by Karen Clarke
There were so many things I wanted to ask her, but once she’d overtaken a couple of caravans in the middle lane, she slowed and switched on the radio. ‘Could you pass me a sandwich?’
‘Already?’ I bent to rummage in the rucksack at my feet. ‘It’s nowhere near lunchtime.
‘Driving makes me hungry. I didn’t have breakfast.’
As she ate her cheese roll, her face inscrutable, I imagined a slew of memories rolling through her mind. What had Bernhard done that meant, after years of travelling and working abroad, she’d retreated to a corner of Wales and become a virtual recluse? And yet, she didn’t seem unhappy. On the contrary, she appeared to belong. I understood more clearly now, her need to know I wasn’t bringing trouble to her door. It sounded as though she’d had enough to last a lifetime, and explained her being unsettled at the possibility of troublemakers raiding the cottage.
As the radio continued playing hits from the Eighties, Lily woke up and started squirming, emitting hungry cries. Morag, cheerful again, pulled into the next services and got out to visit the shop while I fed and changed Lily.
As I settled her at my breast, her warm fingers curling around my thumb, I glanced in the wing mirror. A couple of cars behind, a silver 4x4 was queuing for the petrol pump. My breath froze in my throat. The bonnet of the car was visible, as if the driver had pulled out slightly to have a clearer view. Of me? It looked like the car that had followed us from the pub. I’d convinced myself I must have imagined the whole thing, but suddenly I wasn’t so sure. Trying not to disturb Lily, I craned my neck to get a look at the number plate, so I’d know if I saw it again, but the driver pulled back in line as if sensing he’d been spotted. Stop it. I was being paranoid again. How many silver four-wheel drives were out there? I could see one ahead, pulling off the forecourt, another parked up while the driver inflated the tyres. No one had followed us from Fenbrith. Apart from anything, I’d have noticed sooner, especially on the quieter roads.
‘Mummy’s being silly again,’ I murmured to Lily, focusing on her face, remembering a time – not long ago – when I’d walked up and down with her, not sure what day or time it was, the sound of her cries drilling into my ears. She was so much happier now, settled and content. And I would be too, if only I could be sure we had a future that didn’t involve Patrick. And that I didn’t have to see Mum. My heart rate doubled again. Lily stopped sucking as though she could feel it and let out a drowsy sigh. I hoisted her up and gently massaged her back, trying not to think about what lay ahead.
‘Not far now,’ Morag said, returning as I was settling Lily. Her words sent a shard of dread through me. I longed to tell her to turn back, that I couldn’t go through with it after all. Memories rose like debris. I couldn’t push them down, no matter how hard I tried. They eclipsed everything as our destination grew closer, until there was only one question in my mind. Would I would find the courage this time, to finally ask my mother the only thing that mattered: Why did you kill my father?
Chapter 30
A slab of oak with the words Gail Roberts Animal Rescue Centre painted in woodland green greeted us as we drove up the gravelled track. I’d seemed odd, Mum and me having different surnames now; another division between us.
Her home and workplace was a sprawling, one-storey barn conversion set in several acres, bought with money from the sale of the house in Maidenhead, which had been worth a lot more than my father had paid for it. Along with his life-insurance policy payout, Mum was set for life. She’d paid for my flight to New York and still transferred money every month to my account, where it sat untouched. Maybe, one day, I would use it to fund Lily through university. I suspected Dad would be turning in his grave to know the money he’d scrupulously saved over the years, while keeping Mum on a tight leash, had been used to help countless animals. Sometimes, I imagined her having a laugh about that.
My nerves pounded as Morag parked next to a Land Rover that had seen better days. Mum wasn’t interested in material things. All her money went into the sanctuary. To salve her guilty conscience?
‘I should find her first and prepare her,’ I said to Morag. She hadn’t moved since turning off the engine, her eyes moving across the low-slung building, taking in the elevated lawn at one side, and on the other, a yard stretching towards paddocks where several horses grazed. It hadn’t changed since my last visit, though the horses were new. It didn’t feel like home, but there were no memories of my father here, which was the point.
The sky had brightened, patches of blue among the grey. Puddles glistened, and rain dripped from the leaves of the oak trees standing sentry around the building.
