by Ruth Mancini
I nodded and sipped my coffee, inwardly amazed and not a little proud, too, at how grown up and level headed my daughter was being about everything. I was also relieved, after what had happened, that she wasn’t going to suggest that she stayed with Catherine and Sky, though, of course, that would have been a long journey to make each day, from North London down to Southwark.
“Christian will understand,” she said. “It’s only across the Channel. It’s not like it’s Australia, or the North Pole. Or forever.”
“I know,” I agreed.
Christian would indeed understand. He was the epitome of thoughtfulness and understanding. I felt a renewed pang of guilt and wondered, as I had done many times, whether I took him for granted. I thought back with irony to the time, twenty years ago, when I’d told my new boyfriend, Larsen, that I wanted to leave him behind in England to study in France, only to be given an ultimatum: You’re either in this relationship or you’re out.
But it wasn’t Christian’s style to give ultimatums like that. He was pretty laid back, on the whole, and we didn’t live in each other’s pockets. I felt a lot of freedom within the relationship, and that was one of the things that had made it so easy to be with him. I was pretty certain that he loved me enough to wait for me, and I was glad that I wouldn’t be confronted with a choice to make, as far as he was concerned. For one thing, I couldn’t be quite sure what my choice would be. Because, if I was honest, this job offer was the most exciting thing that had happened to me in a long time. I was settled and happy in France, of course I was, but so much of that had been bound up in my daughter, and creating a stable life for us both. Maybe I was just about ready for a bit of excitement, a little spontaneity, and a change of scene.
Helena must have read my mind. “Maybe it will be good for you both,” she said. “You’ll realise what you’re missing.”
“Maybe,” I smiled. It would certainly be a nice change to work in an office again, with people. I was really falling in love with London again, too. But maybe that’s all I needed – a change of scene. Didn’t they say that a change was as good as a rest? Maybe it would give my relationship with Christian a boost. I’d go back to France again, happy and refreshed.
Helena looked at her watch. “So, now we’ve sorted that out, do you want to tell me what happened?”
“Well, like I said, he offered me the job.”
“Mum! I’m talking about Sky.”
“Oh. That.” I picked up a cardboard stirrer and poked holes in the foam that was sitting in the bottom of my coffee cup. I looked up. “Hasn’t he told you?”
“He said you’d discussed my dad. And that you were the one who’d brought it up. That you’d got upset because he didn’t see things the way you did. Because he didn’t hate him, the way you do. Because he couldn’t agree that Martin was a threat.”
“Right.”
“Well, is it? Is it right? Because I’m trying to understand your point of view here, hear your side.”
“Helena. You’ve got your exams in just over three weeks’ time. Don’t you think it would be best if we just left this for another time...”
“No, Mum. We need to sort it out. I don’t want us to fall out again. But you can’t make people come round to your way of thinking, if it’s not the way they feel. At the end of the day, it’s his dad and he doesn’t believe that he’s all that bad.”
I sighed. “Look, Helena. Sky wasn’t there, was he? He doesn’t know anything about what happened. All he knows is what Catherine’s told him, and of course he’s going to take her side. She’s his mum. But if you think it’s difficult for Sky to accept what happened, then think what it was like for me.”
“He knows his dad, though. He’s grown up with him. He doesn’t see it, what you see. His perception of him is different to yours. People aren’t just one thing, good or bad. He’s got his faults, I’m sure, but maybe...”
I leaned forward and whispered across the table, “Helena, he raped me. And if you don’t believe that, then you must think I’m lying. About all of it.”
Helena looked distressed. “I don’t think you’re lying. I just...”
“What?”
“I just think that maybe he misunderstood. You know, read your signals wrong. Maybe he thought that you really liked him. And maybe he didn’t realise how drunk you were.”
I sat back in my chair. “Okay. Well, it seems everyone knows what happened, how it happened. Except me, apparently.”
“Well, you were very drunk, Mum. By your own admission.”
“Christ, Helena. I thought you understood.”
