A Mother Never Lies

by Sarah Clarke

  I can’t risk it.

  ‘Ben, I’m certain you haven’t done anything bad.’ I need to sound confident.

  ‘Yeah, I know. I’m just talking shit.’ But this new dismissive tone isn’t derailing me.

  ‘Listen, nightmares aren’t a sign you’re bad; they’re just an outlet for how you’re feeling. You’re scared that there’s something wrong with you, but there isn’t, Ben, I promise you that.’

  ‘How can you be so sure? You hardly know me,’ he spits out. The child again, testing my loyalty by pushing me away. I just have to figure out how to reassure him without revealing too much.

  ‘Something happened one night, a long time ago.’ I pause, breathe. ‘A terrible, tragic thing. Since then, I’ve found it very hard to trust people.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘But I trust you,’ I say, ignoring his question. ‘You should be proud of who you are.’

  He forces out a disbelieving snort. ‘Wish you’d tell my parents that.’

  ‘I’m sure they’re proud of you.’ My comment jolts me back to a different time, when I gave a similar platitude to Dan about his own father all those years ago. It sounded pathetic then, and it doesn’t sound any better now. ‘But even if they’re not,’ I continue, ‘it shouldn’t stop you being proud of yourself.’

  He considers that for a moment, then lifts his head and there’s a vague optimism in his eyes. ‘Maybe you’re right.’

  ‘I am right.’

  ‘I don’t need their fake sympathy and patronising advice. Rosie is all they care about anyway; it’ll be good for everyone.’

  ‘What will be good?’

  ‘I’m going to move out. Quit school. I’m probably going to fail my A-levels anyway, and who cares about art? I can get a job, my own place. You did it, didn’t you?’

  ‘Well, I finished school,’ I mumble slowly. My head is racing, and I need to buy myself some time. Charlie hasn’t had the upbringing that I had, the early independence that comes with parents who don’t parent, or the ambition that financial insecurity creates. I’m not sure he could survive on his own. But on the other hand, the further he draws away from his adoptive family, the closer he might grow to me. They’ve had more than twelve years to put him back together, and they’ve failed. Surely it’s only right that I get my chance now?

  ‘But then, Chemistry and Biology A-levels weren’t exactly critical to my career,’ I counter. He looks up at me and I see pure gratitude in his expression. It spurs me on. ‘And of course I’ll help you in any way I can.’

  ‘That’s settled then. New Year’s resolution.’ He grins widely and lifts his Coke can in a mock cheer before changing his mind. ‘Fuck this, we should celebrate properly. That’s one good thing about my dad, always a bottle of champagne going spare.’ He leaps up from the kitchen table and squats in front of the island unit. It’s the first time I notice the wine fridge discreetly set into its base.

  ‘It’s four in the morning, Ben.’ I don’t want to sound like a killjoy, but the last thing I want right now is alcohol.

  ‘Ah come on, Fiona, there’s never a bad time for champagne.’

  Alarm bells start ringing inside my head. There’s too much alcoholism in my family for me to not worry about comments like that. ‘I’d love to celebrate with you, but I’m working the lunchtime shift tomorrow.’ I look at my watch. ‘Well, today.’

  ‘And you still came out in the middle of the night to check I was okay?’

  ‘That’s what friends are for.’ I sound shy. Even after everything, I still can’t quite believe we’re got something real, that our relationship exists outside of my imagination.

  ‘Well, err, thanks.’ He can’t look me in the eye, but I can tell he’s touched by my effort.

  My heart leaps, almost taking my breath away. I want to wallow in this moment, but his parents could be home any minute, and I need to get some rest before I start work, so reluctantly I break the silence. ‘If you’re sure you’re okay, I should get going.’

  ‘Yes I’m fine, thanks to you.’

  I stand up and reach for my coat.

  ‘But I still want to thank you properly.’

  ‘There’s the Bittersweet Christmas party next week,’ I remind him, but he bats my suggestion away. I’m almost by the front door when he blurts out, ‘What are you doing for Christmas, I mean on the actual day?’

