The Girl in the Mirror(52)
After another enervating nappy change in the plane toilet, I look up at the mirror, two inches from my nose, and say, “Day care.” Right now, “day care” is the most beautiful phrase in the English language.
“Day care,” says Tarquin.
Jesus. I’m going to have to watch my mouth around this kid.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” I say. “Can you say Daddy?”
“Daddy,” says Tarquin.
“Daddy! That’s right! You said Daddy!” I say. I force the foul used nappy into the rubbish receptacle and pick the kid up.
“Daddy,” he says.
“Wow! You said a new word, Tarky! Well done! Can you say Mummy?”
“Daddy.”
“That’s right. Daddy and Mummy. Tarky loves Daddy and Mummy.”
I carry him back to Adam and slip into my lush seat. I’m so relieved at my escape that I keep the kid on my own lap for once and snuggle him against my body like I find him just-so-squidgy. Adam is sprawled in his booth with an empty champagne flute in his hand, scrolling through pictures of sports cars that he seems to have downloaded onto his iPad. The bottle, sweating in its bucket of ice, is calling to me. I sip my orange juice resentfully. At least I don’t have morning sickness, or I might have had to turn down the bluefin tuna that the attendant is now bringing out.
“Tarky said Daddy!” I say. “Say it again, Tarky!”
Tarquin turns and looks his daddy in the eye.
“Day care.”
Everything is fine. Adam listens to Tarquin even less than he does to his wife. But I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll never again say anything in front of the kid that I wouldn’t want the world to hear. I settle back in my seat. I’ll keep my day care fantasies private from now on.
Once I’m back in Australia, I’m going to start living Summer’s life for real. The dream will come true. There’ll be no more glaring police inspectors, no more blood to mop up. I won’t have in-laws popping up everywhere. I won’t have to fake medical chitchat with Daniel Romain. Adam will be at work most of the day, and there will be day care. All I will have to do is lie by the pool all afternoon, growing Adam’s baby. Every day will bring me closer to the money.
Adam is going to get me pregnant, if he hasn’t already. I close my eyes and let myself imagine the things I will buy once the money comes through. Dresses, shoes, lingerie . . .
I’m drifting off to sleep when Adam nudges me with his elbow. I open my eyes. He’s pointing at his iPad, which reads Annabeth Carmichael Video Call.
“Stop!” I cry, but I’m too late. Adam is swiping the screen. My mother’s face appears, blurry and too close to the camera.
“Darling heart,” says Annabeth, “I’m sorry to be a bother. Have I made a video call?” She taps at her screen. “I don’t know how to turn the camera off. Well, at least you can see your home.” I catch glimpses of the living room at Seacliff Crescent: the black piano, the high white ceiling. She’s flashing her device around the room. “Now, I need you to know I won’t be at the airport. I can’t bear to wait for you all alone.”
“We’re on a plane,” I say. The comment is redundant, but I’m stalling for time. The sight of my mother, materializing on Adam’s screen as if by magic, electrifies me. She’s never been able to tell me and Summer apart by appearance or voice, but the sight of her is confronting. Her eyes are bloodshot, with huge bags under them. She looks so sad.
“Oh, yes, I knew you would be flying,” says Annabeth. “Sri Lanka is five and a half hours behind us, did you know that? Your plane’s a little early according to the internet, but if I allow half an hour for you to get through customs, and then you might have to wait for a taxi, and there’ll be traffic on the car ride from the airport . . .”
Annabeth keeps talking. She’s analyzing every possible variable in order to pinpoint the moment we will arrive at Seacliff Crescent, as if her ordeal will be over when that happens. Thankfully, Tarquin distracts her by smearing the remains of his latest snack all over the screen.
“We need to go,” says Adam. “Tarq’s getting overstimulated. The plane will be landing soon. We’ll be walking through the door in no time, Annabeth.” He hangs up.
Annabeth’s face disappears, and with it, my sumptuous dreams. I thought I had overcome my biggest hurdles, but a huge one lies ahead. My mother.
I had thought everything would be okay because of Annabeth’s poor eyesight. I would walk into Seacliff Crescent with Adam by my side and Tarquin in my arms. Why would she question my identity?
It’s hard enough to impersonate Summer, but to fake a pregnancy as well is a step too far. Annabeth is obsessed with grandchildren. She’s a pregnancy groupie. She’ll want to know the kind of details you only know if you’re pregnant for real, all about morning sickness and God knows what else. I wish I had researched the symptoms I would be having.
Faking a pregnancy is easy enough with Adam. He’s taking it for granted. It’s not news to him. He’s not interested in gynecological details anyway. But with Annabeth it will be a major topic of conversation. She’s the kind of person who will count back the dates and figure out when the fetus must have been conceived, and then thoughtlessly drop some bomb in front of Adam. He’s been parroting the “Christmas baby” line ever since I planted the idea in his brain, but if Annabeth does the math, she’ll figure out that my due date ought to be November.