Another Mother: a gripping psychological family drama

by Amanda James

  I stare at the birds of paradise patterning the beige curtain, but instead see the whole surreal scene again. Mellyn’s tortured eyes staring across at me from the sofa, her ghostly face, the words, ‘I killed Neil,’ in my ears, but my brain refusing to process.

  After what seemed like a very long time I’d said, ‘What do you mean?’

  Mellyn let out a long sigh as if she’d been holding her breath and shrugged. ‘He had hurt me badly the day before – said I had been ogling the postman – my wrist and hand ended up in a sling. Neil had been working in the shed and had a wooden mallet in his hand the moment he saw the postman leave. He came in with it behind his back, smiled sweetly at me and then smacked it down on my wrist and hand as I gripped the banister to go upstairs for something.’

  I remember that I had put my hand over my mouth to stifle a cry but Mellyn didn’t notice. She’d had that trance-like stare on her face and the distant sing-song voice was back.

  ‘So, the next day, the day I killed him, we were round at my parents’. I told you before that he was doing the guttering, so we could get the house ready for sale. I was painting in the downstairs loo with my one good hand, and then I went upstairs to use the bathroom …’ She stopped and shoved her hands through her hair a few times and then wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve. ‘Didn’t want to get trousers on my paint as I remember.’ She laughed and shook her head. ‘No … I meant paint on my trousers.’

  I hadn’t wanted to hear the rest. I knew it was inevitable, but I wished she would stop. A desperate part of my mind pretended that maybe she was so drunk she was just making the whole thing up. I wished with all my heart that I could believe it. Mellyn began speaking again.

  ‘On my way back, I caught a glimpse of Neil on the ladder through one of the bedroom windows. My wrist was really sore after the struggle to get my knickers down and up in the loo – I’d banged it on the wall. I remember looking at the bandage and thinking you poor pathetic cow. How did you let it come to this? The next minute I was at the window, the window was open … and then I grabbed the ladder with my good hand and shoved with all my might. Neil went down so fast … so fast. I heard his skull crack on the patio like—’

  ‘Oh my God!’ I jumped up and wrapped my arms around myself. I just stood there staring at her, a hundred words in my mouth but not one able to break free. She stared back, her expression blank, her eyes dead. I swallowed down a roll of nausea and said, ‘What … why? I don’t know what to say … I …’

  ‘Say nothing. It happened and that was it. I thought I owed it to you to be honest. If you know, then you will really understand why I’m … why I fly off the handle, and you’ll be able to … help me. Help me!’ she wailed. Leaning forward she put her elbows on her knees and covered her face with both hands. An animalistic howl left her lips and then she curled up on the sofa in the foetal position, heart-rending sobs shaking her whole body.

  I had comforted her, of course. What else could I have done? I gave a curt nod in answer to her plea that I wouldn’t tell a soul and helped her up the rickety stairs to bed. She was out cold before I could undress her, so I just covered her with the duvet.

  In the bathroom I splash cold water on my face; my eyes feel like they’ve been taken out, rolled in sand and glued back in. The mirror tells me that’s not far from the truth. Red and green as a colour combination normally works – except when it’s applied to eyes. Even my skin looks tired, pale and lined. I stroke the furrow in my brow just above the bridge of my nose. It wasn’t as deep as that a week ago, was it?

  Hot water needles bring back some semblance of normality to my tired body, so I tip my head into the full force of the shower in the hope that it will do the same for my brain. In my mind’s eye I see Mellyn’s pleading face again. How can I not tell anyone? How can I calmly go about my business knowing that my mother is a murderer? Wouldn’t that make me as bad – an accomplice? And her cry for help. How can I? I’ve been kidding myself that I would be able to help since that day at the art gallery, pretending I was some sort of natural counsellor, when all I really am is a daughter who loves her mum.

  I shut the shower off and into the silent steam I exhale the impact of that thought, tendrils of truth lost in a fine mist. Did I love her, really? I saw an image of a determined sixteen-year-old, successful in her fight to preserve life, but unable to hold on to it afterwards. Even though Mellyn had brought me into the world and had been desperate to keep me, the walls of life had been just too high to scale.