  I have a sudden image of being stuck at home, Flora and Paul tucking into a Christmas dinner of gin cocktails and red wine. The three of us sitting in silence, me still not forgiven for Friday night’s fight, for the chasm that sits between us. ‘I haven’t thought about it. I’m not really a fan.’

  ‘Come to ours.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I wasn’t expecting an invitation.

  ‘There’ll only be us, and Dad always cooks for about a hundred. May as well feed one more.’

  ‘I can’t. I shouldn’t. Thanks for the offer but I don’t think it’s a good idea.’

  ‘Please, Fiona. They’re bound to still hate me over Rosie’s arm. You’ll be doing me a favour.’ Charlie gives me his best smile and imploring eyes. It’s amazing how this usually angry teenager can turn on the charm sometimes. Necessity, perhaps.

  ‘Your parents won’t want me here. They don’t even know me.’ Although of course if they genuinely didn’t know me, I’d be jumping at the offer.

  ‘They always get what they want, I never do. If you came, well, that would be me getting what I want at last. Does that make sense?’

  ‘Maybe I could come.’ The words tumble out before the sensible part of my brain can stop them. Of course it’s far too risky; I’ve no idea how much his parents were told about me, but I have to assume they know everything. I need to pull back.

  ‘That’s brilliant. You being here will make all the difference.’

  And his face lights up so much that, instead of saying anything, I just nod dumbly and lift my hand in a wave before pulling the front door behind me and walking out into the darkness.

  Chapter 28

  I look in the mirror and don’t recognise myself. Which, under the circumstances, feels like a good thing. As a child, Flora loved me having long hair, couldn’t care less about the knots that would form after weeks of neither of us bothering to brush it. And that style just continued, became part of who I was. However many regrets I’ve carried with me, I haven’t wanted to risk breaking my connection with the past, and keeping a familiar look felt part of that. So having a pixie cut stare back at me now is unnerving to say the least.

  But hopefully it will work. It has to. I know what a gamble I’m taking in accepting Charlie’s invite to spend Christmas Day at his house. While I wasn’t allowed to know anything about Charlie’s new family when he was adopted, the same privacy wasn’t afforded to me, so I have to expect that they’ve searched for me online. It felt like a close call at Battersea Art Centre, sharing the space in front of Charlie’s winning painting with his adopted mother. Yet here I am, soon to sit at her table, share her food. What am I thinking? But I just couldn’t turn him down. And I couldn’t bear the thought of spending it with my parents either, sitting in silence, the memory of my violent outburst still fresh for us all.

  I had the idea to get my hair cut on my walk to work last Sunday morning, but I haven’t had chance until today. The flu that has been doing the rounds at the café has meant I’ve worked eight days straight to cover missing staff, and longer shifts than usual. I’m exhausted, but it’s good to have the extra money. There’s only another week or so until the end of the year and then Jo will want to make my employment official. I hope I’ve done enough to prove I’m worthy of it, but until I have the conversation – that awkward conversation – I can’t be sure.

  I turn away from the mirror and inspect the floor inside my wardrobe. Buying a new dress hadn’t been in the plan, but when I’d seen it in the store window, I couldn’t help pausing, drawn to its optimistic colour. Spurred on by my bigger than usual pay packet, I’d st
epped inside the shop and ten minutes later emerged with a new outfit for the Bittersweet Christmas party. But my impulsiveness hadn’t extended to shoes and now I need to work out what will go with a pale blue belted midi-dress in the middle of winter.

  Deciding I can get away with Converse trainers, I pull them on and head downstairs. It’s only seven o’clock and the party won’t start until at least eight-thirty, but I’m keen to get out of the house. Since our argument Flora has taken up painting. She claims that it provides an outlet for her mixed emotions over me finding Charlie, but I think it’s just her way of reminding me of him, and that she won’t stay silent forever. Either way, the living room is now a mess of discarded canvases, dirty rags and stained paint pots, and so even more uninhabitable than before.

  I pull on my thick Puffa coat, and as soon as I step outside, I’m grateful for its warmth. I wonder if I’ll ever feel comfortable taking a bus ride again, to travel alongside strangers without fear overwhelming me. I hope so, because I’m tired of walking. The night is biting, but I’ve made a deal with myself – walk there, cab back – so I pull the zip up a little higher and start the familiar journey.

