Beneath the Surface

by Heidi Perks

  Eleanor’s shoulders were scrunched forward, and her face screwed so tightly it made her look as if she were deep in contemplation. Oh, to be inside her head, Kathryn thought, and to know how her brain was functioning. She could be anywhere right now, miles away from the storm she had just stirred up for Kathryn back home.

  Think. What was it she had set out for that morning? Peter. She needed her mother’s help so she could stop the girls finding Peter. She needed to know what she knew about him, how much Eleanor really had to do with their marriage, because she had a feeling she didn’t know the half of it.

  Why did Peter suddenly leave me, Mother? That was what she would ask.

  Why were you so intent on bringing him into my life but were happy for him to duck out when things got really tough?

  And why did you just say Abigail’s name?

  ‘Peter,’ she blurted before she could stop herself. However much Kathryn wished she could shut her eyes and blank out everything around her, she knew the journey would come to an end soon. This had to be done.

  Eleanor lifted her head slightly, her gaze now focused on the road rather than her lap.

  ‘Do you remember Peter?’ Kathryn asked tentatively.

  ‘Of course I remember Peter,’ Eleanor answered sharply. Yes, perhaps she was remembering a lot more today, which was good. Maybe this was all going to be OK.

  ‘The girls want to see him again, Mother. And I don’t want them to. When we moved to the Bay, you told me he was out of our lives. Do you remember?’

  Eleanor didn’t answer, and so Kathryn carried on. ‘I really don’t know why you introduced him to me in the first place. You must have known he wasn’t my type.’

  Eleanor made a small noise, resembling a grunt.

  ‘What was that, Mother?’

  Eleanor said nothing, but turned away from Kathryn to look out of the window to her left.

  ‘He wasn’t exactly Robert,’ she tested, taking a deep breath to quell the swirly feeling starting up in her stomach. Kathryn hadn’t wanted another husband, especially not Peter. Yet she had gone along with it, swept up in her mother’s desire to find what she described as a suitable husband for her daughter.

  ‘Peter had good prospects,’ Eleanor murmured, almost making Kathryn jump. ‘Big plans.’ She nodded. ‘Your father was getting older. He didn’t have a son to pass it on to.’ She almost spat out the word ‘son’.

  ‘But you knew I didn’t love him.’

  Eleanor shrugged, a gesture Kathryn chose to ignore.

  ‘He wanted to leave me, just before I got pregnant,’ she went on. It was something she had always wondered about. Not the leaving but rather what in the end made him stay. Peter had come home from work to find Kathryn making the bed. Without taking off his suit jacket, he had walked into the bedroom and told her, ‘I can’t do this anymore, Kathryn. I’ve had enough and I don’t want to be with you any longer.’

  Kathryn had stared at him as he pulled a suitcase off the top of the wardrobe, throwing it open on the bed she was trying to make.

  ‘I don’t care what happens, I’m not happy,’ he went on.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she’d asked, looking from him to the suitcase and then back at his face.

  ‘I’ve, erm … I’ll get a hotel room.’

  ‘Is there someone else?’

  He’d shaken his head, mildly. But she didn’t believe him. She knew he probably had another woman, yet she really didn’t care. Instead she watched Peter open the wardrobe doors and pull starched white shirts off their hangers, throwing them into the case, avoiding her stare. And as she watched, she considered that his leaving might not be a bad idea after all.

  When the doorbell rang, he stopped abruptly.

  ‘Who’s that?’ he’d snapped.

  ‘Probably my parents. They’re coming for dinner tonight. Daddy was meeting some other MPs at the club in London today. Had you forgotten?’

  At this his face had turned ashen. ‘Shit!’ he cursed, slamming the wardrobe door shut and sinking onto the bed next to the case, burying his face in his hands.

  ‘I’ll let them in,’ Kathryn had said and left him in the room.

  Three hours later, her parents came into the kitchen to say they were going. She had left them talking to Peter in the dining room so she could wash up (Abigail had long since retreated to her bedroom). As soon as they’d left, Peter followed her up to the bedroom and gave her a brusque apology.

