Hayley's Mother

So, I have to tell you about Kat.

She’s one of those people that needs to come with a warning sticker.

You can’t just drop Kat into a story.

Normally she is the story.

I met her three years ago; One of those really smart guys I’d know at university ended up a damn fine lawyer and Kat? Well she needed a damn fine lawyer.

Kat always got what she wanted.

I’ve heard that said about other people before, but they were amateurs. The entire focus of Kats life was getting what she wanted.

If that makes you picture some entitled, spoilt brat ... well, she could be that if she wanted.

Honestly, I have no idea who she actually was. She could change her manner, her looks, her accent and most importantly her story at the drop of a hat.

There were four things I knew about Kat – and I’m pretty sure her real name wasn’t one of them.

Kat was a thief. I’m not talking about a bank robbing, jewellery heisting, balaclava wearing comic book villain. Let’s just say she always ended up with what she wanted and never paid a damn thing for it.

Kat was good. Even if you knew she was a scam artist. Even is you thought you knew the game. You were wrong. While you were playing nought’s and crosses, she was beating your ass at chess.

Kat was in it for the ride. She wasn’t looking for a big pay-day or fortune and glory – if she was, she’d have had it – Kat was all about the game, rather than the prize. She always made sure that when she finished the game, you knew you’d been beaten.

And Kat always won the game.

I learned all this the hard way, but, honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing.

My Lawyer friend introduced us.

We hit it off and I had the best three weeks of my life.

She was funny, sharp, pretty and a total deviant in bed, but all of that was blown away by the thrill of being around her. She had an energy and focus that made you feel like you were alive.

She’d always have this bright smile, and a glint in her eye that made you feel like a kid on a roller coaster when she was around.

And then she was gone.

And so was my car.

I’m not a petrol head and I don’t like to brag about money or possessions. But I’ve always loved Aston Martins. Limited edition, it had cost as much as a nice house and I had it a total of six weeks.

The Lojack I’d had fitted had been strapped to a bus – I nearly went crazy trying to work that one out.

The police said the car wasn’t even registered in my name. It had been transferred three weeks ago; All the paperwork properly sent away, and confirmation sent to my address, done and dusted.

I’m still a little embarrassed that it took me a couple of days to realise what had happened.

When it finally hit though I panicked. I had a lot of money tied up in online accounts, stock markets, bonds ... you name it. If someone got close enough to get hold of my documents and divert my post it could be game over.

In the end though it was just the car. I figured out later, it was always just the car.

Kat wanted the car.

Kay always got what she wanted.

Sure, I pushed through the reluctance from the police and eventually got them to take me seriously and report it as a crime, but I didn’t hold out any hope that they’d find her, let alone be able to make charges stick.

My lawyer friend was no help – he hadn’t seen her in weeks. Besides he was too busy at work. Someone had hacked into their system and a whole bunch of legal documents were missing (even the backups). They were frantically trying to work out who’d done it and what was gone.

The strange thing is, after a few months I wasn’t even mad.

I’d bought a new car. Had a little time and learnt to take it as a life lesson that could have been a lot worse.

It helped that I kept being reminded of her. I’d hear a song we’d listened to together or eat at a restaurant we visited and find myself smiling.

I missed her way more than I missed the car, and I fucking loved that car.

I thought I’d moved on.

And then I saw her.

She’d been a fiery red-head with me, always dressed to kill and bubbling with life.

Now she was a brunette. Curly dark hair cropped to her neck and hipster glasses.

Her hair fell in front of her face as she gazed at the man who’s arm she held.

A pretty but shy girl, holding onto him like he was a life-line. Clearly nervous is a crowd, clearly infatuated with him.

She was nothing like my Kat, but I knew her the moment I saw her.

It was a big party and after a few moments of reflection I had a plan.

A surge of confidence and adrenalin at seeing her drove me on. This was it, this was a chance to shake her up a little, let her know she wasn’t the only one who could play games.

