If Only I Could Tell You

by Hannah Beckerman

  Her phone bleeped and she retrieved it from her bag to find a message from Mia.

  Are you nearly home? I was about to make some hot chocolate and I’ll do some for you and Granny if you’ll be back soon?

  Jess checked the time. It was almost nine thirty. She’d left the house before it was light and hadn’t seen Mia for almost twenty-four hours. She dialed Mia’s number, picking at the skin around her thumbnail as she waited for an answer.

  “Hi, Mum. Where are you?”

  “Just collecting Granny from her choir audition. Is everything OK?”

  “Yes. I just wondered when you were going to be home.”

  “We should be back in fifteen minutes. Why don’t I pop to the Co-op and get some of that tortellini you like and we can have a late dinner together?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve already eaten.”

  “What did you have?”

  “Cheese on toast.”

  “That’s not a proper dinner. Let me make you something when I get home. There might be some soup in the freezer—we could defrost it in the microwave.”

  “There’s not. I already checked. There’s nothing in the freezer except a bag of crumpets and some pastry.”

  Jess glanced out of the car window and back down the street, wondering what was taking her mum so long. “Well, I could still pick something up. You need to eat—cheese on toast isn’t enough. Anyway, have you finished all your homework? Isn’t your essay on The Taming of the Shrew due in on Friday?”

  “I’m halfway through it. I’ll finish it tomorrow night.”

  Jess thought about her work schedule for the next day. It was unlikely she’d be at home in time for dinner with Mia tomorrow either. “Wouldn’t it be better to finish it tonight and then you can read it through fresh tomorrow?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation and Jess thought she could hear in the silence the cogs whirring in Mia’s head.

  “My art project’s due on Friday as well and there’s still loads I want to do on it.”

  Jess winced as she pulled the cuticle away from her thumbnail and watched a small drop of blood ooze out. “We’ve been through this before, Mia. The only reason I let you take art as a fifth A-level was because you insisted it wouldn’t interfere with your other subjects. If you can’t stick to that then we’ll have to think again about whether you should be doing it at all.”

  “It’s not interfering, I promise. I can easily finish my English essay tomorrow.”

  Jess sucked at her thumb, the blood metallic on her tongue. “You know what your teachers said. If you’re going to get into Cambridge, you have to get straight A-stars in your four academic subjects.”

  There was another long silence and Jess wondered what Mia was doing, wished she could read her expression and work out what she was thinking.

  “I know that, but it’s just so unlikely. Only one person has gone to Cambridge or Oxford from my school in the last eight years so I don’t know why you think I stand a chance.”

  “Because you’re clever enough, Mia. If you work hard enough, I know you can do it. Just think how amazing it would be. I’d be so proud of you. And, believe me, if you don’t give it your best shot and you end up just missing out, you’ll be kicking yourself for the rest of your life.”

  An image flashed into Jess’s head: standing in the school corridor, forming a circle with her three best friends, opening their brown A4 envelopes in unison, and pulling out the single sheet of white paper containing the results of their A-levels. Jess hearing her friends squeal with delight and relief as she watched her own future change before her eyes: not the straight As she needed for her place to read English at Cambridge but an A, a B, and a C—as though even her grades were showing her just how rudimentary her learning was—that might just scrape her through Clearing to somewhere half decent if she was lucky. She remembered feeling—as if she were back there now, standing in that corridor lined with photographs of the sixth formers’ disco—that all her ambitions were swimming away from her toward a distant horizon she could never hope to reach. Ambitions to get to Cambridge, secure a role on the student newspaper, learn the journalistic ropes. Ambitions to forge connections, work hard, give herself the best chance possible of achieving her dream to edit a national newspaper one day. Jess had only just turned eighteen but she had understood, even then, that a place at Cambridge was a ticket not just to a first-rate education but to a first-rate contacts book that would service the rest of her career. A ticket she had torn up by failing to get the grades she needed.

  “It’s only fourteen months, Mia, that’s all. Just get the A-level grades you need for Cambridge and you’ll be set up for the rest of your life.”

  “Fine, Mum. I’ll finish my English essay tonight. But I was thinking . . . I know I’m already doing art A-level but I honestly do find it really relaxing, and I’ve found this brilliant Saturday morning art class at the Royal College. It’s only a couple of hours a week and they’ve still got a few places left for the summer term. I was thinking of putting my name down.”

  Jess heard a loud sigh and then realized it was hers. “Mia, haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve been saying? You can’t possibly take on something else when you’re so overloaded. You’re already doing an extra A-level and it sounds as though you’re struggling to manage that. You’ll have plenty of time for hobbies when you get to university.”

  There was the sound of a cupboard door opening and closing, water running into a glass, three long gulps. “But this course looks really good. And I can’t study every second of the day. When I spoke to Dad about it he thought it was a great idea. He said I needed an antidote to exams, that it would do me good to relax a bit.”

  Jess felt her jaw lock, her back teeth grinding as if in a pre-emptive strike against saying something she might regret. She could hear Iain’s voice in her head, his infuriating nonchalance unpicking all the maternal work she had done over the past seventeen years. It had been the same ever since he’d left: him charging in on a white horse to play the parental savior whenever Mia felt irked about something. Taking Mia for fun days out a couple of times a month, flitting in to whisk her away for the occasional weekend during the long summer holiday without any consideration for how Jess would manage the remaining weeks while she was at work, leaving her to create a military-style schedule of friends, babysitters and, most often, her mum to fill the breach. He behaved more like an irresponsible avuncular family friend than a father. And yet, in spite of all that, to Mia he could do no wrong: she would return from days out with him questioning why Jess wasn’t as easygoing and fun as he was. Sometimes Jess couldn’t help wishing that Iain had abandoned them completely rather than offering this occasional malign interference, that he’d disappeared to the other side of the world and had never been heard of or seen again.

  Iain’s face morphed into her head like an image emerging onto photographic paper. The apologetic furrow of his brow, the narrow edges of his eyes, the pinched corners of his mouth as he’d told her he was leaving: I just can’t handle it, Jess. I can’t handle your moods and your insecurities and the sheer bloody unpredictability of living with you. One minute you’re needy and affectionate, the next you’re blocking me out as if you don’t want me anywhere near you. It’s like there’s a part of you that’s permanently shut away, under lock and key, and you won’t let anyone get close. It’s impossible, Jess. Life with you is impossible. You don’t want a partner. You don’t want an equal. You want someone to take care of you when you feel vulnerable and someone to lash out at when you don’t. Well, I can’t handle it anymore. I just can’t do it.

  Even now, all these years later, the memory of Iain’s criticisms pained her, although Jess was never sure whether that was because they were unfair or because she feared they might be true.

  “Sweetheart, I know it’s hard—please don’t think I don’t understand how you feel—but it’s not forever. Don’t jeopardize everything you’ve worked so hard for at the eleven
th hour for the sake of a hobby. You’ll thank me for it in the long run, trust me.”

  “But if Dad can see it’s a good idea, why can’t you?”

  “Because your father hasn’t been raising you single-handedly since you were one, that’s why. Perhaps if he had, he might have earned a say in what you do with your life.”

  The second the words spilled out, Jess wished she could scoop them back in. “I’m sorry, Mia, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. I’m just tired, that’s all. And I don’t think it’s helpful your dad giving advice when he doesn’t understand how much pressure you’re under. So, please, can we just agree that another art class is something you can do later, but that right now you just need to focus on your A-levels?”

  Mia was silent and Jess took a moment to wrap a conciliatory tone around her voice. “Mia? Can we agree on that, please? Promise you’ll get your head down on your school work?”

  “Fine. But if I’m going to finish this essay tonight I need to get off the phone. I’ll see you when you get back.”

  “OK, sweetheart. We shouldn’t be too long. I love you.”

  “Yep, love you too.”

  The phone went dead as the passenger door opened and Jess watched her mum lower herself into the car. There was something slow and painstaking in her movements as if the manipulation of every muscle, tendon, and bone had to be silently negotiated.

  “Sorry I took so long. All OK with the car?”

  Jess nodded, noticing how her mum’s knees protruded under the thin material of her trousers, how dark rings hung under her eyes. She saw her mum every day, yet somehow hadn’t noticed how much she had changed physically over the past few weeks. But now that she had, it was as though a future Jess wasn’t yet ready to greet was hurrying toward her and there was nothing she could do to slow it down. “Yes, all fine. So the audition went well, I’m guessing.”

  “Really well. Ben’s wonderful—a really interesting man. It’s a shame you couldn’t chat to him for longer. The audition was packed, and there’s another one tomorrow night. I can’t imagine how he’s going to make us sound any good in less than three months though.”

  Audrey smiled but Jess noticed that her eyes were bloodshot, and she saw a tiny globule of something white and viscous stuck to the corner of her lips. “Mum, are you OK? What took you so long in the bathroom?”

  Audrey reached for her seat belt, but didn’t meet Jess’s gaze as she clicked it into place. “Oh, you know. Everything seems to take me a long time these days.”

  Jess studied her mum’s profile. She suspected she knew what might really have happened, feared her mum hadn’t just been going to the toilet or powdering her nose all that time. “Mum? You would tell me if you were starting to feel worse, wouldn’t you?”

  Chapter 11

  Audrey

  Audrey nodded, wondering if somehow Jess knew. She’d been so careful to hide it, had tried so hard to be quiet when it had happened at home. She’d take herself off to the bathroom, run the taps when the sound began to reverberate around the toilet bowl, always make sure to wipe her lips and brush her teeth afterward to expunge any trace. It was ironic, really. There was barely anything in her stomach to be purged and yet, several times each day, her muscles heaved with a determination so much more dramatic than the results.

  “Honestly, darling, I’m fine. But you look exhausted. Are you all right? It’s madness, you working such long hours. Is it really necessary for you to be on set for so long every day?”

  Jess started the engine, a weary half-smile shadowed in the glow of the streetlights. “It is what it is. That’s my job. Anyway, tell me about this concert. What’s it going to involve?”

  As Jess pulled out of the parking space and headed toward Ladbroke Grove, Audrey told her about the audition, the choir, and the organizers’ plans for a charity concert that involved professionals and amateurs from all over the country.

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to be in this choir, Mum? I do understand why you want to do it but I’m still worried it’ll be too much for you. Rehearsals twice a week sounds like a big commitment. Don’t you think you should be taking it easy?”

  There was concern in Jess’s voice that Audrey felt she ought to be used to by now, given that it had infused every conversation with her family since her diagnosis. But they’d had this conversation already, when Audrey had first mentioned her plan to audition, and nothing had changed since then. If anything, having met Ben and heard about the concert, she was more determined than ever to join the choir.

  “I know it’s only because you care, but there’s no need to worry. The choir will help take my mind off things. Give me something else to focus on.”

  As they turned onto Ladbroke Grove, Jess’s sigh seemed to fill the car with fatigue.

  “What is it, Jess? Really, there’s nothing to worry about. The choir will be good for me.”

  Jess looked straight ahead, eyes fixed on the road. “It’s not that.”

  Audrey detected an almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of Jess’s mouth, invisible to anyone who wasn’t attuned to it. “What is it, then? Come on. Something’s wrong, I can tell.”

  “Nothing, honestly. It’s just . . . I’ve been thinking about Dad, that’s all.”

  Audrey waited for Jess to say more, could hear the ambivalence in the silence, was unsure whether to press further. She allowed a few moments to pass, waiting to see if Jess might volunteer anything else, but they’d stopped at a traffic light and Jess was staring out of the window in the opposite direction. “What have you been thinking?” Audrey’s stomach swirled and she could taste the acidic residue of vomit despite the Trebor Extra Strong Mint she’d sucked on her way to the car.

  “Nothing specific, really. Just little things.”

  Audrey watched Jess’s mouth open again, as if she was preparing to say more, but then her lips closed. As the light turned to green and the car moved forward, Audrey studied her daughter’s face. Jess had always complained that her looks were unattractive, nondescript, but Audrey had always seen a quiet beauty in them: eyes that seemed to change color, from gray to green to hazel, depending on the light; lashes so long people often assumed they were false; lips neither too full nor too thin that Audrey had often joked, when Jess was little, were perfect for kissing.

  “What kind of things?” Audrey was aware of the air stiffening as the muscles in Jess’s jaw twitched. It was always a risk pushing Jess—however gently—to talk about Edward, but she opened the door so infrequently that Audrey couldn’t afford to ignore it.

  “Like I said, nothing specific. Just random things from when I was little.”

  “Nice things?”

  “For God’s sake, Mum. Yes, nice things. Things that mean what happened later makes no sense. Things that mean I still don’t understand what he did or why he did it. Is that what you want to hear? Is that what you want me to say? God, I wish I’d never mentioned it.”

  Audrey clasped her hands together, her rings jabbing into her fingers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I know it’s hard. I’m sure, in a way, it always will be. Dad was never the same after what happened with your sister.”

  Jess whipped her head around, eyes ablaze. “I know that, Mum. Don’t you think I already know that?”

  She hissed the words with a ferocity that still had the power to shock Audrey even though she’d heard it many times before.

  The miscalculation rattled in Audrey’s chest, berating her for having failed, yet again, to help Jess speak about events she had kept to herself all these years. She had an urge to reach out and squeeze the top of Jess’s arm but she curled her hands into balls, her fingernails digging into her skin. “I’m sorry, Jess. I know you don’t like to talk about it.”

  Audrey stared at Jess’s profile, silently willing her daughter to turn her head, to offer even the smallest sign of forgiveness, but Jess didn’t look at her, didn’t smile, didn’t speak.

  They drove on in silen
ce, Audrey replaying the conversation in her head, wondering what she could have said differently to change the outcome. But she realized that her only alternative was to have said nothing at all.

  Staring out of the window as they turned onto Holland Park Avenue, she counted down the roads until they arrived at the junction with Lily’s street. Her eyes darted left to right even though she knew a chance encounter was unlikely. Lily would already be at the work dinner that had caused her to cancel their supper.

  It was the same every time she drove down this road with Jess, whatever time of day or night, whatever day of the week: the hope that somehow fate would bring her daughters together on the streets of west London. But even though Lily and Jess had lived in the same city, three miles apart, for fifteen years, not once had they met by chance.

  Peering out of the window into Lily’s street, Audrey felt the question niggling her. She turned to Jess, knowing there would never be a perfect time, that she couldn’t put it off much longer. She’d been living with Jess for nearly a month now and every day she’d searched for a good opportunity to broach the subject, but none had arisen. She could hear the clock ticking loudly in her ears, knew she didn’t have the luxury of time, and took a deep breath, trying to remember the phrasing she’d been rehearsing for weeks.

  “Jess, I need to ask you something, but I want you to listen before flying off the handle. Can you do that for me?”

  The tension thickened as Jess’s forehead puckered into a frown. “Why? What is it?”

  Audrey tried to swallow but her mouth was dry. “I don’t want to get maudlin, and I know you don’t like talking about it, but I can’t just sit by, knowing I’m ill, and do nothing while you and Lily are still estranged—”