‘We should go with the element of surprise.’ Morag opened the door and got out quickly as if worried she might change her mind. ‘You see people’s true feelings that way. No time to prepare a response.’
My mind shrank from the idea, but Morag was already striding away from the van. ‘Wait!’ I got out, grabbing the car seat. ‘We should go together.’
She paused while I checked Lily over, playing for time. She looked adorable in the tiny floral leggings and pink top I’d pulled from the pile of baby clothes Annie had given me. Her gaze was somehow watchful, as if sensing this was a momentous occasion – that she was going to see her grandmother for the first time. Oh God. I shouldn’t be doing it like this. I should have called Mum sooner, given her time to adjust, not turned up out of the blue with a baby. She thought she knew me. It would be a shock to realise I’d changed my stance on having children.
Just like your aunt, she’d said once, sadness in her eyes. Maybe you’ll change your mind one day. I’d been annoyed that she couldn’t see why, in my eyes, having children just tied people together and made them crazy. How many times had I heard my father say I’ll never leave you and Grace and you’ll never leave me, while my mother cried softly into a tissue? We don’t belong to you, we’re not your property, she said once, fighting back. Dad threw a full tumbler of brandy at the wall and Mum cut herself clearing it up while I told him about my day at school to make him smile.
As I caught up with Morag, I reminded myself that Mum was happy now. She’d eventually got the life she wanted, just like Morag had – and like I would too. Three strong women who didn’t need men to be happy. A new generation.
So why did I feel sick at the thought of seeing my mother?
I looked at Lily, letting love for her fill my heart, but couldn’t banish an image of Dad on the kitchen floor of our old home.
I took a deep breath and straightened my shoulders, half-hoping Mum would be out and we could delay the moment, but there was a cry, then a shout and she was running towards us, hair flying, a dog at her heels that reminded me of Skip on guard at the cottage, waiting for Ifan to come and take him for a walk.
Morag stopped in her tracks ahead of me. I heard her say, ‘I’m sorry,’ then Mum was throwing her arms around her, burying her face in her sister’s neck, laughing and crying and when she looked over Morag’s shoulder and saw me standing there, her face crumpled again. Her gaze dropped to the car seat in my hands and she pulled away from Morag. Her hands flew to her mouth then stretched towards me. ‘Grace.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Oh, Grace.’
Chapter 31
An hour later, Mum was still cradling Lily, eyes fixed on her heart-shaped face as Lily gazed up at her. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she kept saying. ‘I’m so happy, Grace. I just can’t believe it.’
Morag had been right about the healing powers of a baby. It was as if the years I’d been away, the strained dutiful calls, the fact I’d failed to tell Mum I was pregnant hadn’t happened; as if the past had been wiped clean and we were starting afresh from this moment. And it wasn’t just Lily’s presence. Before she’d even spotted me, as soon as Morag apologised, Mum forgave her. All she’d ever wanted was an apology, an acknowledgement that her sister had abandoned her family and left Mum to cope when their parents became old and frail. She didn’t even ask why I’d gone to Morag instead of comin
g to her, as if she understood everything. Only, she didn’t.
‘I don’t want to hold on to grudges,’ she said now, finally lifting her head, rocking Lily instinctively as she must have done me, when I was a baby. ‘I know I’ve been bitter.’
She was looking at Morag who – having been shown round the centre on a whirlwind tour, as if Mum was making up for lost time – was leaning against the worktop in the untidy open-plan kitchen, taking everything in with a clarity to her gaze that I hadn’t seen before. As if something had finally been put to rest that had bothered her for a long time. Which, I supposed, it had. Perhaps she wished she’d reached out years ago. ‘But I want to put it all behind us now.’
‘Me too,’ Morag said simply. ‘I’ll make some more coffee, shall I?’
It was odd, seeing the two of them in the same room, juxtaposed over the photos I’d seen of them growing up, and memories I had of Morag coming to visit when I was little when she’d seemed brighter than her sister. They were more similar now, their differences rubbed away by years and experiences. Mum was more robust these days, her make-up-free face glowing with health, her trim body honed from the physical work of running the centre. Dad had liked her to keep her hair shoulder-length and blonde, insisted on her wearing skirts and heels, but she’d long since had her hair cropped and let it go grey and was wearing old boots with jeans, and a sweatshirt with a squirrel motif on the front – the kind of clothes Morag wore most of the time. Despite the lines mapping her brown eyes, she looked younger than she had years ago when the worry she’d tried to conceal behind layers of foundation and lipstick had weighed down her features and aged her. Being a widow suits her.
