The House of Tides

by Hannah Richell

  “Mum! Over here.” It is Dora. She is sitting in the far corner at a table for two, a pot of tea already in front of her. It seems Helen isn’t the only one who has arrived early. She gives her daughter a little wave before squeezing her way through the cluttered tables to reach her.

  “Hello.” Dora stands and Helen gives her a peck on the cheek and a little squeeze on the arm, noting with private delight the gentle swell of Dora’s belly underneath her T-shirt. “You look great,” she compliments. “You’re glowing.”

  “Thanks, Mum. I like the new ’do.”

  Helen pats at her hair self-consciously. “It’s a bit shorter than I was expecting, but I’m getting used to it.”

  Dora smiles. “It suits you.”

  “Thank you.”

  She sits down opposite her daughter and folds her coat onto her lap, smoothing the fabric with trembling hands. She is suddenly overwhelmed with nerves. “How are you feeling?” she asks. “Is the morning sickness still bad?”

  “No, it eased up a few weeks ago. I’m feeling good now.”

  “Great. That’s great.” She looks at Dora and can see it is true. Her cheeks are a little rounder, her breasts a little fuller, and her skin and hair shine with life. She looks beautiful.

  A waitress in a floral apron appears at Helen’s side, hovering politely with pen poised over pad.

  “Do you want anything else?” Helen asks.

  “No, I’m fine with my tea, thanks.”

  “Just a black coffee for me then, please,” says Helen, addressing the girl in the apron, who fades away with a scribble and a nod, leaving the two women alone again.

  “Thanks for coming,” says Dora finally. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

  Helen gives a start of surprise. Did Dora really think she wouldn’t come? It makes her ache to see how far she’s let things slide. “I was pleased you called,” she admits, finally. “I wanted to call you. I really did. So many times I nearly picked up the phone, but something always stopped me. I guess I wasn’t sure you would want to hear from me.”

  Dora responds with a little shrug. “Of course I would have,” she says eventually.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But things were so difficult…at your last visit.”

  Dora nods.

  “I handled it badly.”

  Dora nods again.

  I deserve that, thinks Helen.

  Just then the waitress returns with the coffee. Helen distracts herself for a moment with the sugar, tearing carefully at the paper packet and stirring the granules into her mug, watching the silver spoon shift the dark liquid vortex round and round and round. It’s like our relationship, thinks Helen suddenly, dark and deep and bittersweet. She stops stirring, tapping the spoon against her mug and placing it carefully back onto the saucer.

  “So,” she says, “here we are.” She gives Dora a nervous smile and Dora seems to be about to say something, but then stops, busying herself instead with the laminated menu in front of her. She flexes it back and forth in her hands, making a funny whoomph-whoomph sound with the air. Somewhere behind them a man breaks into a loud, braying laugh. Only as the sound of it dies away does Dora finally begin to speak.

  “I went to see Cassie a few weeks ago.”

  Helen starts. “Oh yes? Was she okay?”

  “Yes. She seemed great.”

  Helen feels a surge of relief. “She seems to have found her calling, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, it certainly seems so.”

  They fall silent for another moment.

  “We talked about the day Alfie went missing.”

  “Yes?” Helen’s voice sounds calm but she can feel her mouth suddenly go dry and reaches across for her coffee with trembling hands.

  “Cassie told me some things I didn’t know, some things about the day, things about you…and things about her.”

  Helen takes a gulp of coffee. It is too hot but she forces it down, scalding her tongue and throat as she swallows. Here it comes. She steels herself, preparing for the juggernaut of Dora’s accusations and recriminations, but is surprised by what Dora says next.

  “I don’t honestly want to get into it all. I’ve done a lot of soul-searching and I’ve come to the conclusion that how it happened…all the individual decisions we made that day, that led to us losing Alfie, aren’t what’s important. He’s gone. We’ll always live with that. So perhaps it’s time to stop torturing ourselves with regret.”

