Then. Now. Always.

by Isabelle Broom

  There’s something about the word ‘beginning’ that makes me shiver.

  ‘My mother was always surrounded by men,’ she adds, and I think fleetingly of Claudette. ‘She was happy to let them into her house and into her bed, but none of them had ever shown an interest in me. Not until Robert.’

  I want to hear what happened, but I also have to sit on my hands to stop myself from clamping them over my ears.

  Elaine sips her tea before she continues, the steam wisping off the top mingling with the loose hair around her face. I can still hear the rain, and find that I’m taking comfort from the familiar sound.

  ‘When Robert arrived, it was as if my mother finally remembered that I was there,’ Elaine explains. ‘I was seventeen, and like most teenagers I suppose I resented my mother as much as I was desperate for her to love me.’

  ‘You should never feel desperate for a parent to love you,’ I say then, an image of my father flashing uninvited into my mind.

  ‘You’re right,’ Elaine agrees. ‘But I don’t think my mother knew how to love me then. Perhaps she never did. She was so good at caring for strangers, but she had this strange disconnection when it came to me.’

  ‘And Robert?’ I prompt gently.

  Elaine sips her tea again. ‘He noticed me,’ she says simply. ‘At that time, it was enough to keep him in my favour. I knew he was too old for me and actually I was quite repulsed by him, but I relished the way that my mother would watch the two of us, as if she couldn’t understand why this man would choose to spend his time pursuing me rather than her.’

  I feel like I already know how the story is going to end, but I still need Elaine to tell me, even though I know how much it will hurt to hear the words.

  ‘I thought that I was in control of the situation,’ she says then, and I can hear the sadness and regret laced in between her words. ‘But Robert was a grown man; he was a lot bigger and stronger than me, and …’

  She stops, a haunted look on her face, and I instinctively reach for her hand to reassure her. There’s a silence as we each fill in the gaps in her story in our own minds, and I shake my head to chase away the rogue tears that are threatening.

  ‘Afterwards, he seemed disgusted by me,’ Elaine says, again with that chillingly matter-of-fact tone. ‘Perhaps he was disgusted by what he’d allowed himself to do, but I think he blamed me. I think rapists often do blame their victims, as a way of coping with their own guilt.’

  The casual way in which she’s just mentioned rape shocks me, and I feel an immediate and very strong surge of rage on her behalf.

  ‘Did you go to the police?’ I want to know, but she shakes her head.

  ‘No, I went to my mother, which was of course the worst thing that I could have done.’

  ‘Why?’ I demand. I can’t believe, even after taking into account what Elaine has told me about her free-spirited parent, that a mother would ever do anything other than support her own daughter.

  ‘She told me it was my own fault,’ Elaine says, a nonchalant shrug disguising how I know she must really feel. ‘She said that I’d led him on, and that this is what happens when you pretend to be a grown woman when you’re really still a child.’

  ‘That’s horrible!’ I cry, and she smiles at me gratefully.

  ‘Yes.’

  The rain is falling even harder now, and it’s beginning to sound like white noise.

  ‘After that Robert transferred his affections over to another woman in the house, and nothing more was ever said about it. I was supposed to just carry on living my life as if nothing had happened, but how could I?’

  ‘I hate him,’ I mutter, vitriol turning my voice into a growl, but I can sense that there is more of the story to come.

  ‘When I found out about the baby, I didn’t dare tell my mother,’ Elaine says, and I turn to her in alarm.

  ‘A baby?’

  She nods, her mouth set in a very thin and firm line.

  ‘I managed to keep it a secret for months, just by wearing loose clothes. I had a part-time job at a market, and I confided in one of the other girls who worked there, but she was the only person I told. I knew that I had to take folic acid and avoid certain foods, so I did all that, but I never visited a doctor or anything. I was too worried about the news getting back to my mum – or even worse, to Robert.’

  ‘He was still there?’ I ask, surprised.

  Elaine grimaces and wraps her fingers around her mug a little tighter.