  Wrapped in a fluffy towel, I sit on the edge of the bed. Emotion swells in my throat and for the first time I admit to myself that perhaps the fondness in my heart is turning to love, even though she has myriad faults, problems, psychological issues and a streak of stubbornness as long as the Nile. If it hadn’t been for the stubborn streak, I might not be sitting here in this fluffy towel deciding whether or not to repay her fighting for my life by taking hers. Because that’s what would happen if I confessed to the police, wouldn’t it? I would in effect be taking away her life.

  From the kitchen door I watch an early honey bee dip into the heart of a rose. I imagine there would be bees on Mum’s rose bush back home, all the tight buds would be open, and the air would be heavy with its perfume. I wonder if Dad is up yet and if he’s looking out of the kitchen window at the roses. My heart decides that’s too painful to witness, so I put it out of my head and look at a crack in a patio slab.

  I take a few swallows of strong hot coffee and feel it burn an arabica path to my gullet. What would Mum have done in my shoes? I look at my bare feet and wiggle my toes. She would have said put your shoes on for a start; Mum was always practical. She might have suggested that perhaps Mellyn was just being dramatic for effect; she did confess in her sing-song voice after all. Then she would have decided that something so dramatic was unlikely to be for effect. She would have said trust my gut. My gut agrees with her decision.

  On the bedside table next to Mellyn’s snoring form, I place a plate of toast and a pint of water. The only visible part of her is a tangle of chestnut hair and a foot. It’s even clearer to me that our roles are reversed, but, unlike the last time I realised this, I don’t like it. Now my responsibility has taken on life or death status. I hold her terrible secret in my care and must protect it and her from exposure. Mellyn’s like a fragile but precious ornament, and it’s up to me to keep her from breaking.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Rosie says, closing the dishwasher door with her hip and frowning across at me. ‘You don’t look well, and you’ve hardly said more than a few words all morning.’

  ‘Yes, I told you, I’m fine.’ I wipe down the countertop and fold a clean napkin. I can feel her eyes hot on the back of my neck and know I haven’t fooled her.

  ‘Look,’ I say turning to face her, and feel a smile hovering valiantly at the corners of my mouth. ‘I’m just tired. I was up chatting to Mum until late last night and then I couldn’t sleep straight away. Lots of things in my head – you know how it is sometimes.’ I turn back to my folding.

  ‘Yes. Sounds like it was a successful chat – you just called her Mum. That’s a first.’ Rosie walks across the kitchen, hops up on the counter beside me and tucks her hands under her legs.

  ‘Yes, I did, didn’t I?’ And it is a first. At least something good had come out of the disaster. ‘Called her Mum to her face the other day too for the first time.’

  ‘Ri-ght. So, if things are good, why do you look so bloody miserable?’ Rosie grabs a napkin, shakes it out and flicks it at me like a duster.

  ‘I just folded that!’ I snatch it from her and sigh at her crestfallen expression. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, I can see I’ll get no peace until I tell you. Adelaide is coming down for a visit soon and I don’t think Mum was keen. I think she felt jealous, you know, the old life muscling in on the new … her new.’ I look up at Rosie and she looks back, nodding like one of those dogs on the back shelves of cars.

  ‘I can unders
tand where she’s coming from. She just gets you all to herself and then wham!’ Rosie slaps her hand on the counter. ‘Up pops Adelaide – Adelaide who means the world to you, no less.’

  My eyebrows shoot up. Perhaps Mellyn hadn’t been acting so weirdly if Rosie understood her feelings. ‘Do you think I should tell Adelaide not to come?’

  ‘Nah. Mellyn will have to get used to it. No use pandering to her every whim, if you start that, it will never end. My mum is similar – give her an inch and all that.’

  ‘Funny you should mention your mum,’ I say, wiping down the cooker. ‘My mum had never heard of her – guess you must have got it wrong.’

  ‘Really?’ Rosie jumps down from the counter and fills the kettle. ‘I wasn’t absolutely certain, as I said, but something rang a bell about your mum’s shop. Perhaps Mum was friends with the woman who part owns it, the one who lives up country now?’

