When the sleeping was done, and I was feeling more like myself – whoever I even was – I wrote.
I wrote to the Gellers and apologised for not saying goodbye. I wished Joseph the best of luck and thanked them for their years of employment. I might not have been happy there, but I was safe, and I was well paid. So well paid, in fact, that a month in a hotel barely put a dent in my savings. They took care of me, and that deserved to be acknowledged at the very least.
I wrote to my parents and thanked them for all they had done for me. My childhood hadn’t been terrible. It had been me bringing trouble into our lives that had ruined everything. My dad paid a high price for my freedom. I apologised for the first time. I promised them I was okay, but that I was no longer with Dante. I knew they would worry, but I told them to put me out of their mind. To enjoy their retirement years. They had always said they wanted to sail the world, and since the house was gone now, they should focus on their dreams.
I wrote to Vienna and told him I had arrived in America safe and sound, and that I was okay. After all that had happened, there wasn’t much else I could say. But I knew he would pass on my brief message to those that needed it.
And finally, I wrote to Bee. I apologised for leaving her, for not being the mother she needed. I reminded her how beautiful, amazing, brave and wonderful she was.
I didn’t bother writing to Dante.
I signed all the letters with, “goodbye. Rachel.” And left no return address.
I hesitated on Bee’s and quickly added “Mummy” to the end of it. It was selfish, and she didn’t deserve to be reminded that I had once been her mother. But I couldn’t let that go. I couldn’t snatch it away from her. I meant it when I told her I was hers, so long as she wanted me. I gave her both names, Rachel and Mummy, just like I always promised her I would.
Once the letters were posted, I packed up my things and said goodbye to my old life once and for all.
I returned to the UK by boat, and threw my passport, birth certificate, and any other important documents into the sea. The final piece of the puzzle.
I said goodbye to Rachel.
Within a month of being in Scotland, I had a job, a car, and a new identity. No one asked questions. I was the definition of someone who had slipped through the cracks.
I told my boss my name was Lisa, and that I was escaping an abusive relationship. The month of crying gave credibility to my story. He willingly signed my new passport photo and came with me to the DVLA to get a new license. I told everyone I had lost my documents, and with him there to vouch for me, no one seemed to care that I had seemed to appear from thin air – a stranger plucked from nothing. No history. No family. Nothing to be traced. Just how I wanted it.
Those that did question it were paid handsomely to turn a blind eye.
Rachel was dead, and Lisa was born.
My hair was back a demure, stylish blonde, and after many painful sessions, my tattoo had been laser removed. I was slowly but surely erasing any evidence of the life I had with the Devil’s Disciples.
Apart from one.
I would treasure and guard that for the rest of my life.
My phone rang again, pulling me out of my thoughts. I pulled it out of my pocket, noticing that the number was private again.
It’ll have to wait.
I had voicemail. If it was important, they could leave a message. Right now, I had a cake to collect.
The bell dinged as I pushed open the door to the bakery, and I smiled at the woman as she lifted her head up from her phone to look at me.
“Oh, Lisa!” She hurried to put her phone away. “I didn't think you were going to make it!”
“I'm so sorry, Hayley! I had a client I couldn't get off the phone. Am I too late?”
“Not at all. Let me just go and grab it for you! It turned out stunning!”
“Thank you!” I grinned back, looking around at some of the cakes on display. Hayley really was the best, and her attention to detail was exquisite. Probably a bit overboard for the party I had planned, but as soon as I had seen her work, I knew I couldn’t possibly go anywhere else. No one else could have compared.
Thank God my boss had taken mercy on me and allowed me to hang up the phone!
I worked in a call centre, which wasn't the most glamorous job in the world. Sometimes I would spend hours on the phone with these customers selling them their dream holiday. Often I was there later than my scheduled hours, because it was forbidden to ever, ever hang up the phone. It was exhausting and mentally draining. But it paid the bills, which came in handy because I was too scared to touch my savings. Not now.
I hadn’t minded dipping into my savings when I was in America. And I hadn’t minded just a little here and there when I first moved back to the UK.
But it was too much of a risk now.
