Now the moment of revelation is all but upon them, the reality of presenting Rose with the terrible truth feels tougher than ever.
Stop, she tells herself. No more excuses, no more delays. Get on with it.
‘Not until very recently,’ she says, finally answering Rose’s question. ‘I’ll explain in a minute. This may sound unbelievable, but I’ve thought about the two of them every single day since I left. They were constantly on my mind at the start of my travels, usually accompanied by feelings of guilt and self-loathing. And while those thoughts did eventually fade, they never went away.
‘I often wondered over the years what they were both up to and how all of our lives might have turned out differently had I stayed. I considered making contact myself.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ Rose asks, her eyes narrowing and lips tight. ‘Especially once you moved to Ireland.’
Cassie grimaces, running a hand through her short hair. ‘Because of something stupid I did. Something that made matters … complicated.’
‘What do you mean?’ Rose asks. ‘And what’s your daughter’s name? You haven’t said.’
Cassie’s heart is thumping like a double-bass drum in her chest. She excuses herself for a minute, claiming to need the loo. ‘Sorry,’ she says, pulling a face. ‘Needs must. I’ll be back in a jiffy.’
She avoids eye contact at this stage, but it’s not hard to sense that Rose is getting very frustrated now. ‘I can’t …’ she starts to say, before breaking off, shaking her head and exhaling noisily.
As soon as Cassie is out of Rose’s sight, she uses her mobile to send a short text message to ‘Max’: Ten minutes.
She darts to the ladies, splashes cold water on to her face, has a lingering stare at her reflection in the mirror, then heads back to the lounge.
‘Right,’ she says as she sits down opposite Rose again. ‘Apologies.’
Rose looks up from whatever she’s been viewing on her phone; without speaking, she switches off the screen and places it face down on the coffee table. Finally, she meets Cassie’s eye and gives the slightest of nods.
Dammit, she’s already fuming, Cassie thinks.
Smiling, mainly to hide how terrified she feels, Cassie says: ‘This is hard to explain. After Max mooted the idea of him bringing up the baby as a single parent, I had a few concerns. One in particular kept niggling at me.’
She pauses in a bid to steady her breathing and calm herself down, although it makes little difference. She’s sweaty and nauseous but soldiers on.
‘This might sound ironic, hypocritical even, but I was really bothered at the idea of my daughter growing up feeling abandoned, having been through something similar myself. I was worried she’s be scarred by that, spending her whole life wondering why her mother left; questioning whether it was something to do with her not being good enough. I recognise these feelings from personal experience. I know how easily they can erode your sense of self-worth.
‘After giving the matter much thought, I came up with a solution of sorts. I pressured Max to agree to it if he wanted me to support his suggestion. He was taken aback – as was his family – because it was controversial, to say the least. But after explaining my reasoning, I eventually persuaded him. I made him swear on our unborn baby’s life that he’d stick to the story in my absence. That’s how strongly I felt about it.’
Cassie signals a passing waiter and requests a jug of iced water.
‘Would you like anything else, Rose?’
‘No,’ she replies in a tiny voice. Once the waiter’s gone, she adds, in barely more than a whisper: ‘What exactly was the story you got him to agree to, Cassie?’
Rose looks pale and anxious. She appears to be teetering on the edge of making the connection, while still holding herself back, probably not yet daring to believe the impossible whisper in her ear, the thud in her gut.
Cassie’s mind flashes back to that moment in the hospital, more than twenty-two years ago, when she first held her newborn daughter.
The midwife gently passed her the baby for skin-to-skin contact, having previously explained the importance of this to help calm her and regulate her heartrate, temperature and breathing, easing her into life outside the womb.
‘Would you like to do it instead, Max?’ she’d offered when the two of them were alone earlier. They’d agreed not to say anything about their unusual situation to the birthing staff, deciding it was none of their business.
‘No, no,’ he’d replied, regarding the skin contact. ‘I think it’s best you do it, unless you really don’t want to. It’ll be most natural that way.’
At his request, they hadn’t found out the sex of their baby in advance. He wanted it to be a surprise, and so it was.
‘Are you happy to have a little girl?’ she asked him as the tiny, hot little body wriggled against her chest, no longer crying like when she’d first emerged.
He smiled from where he was standing next to them, lightly stroking his daughter’s bare arm and hand, effortlessly slipping into the role of proud father. ‘I couldn’t be happier.’
‘Decided on a name?’ she whispered, having promised to let him make the choice.
‘Rose,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘It was already a front-runner, but now I see her, I know it’s right. Just look at those rosy cheeks of hers. She’s adorable.’
‘Perfect.’ She felt a strong urge to kiss Rose, who was absolutely adorable, on the top of her tiny head, where she had this cute little tuft of downy, dark hair. She resisted, aware of his eyes on her, not wanting to give the wrong idea and risk confusing matters.
‘Don’t worry, Dad,’ the midwife said, returning into the room after nipping out. ‘It’ll be your turn soon. She looks like she might be a daddy’s girl, this one.’
The two parents shared a private smile.
A few minutes later, the proud new father left to phone his own parents to tell them the good news. When the midwife also disappeared again, Catherine found herself alone with baby Rose for the first time.