  ‘I didn’t mean what I said earlier,’ he muttered as he threw the shirts out of the case and into the bottom of the wardrobe, pushing the door closed with his foot. ‘I won’t be leaving.’

  Kathryn looked at her mother. ‘I’m sure you reminded him what he could lose if he left me. I’m not stupid, Mother. I knew he was in it for his career, to take over Daddy’s business.’ Still Eleanor didn’t speak but Kathryn had a feeling she was taking it all in.

  ‘But what I don’t get is why he suddenly went. When I came to the Bay and everything came to a head, he walked away without hesitation.’ Kathryn paused. ‘It doesn’t make sense. What changed? And then of all times.’

  Eleanor turned to look at her daughter.

  ‘The girls want to see him again,’ Kathryn pleaded. ‘And I don’t know who or what I’m dealing with. I just want to know the truth.’ Kathryn held her breath and waited. ‘Mother?’

  ‘I have no idea who you are talking about,’ she said finally.

  Kathryn gripped the steering wheel tightly. The anger coursed through her body. Yes, you do, she wanted to scream. You know exactly what I’m saying. Why did her mother shut her out when she needed her more than ever? Because it suits her, the answer fired back, because it’s always about her. Kathryn wanted to reach out and grab Eleanor and shake her; to make her see that yet again she was turning her back on her only daughter. Why are you doing this to me, Mother?

  But she said none of it to Eleanor. Instead she took long slow breaths, rolled her shoulders in an attempt to release the tension and, as always, let her words build up inside, stacking one on top of the other ready for the day she would erupt like a volcano and it would all pour out of her. Then everyone would know that she was astutely aware of everything that was going on around her, but she had just chosen not to react. She wasn’t naïve; she just never had the guts to face it.

  *****

  They pulled into the Elms Home car park and Kathryn switched off the engine, turning to face Eleanor, who was already unclicking her seat belt. It didn’t seem to matter how many times her mother rejected her, Kathryn realised, she still felt an overwhelming, almost pathetic need for her to want her, to love her or even just to accept her. The anger came and went but always she was left with the same thing: a desperate longing for her mother.

  Kathryn placed one hand over Eleanor’s, half to stop her mother from getting out of the car, half to steady her own nerves. The touch of Eleanor’s skin beneath her fingers surprised her and she couldn’t help but look down at it. Often she held her mother’s arm, mostly to direct her to where they were going, but when was the last time she had properly touched her, felt her flesh? The skin was papery, a sheer film covering the bones underneath. Shocked, Kathryn moved her hand away, scared the skin might rub away if she pressed too hard. It wasn’t that it felt different to how she remembered, it was more that she barely remembered holding her mother’s hand.

  ‘Aren’t we going in?’ Eleanor asked.

  Even as a child, her mother never showed her love. Kathryn couldn’t recall a single time when Eleanor had held her on her lap, wrapped her arms around her or cuddled her when she was upset. She wanted to reach out and touch her again, hold her mother’s hands in her own and feel them against her skin. Kathryn focused on a liver spot between Eleanor’s thumb and forefinger. How long had that been there, she wondered, raising her own finger to touch it. This simple need to feel her mother was still as overpowering as it always had been. Kathryn had always done everything her mother told her to, in th
e hope that one day Eleanor would reward her with a warm smile or embrace her and tell her she was loved. Yet her fingers hovered, because Kathryn knew what her mother’s reaction would be. And when Eleanor snatched away her hand, she would only be left feeling more rejected than she felt in that moment. Placing her hand back in her own lap, Kathryn avoided the risk.

  ‘I said, are we going in?’ Eleanor barked, breaking her thoughts.

  Kathryn looked up. ‘Why are you like this, Mother?’ she said, surprised at her sudden courage, ‘when everything I do is to make you happy. Like today, I did it for you. Did you have a nice day today?’

  But Eleanor looked at her blankly with tired eyes. Her shoulders had slumped even further forward, as if her body had given up.

  ‘Did you enjoy seeing the girls?’ she went on.

