She looks back at me, her eyes huge and haunted, and a single tear tracks its way down her cheek. But she brushes it away roughly and runs up the stairs, away from me.
‘I can’t believe you won’t at least talk to me,’ I shout, but she’s gone.
I feel Clemmy’s arm around me and I crumple, the tears flowing freely down my face. My heart feels as if it might break in two.
The irony of the situation pierces me like a blade.
I’ve finally found my birth mother – only to be rejected by her all over again …
‘Perhaps now isn’t the right time?’ murmurs Clemmy.
I shake my head. ‘There’ll clearly never be a right time. She’s made that very plain.’
Clemmy sighs. ‘You don’t know that.’
‘Yes, I do. It’s obvious she knows why I’m here and she’s just made it abundantly clear that she doesn’t want to know me.’ Feeling unsteady on my feet, I walk back through reception and head for the door.
I should never have come to this place. It was a stupid idea, thinking I could track down my real mother and everything would be happy-ever-after.
Actually, I never did think that. I was always worried it would end in disaster. And I was right!
Why the hell didn’t I listen to my instincts and leave well alone?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
We drive back in fraught silence.
Clemmy asks me if I want to stay at hers but I tell her I need to be alone to think. So, reluctantly, she leaves me at the tent, making me promise to call her if I need to talk about it.
But as I go through the motions of getting ready for bed, I know I won’t be calling Clemmy.
I’m done talking about it.
I just want to go home; get away from this place as soon as I can.
The week has been a complete disaster and I’ve never felt so emotionally drained. I’ve fallen into a horrible pit of desperation. It’s going to take forever to haul myself back to square one, never mind start moving up towards the light.
Toby, Jake, Mum, Sylvia. I’m grieving for every one of them in different ways.
And after all the torment I’ve put myself through, agonising about my real mother and finally finding the courage to search for the answer, the message has come back, loud and uncompromisingly clear.
My birth mother wants nothing to do with me.
*
I wake next morning to the alarm and a drizzly, overcast day.
I want to be at the car hire company early so Clemmy is coming to pick me up at eight. After a restless night, I can’t wait to be on the road and heading home.
When Clemmy opens the door, I’m standing there with my case and the first thing she says to me is, ‘Are you sure you don’t want to pop into the hotel before we go?’
‘To see if Sylvia is there?’ I frown. ‘No way. She’s made her feelings about me perfectly clear. And anyway, she’s away at a conference. The receptionist said so.’
Clemmy nods in understanding and helps me lift the case into her boot.
We get in the car and Clemmy starts the engine. ‘I’m so glad you came glamping.’ She turns with a wistful smile, and suddenly I’m thinking of the good things that have happened while I’ve been here.
Reconnecting with Clemmy, for a start, has been brilliant. She’s been such a great friend to me through this awful birth mum business. And meeting the rest of her family has been great, too. I’ll never forget Ruby’s brilliant words of wisdom.
I think of Jake and a pang of real heartache hits me, clouding my happy thoughts.
‘I’m glad, too.’ I smile. ‘I can’t wait to come back for your big day.’
‘October.’ She gives a little shriek. ‘God, it’s galloping nearer.’
I nod, grinning. ‘It’ll be here before you know it. You must be so happy now you and Ryan are back on track.’
She smiles. ‘Yes. I think he knows I hate myself for doubting him.’
‘I’m sure he understands.’
She looks over. ‘It’s a shame about Jake, though. Can’t you email him and …’ She trails off.
‘And what?’ I ask gloomily. ‘Ask if he fancies meeting up for a coffee if ever he’s round my way? Which is probably never since we live hundreds of miles apart!’
Clemmy sighs, puts the car into gear and moves off. ‘If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen.’
I shake my head. ‘It’s not meant to be. If it was, he wouldn’t have gone off like that without any warning and – oh my God!’ I’ve just clapped sight of someone in the wing mirror.
‘What?’
I swing round and my eyes widen at the sight of Sylvia, running along the road, waving her arms as if she’s trying to flag us down.
