Love Life

by Nancy Peach

  “Yep, well, you might be right, Jakey. Maybe I do.”

  He closed his eyes, “It’s Mam’s fault you know, a bit of it anyway.” His voice was quiet, either surprised by this moment of clarity or simply drunk and tired. “It’s like we said earlier: she never made you feel good about yourself unless it were to do with exams. Maybe… I don’t know. I should’ve said something to her. It weren’t right…”

  Tess poked him with her finger. “Christ, Jake. This thing with Rini’s got you properly in touch with your softer side. Bugger off and rescue your girlfriend. Go on. Viv’ll be busy persuading her to fall pregnant and furnish Mam with the blessings of grandchildren as soon as possible otherwise – what with babies being so special and all.”

  Jake’s eyes opened wide and he hauled himself up from his seated position with a lurch. “Bloody hell – you’re right!” he said, lumbering out of the door. He threw a quick look over his shoulder to his sister.

  “I’ll be down in a moment,” she called after him and then heard a crash on the landing followed by a, “Fuck’s sake! Who left that there?” She followed the noise and found Jake holding up a shopping bag.

  “Near broke me neck!” He waved the bag at her.

  “Mam’s new shoes,” she said, holding out her hand to take them. “Give ’em here. I’ll put them in her wardrobe.”

  Jake made his way back downstairs, mumbling something about women and their bloody shopping, and Tess went through to her mum’s room. The wardrobe door was ajar and there were a variety of bags and boxes crammed into the lower shelf. It looked as though Tess could squeeze the new shoes in if she stacked them in a less haphazard fashion, so she removed a couple of older, more battered-looking containers from the deep recess at the back to make some space. One of them was particularly ancient – she wasn’t sure that Dolcis Shoes even existed as a high-street brand any longer. Curious as to the contents, she lifted the lid, but the vintage footwear she’d hoped for turned out to be an assortment of letters and cards. She pulled the box onto the carpet, ignoring the whisper of “Pandora…” from the television host, and began to separate the bundles of paper from the other items, lifting them out to see the writing more clearly. Except, she couldn’t focus. The words swam in front of her eyes. She steadied herself, clutching at the wardrobe door as she sat back on her heels. Many of the envelopes were addressed to Tess Carter, and they all had the same distinguishing feature: an Italian postmark.

  Chapter Fifteen

  In a daze, Tess tipped the contents of the box out onto the floor. There were some objects that made no sense at all: tickets for a gig at The Leadmill, a champagne cork, a wire bracelet, a postcard from Jamaica with a scribbled “Sorry” on the back. But most of the items were cards and letters. So many letters. She began to pick through them at random, not really understanding what she was seeing or doing. The majority were from her father, Marco, and a few dated back to the late 90s. There were some things she had seen before: a card for her seventh birthday that she remembered had been accompanied by a leather purse, and a box containing a locket with a faded photo of a handsome man and a five-year-old Tess, both pulling silly faces to the camera. She’d seen that locket, but thought she had lost it years ago. She realised her hands were shaking.

  There was a letter from the year that she’d qualified as a doctor. Lines jumped out at her:

  So proud to hear your news… always knew you’d do well… such a kind little girl.

  He recalled how quickly she had learned to read, how much she loved looking at books and being told stories. He said that he’d always known she’d be a “clever little thing”. There was mention of a time where she had looked after her big brother when he’d fallen out of a tree, held Jake’s hand, reassured him. Tess couldn’t recall much about the incident but welled up at the fact that her father had stored this information away, treasured those memories and stacked them up as evidence as to why his daughter had become a doctor. It was as if, through his letters, he was trying to prove that he knew her, that he remembered moments which had shaped her future course. After a while the lines began to blur into one another, but all the letters, from the earliest to the most recent, ended with similar words:

  Miss you so much.

  * * *

  Think of you often.

