Are You My Mother?

by Louise Voss

  Stella thought for a moment. ‘Leave this to me. We’re at a spiritual convention, aren’t we?’ Dragging me by the arm, she marched us both back up to Holistic Mother. ‘Ann Paramor?’ Mack hung behind, whizzing out the zoom on his camera.

  Ann tilted her head to one side, nodding enthusiastically, her eyebrows asking questions.

  ‘My name is Stella….Chambers, and I’m learning how to become a psychic. This is my sister Emma, who’s an aromatherapist. We were just passing your stand earlier and something drew me to you. This is a bit delicate… I hope you don’t mind me asking you this but….’ Stella dropped her voice and looked around surreptitiously: ‘Did you by any chance have a baby girl who you gave up for adoption?’

  Ann’s eyes opened wide with shock, and I felt dizzy. I couldn’t believe that Stella had just come right out with it like that. Oh lord, I thought. This Ann Paramor really is my mother; the first one I’ve actually met. I tried hard to ignore the feeling of my heart sinking. At least it hadn’t been Harlesden Ann, I told myself.

  But then the shock on Ann’s face turned into puzzlement, and a moue of displeasure flitting across her lips. ‘Well actually, love; no, I’ve never had any children. Which college are you studying at?’

  Taken by surprise, Stella began to say, ‘the Ealing Fash - ’, but I stepped hard on her toe, and she managed just in time to change it to : ‘Faculty of, er, Psychic Training.’

  Ann Paramor – now safely no longer Holistic Mother – looked distinctly schoolmarmish. ‘Listen love, I’ve never heard of that school. Is it endorsed by the National Federation of Spiritual Healers? If they’re teaching you to just come up to strangers and blurt out that kind of personal information – whether it’s correct or not – well, that’s not good practice, even in a place like this. What if I had given up a child for adoption? Do you think I’d want the likes of you coming up and reminding me of it?’

  Despite my irritation at Stella’s lack of tact, I came to her rescue. Now that Mother No.2 had been eliminated from our enquiries, I was beginning to feel more together again.

  ‘Listen, I’m terribly sorry. It was very rude of us. Stella isn’t really a psychic student at all, she’s a fashion design student. That was just an excuse to ask you the question about adoption. The thing is that I’m adopted, and I’ve recently discovered that my birthmother’s name is Ann Paramor. I’ve found several Ann Paramors, but you’re the first one I’ve actually met. So please forgive our technique, it needs a bit of honing.’

  Ann Paramor’s orange face relaxed into a smile, making her look quite pretty.

  ‘I could tell you’re searching, pet,’ she said, peering into my eyes. ‘It’s written all over you.’ She hesitated. ‘Do you mind if I tell you something you may not be aware of yet?’

  ‘Um, yeah, sure.’

  ‘You’re not really looking for another mother. What you’re actually looking for is answers, am I right? You’ve had a great deal of loss in your life already, haven’t you? No wonder you’re a bit afraid. But you will find your answers, eventually. It’ll be all right, as long as you keep your expectations under control.’

  I laughed, a little nervously, and exchanged looks with Stella. ‘That’s amazing. How do you know that?’

  ‘I don’t, love. There’s someone else, up there, who tells me.’ Ann gestured matter-of-factly with her thumb towards the large polystyrene ceiling tiles.

  ‘What, God tells you?’ gasped Stella in amazement. She had a look on her face which made me think she was about to fall to the floor and wash Ann’s Clarks’ Footglove-clad feet.

  Ann laughed. ‘I can tell you’re not a real psychic student. No, not that high up. I have a spirit guide. He tells me all kinds of things.’

  I suddenly experienced a wave of envy. It would be pretty handy to be in touch with a spirit guide. He could tell me if I was on the right track or not, without me having to trail around these bloody stupid Psychic Fayres.

  ‘You have one too,’ Ann was telling Stella. ‘Everyone does. You just have to know how to get in touch with them.’ She looked intently into Stella’s eyes. ‘Ooh, love, you’ve not had it easy lately either. In fact, you’ve taken a bit of a knock, haven’t you?’

  She picked up a stone from the tray behind her and pressed it into Stella’s hand. ‘This will help you feel better. It’s rose quartz. It helps clear stored anger, fear, guilt, and resentment or jealousy. And you’re feeling quite guilty at the moment, aren’t you?’

