‘Jim and I—we separated, and I’m not sure how to fix things. Not really.’ She broke off, rubbing her temple. ‘And Lottie . . . I love her more than anything, but sometimes I don’t know how to reach her. What if I’ve messed it all up?’ She wrung her hands, unable to share her heaviest burden of all, that her mum was no longer present in her life.
Marjorie reached across the table. ‘You’re stronger than you think, love. You always have been. You’ll figure out what you want, how to make things right. And if you fail, try and try again.’
‘I remember you saying that to me before an audition once,’ Greta said.
‘Yes? What happened?’
‘I got the part.’
‘There you are then,’ her mum said with a firm nod.
Greta gave a watery smile. ‘It’s not that easy anymore. That was a long time ago.’
Her mum reached out and took hold of her hand. ‘You’re stronger than you think.’
Greta swooned at the touch of her skin. ‘I’ve missed you so much, Mum,’ she said. ‘I’ve felt lost without you. I . . . I don’t know how to do this. The separation, my career, Lottie . . . everything feels like it’s slipping away.’
‘Missed me?’ Marjorie repeated. ‘I haven’t gone anywhere, love. I’m not going anywhere. And Jim and Lottie? You’ve got a beautiful home and a wonderful family. Everything’s exactly as it’s meant to be.’
Greta raised her head, and something inside her slipped. Her mum might look and speak the same, but just like Edgar said about Eliza, something wasn’t quite right. A knot in her chest tightened.
‘You and Jim have done a wonderful job raising Lottie,’ Marjorie added. ‘She hit every note in her performance and delivered every line perfectly. Don’t be too hard on yourself.’
Greta wanted to bask in the praise, to let it warm her, but something held her back. ‘Thanks, Mum. But I’d feel just as proud if Lottie had sung off-key, hit a bum note, or fluffed her lines.’
Her mum frowned, tilting her head. ‘Tsk. Well, you don’t have to worry about any of those things. Her performance was faultless.’
‘Faultless,’Greta repeated. The word didn’t sit comfortably with her.
Images dropped into her mind, of Lottie slamming her bedroom door, arguing about her homework, and refusing to tidy her cluttered room. Greta still didn’t know what Lottie was planning for the talent show in Longmill.
‘None of us are perfect,’ she told her mum. ‘And that’s okay. I’m proud ofJim and Lottie no matter what they do.’
Marjorie blinked, as if trying to understand. ‘But everything in Mapleville is perfect. Isn’t that your dream? Isn’t that what you want?’
Greta’s heart galloped. Her mum’s words felt off, like a picture hanging askew on a gallery wall. ‘I don’t want Lottie to be perfect,’ she said. ‘I want her to make mistakes. To have fun, mess up, and learn from it.’
She sat back in her chair. Her own words chiming in her head.
And in that moment, everything came into focus. Her shoulders felt suddenly lighter.
For the first time, Greta truly believed that she no longer wanted life to be perfect. Not for herself. Not for Lottie. She’d been chasing something impossible, and wanting it for her daughter, too.
Now it was time to let it go.
She whispered her words again.‘I don’t want Lottie to be perfect.’Then she spoke them out loud. ‘I want Lottie to be free to follow her dreams, whatever they are,’ Greta told her mum. ‘If things go wrong, she can try, and try again.’
If things go wrong . . .
The words buzzed inside her. Things went wrong every day. That was life. It was normal.
She had spent so long acting—on stage, in her marriage, even in her own mind. But she didn’t want to pretend anymore.
Something inside her shifted, like a key had finally opened a long-locked door.
‘I don’t want Lottie to be perfect,’ she repeated, more firmly now.
Greta now realised that the past was never what she’d painted it to be. She’d preserved a memory of Mapleville and held on to it, as if it were flawless. But real people and places were messy, unpredictable and imperfect.