  ‘He left before I really started to show,’ she says. ‘I was relieved, of course, but I was also angry with him. I wanted more than anything for him to be punished, but then at the same time I couldn’t bring myself to hate him entirely because I had begun to really love our child. The bond was strong before she even arrived, and I was determined to give her a better childhood than the one I’d had. I wanted to protect her.’

  Her voice has grown shaky again as she drags up all these long-buried emotions, and I swear I can feel my heart breaking in sympathy.

  ‘In the end, my mother must have grown suspicious, because she hid in my bedroom while I was taking a bath and caught me getting dressed.’

  I must have gasped at this, because Elaine turns to me in concern.

  ‘She wasn’t very impressed, as I’m sure you can imagine, which even then I knew was ironic given how she made believe to the rest of the world that she was some sort of earth mother.’

  ‘Unbelievable,’ I mutter darkly, and Elaine narrows her eyes in agreement.

  ‘She dragged me along to a doctor and told this man that I was unstable, that I could not be trusted with a baby and that she wasn’t prepared to look after it. There was a big argument and I ran out into the street – it was all very dramatic.’ She looks almost apologetic as she tells me this part of the story.

  ‘Of course it was – how could it not be?’ I rant. ‘I’m sorry, Elaine, but your mum sounds like a right piece of work to me.’

  Again, that quiet nod of the head.

  ‘My mother was adamant that I put the baby up for adoption,’ she says, turning to face me before continuing. ‘But I didn’t come to that decision because of her; I did it to give my daughter the chance of a better life. I could have kept her, but that would have been selfish. We would have struggled for money and there was no father in the picture. I wanted her to have the life I hadn’t had.’

  It all makes sense when she puts it like that, but I still can’t imagine giving up my own child. Then again, isn’t that exactly what my father did when he left my mum? Poor Elaine didn’t feel like she had a choice, and she’d been put into that position against her own will – but he didn’t have either of her excuses for behaving so utterly reprehensibly.

  ‘You poor thing,’ I say with feeling, noticing the tears on her cheeks.

  ‘Afterwards,’ she continues, suppressing a sob, ‘I couldn’t even bear to look my mother in the eye. I had a few months to wait until I turned eighteen, and as soon as I did, I got hold of my passport, packed a bag and left. I can remember that day so clearly. It had been raining and the air smelt just like it does today. I sat in Trafalgar Square in the centre of London watching the water fountains and tried to decide what I was going to do, where I was going to go, and then I looked up and saw these two rainbows and it suddenly came back to me, that story Bonita, the broken-hearted Spanish girl, had told me about Mojácar and the Indalo Man with his protective rainbow. I don’t know why, but I felt in that moment that if I could make it here, then I would be safe. Safe from my mother and from Robert, but also safe from my own memories and sadness. I was half right, too, because I never have seen my mother or that man again. They could be dead for all I know. Sometimes I hope that they are.’

  They’re harsh words, but absolutely warranted, and again I feel that protective swell of anger on Elaine’s behalf. I want to storm back through the passages of time to rescue the teenage version of this woman, who in just a few weeks has become such an important person to me. I simp
ly cannot bear to even imagine her turmoil, yet here it is in front of me. She has spent the past forty-two years mourning the loss of a child she loved and a mother who never really loved her. It’s heartbreaking.

  There are so many more questions on the tip of my tongue, so many doors to her story that still remain closed to me, but I can sense that Elaine has finished for the day. She’s sitting back on her chair now, her eyes closed and a serene expression on her face. Instead of filling the silence with unnecessary words, I reach across to gently pat her clasped fingers, only for her to slide her hand into mine. For a time, we simply stay as we are, the only sounds our shared breathing and the patter of the still-falling rain.

  As I lift my gaze from my lap to the camera, I can see the two of us reflected in the lens – small, warped figures in the domed glass – and realise in that moment just how brave my new friend has been today.

  32

  The rain continues in earnest for the rest of the afternoon, a low rumble of thunder always threatening but never quite making it as far south as Mojácar. Despite the downpour, I choose to walk back up the hill to the Old Town, enjoying the fragrant aromas coming from the undergrowth as the dry earth turns from a dusty tan to a deep chocolate brown.

