The Daughter's Choice

by S. D. Robertson

  I was still licking the wounds of my upbringing then, desperately searching for my place in the world. By the time I met Ed, I’d become a woman. I had a firm grip on where my life was heading and was comfortable in my own skin.

  And yet things could still have turned out so differently. Max and I did discuss the possibility of him coming travelling with me. He had a lot going on in his life. And yet, I think there was a good chance he’d have put it all on hold to join me if things hadn’t taken the unexpected turn they did.

  I fell pregnant. It was a huge shock.

  Okay, we’d been having regular sex, but we’d been very careful … or so we’d thought. Having a baby couldn’t have been further from what I wanted. Still in the early stages of recovery from my traumatic childhood, at that point I don’t think there was a maternal bone in my body.

  Regardless, I was pregnant and what I did about that pregnancy – how I dealt with it – is a secret I kept to myself for so long, even Ed didn’t know until recently. He was the first person I ever told since leaving the UK, bound for Greece and beyond, all those years ago. I almost let it slip to Angela once, during a vulnerable moment, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so in the end.

  My actions back then have long been a source of shame for me, although I did what felt right at the time.

  Was it the correct decision?

  This is something I’ve wrestled with again and again over the years. My opinion still wavers, but my most consistent view is that morally it was wrong, while practically it was – and I say this with a heavy heart – probably correct. Still, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t change it if I could travel back in time and inhabit the body of my younger self as the person I am today.

  I’m jumping ahead. Look at me already ruminating on the rights and wrongs of what I did before even telling you what that was. Sorry. The simple truth is that I don’t want to say it, because I know it’ll change your view of me once and for all, despite everything you’ve heard up until now.

  I’m still going to tell you, though.

  I have to.

  We’re beyond the point of no return.

  CHAPTER 29

  The friendly young waiter appears out of nowhere at the side of the table. That’s how it seems to Cassie, at least, because her mind is on far more important things and she’s terrified of what’s going to happen next.

  Still, she’s glad of the distraction, the momentary delay of the inevitable.

  ‘How were your desserts?’ the waiter asks.

  ‘Very nice, thank you,’ Rose says from across the table.

  Cassie can tell there’s something going on in Rose’s head, but what that might be is anyone’s guess. She’s been very quiet for the last part of the story after initially looking anxious and then somewhat confused – maybe even disappointed, strangely – when Cassie started talking about her relationship with Max. Does Rose have any clue what she’s on the cusp of being told?

  ‘Yes, mine was very nice too,’ Cassie adds, forcing her lips into a smile, hoping the way they quiver as she does so isn’t visible.

  ‘Tea or coffee for anyone?’

  ‘Coffee, please,’ they reply in sync, looking at each other across the table and both pulling a face.

  ‘Jinx,’ Rose says, although it sounds half-hearted to Cassie’s ears. She responds with another painted-on smile. Her throat is like sandpaper, every swallow an effort.

  ‘Perfect,’ the waiter replies, hands clasped together. ‘Would you like that here in the restaurant or would you prefer it in the lounge?’

  After a quick consultation, they opt for the lounge. This suits Cassie, as the move from one spot to another allows for a natural pause in her storytelling.

  ‘I’ll take this opportunity to nip to the loo,’ Rose says after the waiter has gone. ‘Shall I meet you in the lounge?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’ll see you in a few minutes. I’d like to pop back to my room and use the bathroom there, but I won’t be long.’

  ‘Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.’

  When Rose has left the dining room, Cassie slowly exhales, glad of a few moments to herself, and yet thrown by Rose disappearing to her room.

  What will she be doing there: calling someone? Looking Cassie up online?

  She remains at the table, fighting to clear her mind and calm herself down.

  ‘Relax,’ she whispers under her breath. ‘Keep your cool.’

  Rose doesn’t know anything, she tells herself repeatedly. There’s no way. She can’t do. She might believe she’s on to something – a theory – but she’ll have got the wrong end of the stick, surely.

  She’d never have been able to keep her cool if she’d actually worked it out.

  And how on earth could she have guessed the truth, anyway?

  She thinks her mother is dead.

  Only she’s not.

  She’s right here.

  How many times, waking and sleeping, has Cassie imagined herself breaking the bombshell news; finally revealing the shocking secret that’s been kept from Rose for more than two decades?

  I am your mother.

  That short statement is all it will take.

  But boy, do those four simple words carry some weight.

  The thought of uttering them – as she must in a matter of minutes – fills Cassie with absolute dread.

  From Rose’s perspective, these words are impossible.

  But the truth is the truth, however unlikely, however painful.

  CHAPTER 30

  Planning today’s events beforehand, Cassie had intended to drop breadcrumbs while telling Rose her story, possibly even before then. But it was harder to do than she’d expected. How exactly do you hint to someone that you’re the parent they’ve never known and believe to be dead?

  If Rose has grown suspicious of her, which seems increasingly likely, goodness only knows what kind of conspiracy theories she has running around inside her head.

  They can’t be any worse than the truth, which is why the prospect of revealing it terrifies Cassie.

