Another Mother: a gripping psychological family drama

by Amanda James

  Mellyn. She was definitely an odd one. Rosie pictured her face again and relived the interaction between them the morning she’d come to the B&B with Lu’s watch … Jekyll and Hyde. But dangerous? Really?

  The doorbell rang. Oh God. That might be Lu. Perhaps something had happened! Rosie ran down the hall and opened the door.

  ‘Surprise!’

  ‘Mum …’

  As she was enveloped in a tight hug and expensive perfume, Rosie wondered how many more surprises she could stand in one evening.

  24

  Though Adelaide’s voice has left my ears, I still cradle the phone to my cheek. When the news of me staying here with Mel had sunk in, she’d tried to be cheerful and said she’d understood, but the tone of her voice couldn’t disguise the worry and concern behind the words. A calm feeling in my head means I have made the right decision, however. An unspoken bargain has been struck between head and heart. If Mel doesn’t get help, it will be the end of our relationship. I can’t afford to renege on it, for both our sakes.

  I put the phone down, yawn and stretch my arms high above my head. This day has seemed to go on forever. A knock at my bedroom door makes me wish I’d turned the damned light out.

  ‘Lu? I know you’ve just gone to bed, but I thought you might like to see this.’

  Please, not now. Whatever it is can wait until morning. ‘I’m a bit tired to be honest, Mum—’

  ‘Yes, but this won’t take a moment and I promise you’ll love it.’

  I’d bloody better. ‘Okay, come in.’

  Mel comes in wrapped in a black dressing gown, eyes afire, her hair still wild and windswept. Is she auditioning for a part in Wuthering Heights? Now, that I would love to see. She sits next to me on the bed and hands me two old envelopes. ‘I’ve been rummaging through my wardrobe. There’s one of me and your grandparents when I was about eleven or twelve’—she taps a finger on the first envelope—‘and Joe’s in the other.’

  Photos? My hand shakes as I tip the first photo onto my lap … I want to save Joe until last. Against a backdrop of a seamless blue sky and ocean stand a couple in their thirties, their hands on the shoulders of a smiling freckle-faced girl in a yellow and black ra-ra dress. The man is tall and dark with the kind of face you could confide in. The woman is shorter, blonde, and looks a bit like me. Hard to believe that both had wanted me terminated.

  I look at the smiling girl – Mel – and notice that her smile is restricted to her lips; the eyes don’t have a trace of happiness in them. They look … angry. Her hand is on her dad’s, but she seems to be leaning away from her mum’s as if the touch of it on her shoulder is unwelcome.

  ‘My goodness, you were so cute,’ I say, and get a warm smile in return. ‘And I do have a look of my gran, don’t I? Not the hair, of course, but—’

  ‘I was thinking you looked more like my dad. He had a kind face. Mum’s was a bit angular,’ she says with a sniff. Then she laughs. ‘I can’t believe how totally eighties I looked!’

  Not a fan of her mum, then. Wonder why?

  The second envelope is curled at the edges and sits like a precious butterfly on my palm. I shoot a quick glance at Mel – I’m almost too nervous to open the envelope – she sends a look of encouragement back and rests a hand briefly on my shoulder. I slip my fingers inside and feel an uneven edge. I draw it out and gasp in shock.

  The image is of a beautiful young man with a smile to match, standing outside a chip shop in a fine drizzle. He has my nose and exactly the same hair colour as me. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and drainpipe jeans and he’d had his arm around someone, but I can’t see who. That’s the second reason for my shock: the photo has been ripped in half.

  I trace the jagged edge and look at Mel; there’s no need to voice my question.

  ‘It was me. I tore it in half at a low moment about six months after I’d … given you up.’ She shrugs and bites her lip before continuing. ‘I was so stupid, but I suppose I resented him for having a life without me. I never liked that photo of me either. Looked a fright – had Bananarama hair but on me it looked more like a pineapple!’

  Typical Mellyn. I don’t really care about her missing picture. At least I have a picture of him – my lovely birth father. ‘He is very handsome.’

  ‘Told you.’ She nods. ‘Looks like you too, eh?’

  I trace my finger along his jawline. ‘He does.’ My voice struggles out from under a weight of emotion. ‘I want to meet him one day.’

