Another Mother: a gripping psychological family drama

by Amanda James

  ‘Lu!’ Adelaide stands and flaps her hands. Dressed as she is in black trousers, a white blouse and black sleeveless cardigan I’m reminded of an excited penguin. ‘Lu, over here!’ she calls, even though I’m already walking towards her. ‘Evelyn, it’s Lu!’ she prods her sister’s shoulder and flaps again.

  Evelyn nods and smiles. ‘I had grasped that, you daft ha’porth.’

  I walk into a hug and home. Though our embrace is quick, Adelaide, stiff as a board, is already awumah-ing and patting my back as if she wants to get my wind up. I figure out that awumha must be a cross between aw, um and ah. Poor Adelaide is hopeless with displays of affection. The familiar smell of her perfume, the sound of her voice, places me in our kitchen and envelops me in warmth and safety. Safe is something I haven’t felt for a while now, I realise. This is an odd adjective for my thoughts to throw at me. Perhaps it’s the fact that I never know what to expect from life any more.

  ‘My goodness, you look well,’ Adelaide says, holding me at arm’s length, all brows and dark searching eyes that miss nothing. ‘This Cornish air must be doing you good.’

  ‘It is lovely here, Adelaide, but I feel all the better for seeing you again.’

  ‘And I you, my dear.’ She gives a real smile and nods at her sister. ‘I expect you’ve guessed this is Evelyn?’

  Evelyn stands up and sticks out a hand from a whirlwind flurry of pink and green chiffon and an exploding bosom. ‘Pleased to meet you, love. You’re much prettier than Adelaide described you.’

  ‘Oh thanks. And what a pretty blouse that is.’

  ‘Pretty if you like big and bold, but then that’s me to a T, isn’t it, Adelaide?’

  ‘It is. We’re like chalk and cheese considering we’re sisters.’

  ‘But there are a few obvious similarities,’ I say and then stop. Instinctively I know that any mention of eyebrows would not be a good idea … not after my birthday night when Adelaide had rubbed hers off and caught me laughing. ‘Your eyes are very alike,’ I add.

  ‘Noses and chins too,’ Adelaide says.

  ‘I have a few more than you though, eh?’ Evelyn chuckles and sits down.

  ‘What, noses?’ I ask, and then wish I hadn’t as their twin eyebrows attempt to knit themselves into frowns.

  ‘No, chins,’ Evelyn says and shoots her sister a look.

  I sit down and clear my throat.

  Adelaide does a three-second curl of the lips. ‘I’d forgotten Lu’s daft sense of humour. Now, we’ve already ordered a pot of tea. What do we fancy for breakfast?’

  ‘Second breakfast in my case,’ Evelyn says and pats her ample belly. ‘I couldn’t bear to turn down a full English seeing as how we’d paid for it.’

  ‘How are you liking Pebble House?’ I ask, scanning the menu. ‘Be careful what you say – I work my fingers to the bone in that place.’

  ‘It’s lovely. We met your friend Rosie this morning, and she made us laugh telling us what you and her call the owners,’ Adelaide says. ‘It’s a shame you had your hours cut though, love.’

  ‘It is. Still, Mum has offered me a few days in her shop. I did my first day there yesterday and really enjoyed it.’ I watch a cloud pass over Adelaide’s face. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing really … it’s just strange hearing you say Mum. At first, I … oh, don’t mind me. I’m a daft old woman. I’m thrilled that you call Mellyn Mum. Honestly I am.’

  The air in the café packs the comforting aromas of bacon, coffee and pain au chocolat into my lungs, but I’m not comforted. We discuss our breakfast order, word upon word layering over Adelaide’s explanation, but in my head it’s still all I can hear. I know where it came from. It came from her still being in my old life, in my old street, with our old neighbours, with my dad … but without Mum. Without the woman who brought me up, the woman who used to be Mum, who was still Mum really, but who was gone … had been taken.

  ‘I haven’t forgotten her, you know,’ I blurt into a discussion about black pudding. ‘I’ll never forget her, or what she did for me.’

  Adelaide puts a hand to her lips as if she wanted to unsay her earlier words. ‘I’ve upset you, haven’t I? I knew I had.’

  I look at the concern in her eyes and the sympathy in Evelyn’s and dredge up a smile. No, she hasn’t upset me. I’ve just become detached from the old life, Dad, the grief, and preoccupied with the new and all its problems. If I’m upset with anyone it’s with me.

