Stitch-Up (27 page)

“No, no, that's not what I meant,” I said, walking towards her. I was smiling, too. We shared the same sense of humour. We embraced again, and this time it wasn't so bumpy and unnatural. We could work it out – it would just take time. I could feel tears welling up. Life was messy. I started sobbing.

“Ssh. Take it easy.” My mother was stroking my hair. “I'm here for you now. We'll sort everything out. We've got each other.”

I smiled through my tears. This time her use of ‘we' sounded right.

“Is everything going to be okay, Mum?

“Yes, Dasha. We're going to do great.”

I hugged her tight.

“It must have been terrifying for you, angel. It's all okay now. Dad's on his way. He's been with the PM. He's outside with the police.”

“Dad?” I pushed her away. “I thought you said he was dead.”

Lights, Camera, Action

MOMENTS later.

Dazzling light.

I squinted up into the glare.

A spotlight had risen above the Chinese screen, fixing us to the spot.

“What's going on?” I demanded, trying to wriggle from my mother's grip.

“It's okay, darling.” My mother clamped her hand to the back of my head, pressing my face into her chest. “Ssssh. Don't cry. There's no need to worry any more.” She was stroking my hair. “We're here now. It's all over, angel.” My mother was speaking loudly, as if auditioning for a part. “Dad's coming.”

I pushed her away.

Footsteps in the hall.

“What's going on?” I repeated, trying to look beyond the dazzling light.

The Chinese screen was concertinaed now and the second door was open, revealing a spacious conservatory, and as my eyes became more accustomed to the glare, I saw shadows, which slowly morphed into men, dressed in black, like mime artists. Two were holding television lights while a third was
operating a camera and a fourth thrust a furry sound-boom in my direction. Despite the heat from the television lights, I felt chilled to the bone.

From the hallway a whiff of ‘Treachery' – my
other mother's
signature perfume – reached me. Followed by the tick-tack-tack of heels. A moment later, Tamara Gold sailed into the room while Maxine edged back towards the door, as if they were connected by an elaborate pulley system. My mouth gaped open. Two mothers dressed identically: one receding, the other advancing. A double vision moment. A second later, Dad marched into the room and greeted me with an oil-slick smile.

“Hello, Dash,” he said, slipping his arm around his wife's waist. “So what kept you?” He smiled. A slash of perfect white.

They stood there like a couple of swank-pots enjoying my surprise. How the hell had they got here so quickly? Had they cracked time travel, too? Under the television lights my parents appeared like Hollywood stars posing on the red carpet – all composure and gloss. Meanwhile I gawked and twitched like a talent-show hopeful, waiting for the judges to rip me to pieces.

Each second seemed a year apart.

“You shouldn't have taken us on, precious,” Dad said with an amused sneer. “What were you thinking?”

“Thinking straight for once. For myself.”

“And look where that's got you.” His eyes glinted with amusement, but he was looking at me with intense interest, as if he were seeing a whole new side to me.

“What the freak are you two doing here, anyway?”

“Don't sound so surprised, Dasha.” Tamara arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Did you really think we wouldn't work out your little scheme, that we'd let you go without a fight? You underestimate us, Dasha – my little ingrate. We came in with the Thames Water chaps.” Hardboiled eyes. Pupils big as snooker balls. She'd been taking stuff, which always made her mean.

“How did you know I was looking for Maxine?”

“Credit where credit's due, Dash.” Dad was still lasering me with his intense look. “You gave us a real headache. To start with we hadn't a clue what your game was. We couldn't think why you'd take off with a hooligan. When we saw the CCTV footage of you two together, we couldn't work out the connection. We had no idea how you could have met someone so
street
.” He spat the word from his mouth, as if he feared it might give him an ulcer. “It took time to get the authority to access your electronic footprint, but once we had permission it was a breeze. Nothing in your recent search history on Google, Facebook postings or emails, although fascinating, gave us any clues. We checked right back. It's only when we accessed the academy's computer system that we finally discovered your little obsession. Your attempts to access FuturePerfect's site, your research into adoption and your nightly chats on forums.”

