Rich Promise

by Ashe Barker

  Now I do lift my head to stare up at Connor in astonishment. From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Dan, seated opposite in another of Freya’s expensive sofas.

  He makes no attempt to interrupt these first few minutes with my precious older brother and I bless him for it. His curiosity must be almost as acute as mine.

  “Not going back? How come?” An awful thought occurs to me. “You haven’t deserted have you?” I have a dreadful vision of military police pounding on the door, dragging my brother off to some army jail.

  “No, I considered it once or twice, though, when I first joined up. I think a better description would be to think of me as a defense cut.”

  “A-a…?”

  “A defense cut. Her Majesty apparently has less need of her army these days, or at least she doesn’t want that many of us. They’re looking to close a number of regiments, make soldiers redundant. I saved them the bother by applying for a discharge. So, I’m out.”

  “But, it’s your life…” I’m astonished, never considered for a moment that Connor would do other than spend his entire career as a soldier. He’s good at it, for Christ’s sake. Well, he must be. He still has two legs and as far as I can tell everything else intact.

  “Was. There are other lives to be had. I’m going to give one of them a try.”

  “What are your plans? Do you have…?” I’m not sure what comes next. A job? A place to live?

  Connor chuckles. “Summer, when did I ever plan anything? At least, not as a civilian. To be honest, I’m tired of everything being ordered, always knowing what’s next. I’ll see what comes up.”

  “I see.” But I don’t see, not at all. How can anyone be tired of order? See what comes up, indeed.

  “I arrived back in the UK a couple of days ago. I hired a car and drove up here, went to the old place in Barrow. Some bloody stranger answered the door, said she’d been living there for six months and had no idea what happened to the family who used to live there. I was back in my car just ready to drive off when that woman from next door, can’t remember her name, tapped on the window and asked if I was looking for you. I said I was, and she told me she’d seen you a few months earlier. She also told me mum’s in jail. Is that right?” He pauses, waiting for my response.

  I nod.

  “Why?”

  “She got six years. For drugs offenses and trafficking illegal immigrants.”

  “Ah, so not the usual then?”

  “No, not this time. I don’t think all that previous helped though. When he got round to the sentencing, the judge called her a serial offender, habitually dishonest and with no moral compass.” Personally I think he got it more or less spot on, but see no reason to say that. Even the Guilty plea didn’t help much in the end, though it probably saved the taxpayer a good few quid.

  “What about the other two?”

  I need to keep reminding myself that Connor hasn’t seen Lucy since she was a baby and Maisie never at all. We can’t claim to be a close family, and I’m the only sister he really knows. Still, he has asked.

  “With me. I live in Yorkshire now. I have a good job, a lovely flat. They came to live with me a few months back.”

  “Are you managing?” He cocks his head to one side, clearly doubting my ability to provide for all of us. I want to scotch that right away.

  “I am, yes.” I don’t elaborate, and he seems to accept my quiet certainty.

  I ask the questions uppermost in my mind now, “Why are you here? How did you find me?”

  “Well, I didn’t, strictly speaking. I found Dan. I had this apartment as your last known address. I knew you lived here with that mate of yours, Freya something, was it?”

  I nod, and he continues, “So I showed up, thinking you might still be here or if not, she’d know where you were. But another stranger answered the door. I thought that was it, I’d run out of leads at least for now, but Dan seemed to recognize me.” He turns to Dan, still seated silently opposite. “We haven’t met, have we?”

  Dan shakes his head. “No, but the family resemblance is startling. As soon as I saw you, even on the door entry camera, I knew you had to be related to Summer. I admit I was a bit baffled, though—never knew she had an older brother.” He turns to me, his expression vaguely reproachful.

  My bottom clenches, I know that look.

  “So I asked him up, we chatted, and I put two and two together. That was about an hour ago. I knew you were on your way here, so I just had to hope it would be a nice surprise to find your brother waiting for you. I’m thinking my hunch was right?”