  ‘Could be. You’ll have to ask your mum next time you speak. Also, it’s about time you popped round and met mine.’ I push the coffee pot towards Rosie. ‘Make it nice and strong, otherwise I’ll not last the day and the Pomp and Vulture will be on my back.’

  She laughs and returns to her task. ‘Yes, they’ll be on mine too. Thanks for the invite – I’d like to meet Mellyn.’

  Good. I’ve managed to pacify her curiosity without cracking up. I must be a better actress than I thought. Out in the corridor I open the cleaning cupboard and clank out the mop and bucket. I notice my hand holding the mop handle. It has short fingernails, rough red skin and a tremble in its grip: a sign of emotional exhaustion? Perhaps, but I’m tough, determined, responsible – oh yes, and a good actress apparently. Losing Mum and finding another, along with her deadly secret, has changed me irrevocably. The old me of six months ago wouldn’t recognise the new. On balance this is a good thing, but why did the change have to come at such a terrible price?

  18

  It made a nice change to be able to enjoy a soak and a glass of wine; normally her chin would be on her chest after a meal for one in front of the telly. Rosie had Lu to thank for that, an extra pair of hands made all the difference. Looking round her little flat earlier though she’d had to concede that she was glad her friend had turned down her offer to move in. For one thing, she was probably the messiest person she knew, for another, her tiny living space wouldn’t accommodate her mess and another human being, and the last thing … well, she didn’t really want to think about that one.

  An errant bubble threatened to land in the wine glass. A puff of air from her lips sent the orb tumbling towards the tap and with a silent pop, it was no more. Rosie needed to do something with her life before her own bubble became no more. Though the Pomp and Vulture pub she and Lu joked about opening was just that, a joke, would it be such a bad idea? They worked well together, were both competent women – hell, Rosie had practically run the B&B single-handedly for two years. It didn’t have to be a pub, neither had experience in that field, but perhaps it could be a coffee shop instead, maybe serving light meals; it could even be licensed. The phone rang in the hallway. Damn. That would be Mum.

  ‘Mum! Yes, sorry … I know I said I’d ring at seven, just forgot.’ Rosie struggled to belt her robe whilst mopping the drips from the bath with a towel under her foot.

  ‘Easy to forget, eh? That’s nice for a mother to hear I’m sure!’ Val laughed, but her daughter wasn’t fooled.

  ‘How could I forget you, Mum? You’re in my every waking thought.’

  ‘Hm … So how have you been then?’

  ‘Good, thanks. I was just thinking in the bath how much better my life is with Lu working alongside. We are similar fish really, though different in some ways. We are alike in the fact that we’re underachievers … have battleaxes for mothers—’

  ‘Watch it, madam. I might be in Spain, but I can be there by late morning tomorrow. You’re not too big for a clip round the ear ’ole!’ Val laughed and this time it was genuine.

  ‘Yeah, right. You never laid a finger on me and you know it. I was thinking that in the future it might be a good idea to set up some sort of business with Lu.’

  Val snorted down the line and Rosie clenched her jaw. Here we go.

  ‘You can’t just decide to start some sort of business, love. It’s a damn sight harder than that. You have to research your market, spend time planning, then—’

  ‘Yes, Mum, I do know. I was just floating an idea, that’s all. I haven’t even mentioned it to Lu. It would be nice to do something with my life that I could be proud of before much longer, you know?’

  ‘Of course. You’re wasted in that job – you’re a talented young woman – and I’d help with whatever venture you decided on. I have experience in business, after all.’

  Rosie smiled. The pride in Val’s voice was both for herself and her daughter. ‘You do. Speaking of which, how’s it going?’

  ‘Busy! We’ve had the most hectic summer so far. Once this month is over it will start tailing off a bit. Your dad is grumbling as usual. He grumbles when we’re slack, grumbles when we’re busy.’ Val sighed. ‘The truth is we both miss you and Jake something awful. Miss Cornwall too. We were only saying the other night: if we have another year out here we might have enough savings to come home, buy a nice little cottage and retire.’

