The Perfect Mother (ARC)

by Caroline Mitchell

  me by now. Dympna had tried to warn me. She’d been

  right. I glared at the air-conditioning unit, wishing I

  could rip it out of the walls that imprisoned me here.

  Sheridan had turned it up: her punishment for my refus-

  ing to follow her schedule. I knew by now how the game

  went. Behave and I received privileges. Misbehave and

  punishment ensued.

  Call it my hormones or my inbred streak of stubborn-

  ness, but I could not simper and smile for her today. The

  bitch. The thought of her bringing up my baby made

  me feel physically sick. I only saw Sheridan at my scans

  and health checks, and that suited me just fine. She never

  228

  The Perfect Mother

  spoke to me. These days, she sent Juanita to monitor my

  schedule. The girl would stand before me, her brown eyes

  as big as saucers as she pleaded with me to comply. But

  not a word of English would pass her lips. Back issues of

  Celeb Goss were still coming and going, with snippets of gossip about Sheridan’s past life. It didn’t surprise me that her relationship with her mother had been fraught.

  But was there more to it than that? There was no forced

  entry at the address where Dorothy died, yet the same

  article mentioned Sheridan being given a key.

  Was Juanita issuing the warnings? If so, she was stay-

  ing tight-lipped. I wondered what she was thinking on

  the days she watched me do my pregnancy stretches and

  repeat the stupid chants that Sheridan had made up. Daniel

  had kept his distance since we’d shared our first kiss, but I knew he was busy at work. For days after I hurt Sheridan’s

  nose, I had screamed for release. I even tried refusing to

  eat, but I could not deprive my baby for very long.

  I never received the security pass to activate the lift

  that Sheridan had promised when I arrived. I dreamt

  about breaking through the locked door of my room and

  running out of the apartment to freedom. But all my ef-

  forts to escape were exhausted, and my tummy seemed

  to grow bigger each day.

  Groaning, I rose from the sofa and waddled the short

  distance to my wardrobe. It held plastic hangers on one

  long rail, which was screwed tight to the inside. Beneath,

  two fat drawers housed my underwear. There were no

  belts, no ties, and even the cords in my hoodies had been

  removed. It had taken me a little time to figure out why

  I had no scissors, no cutlery, and why the mirrors were

  made of plastic. Solitary confinement did not suit every-

  one. It seems Sheridan had taken precautions in case I

  229

  Caroline Mitchell

  tried to top myself. This wasn’t a recent development. My

  room had been suicide-proof from the moment I arrived.

  I ran my fingers over the hangers, stopping at my

  coat. I was grateful that at least Sheridan had left this behind. I remembered when I’d worn it to see my mother

  in the coffee shop in Dublin and how upset she had been

  when I left. Tears edged my eyelids as I recalled her need

  to put things on an even keel. I slid it from the hanger and shrugged it on. It gaped open over my stomach. There

  was no way it would button up now. But still, it felt nice

  to wear something from Ireland. I lifted the collar to my

  nose and inhaled. It was still there, a faint flowery trace of the perfume I used to wear. Sheridan had taken away

  all my toiletries, replacing them with some organic stuff

  that smelt like mud. The make-up I’d bought in Dublin

  airport had also disappeared.

  It must have killed her to see my glowing skin, my

  fuller breasts, the shine on my hair. In an ideal world,

  women looked out for each other, harbouring empathy

  for issues our male counterparts could never experience

  or understand. Sadly, both Sheridan and I were lacking

  when it came to sisterhood. The identity of my baby’s

  father only served to prove how selfish I could be at times.

  I pulled the coat around me, as it offered some protection

  from the cold. I returned to the sofa, closing my eyes as I tried to imagine myself back in the coffee shop in Dublin.

  What would I say now, if I were sitting across from my

  mother? I could feel the strength of the bond between my

  baby and I. Was it like that for my mother, too? Shoving

  my hands into my pockets, my eyes snapped open as my

  fingers rested on a pointed edge. There was something

  behind the lining. What? I frowned as I delved my hand

  further, through the torn lining and into the innards of

  230

  The Perfect Mother

  my coat. My heart fluttered as I pulled out the hidden

  treasure. I stared at the dove-grey envelope. It was the letter Mammy had given me, the one I had hastily shoved into

  my pocket and had not had the heart to open. I clutched

  it to my chest and sighed.

  It was a blessing that Sheridan had not found it. I

  imagined her delving into my pockets, not realising the

  lining had given way. Slowly, I tore the envelope open.

  Could I bear to read the words, for fear of what they might say? But I remembered the look on her face as I left. The

  love I couldn’t see before. My baby kicked, reminding

  me that I was almost a mother. That I had made my fair

  share of mistakes.

  ‘Do you want to hear from your granny?’ I said softly,

  as I talked to my little bean. Taking a deep breath, I

  pulled out the notepaper, smoothed it back and read the

  words aloud.

