“To apologise,” she says quickly and firmly, as though she needs to get out the words before she chokes on them. “To say I’m sorry for the way I’ve been behaving. For ignoring you for all this time. It was…childish, and hurtful, and I’m very, very sorry.”
The words sound genuine, but also rehearsed – as though she has learned her lines. I frown at her, and reply: “This really wasn’t your idea, was it?”
“Like I told you, sweets, it was Kenneth who made me come. Well, not made me…stronglysuggestedwould maybe be a better term. He knew something was bothering me, and once he wormed it out of me, he said we had to put it right. Said we had to fix it, because life’s too short for falling out with your family. And I suppose, really, I should know that better than most people, shouldn’t I?”
Her voice cracks with the last few words, and she can’t meet my eyes. She is struggling, and the tremor in her fingers becomes more pronounced, her cup wobbling and spilling tea into the saucer.
“Where is he, then? Kenneth?”
“Oh, he dropped me off and said he’d come back for me later. Said this was between me and you.”
I nod, and thank Connie as she bobs towards us with my coffee. She knows exactly how I like it by now, and I am just as grateful for the little squeeze she gives my shoulder as she leaves.
I take a sip, and look at my mum across the table. I am so annoyed with her, and I have so many things I want explanations for, and I have been so upset by what she’s done – but I am also concerned, in that old way that is almost as natural to me as breathing. It’s a complicated mix of nonsense, and I’m not quite sure how to react, or what to say.
“You really did hurt my feelings, Mum,” I settle for. I need to say it, but I keep my tone quiet and gentle as I do. “I felt…I don’t know, abandoned. Like I’d done something wrong without even knowing it.”
She nods, and finally looks up to meet my eyes.
“I know. I am sorry, honest, Cally. You didn’t deserve that at all. It’s only recently that I’ve really realised how amazing you’ve been – you’ve been the best daughter in the world, you really have. I’m not just sorry about the last few weeks…I’m sorry about everything. You shouldn’t have had to look after me like you did. I should have been the one looking after you…it’s like we swapped roles, isn’t it? And I let that happen, and let it carry on for so long, and I can’t tell you how much I regret it.”
I see tears shining in her blue eyes, and can’t stand it. I just can’t bear to see her this upset.
“It’s okay, Mum,” I say quickly, holding her hand. “Please don’t upset yourself.”
“It’s not okay, darling – and I see that now. You’re still doing it, love – trying to comfort me, trying to protect me, even though I don’t deserve it. So, here’s the truth, if you’re ready for it?”
She looks at me quizzically, and part of me wants to say “hell, no, what good did the truth ever do?” Wouldn’t life be easier if we all maintained our illusions, told a few white lies, didn’t probe too deeply?
“All right,” I reply instead. “You’ve driven a long way to tell me.”
“Almost 600 miles! So…you know I’ve never liked talking about your dad, and that’s why I wasn’t very keen when you suddenly announced you planned to come here. Partly it just dredged up memories that I’ve worked very hard to ignore, but partly it was because I was worried that when you got here, you might remember. Remember how things really were back then, before your dad died. I suppose I thought it might…I don’t know, trigger some kind of flashback?”
I have to smile at that, because I’d kind of wondered the same myself – I’ve been waiting for it ever since I arrived, but there have been no revelations so far.
“It didn’t,” I reply. “Hard as I tried, all I got was the sense that it was familiar. The only kinds of flashbacks I’ve had have been related to the smell of cookies, which comes as no surprise. But not long after I got here, I met Ed and Viola – and they remembered me. You. Us. They had photos, and stories, and…were you really that miserable together, Mum? You never told me, even when I was an adult and could have handled it. I always thought this was a place we had our last happy holiday together…”
She laughs, but it sounds more bitter than amused. She picks at the cuticle of her nail, and says: “Well, I was always glad you thought that. I wanted you to think that, because you didn’t have much else, did you? No dad, and a useless mum – I didn’t want to destroy your memories as well, even if they were fake. No, dear, we weren’t happy. I was…well, I was younger than him. I wasn’t as content. I thought I needed more from life…then I met a man at work – when I was still working in the bank in town – and…well. I suppose I became a bit of a cliché.”
I know, of course, that my mum used to work in a bank – but knowing it and it feeling real are two separate things. My version of her wasn’t the same version as someone who could cope with getting up every day, travelling into the city centre, and holding down a proper job. My version of her could barely cope with putting her shoes on and going to the corner shop for breakfast milk.
I can’t even imagine her before, mentally well, resilient, lively – and, from the sound of it, bored.
“So…what, you had an affair?” I ask, the words sounding ridiculous as they emerge. I mean, what child could ever picture such a thing as their parent having an illicit romance? Or any kind of romance, really.
“Yes. It was stupid, and impulsive, and it meant nothing. I genuinely think that in time, we’d have sorted things out. I loved your dad, Cally, I did. But as you know yourself now, marriage isn’t easy, is it? It’s not always a bed of roses. Your dad was so much older than me, and we’d been together since I was twenty-one. After you were born, he was all for a quiet life – I wanted a bit more adventure. I suppose I wanted a bit of excitement, and he…well, he was a lovely man, and a good father, but he wasn’t exciting, love. I realise now there are far more important things than that, but I just…I got carried away. And eventually, he found out. I don’t think I was awfully discreet – maybe part of me wanted to be caught, maybe that added to the thrill…I was a dreadful human being back then, in all honesty.”
I want to reassure her, but I am still processing this new and hard-to-swallow piece of information. I settle for saying: “No, just a human being, Mum – everyone makes mistakes.”
Of course, I’ve been on the receiving end of similar mistakes – seen my husband sneaking around, taking phone calls in the garden, showering as soon as he came home from “working late”. It felt awful, and it’s hard to know that my dad went through the same.
“So, we came here for Christmas,” she continues, not meeting my eyes. “I suppose it was an attempt to make a fresh start. Except it didn’t work that way. Once we were here, I felt even more trapped. I saw all the happy families around me and realised that I didn’t feel the same. That although I loved the bones of you, Cally, I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life being so…bored. I told him I wanted a divorce. Told him that you and I would be moving out…I’m not even sure I meant it, to be honest. I think part of me just wanted to shake things up, get a response from him other than his usual grim acceptance…”
“You wanted some drama? A big scene, maybe a romantic reconciliation?” I say, shaking my head.
“Yes, I suppose so. I’m so ashamed of myself now, love, you have to believe that. And obviously I didn’t know what would happen next. He was upset, dreadfully so, of course…he didn’t want to lose us. I still didn’t know for sure what I was going to do, but I let him believe that I was leaving. And that…”
“Broke his heart,” I finish for her, suddenly feeling broken myself. I can see the fault lines so much more clearly now – see where the tremors built up, where the landscape of our lives was torn apart. My dad died before they could even begin to figure out what their future together looked like – and before she could make amends.