  I arrive on Old York Road soon after eight. The lights are still bright at Bittersweet and I can see a few customers finishing their coffee, which means I’m too early for the party. I scan the road and my eyes settle on the Anchor pub where Charlie and I shared a drink after Hana’s birthday surprise. The thought of sitting down in a warm, cosy pub for half an hour is tempting; one drink to loosen me up, I tell myself, and make my way inside.

  *

  When I walk through the café door one hour and two drinks later (the first one went down with surprising speed), Bittersweet has been transformed into a mix between Santa’s grotto and Saturday Night Fever. Four disco balls have been added to the Christmas fairy lights, and the combination of white sparkle and multi-coloured strobes is quite overpowering. The sound system, usually playing soft background music, is blaring out Christmas classics, and a few people are already drunk enough to be taking ‘Rocking Around the Christmas Tree’ at its word. The place is packed with bodies – many I don’t even recognise – clinking glasses and spreading their own version of Christmas joy. Despite spotting Charlie looking equally bemused, I have a strong urge to leave before anyone notices me.

  ‘Hey, nice hair! Guys, Fiona’s gone all Cara Delevingne on us.’

  It’s too late; Marco has spotted me. I take a deep breath and wander over. I have no idea who Cara Delevingne is, but I sense that asking him might incur horror, so I just turn my head towards Charlie. Now I’m here, I find myself wanting his approval for my new look. But it’s Hana who speaks next.

  ‘Wow, Fiona. Looks awesome. It’s pretty radical though.’ She moves a bit closer. ‘Come on, spill. New man? New woman?’ She giggles at her suggestion, doesn’t realise how accurate it is.

  ‘Just fancied a change,’ I manage.

  ‘Well, it will look even better with a glass of prosecco in your hand.’ Marco hands me a flute of bubbling liquid and I take a long, grateful gulp. I’m not used to all these compliments. Luckily the sharp clink of cutlery on glass makes us all turn around. Jo has climbed onto a table and is now waving her arms around like an aircraft marshal.

  ‘Hey, everyone! Wow, look at you all. I may be three glasses down, but I am SO proud of my amazing team right now.’

  She’s swaying slightly and I feel the urge to reach my hands up. Her husband Nate obviously has the same idea because he moves a little closer; raises his arms slightly.

  ‘And I have not one, but two surprises for you. The first surprise is … drum roll please.’

  She looks at Marco and he obliges, beating his hands against the table with impressive speed.

  ‘We won the Christmas competition! We are officially the most Christmassy business on Old York Road.’

  Without really understanding why that’s a good thing, everyone lets out an involuntary cheer and starts clinking glasses with each other.

  ‘Hey, don’t forget I have a second surprise!’ Jo flaps her hands, trying to recapture everyone’s attention.

  ‘Do you need another drum roll?’ Marco asks, not waiting for an answer before he starts whacking the table again.

  ‘You’ve all got the day off tomorrow!’ she spurts out.

  That gets our attention. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow and the café is going to be full of local families and last-minute shoppers. I can’t imagine any of us were looking forward to working that shift.

  ‘Call it a Christmas bonus. You’ll get a full day’s pay, and a lie-in. So no excuses for not enjoying the party.’ A hiccup escapes and Jo thrusts her hand up to her mouth. From the look on her face, she can’t decide whether it’s horrifying or hilarious.

  ‘So who’s going to cover?’ Hana asks, ever the responsible employee.

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I’ve got the whole tribe helping. Nate, the kids, my parents, the in-laws, both my sisters; maybe even my brother, although he probably won’t turn up.’

  She’s gabbling now and I force myself to tune out. The more family members she lists, the lonelier I feel. Someone fills up my now-empty glass and I take a long swig. The liquid feels soothing against my constricted throat.