  * * *

  If you ever want to get in touch…

  She leant her head back against the wardrobe door, a letter dated from last year in her hand. It was the year she had discovered Scott in bed with Luke. She wondered what her father would have made of that. She wondered what he would have made of a lot of things. Growing up, she had never been particularly troubled by his absence. Jake’s father hadn’t been in their lives either, and many of her friends had very limited contact with their own dads. She’d always assumed this was normal; that her father had simply grown bored of his family and gone to make a new one. While this assumption hurt, and sometimes made her question her own worth, it remained an abstract concept. She knew her mother loved her; she knew Jake loved her. That was enough. At least, it had seemed enough. But now to discover that Marco had been interested, that he had cared what was happening to her and clearly wanted to maintain a relationship with her… This was new, unexpected knowledge and raised more questions than it answered.

  As if on cue, the door creaked open and her mum stuck her head around the corner. She, too, was looking a little worse for wear and it took her a while to register what was going on.

  “What you doing up here, pet?” she asked, her accent, like Jake’s, becoming more pronounced with the alcohol. “You still frettin’ about that fella from work? What’s all that stuff on your lap…?” Her eyes narrowed as she focussed on the debris scattered around Tess’s hunched figure, the mascara-stained tear tracks on her daughter’s cheeks. And suddenly the realisation hit her, and she froze. It seemed to Tess that her mum couldn’t work out whether to be furious or contrite; both emotions were evident on her face, working against each other. She raised a hand to her mouth.

  “Oh, God. Tess…”

  Tess clutched the letter in her hand. There was so much to say but the words wouldn’t seem to come. “Mam?” The noise was strangled in her throat. “The box… I was just… Your new shoes…” She gestured to the letters and cards – artefacts of the crime. “Why?”

  Her mum crossed quickly to where Tess was seated and started to gather up the envelopes, but Tess pushed her away, “No!” Tess was feeling a righteous indignation burning up through her body. She jumped to her feet, clutching the letters to her chest. “These are mine. They’re addressed to me!”

  Her mother’s hand went limp; the paper she had gathered dropped from her fingers to the floor. She searched her daughter’s face for a way in, a way to make herself understood. “Tessie?” Her voice was tentative, unsure. “I can explain. I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I was going to show you…”

  “When, Mam?” Tess thrust a handful of paper towards her mother’s face. “Some of these letters are almost twenty years old, for Christ’s sake! When did you think you might get around to it?”

  Her mother reached out towards her but Tess batted her away.

  “I did show you. I did, to start off with. Look…” she plucked the birthday card from the edge of the bed where it had fallen. “See? I showed you this one? This was out on the mantlepiece for months after your birthday. And… the locket… Where’s the locket…?” Tess opened her curled fist to reveal the tarnished silver nestled in her palm. Her mother pounced on it, “There! See? That was for your eighth birthday.” Her eyes were imploring, “And you loved it, remember?”

  Tess did remember. She had adored that locket, worn it every day she was allowed, tried to take it to school, to swimming lessons… “But you hid it?” She was incredulous. “I loved it and you took it away? I thought I’d lost it. I cried for days…”

  “And then you forgot about it.” Her mother was nodding along with her words, trying to push the understan
ding into her daughter by sheer force of will. “Do you see? You were obsessed with it, obsessed with everything he sent, every mention of him. And it hurt you so much that he wasn’t here. You don’t remember it now, but you spent hours just gazing at it and crying, it was like a constant reminder, the two of you frozen in time inside that locket. That photo, you were five; it was one of the last times you saw him…” She broke off and her face crumpled in on itself. “I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear to see you hurt, like I’d been.”

  “But it wasn’t about you.” Tess’s voice was faltering. “He wanted to see me. He wanted to… He could have been there for me. He could have helped.” She brought her hand to her forehead. The effort of rational thought was suddenly overwhelming. A few moments passed before she spoke again. “But instead, you hid all of this,” she gestured to the debris scattered around them. “You lied and lied. You built up your wall, told me that Dad didn’t want to know, that men were best avoided. ‘Stay away from everyone other than Jake,’ you said. ‘He’s the only good one of the lot.’ You were consumed by it, this fixation of yours, hiding me away.”