  Helen looks at Dora, confused. “You know about the…you know about Tobias?”

  Dora nods slowly.

  Helen feels herself blush. The shame is still fresh. “You know, I wanted to tell you on your last visit. I really did, I just still find it hard to say out loud. I still feel so horrified about the choices I made.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Mum. I’ve come to terms with a few things now. Between the four of us we’ve lived too many painful years of guilt and grief, haven’t we? For all the yearning, and longing, for all the sorrow and pain we feel, none of that emotion can bring him back. It won’t change a single moment from that day…it won’t even move a single pebble on that beach.”

  It is Helen’s turn to nod. She looks down at her lap. She doesn’t want to cry, not now.

  “I just needed to tell you that I understand things a little more clearly now. And I wanted to let you know that you were right; it is time to let it go.”

  From out of the corner of her eye Helen sees Dora gently rub the tiny swell of her stomach. It is such an unself-conscious, intimate gesture that it makes the tears Helen has been fighting suddenly flow freely. She sits, with her head hanging down, crying silent tears until she feels Dora press a paper napkin into her hand.

  “Here.”

  “Sorry.” Helen sniffs, dabbing the napkin at her eyes. She takes a moment to compose herself and then looks up at Dora.

  “I really didn’t want to fall apart in front of you. I actually wanted to apologize to you today.” She sees Dora tilt her head slightly. “You know, for the terrible way I behaved when you last came to visit. I know I didn’t seem it when you told me, but I am thrilled about your pregnancy. It’s wonderful news. You and Dan will make great parents. I have no doubt.”

  Dora looks away.

  “Dora, please look at me. I have to tell you this. It’s important.”

  Dora raises her head, and Helen can see the tears welling in her daughter’s eyes.

  “It pains me to say it, but a tiny part of me was jealous when I heard your news, you know. I know that sounds silly. I’m your mother. I want this for you more than anything. But I couldn’t help but feel a stab of envy for the fresh start you have been given. It’s a new life, a new adventure.” Helen pauses, runs her fingers through her hair. “It’s hard getting older, looking in the mirror and seeing time marching on.”

  “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to, Mum. I don’t want to dredge everything up again.”

  “No, Dora, I need to say this. I’m not angling for sympathy. I’ve made my mistakes—so many of them. And now I live with my regrets. I didn’t appreciate all I had until it was gone: your father, Alfie, you girls. But maybe something good will come out of this; maybe my mistakes can help you in some way.”

  Dora gives another slow nod.

  “When Alfie went missing I couldn’t face the reality of what I had done. I looked for anyone to blame but myself and I’m so sorry that you took the brunt of that. I was horribly unfair to you, Dora. I’m so sorry.”

  As Helen stares into Dora’s eyes, she sees something else behind the tears, a look of something—perhaps relief—dart across her daughter’s face.

  “I failed Cassie too,” she continues, keen to lay it all out now. “I didn’t see what she needed. I pushed her according to my own agenda, heaped all kinds of pressure on her. And of course, perhaps most of all, I failed Alfie. I wasn’t there to protect him when he needed me most. I would do anything to turn the clock back and mak
e everything better again. But I can’t. All I can do is sit here in front of you and tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you, all of you.”

  Dora gives another slow nod. “It’s okay, Mum. We’ve each made our mistakes. We don’t need to thrash it through again and again. It was just important for me to tell you that we can leave it behind us. I’m okay now.”

  Helen drops her gaze again. Her coat is bunched up in her lap and she smooths it with the flat of her hand. She desperately wants to ask Dora if she can forgive her, if she will let her try to make amends, somehow. She wants to know if she can share a tiny part of her life again, but it still seems too much to ask.

  There is another loud, braying laugh from the man behind them. Dora looks round and then back at Helen, rolling her eyes. “Shall we get out of here?”

  Helen nods and Dora waves at the waitress, leaving Helen to discreetly wipe her eyes and tidy the mascara smudges with the damp napkin she still clutches in her hand.

