‘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 her . . . and things about you.’
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.’
Dora nods. ‘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 shift 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 unselfconscious, 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 apologise 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.’
It is Dora’s turn to look away now.
‘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, Dora. 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 realise what 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 make everything right 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 OK, Mum. We’ve each made our mistakes. I’m sure you had your reasons for the choices you made. 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. It’s water under the bridge to me. I’m OK 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,’ she 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 further 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 realises she feels no different to the young woman she was 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 and 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.
<
br /> ‘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 the coat lying across her lap. She feels Dora’s hand in her own and squeezes it tight, both of them too choked to speak, until Dora finally finds her voice.
‘Let’s take it slow. Small steps, OK?’
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 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 a while longer on the bench, quietly watching the progress of others as they navigate their way up the steep hill towards 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 onwards up the hill, putting one foot in front of the other, climbing ever closer towards the top.
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 a.m., pulling up flashing and gutters and dropping large pieces of felt and asphalt down the chute into the skip below.
‘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 cheery bunch; they’ve been working the kettle overtime since they arrived on the job yesterday, but they’re hard-working and polite and Dora doesn’t mind their easy banter. It feels good to be finally doing something about the leaking roof, especially now the fleeting warmth of summer has faded and they’re back to the familiar grey 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 crisp packets 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, Dan! 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 looks like a giant space prawn. 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 prawn indeed, she muses, watching from the grimy bus window as the shops and cafés of the Essex Road trundle past. 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 nearly two stone heavier already.
The truth is that both she and Dan know the visit to see her sister has offered some form of release. She still feels Alfie’s absence, she still misses him and wishes things were different, but she doesn’t agonise over the details of his absence 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 OK that Alfie was taken from them, but Dora feels as though she is moving forwards, on the right track at last.
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’s 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 Oyster cards on the electronic reader by the driver with loud jeers and shouts; boys playing truant 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 towards parks. She can hear the buzz of bike couriers weaving through the traffic 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 nightshift, 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 different light, imbued with a different pace. She supposes it’s a side she might see a little more of, when the baby comes.
Everyone at the agency has been great. She’d been worried about telling Dominic about her pregnancy but he’d simply given her a big bear hug and told her to discuss her maternity-leave terms with HR. The job would still be waiting for her when she returned. If he was annoyed to be losing a newly promoted Account Manager for a few months he’d hidden his frustration well. Gradually, as the news had spread, the girls in the office had crowded around her desk, everyone wanting to know how she was feeling, when the baby was due, if she had picked out any names yet or knew what sex it would be. It had suddenly made it all dauntingly real to be talking so openly about the pregnancy. Thank God for straight-talking Leela, who had just looked her up and down and said, ‘Damn, I was going to ask where you’d got that amazing new bra from. Your tits look fantastic!’
The hospital isn’t far from the bus stop and she arrives early, making her way through the maze of corridors and wards until she finds the ultrasound clinic. Dora gives the receptionist her name and then settles into the waiting room with a tatty magazine. It looks as though she might be there a while; several women are already seated. She hopes it won’t be too long; she’d been told to arrive with a full bladder and she is already bursting for the loo.
With the magazine spread across her lap she pretends to read an article about how to get the perfect bikini body while actually sneaking surreptitious glances at the other women waiting in the clinic. They are mostly of a certain age, twenties and thirties she assumes, although one woman looks older; she carries a serious-looking briefcase and sits tapping urgently into her BlackBerry. There are partners
there too, men shuffling around, some awkward and embarrassed, speaking quietly in hushed tones, others loud and proud, their hands placed with ownership on their wives’ swelling bellies. She sees a harried-looking man race past after a manic, giggling toddler while his partner looks on with indulgent smiles, and in the furthest corner a woman pale and miserable, breathing deeply through her mouth as she clutches desperately at an emergency paper bag. Dora recognises the symptoms of morning sickness and throws her a shy, sympathetic smile.
She tries not to stare at them all but she can’t help it; it is their bumps she is most fascinated by. She tries to compare her own growing stomach with those around her, sizing herself up next to them, but it’s too hard. They are all different sizes and shapes – some non-existent, some tiny, and some downright enormous. It seems extraordinary suddenly, to be sitting there, surrounded by so much hope and expectation, so much burgeoning new life.
A woman in a sari is ushered out of one of the examination rooms, her partner following behind looking proud and triumphant. While he settles up with the receptionist Dora watches the woman stare at a small black and white photo in her hand. She can’t seem to take her eyes off it. Dora thinks of Dan’s ‘space prawn’ and smiles. The couple thank the receptionist and leave the clinic, and as they exit through the swinging door two more women enter the room. They sport matching hairstyles – artfully razored bobs – and are holding hands; one of them is obviously pregnant. Seeing them, Dora is reminded of Cassie.
She has thought about her sister a lot over the last few weeks. It’s been hard not to. It makes no difference to her that her sister is gay. It makes no difference to her who her sister loves. She’s glad she has told her; she’s glad that Cassie can be open about her sexuality. Keeping an important part of herself hidden away like that . . . well, it can’t have been easy . . . and for all Cassie’s tough talk and bravado, Dora knows that her sister would have been scared to tell them, never really knowing how they would all react. But she’s glad she knows and she’s glad that Cassie might have someone in her life that makes her happy.
Secrets of the Tides Page 36