  ‘Not sure that’s wise,’ Mel snaps. ‘He hasn’t broken his neck to find you, has he?’ She deflects my glare and whispers, ‘Sorry. Yes, course you do, love. We’ll get my … me sorted out and then see, eh?’

  ‘Yes. And first thing in the morning you’re making a doctor’s appointment.’ It isn’t a question.

  She nods and stands. ‘You can hang on to the photos for now. Keep the one of your grandparents if you like, but I can’t let you have the one of Joe. It’s the only one I have.’

  ‘Okay, thank you. Night.’ I watch the door close and then look back at my … dad. Thinking this in my head doesn’t seem so much of a betrayal because the only dad I’ve ever known is alive and well and living in Sheffield. I might never meet my birth dad either, so it’s all a bit academic really. It doesn’t matter. I can say Dad out loud, but it doesn’t feel real.

  Then I look into his smiling eyes and I realise it does matter. I want to meet this man and one day I will, no matter what Mel says. And why does she only have one photo of him? Perhaps I can get a copy of this one somehow.

  Before I go to sleep I prop the torn photo up against my water glass. Joe will be the last thing I see before I close my eyes and the first thing I see when I wake in the morning. It might be just a little scrap of a photo, a thread of the past, but it’s more than I had an hour ago, and for that I’m grateful.

  Early the next morning I finish my cornflakes and then write a note for Mel reminding her to ring the doctor. I know she can’t wriggle out of it, or pretend she’s phoned, because I’d said that I would go with her to the appointment. A gentle nudge won’t hurt though … or a phone call mid-morning either.

  I set off down the street pulling my coat tighter against the breath of autumn; a fine mizzle beads my skin. It seems an age since I’ve seen Rosie and I can’t wait to get into work. What a thought: Monday morning, damp and grey, yet I’m actually looking forward to my job. A little smile edges my lips. Must be ‘summat wrong with my head’ as my dad would say.

  Rosie turns from the sink as I come into the kitchen and pushes her hair out of her eyes with a hand covered in soapsuds. The bubbles coat her fringe like ghostly frogspawn and she draws her brow into a deep frown. Her cheeks are pink, her jaw clenched. She’s obviously flustered about something and I think it best to hide a smile.

  ‘Am I glad to see you,’ she says with a heartfelt sigh. ‘Bloody dishwasher’s packed up and the sodding chef has gone down with the flu! I’ve had to make a start on breakfast.’

  ‘Oh. You should have phoned me and I’d have come in earlier.’

  ‘I didn’t know a thing about it until I set foot in here fifteen minutes ago. Sodding Pomp is still in bed! Vulture was still in his bloody pyjamas, hair stuck up like he’d had his finger in a socket, disgruntled that the chef’s call had just woke him up. Just said, “So Rosie. You’ll have to be chef today as well as waiting on people. Good job it’s Lucinda’s day too. I’ll pop down in a bit to see how you’re coping.” I swear I’ll swing for the pair of them one day.’

  I’m having difficulty pushing a picture of a vulture in pyjamas out of my head, so look inside the dishwasher while I strangle my giggles. ‘You sure this is kaput?’ I say, just for something to say. I know there will be no calming Rosie while she’s like this.

  Rosie stops washing up, puts more frogspawn through her hair and glares at me. ‘No. No, Lu. It works perfectly fine. I thought I’d pretend it’s broken just to make my job even harder by having to washing everything mys
elf!’

  I hold my hands up and tuck my top lip under my bottom teeth. It’s no use though. Laughter escapes through the sides of my mouth.

  Rosie’s tight pout relaxes, and her laughter joins mine. She gives me an apron and a soapy scutch upside my head. ‘Okay, get that bloody apron on and help me.’ She shakes her head and fires up the frying pan. ‘What a morning. And you’ll never guess who turned up on my doorstep last night at gone ten o’clock?’

  ‘Um … the Queen?’

  ‘Ha! Close. My mother!’

  ‘Half past ten and it feels more like four!’ Rosie leans back in her chair and puts her feet on the table. I’m not sure that’s a good idea in a kitchen, but after the morning we’ve had, I couldn’t really care less. ‘Your turn to make the tea, Lu. There’s some bacon left too if you feel like making breakfast.’

  Her impish smile convinces me. ‘A butty?’