I drifted around, making small talk with anyone at the party I’d met before. Approaching each, I’d chat with them for a while and then introduce myself to everyone around them, making sure to memorise a few bits of info about each person as I slowly built my social spiderweb.

Eventually my chance came.

Kat and her latest mark were in a small group chatting in a corner. Paul, a stockbroker I’d met about an hour ago was talking to a tall blonde at the edge of the group.

Making my excuses I strolled over, plucking a drink off the buffet table as I passed and slowing to take a sip so I could time my arrival with a lull in the conversation.

‘Paul, we should talk about me moving some of my business to your firm before I go’ I dropped in with a line I knew he wouldn’t be able to ignore. ‘I’m not too happy with my guy at the moment... ‘

I endured a couple of minutes of awkward small talk. Paul was subtly trying to work out if I was a big enough fish to bother reeling in.

I was waiting for my opportunity though.

He steered the conversation to holiday homes and boats. I evaded and drew it out waiting for a chance...

Cars though! When he brought the topic round to what I drove...

‘Well I’ve just bought a Ford GT, but the truth is I really miss my Aston Martin... ‘ My voice rose. It was a crude trick that I normally hated. People raising their voice to draw attention to a boast or fact they though would impress those around them (Paul had done it at least twice when we talked earlier).

It happened all the time at these parties, and I was just loud enough to make sure the whole group heard.

I did my best impression of someone forgetting something for a half second and then sprung my trap. ‘How rude of me though, I’ve pulled you away from these fine people and haven’t even introduced myself’

Looking back, it seems a little hammy, but I felt like James Bond while I said it. My master plan coming to its endgame, I stretched out my hand to someone else in the little group and started to introduce myself.

Whatever I thought I’d achieved, I hadn’t.

She didn’t bat an eye as I got around to ‘Phoebe’ as she shyly introduced herself, before going back to doting on her partner.

Nothing?

No wide eyes. No stammering. No hint that she knew who I was. Just the nervous politeness of someone uncomfortable in a crowd.

I didn’t pay attention to any other names or introductions; my mind was reeling as I went through the motions with a smile on my face and names going straight over my head.

I was still stunned as they drifted past, quiet excuses made while I was trying to come up with a plan.

She brushed past.

Then she was gone.

I looked around a few minutes later, but they’d left.

Paul’s chat had just become noise to me, so I made some agreeable, non-committal noises and offered to give him my card.

I was busy wondering what I’d been hoping to achieve as I took Paul’s card.

Did I expect her to bolt ... break character ... did she even recognise me?

She didn’t even bat an eyelid.

Paul didn’t help – I managed my own investments – and the best his business card could hope for was being roach material in some future joint I rolled.

But you have to treat these things like they’re sacred, so I dutifully reached to tuck it in my wallet and get out my own business card.

My wallet!

I drew a couple of surprised glances as I laughed out loud.

Composing myself while I checked I still had my keys and phone I made my excuses and left, tucking Paul’s card into a top pocket.

It was only after I’d cancelled my cards and put a hold on my accounts that I found the other business card.

Just a plain white card with an email address.

It took me a couple of days to figure out what to write.

It was an essay.

I wasn’t mad.

I didn’t care about the car.

Hell, I even told her I knew she’d never be mine. I just needed to talk

Not a creepy ‘get you in a conversation and try to pressure you into something’ talk, I assured.

But a chat between friends.

No grudges. No tricks.

It was desperate.

Looking back, writing the email was what I needed most, putting all my feelings down and sending them off to the person who’d done this.

Deep down, I didn’t have any hope that it would work. But over the next few days, I felt like I’d moved past any lingering sense of loss.

One week after I’d sent my email, I got a visit.

I heard a car roll up and looked out the window to see a gorgeous Aston Martin parking outside my house.

My heart racing, I rushed to the door.

It wasn’t Kat.

Oh sure, it was her, but it wasn’t the girl I’d known.

I got to meet Phoebe.

She was shy and demure, hesitant and yet someone totally alluring.

