by G H Mockford
Stephen took a deep breath and said, ‘Hello, Mum.’
Twenty-Three
The woman went still for a moment and then put the trowel down. Stephen watched, as without looking back at him, she reached up to the window ledge and used it to pull herself up.
Stephen expected her to turn around, but she didn’t. Perhaps she was looking at his reflection in the window to check she wasn’t dreaming. Stephen wanted to throw open the gate and run to her, but something was stopping him. Was it fear about how she was going to react? Or guilt for having left it so long?
He’d always told himself that it was their fault he’d never spoken to them. They were the ones in the wrong. They were the ones who had blamed him for everything. But, he’d grown up a lot in the last ten years. It was his fault. They’d been hurting and he’d walked away from them even if he thought he was doing the right thing.
‘I’m sorry,’ Stephen said.
Upon hearing the words, the woman turned round, her mouth open. No words came out. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her clothes might have been the same, but her face wasn’t. Stephen could see the hurt in every line of her face but also the happiness in her watery eyes. She’d aged so much in the last nine years; no doubt brought on by worry, regret and the all-consuming sadness that he’d created.
Stephen opened the gate and moved up the path towards his mother. She stepped around the maple and brought her arms up. Stephen quickened his pace and all but threw himself into his mother’s waiting embrace.
They stood there, holding each other for what felt like a lifetime. She buried her head into his chest, her tears soaking the hideous charity shop tie he was wearing. She patted his back just as she always did when he needed comforting.
‘I thought you were dead, I truly did,’ she said between sobs. ‘But God has brought you back to me.’
Then Stephen’s floodgates opened, and he realized that he’d indeed been selfish and cruel. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, knowing and hearing the patheticness of his words.
They continued to hold each other as the world went on around them. Their bodies shook as they let all their hurt and regret pour out.
After several minutes, his mother stepped back, wiped her eyes, looked at him for a moment and then headed towards the window. She picked up the trug and homemade kneeler. ‘Would you like to come inside?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘It’s not much,’ she said as she opened the front door and led the way inside. ‘Where are you living now?
‘Manor Park,’ Stephen answered as he followed her down the hallway. Photos of every child she’d ever fostered covered the walls and in pride of place was Stephen. Once in the kitchen, she pulled out a chair and put the trug on the floor by the back door.
‘Coffee, isn’t it?’ she asked as she filled the kettle.
‘Yes, please.’
‘Stop being so damn polite. I’m your mother, you never used to say please and thank you before.’
Stephen nodded, unsure what to say and do.
‘Please, sit,’ she said. Stephen sat on the chair she pulled out for him and remained silent. ‘So, tell me about yourself. Are you married?’ his mother asked as she flicked the kettle on and rooted around in the cupboards.
‘No. I live in a house share. I work in a pub.’
‘That’s…nice,’ she said, placing a plate of biscuits on the table.
Silence fell, and Stephen wondered if the shortness of his answers sounded rude or defensive. Aware of exacerbating it, he said, ‘What happened, Mum?
‘What do you mean? “What happened?”’
‘I mean, how did you end up here?’
The woman, who in so many ways was almost a stranger now, smiled at him. ‘This is odd, isn’t it? Pretending that nothing ever happened.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Stephen said once again.
‘I lost a child, Stephen. And then I lost you, my baby. I know you felt pushed out sometimes, that you felt second place to the others–’
‘That’s not true.’
‘That’s kind of you to say, but you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t. God gave me a purpose in life and sometimes I feel like I sacrificed you for it. We loved you, and then you disappeared.’
Stephen remained silent for a while trying to decide on the best words. Mum sounded so calm, so thoughtful as if she’d been practising what to say for years. He said, ‘Dad threw me out. As far as he was concerned I’d thrown my life away.’
‘He was angry. He sacrificed a lot to put you through university. We both did.’
Silence fell again. The kettle boiled and gave the woman an excuse to move, to do anything but sit there awkwardly. Stephen stared at the table and listened to the sounds of the coffee being made. ‘Dad at work?’
His mother looked weary as she came back to the small table with two steaming cups of coffee and placed them on it. ‘Tell me more about you,’ she said, ignoring the question.
Stephen was about to press her for an answer, but the look in his mother’s eyes warned him not to. ‘There’s not a lot to say really. I work in a pub. I sleep. I eat.’ Stephen looked back up at his mother. Her eyes were glimmering as tears brimmed at the edges.
‘So you didn’t reconsider? You didn’t go back to Cambridge?’
‘No,’ he said quickly like he was pulling a plaster off.
‘Did you…?’
Stephen knew what the next question was even if she didn’t finish it. ‘I kept looking. Until earlier this week. I’ve decided to close that book and move on with my life.’
‘Ten years. You’ve paid more than your penance. Our Lord only spent forty days in the desert. It’s time to stop punishing yourself, Stephen.’ His mother reached across the table and took his hand. ‘You should never have blamed yourself. There were things you didn’t know. Things that Social Services didn’t tell me — or your father. We never forgot about her, but when we were told the whole truth about her background it helped to heal most of the wounds. There was still you, of course, but your father said that you would come back in your own time – if you wanted to.’