  Elaine’s story has settled into my subconscious, and I feel numbed by it. I’m not sure if I feel sad or angry or just a deep sense of shock, but whatever it is has stilled me. Do I tell Theo what happened? I know instinctively that he will be quietly thrilled that I have extracted such a remarkable story from Elaine, but at the moment I feel uncomfortable about sharing it with him. Obviously Elaine needed to unburden herself, but she may yet change her mind about wanting the story to be included in the documentary, and the least I can do is give her a few days to mull it over. If Theo becomes involved, he will want me to persuade her to give us the green light, and the idea of that makes me itch with discomfort.

  I’ve got as far as the turning to La Fuente when my phone starts vibrating in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting to see Theo’s name, but it’s Rachel.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, my voice slightly crackly. It’s an odd time of day for her to call me, given that it’s the middle of the afternoon back in the UK and by rights she should be at work. Rachel does some sort of exciting marketing job that I don’t really understand, but I know it keeps her extremely busy.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she immediately wants to know, and I smile. I forget how long Rachel’s known me sometimes. Clearly she can tell from my uneven tone that something is up.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I assure her. ‘Just been a weird day, and it’s raining here.’

  ‘Rain? In Mojácar?’ Rachel exclaims.

  ‘I know,’ I tell her, ducking under the awning of a gift shop to take shelter. ‘I kind of like it, to be honest.’

  ‘Spoken like a true Brit!’ she jokes, but her delivery is weak.

  ‘What’s up, Rach?’ I decide to cut straight through the polite chit-chat.

  There’s a pause, and I picture my friend at the other end of the line. Her dark red curls and her shining green eyes, the way her neat little nose is peppered with freckles and her nails are bitten down to the quick. I used to tap her hand with my plastic ruler at school whenever I saw her fingers heading towards her mouth, but to be fair to her, nail-biting is probably her only vice. Well, that and Paul.

  ‘I’ve got some news,’ she says, and again I can sense her hesitancy.

  ‘Stop biting your nails,’ I order, and she laughs.

  ‘How did you know I was doing that?’

  ‘I’m an oracle. I know everything.’

  ‘If you know everything, then you must know what I’m going to say next.’

  I take a deep breath and watch as a tiny lake of rainwater snakes down the road and vanishes into a drain.

  ‘You’ve dumped Paul?’ I guess, failing to keep the hopefulness out of my tone.

  ‘Oi!’ she squeals.

  ‘Okay, I’m sorry. But I thought now that you know Diego is available again, you might have decided to ditch Paul and try your luck with him.’

  ‘Very funny,’ she deadpans, but I don’t hear what she says next because there’s yet another rumble of thunder.

  ‘What was that?’ I ask loudly, putting my spare hand over my uncovered ear.

  ‘I said, it’s actually quite the opposite.’

  Oh no.

  ‘Hannah?’

  She hasn’t.

  ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Mmm-hmm.’

  I know what she’s going to say, but I don’t want to hear it.

  ‘Paul proposed!’

  Of course he did.

  ‘Yay,’ I manage, the word trailing out like air out of a sad balloon.

  ‘I’m getting married!’

  She’s not giving up the gusto.

  ‘That’s … It’s great.’ I can feel myself frowning, and force my mouth into the shape of a smile.

  ‘You will be my chief bridesmaid, won’t you?’ she rushes on. ‘Paul has got a younger sister and a niece that I have to include, but I want you in charge.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to have a word with Diego?’ I ask hopefully, but she doesn’t laugh.

  ‘Come on, Han – at least try to be happy for me. I know you and Paul aren’t the best of friends, but he makes me happy. I need you to try harder to get along. I’m going to marry him, so there’s no avoiding it.’

  I can’t help it, I sigh.

  ‘I am happy for you,’ I tell her, trying my best to sound convincing. ‘It just seems to have happened really fast, that’s all.’

  ‘Not that fast,’ she argues. ‘I live with him, Hannah. I love him. What’s the point in waiting?’

