by Beth Miller
* * *
Always, Kay
Nine
Stella
The bags were in the boot, the electric sockets were switched off, the fridge was empty, but Mum was still working through her closing-up-the-cottage routine. I tapped my nails against the steering wheel. Mum appeared fleetingly at the door, and I sat up, but then she vanished again, and I sank back into my seat. It still felt odd to be able to see her whenever I wanted, after those weird few days of her absence.
I opened the glove compartment, hoping to find a tin of travel sweets. Dad always bought them when I was little. Yes! There was a tin. I pulled it out, and with it came a crumpled white envelope: Dad’s letter that I’d forgotten to hand over yesterday. I put it on the passenger seat, intrigued as to what it said, and what Mum’s reaction would be. I opened the sweet tin, and bitterly closed it again – it contained only coins and random screws.
The front door slammed, and Mum finally came out. She put the key in the safe box on the wall, came over to the car, then hesitated.
‘I can’t remember if I closed the window in the bathroom,’ she said.
‘I did it,’ I said.
‘Did you close it properly? It’s not simply pushing the bottom window down, you have to flick the metal catch across.’
‘I did that.’
‘I’ll quickly check. Rain might get in. Or a burglar.’
‘You sound insane, Mum. The window’s fine. Come on, let’s go.’
She eased herself into the car, moving the letter so she could sit.
‘That’s for you,’ I said. ‘It’s from Dad.’
‘What?’
‘He asked me to give it to you.’
I backed the car out of the driveway and onto the road. Mum turned the envelope over in her hands. ‘Do you know what it says?’
‘No, of course not. Why don’t you open it?’
‘I’ll give it a minute.’ Mum took a deep breath. ‘No need to drive fast, sweetheart. My flight’s not till tomorrow.’
I slowed down slightly. ‘I find it very frustrating in movies,’ I said, ‘when they get a letter or present or something and take ages to open it.’
‘I’m building up to it,’ Mum said.
‘He doesn’t have a clue what’s going on, you know. He doesn’t understand why you left.’
I felt Mum’s eyes on me as I slowed down at a roundabout. I knew she was wondering why I was being less accommodating than yesterday. What was it Gran had called her? Evasive, that was it. I’d been awake half the night thinking about our conversation. What she’d said about being unhappy made sense of her behaviour; at least, it made sense last night. But this morning there were still a lot of unanswered questions.
She breathed out heavily. ‘I wish I could explain myself better.’
‘Look, Mum, it’s not that I think you should have stayed if you were unhappy.’
‘What is it then?’
‘Well, you’re not being fair on Dad. Just leaving and not replying to any of his emails or voicemails, it’s a big silence and he’s reading all sorts of things into it.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’
Her phone pinged, and she laughed. ‘Talking of which…’
‘Is it Dad?’
‘No, it’s Alice. Gran. She’s another one I haven’t replied to.’ She read the message. ‘She wants us to meet for “a little chat”. Oh, marvellous.’
‘That might be a good idea.’
‘It’s a terrible idea.’
‘But, Mum, we’re all having difficulty understanding why you’ve done this thing, this massive thing. I suppose I get it a bit more now, but I don’t think Dad has any idea you were unhappy. He’d have you back like a shot.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Mum picked up the envelope and opened it. ‘Let’s see.’ She pulled out a piece of blue writing paper and unfolded it carefully. ‘Basildon Bond paper.’ She took a breath. ‘OK. Here we go.’
She read it through in silence, while I restrained myself, with difficulty, from demanding to know what was in it. I focused my attention on the road ahead, the craggy mountains looming on one side, the shiny black piles of slate from the quarries glinting in the sunlight on the other. I focused on the tears floating round in my eyes, wanting to be released, and on the hard lump in my chest. I wasn’t sure why I was so upset. Yesterday I thought I’d got some answers, but today the things Mum had said felt flimsy. The ground seemed to have shifted under my feet yet again, and nothing felt straightforward. Everything was confused, unclear. All I could think about was poor Dad, and also poor me, because now he was my responsibility.
