My Daughter, My Mother

by Annie Murray

  ‘How old are the children?’ she asked.

  Khushwant looked helplessly at his wife.

  ‘The boy is ten years old, he is called Deep,’ Meena said. ‘The girl, Leela, is eight.’

  Sooky swallowed, looking down. All the possibilities of her life rushed through her mind. Study, a career, a husband, a father for Priya, sex, love even – no, that might be asking too much. But one thing she saw with horrible clarity: the alternative. She would stay home, the divorced, disgraced one. This would keep happening: men would be brought for them to view each other. As time passed she would get older, and the men might get older too – or a lot younger than her. It would become more and more agonizing as the years went by. The pressure would never go away for her to make things right. Arun. She tasted his name. He had had grief and bad luck, just as she had. He might be all right, who knew?

  ‘There is no need to be deciding anything too quickly,’ Khushwant said into the silence.

  Sooky looked up. ‘He’s really okay about me doing my degree? And he knows about Jaz – and Priya?’

  Khushwant and Meena were nodding as eagerly as toy dogs in the back of a car window.

  ‘Okay then,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ll see him.’

  Sixty-Seven

  Margaret sat beside Alan as the car sped smoothly along the M5.

  ‘Valentine’s Day treat,’ he’d said, even though it was two days later, as they’d had to wait for the weekend. The bouquet of spring flowers that, to her amazement, he had presented to her on the day were still brightening their living room with vivid yellow, white and blue.

  ‘We could wait until it’s warmer – in the summer?’ she’d suggested.

  ‘We can go then as well, if you like,’ Alan said. ‘Rationing’s over now, you know.’

  They’d developed a joking way of talking, a banter by which he often teased her out of her gloomy, glass-half-empty view of life.

  ‘You’re just putting it off,’ he challenged her.

  ‘I’m not! It’s just . . .’

  ‘You’re frightened it’s not going to be the same.’

  ‘Well, it’s not, is it? Let’s face it, it was forty years ago – it’d be pretty peculiar if everything had stayed the same.’

  ‘But it’s the same in your mind.’

  ‘Yes. It is.’

  She knew that was what she was scared of – losing the images of paradise she had held onto all these years. And of being overwhelmed by emotion. But she didn’t mind Alan’s teasing. She knew he had been through just the same with Abergavenny. That was the thing with Alan. He understood. She looked round at him with a surge of love and gratitude. There he was, miraculously beside her, concentrating on the driving, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly clipped round his dark-eyed face. The face she loved abundantly.

  ‘What’re you looking at?’ There was still teasing in his voice.

  ‘You. Because I can. And you can’t look at me.’

  He chuckled. ‘Oh, I see. Well, I’ll make up for that later, Margaret my girl, that I will!’

  They were in a green Montego saloon, which he had bought with the insurance on his other smashed-up car.

  ‘Is it new?’ she’d asked, awed, when he first drove up in it.

  ‘No. Not quite. But the “not quite” makes a big difference to the price, I can tell you!’

  It still smelled new inside. Margaret rested her head back and closed her eyes. I’m here, she said to herself. I’m really here.

  She could hardly believe the process that had brought her to this day: the upheavals of the past – six? – yes, six or so weeks since she had announced to Fred and the girls that she was leaving, to be with someone else. Margaret Tolley, yes, she, Margaret Tolley, had sat at the table with them just after Christmas and said it. She thought about talking to Fred first, on his own, but that just felt impossible. The shameful truth was that she could not have begun to talk to him, not on their own – that was the sad fact of the matter.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to them. Something drove her on. She had thought and thought about it and never imagined she would get the words out. ‘Something’s happened. I’ve fallen in love. And I want to be with him. I have to – it’s just how it is. I’m ever so sorry. I don’t know how else to say it.’

  The girls were both there, and Dave and Geoff, Karen’s new boyfriend, whom they all liked. Margaret felt like someone else. Who was this new person in new clothes, who for the first time ever felt so sure of something? It wasn’t that she was proud of it, not of causing such hurt. But she simply had to be with Alan.