  After they have paid the bill Helen suggests they take a walk up onto Primrose Hill. She doesn’t feel ready to leave Dora just yet and there is nothing waiting for her at Clifftops. The sun is shining and she could do with stretching her legs before the long train journey home.

  “I haven’t been up here for years,” Helen confesses as they wander up one of the pathways leading to the top. “Not since you and Cassie were little girls. Your father and I brought you both here one spring day when all the daffodils were out. I remember Cassie wanted to do roly-polys all the way to the bottom but she had to stop halfway down. She made herself sick.” Helen gives a little laugh and she sees Dora smile next to her. “The London Eye and the Gherkin didn’t exist then, of course. Gosh, it must have been over twenty years ago.”

  “Yes,” agrees Dora quietly.

  They walk on a little farther until they reach an empty bench positioned perfectly for gazing out across the urban vista.

  “Shall we sit for a minute?” Helen asks.

  Dora nods and they perch next to each other, taking in the bustling city below. Helen can see tall towers of concrete and glass winking at them in the sunlight, and the spaceship-like thrust of the BT Tower from across the treetops of Regent’s Park. It is all so familiar, like a painting she has gazed upon for half of her life. In some ways she feels no different from the young woman she had been all those years ago when she had first moved to London with Richard. And yet so much has happened since then. She takes a deep breath, then reaches out and puts a hand on Dora’s arm, looking intently into her daughter’s sea-green eyes.

  “I know I’ve not always been a good mother.”

  “Mum—” Dora puts up her hand to interrupt but Helen stops her.

  “No, let me say this. I need to say it.”

  Dora’s hand falls to her side again.

  “I’ve not been good to you. I’ve let you down.”

  “Mum, you really don’t—”

  “Yes I do.”

  Dora is silent again.

  “I should never have let you carry one ounce of blame for Alfie’s disappearance, or wear one moment’s guilt. A good mother would have protected you from all of that.”

  Helen sees a tear trickle slowly down her daughter’s lovely face. She reaches out and brushes it away with her hand.

  “I’m so sorry I failed you. I’m so sorry that I hurt you. Will you forgive me?”

  Dora reaches for Helen’s hand.

  “Being a mother is a wonderful job, but isn’t easy. You’ll find that out soon enough. But I know you will be a good mother to your baby. And if you’ll give me a second chance, I’d like to try and be a better one to you.” Helen feels her own tears falling again now. They land like late-summer raindrops on her lap. She feels Dora’s hand in her own and squeezes it tight, both of them too choked up to speak, until Dora finally finds her voice.

  “Let’s take it slow. Small steps, okay?”

  Helen nods.

  “After all,” adds Dora, “this little one’s going to need its grandmother, right?” She indicates the swell of her stomach.

  Helen feels her heart give a little skip. “Perhaps we could do this again sometime?” she asks. “Before the baby comes?” She holds her breath, waiting for her daughter’s response.

  Dora nods slowly. “I’d like that.”

  The two women sit awhile longer on the bench, quietly watching the progress of others as they navigate their way up the steep hill toward them. Some walk fast, others slow; some jog, and one or two creep very slowly, stopping every few moments to catch their breath; but no matter what pace they manage, Helen notices everyone carries onward up the hill, putting one foot in front of the other, climbing ever closer toward the top.

  Chapter 19

  Dora

  Present Day

  The builders are already clambering about on the roof of the old factory as she lets herself out of the heavy metal door and makes her way down the stairwell and out onto the street. They’ve been there since seven AM, pulling up flashing and gutters and dropping large pieces of felt and asphalt into the Dumpster by the roadside.

  “Cheerio,” one of them shouts, giving her a wave as she steps out onto the pavement.

  She smiles up at them. “See you.”

