Maggie gasped as if he had slapped her.
“Get out,” she hissed. “Get off my land and get away from my family.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry things had to end this way. I really like you and I hoped maybe we could have had something. I hope you heed my words Maggie. Leave the past where it belongs and let it go. If you decide you want to live for the present and embrace life again, call me.”
Then he was gone. She waited till she heard his truck start and crunch off down the driveway before she sank down onto the grass and dropped her head into her hands. She started to cry.
In the downstairs bathroom, Ray and Dot had been jostling for viewing space out the small slated window, taking turns to kneel on the closed toilet seat.
“Oh my baby,” Dot said sadly. “I’d better go out to her.”
“No,” Ray put a hand on her arm. “He’s right. Everything he said was right and she needed to hear it. Give her some time to absorb what she’s heard. Maybe he’ll finally get through to her where we’ve failed.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Only time will tell.”
Outside, Maggie finished crying; using her long skirt to wipe the salty tears off her cheeks and chin where they had pooled and were hanging perilously.
“He has no idea what he’s talking about,” she sniffed to herself. She looked up at the house; if she knew her parents well enough, which she considered she did, they had been watching and eavesdropping on the whole exchange. She wondered why her mother hadn’t come out to defend her, or commiserate with her because of all the horrible, untrue things Jack had said.
Because they were untrue.
Weren’t they?
She lay down on the grass, squeezing her eyes shut against the bright glare of the sun. The grass tickled at the back of her legs and bare feet.
She didn’t really act like a victim did she? She had worked so hard to provide for herself and Willow since Jon left, refusing to be reliant on anyone else. Were those the actions of a victim? No, they weren’t.
Then the thought occurred to her; maybe he’d meant emotionally.
Was she an emotional victim? To her growing horror, she found she couldn’t deny it. Oh my god, she thought. No. He can’t be right.
But maybe, just maybe, he was.
She thought about all the passion she’d invested into hating Jon for what he’d done, for all those years. Energy wasted on a man who had never bothered to get back in touch, not even for his daughters sake. She thought of all the times she’d turned down dates, using her daughter as an excuse. And not just with men. Other gatherings, special occasions, all politely turned down by her because she didn’t want to go and be the subject of anyone’s pity, the woman whose husband couldn’t stand her so much that he’d never contacted his own child again.
She’d blamed herself all this time.
But it wasn’t her fault. It was his fault. He was the one with the problem. He was the one who left. He was the one who was a bad parent; not her. Yet here she was, with all these hang ups, refusing to let anyone close again in case she discovered they too thought she wasn’t worth sticking around for. Jon had left her feeling unlovable. He’d left her aching with pain and guilt and the belief that it was her fault Willow had no father in her life; that she had driven him away.
She had to stop blaming herself for that.
It was his decision to leave. It was his decision to never come back and to never contact them again.
But it hurt. It hurt so, so much that they hadn’t been enough for him. She was strong enough to take it, but was Willow?
She hadn’t even realised that she’d been crying again, until a tear found its way into her ear and tickled as it slipped into her ear canal, causing her to give a little shudder. She sat up and dabbed her ear with her dress. It was peaceful out in the back garden. The grass could do with a mow, but it wasn’t so long it was unsightly. Instead it waved in a barely perceptible breeze, and felt like a soft cool rug. Birds were singing, the sun was warm on her skin. Her mother had been right; summer and its bountiful days were just around the corner. She saw white butterflies hovering over the cabbages in the garden, so she got to her feet and picked up the old badminton racket leaning against a fence post. She waved it around to chase them away just as she had as a child. She closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sun and she smiled.
Life is good, she told herself.
Life is really, really, good.
And in that instant she made the decision to let go of her lingering hurt from the past. She might have thought she was doing the best she could for herself and Willow, but as long as she continued to harbour resentment and bitterness she would never truly be at peace. And oh, she longed for peace. She would focus on the here and now and enjoy each day as it came. But most importantly, she would forgive Jon. It was time to banish him from occupying so many of her thoughts.
And it was time to come clean to Willow. But first she had to find her.
Chapter fourteen
It wasn’t too hard in the end. She called in at Nick’s house but he informed her that even though he’d been expecting Willow to come round she hadn’t shown up. Maggie knew he wasn’t lying because his lip stayed unbitten and his ears a normal, healthy shade of pink.
“What did you do to upset her?” he shrewdly asked Maggie.
“Nick,” his mother snapped, mortified. “Sorry Maggie,” she apologised.
“It’s ok,” Maggie smiled. “If she shows up will you please give me a call?”
“Of course,” said Nick’s mum.
However Nick shook his head. “Depends whether she wants to talk to you or not.”
“Nick!” His mother snapped again. She gave him a little shove. “Sorry Maggie,” she apologised again.
