“I’m sure. You of all people should know I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
“But seeing—”
“Seeing that man must have been hard? It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t as hard as I’d imagined it would be if I ever saw him again. Which surprises me as much as it probably surprises you. Let’s walk, shall we?”
Was that really it? All she was going to say?
Abby had been frightened to see her mother so vulnerable for those brief moments, but now she was scared that her mother might withdraw to her usual impenetrable self before they could have a proper conversation.
She was brimming with questions, but she followed hermother’s lead and they headed up the coast path that was now so familiar.
Luckily for them the seat was empty, and they sat down. “I missed this view.”
“Yes.” Abby found the view breathtaking, but right now she wouldn’t have cared if they’d been staring at a brick wall.
“I want to talk to you, and this feels as good a place to do it as any.”
Abby relaxed a little. At least they weren’t going to push it aside and pretend it had never happened.
“I’m here for you.” She put her hand on her mother’s arm. “I hope you know that. I’m not surprised you want to talk.”
“Oh, I don’t want to talk abouthim.” She covered Abby’s hand with her own. “You’re kind, but what you need to understand is that he’d already taken so much from me. He robbed me of my childhood, of my mother, and also my childish beliefs that a father was someone to depend on, to trust. Perhaps if he’d walked into that room showing remorse and eager to make up for all our missed years that might have been harder to handle, but it was obvious to me that he hadn’t changed at all. Not one bit. And I will not let him steal a moment more of my time or my thoughts. So yes, I really am fine.” She gave Abby’s hand a gentle squeeze and then let go. “Why do you think I changed my surname to Strong? At the time it was both a goal and a reminder of who and what I wanted to be. I wanted nothing to do with him, or his name. That hasn’t changed. And now, unless you have more questions, I think it’s time we put him in the past.”
“But you said you wanted to talk.”
“Not about my father. It’s your father I want to talk about.”
“Myfather?”
“Yes. You have questions. It’s a shame you had to get drunk before you could tell me how strongly you were feeling.”
Abby felt the colour woosh into her cheeks. “I never like to ask because I know it upsets you. You hate talking about the past.”
“It’s more that I see no point in it. What does it achieve apart from making you dwell on a time you’ve worked hard to forget?” Her mother stared out across the ocean. “But the real reason I didn’t tell you the detail is because I was protecting you. I didn’t want you growing up feeling the way I did. I didn’t want you growing up with all that baggage. Taking all that into your interactions with other people. Having it infect every aspect of your life, the way it infected mine.”
“I don’t understand. I can imagine it was very hard for you after he died. You were pregnant and alone—”
“Yes, it was hard after he died,” her mother said. “But it was even harder before he died.”
Abby waited, her heart thudding hard. She was consumed by a sense of foreboding. “Tell me.”
“You grew up knowing your father died before you were born, but what you didn’t know was that we weren’t together when he had the accident.” There was a long pause. “He’d left me. Us.”
She absorbed that. “You mean he walked out?” She felt her mother take her hand again.
“I met him when I was eighteen. I was young. I’d recently lost my own mother and I was derailed by grief. You probably can’t imagine that. You see me as calm and always in control, but it has taken many years of hard work to reach that point.”
She did see her mother that way. Until today she’d never been able to imagine any situation in which she’d feel out of control, but now she could. Today had shown her that her mother was as human as anyone else. And as vulnerable. It was a strange, slightly unsettling realisation. She’d seen her as a rock, but even rocks could be changed and reshaped by the world around them.
“Tell me what happened.”
“I’d been working at the hotel for years by then and I’d seen him around occasionally. Bryan. He owned the hotel. He was older, of course. Much older. Did that have something to do with the attraction?” She shrugged. “Maybe. Probably. He was a competent, successful man, or so I thought. When I was with him I didn’t think about the future, just the present. He was also attentive and kind and looked after me. It had been a long time since anyone had looked after me. Usually, I was the one doing the looking after. It was novel. It felt like a rest. I’m not making excuses. I’m telling you how it was.”
“Excuses?” Abby had to stop herself from asking a million questions. She knew she had to let her mother tell the story in her own way. “Why would you need to make excuses for your choices? You mean because of the age difference?”
Her father had left them.He’d left them.
“No, not that. Bryan was married. And before you ask, yes, he told me. He also told me they were separated, that the marriage was over. A lie as old as time, of course. Would it have made a difference if I’d known he was lying?” Her mother paused. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. I enjoyed our time together and I’d learned by then that life was messy and complicated. I told myself it was okay to snatch a little happiness when it came my way. I didn’t see him as often as I would have liked. He was often travelling, but he came back to Cornwall whenever he could.”