  ‘Not at all,’ I say to the laminated menu. ‘I just wanted you to know that even though I’ve cast away stones, there are some that will forever be my foundations.’

  Adelaide’s cold thin fingers encircle my wrist and she removes the menu with her other hand. ‘Look at me.’ I look at her. ‘I know that, Lu. And I also know how strong those foundations are … how strong you are.’

  I nod and put the menu back up, a barrier against her searching eyes and the raw emotion threatening behind mine.

  ‘Right. Enough of this stuff or I’ll be crying into me black pudding!’ Evelyn says, attempting a laugh.

  Adelaide adds her Santa on a surfboard and relief has me joining him in the waves.

  Late afternoon seeps into our day, showing off its muted colours and perfuming the air with a lazy mix of salt and lavender. I can’t remember the morning leaving, but I remember what it’s like to be normal. This is normal. Sitting in a tea garden watching bees crawl amongst hedgerows threaded through with coastal flowers, spending the morning wandering the harbour, eating ice cream, discovering things in gift shops in the town that we couldn’t possibly live without and laughing, without even a thought reserved for the eventuality of a possible meltdown.

  Evelyn has gone off to buy postcards after demolishing a Cornish Cream Tea almost as soon as it was placed on the table. This was after two breakfasts, an ice cream and a pasty. Apart from food, the woman had an enormous appetite for laughter, loud clothes and life in general, and I liked her immediately. It’s obvious that this quest for postcards had been discussed by the two sisters previously; I saw an almost imperceptible nod pass between them as I spooned jam onto my scone. Evelyn had left us alone to have a heart to heart, but mine doesn’t know where to begin.

  ‘I shall be the size of a house at this rate,’ Adelaide says, lifting a cream-laden scone.

  ‘I think it would take a while to even get you to the size of a Wendy house,’ I say with a twist of my mouth, and then look off over the lawn and to the sea beyond. Part of me wants Adelaide to know everything; the other, and more sensible part, tells me off.

  We eat, drink tea, watch seagulls try to snatch a sandwich from an unsuspecting tourist, and talk about how wonderful it is to sit in a cottage garden on the top of a hill, the sun on our skin, watching the world go by in one of the most beautiful parts of England, nay, the world. But all the time, under the day to day, a strong current of tension and uncertainty tugs our lips into a straight line after sentences end, or conversely forces a smile. Eventually Adelaide breaks free.

  ‘Now, tell me, Lu. Are you happy?’ She looks at me with those perceptive eyes, head on one side, lips pressed together as if blotting lipstick on an invisible tissue.

  I pretend to choke on my tea. ‘What a question to ask. I think you’d be hard pushed to define real happiness.’

  ‘That’s what you came in search of wasn’t it, though, love?’ she says to the sky.

  ‘Yes, I suppose. I think it’s safe to say that things have been a bit up and down, but I’m certainly finding my feet, getting to know Mum and settling into my new life.’

  ‘It will take a while, of course it will. I for one think you’ve done a grand job. So, does your dad, though he finds it hard to talk about it all for long.’

  ‘I do know that. I ring Dad every week.’ Tension twists my words into a snippy defence when I don’t want it to be.

  ‘Of course, you do.’ Adelaide pats my wrist and pours more tea. ‘I just want you to know he’s proud of you because he might not have s
aid it to you directly.’

  Dad hadn’t. He wouldn’t, it’s not his way. Our telephone conversations have mostly been about the weather, his work, my work, the latest news. I don’t want my wrist to be patted. I’m not a pet dog or some kind of crazy person who has to be soothed. I look up into Adelaide’s sympathetic eyes. No. I’m not crazy. That’s Mel, not me. I wouldn’t be like her.

  Would. Not.

  ‘Mum has mental health issues.’ The words are out of my mouth before I can net them and drag them back into the strongbox. Not even a meteoric rise of Adelaide’s eyebrows can relax the knot of anxiety in my gut. What happened to I am a rock?

  ‘Oh, love. What kind of mental health issues?’

  I watch her hand move towards mine across the table and I fold my arms. ‘As you know, she lost both her parents and husband over a short period of time. As you also know, he was cruel to her, but she still blames herself.’ I then tell her about how Neil ‘died’.

  ‘Oh dear. Yes, that must all play on her mind.’

