by Alex Brown
‘Mum, this is your granddaughter we are talking about, the one with diabetes,’ he attempted, ‘unless you had forgotten.’
‘Of course I haven’t. There’s no need for sarcasm, Samuel.’ His mother’s voice was like ice.
‘Sorry,’ he said instinctively. Then immediately hating that he sounded as if he’d reverted back to being a young boy, as was often the way when dealing with his mother. ‘Look, I’m calling to keep in touch, let you know how Holly is. And I just thought you should know that I was back in Tindledale. In case you wanted to get hold of me.’
‘Poor old Sam, still messing everything up. Well, good luck trying to patch your marriage back together again.’ Her voice dripped with poison. ‘But, you might find that ship has sailed, my boy. The last time I saw that wife of yours, she couldn’t even marshal a smile onto her own face. Nothing gets past me, you know. I saw the way she was. Miserable.’
Sam flinched.
‘When was that?’ he asked, and then, not waiting for a reply, he told her, ‘When Holly was about five years old and had a tummy bug. Chrissie had been up all night with her and was exhausted, was that it?’ Given that seeing his mother was such a rarity, Sam remembered the occasion with perfect clarity. Linda had turned up out of the blue one Sunday morning, insisting they all go to the Duck & Puddle for a nice pub lunch. But had then sulked when she didn’t get her own way, before disappearing back to wherever she had come from.
‘Oh, there’s no need to be like that,’ she dismissed, as if he was the one who was out of order. ‘I don’t remember when it was exactly.’
‘Anyway, I didn’t call to have an argument.’ Sam decided to change tack. What was the point? His mother had never liked Chrissie, and he knew the feeling was mutual, and for good reason on Chrissie’s part. He would never forget the scene in the hospital when Holly had been born. The three of them on the bed, having a lovely cuddle, him with Holly in his arms, marvelling at how tiny and gorgeous she was. Chrissie had leaned into him, touching her finger to Holly’s little rosebud mouth and saying she was perfect. Linda had turned up in a flurry and, after peering at the baby that he and Chrissie adored with all their hearts, had said she wondered why all newborn babies were so ugly. Followed by a supercilious laugh. He had told Linda she was out of order, only for her to retaliate with, ‘You always were so oversensitive.’
‘Good,’ Linda snapped, followed by a more bountiful, ‘so how is my dear little Holly?’
‘She’s OK,’ Sam replied, pleased to have moved the conversation on at last. ‘But there have been a few problems with keeping her diabetes under control. We’re all a bit worried, to be honest. She’s been having more tests.’
‘Oh, you’re probably worrying way too much. Bet she’s been sneaking the odd Mars bar or two. Not that I blame her. Can’t be much fun having a ban on sweet treats. I’d never survive diabetes, having to be deprived of life’s pleasures like that. Definitely not.’ Linda said, her voice all breathy and airy as she turned the conversation, yet again, back on to herself. ‘Besides, you always were a worrier. Now, I must dash, but I’ll tell you what … I’ll get a nice present posted out to little Holly. That will cheer her up.’ Sam prickled. Like a present is going to make up for a defective grandparent like you.
‘She’s thirteen, Mum. Not so little now … Maybe if you came to see her …’ He couldn’t help himself. It irked him that his mother always referred to Holly as ‘little’. Besides, if she actually saw Holly, in person, then maybe, just maybe, it would galvanise her into action and spur her on to show a bit more interest in her only grandchild.
‘Is she really?’ Linda gasped. ‘But she can’t be. I’m not old enough to have a teenage grandchild.’ And Sam could just see her now, clutching her pearl necklace in horror, making it all about her, as ever.
‘Well she is.’ He let his voice fade. His own mother clearly wasn’t interested in Holly. In fact, he felt shocked and quite crushed by how dismissive she was being. But what hurt the most was the little-boy part inside him that still yearned for a mother that Linda wouldn’t, or couldn’t ever be. And it was that feeling of rejection that always got to him. He absolutely treasured Holly. Chrissie did too – no matter how much mum and daughter clashed, he knew with certainty that Chrissie cared for and loved Holly with all her heart. So how come his mother could be so cold and unfeeling?