  “I just didn’t want you getting hurt.” The phrase repeated again, like a mantra, and Tess felt the fury rise up once more. Her voice exploded out of her, ringing against the windows and the tinny surface of the dressing-table mirror.

  “The trouble is, Mam, I did get hurt. And the reason I got hurt was because I didn’t understand men. I didn’t understand relationships at all. I mean, I lived with Scott for a year without realising he was gay! Do you know how embarrassing that is?”

  “Tessie, love—”

  “No, you don’t know. You have no idea what that felt like. You were so worried about me making the same mistakes as you, falling for the bad boys… whereas I end up with someone who doesn’t even fancy girls.” She was shouting now, aware that her voice would be echoing through the walls and floorboards and not caring. “If I’d had just the tiniest bit more knowledge of men then I might have known, might have sensed something wasn’t right. As it was, all the experience I had came from a whole load of drunken one-night stands when I started med school – screwing around to see what all the fuss was about.” She felt a vicious stab of satisfaction, seeing the shock register on her mother’s face. “That’s right. I shagged everyone I could get my hands on. Surprise you, does it? Your good girl behaving like that?”

  “Tess… I…”

  “And predictably, none of those one-night stands was especially fulfilling or made me feel good about myself. Just confirmed what you’d always told me. And then I met Pete and I thought, perfect; he’s solid, stable, dull. I’ll stick with him. I won’t risk it. I won’t do what Mum did. And I was bored rigid. I didn’t realise that I didn’t have to settle for that either. I didn’t know anything.” Her voice quietened. “Don’t you see? I was so bloody naïve, and it was your fault. You took your bad experiences with relationships out on me and you kept me away from my dad, the one man who might have been able to help me understand how life works; what I should look out for, what to avoid.”

  “Oh, Tess.” Her mother’s face was distraught. “I just wanted to protect you. I did what I thought was best, for you and for Jake. Just like I always do. You don’t know how difficult it was. You don’t know the half of it…” She was concentrating on her words, knowing she was in the wrong but not being used to having to navigate conflict with her daughter.

  “If I did try and steer you away from making a mistake, what of it? Look where you are now. A doctor. I wrote to your dad about that, I did. I sent him a photo of your graduation and all. You were happy. You didn’t need him. All your training, all your hard work paid off; you didn’t have to watch it trickle away. You didn’t have your dreams shattered.”

  “They were your dreams really, Mam.” Tess’s voice had quietened. She sounded more sad than angry now. “You were the one with something to prove. That pressure, it was hard to live with sometimes. And keeping me away from lads like you did… well, I felt ugly. You made me feel ugly.”

  “Oh Tess. I never thought—”

  “Jake knew. And Gran. She always told me I was beautiful, even when it was patently untrue, even when I was a total minger. She was always kind. Always.”

  She gulped back a sob and her mother took a step towards her, distress written across her face. “Oh, my love. I miss Gran too. You know I do. And you were never a minger. What a daft thing to say.” She cupped her daughter’s chin. “You were always beautiful. Always. From the moment you were born – it were terrifying.” She sniffed. “Can you imagine? Can you? I can’t explain it, that fear. Not wanting you to end up like me.”

  She brought her other hand up to stroke her daughter’s hair; the dark strands damp with perspiration had stuck in tiny curls and tendrils to her forehead. She recognised the blotchy flush on Tess’s neck as matching her own, the histamine response to stress that she had passed on to her daughter. Every other external feature was Marco’s: the dark eyes, the high-arched cheekbones, the full voluptuous lips, a face that drew glances from passers-by.

  “Some men, love…” She spoke earnestly, willing her daughter to understand. “Some fellas – they’re like animals. They can’t help themselves. If you’d had your head turned by one of them when there were so many better things ahead of you… I’d never have forgiven myself. But I didn’t mean to make you feel ugly, my love. Never. What mother would do that?” She pulled her daughter close. “You,” she said, “you and Jakey, you’re my pride and joy.” She held Tess out at arm’s length, wiped her tears from her face and pulled her back into an embrace. “And I’ve been selfish. And it was wrong. But you were mine, both of you…” She squeezed Tess possessively. “Mine. I thought we didn’t need anyone else. I’m so sorry.”