  She wrapped Stella’s hand around the pink stone, which looked soft and inviting, as if it might squish between her fingers like a warm marshmallow. Stella’s ears had turned pink and she looked away from the camera.

  ‘It’s really good for creativity and self-confidence, too. It cools hot temper, and can help sort out emotional or sexual imbalances. Carry it with you all the time, and sleep with it near your head. You’ll feel better soon; less afraid.’

  ‘Thank you. And I’m sorry I lied to you,’ muttered Stella, turning her back on Mack and Katrina so they wouldn’t be able to film her apology. Somewhat to my surprise, she slipped the stone into the pocket of her jacket without denying the charges of fear and guilt.

  ‘Well, we’d better get going,’ I said, finally warming to this strange Northern lady with her ill-advised lipstick and cardboard pyramids. ‘I’m really sorry we bothered you, but at least I can cross you off my list. Thank you for being so understanding.’ I winced, thinking how much this expressed my relief at Holistic Mother not being the one, but Ann Paramor didn’t take offence.

  ‘Don’t mention it, love. You haven’t bothered me at all. In fact, even though you’re looking for a different woman, meeting me will prove to be the catalyst in your search. I will be the one who makes it all fall into place, you mark my words. And if you need any more help of a spiritual nature, I assume you know where to find me.’

  ‘Thanks,’ we chorussed.

  ‘Crikey,’ whispered Stella as we walked away. ‘Who does she think she is, the flippin’ Messiah?’ But she looked more at peace, as she fingered the smooth stone in her pocket.

  Chapter 28

  The postman didn’t exactly fire Cupid’s arrow through our letterbox alongside the gas bills that year – two cards for Stella, and nothing for me, except a confirmation from the Nottingham B&B where Mack and I were booked to stay that weekend, in the next instalment of the Ann Paramor Project.

  ‘I’m losing my touch,’ Stella said sadly, screwing the two different shades of pink envelope into a tight twist and lobbing them with deadly accuracy into the swing bin. ‘They aren’t even nice cards; they’re both tacky and disgusting. I bet neither of them cost over two quid. That one with the perverted-looking bear on is probably from Mack. And Lawrence already told me he was sending me one.’ She seemed edgy, joking with misery in her eyes. Something more than cheap Valentines was up, and I wondered if I dared ask.

  ‘So? You’ve got two more cards than I have. In fact, I can’t even remember the last time I got one.’

  I decided that this was not the time to tell her that the cross-eyed teddy bear almost certainly wasn’t from Mack at all, since he and Katrina had just started going out together officially. All those hours in the edit suite had bred a close friendship, which had travelled slowly up through familiarity, respect, and eventually arrived at desire. He was in love, and I was happy for him. I had a feeling that Mack would decide that it was imperative to have a sound tech accompany us to Nottingham – no prizes for guessing who that might be. Still, I didn’t mind. I liked Katrina. Although not exactly attractive – her jaw was so square that it looked like she had marbles stuffed down her cheeks – she was as petite as a newsreader, with a forceful, funny personality that suited Mack down to the ground.

  I examined Stella’s cards. Under the halogen spotlights of the kitchen they glittered with promiscuity and cheap red propositions. She was right, they weren’t exactly an inspiring sight.

  ‘Yeah, but Gavin always used to send
you roses instead, didn’t he?’ Stella asked.

  ‘What do you mean, Gavin? You’re saying it like he’s a bad smell. You and Gavin always got on so well, and now you seem more down on him than you were when he dumped me.’

  Stella turned away and started loading our breakfast things into the dishwasher, which was already almost full. Neither of us had put it on for about three days. ‘Sorry. I’m just pissed off about my rubbish Valentines. Do you remember that year I got nine?’

  ‘Yes, but weren’t they all from the same boy, that one with the Dracula teeth and the squint? And let’s face it, I don’t recall that selection being particularly good quality either.’

  The telephone rang, and I was relieved to get off the subject, shuddering at the thought of a schoolboy’s optimism, that nine Hallmark cards might just equal one sweaty hand down my sister’s knickers. I picked it up.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Emma, it’s Mack. Listen, about this weekend. I’m really sorry but…’

  ‘You’re not blowing me out, are you?’