  A lump formed in Rosie’s throat. ‘Oh, Mum, that would be brilliant! Seeing you twice a year isn’t enough, and if you come home you could really help Lu and me get on our feet business wise.’ Truthfully, she would like to do it with the minimum interference, but if it encouraged her parents to return then she’d say almost anything.

  ‘That’s settled then, Rosie Posy,’ Val said, a tremor in her voice. ‘And is this Lu not getting on with her birth mum? You said she was a battleaxe like me.’

  ‘I think they have their moments, but overall they’re very happy to be together again. It’s funny, but I could have sworn you and her mum were friends a while back. I kept meaning to mention it to you but forgot. Lu told me today that her mum didn’t know you after all though. She’s invited me round to meet her, so that’ll be nice.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Mellyn, don’t know her surname, runs the jewellery shop on the high street.’ Rosie poked a blemish on her chin and wiped steam from the mirror with the cuff of her robe to check it wasn’t as big as it felt. ‘Mum? Have you nodded off?’ The spot wasn’t the largest, but it looked pretty angry. There was still no reply from Val. ‘Hello? You still there?’

  ‘Er, yes. I was just trying to shoo a fly out of the window.’

  There was something wrong with Mum’s voice, she thought … it sounded as if she was upset but pretending not to be. ‘So, did you know her? I had wondered if you’d been friends with her business partner instead. She went to live up country to—’

  ‘Be with her aged parents, yes. It was her I was friends with, not Mellyn. I spoke to her once or twice, but we weren’t friends. Think she was a bit odd – not sure you’d want to meet her. Now, have you decided what you want for your birthday? You always leave it ’til the last minute and we end up just sending money. I’d like to get something nice this time,’ Val said, her words running into each other, her voice up a few octaves.

  ‘My birthday isn’t for three months, Mum.’ There was definitely something wrong. ‘Your voice sounds a bit odd, and you seem on … on edge I suppose you’d call it.’

  A too-shrill burst of laughter down the phone confirmed Rosie’s worries. ‘Don’t be daft, there’s nothing wrong with me at all. Just rushed off my feet as usual. Oh, I think your dad could do with a hand in the bar. I’ll ring next week, love you!’

  The disconnect tone was the perfect soundtrack to Rosie’s disquiet.

  Disquiet had settled for ‘wait and see’ after a good night’s sleep. Mum could be odd too at times, despite what she’d said about Mellyn. Nearing Pebble House, Rosie inhaled the early morning air and detected a hint of smoky autumn twirling around a salt breeze. Autumn was o
ne of her favourite seasons: the turning leaves, the smell of wood smoke – she opened the door and walked through to the dining room – the country paths ready to be explored, the … Bloody hell, what was up with Lu?

  Lu turned her back and began laying another table even though she hadn’t finished the first one. Rosie followed and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Too late, I already saw your crumply face and tears in your eyes. What’s wrong?’

  A sniff. ‘Nothing you can put right. You’ve done enough as it is.’

  ‘How do you know until you tell me what it is?’ Rosie moved to the other side of the table and watched Lu’s face closely. The tears that threatened to spill never got the chance under Lu’s fierce napkin attack across the eyes.

  ‘I’m being dramatic,’ Lu said, but the attempt at a smile turned the corners of her mouth down instead of up and added a chin wobble. ‘It’s just that I have so loved working here …’ She looked at the napkin and took a deep breath. ‘Pomp just told me that the main holiday season will be over soon, and they can’t afford to keep me on beyond the end of next week.’

  ‘She did what?’ A fire ignited anger under her ribs. ‘We’ll see about that!’

  Lu grabbed her arm as she made for the door. ‘No! Look, she’s right in a way. It will get slack now leading up to winter, and—’

  ‘It does tail off, yes, but this is St Ives!’ Rosie threw her arms up. ‘We get tourists year-round and if they would get off their arses and promote the business, offer an evening meal for example, update the ancient bloody website, think of new ways of attracting people instead of just doing sweet FA, then you wouldn’t have to lose your job.’

  Lu nodded. ‘But we both know they won’t do all that. There’s no point in sticking your neck out on my behalf, and you certainly shouldn’t go and see her now while you’re fuming.’