  ‘I really want to go in now,’ Eleanor sighed.

  ‘I don’t know what else to do, Mother,’ Kathryn whispered, letting the dampness of fresh tears slide down her cheeks. ‘I must have got it all so wrong as a child, but I don’t know why.’

  *****

  Patricia was waiting at the entrance as she and her mother slowly walked towards the building. Eleanor picked up speed once she saw the open door.

  ‘I don’t think this was a wise idea …’ Patricia stood aside to let the two women through. ‘Have you had a nice day, dear?’ she said to Eleanor.

  Eleanor grunted and Patricia called a young girl over to take her through to the dining room for tea. The girl didn’t look old enough to be out of school. Kathryn hadn’t seen her before and hesitated in letting go of her mother. The girl wore a badge: ‘Janie, Student’.

  ‘Bye, Mother,’ Kathryn said, kissing Eleanor on the cheek. ‘I’ll see you again soon. I enjoyed our day.’

  Once they had gone Patricia turned back to Kathryn. ‘You shouldn’t have done this, it’s too unsettling for her.’

  ‘I just wanted my mother to come back to my home, a place she used to love,’ Kathryn snapped. ‘I can do that, can’t I?’

  ‘If she wants, then yes, but that’s the point: it wasn’t what she wanted.’

  Kathryn could feel the irritation bubbling beneath her skin. Unaware, she started scratching at her arm. How dare Patricia scold her, tell her what she should or shouldn’t do with her own mother. It wasn’t her place. She wanted to tell Patricia she should watch what she said to her, they were paying her salary after all.

  ‘Kathryn? Are you OK?’

  Of course, now she felt the guilt. This was why she didn’t make decisions, she never managed to get things right. Not only had her mother hated the day, most likely Kathryn had caused a decline in Eleanor’s health.

  ‘Kathryn?’

  The room started to swim around her again and the air was so thick. Had they closed all the doors? It was far too hot. They were making it difficult for her to breathe.

  ‘Joanne, can you come out here a minute?’ Patricia’s voice sounded far away. Had she gone somewhere?

  The other patients had to feel it. They must be hot too. Her heart was beating very fast now. She could feel its thump, thump, thump drumming a tattoo inside her chest. The tips of her fingers were starting to tingle again. Concentrate on wiggling them, she thought, and taking short, sharp breaths. But the heat was getting too much, it had gone straight to her head. Could no one else feel it?

  ‘Hold her other arm. Quick, get her to the chair.’

  A damp flannel was placed against her forehead. That felt good. It sent a shiver through her spine that made her want to giggle. And whatever it was they had given her to breathe into was doing the trick. The air conditioning can’t have been working if they had special equipment to hand.

  ‘Are you OK, Mrs Webb?’ The manager, Joanne, was peering over her.

  Kathryn nodded, her breathing slowing, returning to its normal pace. They took the equipment away from her mouth. A paper bag, she noticed. Was that all it was?

  ‘Patricia, get Mrs Webb some water, please.’ Joanne’s voice was kind. Kathryn was grateful she was there – there was something about Patricia she didn’t like. ‘Shall we go through to my office?’ Joanne asked, nodding towards the door behind them.

  Joanne held out a hand and Kathryn took it, slowly standing. Her legs wobbled slightly as she walked towards the office, although she was already feeling better. Once in the office they both sat facing each other across a desk. Pulling her chair forward, Joanne leaned her elbows on the desk, linking her fingers, stretching them out and then curling them back down again. It was almost mesmeric watching that movement, those perfectly manicured nails, little white tips filed into squares.

  Joanne smiled at Kathryn.

  ‘Mrs Webb …’ she started.

  ‘Please, call me Kathryn.’

  ‘Kathryn, of course,’ she nodded, her blonde ponytail swishing at the back of her head.

  Joanne Potts didn’t look the type to be running a nursing home. How did she have the time to look so well groomed, Kathryn wondered. Of course, she didn’t have children. Just a fiancé to look after, and by the size of the diamond wrapped around her ring finger, it was he who was looking after her.