  They all sat staring at her. For a few seconds Margaret wondered whether she had said it at all, or whether she had been hallucinating. If they had just carried on drinking their tea and eating cake, she wouldn’t have been unduly surprised.

  ‘I thought . . .’ It was Karen who spoke first. Karen who, God knew, had grown up so much in the last year! ‘Well, I thought there was something different about you, Mom.’ But Margaret could hear a tremor in her voice.

  Margaret saw Dave reach for Joanne’s hand, to offer comfort. Then all of them looked at Fred. He was holding a cup of tea and his hand began to shake, so that the remains of the tea started to slop. Joanne reached over and took it from him. Fred’s eyes never left Margaret’s face – his expression cut her to the heart, and she was glad of this.

  ‘I . . .’ he started to say, then ground to a halt. He seemed to be finding it hard to catch his breath, and tears rose in his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, Fred,’ she said. ‘I’ve not been much of a wife to you.’ Suddenly she was weeping; they all were. Dave and Geoff put their arms round their partners.

  ‘Oh, Mom!’ Joanne said. Then, not seeming to be able to find any other words, she turned to Fred and said, ‘Oh, Dad!’

  Fred pushed back his chair from the table and stood up. ‘Are you serious?’ he said in a choked voice. ‘You look serious.’

  Margaret wiped her eyes, nodding.

  ‘After all these years. I never thought . . .’ He shook his head. ‘I need to get out.’

  They heard him put on his coat, sniffing, then the front door opened and closed. They let him go, let him be alone for a while.

  When he had gone, Margaret told the others what had happened.

  It had taken time to sink in – for all of them. One of the most humbling things that had ever happened to Margaret in her life was to witness the reaction of her daughters. Karen was full of psychology. She said it was best to get things out into the open; how the Valium had allowed her to stifle her feelings all these years, when it had been obvious that she and Fred were not especially happy. Her coming off the drug, Karen said, had allowed Margaret to find herself.

  ‘And Dad’s so cut off from himself,’ she said. ‘I mean, when was the last time you two ever really talked to each other?’

  Margaret said she couldn’t remember. Before, she would have said it wasn’t about talking. She and Fred had, as Karen also said, ‘ticked the boxes’. They had had two children, brought them up right, worked hard for a living and never sponged off anyone else or had any handouts. What else could you expect from marriage? Fred had never laid a finger on her in a harmful way – that counted for a lot. But now . . . Oh, there could be so much more, so much!

  Fred, as ever, said nothing. For a fortnight he came and went, barely speaking, as if nothing had happened. Margaret began to think he would never react to what was happening. She felt guilty and sad, but his silence did not help. It just felt as if he didn’t care, when she knew he probably did.

  Joanne was so kind it brought tears to her eyes.

  ‘It’s taken me a while to get over the shock,’ she said. ‘I mean, we weren’t exactly expecting it. Especially with the things you used to say about . . . But never mind that. I really do hope you’ll be happy, Mom. I’ve never thought you were very happy. You never seemed to have much of a life, to be honest. So I hope it works out for you.’

  Both the girl
s said they would help look after their dad – keep an eye on him. They met Alan, and though it would take time to get used to each other, all had gone well. They said they liked him. After a month at home, giving everyone time to get used to the idea of her leaving, Margaret had moved into Alan’s house, further out of town.

  ‘In the long run, I think we should move,’ he said. ‘Get a new place of our own – but we’ll sit tight for now, shall we, get used to things? We could move a bit further out, nearer the country?’

  Sitting in the car beside him, she was filled with sorrow and joy and gratitude for everybody. Even Fred, in the end, had told her he hoped she’d be happy. This had made her cry for a long time.

  ‘I hope you find someone,’ she told him. ‘I’d like to know you’re happy too.’

  Fred nodded in a vague sort of way that had also wrung her heart. But she had to go.

  They parked in a quiet spot in Buckley, just along the road from Orchard House. It was a bright day, the sun trying to burn through the haze, and there was a cold wind blowing, which whipped Margaret’s scarf out behind her. They wrapped up well, and Alan took her arm.