  ‘Yes please, and an egg if there’s one hanging around.’

  ‘Hanging around.’ I look to the ceiling. ‘Nope, not a one.’

  ‘You okay?’ she asks my back as I place bacon rashers under the grill.

  ‘Yeah, why?’ I’m not, but I’m surprised that Rosie has sensed it, given the whirlwind of activity we’ve just stepped out of.

  ‘I think Adelaide was just worried about a big emotional goodbye. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see you, Lu.’

  I point a spatula at her. ‘Sure, you’re not a witch? You always seem to know exactly what I’m thinking.’

  ‘Course I’m a witch. I have certificates and everything.’

  I turn back to the cooker. ‘Just seems a bit odd that she ordered a taxi so early. I really hope my decision to stay here hasn’t broken our relationship.’ Damn it. The words are out before my brain can stop them.

  ‘No. She loves you to bits, trust me.’

  Why does Rosie show no sign of surprise at my comments? ‘What’s Adelaide said to you?’ I try to make my voice as normal as possible and crack an egg.

  ‘Said? Nothing. It’s obvious how much she cares.’

  Rosie’s ‘said?’ played an octave or two higher than the rest of her sentence. She’s hiding something. There’s been no curiosity about me mentioning a decision to stay here, but I haven’t told her anything about what’s happened over the last few days. I haven’t even seen her.

  ‘Adelaide often worries about nothing, Rosie. Don’t pay too much attention to what she says.’ I know I’m blushing and I’m glad she can’t see it.

  ‘Uh-hu,’ she says and fills the kettle. ‘I haven’t had time to tell you about my mum turning up with all this going on, have I?’

  Rosie wears an egg goatee and a brown sauce moustache, but she’s so involved in her tale to notice. She looks even cuter, if that’s possible.

  ‘I mean, it’s not normal to just turn up out of the blue unannounced at bedtime,’ she says. ‘I hope her and Dad aren’t splitting up. I couldn’t bear it.’ She takes a swallow of tea and then frowns at the rim of her cup. ‘Have I got sauce on my lip?’

  I hand her a bit of kitchen roll. ‘Wipe your chin too.’

  She wipes it and looks at the result. ‘Why didn’t you tell me I was covered in—’

  ‘Just get on with your story. Why did she say she was here?’

  ‘She thought we could do with a bit of mother–daughter time and that she missed me.’

  ‘Sounds reasonable to me,’ I say. Though it doesn’t. It seems odd.

  ‘But just like that? Without asking me first?’

  ‘You mum might have thought you’d say you were too busy, or something …’ My voice disappears into a mouthful of breakfast. Perhaps her mum was splitting up with her dad after all.

  An arched eyebrow. ‘Or something?’

  ‘Look. You’ll just have to take her at her word and see what happens.’ That sounds wise and practical. I wipe my mouth in case errant egg stops me from being taken seriously.

  ‘Guess so. Just not looking forward to going home. God knows what I’ll find out.’

  I watch Rosie chew her breakfast along with her thoughts. The tree through the window holds her gaze, yet I suspect that she might as well be looking at a brick wall.

  ‘How about we all go out for a drink tonight?’ My words draw her eyes back to my face and put a furrow on her brow. I push my plate away. ‘You know – the four of us – our mums and us. It will take a bit of pressure off you if you’re worried about her – might be fun.’ I realise that my suggestion will take pressure off me too. Selfish, really, but another evening sifting through the ashes of Mellyn’s problems is not an exciting prospect.

  ‘No, I don’t think Mum would go for that. She’ll probably want to just chill out, me and her, you know?’ Rosie looks at her cup.

  ‘Don’t tell her we’re going then. I won’t mention it to mine either ’cause she can be awkward.’ My doggedness surprises me. ‘Just turn up at the pub and we’ll be there. They might hit it off and its ages since we had a chat – I missed you.’ This last bit was true, but I do wonder if I’d over-egged it. I have eggs on the brain this morning. Better than on the chin, I guess.

  ‘Aw, I missed you too,’ Rosie says, an intense look drawing me into deep blue eyes. She blinks and it’s replaced by a smile. ‘Okay. Let’s do it.’

