point it at her. Her hands fly up to her mouth, but it doesn’t prevent the gasp escaping from it.Ha! She wasn’t expecting that!
‘Calling the police wouldn’t be advisable,’ I say. ‘Sit down, Samantha.’ I wave the gun in the direction of the table.
Her whole demeanour changes then. She sheds the scared, vulnerable victim façade like a second skin, replacing it with a different vibe altogether, bolder and more confident. Ah, there she is –Samantha.
‘Erin,’ she says my name as she stares at the gun. ‘Erin Santos… My, my, don’tyoulook different.’
‘I could say the same to you,’ I reply, glancing her up and down, my nostrils flaring in contempt. ‘How the mighty have fallen.’
A small, thin smile creeps across her face.
‘The blonde really suits you, hun. It lifts the green in your eyes, really makes them pop! I’m not sure about the length though.’ She taps her lip with a finger. ‘Why are you pointing a gun at me?’ Her nose wrinkles, the way it always did when she found something distasteful. I used to find it quite endearing. Now though, it makes me feel like pulling the trigger.
‘Put your hands on the table, where I can see them.’ She raises an eyebrow, but does what I ask. ‘That’s right, Samantha.’ I nod, admittedly enjoying myself now, enjoying finally being the one in the driver’s seat, the one,literallyholding all the power. Could anyone really blame me?
‘I can still call you Samantha, can’t I – being as though we both know it isn’t your real name? In fact,’ I say, ‘let’s start with that first, shall we? Whatisyour real name?’
Seven years I have waited. Seven long, soul-destroying, life-changing years. I just want to hear her say it out loud.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She blinks at me, nonplussed. ‘I think maybe you’re confused. Maybe you need to be inhospital.’