  I’m seized by a sudden rush of glorious emotion. I truly adore this man. He could have been less vigilant, not bothered to look properly at the stranger on his doorstep. Connor might have just gone off, might never have found me. I rush across to him and throw my arms around his neck.

  “Yes, it was. A wonderful surprise. Thank you.”

  “Hey, not my doing…” He closes his arms around me, nuzzles my hair.

  “It was. You could have just let him go…” I gulp, the horror of that scenario only now sinking in.

  “No, love, I wouldn’t have done that. And in any case, I’m not so sure he would have gone anywhere. He looks the determined sort to me.”

  I raise my head, gaze into Dan’s handsome features, his eyes now twinkling with amused warmth. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, little su—” He catches himself in time. “Summer, little Summer.”

  A loud throat clearing behind us recalls our attention to our guest. We both turn, to see Connor starting to rise.

  “I should leave you to it. I ought to find a hotel, start making some calls about work.”

  I stand too, horrified. My brother’s only just arrived and he’s already leaving. So soon.

  “Don’t bother with a hotel. You can use Summer’s old room. It’s yours for as long as you need it.” Dan also gets to his feet, holds out his hand to Connor. They shake briefly.

  “I should introduce myself properly. Daniel Riche. Summer and I are getting married.”

  We are? First I’ve heard of it. I look from one to the other in stunned bewilderment, my mouth no doubt doing a decent impression of a goldfish.

  Dan chuckles. “Sorry, I thought I mentioned that. Must have got distracted. Still, do you have any objections?”

  I forget about Connor, my attention now riveted on Dan. “No, Sir, no objections at all.”

  * * * *

  We pull up in the car park of Askham Grange open prison on the outskirts of York, my mother’s current place of residence. I smile hesitantly at Dan, in the driving seat, and turn to look at Connor, seated in the back. Our eyes meet. He offers me a nod, an expression of quiet, certain understanding. We all three get out, but Dan remains leaning against the driver’s door.

  “I’ll be here, waiting for you. Good luck.” He leans down to kiss me, an affectionate, encouraging kiss rather than one speaking of passion and lust. No matter. They’re all quite wonderful.

  “Thanks. I think.” I manage another slight smile before I turn and make my way toward the main entrance, Connor at my side.

  I’d never have come here alone, I’m sure of that. But Connor wanted to come. He wanted to see her. He has his own demons I daresay—his own recollections of a childhood wasted, ruined. But he seems less embittered than I am and more ready to see her faults as forgivable. He’s told me of our mother’s drug use when he was younger, though that seemed to diminish in her later years. Or perhaps she learned to hide it better. Connor also remembered the violence, her abusive clients, her greedy, manipulative pimp. Connor tells me of a man called Maxwell, who chain smoked and never washed his hair. I have no recollection of him at all. Eventually Maxwell disappeared. Connor had no idea what happened to him and from then on, she was never ‘managed’ by anyone else. Not that she made a particularly good job of looking out for herself—or for her children. The unruly chaos of that tiny house in Barrow haunts me still and I expect it alw
ays will, but I know that time is permanently behind me. I’d convinced myself my mother was too, but Connor wore me down.

  “We should at least give her the chance,” he said.

  “She wants to explain, perhaps she’ll say she’s sorry. At least we’ll understand,” he said.

  “There may have been more to it, things we never knew,” he said.

  In fairness, Connor’s sympathetic attitude shifted markedly when I eventually told him the full and unexpurgated reason for my unbending hostility. He was shocked, visibly angry, but much to my horror, turned that in on himself. He blamed his desertion of the family for what had subsequently gone wrong, convinced that if he’d stayed around he could have prevented what happened to me. I can see things may have been different, but there’s no way of knowing what would have happened if…

  In any case, there is only one place to lay the blame for all this, only one person really to be held accountable. And that is what finally convinced me to come here.