  ‘Ready?’ he said. He put his hands on her shoulders for a moment. ‘It’ll be all right.’

  ‘I know. It just feels . . .’ She shrugged.

  Alan took her hand. No one else was about. As they walked along, seeing the house come into view, she said, ‘Ooh, this feels really queer.’ Then, further along, full of wonder: ‘It looks just the same! Well, almost.’

  They stood outside as past and present collided. It felt so strange to be standing here again.

  ‘The drive wasn’t like that – it was rougher, of course. I remember standing here waiting for Tommy: he came just once. He got down, just there. They fetched him on a cart . . . no cars – not like that, of course.’ She nodded at a smart blue car on the drive. ‘The trees have grown – oh, and there are some new ones. Course it all looks in better nick, painted up and everything. Not like in the war . . . My, oh my!’ She stared up at the windows. ‘Now, which one was my room? John and Patty were at the back – that was mine, I think, the second one along.’

  She put her hand over her mouth, musing. It still felt as if Miss Clairmont or Mrs Higgins might come bustling out of the house, with Dotty barking madly beside them. That was the last thing she’d seen – the house receding, Dotty barking – as Ted Winters dragged her away. She remembered the boots she had been wearing, the holdall as Ted Winters flung it away over the gate . . .

  She gazed at it all for some time. She had never written back to the sisters. Could things have been different – could they have kept a thread going after the war? Might she have come for visits, the place becoming a part of her life instead of a lost dream?

  Tears didn’t come as she had expected. There was nothing she could change now. She felt resigned and sorry, that was all. And very sad for the lost child she had been, for the wife she had been. I may not have been the best mother ever, she thought. But my two never had anything like that happen to them – nothing like. And they’d been so kind to her lately. She couldn’t have been all bad, could she?

  ‘Ah, now this is different . . .’ Further along there had been a rickety iron fence through which you could see into the paddocks where they had played for so many hours. Now there had grown up a beech hedge, well tended and blocking the view.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ Alan said.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m glad – to see something definitely different.’

  ‘D’you want to knock on the door?’ he suggested. ‘I’m sure they wouldn’t mind, if you said why you’re here. They might find it interesting, show you round.’

  Margaret hesitated. ‘Did you – when you went to Abergavenny?’

  ‘I did. The old couple had passed away by then, but I did see the son. He just about remembered me.’

  Something about the way he said it seemed melancholy to Margaret. She squeezed his arm. Already she felt lighter in herself, with a sense of relief.

  ‘No, I’ll leave it. It’s nice to come back, but I’ll keep my other memories as they were. It all feels ever so long ago now.’

  She walked up to the tree at the front and picked a sprig from its boughs. Its buds were just appearing.

  ‘A little souvenir,’ she smiled, looking into Alan’s eyes. ‘You know, what matters is now. You – and me.’ She reached up and kissed him, and he held her for a moment. ‘Alan?’ She looked up into his face. ‘Will you do me a favour? Would you call me Maggie?’

  She saw a moved expression in his eyes and for a moment he placed his hand, warm on the back of her head.

  ‘Maggie? Yes, love – it suits you. My Maggie.’

  Closing his eyes, he leaned to her and kissed her forehead.

  Passing back through other villages, looking for a pub for lunch, suddenly everything was familiar.

  ‘Hold on, this is the other place where I was! No, don’t turn through the village – just go straight on down there a minute. I think it was down here; we used to walk up to the rectory to have lessons.’

  For a second she felt herself tighten inside with fear and loathing at the vile memories that returned as they neared Nora Paige’s cottage. But change aplenty had come here.

  ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s gone – completely! Well, I suppose I’m not surprised; it was quite ramshackle then.’

  A well-established modern house stood on the site, enclosed by trees and hedges. You could just see into the drive, between the winter branches. A child’s red bicycle was propped against the front of the house.

  ‘Well, I’m glad that’s gone,’ she said. ‘It’s all right, you can turn round now.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Alan said.