“No its fine, really,” Maggie assured her. “I admire his loyalty to my daughter.”
She paused at the end of their driveway as she considered where she should look for her daughter next. Then the answer came to her and she smiled and turned left.
She could hear the babbling of the creek long before she saw it, and the sound bought back memories of her own childhood days spent fishing or swimming in this same spot. Leaving her shoes by the car she hitched her dress into her knickers and made her way carefully down the bank. Her daughter was laying on her stomach, leaning out over the side of the creek, her fingers trailing in the water. Maggie could hear her sniffing as she approached and her heart broke that she had made her precious daughter cry.
“I’m sorry baby,” she said softly as she sat down beside her. “Forgive me?”
In reply Willow burrowed her head into her mother’s lap, weaving her arms around her waist. She carried on sniffing but didn’t speak.
“I’m so sorry I snapped at you like that. You didn’t do anything wrong, I was just in a grumpy mood and I took it out on you.”
“Were you mad at Jack?” Willow finally spoke, her voice muffled. She kept her face down.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you always seem to be mad at him.”
Maggie was surprised that Willow had been so perceptive, although in hindsight she hadn’t done such a great job of hiding her feelings.
“A little bit,” she admitted. “But mostly I was mad at myself.”
“Why?”
Maggie sighed. This was the part she had been dreading.
She swept her daughters hair gently away from her face. “Look at me baby,” she said. Willow sat up and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying.
Maggie took a deep breath. “Your father didn’t leave us to live in the forest.”
“He didn’t?”
“No.”
“So where does he live?”
“Honestly? I have no idea.”
“Oh.” Willow tilted her head while she digested this information.
“There’s something else.” Maggie closed her eyes, too
k a deep breath then opened them again. She didn’t want to see the heartbreak on her daughters face, but as her mother she owed it to her to be honest. Finally.
“I haven’t heard anything from your father since the day he left. The meat we get every weekend, it doesn’t come from him.” She scanned her daughters face anxiously, but was puzzled to see the news didn’t seem to have affected her.
“Willow?”
Willow nodded. “I know.”
“You know what?”
“That the meat doesn’t come from dad.”
“How do you -?”
“I stayed up late one night, years ago, and hid behind the long curtains in the lounge. I wanted to see what he looked like because I couldn’t remember him. He never came, but I saw you go out to the freezer in the garage and get a chicken which you put in the chilly bin on the porch. I thought maybe you were just helping him out but then I sat up the next Saturday and the same thing happened, and the Saturday after that. I realised it was you all along. It’s the same way I found out you and Gran are Santa Claus.”
Maggie was astonished. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
Willow shrugged. “I figured you had your reasons.”
“So all this time I thought I was protecting you, and you already knew?”
“Yep. Protect me from what?”
Maggie drew her daughter in close again, enjoying the smell and the feel of her hair. She kissed her on the top of her head, remembering how she had kissed the same exact spot when her daughter was just a minute old. She felt something inside her scrunch up with the memory of the love that had flooded her body in that instant and which had only grown stronger with time.
“I didn’t want you to think that your father left because of you. He loved you. He loved you so much, he really did. It was something between me and him that just broke and no matter how hard we tried we couldn’t fix it. That’s why he left.”
“But if he loves me why doesn’t he call? Or visit?”
Maggie was so tempted to lie; to make something up that would cushion any hurt. But she had promised herself she would only tell her daughter the truth from now on.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I really don’t. But whatever reason he has, it’s his loss. He’s the one who is missing out on seeing what a wonderful, clever, beautiful young woman you’re blossoming into.”
“Oh god, don’t be so embarrassing, mum,” Willow ducked her head and blushed, but she smiled as she did so.
“I mean it. Every day I look at you and I feel blown away with how mature you’re becoming. You’re a really amazing girl, you know that?”
“Thanks mum. But seriously, you can shut up now.”
Maggie laughed and squeezed her daughter tight.
“So what happens if he comes back one day and wants to see us?” Willow’s face turned serious again.
“It’s possible of course, and if he does we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I would never stop you from seeing him, if it’s what you wanted.”
“I don’t know what I’d want.” Willow looked down into the water again. “It’s really hard to miss someone when you don’t remember them.”
“I know.”
“Mum?”
“Mm?”
“I never -,” Willow struggled to find the words to express what she wanted to say. “I mean, I always felt loved, you know? I never felt I was missing out on anything, not having a dad here. You’re the best mum in the world. And gran and granddad are pretty cool, most of the time.”
Maggie laughed.
“I’m just trying to say that I love you, and I appreciate everything you do for me.”
“Oh I love you too my sweet little girl,” Maggie gave an emotional sob and squeezed her daughter in for another hug.
“Ouch mum, you’re going to crack a rib if you squeeze any harder.”
“Sorry.”
“Mum?”