  Dear Roz,

  If you’re reading this letter then our meet-

  ing didn’t go as hoped. I only have myself to

  blame, but I’m not going to give up just yet.

  Believe it or not, I’ve changed. When you

  hit rock bottom, the only way is up.

  I’m not going to say it was easy. I have a

  lot of issues from my childhood which I’m

  still working through. But the best things in

  life are worth fighting for, and you’re always

  in my thoughts when times get tough. The

  truth is, I was an alcoholic. I tried to keep

  it from you, but I imagine you’ve worked it

  out by now. Alcohol helped blur the edges

  of past problems that I wasn’t able to cope

  231

  Caroline Mitchell

  with. You see, my mother didn’t protect me

  either. I only thank God that unlike me, you

  were able to keep yourself safe. I hope you

  can forgive me. It’s taken me a long time to

  forgive myself. I want, no, I need to change.

  Sweetheart, I wouldn’t blame you if you

  grew up thinking that I didn’t care. But you

  couldn’t be further from the truth. I was so

  proud of you, but too ashamed of myself to

  bring you into town or pick you up from

  school. I couldn’t stand for your friends to

  see what a failure your mother was. When

  you drew those pictures of me – I couldn’t

  bear the face of the cruel, bitter woman star-

  ing back from the page.

  I still have issues. I struggle with crowds

  and I hate being the centre of attention. I shy
/>
  away from people I don’t know. All these

  years, I thought you were better off without

  me. But Tony encouraged me to get back in

  touch. I was terrified you wouldn’t see me,

  and who could blame you? But the bond

  between mother and daughter is not so eas-

  ily broken, is it?

  They say mothers and daughters are closest

  when daughters become mothers themselves.

  I dream about having a grandchild. I can even

  see it in my mind’s eye. I hope I’ll get to share

  the wonder of it all with you one day.

  I love you, Roz. I always have. I’m sorry

  for hurting you in the past.

  With all my love,

  Mam xxx

  232

  The Perfect Mother

  I rested the letter on my lap, taking a deep breath to ease the quiver in my hand. Tears blurred my vision and my

  breath jerked in a sudden sob. I knew of the bond she

  spoke of. And as for her wanting grandchildren … what a

  fool I had been. I had an inkling of her past issues. There was a rift in her family because of something her uncle

  had done to her when she was young. Granny’s funeral

  had been a tense gathering, and we did not stay for long.

  At last, I understood. I wanted to tell her that even if she fell, she was still moving forward, and I would be there

  to help her up. But all I could do was wrap my hands

  around my bump and cry for the opportunities I had

  missed. I might never see my mother again.

  233

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Dympna

  Dympna wrinkled her nose at the smell of burnt offerings

  hanging in the air. Her mother was not the best of cooks,

  but her brother had wolfed down her rubbery lasagne

  just the same. When they were young, the only way of

  knowing supper was ready was if the fire alarm was go-

  ing off in the hall. It had been nice to catch up with her

  brother; she’d even helped him with his homework. She

  had matured a lot since leaving home. But now she had

  more important things on her mind – getting her father

  alone, for one.

  Outside an icy gale was blowing, testing every win-

  dowpane in the house, but the radiators pumped heat into

  her parent’s kitchen and their house was tropically warm.

  ‘What are you two up to?’ Dympna’s mother, Ann,

  regarded them with a measure of suspicion. Up until

  recently, Dympna had rarely spent five minutes with her

  father. Now the two of them were as thick as thieves.

  Dympna sat ensconced at the kitchen table, having

  just made them both a cup of tea. ‘Nothing,’ she replied,

  undoing the zip of her hoodie. Since living in her flat, she had become unaccustomed to the heat. ‘Want one?’ She

  raised the teapot in the air. It still sported the home-made 234

  The Perfect Mother

  rainbow tea cosy Dympna had knitted when she was in

  school.

  ‘I’d prefer an explanation.’ Folding her arms, Ann

  leaned against the fridge and stared at them. Everybody

  said that Dympna was the spit of her mother. They had

  the same wild red hair, the same dogged determination

  and the same healthy cynicism at times.

  ‘Dympna’s thinking about joining the guards,’ John

  chipped in. ‘She’s been coming to me for advice.’

  Dympna raised her eyebrow. How easily the lie had

  slipped off her father’s tongue. She would have to up her

  game if she wanted to keep Roz’s predicament from her

  mother.

  Ann’s face lit up with delight. ‘Ah sure that’s grand.

  You’ll make a great ban garda. Aren’t I always saying…’

  ‘They don’t call them that any more. It’s just garda,’

  Dympna said, referring to her mother’s term for female

  police.

  ‘What does it matter?’ Ann said, reaching for a bottle

  of wine from the fridge. ‘It’ll be enough to wipe the smile off that old biddy next door.’ She poured herself a glass

  of white, looking more than a little smug. The jingle of

  a television ad filtered from the TV in the living room,

  momentarily distracting her.