‘She’s such a good little girl,’ she said, returning her gaze to Lily.
‘She doesn’t cry often now.’
‘You once slept through a firework display.’ Mum’s smile was dreamy. ‘I used to prod you sometimes to wake you up for a cuddle.’ I wanted to hear more good memories, to ask so many things, but they would have to wait. ‘You’re not going back to New York?’
When I shook my head, happiness flooded her face. ‘The restaurant?’
‘I’ve left, but I’m hoping to go back to work part-time.’ I glanced at Morag for reassurance, as if maybe now we were at Mum’s she’d tell me I should stay.
‘Local pub,’ she obliged. ‘Job there if she wants it.’
‘That’s wonderful.’ Mum’s gaze flicked to me. ‘Come and have a look at the alpacas.’
‘Alpacas?’
‘They’re like llamas, but smaller—’
‘I know what alpacas are, Mum.’
She smiled, recognising my teenage tone. ‘Someone reported they were living in terrible conditions so we brought them here. They were in an awful state but are doing really well now.’
My stomach dropped. She wanted to talk to me in private and I wasn’t sure if I was ready. ‘Lily will need feeding soon.’
‘Morag can watch her for a moment.’
I wanted my baby back in my arms, as if holding her offered protection, but without waiting for a reply, Mum rose from the cracked leather sofa and crossed the wooden floor. All the furniture was ramshackle, chairs with frayed covers, a worn wooden table, paper piled in stacks on every surface, and the rooms all smelt of damp straw and dried animal food; a smell that reminded me of when Ana had a pet rabbit and would forget to clean his hutch.
Shelves bulged with books about animal husbandry, and there were photos scattered about of me at various ages, my grandparents, and one of Mum and Morag as children. None of Dad. He didn’t exist in this place.
The dog that had followed Mum in – a grey lurcher with a limp called Max – was in his bed under the window, ears pricked, eyes big as he watched Mum’s every move with clear devotion. He was one of the animals she’d adopted, along with a couple of feral cats she shooed outside to keep them away from Lily.
‘Go,’ Morag said, accepting Lily easily, laying her against her shoulder and resting her cheek on her hair. ‘We’ll be fine, won’t we, little one?’ She spoke with such tenderness, Mum looked briefly startled and stared at her sister until Morag turned away.
‘Odd to see her with a child,’ she said once we were outside, the air fragrant with rain and earth. Up here, the countryside seemed further away than in Wales, the shades of green more subtle. It was still beautiful though. It surprised me how at home I felt in the UK after being back for such a short time – almost as though I’d never left. ‘Morag would never hold you when you were a baby. I think she was frightened of dropping you.’ Mum’s voice was tinged with regret. ‘She was better when you were older and she could talk to you.’
‘She seems pleased to be a great-aunt.’
‘It’s easier when you’re one step removed. I suppose that’s why grandparents get away with so much.’ It was so different to last time I’d visited, when Mum had seemed brittle, too keen to please, treating me like a special guest, and I’d been defensive and closed off, wishing I hadn’t come as old memories crowded in. There’d been so much to say, I hadn’t known where to start.
Mum stopped as we reached the gate to the paddock, turning to face me. ‘Why are you really back, Grace?’
I bit my lip, an urge to spill out the whole thing and cry on her shoulder almost overwhelming. ‘I needed to get away from Lily’s father.’
Her face changed, expression sharpening into alarm. ‘Are you safe?’
It was the same thing Morag had asked. They both knew what it was like to be with someone who wasn’t. ‘Yes, I’m safe.’ I sounded convincing and her shoulders dropped. ‘Did you know Morag was in a bad relationship?’