“Is nothing private?”

“Nope. Not these days. The breakthrough came in the early hours of this morning. The police missed you at FuturePerfect, but we figured you'd head here. And here
you are.” A smarmy smile stretched his lips.

“Anyway, we've got a few matters to straighten up, haven't we, darling? Make things right.” Tamara held my gaze for a moment before locking eyes with Maxine. “And the sooner you discover the truth about your
birth
mother, the sooner we can get on with our lives.”

Blanking the Golds, I turned to Maxine and said, “What's she talking about, Mum?”

Maxine was staring at the floor.

“It is time to come clean, Maxine.” Tamara Gold glided towards her. “Time to let Dasha know what a truly tragic human being you are.”

Maxine shrank away, clamping her hands over her ears. Tamara batted them away and snatched a concealed earpiece from behind Maxine's ear. She held it up with a flourish. “You haven't been totally straight with your daughter, have you?” she said, as she removed a hidden mike from beneath the lapel of Maxine's jacket.

“No way!” I glared at Maxine. “Seriously? Were you taking directions from these psychos?”

One mother looked mortified, the other looked triumphant, while my father rocked back and forth on his heels, enjoying the show.

“Of course she was. We stage-managed the whole scene.” Dad raised his eyes to the winking red light of the smoke alarm.

I followed his gaze. “What? Secret cameras?” I frowned. “But why?”

“A little safety precaution. Viewers love a happy ending. A family reunion.”

I still didn't get it. “Why would you shoot a reunion with me and Maxine?” I frowned. “There's nothing in it for you.”

But even as I spoke, seeing the two women standing side by side, my parents' game became clear. Both mothers were styled in the same way. This meant they could construct a totally different scene in the edit. All it would take was a few clever cutaways, some creative editing and some extra filming with Tamara, and then, abracadabra! One similarly styled mother would morph into the other. The black suit, the white collar, distinctive T-bar shoes and the crucifixes: all these identical elements could be intercut and spliced together, allowing the conjuring trick to take place.

“Think about it, Dasha. I will become Maxine in the edit.” Tamara clicked her fingers. “Simple as that. We are filming a Gold reunion. We came here to create our version of events.”

“As usual,” I snapped, and then, turning back to Maxine, I asked, “So was
everything
staged?” Even as I asked, the memory of her pressing her earlobe flashed into my head.

Maxine refused to look me in the eye, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“Time to tell Dasha the truth, Maxine.” My father moved closer, invading her space. She looked up at him pleadingly. Still she didn't speak.

Tamara filled the silence, relishing the opportunity to explain the tacky truth. “We needed certain shots, you know,
something that visually said ‘happy ever after' as well as a few key phrases and pick-ups so it would work in the edit. We almost captured the whole scene with the first hug, but you freaked out before we got the complete script in the bag.”

“So you turned the most important moment of my life into a soap opera. Fabulous.” I glared at my so-called parents. “No wonder I'm on the run.”

Then I turned my sights on Maxine. “Why did you agree to go along with them?”

“Why did you play the game, Maxine? Your daughter wants to know,” Dad needled, as he and Tamara moved towards her in a pincer movement. Maxine retreated, pressing against the wall in a star shape, as if pinned to it by their stares. She reminded me of a beautiful butterfly on display in a speciman cabinet. When she didn't speak, Dad replied on her behalf.

“Money, of course, and, like a true professional, Maxine delivered.”

My mouth dropped open. “No way.” For a few seconds, I was lost for words. Shell-shocked. When I continued, my tone was sharp. “For money?” Anger was bubbling up inside me like a toxic gas. My hands clenched and unclenched, but my fury kept escalating, and then, boom, I exploded. “Abandoning me – or should I say selling me –as a baby was rubbish. But not half as rubbish as playing the loving mother, while hamming it up for the cameras, so you'd get another big fat pay-off.” Tears were streaming down my face. I wiped them away angrily. “'Sakes, you're as bad as them. What about all that stuff you
spouted? About how you loved being pregnant with me. How it was the happiest time of your life. The most magical eight months.” I sniffed back sobs. “Was that all fake?”