  I seriously doubt that my mother’s side of the story will elicit any real sympathy from me, but her repeated requests for me to visit have become a barrage. Since she found out Connor was back in the country, she’s been on at him too, and she’s never let up. She’s every bit as tenacious and determined to have her way as ever, and at last I’ve bowed under the pressure because I don’t want Connor to carry about the guilt for what she did any more than I’m prepared to. We have to face our demons sometime. I know that now. So I’ve agreed to come here, with Connor. But I don’t intend to stay longer than thirty minutes. And I don’t expect to believe a word she has to say.

  The small, slim woman waiting for us in the prison dining room is almost unrecognizable to me. To start with, she must have lost at least three stone in weight, and looks remarkably well on it. It’s been over a year since I last saw her, that time in Barrow after she grabbed Lucy and Maisie from me on her return from Benidorm. I’d gone there to apologize, my last futile effort to salvage some sort of relationship, when I still thought blood was thicker than water. I know better now. Black Combe has taught me a lot about what’s truly important, the real roots of love.

  She stands as we enter the room, holds out her hands. She’s smiling, seems genuinely pleased to see us. That surprises me vaguely, despite her desperate pleading that we should come. I only ever recall her being distracted, always busy or her head somewhere else.

  My greeting is cool, reserved, though Connor manages something a little more fulsome. He takes her hands, squeezes them, though there’s no kiss, no affectionate hug. It’s been several years since they last met, I’m sure of that. He used to come home on leave occasionally in the earlier years after he joined up, but not for a long time now.

  “Hello, Mum.” Connor’s voice is low, much calmer than mine would be. He gestures her to sit down again, then takes a seat opposite.

  I sit next to Connor, my eyes on my hands, now twisting in my lap. I’m agitated, but not scared. Angry would be a better description, resentful. Contemptuous even.

  I know now that Connor sent her money—every month he sent her cash, but we never saw much of it. We were always poor. She always complained we needed money, she couldn’t make ends meet, couldn’t find the rent. It was the threat of eviction that finally ground me down, finally made me give in to her demands. And all the time there was Connor’s army pay. I can only assume that went on drugs, because I can’t think what else she might have done with it.

  Oh yes, I’m angry.

  “Thank you for coming. It’s lovely to see you, both of you. You look well.” Her voice is quiet, hesitant. Unfamiliar. Her usual brassy confidence is nowhere to be detected.

  “You too.” Connor answers for us both.

  He’s right, though. She does look better, healthier than I remember. Her eyes are clear somehow, more focused.

  “Summer? How are you?” She addresses the question directly to me, so I have no option but to respond.

  “I’m fine. We’re all fine. Now.”

  She flinches, my meaning not lost on her. “I’m pleased. Really pleased. You’re a good girl. You always were. And thank you for taking care of the little ones.”

  “What choice did I have?” My tone is more waspish than I perhaps intended. And the words untrue. I did have a choice, and I’m doing exactly what I wanted to do. My family means everything to me, I’m happy. So are they. I could tell her that, but I don’t. I choose not to.

  “Yes, of course. I’m so sorry. I really dropped you in it. Not for the first time either. But still, I do appreciate what you’ve done. All you’ve done. Still doing. I don’t deserve you.”

  Her voice trails away, and I wait. I’m ready for it, expecting it. She always starts like this. Always the wheedling, always the softening me up. She thinks I don’t know what her game is. I do, though. It never changes.

  I wait for her to issue her next demand. It won’t come out like that. It’ll be a request, she’ll be polite, at least at the beginning of her campaign. She’ll say how much she needs me, how good and kind I am, how helpful. If that doesn’t work, she’ll remind me of how she’s always tried her best, put me first.

  I stiffen at the thought. If she tries that one, I doubt I’ll be able to contain my anger. So I sit, silent, and I wait.

  And wait. Nothing. I remain silent. Give her time. She always has an agenda.

  Still nothing. I glare at her, my expression no doubt one of belligerence, exasperation. These are my foremost emotions right now, and it won’t take much provocation for me to simply get up from this little table and walk away. Just let her start…

  “I’m a dreadful mother, I know that now.” Her words are delivered in a matter-of-fact way, her intonation flat.