“Yes?”
“You need to stop treating me like a little kid. I’m going to be eleven next year remember? You don’t have to keep hiding things from me just because you think I need protecting.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Maggie nodded.
“So you’ll treat me more like an adult?”
“Well, how about more like a teenager. I don’t want you to grow up too quickly.”
“Ok deal.”
Maggie released her and got to her feet, holding out a hand. “Come on you, we’d better get home. I want to check that homework you say you’ve done.”
Willow pulled a face. “About that –”
“Hmm, that’s what I thought.”
Willow put her hand in her mothers, and as Maggie pulled her up she dipped her hand into the cold creek and flicked water at her mother’s face.
“Ooh you little toad,” Maggie gasped as the cold droplets touched her sun warmed skin.
Willow laughed and darted out of reach, heading up the bank towards the car.
“Serves you right for lying to me for so long,” she called back over her shoulder.
“It wasn’t a lie so much as simply an extension of the truth,” Maggie followed her.
“That’s just a fancy way of saying it was bullshit.”
“Don’t swear, but yes, that’s correct.”
On the drive home they were quiet, each caught in their own thoughts. Maggie was reflecting on how different everything suddenly seemed. The world, in general, had brightened by at least three shades. She certainly felt as if a burden had been banished from her body. She felt carefree and excited about this new relationship with her daughter, one where there were no more secrets between them.
“Mum, is there something going on between you and Jack?”
Well maybe just one secret.
“No. Why?”
“I think he likes you.”
Maggie took her eyes off the road for a second and looked at her daughter. “Why do you think that?”
“Eyes on the road mum, that’s what you always tell granddad.”
“Sorry.” It seemed her daughter had been paying attention to her all these years after all.
“Just the way he looks at you.”
“And how does he look at me?”
“Like you’re an ice block on a hot day and he’s really thirsty.”
Maggie swallowed a laugh. Willow had hit the nail on the head with her description. “I think you might be right.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“Duh, so do you like him too?”
“I don’t know,” Maggie crinkled her nose up. “Sometimes maybe. But then other times I feel like he’s the most annoying person on the planet.” It felt weird, but nice, to be talking about something like this with her daughter. A prelude to the future of their relationship. She felt a twinge of nostalgia for the little girl she was losing.
“Josie Smith says that’s what true love is.”
“What?”
“When you hate someone so much but at the same time you can’t imagine living without them.”
“Hell. Josie Smith sounds freakishly mature.”
“She reads her mother’s books.”
“What sort of books?”
“You know, books about to how keep a man, stuff like that.”
“I think someone should tell Josie’s mother to put those books higher out of reach.”
“Don’t you dare. Promise me.”
“Ok, I promise.”
“If you like Jack then you should see him.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“No. I think it will be nice for you to have someone else to focus your attention on apart from me.”
“Is that a polite way of saying I smother you?”
“Yep. But I don’t mind really. It’s nice that you love me so much.”
They pulled into their driveway and Maggie turned the engine off. Neither of them made a move to get out straight away. Maggie turned sideways in her seat and noticed for the
first time how lanky her daughter was getting. Her long, tanned limbs were bony like they’d been stretched overnight. The hem on Willow’s skirt had shot up about three inches too. New clothes were needed, Maggie realised. Lucky school was nearly finished and summer was almost here; Willow practically lived in her bathing suit through the warm months.
“So, we’re good?” Maggie asked.
Willow smiled broadly, “we’re good.”
“Right, you go and get your books out while I grab the washing off the line. I’ll be inside in a minute.”
But when she walked into the house five minutes later, dumping the clothes on the couch to be folded up later, Willow was not sitting at the table with her books spread out in front of her. Instead, she was hopping up and down from foot to foot, her face an explosion of excitement. Dot was standing beside her, the two of them smiling hopefully at Maggie.
“What?” Maggie asked suspiciously.
“You’ve forgotten haven’t you?” Dot said.
“I told you she had,” sighed Willow. “But technically I’d forgotten as well.”
“I’m not sure,” Maggie answered slowly. “Why don’t you remind me exactly what it is I’m supposed to have forgotten?”
“Carols by Candlelight. Tonight, at the Town Square. You promised Willow you would take her this year.”
“Oh, right.” Maggie vaguely remembered making such a promise, back in July when Christmas seemed a lifetime away. Blasted thing had a habit of sneaking up on you. “You don’t really want to go do you baby?” she asked hopefully.
“Yeah mum, I do.”
“But it’s a Sunday night,” Maggie pointed out. “What kind of idiot organises these things on a school night?”
“But mum,” willow wailed, “it’s the last week so it’s not like I’ll be learning anything anyway. All we do in the last week is clean the classroom and run around the field a million times while the teachers get drunk and swap presents in the staffroom.”
A Roast on Sunday Page 12