But also, of course, poor Mum, if she really had been unhappy. Had she though? Or was that just a clever way of shutting down the conversation? No son or daughter could say to their parent, ‘You should go back,’ if the parent said, ‘But it was making me unhappy.’ Being unhappy was a deal-breaker. But nothing Mum had said sounded all that bad. Dad was kind, wasn’t he? And generous. What was there to be unhappy about?
Mum let out a teary laugh, and put down the letter. I glanced at her, and saw that she was crying.
‘It’s very sweet.’ Mum blew her nose, and started reading. ‘“Dear Kay, I hope you are well. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since you left, and realise I haven’t always been as attentive as I could or should have. If you ever decide you’d like to try again, I will be here. I’ll do better this time. We could go to counselling, perhaps.”’ Mum broke off here to say, ‘As if he ever would!’ before she resumed reading. ‘“I remember you said you were going to Australia. I hope you find Bear well and happy. And maybe more travels after that – Venice, Russia, I can’t recall where else you said. Hope you see some interesting sights, and maybe some interesting new stationery too.” It wouldn’t be a message from your father without the mention of stationery, would it?’
‘It’s his life’s work,’ I said, feeling that Mum no longer had a right to diss Dad about the shop.
‘It is, indeed. “Let me know if you need more money. I have put some extra into our account if you wish to access it. With much love,” and he’s underlined “love” three times, “Your husband, Richard.”’
‘That’s really nice,’ I said.
‘It’s very forgiving, isn’t it?’ Mum said. ‘Though it’s a shame it took me leaving for him to realise that he wasn’t very attentive.’
‘Sometimes you have to spell things out, Mum.’
‘Sparkle, where would I have started? I was just unhappy, most of the time.’
She still couldn’t put her finger on it, I noticed. ‘He’s being very decent about money, too.’
‘Yes, he is. I know. I’m lucky. He could be making it all extremely difficult.’ She blew out air, as if she was making a decision, then said, ‘I’ll text your grandmother and see if she wants to meet tonight, before I go to Australia.’
‘OK, that’s good. I know you two haven’t always got on, but…’
‘I’m sure things will be hunky dory between us now, though.’
‘Not funny, Mum.’
‘Sorry.’ She sent Gran a reply, and put her phone away.
‘Will you write back to Dad?’
‘Yes, I’ll send him a proper letter from Sydney.’
‘Well, so long as you don’t think you can come back and start everything up again, OK?’ This sounded harsher than I meant. Or maybe it didn’t.
‘Stella! That’s a bit… I won’t, of course.’
‘Is that right what Dad said in the letter, that you’re planning to travel after Australia?’
‘Maybe. Come with me, Sparkle! It’ll be amazing.’
‘No thanks, Mum. I already had my gap year.’
‘So did I, but I feel the need for another one.’
Something snapped in my brain, and I screeched to a halt by the side of the road.
‘That’s what this is!’ I slammed my hand on the steering wheel.
‘Are you sure we can stop here, Stella? The road’
s rather narrow.’
‘For God’s sake, Mum, I’ve just realised. This is your gap year, your grown-up gap year! You think you can go travelling and sleep with unsuitable people—’
‘Stella!’
‘And have lots of new experiences and take drugs and lose your luggage in Cairo. You’re like a great big old student. For God’s sake!’
Mum looked at me calmly. ‘I’ve never fancied Cairo. Noisy. So, tell me, sweetheart, what’s this about?’
I shook my head, trying to hold back more bloody tears. ‘I expect you’ll have a very fun year, turn everyone’s lives upside down, then think you can come home afterwards.’
‘With a backpack full of dirty laundry and a mild urinary infection?’ I could hear the smile in Mum’s voice, as if she wasn’t being awful enough.
‘I don’t know why you think it’s funny, it’s really not.’ I eased the car back onto the road and blinked furiously. It was lucky there were only a few other cars, as I couldn’t see super-well right now.
We drove in silence for a few miles, then Mum said, ‘Do you remember Leon?’