  *

  I’ve no idea what time it is but I’m in that fuzzy bubble where it doesn’t matter anymore. I lean further in against Marco. We’re sitting on a table pushed up against the counter and staring in the same direction. While his legs are swaying in time with the music, mine are still. They need a rest. I was persuaded to dance when The Pogues’ ‘Fairytale of New York’ came on, but then chose to stay on the makeshift dance floor for the next ten or so songs. I’m feeling the effects of those exertions now. And the alcohol of course.

  ‘Well, it’s about time,’ Marco says with a fatherly wisdom that he’s not really old enough for.

  I nod and smile and we both continue watching Charlie and Hana kissing. I’m sure they’d prefer not to have an audience, but I don’t care. Mother’s prerogative.

  ‘They make a great couple,’ I say. ‘You know, Marco, there was a time when Char … Ben, thought you had a thing for Hana.’ My heart starts pounding at my slip-up, but Marco hasn’t even noticed. I silently thank Bing Crosby for drowning out my voice.

  ‘Me? Hah! That’s funny.’

  ‘Because you’re gay?’ I instantly regret my words because Marco’s permanent smile completely disappears.

  ‘How did you know?’

  Luckily his voice is stilted rather than angry, and I let out a sigh of relief. ‘I’m so sorry for blurting it out like that. I don’t have a sixth sense or anything. I’m just old. Call it life experience. I promise I haven’t said a word to anyone.’

  ‘And you don’t care? Don’t see me differently?’

  I look into Marco’s eyes and am shocked to see such uncertainty there. This energetic, confident man, with a funny comment for every situation, is just as vulnerable as the rest of us when the truth is laid bare.

  ‘Differently from what? There’s no normal, you know. You are different, I suppose. But only in your ability to light up a room.’

  He smiles then. A big one. And puts his arm around my shoulder. ‘You make it sound so simple, Fiona. It’s a bit more complicated when you’re the middle child of a strict Catholic family. My brother works on building sites with our father, my sister is already working on having a bigger brood of kids than our mother. I’m the odd one, moving to England, caring more about clothes than football.’

  ‘So they don’t know?’

  ‘Wow, no. Some friends from back home are coming over for New Year and I’m already exhausted at how much pretending I’m going to have to do. I’m taking them to Edinburgh just so that I can avoid my life here.’

  ‘Living a lie never ends well,’ I warn, but the sting of hypocrisy is so strong that I struggle to maintain my composure. It’s only by continuing to talk that I manage it. ‘Look, I don’t know your family
, but I do know everyone who works here. And no one would care less about you being gay. So at least don’t hide from us.’

  I miss his response, but I feel his lips against my cheek and his arms pulling me in for a hug. Then he’s off the table, grabbing Sammy’s hand and whirling her back on to the dance floor. I feel a warm glow for making him feel better. This is my proper family, I realise. With Charlie at its centre.

  ‘Hello.’ Hana has sidled up on my left, and the sad look on her face grips at my stomach. Only a few minutes ago I was smiling at the sight of her and Charlie having finally found each other. What could have changed so suddenly?

  ‘Mind if I sit here?’ she asks.

  ‘Of course not.’ We sit in silence for a while, but eventually I break it. ‘I saw you with Ben,’ I say the name firmly; I’m not making that mistake again.

  ‘Yeah, that was a bad idea.’

  Without warning, anger surges up. How dare she mess with his head like that? I manage to control it, just. ‘Really?’

  ‘Not because I don’t like him, I really like him actually.’

  The anger seeps away.

  ‘But the timing … I had to tell him I’m leaving.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Home. For a while. Not sure when I can come back.’

  ‘Back to the Czech Republic?’

  ‘My babicka has cancer. My grandmother. I want to be with her.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Hana.’ Tonight is full of announcements. ‘Are you close?’

  She hesitates for a moment, weighing up my question. ‘Perhaps,’ she says eventually. ‘She’s not a normal grandma; you know, the type who bakes cakes and gives out wise words about boyfriends and house rules. She calls it her nerves. We joke that she’s scared of her own shadow. Either way, she’s always been someone who needs taking care of. I guess that makes us close in a way.’

  ‘But she doesn’t give much back?’

  ‘She loves me. I know that. But her advice is always to say no, to stay at home, to never try anything. It drives me crazy.’