Dazed and exhausted after everything she’d been through, her initial reaction was one of panic, afraid that she might do something wrong and accidentally hurt Rose. She’d never held a real baby before in her life – not a proper newborn like this – and with no intention of keeping the child, she’d barely done any research on the subject, meaning she felt utterly clueless. What if she started crying or wanted feeding? What would she do then?
Calm down, she thought, reminding herself that the midwife was still nearby. If she needed help, she could call out.
She kissed Rose’s head without thinking this time, realising straight away that it was true what they said about babies’ heads smelling amazing. She kissed her again, inhaling deeply, and found herself whispering to her daughter.
‘Hi there, little one. Do you know who I am? I’m your mummy and I love you very much, even though I’ve only just met you. I’m so sorry I can’t stay with you. It’s … really complicated. You’ll be fine, though. Your daddy isn’t going anywhere and he’s going to look after you, I promise. He’s a special man – the best – and I know for a fact that he’ll never let you down like I would if I stuck around. I’m not going to talk to you like this again, because … I can’t make this harder than it is already. Know that I love you now and always, Rose. That’s the truth, no matter how it looks. I wish you a wonderful childhood and a long, happy life, free from the scars of my own.’
It was only when she kissed her daughter’s head again that she realised she’d been crying – a mother’s tears. They’d run down her cheeks to her lips, moistening that wispy patch of hair.
The midwife reappeared. ‘Everything good?’
‘Yes, fine.’ She sniffed and smiled.
‘Don’t worry, it’s normal to get emotional at this stage, now that all the hard work to get her out is done. You did brilliantly today, love. You were a real star. And that little beauty you’re holding is your reward.’
Snapping
back into the present, her daughter now all grown up and staring at her inquisitively, desperate for the truth, Cassie feels something inside of her break.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, her voice catching as she feels the prick of fresh tears forming in the corners of her eyes. ‘Rose, that was the name of my baby. It was you. I made your father agree to tell you I died.’
PART FOUR – THE TRUTH
CHAPTER 34
DAVE
He glances over at the time on the dashboard of the car and compares it to his phone, which is a minute ahead. He considers changing the car clock, knowing his mobile gets the information from the Internet, but he resists. The last thing he needs right now is a distraction from the job at hand.
‘Stay focused!’ he snaps, scolding himself.
He looks at his phone again: two minutes since he received Catherine’s text message. Cassie’s message, he means. He really needs to get the hang of calling her that. She says she hasn’t gone by her full name for years. Plus she makes a point of only calling him Dave now, rather than Max, like she often used to in the old days. To his surprise, he felt sad about this when he noticed, but it makes sense, considering everything. Two decades – more than that – is a long period not to see someone. They’ve both changed a great deal, physically and mentally. She’s very different from the headstrong, fiery young woman he fell in love with, haunted by the wounds of her difficult childhood.
Not that they’ve had much of a chance to get reacquainted in person: a quick face-to-face in an airport café before they travelled separately back to the Ribble Valley. He hadn’t dared to give her a lift or meet her locally, for fear of some nosy parker spotting them and word getting back to Rose. Unlikely, perhaps, but he wasn’t prepared to risk it. He’d already invested far too much time and energy into making today happen.
He’s been on tenterhooks about this for weeks. He’s firmly convinced it’s the right thing to do. And yet he’s terrified how Rose will react. What child wants to learn that their father has been lying to them their whole life about something so major?
Rose has been the centre of Dave’s world ever since she was born. He’ll never forget watching her arrive, seeing her beautiful face before even her own mother.
They say women become mums while pregnant, but for first-time dads the whole parenthood thing doesn’t kick in until after the birth. That was true for him, even though he’d committed to being a single father long beforehand. He prepared for it as best as he could, but much of that effort was focused on things like finding the right house for them to live in, rather than studying the practicalities of raising a baby girl.
When the reality of being a dad did set in, it was with one heck of a jolt. He’d never felt so protective of anyone or anything as when he carried his fragile bundle of joy out of the hospital into the busy, noisy outdoors.
He wondered how on earth he would cope alone. He had no idea what he was doing. It took every ounce of strength he had not to get down on his knees and beg Catherine – Cassie now, he reminds himself again – not to leave.
Most of what he needed to know about being a father he learned ‘on the job’. He’d probably never have made it through those early days of constant crying, feeding and nappy changes without the counsel and assistance of his own mother, Deborah. She was amazing, keeping him sane and regularly rising to the occasion when he couldn’t or didn’t know how, for much of Rose’s early years.
Dave wishes she was here now, to help him through what’s about to happen, but she’s not due to fly in from Spain until next Thursday – a couple of days ahead of the wedding. He’s not even told her what he’s up to yet. He considered discussing it with her and possibly would have if she lived locally, but he was afraid that she might mention something to tip Rose off. The two key women in his life have an undeniably strong bond, despite the distance between them. They speak to each other more frequently than he himself talks to his mother.
He vividly recalls Deborah’s opposition to the original idea of telling Rose, and the world at large, that her mother was dead. He wasn’t keen on the idea either. Who would be? But Cassie – finally, he’s getting the hang of using that name – was adamant.