  Perhaps she should have had the guts to refer to the boy she fell in love with at nineteen as Dave, rather than using her old nickname for him, but that would have risked giving the game away before she was ready.

  She really did often used to call him Max. It had started as a joke when they were first together, based on the fact that he never did things by halves, giving his all whatever he faced and often making grand gestures. That and his tendency to listen to music far too loud.

  ‘It’s because you always do things to the max,’ she’d explained to him with a wink. ‘Like becoming an author, for instance. You couldn’t just be averagely successful. You had to write a global bestseller while you were still a teenager.’

  He’d grinned, nodding approvingly. ‘Well, why not? Go big or go home, I reckon.’

  And so the pet name had stuck: their private joke.

  As for her, she’d still been using her given name of Catherine when they were together. This changed when she left on her travels. She made a conscious decision to reinvent herself as Cassie: a name she’d heard in a movie not long before departing to Greece and taken a liking to. It came with the big advantage of being close enough to Catherine to pass as a diminutive, so that when she had to provide official details for matters such as applying for jobs or visas, it could easily be explained. And yet it was different enough to offer the fresh start she needed, helping her to shed the skin of her miserable childhood and move on from the shame of what she’s about to confess to Rose.

  She opens her handbag and takes out her mobile, which she put on silent earlier and hasn’t looked at for some time.

  There’s a message from the number that, as a precaution, she’s saved in her contacts as Max. Outside of her conversation with Rose, she doesn’t actually call Dave that any more, though. A pet name is informal and affectionate; using it now would feel like an insult.

  Telling Rose her sto
ry has been a fine balancing act from the start, not least concealing Dave’s identity. It won’t get any easier as she gets to the final part – the missing piece.

  She could make it more obvious, by referring to her ex as a successful author who sometimes got recognised, for instance. Or she could refer back to how they met, which she’s been deliberately vague about so far. Rose is familiar with that story: how her mother was working a bar job at a wedding and got fired for flirting with her father, so they ran off into the night together.

  It is sorely tempting to reveal more, to better prepare Rose for what’s coming. But Cassie knows it’s not a good idea, even at this stage. Best to err on the side of caution. She needs to be able to get to the end of what she has to say before Rose cuts in. Despite spending so much time with her today, she’s clueless how Rose will react when the penny drops.

  After looking up to check that Rose hasn’t returned for any reason, Cassie swipes to open the message on her mobile. It reads: How’s progress? Everything going to plan so far?

  She places the phone face down on the tablecloth and, closing her eyes, cups her chin in her hands, a cool palm resting on either cheek.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she hears after a few seconds, the waiter’s voice slicing into her moment of calm. ‘Is everything okay? You did say you wanted your coffee in the lounge, didn’t you?’

  Cassie slides open her eyes. ‘That’s right. I’ll be heading there in a minute.’

  ‘Oh, no rush,’ the young woman says, cheeks turning pink. ‘I wondered if I’d got it wrong, that’s all. Sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine. No problem.’

  Alone again, she picks up her phone and replies: Yes. Nearly there now. Be ready.

  Shoving the device back into her bag, she stands up and heads for the lounge. She strides through the restaurant with her head held high, like she’s confident and content. This is purely to try to make herself feel that way, although it doesn’t work. Her insides are squirming. Part of her wants to head for the hotel entrance and run away. But that’s not happening. She’s done more than her share of running. It’s time to face the music.

  She and Rose arrive at almost the same moment.

  ‘There you are,’ Rose says. ‘Where shall we sit?’

  ‘How about over there?’ Cassie points to the quietest spot she can see, in the far corner of the carpeted room, where no one else is currently sitting.

  ‘Oh, okay,’ Rose says. ‘Right.’ A hesitancy in her voice suggests it wouldn’t be her first choice. However, she doesn’t say anything further and follows Cassie to the table.

  ‘The coffee should be here soon,’ Cassie says after they both sit down in comfy armchairs. ‘I’ll, um, wait until it does before I continue, if that’s all right. Less chance of us getting interrupted that way.’

  ‘Yes, that makes sense, I suppose,’ Rose replies.

  An ominous silence fills the void, during which they both stare at the door, as if willing a member of staff to walk through it with their drinks.

  Cassie almost makes small talk about next week’s wedding, but she bites her tongue, reminding herself of what’s to come, and accepts the awkwardness instead.

  ‘I’m going to check my phone, if you don’t mind,’ Rose says eventually. ‘Make sure I’ve not got any missed messages or calls from anyone.’

  ‘Of course. Go ahead.’ Cassie plays along, knowing full well that Rose must have already done this while nipping to her room – and probably also when Cassie went to the toilet during the meal. She’s spent more than enough time around Rory, Niall, Niamh, Shauna and their friends to know the crucial importance of a mobile to someone of the next generation.

  While she watches Rose’s eyes track whatever is displayed on the glowing screen, Cassie’s stomach is doing somersaults; her palms are clammy and the corner of her right eye has started twitching, hopefully not in a visible way.