‘I don’t see what a visit from me would do to help the situation …’ Linda gave a trite little chuckle, as if to make light of the situation, thereby exonerating her of any real obligation. ‘Don’t forget, I had all this with your father, Samuel, when they thought he might need a new kidney.’ Sam blanched; this was the last thing he wanted to hear. Holly didn’t need a new kidney … and he hoped she never would. ‘Yes, all those blood tests. I refused to go through with it, you know.’
‘Refused to go through with what?’ Sam asked, wishing he’d never called her now.
‘Blood tests! To see if I was a match for a kidney donation.’ He heard her take a swig from whatever she was drinking, and then swallow. ‘I told them no. They weren’t taking one of my kidneys and that was that! You have to be firm about these things.’
‘Mum, are you serious?’ Sam said, aghast.
‘Of course. I had my own future to consider, plus your father died in the end anyway. So it would have been a waste!’
He was momentarily speechless.
‘And if Holly did ever need a kidney?’ he eventually managed, not even wanting to contemplate the thought of this for his daughter. But something inside him needed to know how his own mother would respond in this scenario. ‘I hope she never does. But what would you do then?’
‘Oh, little Holly wouldn’t want one of my poor Prosecco-pickled kidneys,’ Linda answered evasively, and he could hear her mirthless laugh from the other end of the line.
‘But surely you’d have a blood test? For your granddaughter. If only to rule you out. Or, you know, to see if you were a match … we all would, wouldn’t we? The whole family …’
Sam found he was holding his breath as he waited for her answer. He’d always known his mother was selfish. But would she seriously refuse Holly?
Silence followed.
Sam gave up waiting for her answer.
‘Well, I wouldn’t hesitate!’ he said, glancing at his watch. He needed to end this call. Yet again, she had managed to drag him down. What was he thinking in even phoning her when she had a knack of pushing all his buttons and making him feel so crap about everything.
‘Hmm, well you should!’ Linda suddenly piped up. ‘You’d do well to think seriously about whether you could go through all that. You’re not getting any younger, Samuel Anthony Morgan.’
He groaned, hating how she always used his full name when imparting some kind of authoritarian words of perceived wisdom. As if it was her right as his mother. But she had no right to, as far as he was concerned, not when she had neglected to do all the other parenting things that a child could reasonably expect … like providing food, for example. And affection, not to mention love and care, and interest. Yes, an interest in his life would have been nice. Instead of gallivanting off into the sunset as soon as his father had died. And then frequently dumping him and Patrick at Dolly’s door for weeks on end, with no word of when she’d return for them. He had hated it. Hated feeling rejected. Dolly had done her best, but it wasn’t the same as being wanted by your own mum.
‘And with all that stress you put yourself through … well, it can’t be good for your heart,’ she carried on. ‘Are you sure you could cope with blood tests? Let alone giving a kidney away? It’s a major operation. Just the anaesthetic alone could kill you, you know! And the way things are going with the NHS, it’ll all be privatised soon in any case. So they won’t do it for free, I wouldn’t expect. You mark my words. And you would be no use to little Holly if you were dead.’
Sam gawped at the phone. Is she for real? He had thought he’d heard it all as far as his mother was con
cerned. Stupidly assuming she couldn’t shock him any more than she already had over the years. But this! This was plain nasty. Not only was she coming up with excuses for herself not to help should it ever be necessary – and he truly hoped to God it never would be, especially if his mother was their only option for a family donor – but she was now also trying to persuade him not to help his own daughter. Staggering.
Sam looked at the ceiling before closing his eyes and letting out a long breath. He really should have known better. It was ridiculous that he’d been drawn into this hypothetical conversation in the first place. Holly didn’t even need a kidney. But what did he expect? Linda to miraculously turn into a loving mother and grandmother who would do anything for her family? His mother had always been one for grand gestures, and presents from Harrods were all well and good, but when it came down to what really mattered, she was always woefully lacking. And, in that moment, a horrible, sickening realisation seeped into Sam’s field of thought. Grand gestures. What really mattered. Who does that sound like? That’s what Chrissie said about me. Oh Christ, please don’t let me turn into my mother. Or maybe I’ve always been like her.