  I stare at her, scanning her face for some hint of what’s behind this sudden fit of self-blame. This is a new trick, after all. I underestimated her. That much is obvious. But I find nothing. Her eyes meet mine, clear and, as far as I can tell, truthful. I peer at her more closely. This can’t be right.

  “I can see you don’t believe me. I don’t blame you.” Still her gaze is level and appears honest. Her eyes flick from me to Connor then back again. “Either of you.”

  “Why should we believe you? Why now, after all these years?” Connor voices the question, but I nod. He’s speaking for both of us.

  “I’ve been thinking. And getting myself into shape—physically, as well as mentally. I’m clean now, have been for months. Truly. I can think straight now. I don’t remember everything, but enough. Enough to know I don’t deserve you two. And I’ve no idea how you both turned out as well as you have. Thank God you don’t take after me. Must be your father’s DNA at work…”

  Father? That apparently casual remark shakes me to the core. As far as I can recall, she’s never mentioned him—them—before. I’d assumed we all had different fathers in any case. There must be gallons of paternal DNA swilling around the Jones family gene pool. I glance at Connor, who looks as stunned as I feel.

  With her new-found clarity of perception our bewildered expressions are not lost on our mother. “You thought I didn’t even know who he was, I expect.”

  I suppose Connor must have looked as though he might be about to deny that. I know I certainly was not, but our mother forestalls him, “Yes you did, and I don’t blame you for that either. Still, it was all a long time ago and he’s long gone now. Now, we should be thinking about the future. That’s why I wanted to talk to you, needed to see you both.”

  Right. Knew it. Here we go.

  “I’ll be in here for another three years, I expect. Even with good behavior, that’s probably realistic. But I’ve been thinking about what to do when I come out. I don’t have the house anymore, you know that, I suppose…”

  The landlord took back the tenancy when she was arrested. He even tried to collect her rent arrears from me, but I refused to pay him. It wasn’t that I couldn’t lay my hands on the cash, but I don’t see why I should pay her debts anymore.
Now it sounds as though she’s going to be trying to scrounge a place to live.

  “I’m sure you’ll manage. You always have.” And I should know.

  “Yes, but I want my family back. My children around me. They’re what’s important to me from now on.”

  No. Way.

  “They stay with me.” I state it, flat, definite. Non-negotiable.

  “But I could—”

  “No. You couldn’t,” I interrupt her, not caring how rude I may sound. We’re well past the good manners stage and whatever she might have in mind, I don’t want to hear it. “Lucy and Maisie are happy. They’re secure and settled. They’re doing well. By the time you get out, they’ll be old enough to choose and they’ll choose me. Don’t have any illusions about that. You are not uprooting them ever again.” My eyes are narrowed. My resolve on this, I hope, perfectly apparent. She’ll never shake me on this. Not happening.

  She seems unfazed by my cold tone and icy determination. “That’s not what I had in mind. I want my girls to be secure, and if you can provide that…well, I’m pleased. I wouldn’t interfere. Never. But I could be part of their lives too. If they want to see me, maybe they could visit me here. With you. And later, when I’m out…”

  “Have you been listening to me?” I start to rise. I’ve heard enough. Connor’s hand on my wrist stops me.

  “Wait. A few more minutes, please. We can hear her out. You can always say no later. It’ll be your call, Summer.”

  Reluctantly I retake my seat, leaning back in my chair now. My arms are crossed defensively, despite Connor’s reassurance that ultimately I have the final say. I know her. She can wheedle and manipulate and convince me black’s white if I let her.

  “Go on. What is it you want? How do you see this working?” His voice is low and reasonable, and my mother looks across the table at him, her gratitude shining in her expression. She’s right. He is the only reason this conversation hasn’t ended with me slamming the door on my way out.

  “I’d like to see them, be in touch with them. With all of you. I could live near you perhaps, Summer, maybe rent a little house or something…”