‘It’s Sylvia,’ I yelp. ‘She’s running down the middle of the road.’
I glance ahead and see a car approaching at some speed. My heart lurches with fright. ‘I think we’d better stop or she might get run over!’
Clemmy acts swiftly, looking behind her and braking. She moves over onto the grass verge and switches off the engine.
We flash each other a look of astonishment then turn to see Sylvia peering in through the passenger window, looking red and out of breath.
‘Are you going to talk to her? Give her another chance?’ asks Clemmy without moving her lips.
I sigh and look down at my hands. ‘I suppose I’d better hear what she has to say.’
‘Shall I let her in the car so you can talk?’
I shake my head. ‘I’ll get out.’
‘Okay. Come to the house when you’re ready?’
I smile gratefully at her. ‘Thank you so much, Clemmy. I really don’t know how I’d have managed this week without you.’
‘Same goes.’ My tears seem to be echoed in Clemmy’s suspiciously glossy eyes. She laughs. ‘What on earth are we like?’ Spontaneously, we clasp each other in a big, teary hug.
I glance across at Sylvia, who’s standing back from the door, her face tense, patiently waiting.
Sighing, I get out of the car, not knowing what to expect.
After the week of shocks I’ve had, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was here to tell me she’s not only my mother, but also my sister and grandmother, all rolled into one. (It’s likely possible in some twisted, dysfunctional-family sort of a way.)
I close the car door and Clemmy starts the engine and does a twenty-five-point turn in the narrow road. Sylvia and I get involved in helping her, and we just manage to stop her from reversing right into the ditch.
We’re both banging on the car, shouting, ‘Stop!’ and luckily she does, just in time.
I glance at Sylvia and she sweeps her hand over her brow in relief. And despite everything, we grin at one another.
Then I remember her treatment of me the night before and my expression freezes.
‘I thought you were at a conference?’ I point out, trying to sound confident but shaking inside. ‘And you almost got yourself run over back there. It must be something important you’ve come to tell me.’
She swallows. ‘It is. The most important thing ever. More important than a bloody conference.’
My heart does a funny little leap in my chest, but I force myself to remain cool.
‘Go on.’ I’m determined to make her squirm after what she’s put me through. Feeling rejected by the woman who gave birth to me felt like a dagger to my heart.
‘I’m sorry, Daisy. For everything,’ she says, her shoulders slumped in defeat. ‘And I’d be so glad if you would let me explain.’
‘Explain what? That you got rid of me because you didn’t want me?’
She stares at me in horror, looking genuinely distressed by my outburst of anger.
‘So are you really my birth mother?’ I demand. ‘The girl who scared my poor mum to death by trying to snatch me away?’
Her face is scrunched up with pain. ‘I’ve always hated myself for that. But I was young and scared and my life was in chaos. That’s
no excuse for what I put your mum through, though. I know that.’
I swallow hard. ‘Mum was terrified after you tried to take me away. She lived in fear after that, thinking you’d come back again. I don’t know how you could have given me away in the first place. But to come and try to get me back?’ I shake my head in disbelief. ‘I have a dark memory of that night, even though I was so small. It feels like a nightmare, it’s so scary. I knew I dropped something and I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was. And it was agony not knowing. That’s what you put us through!’
She bows her head. ‘I’m so, so sorry, Daisy. My mum had multiple sclerosis and I was her only carer. I managed to get the housekeeper job at the Watsons’ so we could make ends meet, but pretty soon after, I realised I was pregnant.’ She pauses, putting her hands to her face. ‘I was seventeen and the father of my baby was five years older and, needless to say, he vanished into thin air when he found out about the baby. Mum was getting worse and I knew I’d have to be a full-time carer. I desperately wanted to keep you with me – you’ve no idea the anguish I went through, trying to work out a way for me to hold on to you. But in the end, I knew it was useless. My friend, Ella, worked at the adoption agency and it was she who persuaded me I should give you up for adoption. She knew all about the process and she was so supportive at a time I really needed someone’s advice. I hadn’t told Mum I was pregnant, you see. I couldn’t bear to worry her with it while she was getting weaker every day.’