I tried to connect with the girl I’d known, draw her out of this disguise so we could talk, maybe connect again.

Instead I met another girl.

The sad part is, if I’d never know Kat, I’d have fallen totally in love with Phoebe.

Despite the coyness, she was still razor sharp. She was funny and caring. Once you got to know her, she opened up just enough to draw you in deeper.

The way she looked at me.

It was like I was the only person in the world.

She hung on every word I said.

The most unassuming person I’d ever met and yet somehow I’d have dropped everything to give her anything she wanted.

She acted like she’d met her soulmate and was terrified I’d float away. As we talked thorough the night, she took a hold of my arm and slowly drew me in.

Later as we started to kiss, I felt it again.

That rush that Kat made me feel.

Like I was a kid.

But this wasn’t Kat’s rush.

There were no rollercoasters.

This time I was a kid kissing the girl next door for the first time.

All nerves and a racing heart as I brushed my lips against hers.

I forgot about Kat.

I forgot about my car and my wallet, about the guy from the party she’d clung to and about the way she’d never broken character.

The only thing in the world was Phoebe, quietly moaning beneath me.

It wasn’t Phoebe though. She didn’t exist the same way Kat didn’t exist.

The only thing about her that existed was the game.

I realised that when I woke up the next morning, my wallet lying next to me where she’d been.

She didn’t care about the car, or the wallet, or me.

She cared about the game.

And Kat always won the game.

Kat became my muse.

She was the voice in the back of my head, the person I spoke to when it was quiet, and I was alone.

Her email address became my diary.

I know it sounds a little sad, but she was my best friend. The first person I’d turn to if I needed advice and the only one I’d share my inner thoughts and feeling with.

Sometimes I felt like a twenty-eight-year-old with a fucking imaginary friend.

Don’t get me wrong though, she was a friend.

She wrote back.

Not as much as I wrote her, and she never shared her thoughts or actions. Hell, she never talked about herself, but somehow, she always knew just what to say.

She was insightful, with smart advice when I needed it.

She was encouraging and complimentary when things were hard.

She was tough and stood up to me when I needed shaking up.

For the third time this girl had gotten into my head, but this time it wasn’t as an infatuation.

She was a companion. We didn’t flirt, I didn’t pine after her.

I had a good friend, who made me forget all about Kat and Phoebe.

The fact that she mostly wrote back when I had something interesting to say didn’t detract from the friendship and somehow, she was always there when I needed her the most.

So, I guess there is a fifth thing I know about Kat after all.

I told her everything.

I visited Hayley every day.

Every day she was a little brighter, a little more confident.

She started to relax.

Oh, and her smile!

I’d seen her smile before, a little grin here and there or a shy smile at something that amused her. But one day, after about a week of our arrangement I leant over to plant an affectionate kiss on her forehead.

As I leaned back, she beamed.

Something about seeing this girl truly happy just made my heart ache.

With that smile, this wasn’t an arrangement for convenience anymore.

She was mine.

I think I’d been hers for a while if we’re being truthful.

But you know how life is.

When things are going well a shit-storm is just around the corner.

This particular shit-storm took the form of a teacher and social worker, a parting gift from Hayley’s mother: Grace.

Letters home had been ignored. Friendly at first: school outings, parents evening, report cards.

She might have got away with being lazy on those.

It was the school uniform in the end that blew it. Tattered and repaired, obviously too small and staring to fade.

The first letters were nice. With a sense of concern, they offered assistance and asked to meet.

Next came the friendly warnings; gentle reminders about standards and obligations ... the offers of assistance were still there, but the requests for a meeting were sterner.

The last two were stark and officious.

Concerns that could no longer be ignored.

Demands for a meeting and worries regarding Hayley’s welfare.

I started at the end though. I only discovered the others, crumpled down the side of the couch, when the last letter arrived.

I’d love to rage at Hayley’s teacher and call her a busy-body. But she did what she though was best for a child.

I can’t be mad at that.