‘I’m sor–’ Stephen was cut off by his mother’s fingertips.
‘You came back, just like he said you would.’
‘How is Dad?’
‘He left.’
‘Well, when will he be back?’
‘I don’t mean for work, Stephen,’ she said with a short, mocking laugh. ‘He left me.’
Twenty-Four
Stephen froze for a moment, but as he sorted through the confused thoughts and questions that filled his mind, it all made sense. It was what Mrs Eaton had said, or hadn’t said, that had been bugging him. The dear old woman had only ever referred to his mother.
Why had it taken him by surprise? The only explanation he could think of that it would never have occurred to him. They always seemed so in love. No one ever expected their parents to split up. Did they?
‘I’m sorry,’ Stephen said for what felt like the millionth time.
‘Everything fell apart when Felicity ran away. Who’d have thought that one little girl would tear our family apart? Actually,’ Mrs Bridges paused for a moment, ‘that’s not completely correct. Our family was already falling apart, we just didn’t know it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’d practically left home. We only saw you during the holidays, or when you needed your washing done.’ She smiled, probably at the discomfort Stephen knew was painted on his face. ‘You were a man, ready to fly the nest. Your father and I talked about taking on another foster child, but he wasn’t keen. Felicity would be the last. I found out why a year later.’
‘It wasn’t easy bringing up those kids, Mum.’
‘You’re right, it wasn’t, and you helped, a lot.’ Mrs Bridges got up, turned her back on her son and walked to the sink. ‘That day when we had the argument and you stormed out the house, your father dropped his little surprise. Deep down, I think I already knew. Things
weren’t the same. He blamed it on Felicity running away, of course, but I wasn’t stupid. I knew it was an excuse.’
Stephen remained on the chair, unsure what to say or do. His mother was clearly upset, but she’d put the physical distance between them for a reason.
Mrs Bridges let out a long, tired sigh. ‘He’d been carrying on for a while. He was going to tell me when you went to university, and you were ‘off our hands’, as he put it.’ Silence fell again for a while. She turned to face her son and smiled. ‘I was going to call him a bastard, but I’m too tired and too much time has gone by. And he’s still your father. He was a good one until…’
The sentence hung in the air and Stephen was left guessing what she meant. ‘You should’ve told me.’
‘How? You just disappeared. No phone number. No address.’ There was no malice in his mother’s words, just the truth, no matter how much it hurt.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m just happy you’re safe and well. Really.’ Mrs Bridges sat back down at the table and wiped her tears away.
They both picked up their mugs of coffee and drank without a word. It wasn’t awkward this time. There was a certain solace in the mutual silence. Stephen could tell that she forgave him. She loved him, and she still loved the Lord judging by the Palm Sunday cross tucked in between the few cookery books she had.
All remained quiet for a few moments, and then, putting down her empty mug, she asked, ‘Why have you decided to give up? Ten years is a long time.’
‘Certain things have happened that have made me realize that I need to move on.’
His mother nodded. ‘When you left, and your father, it made me look at life differently. Despite my faith, I became depressed for a while.’ Stephen couldn’t have covered his feelings very well because she quickly added, ‘It wasn’t anything serious. I was medicated for a while. I joined a group that was run by the local diocese. My advocate made me realize that it wasn’t my fault that Felicity left, or all the other people after her. That was four years ago. I’ve built a new life. I’ve learned to start again, and I hope that you can too, and we can begin together.’
Stephen stood, walked around the table, crouched behind his mother and wrapped his arms around her.
‘Is the air thicker down here?’ she said, and the pair began to laugh at the old joke she’d not told for years and he’d not heard. The laughter turned to tears as their emotions were released.
They remained that way for a while and then Stephen sent a text message to Cliff apologising that he would be late and he would explain later. They spent the next few hours in the garden weeding and deadheading flowers together. Somehow the activity made it easier to talk and the conversation moved onto uncles and aunties and which cousins had got married or started families. Life had gone on without Stephen and for that he was strangely grateful.
Soon it was time to leave, and after washing up and another cup of coffee, they stood at the front door.
‘You’ve got my number?’ his mother asked for the fifth time.
‘Yes. I’ll ring soon, I promise.’
‘God be with you, Stephen.’
Twenty-Five
It was dark when Georgia awoke.
The familiar, and now explained queasiness lingered within her like an unwanted friend. Her mouth felt dry. Reaching over the side of the chair, Georgia hunted for the can of drink that always waited for her when she woke up.
Sprite tonight.
Georgia smiled at the sound of the words.
The plate had gone.
For the first time it occurred to Georgia that she didn’t have a clue what happened to her while she was asleep. Perhaps a subconscious part of her brain had somehow forbidden her from considering it. Did he touch her? Georgia doubted she would awaken from the drug-induced sleep even if he did. She pushed the idea away and wished she’d never thought it. When he’d touched her the other day he’d not attempted anything sexual.
So if he wasn’t a pervert, what was he? Again, Georgia buried the question deep within her.
