Natalie opened her mouth but Sandy went on, holding up her hand. ‘Look, I’ve been stupid and selfish and I am ashamed of it. Especially letting you find me so drunk. I’m sorry, Natalie. I truly am.’
Natalie looked down at the counter top. She couldn’t think of anything to say. She couldn’t think of anything to think. Her brain was numb trying to take in what her mother was telling her.
‘You had a difficult childhood,’ Sandy went on. ‘You probably went to too many schools, and I probably had too many boyfriends. Perhaps you never had a chance to feel settled and secure in one place. And you never knew your father, that’s a hard thing to deal with. I know that sometimes you can miss something you’ve never really had just as much as something you’ve lost. But you have to understand, I didn’t do it to hurt you, I did it because I was trying my best for you.’ She smiled weakly. ‘And look at you, you’ve turned into a very wonderful woman, which I know you think is all down to yourself but which I hope has a little bit to with me as well.’
‘It wasn’t that bad,’ Natalie said quietly. ‘I don’t know, maybe it’s since I had Freddie – but I’ve started to remember things, nice things that I hadn’t thought about in years.’
‘Really?’ Sandy asked hopefully. ‘Do you remember how we used to walk along the beach for hours, collecting pink stones? Because you only liked the pink ones.’ Natalie nodded slowly. ‘Or when I made you that play costume out of one of my old frocks, all purple and sparkles it was – do you remember how you loved it? And how every year until you were about fourteen I made you a birthday cake, always bigger and better and stranger than the last. Do you remember that castle cake? I made it with ice cream and it melted all over the place before we could eat it? ’
Natalie kept her gaze steady on the worktop, seeing that day over again in her head. She smiled when she thought about her and Sandy covered in melted ice cream.
‘And I was always there to put you to bed,’ Sandy told her. ‘I was there to make you breakfast, and when you got back from school. I did my best for you, Natalie. And maybe my best wasn’t good enough for you, but it was all I had to give. That and the fact that I love you, so much. So I’m asking you, now you’re a grown woman and a mother yourself, to try to understand that I miss you, darling, I miss my little girl.’
Natalie looked sideways at her. Sandy had said all the things that she wanted to hear, all the things that she had longed to hear for many years. But she felt so sapped of energy that it was a struggle to respond the way she felt she should, the way she wanted to. If there was one thing she had learnt recently, though, it was not to let any opportunity, however slight it might seem, slip by untaken.
‘It’s been a long day, Mum,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m so tired. I saw Freddie’s dad this morning, arranged contact for Freddie. It’s taken everything out of me. I feel weary all over. My head hurts, my body hurts and my heart hurts.’
Sandy nodded. ‘I can see that in your face,’ she said gently. ‘If you wanted to tell me about it . . .’
Natalie shook her head. ‘I’ve heard everything you said and I’m glad you’ve said it. And I know that it’s not all you, I know it’s me too. For some reason, when I’m around you I become a person that I don’t like very much. And I don’t want to do that any more . . .’ She looked at her mother, and she knew there was one last thing she had to tell her now, while she had the chance.
‘I went to see Dad once, you know,’ she said. Sandy’s eyes widened but she didn’t speak. ‘I was fifteen, maybe sixteen. I’d been going through your stuff as usual, looking for make-up to steal, and I found my birth certificate. Place of birth Brighton, and the name of my dad. I know you told everybody he’d died, but although you never actually said it to me we both knew that was just a story for your public. I used to dream about him – daydreams, imagining what he would be like. Tall, dark and handsome, I suppose, all the clichés. Clever and kind and sad because he’d lost his daughter and didn’t know how to find her.’ Natalie paused. ‘And when I saw his name, I thought that at last I had the chance to find him. So I got on the train and went to Brighton. I went to the first phone box I saw and looked in the book. There were three M. Davies who could have been him. The first one was about ninety-two, the second one was very kind but said he’d never known you and that he lived with his mother and the third one . . .’ Natalie paused as she steeled herself to recollect. ‘Well, that was him. That was Daddy. His wife answered the door. I was a bit surprised, I didn’t expect him to have a wife, and I could see kids’ wellingtons in the hallway. I asked to speak to him, said I was the daughter of an old friend and . . . suddenly there he was. He wasn’t very handsome, Mum, I thought he would have been better-looking. He was a bit short, going bald on top. Portly, you know. I think he had my nose, or rather I had his I suppose.