  Laughing, she touched his hand. ‘Sorry – ordering you about. Shall we go and find some dinner now? I could eat a horse.’

  ‘Are you glad you came then?’ Alan asked.

  They were at a cosy table in a pub, side by side with their drinks, waiting for the hot pies they had ordered. Everything felt exciting, just sitting in a pub, eating lunch. Margaret kept reminding herself that she was fifty years old, not fifteen, but it didn’t seem to make any difference to the way she felt.

  ‘Oh yes, I am. It was good to see the old place. That’s the funny thing – nothing’s changed much, but it did look a bit smaller than I remembered.’

  ‘Yes, I remember the Abergavenny house seemed a cramped little place when I went later on. Always clean as a pin though, of course.’

  Margaret sipped her drink. ‘I just held onto the memory of it because everything was so bleak and horrible when I got back.’ She put her glass down and turned to Alan. ‘I don’t need to now. Everything’s wonderful.’

  ‘Thanks, Maggie May,’ he said happily. ‘It certainly is.’

  She beamed back at him, but then her face sobered. ‘It’s all right for me. I just hope, in the end, that Fred’s better off without me.’

  Alan shook his head. He looked sad for a moment. ‘God, I hope you don’t regret—’

  ‘No!’ She stopped him, reaching out her hand. ‘I regret hurting him. But I couldn’t have stayed. Not now I’ve met you.’

  ‘It’s funny . . .’ Alan sat back, releasing her hand. ‘I know I’ll go on running my business – some things will just stay the same. But now I’m with you, all sorts of things feel possible. As if everything’s new.’

  ‘Yes!’ She felt the same, bubbling over with it. ‘I feel as if I’ve spent the past twenty years asleep. I want to make up for it!’

  He looked at her, interested. ‘How?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know!’ She laughed, feeling foolish. ‘I don’t know if I really want to do very many things; it’s just so lovely feeling properly awake while I’m doing them. But maybe we could go on holiday! Or I could take a course, like Karen’s doing – and spend more time with Amy. Joanne and Dave could do with the support.’

  ‘Yes,’ Alan said. ‘They seem all right, though. Sh
e’s a brave young woman, that daughter of yours.’

  ‘I s’pose she is, yes – though I didn’t see it that way at the time. That opened my eyes all right.’

  ‘My ex, Pat – sorry to mention her – but Dawn, my daughter, says Pat goes along with the little’un to the kiddies’ playgroup, or whatever they call it, to help out. Doesn’t Amy go to one of them? You could go with her?’

  ‘What – over there? It’s in Handsworth!’

  Alan looked blankly at her. ‘It’s only just the other side of town; it’s not the end of the Earth, you know.’

  ‘No, but it feels like it! I mean, it’s a bit foreign over there.’

  ‘Foreign? Oh, you mean there are blacks! Well, yes. It’s a bit different, but it’s just kids, for heaven’s sake! Your own granddaughter. Come on, Margaret, people are people – it all depends how you treat them.’

  ‘I suppose.’ She felt ashamed, and that he’d shown her up as mean-spirited. ‘Maybe I will then. If it’d help Jo and Dave.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ he said, sitting up as their meal swept into view. ‘And that’s just the beginning. I expect there are all sorts of things you could do.’

  Once the steaming pies were in front of them and the waitress gone, he looked at her again, his eyes full of love.

  ‘Give us a kiss, Maggie.’

  She turned to him, smiling, and reached up, as they kissed, to stroke his cheek.

  Sixty-Eight

  Joanne and Dave were both amazed when Margaret said she wanted to come to the toddler group. That first time, Dave said he’d drive over and collect her.

  ‘I won’t be able to, once I’m back at work properly,’ he said. ‘So I might as well. You walk round and we’ll meet you there.’

  He was talking more about getting back to work fulltime now. So far it was three days a week, easing back into the swing of things. But he was staying at home on Tuesdays and coming along to the group with her.

  At first Joanne had bitten back the comment ‘But Tuesday is the one day I don’t need anyone at home – I’ve got somewhere to go!’