The Lies We Told(55)

When I got home from work, however, it was to find that she was dressed again in her usual grubby attire. The nose ring and eyebrow piercing were back in place, as was the thick black eyeliner and bad attitude. The fresh-faced and presentable young woman of earlier had completely disappeared, and my daughter was as hostile and as unreachable as ever.

But from then on, once a week, the same thing would happen. Hannah would appear early for breakfast dressed in pretty, fashionable clothes, her hair neatly brushed and with subtle make-up in place. Sometimes she’d return within an hour, her face like thunder as she stormed upstairs to lock herself in her room, but usually she’d stay out all day, with a pleased, self-satisfied expression as she strolled back through the front door. After a while I gave up asking where she’d been: I could sense she enjoyed my confusion far too much ever to tell me.

A few weeks later the phone calls began. She always seemed to be expecting them, always ready and waiting by the upstairs extension, snatching up the receiver as soon as it began to ring. She’d mumble a ‘hello,’ then pull the lead into her room, shutting the door and talking in hushed whispers.

In the end I couldn’t stand it any longer: I decided to follow her. It was a warm day in September. She came down as usual all dressed up and as soon as she left the house I called into work, quickly leaving a message to say I’d had a family emergency and wouldn’t be in until later. When I emerged on the street I saw her disappearing around the corner and got into my car to follow her, keeping a safe distance behind and parking out of sight when I saw her waiting at the bus stop.

I followed her bus to the nearest town and when she got off I parked and saw her hurrying towards the train station. Inside, I saw her queuing at the ticket office and I managed to stay hidden behind a magazine stand while I listened to her ask for a ticket to a town in Suffolk, twelve miles away. I knew I’d never be able to get on the train without her seeing me, and I wouldn’t be able to get there before her in my car, so for that day, frustrated and more confused than ever, I gave up and went home.

The following week, however, I was ready for her. As soon as she came down for breakfast I made an excuse about wanting to get to work early and drove straight to Suffolk. I arrived in a large market town not very far away from the village Doug and I grew up in. When I got there I parked and, sure enough, ten minutes later saw her emerging from the station. Keeping a safe distance behind, I followed her as she headed into the town’s centre. Eventually, to my astonishment she came to a large building with a sign outside that said, ‘Crofton Hill Sixth Form College’. As I loitered at the gate I saw her approach a bench near the main entrance, then sit down to wait.

At eleven o’clock students began to pour out of the college doors and a tall, pretty, dark-haired girl a year or so older than Hannah walked towards my daughter with a wide smile on her face. When she reached her, Hannah got up and the two girls hugged. I was dumbstruck. Who on earth was she? Was Hannah secretly studying here? I was utterly confused. I watched as the two linked arms – such an easy, affectionate gesture, and so unlike anything I’d seen my daughter do before that my astonishment deepened. When they turned in my direction I hurriedly ducked out of sight, concealing myself behind a parked van. A few minutes later I saw them heading back into town so I followed them to a café where they sat down together at one of the outside tables.

I watched them for about an hour. Hannah looked so carefree and happy, so entirely different from her usual self as she smiled and laughed that I felt a wave of sadness, even jealousy for this stranger, whoever she was. When, finally, the girl looked at her watch and grimaced, they both got up and hugged again, before going their separate ways, leaving me to drive home alone, still entirely confused.

For three weeks I remained none the wiser, and then, one morning everything suddenly became horribly clear.

It was a Sunday, and Doug had taken Toby to rugby practice as usual. Hannah had barely shown her face all morning and I was about to start the ironing. I happened to be standing right next to the downstairs phone when I heard Hannah come out of her room and pause on the landing. I knew she was in her usual spot, hand poised over the receiver, ready to lift it as soon as it rang. This time I was ready for her and as soon as it started ringing I snatched it up myself. My heart thudded, had Hannah heard the click? Apparently not. The person on the other end was speaking. ‘Becky, is that you?’

Becky?

‘Yes! How’s it going?’

‘Fine, you know, college work and stuff …’

‘Ugh, how’d it go with that essay?’ my daughter asked.

There followed a conversation about schoolwork, annoying teachers and favourite TV shows. The usual chatter of your average teenager. I should have been used to it, should have heard this or something like it all the time. But I didn’t. Because this wasn’t my daughter talking, not really. I knew Hannah – I knew she wasn’t this girl, the sort of ordinary teenager I’d long given up wishing she’d become. This was Hannah pretending to be someone else entirely. It reminded me of the day I’d overheard her impersonating me talking to the neighbour: today, too, each girlish giggle, breathless exclamation, was nothing more than an act. It was both fascinating and utterly chilling.

As I listened, it became clear that Hannah – or ‘Becky’ – was claiming that she, too, was at a sixth form college taking her A-levels and after some more chat about coursework and deadlines, the conversation turned to me and Doug. ‘What’s going on with your parents, anyway?’ the girl asked.