  ‘She feels that it was her fault he was up the ladder in the first place, getting the house ready for sale. Anyway, because of all this, she has mood swings and I’m having to learn how to handle them. Just lately though she is trying much harder, and we get on really well. When she’s okay we have such fun. We laugh a lot, do mother and daughter things that we never had the chance to do, and I love spending time with her.’

  ‘And when she’s not okay?’ Adelaide copies my arms folded stance and adds a raised eyebrow.

  Damn her. She has this unnatural ability to sledgehammer through my walls and reduce my blather to rubble. ‘When she’s not okay, I am her rock. I will not abandon her, I will stay strong for her, and we’ll get through it.’ I give a shrug and say to the floor. ‘So that’s that.’

  ‘Hardly happiness though, is it?’

  I give her a look. ‘We can’t be happy all the time, Adelaide. I think it will be a good idea if you actually meet her. You’ll see how lovely she is.’ I wonder if it would be a good idea at all even as I say the words.

  ‘I’m sure I will. We could pop into the shop tomorrow. You did say you were working there on Mondays?’

  I nod and swallow misgivings about allowing my old life to crash into Mel’s domain without discussing it with her first. ‘Yes, that would be cool. We could arrange to meet for dinner too before you go home?’

  ‘Oh yes. I’ll look forward to that.’ Adelaide’s eyes abandon their squinty interrogation and she allows the corners of her mouth to twitch into a brief curl. I’m glad of that. Much more like the Adelaide I know and love.

  Evelyn comes back a few minutes later and we order more tea, look at her cards and a plethora of bric-a-brac that had ‘spoken to her’. She embroiders a fantastic tale of how she’d haggled and bagged a bargain, and that customers in the shop had cheered and clapped. Adelaide knits her eyebrows and says she wasn’t born yesterday, or the day before that, either.

  We share an amused look when Evelyn insists it’s the truth. Adelaide shakes her head. She’s not buying it. Like me, she has a good nose for a fib. Though she had smiled earlier and said she was looking forward to meeting my mother, I’m not sure that she’s satisfied by my half-truths and stoic words.

  There is one thing that I know with unshakable certainty, however. Adelaide would not like to learn the whole truth.

  22

  It’s irrational. No, I’m irrational. Mum had been normal when I returned the night before after missing supper because I’d eaten with Adelaide and her sister. She’d been normal when I said they would probably pop into the shop – cheerful, even – and normal this morning at work. So why do I feel like I’m standing on a fault line? There’s no sign of a tremor about her, nor shaky ground. I’m the one with clammy hands, a rapid heart rate and my stomach leaps every time the shop bell jangles.

  ‘You were very professional with that customer, Lu. I could see she was just on the edge of snotty about the price of that ring, but when you gave her the provenance she wound her neck in,’ Mel says, bringing two mugs of tea in. ‘Biscuit?’ She pulls a packet of luxury chocolate creams from under her arm and waves them as if she’s encouraging me to fetch. There I go again. She’s just being nice and I’m being … irrational.

  ‘I didn’t notice her being snotty,’ I say, and take two biscuits, just to show willing. ‘I thought she was just interested in why it was more expensive than the other one.’

  ‘Ah,’ she says, a self-satisfied smirk on her lips. ‘That’s where experience comes in. I’ve been dealing with customers a lot longer than you, don’t forget.’

  ‘Really?’ I crunch into a biscuit. ‘It had completely slipped my mind.’ I make my mouth into a cheeky smile and hope irritation doesn’t show behind my eyes.

  ‘Very funny. Now what do you think of these – just came in this morning.’ She pulls out a long box from under the counter and takes off the lid. Inside are three incredibly beautiful turquoise and mother-of-pearl necklaces.

  I hold one up to the light and marvel at its intricate workmanship and beauty. ‘Wow, where are these from?’

  ‘A Navaho workshop in Arizona. I only ordered three for now – they’re pretty expensive. I’ll probably tag them at three hundred pounds and see if they sell.’ Mel takes the other two out of the box and arranges them on a black velvet cloth on the counter. ‘I’ll polish them up and put them in the window this afternoon.’

  ‘They would look great on the driftwood display. I can do it if you like?’ I say. ‘They deserve to be centre stage.’

  ‘You certainly have a good eye. And yes, okay, thanks.’