  ‘It’s such a big decision,’ I say grudgingly. ‘You could change your mind about him in a year or so.’

  Now it’s Rachel’s turn to sigh.

  ‘Hannah, I know your mum and dad’s marriage didn’t work out, but that’s no reason to assume that mine won’t.’

  Ouch.

  ‘I know that,’ I grumble, feeling like a sulky teenager.

  ‘Do you?’ she demands. ‘I mean, do you really?’

  ‘Of course I do!’ I tell her, but I know I don’t believe what I’m saying. I don’t really have a great opinion of marriage, do I? I’ve been cynical about the entire concept since I was a child. Am I upset because I think Paul is a bit of a tool and Rachel can do better, or am I just scared by how rapidly I’m being left behind? My best friend is in a boat heading along marriage river, and I’m still splashing around in the baby pool of dating. Soon she’ll become one of those smug wedded people who only ever socialise with other couples, and she’ll forget all about me.

  ‘You know, I don’t want to be cruel, Hannah,’ Rachel says now, and I automatically brace myself for another blow. ‘But you’re not really in any position to judge anyone else’s relationship, having never had a real one yourself.’

  I open my mouth to argue, but I have no defence.

  ‘Paul and I may seem silly to you, looking in from the outside, but to me he’s everything. I want to be his wife and I feel ready to take the next step. We’re staring thirty in the face now, Han, and I want to start a family.’

  ‘So you’re settling!’ I interrupt triumphantly, even though I know it’s unfair, and I hear her gasp with exasperation.

  ‘No, you idiot, I’m not settling. If you could just make more effort with Paul instead of doing your best to intimidate him, then you’d see how perfect he is for me. As far as I’m concerned, I’m marrying the man I love. What could be better than that?’

  My brain helpfully lines up a list of things better than the prospect of marrying Paul, such as licking a stinging nettle or strolling naked through a busy shopping centre. When it becomes apparent that I’m not going to reply, Rachel resorts to her killer bombshell.

  ‘Tom warned me you’d be like this.’

  That reignites my mouth.

  ‘What?’

  ‘
He warned me not to expect a fanfare, but I don’t think even he thought you’d be this horrible about it.’

  I wince at this accusation, because I’m not trying to be horrible or intimidate anyone. I’m just being realistic. Marriages fall apart every day; people fall out of love with the person they’ve promised to cherish for no apparent reason. I know what I should do at this stage is apologise – tell Rachel I’m just scared of losing her, admit defeat and ask her what she’s planning for the hen do – but the comment about Tom has rankled me, so instead I go on the attack.

  ‘Why did you tell Tom before me?’ I ask, anger muddying my voice and making me sound disgruntled.

  I imagine Rachel shrugging as she answers. ‘I’ve been talking to him loads over the past few weeks, and because I knew he at least would be happy for me.’

  I ignore the second dig.

  ‘Talking to him loads?’ I repeat. Tom hasn’t mentioned as much to me, which strikes me as odd considering how honest the two of us have been with one another lately.

  ‘He’s needed someone to talk to,’ she informs me stiffly, her meaning clear – that I haven’t been there for him.

  I hate the idea of Rachel and Tom discussing me behind my back. I hate it almost as much as the prospect of this bloody wedding that I’ll be forced to attend. I want to ask her what he’s been saying, but my pride sticks a big foot in my gob and stops me.

  ‘What’s wrong with Tom?’ I demand instead. ‘What has he got to complain about?’

  I can hear the sound of voices at Rachel’s end of the line, and she puts her hand over the receiver as she replies to whoever it is.

  ‘Hannah?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I have to go; I have a meeting.’

  ‘Fine.’

  She lets out another long sigh. ‘Don’t you have anything else to say?’

  I think about her harsh comments, the accusation that I’m in some way warped and damaged by the failure of my parents’ marriage, and the fact that she went behind my back and told Tom her engagement news first.

  ‘Nope.’

  Another sigh.

  ‘Right. Well, take care of yourself over there. I guess I’ll see you when you get back.’