  They’re a friendly bunch; they’ve been working overtime since they arrived on the job and Dora doesn’t mind their easy banter. It feels good to finally be doing something about the leaking roof, especially now the fleeting warmth of summer has faded and they’re back to the familiar gray drizzle of autumn. Thankfully it’s another dry day, brisk and breezy, and as Dora makes her way along the road she sees curled brown leaves and an old plastic bag racing along beside her on the pavement. She’s in luck: A half-empty number 38 pulls up as she reaches the stop. She clambers on and takes a seat near the back.

  She’s still a bit annoyed with Dan that he hasn’t been able to rearrange his interview with the local paper. She knows it’s a great opportunity to raise his profile and that the feature might bring in a few private commissions, but the scan’s been booked for weeks now. She’s sad he won’t be there to share the experience with her and see the baby for himself.

  “Just make sure it hasn’t got my nose…or my teeth. We can’t afford the dentist’s bills,” he’d joked.

  “I don’t think they’ll be looking for teeth! Have you even looked at those books I got you?”

  “Sure I have,” but she could tell by the playful glint in his eyes that he hadn’t, not yet.

  “And you’re sure you don’t want to know the sex?”

  Dan had shrugged. “I don’t think so…do you?”

  “No, I think I’d like the surprise.”

  “Good, me too.” He’d pulled her close. “Try and get one of those photos, if you can, you know, the black-and-white ones that look like giant space prawns. I’ll call you as soon as I’m finished with the journalist. Let’s meet up later.” He’d kissed her hard on the mouth, patted her growing tummy, and headed off to meet his contact in some East End café.

  Giant prawns indeed, she muses, watching the shops and cafés on the Essex Road trundle past the grimy bus window. She’s excited about the scan. This will be the second time she’s seen the baby, and she feels so differently about the pregnancy now. It’s not just because the dreadful fog of morning sickness has finally lifted, but because of how things are between her and Dan now. Ever since her visit to see Cassie at Swan House she’s felt different. Lighter somehow, brighter and more buoyant in herself, which is ridiculous because she doesn’t have to get on the bathroom scales to know that she’s put on plenty of weight.

  The truth is that both she and Dan know the visit to see her sister has offered a small form of release. She still feels Alfie’s absence, but she doesn’t agonize over the details quite so much; she doesn’t berate herself with guilt or search every crowd for his face, and perhaps most tellingly, she hasn’t had one of her nightmares or panic attacks since. It will never be okay that Alfie was
taken from them and she still isn’t sure what to do with the information Cassie has shared with her, but Dora feels as though she is beginning to move forward now, slowly.

  She places a hand on her growing stomach and strokes the firm, taut bulge of her belly. It’s hard and warm and she enjoys the feel of it under her fingertips; it feels so solid, so real.

  There is a flurry of activity at the front of the bus as a group of kids push their way onto the vehicle, skimming their bus passes on the electronic reader by the driver with loud jeers and shouts; boys playing hooky from school, she assumes. The barrage of noise and motion is an assault on her senses. She sees the wind whipping hair and scarves and suit jackets on people passing by on the pavement and suddenly longs to be blown along beside them. She jumps up and makes it through the beeping doors, just in time. It’s only two more stops; she can walk the rest of the way to the clinic.

  It’s a treat not to be in the office. Most people, she knows, will be safely stashed at their desks by now, beginning the daily grind, staring at computer screens, talking into telephones, doing their deals, making decisions. She doesn’t get to experience this side of London very often, the hours when elderly people creep out onto the streets and young parents push prams toward parks. She can hear the buzz of bike couriers weaving through the streets and sees a group of tourists sitting in a café window, squabbling over a map and guidebook. She sidesteps a wan-faced nurse, still in uniform, returning home from her night shift, and declines the advances of an enthusiastic charity worker wielding a clipboard and accosting unsuspecting people as they pass by. It’s the same city—still home—but it feels different somehow, as if suddenly steeped in a warmer light, imbued with a slower pace. She supposes it’s a side she might see a little more of when the baby comes.