Mum blinked, as if thrown by the change of topic. ‘Your aunt was never any good at opening up. We never had gossipy conversations like you and Ana did,’ she said, after a moment’s pause. ‘I suppose I thought of her as invincible, swanning off round the world, taking her award-winning photos.’ That hint of something again … jealousy, but faint, like an echo of something long buried. ‘I envied her,’ Mum admitted, a tinge of rose pink on her cheeks. ‘She’d gone off to do what she wanted. I suppose it didn’t occur to me that she might be like the rest of us, would ever suffer at the hands of a man. She never liked your Dad.’ A hint of sorrow crept into her voice. ‘She told me I was crazy to stay with him. I thought she’d have known better, would meet someone glamorous and elope, live happily ever after.’
I marvelled that she could mention Dad so freely. She hadn’t referred to him during my last visit, but then, I hadn’t given her the chance. She averted her gaze, staring across the paddock. The horses looked peaceful, manes ruffled by the breeze. In the corner the alpacas stood tail to tail like bookends, impossibly regal with their long necks. ‘I wish I’d known she wasn’t happy,’ she said at last. ‘We’d have had something in common at last.’
‘It’s funny how you both fell for men who weren’t good, when granddad was such a nice man.’ It was the first time the realisation had slipped into my head.
‘That’s probably why.’ She nodded slowly. ‘We took it for granted, thought all men were like him. We didn’t look too deeply below the surface.’ I wondered what it said about me that I’d tried not to repeat my mother’s mistake, then fell for the wrong man anyway. ‘It’s awful, but I try not to think of the past these days. Helping these animals—’ Mum looked at the horses again ‘—it puts things in perspective. They live in the present. I try to do the same.’
I felt a wave of something rising inside me. I gripped the top of the gate and Mum placed a hand over mine. ‘It doesn’t always work,’ she said softly. ‘I miss you so much, Grace. I hoped you’d come back one day.’
When I recoiled from her touch, she pulled back, shock widening her eyes. ‘Why did you stay away so long?’ Her words were halting, as if reading something in my face that she needed to question. ‘That last visit was so awful. I knew I’d messed up, that you didn’t want to be here,’ she said. ‘But when I told you, years ago, to
leave, to get away … you know I didn’t mean forever, don’t you?’
I nodded, but my heart picked up speed again as the question I’d wanted to ask for so long, had tried to forget, had hidden so deep it felt as if my insides were being excavated, rose to my lips. ‘Mum, that day, when Dad had his heart attack …’ Saliva rushed to my mouth. I thought for a moment I was going to be sick and swallowed. ‘Why did you take so long to call an ambulance?’
For a moment, she just stared at me, then: ‘What do you mean?’ Her voice was faint, colour draining from her face.
‘I was there, Mum,’ I said. ‘I came downstairs and saw him on the kitchen floor. You were … you were just staring at him with the phone in your hand.’ The memory zoomed in, as if someone had thrust a photo of the scene at me. Dad, looking up at her, his face contorted, a bluish tinge to his lips as one hand gripped his other arm; Mum still in her Sunday best skirt and blouse, an apron round her waist as she’d been washing up before Dad lost his temper and shouted about something she’d supposedly said at lunch to make him look silly, his anger propelling me up to my room to do my homework. She was gazing down at him like a puzzle she couldn’t solve, one hand wrapped around the phone receiver, the fingers of the other worrying her bottom lip, a habit she had when she was thinking.
‘Mum, he might have lived if you’d called the ambulance sooner.’ The words came out like bullets, harder than I’d imagined. Mum stepped back, one pace, two, as if escaping a raging fire, then turned and strode away, faster and faster, arms pumping. I ran after her, through the kennel area filled with dogs waiting to be rehomed, where a red-haired woman I recognised from my last visit – Glenda – was chatting to a couple with a little boy, a clipboard in her hand. She looked round, startled, as we shot past.
‘Mum, wait!’ We were through the other side, in a yard round the back of the building, where a dozen chickens scratched in the dirt and a pair of geese flapped beside a pond. ‘Mum, I begged you to ring for help and you ignored me.’ She hadn’t even glanced up, hadn’t seen me on the stairs. I’d wondered afterwards whether the words had even left my lips, why I hadn’t moved either, hadn’t gone to her or my father, but I’d been so frightened, seeing him helpless for once, needing mercy and not finding any. It had felt as though my feet were glued to the carpet as I half-crouched there, shocked. Time had stretched and warped. Dad moved, tried to speak at one point. Still my mother kept on staring, pulling at her lip as if trying to decide what to do, or waiting to see what would happen.
