‘Don’t say that, Jenna.’ Mum looks like she’s going to cry again.
‘Sorry.’ Mum doesn’t need conflict in her life. ‘But if I’ve done something to offend her—’
‘You haven’t done anything, Jenna. None of this is your fault.’
‘None of what?’
Mum breathes in deeply. ‘There’s something I need to tell you, and you might find it… difficult.’
Surely the worst has already happened with Mum’s diagnosis? The light from the window emphasises the yellow tinge to her skin and guilt floods through me. ‘We don’t have to talk about Grace now, Mum. You’re tired and I was being a drama queen.’
‘What I’m about to tell you affects all of us, and it’s better you know now, my love. You’ll find out soon anyway.’ She takes another deep breath as though summoning the courage to speak. ‘Do you remember me telling you about how you had jaundice when you born?’
‘Vaguely.’ My mind races with possibilities for what she’s going to say next. Is her cancer hereditary? Am I going to die young?
‘We had a student midwife on the maternity ward who was incredibly nervous, and to be honest, completely incompetent. When she put you in the crib for the fluorescent light treatment you needed, she removed your ID bracelet.’ After a slight pause she adds. ‘And that of another baby’s.’
An awful suspicion takes hold of me and I don’t – I really don’t – want to hear what comes next. ‘I thought it odd at the time that your behaviour changed so abruptly after you were given back to me, but I put it down to you getting over the trauma of the birth. You became very fractious and demanding, whereas you’d been so quiet and content before.’
‘What are you saying?’ I whisper. I’m on top of a cliff, my toes curled to grip the edge. Down below are wisps of cloud masking treacherous rocks.
‘We were given the wrong babies back after the treatment. Rosemary Butcher is your biological mother…’
I don’t hear the rest of the sentence. I’m in free fall, hurtling towards the rocks…
There’s a loud buzzing in my ears and I feel the rug pressing against my cheek. I open my eyes and see the room tilted sideways. Mum is kneeling next to me, her hand stroking my hair.
‘Are you okay?’ Her gentle caress is soothing. ‘I thought it was only in films that people fainted with shock. Regardless of what happens in the future, I want you to remember that I love you, Jenna. You will always be my daughter, no matter what.’
Her words hit me like a bucketful of cold water and I sit up to gulp lungfuls of air. I’m trapped in a nightmare, but I’ll wake up soon. I stare into the garden but it all looks real enough. I can’t be someone else’s daughter. I’m Jenna Winterbourne. My mother is Fiona Winterbourne and my father was Jonathon Winterbourne.
Mum guides me back onto the sofa and talks me through what happened again, explaining all the details carefully. I try to listen, to take it all in, but my mind keeps spiralling down to the one bare fact. She isn’t my mother.
I can’t bear it. My whole life has been a fake. I’m a fake. And Jonathon Winterbourne wasn’t my father either. Hot tears course down my cheeks and soak into my T-shirt but I don’t brush them away. I’m frozen in shock.
‘I only found out today that Grace is my biological daughter. She had the letters I’d written to Rosemary Butcher.’ Mum’s voice is low but the words cut my heart like razor blades.
Grace! Oh, my God. I want to hold my hands over my ears and shut this distorted, terrible world out, but Mum wraps me in her arms and rocks me gently.
‘Sshhh. It’s okay,’ she murmurs. ‘I’m still your mother and I love you.’
The shrill ring of my mobile sounds as loud as a fire alarm and we both jump. I grab it, see Ellis’s name and try to silence it, but my shaking fingers touch the answer button instead. I’m about to hang up when I hear his panicked voice.
‘Jenna? Are you there? It’s Ellis. You need to come to the hospital. Lucy’s had a car accident.’
Chapter 66
October | Grace
Anger runs through my veins like a molten river looking for an exit. My stomach is clenched with tension and my breathing is tight in my chest. I tear down the drive, skidding in the gravel as I brake to check the road is clear, then I put my foot down and race towards Bletchley.
Damn Jenna fucking Winterbourne, or should I say Sarah fucking Butcher? Because that’s who she really is. Always in the way. Stealing the time, the love, the life that should be mine. Maybe even stealing my sister from me, because Jenna couldn’t take her own car to the garage. Oh, no, she had to leave Lucy to take it and now…
I wish Jenna was dead and there’s an exquisite sort of pleasure in picturing her end – my hands tightening around her throat or thrusting out with a knife. I overtake a parked car too fast and shoot across a zebra crossing. A woman jumps back in alarm.
I fight to get a grip on my thoughts. My feelings. Pushing Jenna from my mind, I focus on looking for Lucy. I need to know she’s all right but she isn’t answering her phone. My sister, not Jenna’s. I couldn’t go after her before, because I couldn’t leave Mum, but now I can.
Where would she go for an MOT? Fenny, probably. I drive up and down Fenny Stratford High Street then along side streets looking for an MOT garage. I find one but Jenna’s car isn’t in there so I pull into a lay-by and get out my phone. I type in MOT and servicing near Bow Brickhill to see if I’ve missed any other garages. There’s one listed in the next village