‘Leon? My old boyfriend? What the f-, what the hell’s he got to do with this?’ Oh God! For one heart-stopping moment, I thought… oh God! If Mum was going to tell me that she’d left Dad for Leon, that spotty idiot who was young enough to be her son, I would just drive us straight into that tree, and save us ever having to have the rest of this conversation.
‘Ah, you were very intense, texting each other non-stop, first love.’
‘Mum! For God’s sake!’ This journey was clearly going to use up my monthly quota of ‘for God’s sake’s’. ‘Are you having an affair with Leon?’
‘Leon?!’ Mum started laughing, quietly at first, then hysterically. ‘Leon!’ she kept saying. ‘Leon!’
‘OK, calm down.’ I waited till she’d got a grip. ‘It’s no stupider than anything else. I can’t see any other reason why you’d mention Leon right now, it’s so utterly random.’
‘First Anthony, now Leon. I really don’t seem to have a type when it comes to imaginary lovers, do I?’
She still seemed very amused, which made me so irritated I wanted to scream. ‘Go on then, what about Leon?’
Mum stretched out her legs. ‘Well, all I was going to say is that it was super-intense, remember, and then it was all over after about six months. You got bored of the poor old chap, remember?’
‘I was only sixteen, it was kind of normal.’
‘Well, my question, Stella, is: do you think two people – a couple – should have to stay together if one of them doesn’t want to anymore?’
‘No, of course not, but—’
‘Because poor Leon was shattered when you chucked him, wasn’t he?’
‘I wouldn’t say shattered. He was a bit upset.’
‘He mooned around outside our house for weeks.’
‘Then he started going out with Iola Gillespie,’ I said, trying to steer the conversation back to Sanity Land, ‘and forgot all about me.’
‘Quite,’ Mum said. ‘The point is, if there’s a couple, and one person wants to stay together but the other doesn’t, we should give the final say to the person who wants out, shouldn’t we? Morally, I mean? And indeed, practically?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Otherwise you’d still have to be with Leon, right? And yet it was quite correct of you to want to let him go. He was a lousy match for you.’
‘For God’s sake, Mum! Are you seriously comparing my six-month meeting-up-twice-a-week teenage relationship with your twenty-nine-year marriage?’
‘I’m simply pointing out a general principle that should surely apply to everyone. I shouldn’t have to stay with your dad any longer, just because he doesn’t want me to go.’
‘Any longer?’
The silence that followed lasted until we reached the motorway.
Eventually, Mum said, ‘I’m sorry, Sparkle.’
‘Then don’t do it, Mum. You’ll upset everyone, go off for a while, then it’ll be, “Oh I’ve had my fun, reckon I’ll come home.” Well guess what,’ and my voice shook slightly as I said this, ‘we might not be there waiting for you.’
‘I wish I could show you how firmly I have closed the door behind me,’ Mum said. She was being more patient than I’d have expected, presumably because she knew she was in the wrong. ‘I have pushed down the sash, forced the rusty fastener into place to lock it, and turned a key for good measure, and before you say anything, I know I’m talking about a window not a door. But the principle applies.’
‘Well for all your talk of principles,’ and I took a breath, ‘I think you’re being fucking selfish.’
‘Stella!’ Mum shouted. Finally, it seemed, I’d found a way to make her angry.
But all at once, I was angrier. ‘You are being selfish! It’s so unfair to Dad. He’s a kind man. By your own account, he was amazing when you got pregnant, even though you’d previously dumped him, and he’s been amazing for most of the last thirty, sorry twenty-nine years, and now you’ve dumped him again. But instead of thinking about him, you’ve been all moony about some other bloke you barely knew for five minutes! What was so great about whatshisname, David, anyway? He wouldn’t even consider taking on another man’s child.’
‘It wasn’t like that, he—’
‘What did you think would happen when you left? That Dad would say, “Oh, by the way, Stella, your mum’s dumped me but no need to worry, I’m fine.”’
‘No, of course not, I—’
‘Who did you think would be landed with the responsibility of Dad having a nervous breakdown? Who did you think would be expected to drop everything and rush to help?’