  ‘Well, I was just wondering if we could go another time? Katrina’s at a crucial stage with an edit she’s doing on her own project, and I’d really like to stay and help her with it. Emma? You’ve gone all quiet.’

  ‘I’m still here. No, of course, it’s fine. But I think I’ll go anyway. I’ve booked the B&B now, and I’m all psyched up for it.’

  ‘But what if it’s her, and I’m not there to film it?’

  Tough. Mack, you’re making that classic mistake: freshly in love and all your friends get demoted to the status of chopped liver. We’ve all done it. You think you and Katrina will be together for ever, but what if she gets fed up of your fibre-optic hair and your red All-Stars? Or dumps you after a Who concert? Then you’ll see where all your old friends are and, let me tell you, it might come as a bit of a shock…

  But I didn’t say any of that. ‘We’ll have to risk it. It’s probably not her, anyway.’

  ‘Why don’t you take the camera and film it yourself, you know, like a video diary?’

  I laughed hollowly. ‘No chance. I’m not carrying around two grands’ worth of digital video equipment that doesn’t belong to me. Besides, I’m hopeless with technology - you know that. I can’t even get a photo in focus on an automatic camera. If it is her, you’ll just have to interview us afterwards, if she’s willing.’

  ‘Maybe you could re-enact your reunion for the camera,’ Mack suggested vaguely. He seemed distracted, and I wondered what, exactly, Katrina might be doing south of his telephone receiver.

  ‘Mack!’ I squawked, incensed. ‘That was the one thing I said there was no way I’d do, not in a million years. You’ll just have to take a chance on it. I’ll ring you when I get back and tell you how I get on.’

  ‘Why isn’t Mack coming with you?’ asked Stella after I’d hung up.

  ‘Oh – too much work,’ I said. ‘And he’s in love.’

  Her freckles drooped. ‘Great. Even Mack doesn’t fancy me anymore. God, I’m 19, I’m over the hill, and I’m getting fat. ’ She pinched a non-existent love handle above where the waistband of her jeans should have been, had she not removed it to make a pair of DIY hipsters.

  ‘Fat? You must be joking. You’re practically anorexic. And since you didn’t even remotely fancy Mack, you should be happy that he’s met someone he really likes.’

  Stella still had a face like a wet dishrag, so I tried again.

  ‘Look at it in a positive way, if Mack didn’t send you that teddy bear card, then it means you’ve got at least one secret admirer.’

  Still nothing. I made one last attempt.

  ‘Why don’t you come to Nottingham with me? I could do with the company.’

  She looked up vacantly, her skin as dull as the unpolished chrome inside the dishwasher. I wanted to stuff her so full of echinacea and vitamin C tablets that she rattled.

  ‘Oh, um, no, sorry, I’d love to, but I’ve got to finish my project on Decorative Techniques, otherwise I’m in deep shit. Suzanne finished hers ages ago. Besides, we’re going to the pictures tonight and then to The Cross tomorrow night – I was going to stay at her place all weekend.’

  ‘Oh. OK, then. Although I don’t see how much work you’ll get done at the cinema or clubbing with Suzanne.’

  ‘Don’t nag me, Em, I’m not in the mood.’

  I took the bull by the horns. ‘I’m just worried about you, that’s all. You seem run down, and you haven’t been on good form for ages, not since – ‘

  We stared wordlessly at the two Valentine’s cards.

  ‘Apparently Charlie’s still really mad.’ Stella started to rearrange the dirty cutlery in the basket of the dishwasher, turning her back on me again. ‘Suzanne saw his sister and she was really nasty to her about me, saying that I was a lying slag, and I’d ruined his life. Now his parents have kicked him out of the house. His sister doesn’t even know where he’s living.’

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I went over and touched her back, but she shrugged me away.

  ‘Please try to take no notice, Stell. His sister was nearly as weird as he was. You did the right thing. He’d attacked someone before, and if you hadn’t have told the police, he might have done it again.’

  ‘He still might,’ said Stella, trying to force one cereal bowl too many into the already full dishwasher rack. ‘Oh, get in, you BASTARD bowl!’

  ‘What do you mean? Of course he won’t – he wouldn’t dare; not with the court case and all. They’d throw the book at him if he tried anything else.’

  She straightened up abruptly and stared out of the kitchen window at a magpie, pounding flat-footed and grumpily along a tree branch. Her voice was strained and miserable.