  She’s willing the twitching to stop – like she has any such control over it – when a waiter she hasn’t encountered before, a stooped man in his early sixties, appears at the door and walks towards them with a tray containing two stainless steel cafetières plus milk jugs, cups and saucers, a bowl of sugar cubes and a small plate of plain biscuits.

  Coffee poured and phone tucked away again, Cassie says: ‘So, where was I? Ah yes, my unexpected pregnancy.’

  CHAPTER 31

  Falling in love ahead of my long-awaited travels was one thing. Falling pregnant was quite another.

  Max and I hadn’t been seeing each other for long when it happened. Less than two months. We’d been full-on, though. We’d spent most of that time together, mainly in the small bedsit I was renting in Withington, south Manchester.

  I’d temporarily relocated there, rather than Blackpool or Preston, since there was more work in Manchester and it paid a little better. Plus it felt like a step in the right direction, away from my past. I was registered with various temp agencies in the city centre. I took whatever I could get, focused on the goal of getting away – leaving the UK – as soon as possible.

  I worked less after meeting Max, if I’m honest, because I loved spending time with him. I couldn’t believe someone so exciting was interested in me. It was electric between us. When we weren’t, um, you know, we’d chat into the wee hours, never running out of things to say to each other.

  I’d been embarrassed to take him to my bedsit initially, thinking he might go off me when he saw how small and simple it was, but he didn’t care about that. Money wasn’t an issue for him, as in he had plenty, but it also wasn’t something he was particularly interested in. He said that far too many wealthy people he knew were obnoxious idiots. He was so down to earth. It was remarkable, really, considering his background and everything he’d already achieved himself.

  He also knew better than to splash the cash around me after I’d made it clear to him that I wasn’t interested in his money and I wouldn’t accept his financial help in any way.

  ‘You don’t need to go out to work today,’ he’d made the mistake of telling me once in the early days. ‘Let me help with the bills or whatever.’

  Our first argument had followed, during which I’d put him straight. I had zero interest in being his ‘kept woman’ and I warned that if he ever suggested such a thing again, we would be finished for good. Now that I was finally independent and free of the care system, the very last thing I wanted was to have to depend on anyone other than myself.

  I let him take me out for the odd nice dinner and so on, as I couldn’t see the harm in that, but I also made sure he knew not to shower me with gifts I’d have no use for when I went travelling.

  Once the ground rules for the relationship were clear, we reached a happy equilibrium.

  Yes, the travelling thing was hanging over us to some extent, but I still had a little way to go before I was ready financially. I was also warming to the idea of him coming with me and, had things not taken the unexpected turn they did, he may have done so.

  But then, unusually for me, my period was late. Before I knew it, I was doing my fifth home pregnancy test, which came back with the same positive result as the previous four. Having not said anything to Max thus far, I gingerly broke the news, expecting him to be as scared and dumbstruck as I was, possibly even angry. I don’t know why, I really don’t, but I felt like I’d done something wrong and it was my responsibility more than his to sort it out. That was pure naivety, I guess. It feels ridiculous to even repeat such a thing now. But I was only nineteen at the time and had little experience of relationships beyond the one I was in.

  His reaction was surprising. He was definitely taken aback, but there was never a hint of any anger or frustration directed towards me. In fact, half an hour later, he was beaming – almost bouncing off the walls in excitement.

  ‘I think it’s great news,’ he said, kissing and hugging me. ‘Yes, it’s totally unexpected, but so what? Some of the best things in life happen this way. We have something special together, d
on’t you think? I know it’s only been about five minutes and, yes, we’re young. But perhaps it’s meant to be. What do you reckon?’

  ‘Um, I reckon I’m supposed to be going travelling in a few months and having a baby is not something I’ve ever wanted. You know all about my childhood, everything I’ve been through. How could I risk bringing a kid of my own into a world where stuff like that happens?’

  ‘It’s a totally different situation,’ he replied, eyes wide and arms outstretched. ‘You’re not your parents and neither am I. We’d never let such a thing happen to a child of ours, would we?’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ I asked him. ‘Neither of us knows enough about the other to be able to say that for certain. I hope to hell I’m not like my mother or father, but what if I am? What if I end up getting hooked on drugs at some point? What if you do? What if we’re not half as compatible as we think we are right now, still in the honeymoon period of our relationship? We could hate each other in a couple of months. Who can say? And this might sound selfish to you, but I’ve been looking forward to spreading my wings and finally going travelling for longer than you know. It means so much to me.’

  ‘There would be time for that later,’ he said. ‘We could do it together – as a family.’

  I shook my head. ‘Yeah, right. Like that would ever happen with a baby or a toddler. Then they’d have to go to school. Come on, get real. Keeping this baby would mean giving up on my dream, full stop. You know it would.’

  ‘So what are you saying: that you want to get an abortion?’ He asked this in a quiet voice. There was a look in his eyes I’d not witnessed before – not from him – but I instantly recognised it as hurt. He appeared so vulnerable, whereas up until that moment I’d only ever thought of him as strong and resilient.