  The shop bell jangles a new arrival, but my stomach forgets to leap as I place the third necklace down next to the others. ‘Good afternoon, ladies. Is there something I can help you with, or are you just browsing?’ Mel asks.

  ‘We’re here to see you, actually, and Lu of course.’

  I turn around. My stomach goes into a roll, the fault line shakes my legs and my heart gallops up the scale. Luckily my lips have the good sense to smile and my voice to sound bright and cheerful. ‘Hello!’ I look at Mel and sweep an arm through the air. ‘Mum, this is Adelaide and Evelyn. Ladies, Mum.’

  Broad smiles are worn, and hands shake all round. ‘We can’t call you Mum …’ Evelyn says with a little laugh. ‘Mellyn, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is,’ Mel says with what sounds like a genuine and normal laugh. ‘I’ll pop the kettle back on, shall I?’

  ‘Only if it’s no trouble,’ Adelaide says. She sounds normal too.

  While Mel busies herself in the stockroom, I show Adelaide and Evelyn around the displays, our conversation punctuated with oohs and aahs from both, but mainly Evelyn. ‘These pieces are speaking to me, Lu,’ she says.

  ‘Which ones in particular?’

  ‘All of them,’ she replies, rolling her eyes. ‘My husband will have heart failure when he sees the bank statement for this holiday.’

  Mel comes in then and adds her laughter to Evelyn’s. She uses her voluptuous laugh, and everyone seems … normal. The ground feels firm under my feet and my stomach has settled for a slight swell. Easy conversation flows with the tea and Adelaide wins immediate favour with my mother when she says that anyone with eyes could tell that she and I are related.

  Even Dad is mentioned in passing, and Mel shows compassion for his loss and seems genuinely pleased that he’s getting back on his feet work wise. Then she mentions my birth father, Joe, someone I had only glossed over with Adelaide because I didn’t want her to mention him to Dad. There’s a slight wobble when Evelyn suggests that perhaps I could trace him and try to meet up, something I of course have thought about but haven’t spoken aloud. Mel’s eyes begin to cloud over but Adelaide blows them away with, ‘Early days, yet, Evie. It would be a mistake to rush into anything.’

  I watch relief creep across Mel’s face and listen to the conversation turn to how wonderful St Ives is and Cornwall in general. I join in now and
then, but mostly my thoughts are about Adelaide. Her arrival has put colour into the day and because she always knows the right thing to say and do, a potentially disastrous meeting has become like a gathering of old friends. The day I left Sheffield I had wondered how on earth I would manage without her, and sometimes I still wonder. I catch a twinkle of reassurance in her eye, and not for the first time wish that she didn’t live so far away.

  I wash up the mugs in the tiny chipped sink after the ladies have gone, then come back into the shop to check the floor for crumbs. I sink to my haunches and gather a few with dustpan and brush. Over my shoulder I say, ‘I thought that went well. I could tell you liked them and they liked you too …’ The rest of my sentence sticks in my throat as I look up at Mel’s blotchy red face and tight line of a mouth. Her eyes are twin storms; mine look away, seek shelter. Because I’m crouched, her hands are level with my head and I see them make fists so tight that her knuckles become bone.

  I know what’s coming and it certainly isn’t anything to do with normal. I have no idea why she’s on the verge of meltdown, but she is, and I’m not being irrational, not this time. I put the dustpan and brush down and push through my calves to a standing position. ‘Mum, what’s wrong?’ I ask, now only a foot away, her fury charging the air between us.

  ‘What’s wrong? What is wrong?’ She smashes both her fists down on the end of the counter, fixes my eyes with a deep indigo blaze, her chest heaving, spittle on her chin. ‘I’ll tell you what’s wrong! That fat bitch stole from me!’ Again, the crashing fists. ‘Stole from me, and right under my nose!’

  Her words are like punches; I step back and lean my weight against the counter. My mind struggles to process. ‘Evelyn? Evelyn, you mean?’

  She jabs a forefinger in my shoulder. ‘Of course! Adelaide isn’t fat, is she?’

  I put a hand to my shoulder and my eyes fill and not because it hurt, though it did. Mel’s eyes have the same wild look in them as Megan’s: the look that can’t be reasoned with. I’m back in the schoolyard with the smell of bitumen in my nostrils, the heat of the sun searing my neck, the realisation in my heart that I had been betrayed and was trapped far away from Boris and home. I had thought I would never feel like that again … until now.