“I didn’t know I was pregnant for quite a while,” Fiona said after a moment. “I think I must have been in denial, although I didn’t have a lot of symptoms. I was nearly five months gone before I finally realized.”
“You still could have had an abortion,” Juliet protested, hardly able to believe she was arguing the point. “The Abortion Act allows it up to twenty-four weeks.”
“Back then it was actually twenty-eight weeks,” Fiona answered, “but I couldn’t.” She shifted in her chair. “Having an abortion at five months is not the same as taking a pill when you’ve just found out. All of a sudden I realized there was a baby inside of me, kicking and rolling around, having hiccups. Once I accepted the reality of you . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It’s a hard choice, and I was scared. I had no one to talk to, no close friends at university, and I was terrified of my family finding out. I couldn’t do it.”
“You could have had me adopted,” Juliet persisted. She knew there was no real point, but she felt determined to show her mother that she’d had options. It hadn’t had to be the way it was, terrible for both of them.
“I could have,” Fiona agreed. “But that felt like failure. I’d had to endure so much and then I’d get nothing at the end—”
“You’d have got your life back,” Juliet cut across her. “Which I imagine is what you wanted.”
“Do you really think you can just get your life back?” Fiona asked. “After all that? In any case, I didn’t want to pretend it hadn’t happened. That felt like cowardice. And it also seemed unfair.”
“Unfair?” Juliet repeated, and felt the fury start to surge again. “You want to talk about unfair—”
“I know.” Fiona held up a hand to stem the tide. “I know, Juliet. But when I was pregnant, I thought . . . I thought I could love you.”
Juliet blinked, tried to arrange the expression on her face into something that wasn’t hurt.Grief.“But you couldn’t.” The words fell into the stillness of the room like stones, rippling the heavy silence and then disappearing. Neither of them spoke for several long minutes.
“I was young and alone when I had you,” Fiona finally said. “My family had cut me off completely for getting pregnant. My father wouldn’t even speak to me after I told him. He never wanted to see you, and my mother only saw you once, when you were a few days old.” She pressed her lips together, and for a second Juliet felt a flicker of sympathy for her mother’s plight. “They both died when you were little, anyway. And as for when you were born . . . it was a hard delivery, and you weren’t an easy baby.” She held up a hand even though Juliet hadn’t said anything. “I know, I know. These aren’t excuses. I know I can’t excuse . . .” She paused, and then, taking a deep breath, continued. “I’m just trying to explain how it was. How alone I felt. And I thought I’d be able to keep on at university, but I couldn’t. There weren’t the child care options available as there are these days, and I didn’t have the money. My family was never going to help me. So I ended up living on government benefits and feeling as if my life had ended. And yes, I started to resent you. I’m sorry if that makes me selfish and cruel and what have you, but that’s how it was.” Fiona broke off and looked away.
Juliet felt no sympathy. If it had been any other woman facing such a dire predicament, poor and pregnant and alone, she would have surely felt compassion and sorrow. But with Fiona she didn’t. She couldn’t. “I understand how you could feelthat way at first,” she finally said, keeping her voice level and choosing her words with care. “But you more or less ignored me for my whole childhood. If you couldn’t get over your resentment, you should have done something. Sought help, or given me up.”
“I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose.”
Juliet stared at her in disbelief. “Are you joking?” she demanded. “You barely spoke to me. You never came to anything at school—”
“You were so independent,” Fiona protested. “You never asked me to come. It seemed you didn’t need me.”
“I was a child,” Juliet shot back. “You were my mother. Of course I needed you.”
Fiona closed her eyes. Her face looked gray and drawn. “Look, I know I can’t pretend our relationship was normal, but as time went on, it became easier for me to believe it was. To just . . . coexist together.”
“And Lucy?” Juliet asked after a moment. “Why did you have her?”
Fiona opened her eyes. “Because I wanted to get it right a second time. I know I failed you, Juliet, and I’m sorry. I failed Lucy too, in a different way. I’m not a maternal person. I suppose I shouldn’t have had children at all.”
“But you did,” Juliet burst out. “And that should have changed how you acted—”
“Yes.” Fiona nodded wearily. “I suppose it should have.” She didn’t say anything more, and Juliet stared at her, at the sandy hair that was the same as hers and Lucy’s, but now streaked with silver. At the gray eyes, even the slightly crooked nose. Both sisters looked like Fiona. Why hadn’t her mother been able to see it? Why hadn’t she been able to push past the tragedy and heartache, and love the child she’d been given, the child she’d chosen to keep?
Maybe it really had been impossible for Fiona; maybe she just hadn’t tried. Either way it didn’t really matter.
“So that’s it?” Juliet said. “That’s all you’ve got?”
“I don’t expect you to understand—”
“No, you do,” Juliet cut her off, her voice hardening. “You expect me to understand and absolve you. And Lucy too, although that probably never seemed difficult to you, since she went trotting back to Boston to take care of you.” She shook her head slowly. “I think you’re the most selfish woman I’ve ever known. You could have tried just alittleover the years. You could have reached out to me, even to explain why you couldn’t reach out more—”
“Was I supposed to explain to a child that her father was a rapist?” Fiona asked, her voice hardening too.
“I’m thirty-seven. I think you could have found the right time to tell me.”
“I didn’t see the point when you were an adult. We didn’t have a relationship.”
“At least you’re honest about that.” She drew a deep breath. “I don’t know what you could have done when I was young, but I’ll tell you this. Anything, no matter how small, would have been better than what you did, which was bloody nothing.”
Fiona rose from the chair; with shock Juliet realized she was actually angry. “I fed you. I clothed you—”