“Padding,” Tamara chipped in, her smile wide and vacant as a ballroom dancer's. “We told Maxine to get emotional. We needed her to soften you up, win you round. We needed to film a second hug with the line about Dad and the police. The money shot.”

“What did they pay you?”

Maxine wouldn't meet my gaze. She wiped away a tear.

“Half a million pounds, a makeover and a duplex in Dubai,” Tamara replied on Maxine's behalf, only too happy to fill me in.

“Is that what I'm worth to you?” My voice was tight. “Tell me, Mum.”

Her face crumpled.

Dad towered over her. “Go on, Maxine.” He moved closer, casting a shadow across her face. “Tell her.” She cowered away, as if he'd raised his hand to hit her.

“You're a Gold. You're worth billions.” Maxine's voice was little more than a whisper. “I gave you up for adoption so you could have a better chance in life. Most kids would do anything to be a celebrity.
To be you
. Don't throw it all away. For what? To be anonymous. It is worse than a death sentence. Believe me.”

“What Maxine is trying to say is that you're an ungrateful little wretch,” Dad said, taking control again.

“Shut up!” I snapped. “Get your nose out of my life, Dad.
I want to hear what Maxine has to say.
Not you
.” I focused on Maxine, eyes drilling into her. Unlike my parents, her face gave away her emotions. She looked defeated. “I still don't get it. Why would you take their money? Why would you betray your own daughter?”

Maxine stumbled on. “Your parents have given you an amazing life. They want you back. Take it from me – you wouldn't want to be in my life. My luck ran out. I'm at the end of the line, broke and broken. You must make the most of your good luck.” Her words sounded scripted; there was something hollow about her delivery.

“Good luck?” I scrunched up my face sceptically. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes.” She shifted uneasily, still trapped in Dad's stare.

“What's wrong with you?” I shook my head miserably.

“I'm sorry, Dasha.” Maxine was shrinking into herself, her body language was becoming more and more closed. “I'm going to make the most of this opportunity. You should go back to the Golds and make the most of yours. Please try and understand. This is what I want now.” I still had the feeling she was speaking lines.

“It seems you keep on showing up at the wrong time in her life, Dash.” Dad was enjoying himself. “Isn't that right, Maxine?”

“Dasha, please. It's too late to fix things.” Maxine's words were small and broken, the sound of a snail's shell crushed underfoot. She had no power to stand up to my dad. The trouble was
nobody
did.

I stared at the floorboards. Maxine was as rubbish as everyone else in my life, apart from Latif. I toed one of the plastic bottles lying at my feet, tears rolling down my cheeks. A skull and crossbones, which was printed on the label, rocked back and forth. I felt like it was hexing me.

A thought flashed in the fug of my sadness. “Why did you turn up at my parents' house, if you didn't want to see me again?” I asked, lifting my gaze.

Her eyes flicked up to my father. Irritation slid across his smooth face. My stomach tightened.

“Blackmail. What else?” he said quickly. “We paid her off and sent her packing.”

I remembered the police cars outside our house.

“You're lying, Dad. I overheard you and Mum talking. You didn't give her money. The police handled it.”

“She was demanding money, Dash.” He cracked his knuckles.

“Is that the truth?” I asked Maxine urgently. “I know he's lying. This is your chance to make things right, Mum. I don't care about the rest – the money, the adoption, tonight – just tell me what happened that night in Dad's study.” The Golds were crowding her out. “Please do this one thing for me, Mum.” I was shouting. “
Stand up to them
.”

Maxine stood frozen to the spot for a second or two, and then, using the wall to pull herself up to her full height, she started talking in a rush. “I love you, Dasha. It's never been about the money. I promise.” There was grit in her voice now. “That night in his study, Mr Gold said there would be
terrible consequences if I broke our contract. He said they would take Lily away. Put her in a foster home. That I would go to jail for being an imposter.”

My father was shouting for backup.