What she though was best, was reporting the situation to Child Protection.

I had a case number, an assigned social worker, and an appointment.

I’d considered the risk of all this at the start.

I’m not going to say I weighed up the risks carefully, I think we both know I didn’t, but I knew this was a possibility, and on day 1 my plan was to let Hayley know there was nothing we could do.

Let her down easy.

She’d probably be better off in the long run.

And then that fucking smile.

No way was anyone taking her away from me.

Hayley’s approach was simple.

Run.

Move somewhere else and don’t look back.

As we cuddled up together to sleep that night, Hayley’s plan was my plan.

We clung to each other desperately. Quietly talking, reassuring each other that everything would be ok.

We talked confidently, but held each other tighter and tighter, both of us putting on a brave face, but neither convinced.

The girl who’d been growing in confidence in front of my eyes each day was slipping away and no matter how I tried to reassure her that smile was gone.

I lay awake long after she’d drifted off, working out how to move my assets abroad. What I’d have to cut loose and what I’d be able to safely keep.

I’d have to become someone ... else...

God I was fucking stupid sometimes!

I slipped out of bed and hurried downstairs to grab my laptop and write an email.

It came out garbled and rushed.

I was tired, panicked and desperate.

I sent it anyway.

Then I paced. I mean I literally paced up and down, trying to come up with plans. Arguments and counter arguments playing out in my head. Mentally preparing.

I had one chance and I had to get it right.

I paced for three hours.

I answered the phone on the 2^nd ring. A number I didn’t recognise.

‘Hello?’ My voice went from croaky to high pitched in one word.

‘John’

A statement, not a question, in a soft Irish accent. It was a voice I’d never heard, but somehow still recognised.

It was daylight outside by the time I hung up.

I’d explained the situation for hours.

I’d already told her about Hayley – and Grace before her – through our emails.

A risk, I know, but I was an open book to her.

She asked questions for hours. I can’t even begin to imagine why she wanted some of the answers.

I’d jumped at every request she made, even the ones that made no sense: Pictures of Hayley, pictures of Grace and the house. Pictures of every letter and finally twenty thousand pounds wired over.

I did it all without hesitation.

Then I explained my plan.

There was a long pause and I started to think we’d been disconnected when she sighed slowly.

‘No’

I was stunned.

I’d built my hopes around her.

This was my only way out.

I started to backtrack. To fill in what I’d missed and negotiate a better plan.

‘No’

Just as my hope slipped away, she offered it back.

‘I’ll fix it. Give me what I want, and I’ll get you what you want.’

And I believed her.

It was a fact! Not an offer or an agreement to make an attempt.

‘It’s done’ I smiled, my voice raising as I happily agreed. ‘I’ve already transferred the money.’

She laughed.

It was going well!

‘Oh John... ‘ Another long pause.

It was not going well!

‘The money was for expenses.’

She’d kept the soft Irish lilt every moment we spoke. She hadn’t offered a name this time around and that quiet, confident voice had just become a part of her to me. A new facet to an old friend.

‘I don’t want your money John.’ She purred.

She was right, she’d have taken half of it the first time we met if that was what she wanted.

‘What do you want?’ I was nervous but deep down I already knew I’d pay whatever she wanted.

I was wrong again.

It turns out her price wasn’t something I could agree to.

It wasn’t up to me.

It was my turn to be silent after she’d finished talking.

‘Call it a test?’ damn, but she never lost her confidence. ‘If she cares about you as much as you care about her, we’ll have a deal.’

The line went dead.

Still in silence I walked slowly back to bed.

It took me a while to wake Hayley.

She looked so peaceful sleeping and a part of me didn’t want to know the answer.

I couldn’t even make up my own mind what I wanted her to say.

Eventually I woke her gently.

She was a little groggy and confused. It wasn’t fair dropping all this on her while she was still waking, but I had to know.

Keeping my voice carefully flat I told her about my conversation, about the person behind it and finally about the price.