When he had been mulling everything over last night, he had gone online and ordered a whole load of those products that Holly had been telling him about, even managing to get a box full of the dry shampoo with the pink flamingos on. He’d had to pay over the odds to get it shipped from America, but he hadn’t even given it a second thought. He wanted to spoil Holly on her upcoming birthday. And then he’d bought her a new mobile, an upgrade on the one she already had. Plus a load of other stuff. Chrissie too. He’d ordered her a Tiffany bangle. The exact one she had oohed and ahhed over that time they had gone up to London to see the Christmas lights. Holly must have been about three, as she was wrapped up all warm in a snowsuit on his shoulders and kept blowing raspberries on the side of his face. Chrissie had laughed. They all had laughed. It had been a brilliant day. And he had promised Chrissie he would buy her the bangle, when he won the lottery or landed a decent job … But was he just being overindulgent? Or over-compensating?
Shaking his head, as if to eradicate himself of any resemblance to his mother, Sam stood up and paced around the room. With nothing else to say, he managed a short goodbye and then pressed a shaky index finger on the phone to end the call. Sinking into the sofa, he tapped the top of the phone against his stubbly chin as he digested the call and picked over everything that had been said … or not said, to be more accurate. Shoving his mother’s selfishness aside, something still definitely didn’t add up. Linda’s evasiveness over a hypothetical simple blood test for Holly was even more acute than it usually was. She could have just lied and said, ‘Of course I’d do a test for Holly.’ It wasn’t as if she was actually being asked to commit to anything right now. No, he knew her well enough to know that there was more to it. Why was she being so defensive about it? And then deflecting the spotlight from her by attacking him instead. Why on earth would she try to talk him out of getting tested too? He figured his mother must have something to hide. Well, he wasn’t letting her off the hook this time. He resolved to find out what her real issue was and challenge her.
He sat in silence for a while longer, still going over and over it all inside his head as he tried to work out what was going on.
What was she hiding?
Why was she acting as though she didn’t really care?
Why would she do that?
And then it struck him. It was the only reason. It had to be. She was ill! Seriously ill with cancer, or something. And it would explain her attempt to make light of the situation … if she knew there was no possible way that she could ever give a kidney, even in the unlikely event that her granddaughter needed one. And, despite all her faults, Sam knew that Linda loved Holly, or at least cared for her; she’d never missed a birthday or Christmas present so it didn’t really add up.
After inhaling and puffing out his cheeks as he let out a long breath, Sam made another call. To Dr Ben this time. After talking to his mother and hearing what she had said about his father’s health and how he might have needed a donor kidney, Sam knew that he needed to find out what the longer-term prognosis might be for Holly. Sam also knew that he needed to face up to the fear. He’d been running away for too long, fearful of more bad news, of the future. Burying his head in his work had been one way to deal with his daughter’s health issues, but that clearly hadn’t worked either for him or his family.
The GP might not be able to shed any light on his mother’s reluctance to help Holly, or indeed her current health status, but he could fill in the gaps that Sam had missed by not being at Holly’s check-ups, that was for sure. Chrissie had told him how the appointments had gone, of course, when they had been talking regularly, but that hadn’t been the case for far too long now. And Dr Ben might be able to help fix his head too. Sleeping tablets would be a good start, because he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. He couldn’t carry on feeling this way … he was no good to anyone. He’d made that mistake before – apathy, followed by running away and doing nothing. Denial. This time he needed to deal with it all head on and take care of what really mattered.
Chapter Eleven
‘Who is she?’ Myles came bounding across the main lawn towards Jude and Holly, with his messy blond hair stuffed underneath a tartan deerstalker hat and his body clad in what Jude could only describe as ridiculous hunting wear. Or maybe it was his lord-of-the-manor fancy-dress costume, on account of him thinking it was what the villagers expected. It was hard to be sure. But either way he looked utterly bonkers. And was that a real shotgun hanging on a leather strap over his shoulder?