He remembers the conversation he had with his mother and late father, in the kitchen of the old family house, like it was yesterday.
‘I’m sorry, what?’ Deborah said to him, a look of utter disbelief emblazoned on her face. ‘Are you out of your mind?’ She turned to her husband, whose attention was divided between them and some financial reports piled in front of him on the table. ‘Did you hear that, Stephen? Can you believe what our son said?’
‘Pardon?’ he replied with a satellite delay, shaking his head as if to clear it when he finally looked up and focused on the room around him. ‘Sorry, they’ve made a right hash of this document. I’m … never mind. What’s going on? Is there a problem?’
‘I’ll say there is,’ she replied, so used to him being distracted by paperwork that she didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘David said that Catherine wants us to pretend she’s dead once she’s swanned off into the sunset. She wants the child to grow up believing that. Honestly, I’m lost for words.’
‘That does sound very odd,’ Stephen replied, rubbing his eyes before scrutinising his son. ‘Why does she want us to do that?’
He made her case to his parents, emphasising once again her difficult childhood and explaining how she didn’t want their child to grow up feeling abandoned.
‘Not abandoning them in the first place would surely be a more normal approach,’ Deborah said.
He cleared his throat before answering. ‘Come on, Mum. Let’s not go down that road. You’ve been great with Catherine so far. She really likes you. Don’t spoil that now.’
‘So you’re fine with it, are you, David?’ she asked. ‘You’re happy to lie to your child?’
He felt himself being backed into a corner but was determined to stand his ground.
Part of him still hoped Catherine might change her mind at the last minute and stay, even though that seemed unlikely, knowing how resolute she tended to be. Also, he could understand to a certain degree where she was coming from. It made sense in a weird kind of way when considered as part of the whole unusual situation.
The argument hinged on her death being more palatable for their child than the rejection of being abandoned. The former would be a tragedy, allowing the youngster to fondly imagine a loving mother killed in a cruel twist of fate. The latter would inevitably cast Catherine as a villain, raising all kinds of thorny questions and issues.
He had no desire for his son or daughter to grow up hating the mother they would never know. He was too fond of Catherine for that to happen.
On the other hand, lying about such an important matter, to a child no less, was morally wrong. Plus it would close the door on any chance of a future reunion.
He’d weighed up the pros and cons, giving the matter a great deal of thought, before coming here today to see his parents. Ultimately, he’d decided that going along with Catherine’s request, as strange and unnatural as it might sound, was the best way forward. His visit wasn’t to seek counsel, it was to get them on board, knowing he’d struggle to manage without their support. And so he presented himself as resolute, hiding all lingering doubts.
‘It’s not ideal, Mum, but it is what’s going to happen. Our decision is made.’
‘There’s no need to rush into anything,’ Stephen said. ‘You could—’
‘Look, both of you, Catherine and I are the baby’s parents and this is what we’ve decided together. I’m here looking for your support, not a row. Yes, it’s extremely unusual. I’m not denying that. But I’ve made my peace with it. Now I’m begging you to back your son and do the same.’
Taking a deep breath, he threw a stern look at his mum, summoning every bit of conviction he could manage, and added: ‘If you don’t agree to go along with this, I’m afraid I really don’t see how I can involve you in the chi
ld’s upbringing. You’ll leave me with no choice but to go it alone. That’s the last thing I want, believe me, but how else could it work? Do you want to be in your grandchild’s life or not?’
He was fairly sure this was a bluff on his part, but he had to believe it at least a little in order to make it sound convincing.
So far, all of their discussions about going ahead without Catherine had focused on his wants and desires, as well as the needs of the baby. He’d never specifically asked his mum and dad if it was something they wanted. However, he’d noticed a spark in their eyes – particularly his mother’s – as soon as he’d told them about the pregnancy. He wouldn’t put it past Deborah to have already bought a gift for the baby: a cute little unisex outfit or a teddy bear, perhaps.
Anyway, the gamble paid off. By the time he left, they’d agreed. His mum had even offered to explain the situation to his sister, so she could prepare herself too.
‘Sure, that would be great, if you don’t mind,’ he’d replied. ‘It’s only right that Bridget knows the truth. But don’t tell anyone else what’s going on, yeah? I don’t want my child to grow up being the only one in the dark. We need to keep this strictly family only. Everyone else will have to be fed the fiction, once the time’s right. For now, tell anyone who asks that we’re pregnant and madly in love. I’ll come up with a suitable twist in the tale.’
And he did, like the critically acclaimed novelist he was supposed to be, creating the narrative that Catherine died from a brain haemorrhage when Rose was only a few weeks old. He repeated the lie to his parents and sister until they all knew it inside out. And as soon as she’d gone, destined for Greece, he made sure they all stuck to it, including the falsehood that a small, private funeral had already taken place.
He and Catherine had pretty much lived in a bubble during their time together in Manchester. This made it a relatively easy lie to sell. So too did Catherine’s lack of family and friends, plus the fact she’d barely stepped foot in the Ribble Valley or met any of the people he knew there.
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