‘“Hello, Dad,” I said, and I remember my voice was so tiny it was nearly lost in the rush of the traffic. “It’s me, Natalie. Sandy’s daughter.” His face,’ Natalie went on, staring into the middle distance as the memory replayed itself before her eyes. ‘I’ll never forget it. He just looked horrified. It was a cold day and wet and I didn’t have a proper coat or umbrella of course, so I was soaking and shivering. But he just stood there, staring. All he said was, “Go away, I don’t want you round here. I have a wife, I have a daughter. Go away, you’re nothing to do with me.” And he shut the door in my face.’
‘Natalie,’ Sandy said, her voice low. ‘I honestly didn’t know.’
‘How would you know, I never told you, did I?’ Natalie said. ‘The first man to ever reject me. I expected so much of him, Mum. I expected this amazing reunion, that he’d fling his arms around me and tell me how he’d hoped one day I would turn up. But he couldn’t wait to see the back of me. I was his child, part of him, and he wanted nothing to do with me. That hurt me. It made me furious with him, but mostly with you. I blamed you for choosing that man as my father. I still do, I suppose. It is still painful. I couldn’t help but think how different our lives could have been. Like the other kids at school with the normal mothers, and the brothers and sisters and – the dads. Our life stopped being an adventure for me on that day. All I could see were the things that I didn’t have. I blamed you. I didn’t have anyone else to blame.’
‘I’m sorry, Natalie,’ Sandy said, her voice wrought with emotion. ‘I’m sorry I got it so wrong for you.’
Natalie looked at her mother and attempted a smile.
‘You didn’t though, did you? Like you said, you did your best. I suppose I’ve always known that, but it wasn’t enough to stop me from being angry. It’s hard to stop. It’s hard to let go of feelings I’ve had for so long, even if I know they don’t make any sense.’ Hesitantly Natalie reached out and put her hand over her mother’s. ‘But I want to. I want to try to stop being angry with you. I want to be close to you, Mum. I want to tell you things. I want you to tell me about this Keith Macbride and what his intentions are. But I don’t think that you and I will change just like that. It will take time, and hard work probably, but we could try. We could try to start to be friends again.’
‘I’d like that,’ Sandy said simply.
‘Mum,’ Natalie said with sudden urgency. ‘I’m scared. I’m so caught up in everything that’s happening at the moment. I’m trying so hard to keep myself focused and hold it all together for Freddie, but sometimes I’m scared I won’t be able to. That I’ll go and do something really stupid and mess it all up again.’
‘You’re saying that because you’re tired,’ Sandy said, resting the back of her hand against Natalie’s cheek. ‘There’s a bottle of milk ready in the fridge, isn’t there?’ Natalie nodded. ‘You go to bed, darling. That stew will simmer for hours yet, it should be perfect when you wake up. You sleep and I’ll watch Freddie.’
‘Is it really just because I’m tired?’ Natalie asked her. ‘Or because I’m rubbish?’
‘Go to bed,’ Sandy told her. ‘I’ll be here when you wake up.’<
br />
‘Whoopee,’ Natalie groaned, but as she trudged up the stairs and fell onto her bed, for the first time in a long time she was kind of glad to know that.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Jess watched the rapid rise and fall of Jacob’s chest as she lay beside him on the bed.
He didn’t have a temperature, she had checked with the strip thermometer a few moments ago, and he was sleeping, although every now and then he coughed a little dry cough that made him screw up his face.
She felt the tension rise in her chest as she watched him, and laid her head gently on his chest. The speed of his heartbeat increased the rate of her own and she felt herself on the edge of panic.
Babies’ hearts beat very fast, she reminded herself sternly, it’s perfectly normal. But even before she had finished the thought she had called out to Lee who was in the next room watching Soccer AM.