  ’Then how come I thought I saw him the other day, in the street? Coming out of the Blind shop. It might not have been, but it really looked like him. And twice when I’ve been here on my own, the phone’s rung but no-one’s been there, and 1471 hasn’t worked.’

  I shut my eyes in horror, seeing Stella’s body once more slumped by the wheel of my car. Fury and protectiveness swelled up in a spiral inside me, squeezing the air from my lungs until I could barely breathe. She seemed so vulnerable, standing there by the window, her back to me. I rushed over and hugged her tightly, feeling her bony ribcage frail against my chest. She had yet to sculpt her hair into their harsh snaky waves that morning, and it was soft and scented with my Aveda shampoo, resting fluffily on her shoulders in a way she detested, but which I preferred. She thought it was boring, unwaxed and moulded. I thought it was safer, less…. available. I hated myself for thinking it.

  ‘Oh Stell. I can’t bear it. Why didn’t you tell me? We’ll ring the police. He’d be mad to come near you.’

  She shrugged and looked away, a childish, wordless gesture. ‘They won’t do anything. Not unless I could prove it was him, or if he did…. try anything.’

  I realised that she was right. ‘That’s it,’ I said decisively. ‘I’m not going to Nottingham. If you can’t come with me, I’m not having you here on your own all weekend.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. That’s why I didn’t say anything; I knew you’d panic. Besides, I’ve already told you I’m staying at Suzanne’s this weekend. Go. I want you to go.‘

  Panic? What did she mean, panic? I didn’t bloody panic. I was the voice of reason around here. ‘ Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah. Anyway, listen, I’d better get a move on. I’ve got a Millinery class in forty minutes, and I haven’t even done my hair yet.’

  ‘Want me to give you a lift?’

  Stella laughed, a brittle, humourless sound which made me feel like crying. ‘Oh, give it a rest, Emma, I’m not a kid. I wish I hadn’t mentioned it now.’

  ‘OK. Well, make me a nice hat then. See you on Sunday night, I suppose. Ring me if you need me, I’ll be on the mobile all weekend. And take cabs everywhere if you’re out late, won’t you?’

  Stell retrieved a small pot from her bag, dipping her
fingers in the sticky white gel and moulding her hair, twisting it, tamping it down and coating it until the waves began to take shape, like twirls of pasta. ‘Can you give me some money, then? I’m a bit short at the moment.’

  Another sore point. We weren’t hard up, thanks to my extreme financial prudence – or, as Stella called it, ‘tightarsedness’ – but she passionately resented the control I kept on our bank accounts, via our accountant. If I were ever to let her loose, she’d spend all her tuition fees on holidays in Ibiza and outrageous designer clothes, probably in the time it took me to decide whether to splash out the extra £2 for mineral water in a restaurant. I gave us both identical allowances, only somehow Stella’s never seemed to go as far as mine did.

  It wasn’t worth a disagreement, though, not at the moment. I gave her my last £40, and waved her off down the stairs as if we were parting for weeks, not just two nights. Less than five minutes later, the doorbell rang. Clutching a handful of silver coins, I plodded down to the front door, assuming it was someone collecting for charity.

  A single, long-stemmed red rose lay on the doorstep, a small splash of colour against the grey granite. I instantly thought of Charlie, although I wasn’t sure why. After his behaviour, and the threatening message, he was hardly likely to be sending Stella flowers – but you never knew. If he really had been lurking around here, perhaps he was schizophrenic, or obsessed by Stella, despite the damage she’d inflicted on him. Had I not had bare feet, I’d have stamped on it then and there, pulping its petals into a watery perfume to try and dissolve the fear I felt for Stella.

  I made a mental note to get her to ring the police and find out why it was taking so long to get the swab analyses back. They’d said the lab was busy, but it had been nearly three months already.

  Then I heard a sheepish-sounding and very familiar voice from the direction of the privet hedge.

  ‘It won’t bite you – it’s only a rose. Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.’

  Gavin stepped out from behind the hedge, wearing his old leather jacket and his twisty-seamed Levis, his bike helmet looped over one forearm like a shield of honour. He was grinning at me, his arms opened wide in my direction. Before I’d even moved a muscle I felt the familiar sensation of being hugged against his warm chest, and the smell of his aftershave, and my cheek itched with longing to be pressed against his shirt buttons.