  Dympna sighed. ‘Don’t go telling everyone. There’s

  all sorts of exams to pass, and they might not even be

  taking on…’

  ‘They’re taking on.’ Her father paused to sip his tea.

  ‘If not now, soon. You won’t have long to wait.’

  Dympna had enjoyed spending time with her father

  and was genuinely coming around to the idea of joining

  the police. But she had Roz to think of first. Everything

  235

  Caroline Mitchell

  else could wait. Her phone flashed with another missed

  call from Seamus. She couldn’t bring herself to speak to

  him right now.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Ann raised her glass in a salute.

  ‘ Fair City is starting – they’ve got the wedding tonight.

  Something’s bound to go wrong!’

  Dympna returned her smile. It was nice to have both

  her parents under the same roof for a change. If her mother wasn’t off event-planning, her father was usually at work.

  She waited for the audible click of the living room door

  before she leaned in towards him. ‘I’ve not been able to find any pregnant celebrities on my list. Have you had any joy?’

  He nodded, sliding a folded piece of paper from the

  pocket of his jeans. ‘It took a while, but I managed to get some information from the Miracle-Moms site.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Dympna said, feeling a spark of hope.

  ‘Did they tell you who the mystery couple were?’

  John shook his head. ‘I don’t have the justification

  nor the jurisdiction for that.’ He slid the paper across the plastic table cloth her mother had just wiped down. ‘The

  couple used fake names when talking to Roz. Here’s a

  printout of the last messages between them.’

  Dympna hungrily scanned the page, her concern

  growing as she read:

  Julie: I’m sorry to lay this on you at such

  short notice, but I can’t progress. I’m preg-

  nant. It’s been a wonderful shock for us both.

  Roz: Oh. Congratulations. That’s wonder-

  ful news. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got

  some other couples to talk to. Can I still use

  the hotel room?

  236

  The Perfect Mother

  Julie: Of course, that goes without saying!

  And please, have your meals and room ser-

  vice with my compliments too. Look after

  yourself while you’re over here. I’m sorry,

  but I won’t be able to help you interview

  the couples as I’d prefer to keep my identity

  private. I hope you understand.

  Roz: No worries. Thanks a million for the

  hotel room. I’ll be grand. Congrats again on

  your baby. They’re lucky to have you as a

  mom.

  ‘Hang on a minute…’ Dympna jabbed at the printed

  page. ‘This isn’t right.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ John replied. ‘They were

  deleted from the main folder, although they were able to

  recover them easily enough.’

  Dympna reread the messages,
hearing Roz’s voice in

  her mind. But the voice in the emails was wrong.

  ‘Roz didn’t write that,’ Dympna said, a sick feeling

  rising in her throat. She knew that Roz was in danger.

  Now it was written in black and white.

  ‘It’s the use of the word “mom”, isn’t it? Very

  American. But the other words – “grand” and “thanks

  a million” … whoever wrote this is trying to sound

  like Roz.’ She gazed at her father. ‘Will the NYPD

  investigate this?’

  ‘They’ll say it was a slip of the tongue. That Roz has

  been talking to this Julie so long that she’s repeating her words.’

  ‘But that’s not true,’ Dympna said. ‘When Roz left

  Dublin, she was a hundred per cent sure she was meeting

  237

  Caroline Mitchell

  this couple. Remember I told you that she rang me when

  she got there? She said she was with them.’

  ‘Darlin’, I’m not disagreeing with you, but people

  have been known to lie.’ He reclaimed the piece of paper,

  tucking it back into his pocket. ‘Whoever this Julie is,

  she’s deleted her account on Miracle-Moms.’

  ‘But the site checks them out. Roz told me. They do

  a full background search.’

  ‘Yes, and that was two months ago. It’s their policy

  to shred their users’ details the second they close their

  account. Even if I got a court order, they wouldn’t have

  a lot to give me.’

  Outside, the rain slammed against the window, fol-

  lowed by an ominous howl of wind.

  Dympna’s glance fell on the wall clock as the seconds

  counted down. What was Roz doing now? Was she even

  alive? ‘We need to go public with this,’ she said, breaking the silence. ‘We should tell Mam, and Roz’s mam, too.’

  ‘Aye, I suppose we owe her that,’ John said gloomily,

  running his fingers through his hair. ‘Why don’t you go

  back to your flat while I have a chat with your mam.’

  * * *

  Dympna hated breaking her vow of confidentiality to

  Roz, but there was no doubt there was something un-

  derhand going on.

  Battling the wintry weather, she boarded the bus for

  home. She pressed her phone to her ear, listening to a

  voicemail that Seamus had left. He sounded low, a world

  away from his usual cheery self as he asked her to call

  him back.

  238

  The Perfect Mother

  Shoving her phone back into her pocket, Dympna

  reflected on how much things had changed in the last