“Maybe,” she says, but she doesn’t smile.
In an attempt to clear the tension and reset, I go into the kitchen, make two cups of tea, arrange the biscuits on a side plate and walk back in with a smile. She’s gripping the arm rest of the chair with her veined hand.
“I wasn’t wearing my glasses that day,” Mum says. “You asked Sally next door to take them into the opticians. Remember? There was that crack on the left side.”
“Right. Yes, I remember.”
“But it was you. It had to be.” Her voice begins to sound doubtful. “You had a cold, didn’t you?”
“What?” prickles shoot up the back of my neck. “I haven’t had a cold at all.”
“Hmm,” she says. “You sounded a little congested before. My eyes though…”
“Listen to me now, I sound fine, don’t I?”
“Yes, I suppose you do.”
“What did I say to you that day? Did we fall out?”
Mum’s fingers tighten around the arm of the chair. Her throat bobs as she swallows. “You told me that I made a mistake adopting you. That your father and I were selfish people who didn’t think about the consequences of our actions.” She pulls in a deep breath as though steadying her emotions. “It came as quite a surprise, as you can imagine. I’d never… I always thought…” Her voice begins to break.
“Mum, I don’t think those things and never have!” I say quickly. “Even if it was me… if I came here and left without knowing I did, I promise you, I don’t believe that for a second. If it was me, then it was the dementia talking. It can mess with your mind and even make up its own narrative.”
I think about the case studies I read online. Sons and daughters dealing with parents who change the history of their whole lives in the fog of their illness. Again, I thought I had more time, I was sure of it…
I stand, needing to do something with my body. Pent up anxiety powers my legs as I pace around the room.
“I remember all of Monday. I swear I didn’t come.”
She doesn’t reply with words, but raises an eyebrow instead. I sit back down.
“I spoke to a social worker at the adoption agency. They said I weighed less than six pounds when I was born. Did you know that?”
“No,” Mum says. I hear the surprise in her voice. “You were over six weeks old when we adopted you. They did say you were a little underweight and to take you for regular check-ups but they didn’t mention your birth weight. We were so wrapped up in you that we didn’t think to ask.”
“So, you don’t know whether I was premature or… or just small?”
She shakes her head.
For her this chapter is closed and has been for many years. But for me it’s wide open. And now something strange has happened yet again. There’s a possibility that someone came here pretending to be me. I was busy writing on Monday, I haven’t had a cold and I can’t imagine being so cruel to my mum. It seems insane but once more my mind drifts to the possibility of a twin. But this feels like an attack, a violation.
As we drink our tea, I make small talk and I try to steer the conversation towards something more positive. Mum doesn’t deserve to deal with my unhinged distractions, she needs peace and calm in her time of life. I help her do some washing, trim her nails and then promise to bring Penny with me next time I come. I put a good face on it, but the whole time, I feel like two people. One person sitting here smiling through the tasks, the other desperately searching for someone through an abyss, screaming out a name unknown.
CHAPTER 25
FAYE
Strands of red hair float onto the sofa cushions as she walks into the room. I see her face reflected in the TV screen, leaning over my elderly mother, skinny hands around her neck. This reflection sneers with hatred.
I wake with a silent scream. The room is pitch black, the sheets beneath me soaked. Slowly, I step out of my bed and switch on the light with a trembling finger.
I have never had a nightmare like that before. That wasn’t the dementia, it was something else. Pure terror.
It hits me. I believe someone who looks like me went to my mother’s house and entered her property by tricking her. That person most likely wants to do me, or her, or my whole family harm.
That twin I’ve always wanted… if she exists, she might just be the person making me terrified to sleep right now.
* * *