  The television host allowed mother to console daughter a little longer. “Family,” he said happily. “That’s what keeps this show on the road.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  A little later Tess heard her mum ushering her friends out of the house, Viv’s flattened vowels drifting up to the window as she whispered loudly to Gina, “Well! I never knew the Italian had kept in touch. She kept right quiet about it. And I’d never’ve guessed that our Tess would’ve ended up with a poof. Poor lass. There’s a lot more of ’em down South of course…” Her voice disappeared into the waiting taxi and Tess smiled despite herself, the outcome of her failed relationship clearly confirming Viv’s suspicions about southerners. She curled up on her bed, folding her body around Morris, who had sought her out and was now purring loudly, nudging her chin, making her feel needed. She knew that she should go downstairs but wanted instead to be alone with her thoughts.

  She was still furious with her mother for keeping the truth from her, especially as the lies about her father had simply led to lying about men in general, making them something to be feared, something to keep her daughter safe from. In perpetuating this myth, she had made Tess’s situation potentially much more confusing. The attempts to kerb her social life had only resulted in a reckless attitude to men and sex as soon as Tess had escaped, and it was more luck than judgement that had stopped her falling into exactly the situation that her mother had tried so hard to prevent.

  In spite of her distress, Tess smiled as she remembered that first term; like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis composed of baggy jumpers and bad hair, by Christmas she had been slimmer and wearing clothes that suited her new shape. Her skin had improved, the eyebrows were tamed, and she had exuded a self-assurance that increased almost daily. Her first visit home had proved a shock to her mother, and she had reverted to the loose-fitting clothing of her childhood to avoid confrontation – but as soon as she returned to Bristol in the new year, the heady combination of teenage lack of responsibility and a wide playing field had proved irresistible. She had enjoyed the attention, felt desirable for the first time in her life, and her confidence had grown and grown.

  Tess rolled onto her side and caught sight of he
r sad face in the mirrored tiles tacked to the wall. What had happened to that liberated, free spirit of a girl? Since uncovering Scott’s infidelity, the self-loathing had crept back. She realised she was just as paralysed with fear and confusion about men now as she had been as an innocent fresher waving goodbye to her mother at the halls of residence. She sat up in bed suddenly determined. If she could rescue herself at eighteen then she could certainly do it again now; she could go back to being the Tess of her medical school days. That was the girl she needed to find, to blow away the cobwebs and shake some sense back into her. She stuck up two metaphorical fingers to the daytime television host who was now muttering about the new spin-off series featuring Tess’s dad – he could sod off. She was going to be wild and carefree. She was going to start dating again.

  Seized by the conviction that she somehow needed to act now, capitalise on this burst of self-belief, she reached out of bed to where Jake had discarded her phone hours earlier. She closed the photo of Scott and unfollowed the account that had featured it. A plan was forming in her mind; she recalled from some distant part of her memory a conversation with Ravi, Kath’s boyfriend, about a schoolfriend of his who was single and potentially interested in a blind date. She had initially dismissed the idea out of hand but now, at one o’clock in the morning with a bellyful of cheap wine and revelatory shock, the notion did not seem quite so ridiculous. In fact, what better time to find a new man? It wasn’t as if her life could become much more melodramatic.

  She thought perhaps Ravi had sent her this guy’s number but couldn’t remember his name. She scrolled through… There it was, Simon Collins, contact details texted over from Ravi’s phone. Tess stared at the screen for a few seconds, and before she could interrogate her motives too thoroughly, she tapped out a message asking him if he’d like to meet up some time. There, that had done it. Too late now. Tess sank back into her bed, emotional exhaustion overtaking all sensible thoughts of cleaning her teeth or taking her make-up off. She shrugged out of her jeans and lay for a moment with Morris noisily kneading her hair. As she dozed, the soothing voice of Jane Austen echoed in her head: