‘I lived in Birmingham for a while with a young man,’ she carried on without hesitation. ‘But he was into a bit of trouble, imports and exports and all that, so I moved on.’
Drugs, of course. Or stuff off the back of a lorry.
She brought the cups of tea over to the coffee table and went back for the shortbread.
‘I shouldn’t, really, watching my figure, but I suppose it doesn’t matter now,’ she said sweetly, reaching for a biscuit. ‘I can let myself go. No one to impress anymore. No need to survive if I’ve lost my marbles, is there?’
‘You haven’t lost your marbles, Mum.’
‘I’ve lost something.’
Yeah, your personality.
She paused and then narrowed her eyes. ‘I was young when I had you, you know?’
‘I do know.’
‘Too young to know better.’ She nodded at me, with a smile.
‘I’m not really sure how to take that…’
Nina froze, holding up her hands, ‘Oh, no, no. I meant… I was young and overwhelmed and didn’t know how to handle it. And I’m glad for this chance to get to know you.’
I pressed my lips together, ‘Is that what we’re doing here?’
‘I hope so. It’s hard, Natasha. People tell you it’s hard but you never really know, you know?’
I nodded, not really sure where she was going with this.
‘Do you have kids?’
And there it was. I was getting better, though. It was true, every time you said it, it hurt a little less.
‘No, not yet.’
‘When you do, you’ll understand.’
‘How easy it is to leave them?’ I replied sharply, then clenched my jaw. I didn’t want to ruin this.
She tilted her head at me, as if she’d misheard me. ‘What were we talking about? I’m losing it, Kit, honestly. As if you’d ever have children!’
‘Natasha,’ I corrected her, ‘I’m Natasha.’
‘Of course you are. And how’s your dad?’
I sighed. Of course, I was torturing myself with this. Answering the same painful questions every time I came, I was asking for it. But perhaps I didn’t have to, if she didn’t remember anyway.
Was it really so bad, to tell a small lie?
‘He’s good, still lives in Luton.’
‘Oh, that’s nice, good for him.’ Nina was thoughtful, frowning slightly as she stared into the distance. ‘I thought he’d died. Hmm, must have been someone else.’
She was clearly used to being corrected, and had stopped fighting the answers she was given.
The rest of the visit was easier, when I stopped looking for the old version of her, stopped digging for something that seemed to only appear in flashes and then be gone again. People said Alzheimer’s often took their family members away from them, made them cruel, frustrated, lost.
My mother seemed to have gone the other way; free from the consistency of her memories, she was more detached. She seemed to remember parts of the story, but they sat alongside my own, in parallel rather than matching. Her version of events was nothing like mine, but hers sounded nicer, so I let her believe it.
If I could have believed it, I would. Apparently we were very understanding about her leaving. She’d sat us down and explained she wasn’t happy. She’d sent me postcards every week, and come back for visits. She’d been sad not to make it to my wedding, but she’d appreciated the invitation.
She had in-depth details for each story. How I’d gripped her hand when she told me she was leaving, that I was wearing that oversized one-shouldered purple jumper I had (non-existent) and I’d told her I understood that she had to go. She’d peppered these memories with unbelievable detail, always culminating in her being accepted, and there never being a bad guy. A happy ending, always.
It’s amazing what the mind can do.
On the drive back I let myself become lost in her false history, I gave it space to breathe and develop. I imagined her at my wedding, this version of Nina. How she’d be polite but then bitch about Miranda and make faces behind her back. How she’d place her hand on my father’s arm, though separated, brought together by pride in their child. Perhaps they would have confirmed that at least one good thing came out of their marriage – me.
I imagined those postcards from exotic places, always signed, Love, Mum x. Phone calls where I would have shared my big news, my raises at work, buying our flat.
If she’d left in the way she remembered, Dad would still be alive. Maybe he would have been kind, been good again. Would have found another job and a new partner and a new meaning in life.
And Dan… Dan wouldn’t have been there.
He wouldn’t have stayed with me. He would have gone off with one of those other girls, because poor broken little Taz didn’t need to be saved.
And so the story fell apart before it even became possible. A family life less fucked up, and a world without Dan, without my Daniel. Without us. I would have met someone on the estate who’d bothered to look at me, gone along with what they wanted. Convinced myself it was enough.
Still, it was a nice daydream. One I could so clearly imagine now my mother was this other woman with the kind eyes, who gave me compliments and asked about my life. It felt dangerous, like the stoking of an addiction.
On the way back I saw the man on the overpass again, but this time I recognised his face – Fraser, from the pub. I knew he’d looked familiar. His hat hid the explosion of white hair that had been visible last night. I hesitated, not sure whether to pull over. He looked relaxed, his hands resting on the railing. He certainly wasn’t going to jump.
Standing on bridges when you had no need to cross was not normal behaviour… but what did I know of normal here?
So I drove on, even though I doubted myself, because I was a Londoner and the first rule is that you mind your own goddamn business.
I called Dan on the speaker system in the car, because I was lost in the past and my past was his. I still hoped my future was too.
‘Hello my beautiful wife,’ his voice sounded tired, but I could hear the smile.
‘Hello my wonderful husband,’ I replied, glad that we still had a language we shared, rituals. ‘How are you?’
‘Same old bullshit, different day,’ I could imagine him loosening his tie and rolling up his shirt sleeves. I wanted to place my fingertips on his skin, feel the warmth. ‘Dad wants me to take on a different clientèle, more B2B portfolios.’
‘I don’t know what that means.’
‘Nothing interesting. Same shit, just for businesses instead of individuals.’
‘You think you’ll do it?’
Dan sighed and didn’t speak for a moment. He was preparing for a story, I could tell.
‘Remember when we lived in Tufnell Park and that restaurant owner paid me two hundred quid to paint a mural during his refurb?’
‘Yes,’ I smiled, ‘it was brilliant.’
‘And we went out and bought a bottle of Cava because I’d made my first money as an artist and life was finally going in the right direction?’
We drank it from tea-stained mugs and shared a portion of late-night cod and chips from the chippie on our road. The guy even threw in an extra half portion of chips and a saveloy for free, because we were celebrating. Everything had seemed so perfect. No parents, no family to tell us we were wrong to dream, no one but the two of us, doing what made us happy.
‘I remember.’
‘I was just thinking about that today. About how happy I was to be paid a couple of hundred quid for three days of hard graft, and how every time we walked past the restaurant I would smile.’ Dan paused, ‘I went past it on the way home today. That whole block is flats. The restaurant is now a coffee shop that sells the best arancini in London, according to TimeOut. The mural is gone.’
‘It’s still there, though, under the paint, isn’t it? It still exists, you just can’t see it.’
Dan laughed, a little hollow, ‘But seeing it’
s kinda the point, babe, isn’t it?’
‘What made you think about that today?’
‘Guess just remembering the last time I was proud of the work I did.’
‘Oh, baby.’ It was a sad admission from a man who had made it his mission to make his parents proud. To be the financial whizz kid they had expected. To make it right.
‘I guess it’ll be easier when you’re home again. When I have something good to make the bad worth it.’ He paused, ‘Not that I’m rushing you… or expecting you back, or… anything. You know. I just miss you, I guess.’
‘I miss you too. And I miss those days. That was a good mural.’
‘The best damn mural you’d ever seen, if I remember correctly.’
I grinned, ‘Well, I’d just become your fiancée, I was pretty easily impressed in those days.’
‘So all those lovely things you said about me being the next big thing were just to get into my pants. The horror!’ Dan’s voice was so warm I wanted to curl up in it and never leave. I wanted to live in this state of nostalgia, in the safe parts of the past. The ones we had both loved.
‘God, I love you,’ I said, feeling it so much it was almost painful.
‘I love you too, even though you lied about my mural,’ his voice was soft. ‘I was thinking about getting a cat to keep me company, what do you think?’
‘I think you know damn well we’re dog people, Daniel White.’
He burst out laughing, which had been my intention all along. ‘How are the alpacas? And the irritable pony, and the other creatures that make me think you’re living in a kid’s storybook?’
‘They’re good, in fact, I’ve had my first horse-riding lesson… aren’t I fancy? I’ll have something to chime in with when we go to all those dreadful investor dinner parties.’
‘Telling a story about the time you fell off a horse, sure…’
‘I didn’t fall off once! In fact, it might be my calling in life! I may have an affinity with the wild beasts and they’ll heal my tattered soul,’ I said dramatically, but Dan didn’t really laugh at that. Perhaps ‘tattered soul’ was a little too close to the truth.
‘I’ve been thinking I don’t want to go to any more of those stupid parties anyway. What do they achieve except making us both feel like shit?’
‘Um, excuse me, Mr Director of something something, since when have they made you feel like shit?’
‘Always’
‘Bullshit.’
Why did everyone keep rewriting time on me? My mother denying all the things she’d done, and my husband suddenly hating the world he’d inhabited quite happily for the last few years? How was I meant to know what was real?
‘Taz, you have to deal with those guys for an evening. Can you imagine what my days are like?’
‘I thought it was a necessary evil to get to where you needed to be?’
‘It is. But I’m starting to think I was wrong about where I needed to be.’
‘You wanna go and paint murals?’ I asked, suddenly hopeful.
‘I want… I don’t know what I want, except you. I want you, Taz. I want me and you and no one else.’ He sounded like he was bone weary, burnt out and desperate for some sort of answer.
‘You have me, you always have me. I’m just… figuring shit out. My shit.’
He took a breath and let the silence sit for a moment.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m trying to sort it out, honestly. I went to see my mum again today… I don’t know what I’m searching for but I’m feeling better,’ I offered, somehow feeling the need to keep apologising. I’d run away from our life and I wouldn’t let him come.
‘Maybe it’s being away from me,’ he said sullenly and I huffed.
‘It’s not being away from you, moron. You’re pretty much the only person I like.’
He was silent for a moment, and I felt him organising his thoughts, preparing a statement and a series of compromises and addendums. Dan was good like that, always thinking it through to the end. Problem solver.
‘You remember when we decided to move to London, how we put all those cities we might go to in a hat and picked one out?’
‘You mean where I picked out Istanbul and you vetoed it, so we ended up in London?’ I laughed. ‘Yes, I remember, scaredy cat.’
‘I sometimes imagine us in other cities, the other versions of us, and I wonder what they’re doing, wonder if they’re happy.’
‘You wanna move to Barcelona, baby?’ I asked gently.
‘Maybe.’
There was nothing to say to that, so I said nothing, just listening to the sound of my husband’s breathing as I pulled the car onto Kit’s driveway and sat there, staring at the cottage, an unexpected warmth in my chest at arriving ‘home’.
‘You just spin the globe, I’m always up for an adventure,’ I said lightly, segueing into my goodbyes. It sounded like something was going on with Dan too, he was taking his own journey and it was best I left him to it. His version of the past belonged to him alone. Just as mine did to me.
Sarah was still there when I got back, stirring something in a pot on the hob that smelled delicious, Lachlan resting on her hip.
‘And how was your mother?’ Kit asked me, eyebrow raised and a smile hovering.
I just looked at her, wondering whether to be annoyed.
‘Did someone activate that village phone tree? Or is Effie secretly living in the boot of my car as a stowaway?’
Kit laughed, setting the table. ‘Perhaps, hen, it’s just that we are more similar than you’d like to admit. The only time I get as grouchy as you were this morning is when I’m annoyed at myself. And I imagined seeing your mother as a brighter, shinier version of herself has got to be tempting.’
I nodded, accepting defeat.
‘So, how was she?’ she repeated.
‘Cheerful,’ I sighed, ‘completely retold her life, expunged her sins.’
‘Ah, a regular Florence Nightingale, I’m aware. Did she talk about all her charity work this time?’
I shook my head, ‘Good God, no. But… it was nice, even though it was a lie. Which is a horrible thing to say about an illness like that, I’m sorry.’
Sarah waved it away and Kit rolled her eyes.
‘No one’s saying it’s not a nightmare, a terrible disease that robs you of who you are and those you love. And I pray my sister isn’t struggling, isn’t frustrated or lost or hurting. And I don’t believe she is. She’s living a make-believe that’s better than the life she had. There’s no pain or shame in that.’
Kit was grave, the lines in her furrowed brow distinctive and solemn. Sarah looked at her in shock, Lachlan’s chubby hand grabbing a fistful of her red hair.
‘Bloody hell, Kit. I don’t think I’ve heard you say so many words in one go.’
‘Well, at least you know I’m capable,’ she smiled at me. ‘I don’t want you worrying, hen. It’s complicated, it’s always complicated with Nina. But she’s well cared for.’
‘I know,’ I said, focusing on Lachlan’s bright eyes as he followed my face, breaking out into a smile. ‘Oh hello, someone’s happy to see me.’
‘Oh aye, you’re a favourite I think,’ Sarah said, handing him over. I cuddled him close, that sharp need and grief dissipating a little more each time he smiled at me. ‘He’s a little demon sometimes, but I wouldn’t change anything.’
‘Maybe you should change a few things,’ Kit huffed, and Sarah gave her a sharp look.
‘I’ll admit,’ she said to me, resolutely ignoring Kit, ‘I had no idea I was pregnant, obviously. It wasn’t exactly planned. Looking back now, it was clear. That tiredness, that sudden feeling that something was different… the way my face puffed up, it all made sense. And I just knew, before I even took the test, I knew.’
I thought back to when I first realised I was pregnant. I’d been so tired, so bone weary that I fell asleep heavily every night. I remembered telling Dan I’d never slept so well in my life. It was always easy
to look back with hindsight, the sore boobs and heartburn were so distinct.
I wanted to join in the conversation with Sarah, but it felt too much like a long story. Explaining a pregnancy without a baby was exhausting, managing other people’s feelings of guilt and awkwardness. It was better to sit and nod and pretend I had no idea. People always asked, ‘So where’s the baby?’ and I had to say, ‘Oh, it didn’t work out’ like it was a dress I’d bought in the wrong size and returned, or a restaurant reservation I hadn’t managed to keep.
No, these were good people, but they knew enough of my trauma. I didn’t want to share any more.
So I nodded along and asked questions about Sarah’s pregnancy and it didn’t kill me as much as I thought it would. It didn’t hurt in the same way it might have a few weeks ago, and that realisation was a relief. Finally, it was starting to sting less like a war wound and more like alcohol on a papercut. One day, it might just be scar tissue. A memory and nothing more.
It was only when I was on the edge of sleep that night, snuggling down in that comfortable bed, that I thought about how well I’d been sleeping the last few days. How I’d been bone weary with what I’d thought was early mornings and Highland air.
I scanned my body, tried to do the maths in my head, barely able to consider the possibility.
When I closed my eyes, I allowed myself a smile.
Hope bloomed.
Chapter Eight
I’d created a comfortable routine now. I got up early to help Kit with the animals, working in companionable silence. We sat and had a huge breakfast with Effie, listening to her chatter about what was going on with the café (Jakob was definitely hung up on a completely clueless Sarah) and the pub (Fraser was considering adding a quiz night). Then I’d go and see Nina. I felt less guilty about it now. We were building something, and as much as I remembered the bad times, it was nice to ignore them for a little while.
I got to correct the past, live in the alternative history Nina had concocted and find the slivers of truth in there. The nuggets of reality, the memories I remembered, but had never had context for.
Every time I got back, Kit gave me this look like she was waiting for the shit to hit the fan.
The Things That Matter Page 16