“I do, Mum. I really do. I believe you that you didn’t go after Catherine’s boyfriend. I believe you that you didn’t want him. It’s just that...”
“What?”
“Well, maybe you and him just got your wires crossed.”
I put my head in my hands and massaged my temples slowly. I was starting to get a headache. Either directly, or indirectly through Sky, it was obvious that Catherine had done a good job of convincing Helena of Martin’s innocence. But then, as Christian had said, people were inclined to believe what they wanted to believe. Helena and Sky didn’t want a rapist for a father. That was what it boiled down to. They could accept that he was a bit absent, a bit rubbish. Because then there was still a chance of winning his love, of proving how funny, how clever, how talented they were – of maybe one day making him proud, and of being proud of him in return.
But you can’t be proud of a rapist. I didn’t stand a chance.
“Are you going to see him?” I asked.
“What? Who?”
“Martin. Your dad. Are you going to want to see him?”
Helena shook her head. “No. I told you. He doesn’t know about me, and I asked Sky not to tell him. I just want us all to get on. You, me, Catherine and Sky, I mean.”
I looked into her eyes. His eyes.
“Mum. I’m not! I’m not going to see him! Okay? So, look, maybe we can just all agree to disagree about this? That’s what Catherine wants, too,” Helena said. “To just put it all to one side and not go there anymore. She wants to talk to you, to smooth things over. She told me she doesn’t want to lose you again.”
“She said that?” I felt a little weight lift from my heart. I realised that in spite of my upset and anger over the fact that my integrity was still in question, my hurt had been compounded by the prospect of losing Catherine all over again.
“Yes. She said that. She asked me to talk to you. Come on, Mum. Please.”
I breathed out, heavily. “What about Sky? It’s obvious he doesn’t like me.”
“Of course he does! Don’t be silly. He’s just confrontational. It’s how he is. It’s like... if you say ‘black’, he’ll say ‘white’. He likes to debate things, and get things out into the open.”
“He was certainly doing that.”
“But he really likes you, Mum. He told me.”
I looked at her sideways. “He did?”
“Yes.” She laughed. “He said you were a MILF.”
“A... what?”
“A Mum I’d like to F—”
“Helena!”
She laughed. “It means you’re fit. That’s what our friends say. Even though you’re the mum of a friend, they’d still like to—”
“Okay. Thank you. I get the picture.”
Helena laughed again. “It’s a compliment.”
“Well, at least I’m not related to him. I suppose that’s something.”
“Oh come on, Mum. You must be a bit flattered. There’s not many women who’d say no to Sky. Auntie Zara’s going to eat him for breakfast.”
“I sincerely hope not,” I said. “And he’s Catherine’s son, don’t forget. The son of my oldest friend. I think things are quite complicated enough, without throwing Zara into the equation.”
Helena started laughing. “Can you imagine,” she giggled. “Zara going after Sky. He’d have to get his running shoes on.”
“Yes, well, he’s too young for her. He’d hurt her. And then I’d have to kill him. Catherine would kill me...”
“Then I’d kill Catherine...”
“...And it would all end like some horrible Greek tragedy. And talking of running shoes, hadn’t you better get going? It’s twelve thirty and you’ve got to check in yet.”
Helena looked at her watch again and drained the last of her coffee. “Yep. I’m gone.” She pulled on her black Nike waterproof jacket. “So. We’re good?”
I smiled. “We’re good.”
“And Catherine and Sky?”
“Let’s just see how it goes, okay? Now, have you got everything? Passport?”
“Check.”
“Tickets?”
“Check.”
“House keys?”
“Yep.”
Helena picked up her rucksack and slung it over her shoulder. We walked across the platform to the departure area. I hugged my daughter and watched as she joined the queue at the gate.
“I’ll be back in a few days!” I called, as she handed over her ticket. “Make sure you lock up properly – and make sure you walk the dog. If you’re going to drive, then stay near home to begin with. Wait until I get back before you do any big trips.”