Listening to her story, which is clearly genuine, I find myself softening towards her. What would I have done in her situation?
‘Yes, but how could you do that to Mum? Do you have any idea how she must have felt after you tried to snatch me back?’
‘Yes. A thousand times yes! I’ve never stopped hating myself for what I did. Not just having you adopted, but going to your house and trying to get you back. I’ve wished a million times that I’d done things differently. But back then, I thought I’d done the right thing. I was crucified by my loss. And when Mum died three years later, I lost my mind for a while and I poured all my grief into plotting how to get you back. I look back now and I’m horrified – but at the time, being so racked with grief over Mum, it really felt like the logical thing to do. Mum had gone. But I could get you back and everything would be all right.’
Her words touch a chord within me. In my grief over Mum’s death, I set my mind on finding my birth mum. In a way, it was the same thing.
‘Anyway, after that terrible night, I tried to forget about you. I buried myself in my work and told myself this was my life. I was a single career woman with no family and I almost convinced myself that’s the way I liked it.’
‘When did you realise the baby you’d given up was me?’
‘Yesterday. At the fayre. I heard you talking to Clemmy about looking for your birth mother and I just knew. I panicked. My head was in a whirl. I didn’t know what I was doing. I talked to Arabella, asking her to keep my secret.’ She flicks her eyes to the ceiling and adds sarcastically, ‘She was her usual accommodating self.’
I feel the tiniest twinge of sympathy for Sylvia. I’ve been on the other end of Arabella’s nastiness and it’s not pleasant.
Thank goodness Arabella isn’t my mother!
The thought reverberates through me, bringing a pang of relief.
All the time, I’ve kept trying to tell myself that Arabella’s bark was probably worse than her bite and that things would be fine if she turned out to be my birth mother. But now I can abandon that pretence. She’s no relation of mine after all!
At least Sylvia feels remorse for everything that happened. It was clearly a huge shock for her, finding out who I was. But she seems genuinely sorry now for rebuffing me at the start.
A memory slips into my head. ‘I saw you arguing with Arabella. I thought she was … who I was looking for.’ I swallow. ‘I’m … very glad she’s not.’
Sylvia’s mouth twists into a sad little smile.
‘Oh, Daisy, I’m so sorry. For everything. When I realised who you were, I was terrified that, if you found me, my carefully constructed life would just explode around me. Arabella is the only one round here who knows the truth about the pregnancy and the adoption, although obviously she still has no idea that baby is you.’ She sniffs. ‘I’m also very glad Arabella isn’t your mum.’
We gaze at each other through our tears.
‘You are?’ I say at last, my throat aching with emotion.
Sylvia nods. ‘Of course. You were my baby. I loved you so much. I desperately wanted to keep you but Mum needed round-the-clock care and I knew I couldn’t do it. I’d just turned seventeen. I hadn’t a clue that I’d spend the rest of my life regretting my decision.’
I smile sadly. ‘I’m glad you made the decision you did. Otherwise I’d never have had …’ I trail off awkwardly.
She nods, understanding. ‘You’d never have had the mum you did. She … sounds amazing.’
‘She was.’
‘Good.’ She nods. ‘You’ve no idea how happy and relieved that makes me feel. To know that you had a happy life with her.’ She gives a bitter little laugh. ‘Perhaps now I can stop beating myself up quite so much.’
‘You should,’ I say firmly, feeling her pain. ‘You were a frightened teenager. You did what you thought was best. And actually, it all worked out fine.’
Sylvia stares at me through her tears. Then her legs seem to give way beneath her and she sinks down onto the grass verge. Covering her eyes with her hands, she starts sobbing as if her heart will truly break.
I watch her for a moment in a daze.
Then I get down beside her on the grass and put my arm around her shoulders.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
TWO MONTHS LATER
I’m on the bus, travelling across Manchester.