‘What’s up?’ he said when he came in a minute or so later. He was never one to respond instantly to a request to come away from the TV, unless he thought it was a genuine emergency.
‘What do you think of him?’ Jess asked, nodding at Jacob. ‘Does he look OK to you?’
Lee knelt down beside the bed and looked at his son.
‘He looks fine,’ he said, a little impatiently because he was missing his favourite show.
‘His heart is beating very fast,’ Jess told him, even though she knew exactly what Lee would say.
‘We’ve been through this, remember? Babies’ hearts do beat very fast,’ Lee repeated what she had just told herself. ‘It’s normal.’
‘But what about his breathing?’ Jess had to voice her nagging worry that not everything was quite right. ‘Do you think he’s breathing faster than usual?’
Lee stared for a bit longer at Jacob’s chest. ‘He looks the same as ever to me,’ he said.
And when Jess looked at Jacob she saw that he did seem to be breathing regularly again, the dry persistent cough had stopped.
‘Maybe he was dreaming,’ Lee said. ‘You know, like a dog?’
Jess gave him a look that sent him out of the room and back to his beloved show.
She lay beside Jacob, drawing her legs up underneath him and encircling him with the curve of her body, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest until she too was asleep.
Natalie knelt on the rug in her living room with the contents of Freddie’s baby bag laid out before her, together with the larger items she used on a daily basis while looking after her son.
She was trying to prepare for Jack’s visit, which was less than twenty minutes away. She was trying to be organised and methodical because she thought it was better than the alternative, which involved her running around the house screaming.
So she had decided to lay out everything that Jack would need to learn about basic Freddie care, arranging all the equipment by use.
Changing mat, bottom cream, wipes and nappies.
Baby bath, baby soap, hooded towel, blanket and talc.
Bottle tops, steriliser, and breast pump. And then she put the breast pump back in Freddie’s bag. He might have to give Freddie milk but he didn’t have to know exactly how it got in the bottle in the first place.
Sandy leaned against the door frame, looking down at her daughter.
‘Is this the way to do it?’ she asked Natalie tentatively. ‘Maybe you should just let the visit happen instead of trying to plan it like a military campaign?’
‘Yes,’ Natalie said thoughtfully. ‘Yes, that would be one way of handling it, but I need to feel I’m in control of this, Mum. If I’m in control of this,’ she gestured at the rug, ‘then I’m in control of me.’
‘OK,’ Sandy said without further questioning. ‘Then you’ll need to show him how to dress him too. I’ll go and sort out some Babygros and things before I make myself scarce.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Natalie said. Amazing, she thought, how this meaningful dialogue works so much better than trading insults and screaming at each other. It was only a shame it had taken them twenty years to work it out.
Suddenly the doorbell went and Natalie’s hand flew to her chest. She held her breath.
‘Are you getting that?’ her mum shouted down the stairs.
‘Yes!’ Natalie replied in a strangled voice. Jack was early, and she wasn’t nearly ready for him. She had no mascara on, for one thing, she hadn’t brushed her hair since the morning and she still hadn’t managed to banish her feelings of unrequited love for him to a respectable and manageable distance. Still, Natalie thought, hastily running her fingers through her hair and pinching colour into her cheeks, he’d have to be about fifty years late for her to achieve that particular ambition.
‘Welcome!’ she said as brightly as she could as she swung open the door.
Meg watched Frances’s bottom as she cleaned the oven. She had come over when Robert had left with the three eldest children to take them out for the day, armed with a raft of scourers, degreasers and descalers.
‘You don’t have to do that, you know,’ Meg told her. ‘Even if my life wasn’t in tatters I still wouldn’t have cleaned it today. I’d have left it until it started to set the smoke alarm off.’
Frances’s torso emerged from the oven. She sat back on her heels and looked at Meg.
‘I know I don’t have to but I want to,’ she explained. ‘Some people read books or watch TV to take their minds off things, I clean.’