“Mum!” Helena shot me a ‘You’re embarrassing me’ look, but she turned a moment later, mouthed, ‘Okay’ and smiled and waved goodbye.
I watched until she’d disappeared through the frosted glass doors and out of sight, before making my way up the staircase and out into the London rain.
9
Zara placed a plate of spaghetti on the coffee table and sat down next to me on the sofa. “So?”
I put my mobile phone down on the table and picked up my fork. “He’s fine.”
“Was he upset?”
“Not really. He was surprised. But he didn’t say much.”
“So that means he was upset. That’s what men are like. It will all come tumbling out later, when he’s had a chance to think about it. He’ll get drunk and then phone you up and beg you not to go.”
“No he won’t,” I said. “That’s not Christian.”
“Oh.” Zara sounded disappointed. “I wouldn’t stand for that.”
I burst out laughing. “You’d prefer a bit of emotional blackmail? Some strong language and an ultimatum or two?”
Zara smiled. She pulled her legs up and crossed them in front of her, balancing her spaghetti on her thighs. “Well, you’ve got to have a bit of passion in a relationship, haven’t you? I mean, look at Kirsty and Tyrone.” She waved her fork at the telly, where Coronation Street was playing.
“Good example, Zara,” I said. “She’s a psycho. She breaks things, and then beats him up.”
“Alright. Burton and Taylor, then.”
“Alcoholics.”
“Sid and Nancy.”
“Drug addicts.”
“Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler.”
“A narcissist and a gambler. And anyway, that’s the movies. This is real life. You couldn’t actually live like that.”
Zara smiled and twirled her spaghetti round and round with her fork. “I could. That’s what me and James were like.”
“Zara.” I sighed. “James was twenty years ago. The relationship only lasted a few weeks and it made you unwell. That’s exactly my point. You need someone stable. Someone who’s going to look after you.”
Zara wrinkled her nose up. “Sometimes I do,” she said. “But other times I just want to be the one in control.”
“Oh God,” I said. “Are we going to start talking about your sex life? Can we at least wait until I’ve finished my dinner?”
Zara laughed. “So, what was he like then?” she asked. “This doctor. Is he handsome?”
I nodded. “Very. He wasn’t what I was expecting at all, to be honest. I thought it would be some portly academic in his seventies. It was kind of a nice surprise. And he’s very charming.”
“Is he married?”
I looked at her with mock astonishment. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. It didn’t seem appropriate somehow, what with me being in an interview with him.”
Zara giggled. “His ring finger, I mean. Didn’t you look at it?”
“Well, yes,” I confessed. “He wasn’t wearing a ring.” I picked up the wine bottle from the coffee table and poured us both a glass. “But that doesn’t mean anything, does it? And anyway, Zara, I’m not interested in all that. I can’t deny that it gave me a little lift, but he’s younger than me, he’s about to become my boss and I’m with Christian. It’s going to be an interesting job, that’s all, with good money, plus I get to keep an eye on my daughter and – big bonus – spend more time with my favourite friend in the whole wide world.”
Zara leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Love you.”
“Love you right back.” I handed her her wine glass. “So, you won’t mind if I stay for a bit?”
“Of course I won’t. As long as Helena doesn’t feel like she’s got to move out. Because she hasn’t. We’ll manage. We’ve managed before.”
“I know. Although I think she’s quite switched on to the idea of being in that McLaren House, or whatever it’s called, with her friends.”
“Fair enough. People her own age. You can’t blame her for that.” Zara glanced at me. “And what about Catherine? Are you going to get in touch?”
I sighed and put my plate back down on the table. “I really don’t know.”
“You should.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because she means a lot to you. And you mean a lot to her. It would be a shame to let this thing come between you. It was twenty years ago, after all.”
I looked at her. “God, Zara. Not you as well. Everyone seems to think that it’s some trivial thing that I’ve got a bee in my bonnet about.”