It’s a special day and my stomach is churning in eager anticipation.
An image of Jake flashes into my mind and my throat tightens. For the millionth time, I wonder how he is. Has he gone for any more solitary camping trips? Is he beginning to move on after Laura’s death?
I haven’t heard from him since he left the woods so abruptly. His silence probably means he’s looked at my manuscript but doesn’t think it’s good enough and is too nice to tell me that. I’m not going to let it put me off reaching for my dream, though. Stephen King had many rejections before he became a success.
I’ve checked Jake’s website a few times since I got back from the glamping holiday but there’s no release date yet for his latest book. Actually, who am I kidding? I check in at least once a day, ostensibly to catch up on book news, but actually so I can look at the photo of him and read the blurb about him over again. I feel embarrassed at myself for doing this, but I just can’t seem to get Jake Steele out of my mind, no matter how hard I try. So I’ve stopped trying to fight it.
I’ve learned that you can’t despatch strong feelings by locking them in a box and pretending you’re fine. I did enough of that after Mum died. Trying so hard to put on a brave face and hide my grief just meant my head was filled with confusion and I was never going to be able to see a healthy way forward.
I was lucky – so lucky – to have chosen Clemmy’s Lakeside Glamping for our holiday. Clemmy and I are even closer now than we were at uni and I’m going to her wedding in a couple of weeks. I can’t wait to see everyone. Especially Poppy, Roxy, Gloria and Ruby.
It was Ruby who made me see things in a different light, telling me that I should celebrate Mum’s life by striving for something that would make her proud. I’ve already started planning another book and my dream is that, one day, I’ll be able to leave my job at Plunge Happy Monthly and concentrate on my writing. That’s obviously a long way off, but I’m determined I will get there …
I’m living in Mum’s house now. It’s still on the market and I’m in no hurry to sell it. I thought it would be hard, having daily reminders of the good old days when Mum was still around, bu
t actually, it feels oddly comforting.
My stomach gives an embarrassingly loud gurgle. I didn’t eat breakfast this morning because I was too excited. It’s a nice feeling, though.
I’m meeting Sylvia at the bus station at ten-thirty and we’re going somewhere for coffee and a catch-up. Judging by the last time we met up, two weeks ago, we’ll probably still be sitting in the café long after the lunch crowd have gone back to their offices!
I smile, remembering the first time I went back down to Appley Green.
Sylvia and I had kept in constant, almost daily contact via email since finding each other and I looked forward every day to reading her funny tales about hotel life and learning more about her. When she suggested we meet up, I hopped on a train that same weekend and travelled down to Guildford, where Sylvia met me off the train. She’d left the hotel in the care of her very capable assistant manager for the weekend so that she could spend time showing me around. I gathered it was unheard of for Sylvia to take two consecutive days off, and knowing she’d done so for me meant I could relax in the knowledge that our time together was as important to her as it was to me.
The time flew by and, before I knew it, we were standing on the station platform saying goodbye.
Then it got a little bit awkward. Station goodbyes always have a certain drama attached to them. People tend to get sentimental. I felt it and I could tell Sylvia did, too. She was my mum and yet she wasn’t. I already had a mum who I thought about every day of my life. It didn’t sit naturally with me to think of calling Sylvia ‘Mum’.
We kept our goodbyes light and friendly, and Sylvia promised to come up to Manchester in a few weeks’ time. Since then, I’ve been down to Appley Green again, and today, a Thursday, Sylvia has driven up from Surrey for a flying visit as she has a weekend conference at the hotel to get back for.
I sway from side to side, enjoying the lulling motion of the bus.
Someone has left a newspaper on the seat beside me and I pick it up and absently start flicking through the pages.
I still have reservations about calling Sylvia ‘Mum’. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to, although Rachel seems to think that’s entirely to be expected. But things are going well. I can tell that our growing bond is just as important to Sylvia as it is to me, and I’ve reached that happy stage where I can relax, knowing that – barring catastrophes – we’ll be in each other’s lives forever.
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