  ‘Are you feeling any better?’

  ‘I am, thank you,’ Kathryn said. ‘I didn’t eat anything at lunchtime,’ she added, by way of explanation.

  Joanne nodded again. ‘Of course. Only we do know how difficult this can be for the relatives, and we’re always here for you if ever you wish to talk about anything.’ She paused. ‘It’s just that I was a little concerned this morning when Patricia told me you’d taken your mother out for the day. I’m not too sure it was,’ she paused again, ‘appropriate.’

  Kathryn sighed. She was bored of the subject now. Joanne shifted position in her leather chair, making it squeak. It sounded funny in the silence of the room. Kathryn fought the urge to giggle. There was nothing funny about being summoned to this young girl’s office but all of a sudden she couldn’t think of doing anything but laughing.

  ‘What’s funny, Kathryn?’

  Kathryn didn’t know anymore, but the look on Joanne’s face – surprise mixed in with a pinch of horror – made the whole situation even more amusing. She was laughing so much she’d begun to cry. Only now the laughter had petered out but the tears were still flowing.

  Joanne pulled a tissue out of the pretty pink box sitting on her desk and handed it to her.

  ‘I wanted her to see the sea again,’ Kathryn said. ‘I thought she’d like it. I thought she’d remember it.’

  ‘That sometimes happens, but not always.’

  ‘I wanted to get her back to my house and for everything to be like it used to be.’

  Joanne nodded. ‘I understand that.’

  ‘I doubt you do,’ Kathryn muttered.

  ‘I see a lot of relatives going through the same thing as you, and—’

  ‘It’s hardly the same thing,’ Kathryn snapped. ‘It’s not the same as having your own mother staring at you, never knowing what she’s thinking, what she might say next. Whether she even recognises you.’

  Joanne didn’t speak. Her mobile vibrated on the desk and she glanced at the screen before switching it off. At the same time, Patricia came into the room with a glass of water. It was enough to make Kathryn stop talking. Only little things, but reminders that day-to-day life went on for other people. They really weren’t interested in what was happening to her and her mother.

  ‘I think I’ll go,’ she said, standing up and walking towards the door. ‘Thank you for your time, Joanne.’

  ‘You have all the time—’ she was calling after her, but Kathryn had already left the office. All the time for what, she didn’t know. In fact, time was the one thing Kathryn was running out of. Time certainly wasn’t on her mother’s side; its passing would only make things worse for her. And time was making her daughters grow up too fast, taking them away from her, allowing them to spread their wings, make their own decisions and potentially bring Peter back into their lives. No, t
ime was the one thing she didn’t have on her side, and right then she knew the only thing she could do was find Peter and get to him before the girls did. She had to find out what really happened and make sure he never saw her girls again.

  – Eighteen –

  Dear Adam,

  At fourteen the last thing I wanted was to find out my mother was pregnant. But that’s what happened.

  It was constantly being drummed into us at school – the practice of safe sex, and how not to get yourself knocked up. A girl from Year 11, Paula, had left school the previous year, six months pregnant. Then after the Christmas holidays she came back in to show everyone her baby. It was a little bundle of blue, a baby boy called Tyler. At first everyone was cooing over him, but then Tyler started screaming and didn’t stop. I watched Paula’s face; she was trying so hard to smile but I could see the tears of frustration she blinked away as she rocked him harder and harder in his pram. As soon as she left, everyone was murmuring, ‘Thank God that wasn’t me’ and ‘Her life is so over now’. I think the teachers were secretly pleased Paula had brought Tyler in for us all to see – it was the perfect lesson in what happened when girls weren’t careful.

  I wasn’t talking to Cara much by then, or rather she wasn’t talking to me. She was still jealous that Jason liked me more than her. Jason and I weren’t having sex. There was pressure to, from people like Tasha, and definitely from Jason, but I really didn’t want to. I was only fourteen and the thought frightened me. Not that I had anyone I could confide in. Although I was beginning to worry Jason would lose interest in me, what put me off even more was my mother getting pregnant.