What Lies Between Us(75)

‘“Psychogenic fugue”,’ I read aloud. ‘“This psychological state occurs when someone loses awareness of their identity. Often, they participate in unexpected movement or travel. However, when consciousness returns, they often find themselves somewhere with no memory of how they reached it. It is similar to amnesia, but is frequently found in people who have experienced dissociative identity disorder. That is a condition created by the brain as a defence against trauma to help disconnect from extreme psychological distress. Events often include natural disasters, conflict, extreme violence, domestic abuse or a history of child abuse.”’ Even reading the words ‘child abuse’ makes me shudder. But I continue. ‘“Victims are physically and mentally escaping an environment they find threatening or unbearable. Psychogenic fugue can last for hours, weeks or even months. And when it has run its course, it is unlikely they will remember what happened.”’

I pause to digest this new information. Nina ticks every box.

‘“The condition is so rare that there is currently no standard treatment for it”,’ the passage summarises. ‘“The most effective therapy is to remove a person from the threat of a stressful situation to discourage any future threats.”’

I take a deep breath as I realise I’m left with two options. I can take Nina to see a professional, and potentially subject her to more psychological trauma as they encourage her to unlock her repressed memories. Or we continue as we are, with me trying to keep her away from stressful situations. I decide to protect my little girl myself. I can’t risk unlocking the box she has consigned her dad’s abuse to. I cannot bear to see those hollow vacant eyes again or have her find out what she did to the man she adored. It’s going to be an uphill struggle, especially with the pressures teenagers face. And what’s life going to throw at her when she moves into adulthood? How am I going to protect her for the rest of her life? It’s impossible. But I must give it my best shot. I have to prevent her from remembering the past to stop her from ruining her future.





CHAPTER 65





NINA


I have spent most of the evening holed up in the downstairs toilet. I can’t recall a time when I’ve had such a chronically nervous stomach. I throw cold water over my face to try and calm myself down. I’ve only just doused the room with a can of air freshener when I hear a knocking at the door. Dylan is about to return to the house for the first time since the day he was born.

‘Come in, come in,’ I encourage as I hold the door open. I wonder if Maggie saw him parking his car outside and walking up the drive. I hope so, because it’ll be killing her not knowing who he is.

He slips off his jacket and hangs it up on a peg.

‘Are you not wearing the one I bought you?’ I ask.

‘Not tonight, no.’

‘That’s a shame. I’d like to have seen you in it.’

‘Another time.’

‘Is there something wrong with it? I might be able to exchange it.’

‘No, it’s fine, Nina,’ he says firmly, and I lead him into the kitchen.

‘Okay, well, welcome, it’s lovely to have you here at last. I hope you like beef Wellington.’

‘Yes,’ he replies, but there’s something a little offish about the way he says it. Perhaps I’m being super-sensitive because I’m so anxious. I’m determined to ensure tonight goes perfectly because I have something to ask him. I’ll have to choose my moment, though.

‘So this is the house where I was born?’ he says, peering out from the kitchen window and into the garden.

I nod.

‘And out there, that’s where you were told I was buried?’

‘Yes,’ I say quietly. ‘Would you like to see it?’

His head turns quickly and he looks at me as if I’m mad. I know it’s an insensitive suggestion. Who would want to see their own grave?

‘No, thank you,’ he replies. ‘Why did you never move away from here? I don’t think I could have stayed once I found out the truth.’

‘It’s just one of those things,’ I reply. ‘Sometimes you get stuck in a rut and it’s hard to get yourself out of it. And for so many years, I thought you were here and I didn’t want to leave you. You were all I had.’

I don’t think he knows how to respond so he doesn’t acknowledge it. ‘I would like to see the room where I was born though.’

‘Okay.’

Time and time again, I’ve put Dylan off visiting the house because of Maggie. The soundproofing makes it impossible for any noise upstairs to penetrate down here, and vice versa. But still I was reluctant to take the risk. However, because he has been so insistent of late, I finally gave in and agreed.

I lead him upstairs to the bedroom I’ve had since I was a child. Not for the first time when we’re together, I’m a little embarrassed by how little my life has progressed. I stand at the doorway as he enters and looks around. I explain to him again how swiftly he was taken away from me, but he doesn’t seem as interested as he has been when I’ve recalled the story before. Perhaps I’m becoming repetitive.

‘Do you have photos of my grandparents?’ he asks. ‘I didn’t see any downstairs.’

‘They’re all down in the basement, Dylan. I can have a look for them the next time you come.’