It was exceptionally dark tonight. It had been a full moon the other night and even though she’d lost track of time, she couldn’t have lost weeks. Could she?
It was funny the things you noticed when you lived on the street. Before she’d never given the cycle of the moon much thought, but it meant a lot when you slept rough. It was often colder and Eddie had told her that the crazies seemed to come out when the moon was full. Was that what had happened to her? Had some lunatic snatched her off the street in some crazy moon drunk episode?
The strange comedy of the image brought a smile to her lips.
As if reading her thoughts, and wanting to dispel them, heavy rain began to fall. There was no gentle pitter-patter on the window, just wind driven lashings. As strange as it seemed, she was grateful to be inside, wherever the hell she was being held, by whoever the hell he was.
She’d been caught out in the rain once before. It was the first time she’d ever met Eddie. They were both under the arches. The heavens were heavy with clouds and she set up her spot for the night near the entrance to the tunnel. Eddie had tried to tell her it wasn’t a good idea, but she was sixteen and thought she knew it all. She ignored him. She was free now and she was going to do whatever the hell she liked.
Georgia was hoping for lightning. She’d never been afraid of it, even when she was little. The bright sparks of light seemed beautiful to her. It was a beauty that held so much raw power. The power to destroy. The power to kill. That night had been warm and humid, but the lightning never came. Instead, the rhythmic beating of the rain lulled her to sleep.
Later, Georgia awoke, torn from a dream. Someone was grabbing at her. She screamed and kicked out. She didn’t even have to think to do it. Her fear and reptilian brain took over and knew what to do. Her foot connected with something and she heard the sound of someone crying out in pain through her sleepy fog. It was the man who had tried to tell her not to sleep there. Now he was backing away, one arm holding his ribs where she’d kicked him. As she calmed down she saw that his other hand was held up telling her to stop.
Then the cold hit her. It was deep and penetrating. Her sleeping bag and clothes were soaked. The wind had picked up and the rain had got heavier and come straight through the brick arch and all over her.
Belatedly, she realized what the old man had been trying to tell her hours before. Now he was wandering off, clutching his injury. Later she’d attempted to say she was sorry, but he just ignored her. The situation remained the same for almost a week.
The sleeping bag had taken days to dry out and her wet clothes chilled her for the remainder of the night. She’d ended up walking along the river bank, once it had stopped raining, in an attempt to warm up and use her body heat to dry herself out. She walked all the way to Clifton Boulevard, rested under the bridge listening to the early morning traffic as thousands of cars entered the city to start the working day, and then walked back again.
So, tonight she was glad of the shelter, even if it was as the guest of a madman.
Georgia cracked open the can of soft drink and took a long pull. She was thirsty. A stray memory of her mother made her smile for a moment.
Then she heard something.
‘Are you awake?’
Georgia turned and stared into the darkness at the hidden fireplace, and then leapt out of her chair. It was the woman from the day before. Finding the edges of the firebox, Georgia poked her head inside and said, ‘Hello.’
‘Are you all right?
‘Yes, why?’
‘I’ve been calling you for ages, ever since I woke up.’
Georgia smiled. It was nice to hear the voice again. She sounded kind and gentle. Georgia couldn’t help but construct an image of the mystery woman in her mind. She was tall and blonde. Her skin was perfect and no make-up was necessary to enhance her beauty. Her kindness and goodness radiated out through her soul and showed on her features.
‘
I’ve only just woken up,’ Georgia called back. ‘I didn’t eat last night’s food at first. In the end I did because I got so hungry. I think it’s drugged.’
‘It is,’ the other woman confirmed.
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘There wasn’t time, and there were more pressing things on my mind. I’m sorry. Besides, I’ve learned it’s better just to eat it.’
‘What is it? It makes me feel sick?’ Georgia asked as she shifted her position and sat on the cold stone hearth.
‘The drug? I don’t know,’ came the voice. She was beginning to speak louder. ‘I stopped eating once, but he brought nothing else. I had no choice.’
‘How long have you been here?’ Georgia asked, curious, but fearful of the answer.
‘Oh, I don’t know. A long time. Years.’
‘Years?!’ Georgia tried to fight it, but the tears came. ‘Oh my god. Years?’
Only silence came from the other side of the fire.
Georgia moved back onto the wooden floorboards and wiped away her tears. Why were they here? Were they some kind of pet? A human zoo? Was this how she would see out the rest of her days?
Georgia waited a little longer and then called, ‘Hello?’
‘I’m sorry to bring you such bad news,’ the woman answered.
‘I’m Georgia, by the way.’
‘I’m…’ There was a pause and for a moment Georgia thought the woman had forgotten her name she’d been here so long. ‘He’s here. We must be quiet.’
‘Wait, please tell me your name.’
‘Felicity. My name is Felicity.
Twenty-Six
FRIDAY 7:30 A.M.
Stephen was up early. He awoke refreshed, happy and invigorated.
He shared a coffee with David, who brought up the subject of going to the cinema before he left for work. Stephen tried to remain non-committal, but David could be very persuasive and forceful.