She didn’t share my hesitation. Her answer was quick. She was wide eyed and her mouth hung open as I told her, but she calmly stated her answer the moment I stopped talking.

Without saying a word, I slipped back downstairs and wrote the shortest email I’d ever sent to Kat.

‘Yes’

I had six days to the meeting, and now that I had hope to hold onto, I threw myself into the task.

It was a home appointment, so the task was pretty clear.

Hayley had kept the place spotless, and the houses I rented out were always in good condition – well repaired and nicely decorated.

It wasn’t a shit-hole, but it wasn’t a home.

The lounge contained just a couch and TV on a small table. Hayley’s bedroom was much the same, just a bed and a neat stack of her washing.

The essentials were there, but not much else.

The first day I got rid of almost everything.

The tatty couch I’d fucked Grace on, the tiny TV set, beds, everything in the kitchen dragged off.

There were a couple of guys with a van I used whenever there was clearing out or repairs on my houses that I couldn’t do myself. As usual they made quick work of it, while I sat on the floor on my laptop planning out a new home.

Next day delivery is a wonderful thing.

I have my own tastes. I like a lack of clutter and a sleek, stylish look. But I didn’t decorate the house for me.

Simple, comfortable furniture started to arrive, and I spent the next couple of days putting together the beds, book shelves, side tables and all the other things that people fill up their homes with.

Second hand books arrived soon after. I’d picked out a wide handful of popular authors and ordered everything they’d written to fill the shelf space – carefully sorted so each author had their own section.

Neat stacks of magazines were filed under the coffee table, with a couple scattered on top of it.

I hate cushions.

I bought 10. Hideous floral things that I scattered on the couch and beds.

I’d already bought Hayley a new school uniform before the letter arrived (ok, I’ll admit, I couldn’t wait for school to start and I got to see her in it ... but that would have to wait for now).

We cleared out the rest of her clothes and in the end the only things we kept were the new things I’d bought her. The rest was either too worn, too small or too hideous to keep. So, I logged into Amazon, sat her down on my account and told her add anything she liked the look of to the basket.

I knew she’d try to save money and be frugal, so I told her to add everything that fitted her style and she could sit down later and decide which bits she wanted to get.

It took a long time, and I had to keep convincing her to keep looking and add more things so we had a lot to choose from.

Finally, I sat down beside her, and we did some shopping together. I added the things she’d liked but thought were too expensive, and tripled up on the socks, shirts and underwear she’d put in the basket.

When we both got a little bored, we started going through costumes; maid outfits, catsuits, lingerie, you name it. As well as an ungodly amount of knee socks and stockings (she picked up my interest and said she’d consider a pair when we made the final cut).

Playfully I added everything from Halloween costumes, to thongs, to rubber skirts to the basket, reassuring her that we’d go through it later and be more sensible – just the essentials, with maybe a couple of nice things for her and a few bits just for fun.

There’s an old saying; It’s easier to ask forgiveness that permission.

I hate that saying! It’s usually used to excuse shitty behaviour, but in this case, I knew we’d never fill the brand-new wardrobe and drawers in Hayley’s room if I let her filter through the hundreds of things we’d added to the basket. Besides, it was for her ... well some was just things I wanted to see her in, but most of it was for her.

When she went to the bathroom I rushed through the checkout, clicking the fastest delivery options they offered.

I honestly thought she’d see it coming.

I underestimated how much she was used to being overlooked or an afterthought. Luckily, she was too shocked to be cross or disappointed in me and any regrets I might have had were washed away when she asked why she’d need six pairs of shoes, or four jackets!

She didn’t get why I found that funny, and playfully attacked me when I laughed at her shock at having two bags being delivered tomorrow.

I had doubts gnawing at me. There was a price to pay, and there wasn’t a guarantee the plan would work ... hell I didn’t even know what the plan was. But right then, as the tickling turned into kissing, I had my Hayley back and everything else in the world was forgotten.

The next few days were a rush. I had to get my guys to come back with their van.