“I don’t think that, Lizzie. I’m on your side. I was there, remember? I haven’t forgotten what happened. I saw what a state you were in. You cried and cried. For hours. You were distraught.”
“Then why do you think I should just forget it, brush it aside?”
“Because you’re not going to convince them, that’s why. You’ve tried and it hasn’t worked. So now, what’s the alternative? That you never see Sky or Catherine again? Because Helena will. She’ll want to, anyway. Do you really want her to have to choose between you and them? Or do you want her to run around in secret with them again, or just spend all her time trying not to mention them to you in case she hurts your feelings?”
“No,” I confessed. “I don’t want that. And I do want to make things up with Catherine. Not just for Helena, but for myself. There’s a lot of history there and she’s been a good friend in so many ways. It’s just hard to be there with them, knowing that Sky thinks I’m a – a slut, and that Catherine thinks I betrayed her, when that’s so far from the truth of what happened. When people misjudge you, or doubt you, or have got something about you really wrong – it’s hard to reconcile that with love and friendship.”
Zara shook her head. “Don’t you think I know how that feels? Don’t you think I live with that every day? When you’ve had mental illness, that’s all anyone sees when they look at you. It’s what defines you, from the minute you wake up in the morning until you go to bed at night. It doesn’t matter that I can paint, that I can make gorgeous jewellery, that I’ve taken care of sick people for years, or any of the hundred other things that I’ve done with my life or that I’ve been to other people. All anyone ever sees is my illness. I could be well for years, but it won’t matter. It’s always going to be the first thing that everyone sees when they look at me.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t think that about you.”
Zara smiled. “You probably do, Lizzie. And it’s okay. Because you’ve had to deal with me firsthand. You’ve got more right than anyone to think of me that way. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, because there’s so much more to me than that.”
&nbs
p; “I know that.” I stroked her hand. “Don’t you think I know that? I think you’re amazing. I think you’re so brave and strong. Going through a breakdown, losing control of your mind in that way, experiencing psychosis – and not just once, either – must have been the most frightening thing imaginable, like being in a bad dream that you can’t wake up from. But you did it. You’ve battled through it, over and over again, and you’ve survived every time. I think that’s incredible.”
Zara looked at me. “You’re probably the only person that sees that about me.” She sighed. “I keep thinking that if I’d had the baby, at least I’d be a mother, like you. But that’s yet another section of society I’m excluded from. It’s as though I’m a failure as a woman. It’s the one thing we’re supposed to be able to do. It’s natural. It’s part of being female. And I’ve failed at that too.”
I stroked her hand again. “Lots of women don’t have children, honey. Some make a conscious decision not to, and their lives are rich in other ways. It’s not everything. It’s a different type of life, that’s all. And anyway,” I added. “You didn’t fail. You had a really difficult choice to make.”
“I’m still making it,” she said. “But time’s running out. You can’t get pregnant on sodium valproate.”
“I know,” I said. “I understand. But it’s keeping you stable. You’re the best I’ve ever known you, right now. And I don’t think having children would be right for you, in any case. It’s hard work. It can be stressful. That’s not what you need.”
“I still think about it, though. Every day.”
Zara got up and picked up our plates and took them out to her small kitchen. I followed with the salad bowl. Zara washed and I dried, then she cleaned the cooker and wiped down the worktops while I hoovered the living room floor.
The carpet was a cream colour, and soft underfoot. Her flat was very homey, pretty and cosy. One of the walls was painted a burgundy colour, while the rest were cream, like the carpet, and adorned with her paintings. The blood-red rose on a black background, that I’d first seen on her wall nearly twenty years ago, took pride of place on the main wall in front of us. It was lovely, but it always reminded me of how ill I’d been that time, whilst living in Zara’s house, the time when both of us were pregnant and I was chucking my guts up every day. Oh rose, thou art sick. Little had I known at the time how sick Zara was about to be, too; that whilst I was just suffering from a bad bout of morning sickness, Zara was about to be sectioned and that she’d soon lose her baby, as well as her mind.