  25

  I look at the notepad in my hand and then up at Mel’s face. The ghost of a needy child hovers behind the defiance. ‘See. It’s there in black and white, Lu. Told you I’d make an appointment.’

  ‘You did. Thursday at three. Well done, Mum,’ I say. The ghost gathers up my praise and makes a smile out of it.

  ‘How about we go to the pub after dinner to celebrate?’

  The smile turns down at one side. ‘Really? Thought you didn’t like me drinking.’

  ‘Not to excess. But one or two won’t hurt.’

  ‘Lovely! I’ll wear my new boots, I’ll show you them.’ She runs upstairs, excited as a child, and I try to pretend that I’m not being manipulative and underhand. It isn’t working – I have become the child catcher.

  The Lifeboat Inn spells out its name in gold lettering; the roots of its old stone foundations are deep in history, and picture windows stare across the harbour from under lintel brows. Often these places lose something inside, but this old inn has retained its old charm. Huge blocks of stone hold up the ceiling, slabs of Cornish slate armour the floor, on whitewashed walls lifebelts remember past triumphs, and inside the frames of black-and-white prints the eyes of long-dead sailors gaze longingly at the bar.

  ‘What a good idea of yours to come here.’ Mel sits down, shrugs off her coat and crosses her long legs to show off the new black shiny boots. Her green woollen dress rides up her thigh and I notice a man at the bar notice. ‘It’s one of my favourite pubs.’

  ‘It’s perfect,’ I say in a voice that’s pretending not to be nervous but can’t carry it off. While Mel’s deciding what she wants to drink, my eyes flick a steady pendulum between the door and the clock on the wall. Any moment now Rosie will walk in with her mum. And … right on time. I look down at Mel while Rosie and her mum tip-tap across the Cornish slate. ‘Sorry, didn’t catch what you said, Mum.’

  ‘No wonder. You aren’t paying the slightest attention.’ Mel sighs. ‘I said I fancy a pint of Doombar.’

  ‘Lu!’ Rosie waves across at us and tugs her mum’s sleeve. ‘Mum, this is my friend Lu, the one who works with me.’

  I wave back. ‘Hello, nice to see you here. Want to join us?’ I avoid looking at my mother, but if the glare in Rosie’s mum’s eyes is anything to go by, I fear for the jovial evening we’d orchestrated.

  Her mum stops and says something to her daughter that I can’t catch. Rosie acquires a namesake blush to her cheeks but gives a quick shake of her head and hurries them both over. I look at Mel, well, the top of her head, because she’s staring at the sole of her boot as if the secrets of the universe have been revealed across it.

  ‘Mum said that we shouldn�
��t intrude, but I’m sure you don’t mind, Mellyn?’ Rosie says, and pulls out two chairs opposite us.

  ‘No, of course not.’ Mum looks up with a smile that she’s borrowed from someone with a much wider face. ‘Hello, Rosie’s mum. You’re very much alike.’

  Rosie’s mum’s smile is all teeth and lipstick. ‘That’s so kind – I’ve a few more wrinkles though. My name’s Val.’

  ‘Mellyn,’ Mel says unnecessarily as Rosie had just addressed her. ‘Great to meet you.’

  Rosie clears her throat. ‘What can I get you all?’

  ‘No, I was just on my way to the bar. Come with me and help carry the glasses?’

  Mel’s and Val’s smiles have settled to straight lines as though all the stretching had exhausted their lips. ‘Your usual, Mum?’ Rosie asks and receives a brief nod in return.

  Rosie nudges me as we walk away and whispers, ‘Hope they get along, or we’ll get back to a dead body.’

  Knowing what I do about Mel, I think it best not to comment.

  ‘Why the hell did you say we could join you?’ Val hissed through a grimace, her eye line on her daughter at the bar.

  ‘What else was I supposed to have said? There didn’t seem a lot of bloody choice,’ Mellyn said in a low voice, though the malice in it was deafening.

  ‘We’ll have one drink and then I’m having a migraine.’

  ‘Yes, you always were a headache. And what the hell are you doing here anyway?’

  ‘Come to visit my daughter to make sure she’s okay. When she told me, she was big pals with your long-lost daughter I knew I had to get over here.’

  ‘Really?’ Mellyn turned down the corners of her mouth. ‘Well, I think you should fuck off back to Spain. You’re not welcome here.’