Two trips full of empty boxes, packets and Styrofoam I didn’t have time to deal with.

I’d underestimated how long it would take to find a place for everything and put all the finishing touches in place. Each evening I ordered a few more bits and pieces and by the final evening we cuddled up together on the new couch in our perfect home.

It was neat, but lived in. Clean and tidy, but with a hundred little touches and character.

Hayley loved it.

I loved it.

A nagging concern had always tugged at me when I was over there before, that the situation wasn’t right. That I was taking advantage, and Hayley deserved a proper family, a proper home.

A home like this.

I’ve always picked out things I wanted, things that suited me. I took a lot of care and effort in my own house and it suited me, or so I thought.

But I’d never been this comfortable or cosy.

It was only that realisation that made me try to remember when the last time I’d actually been at home was.

Not this week, I’d been too busy for that.

I’d started out coming over to visit Hayley every day.

Then I’d stayed over a couple of times.

At some point without even realising I’d stopped going home.

We drifted off to sleep together, spooning on the couch, too exhausted and too comfy to go to bed.

I woke late.

Hayley had left me to sleep, while she showered and dressed. A neat, preppy little outfit with a tartan skirt that reached the middle of her thighs, white tights and a tight red sweater.

I tried to ignore the reaction that caused, we didn’t have time for that ... well maybe we had a little.

She danced away as I reached out for her though.

She was too damn sensible.

But she was right. I needed to shower, and we didn’t have time for me to mess up her hard work.

It was only in the shower that I started to get nervous.

Four hours.

I hadn’t heard from Kat.

I didn’t know what the plan was.

I knew she was good, but...

No. I had to trust her.

Ok, I had to trust that she had nothing to gain by screwing me over.

I heard the door while I was brushing my teeth.

I dressed in a hurry and rushed downstairs.

Bundled up on the couch with Hayley was a blonde woman. She had an arm around her, and they were laughing at some shared joke.

Kat gave me an affectionate smile as she stood. Not a passioned greeting for a friend you hadn’t seen in years, just a warm acknowledgement of a loved one you hadn’t seen since the night before.

‘Good morning John’ she stepped forward and hugged me.

Of course, it wasn’t my Kat. It wasn’t timid little Phoebe either, or the soft, composed Irish girl I’d spoken to a week before.

Phoebe and Kat had worn slender stylish heels.

This woman was shorter – how the hell did girls do that?

Subtle, natural make-up and hair that was a perfect match for Hayley.

She was still young enough to be Hayley’s older sister, but she held herself with the quiet composure and no-nonsense, not-to-be-argued-with authority of a single mother.

‘Kat ... I’ I started, but she nipped that right in the bud.

‘Grace! Hayley’s mother is Grace John’ There could be no argument, even if she’d left time for one ‘You’ve done a fair enough job here, but you’ve missed some details.’ She continued, reaching into a well-used, bulky handbag to pull out a phone.’

Offering it to Hayley she gently instructed her ‘it will ping every few minutes. Whenever it does, take it out, type something and then put it away again.’

Turning back to me she added ‘What fourteen-year-old girl doesn’t have a phone?’

Her tone was gentle and reminding but offered no room for excuses or arguments ‘and for god’s sake move that car. A ford GT John? Really? It doesn’t exactly fit around here.’

I tried this time; I opened my mouth to offer an excuse for overlooking it but didn’t get the words out. ‘It’s an eyesore John ... I thought you had better taste’

I swear there was a hint of a sly smile as I picked up my keys.

Grace was sitting next to Hayley on the couch again when I came back, talking quickly in a voice too quiet for me to hear. Her hand rested easily on Hayley’s knee and they giggled occasionally at some private joke.

I stood back and watched for a moment.

My angel and the perfect, respectable, middle-class mother.

She hadn’t just done it. She’d been here five minutes and she’d effortlessly become a part of the place.

There was a ping and Grace patted Hayley on the knee as the teenager pulled out her phone.

Standing smoothly, she approached me.