‘Hi Myles,’ Jude started cheerfully, hoping to bypass another one of his deeply suspicious welcomes. She had been here at the Blackwood Farm Estate several times now, and had seen multitudes of people arrive for a variety of genuine reasons … and some not so, admittedly. Molly, the butcher’s wife, for example, turned up the other day with one of her legendary steak and ale pies as a ‘welcome to Tindledale’ gift for Myles and Sylvia. Only to be quizzed ridiculously about all sorts of things, before Sam had had to come over from the new stable-block construction that he was overseeing, just to vouch for her. It was same with everyone, regardless of whether they were ‘on the list’ or not, and Holly most certainly was. But it seemed that Myles lived in a bubble of faded grandiosity, convinced that he was continuously at risk from some kind of security threat: Jude had spotted a couple of plain-clothes security guys foraging around in a hedgerow only yesterday afternoon when she’d been here to take delivery of some curtain sample sets. It was ridiculous; like something out of a spoof spy caper, The Pink Panther even, seeing as one of the guys had a bushy black moustache and was wearing a beige raincoat. Very Inspector Clouseau.
‘Her name is Holly. She’s my goddaughter … and Sam’s actual daughter,’ Jude continued, desperately trying not to stare or laugh at Myles’s knee-high wool socks and corduroy breeches, or whatever they were. She certainly hadn’t seen shorts like it before, though maybe in that history book the parish council had put together for tourists, called ‘Tindledale through the Ages’, which had lots of pictures of gamekeepers and the like dressed up in this gear. Maybe she should delicately persuade him to let her design a suitable country living wardrobe for him too! Jeans and wellies would do for sure. There really was no need for him to scour the internet looking for what he thought country gents wore. Or was this just another aspect of his need for camouflage? To hide the real Myles King …
‘Hmm. Does Sylvia know about it?’ he eyed Holly suspiciously.
‘Yes, Myles, she does,’ Jude said slowly, as if explaining it all to a toddler. ‘And remember, I mentioned it the other day and you said that it was fine for me to bring Holly to the estate to see your prize pigs.’
She knew this would appeal to his ego, as he was extremely keen to show off the micro-pigs. Yes, that’s right … Jude hadn’t had the heart to tell him th
at the ten little pigs he’d bought weren’t Large Blacks at all. He’d been so impressed with himself the first time she had come here, when he’d taken her to see the arrival of the pigs, but Jude had known as soon as she saw them that they were far too small to be anything other than micro-pigs. And, after feeling anxious about Holly after the fall, she had arranged with Chrissie to spend the day with her goddaughter to see if she could cheer her up and perhaps get to the bottom of why Holly thought her mum hated her. Jude was very concerned, but didn’t want to add to the pressure that Chrissie was under by talking to her about this … not when she had enough to worry about. Chrissie would be devastated if she knew that Holly thought she hated her. And Holly loved animals, so the micro-pigs were sure to appeal to her.
‘That’s right! A fantastic idea.’ Myles waved an exuberant pointed index finger in the air, as if it had been his idea all along, and then stepped forward towards Holly and added, ‘Welcome to the Blackwood Farm Estate. I’m Myles King,’ he finished with a flourish, holding his palm up for a high five, and Jude willed him not to tag on the cringy intro that he had first given her on the phone – his ‘you may have heard of me’ line. Because she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Holly would have no idea who he was. She hadn’t even been born by the time his fame had faded.
‘Hi Mr King,’ Holly smiled politely, lifting a hand up to reciprocate the high five, which she did with much enthusiasm, making Myles drop his hand down by his side to do an exaggerated groan, as if he was in real pain. Holly giggled and Jude saw a look of admiration pass over her goddaughter’s face … ahh, so she thought Myles was cool! Well, I guess he would be to a thirteen-year-old girl, seeing as he acts like a big kid himself.
‘Hey babe, it’s Myles to you,’ he winked, and clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. Jude let out a long sigh and rolled her eyes upwards, thinking that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. And Chrissie and Sam would go mad if they knew a faded rock star in his forties was flirting with their thirteen-year-old daughter. But Jude soon realised that she didn’t need to worry. Her boss had just pulled a Sherbet Dip Dab from his pocket and offered it to Holly, like a friendship token.