‘Hasn’t Edward—’
‘He hasn’t been near us, didn’t you know?’
‘But his messages made it sound like—’
‘He hasn’t shown his face. It’s just been me. Me and Gran, who shouldn’t have to look after her son at her age. You dumped him on us and went off without a thought.’
‘Stella! That’s enough! I’m sorry I’ve made you so angry, made everyone so upset. I don’t love your dad anymore, and I was unhappy. If that means I’m selfish to leave, then so be it. Maybe I should have been a bit more selfish these last twenty-nine years, and I wouldn’t feel the need now. But let me ask you this: was I selfish when I slept on your floor every night for a month when you had nightmares?’
‘What, when I was, like, eight?’
‘Was it selfish letting you go on that holiday with your friends when you were eighteen, without a murmur, even though you’d promised to go away with me?’
‘Wow, you’ve been saving that up.’
‘Welcoming you back when you couldn’t find work after university, helping with your job applications, supporting you financially even now so you can pay your rent.’
‘Stop shouting, Mum.’
‘I never stopped helping you, boosting you up, encouraging you, urging you to have a more interesting life than I’ve had. Selfish! Are you joking?’
‘No one made you live an uninteresting life,’ I said, trying to keep my voice quiet. ‘It was your choice.’
‘God damn it, no it wasn’t!’ Mum yelled. ‘I got pregnant by accident, and had to marry your father, and because of that, I lost the love of my life.’
Oh. My. God.
I prayed I hadn’t run anyone over because I hadn’t been focusing on my driving at all. Neither of us spoke for a long time. I tried to silently get my breathing back to normal. Finally, I forced myself to glance over at Mum. Her face was turned away, and she was staring out of the side window.
More miles went by, then very quietly, she said, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You should be.’
‘I shouldn’t have said that. I feel awful.’
‘So listen, Mum,’ I said, as quietly as her, ‘when you come home, even if Dad takes you back, I won’t.’
‘Oh, Sparkle!’ Mum twisted in her seat. ‘I know you�
�re furious with me, and that’s OK, but—’
‘Do you mind,’ I said, gritting my teeth, which for some reason helped soothe the pain in my chest, ‘if we don’t talk anymore?’
Mum sat back in her seat. ‘Why don’t you drop me at a station somewhere? I’ll make my own way.’
‘We’re on a fucking motorway. I’ll take you to Heathrow, like I said. Then that’s me done.’
We drove on in a heavy mute fug. It should have felt good to have let it out, said how I felt. But all I wanted was to be on my own and cry. We didn’t speak again until I came off the junction for Heathrow, and Mum directed me to her hotel. I pulled up outside it and left the engine running. I could feel Mum looking at me but I stared straight ahead at the car park, the people coming and going with wheelie suitcases and normal lives. I desperately wanted her to go.
‘Thanks for the lift. I wish with all my heart that I hadn’t upset you.’ She leaned across the seat and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Tell your father thanks for the letter.’
I wished I could say something nice, something to make it better, but I felt too far gone. Instead, I said, ‘Hope Bear’s OK.’ I should have said this before; Mum must be expecting the worst, and I knew how important her friendship with Bear was.
‘Thank you.’ She put her hand on the door handle, then said, ‘I know people sometimes push you around. Don’t take any crap from anyone, Stella. Anyone.’
I let out a bark of laughter. ‘Even you?’
‘Especially me.’ She smiled. ‘I love you so much.’
I couldn’t reply. I knew I’d cry if I said that I loved her and I didn’t want to cry till she’d gone. She looked at me intensely for a moment, then said, ‘Bye,’ and quickly got out of the car. I watched her walk fast into the hotel – she didn’t look back – then I turned the car round and headed for my house. The lump in my throat would not shift.
Ten
Kay
There was no mistaking my mother-in-law – she stood out wherever she was. In this dull corporate hotel lounge, there were a few groups of businessmen, and some boozed-up women about my age who looked to be heading off for a riotous girls’ weekend. And there, wearing the sort of anthropologically intrepid expression patented by the Queen during 1960s’ tours of exotic countries, was Alice Bright.
