‘Hi.’ She stops on the threshold, glances at me, then looks at Sarah and Phil, seeking reassurance. Sarah beckons her in. ‘Come and sit down. It’s going be all right. We’re just going to have a talk, like we discussed, about the future. Isn’t that right, Anne?’
Rosie does not come to me, there’s no welcoming hug or kiss. She slides into the seat next to Lauren. Phil pulls up a chair at one end of the table and Sarah sits down at the other. We’re ready.
PHIL
I’m glad we’re finally getting down to it. Rosie wants to be with us. It’s her decision. Not ours. Not Anne’s. I can’t see what Sarah is so anxious about. It’s going to be okay, once we get past this bit.
ROSIE
Mum looks awful, really poorly. I feel bad. I shouldn’t have spoken to her like that on the phone. I shouldn’t have ignored her messages. She looks so out of place. Suddenly it doesn’t feel so simple.
ANNE
Sarah starts talking, staring at a point just past my head. Her restrained politeness contains no warmth. ‘Thank you for agreeing to let Rosie stay with us these past few days, it’s given us time to get to know each other properly. I think we all feel much closer.’ Rosie looks at Sarah as she says this and I can see that it’s true. She belongs to them now. Another strut collapses within me. ‘It’s also brought home to us the importance of getting things in place, going forward.’ Going forward. I can’t imagine it. ‘Our conversation on Thursday made things much clearer to me.’ A look passes between Sarah and Ali that Phil picks up, but can’t decipher. I can, all too clearly. Sarah’s face searches mine, checking that I’ve grasped her meaning. She continues, her voice growing stronger by the second. ‘It helped me realise something important. What we might want – me, Phil, you – is not the issue. We are the parents. Rosie is the child. We must do what’s best for her, not us.’ She hesitates, perhaps waiting to see if I’ll object. I don’t, how can I? Rosie is not mine. I have no rights. ‘Anne, do you agree?’ Sarah is demanding my consent.
I nod. I feel light-headed. Braced, but still not ready. The kitchen feels too small. The chair presses me into the hard edge of the table. There’s so little space. I can feel panic rising inside me. ‘Sorry. Might I have a glass of water?’ Phil fetches one. I take a tiny sip. There’s silence while I drink.
‘Mum?’ Rosie’s voice is soft, concerned. She is so beautiful. A flicker of hope stirs inside me, but it dies when I look at Sarah. There can be no future until I’ve dealt with the past. Sarah will not allow it. I place the glass carefully down on the table and stretch my hand out towards Rosie. I want to touch her one last time before she despises me for ever. My hand looks exposed under the harsh light, blue-veined, old, but she reaches out across the table and takes it. Her slender fingers are warm. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Mum? Is it another migraine? Are your tablets in your bag?’ We did have a life together. I love her and she loved me, however, imperfectly. But I’m about to lose her.
‘I’m okay.’ My voice sounds distant. The pause can’t last for ever, as much as I might want it to. I straighten up. ‘You’re right. We must do what’s best for Rosie.’ Rosie squeezes my fingers and I falter. ‘But first there’s something I need to say.’
SARAH
Anne looks shocking, dishevelled, ill. Poor Rosie, I can see her struggling to take in how much her mum has changed. Is this what the loss of her child for a week has done to Anne? What will happen when it’s for a lifetime? The reserve and control are gone, leaving in their place a defeated passivity. She just sits there, accepting the blows. There’s no fight in her any more. It’s heartless to go on, but I have to. Rosie and Phil are expecting me to sort this out, and Ali is on the edge of her chair, waiting. I feel the truth pressing down on me, demanding to come out.
Then Anne reaches across the table for Rosie.
She’s hanging on by her fingertips to the last thing she has – her daughter, a daughter who is no longer hers and never was. She draws a deep breath and says, ‘We must do what’s best for Rosie. But first there’s something I need to say.’
I push my chair back so hard that it smacks into the wall, making everyone jump.
‘No!’ I look around the table at the people I love most in the world, and at Anne, who has both destroyed and created us. They all stare back at me, waiting.
I shake my head. Anne looks at me, uncomprehending.
This is my life.
This is my family.
Rosie and Lauren are my daughters.
I bear the responsibility for what happens next, and for the rest of our lives.
I know what I have to do.
The truth cannot help, it will only cause more harm and pain, and there’s been too much of that already. Rosie needs protecting, we need protecting, even Anne needs protecting. Her confession must stay a secret, a burden borne by two mothers. That is the only way that we can love our daughter, unconditionally.
We will both have to pay the price.
Anne’s penance is that she must bear her guilt alone; mine that I must keep the truth from Phil. But it will be worth it.
They are still waiting.
I take a breath, trying desperately to find the words that will haul us back from the brink. It’s Lauren who saves me. She suddenly decides that she’s had enough of the silence and the long faces. She picks up her plate, flings it across the kitchen and laughs as it clatters to the floor. Then she reaches out to the person nearest her, Rosie.
I AM SAFE.
I AM LOVED.
I AM LAUREN.
The Second Child Page 29
