I was wrong-footed by your directness. ‘I thought it would be nice to spend some time together, that’s all.’
You were silent. Then you sighed. ‘Mum, it would be nice. But I’m really busy tonight.’ You paused. ‘How about Friday?’
There was a sequence of events unravelling in our lives that I did nothing to stop. Before I got to see you again, I had a call from Ryan: he’d found a flat and was moving out. ‘If you’re sure it’s over between us.’
‘You have to be joking.’ I couldn’t believe he was even asking that. ‘Have you signed the paperwork my solicitor sent you?’
‘What paperwork?’ His voice made it obvious he knew what I was talking about; that he was delaying.
But I was done with his game-playing. ‘Just sign it, will you? And let me know when you’ve moved out.’ I hadn’t decided whether to sell it or rent it out. But what happened to the house after he left was nothing to do with him.
On Friday evening, I picked you up from the animal shelter. In clean jeans and a black top, you’d washed your hair and pinned some of it up. ‘How are the piglets?’ I asked you as you got in the car.
‘One of them didn’t make it,’ you said matter-of-factly.
‘Oh!’ I was shocked. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It happens more often than not,’ you told me. ‘They never had any milk from their mother. The odds were always stacked against them.’
Once again, I realised how little I knew about your world. That the animals in the straw-bedded stables at the shelter were a drop in the ocean compared to the suffering of millions of animals that went on in intensive farms.
‘It must be tough,’ I said quietly.
‘It is.’ You paused. ‘But if it wasn’t, it would mean you didn’t care.’
The pub was cosy, a log burning in the enormous fireplace. Finding a table, we ordered a bottle of wine and perused the menu.
‘Mushroom risotto,’ you said when someone came to take our order.
‘Make that two.’
You looked at me suspiciously. ‘Have meat if you want, Mum. It doesn’t bother me.’
But I knew it did; and increasingly it bothered me too. Warily, I brought up the subject of Ryan. ‘Your father’s moved out of the house – or is about to move out.’
‘No way.’ Your eyes widened. ‘How’s that come about?’
‘I bought him out – with the money your grandfather left me,’ I told you.
‘It’s good he’s gone.’ You paused. ‘Mum…’ you started to say. Then you shook your head.
‘What is it?’ I watched your face.
‘It’s just…’ You frowned. ‘Well, I suppose it’s just that you’ve never really talked about your own mum and dad. And for some reason, I’ve never asked you about them.’
I looked at you, slightly shocked. ‘There’s not much to say. I think you know, they both died. And even before that, there was a long time they weren’t in my life.’
‘Why?’ you asked.
I sat there for a moment. This was hard for me. Really hard. ‘I’ve never told you and Ollie this. But my father was an alcoholic, too,’ I said quietly. ‘Only he was worse than Ryan.’ I paused. ‘He abused my mother – she ended up leaving him. But she didn’t take us with her.’
You looked at me, shocked. ‘That’s awful, Mum. Why didn’t you tell us?’
‘Because…’ I stalled. ‘I don’t know why, Lex.’ But only now am I realising that I do know, and it isn’t comfortable. ‘But I think it’s part of the reason I didn’t leave your dad sooner. In part of my brain, drinking was normal behaviour. It didn’t have the shock factor it should have had. It took seeing how he treated you and Ollie to force me to do something.’
‘So you knew what it was like.’ You stared at me, silent for a moment.
I could imagine what you were thinking. So why did you stay with him? ‘Our home was horrible, Lex. There were never clean clothes or food in the fridge. Then your uncle – my brother – got into drugs. After that, I got out as soon as I could.’