Meg screwed her mouth into a knot. She didn’t mind Frances being there, she was rather glad to see her, in fact. But not if she was going to sulk, she couldn’t cope with that. A week or so ago Meg would have tried her best to placate Frances’s edgy mood, to iron out her troubles as if they were Meg’s fault. But not any more. She didn’t feel like hedging around Frances any more.
‘Are you in a mood because I haven’t said that I’ll take him back yet?’ Meg asked Frances directly. ‘Is that what’s on your mind? Is that why you’re here again, has he sent you to wear me down? Punishment by cleaning, yet another way to highlight my inadequacies?’
Frances stood up and dropped the nearly black scrubbing pad into the bin. She stripped off her Marigolds, threw them in the sink and sat at the table.
‘No, that’s not it,’ she said sharply. Whatever it was that was irritating her was gathering momentum. ‘Actually I’m glad you haven’t just given in to him. I’m glad you’ve haven’t phoned that divorce lawyer too, mind. And it’s not because you have a dirty oven, that doesn’t make you a bad person. I do know that, Megan, I’m not a sociopath despite what you think.’ Frances folded her arms. ‘It’s Robert. If there is one thing I have learnt from having my brother staying with me in my house it’s that if it came to a choice between you and him, I’d choose you and I wouldn’t care what Mummy and Daddy would say!’ Frances finished the sentence with wide-eyed abandon.
‘Frances!’ Meg exclaimed with delighted shock. ‘But he’s your brother, you adore him! You’ve always said so.’
Frances shrugged. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know I’ve always said I adore him, and looked up to him and wished I was like him. Life was always so easy for Robert. Robert sailed through at school, always captain of any team he was on. All the boys wanted to be his friends and all the girls loved him. Not like me, I only managed to get married because I was a hospital volunteer and Craig couldn’t escape from me with his leg in traction for six months, and the only friends I have are the ones that you’ve made and I sort of latch onto . . .’
‘I don’t think that’s true,’ Meg said. ‘You know Craig wouldn’t have married you if he didn’t love you, and as for the baby group, we made those friends together.’
‘Maybe a bit,’ Frances said. ‘Maybe they are my friends now, sort of – but I wouldn’t have ever met them if it wasn’t for you. I’d be sitting at home on my own cleaning the taps until they rubbed away completely if I didn’t have you. And bloody Robert moping around my house, not washing the bath out after he’s had a shower, expects me to wai
t on him hand and foot, expects me to pity him as if none of this is his fault!’ Frances smiled so tentatively and touchingly that Meg reached out and patted her briefly on the back of the hand.
‘And anyway,’ Frances went on, ‘Robert’s not Superman. He’s not perfect. In fact, he’s bloody well very imperfect and I’m furious with him, Meg. I’m furious with him, the . . . the – moron!’
Perhaps it was the low-grade swearing or the way her fringe trembled with fury but before Meg knew it she was laughing. For one horror-filled second she thought that Frances would be insulted and offended by her insensitivity but instead, incredibly, Frances began to laugh too, really laugh so that her shoulders shook and her fringe danced. It was a sound that Meg had rarely, if ever, heard and it lifted her spirits immensely.
‘I don’t know why that’s funny,’ Frances said after a while.
‘Maybe it’s not funny exactly, more just freeing,’ Meg said. ‘Maybe for once you said what you were feeling instead of what you thought you should say.’
Frances nodded. ‘You’re right,’ she said emphatically. ‘All my life I’ve stood in his shadow, looked up to him, aspired to be like him, envied him his family life, his lovely children and it turns out . . . it turns out that he is simply a rotten old . . . PRICK!’
Frances spluttered out the last word, clapped her hand over her mouth and they squealed with laughter like mischievous schoolgirls.
‘He’s a bastard!’ Megan cried with feeling.
‘An . . . an amoeba,’ Frances added, which made Meg laugh even more.
‘He certainly is a spineless, gutless excuse for a man,’ she said. ‘With the self-control of an incontinent rat.’
For a moment Meg thought that Frances had actually stopped breathing she was laughing so hard, cheeks burnished bright red.
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