The Mother's Promise

by Sally Hepworth

  “We’re alone,” he said, sliding over to make space for her. She sat beside him and his arms went around her. Then he looked mock-confused. “Am I correct that the school day isn’t over yet, Miss Stanhope? I didn’t pick you as one to play hooky.”

  “Neither did I,” Zoe said. Harry held her so casually that she found it hard to look at him.

  “Are you okay?” he said, becoming serious. “Did something happen? Did anyone else say anything to you?”

  “No,” she said.

  He sat up. “Then what is it?”

  “Nothing.” Her cheeks, she knew, were pink.

  “But you’re acting weird.”

  She rolled her eyes. “In case you’ve forgotten, I have social anxiety disorder.”

  “I realize that, but…” He seemed genuinely surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be shy around me, you know, after everything.”

  “Harry!” she said. “I’m even more shy around you after everything.”

  Her cheeks burned. She was afraid to look at him, afraid of the feelings that she would undouted feel if she did. And at the same time, she wanted to feel those feelings.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked him, finally.

  “Just that if talking makes you uncomfortable, I can think of something else we can do.”

  She looked at him. He smiled. And for the next hour, all Zoe worried about was Harry’s parents coming home from work early.

  50

  Paul had just made Alice a cup of tea that she wouldn’t drink. He’d been doing all kinds of useless things like that today. Passing her books she didn’t want to read. Fluffing her pillows. That she really didn’t get. Weren’t pillows naturally fluffy? Sure, in times gone by when they were stuffed with feathers and twigs they probably needed fluffing, but Alice’s pillows, which were made out of some sort of wonderful foam that shaped itself to her head, did not.

  Still, Alice was grateful to Paul. At the hospital she was told she had an infection—which explained the fever and why she’d been feeling so crappy. She’d been admitted for intravenous antibiotics and Dr. Brookes had wanted to keep her overnight for observation, but Alice had refused. She had Paul to look after her at home, she’d said, and he’d nodded, nobly if a little uncertainly. Who knew her brother could be so useful?

  She’d just got comfortable on the couch with the remote control when the phone rang.

  “Hello, Stanhope residence,” Paul said, and then his eyes drifted to Alice. “Yes, just a moment. Al?”

  He passed her the phone.

  “Alice Stanhope.”

  “Hello, Ms. Stanhope, this is Rosalie Hunt, Zoe’s principal.”

  “Is Zoe all right?”

  “Well, that’s why I’m calling. I understand she was back at school this morning, but I checked today’s register and it seems she didn’t attend any of her afternoon classes. I wanted to check everything was okay.”

  “She didn’t attend afternoon classes?”

  “No, not according to my records.”

  “Well … perhaps she wasn’t feeling well?” Alice suggested, to herself as much as Mrs. Hunt, although that didn’t totally explain it. If she were ill, surely she’d be home by now?

  “Yes, I’m sure it’s something like that. I just thought it was worth double-checking, especially after last week.”

  Alice gave herself a couple of seconds to scan her brain, but she couldn’t come up with anything. “What happened last week?”

  “The debate?”

  She spoke as though Alice should know what this meant. Should she?

  “Er … when Zoe … urinated on the stage?”

  Alice thought she might faint. She let her head drop into her hands.

  “Ms. Stanhope? Are you there?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice sounding thick and foreign, “you said my daughter urinated on the stage?”

  A pause. “You didn’t know?”

  “No,” Alice replied, her voice rising. “Can you explain why didn’t I know? Surely you would think to inform the parents when—”

  “We called you immediately, Ms. Stanhope. I spoke with a woman named…” Alice heard the ruffle of papers. “Kate Littleton. She said you were unable to take the call. When she came to the school—”

  “Kate came to the school?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry, I thought you knew this.” Mrs. Hunt sounded flustered. “I did call you, last week, to check up on Zoe, and I left a message on your voice mail.”

  Alice thought of all the messages stockpiled on her message service. She hadn’t felt well enough to check them.

  “Wait, did you say Zoe hasn’t been at school? Before today, I mean?”

  There was a long pause. “Well, after the debate she wasn’t at school for, let’s see … over a week. I assumed you’d allowed her to take some time off.”

  Alice heard the keys in the door.

  “All right,” she said to Mrs. Hunt. “Thank you for letting me know.”

  “Once again, Ms. Stanhope, I’m very—”

  Alice hung up the phone as Zoe appeared in the living room.

  “Uncle Paul?” she said, blinking as if her eyes were deceiving her. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes found Alice’s. “Mom? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. How about you?”

  Paul instinctively retreated to the kitchen.

  Zoe sat on the edge of the sofa, cagily. “I’m okay. Who was that on the phone?”

  “Mrs. Hunt. She says you weren’t in school this afternoon.”

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, it occurred to Alice that she’d dreamed about conversations like this. Having a daughter doing normal, irresponsible things like skipping school and lying about it. She had not, however, dreamed about the reason for the skipping and the lying—something about urinating on a stage.

  “I was at Harry’s,” she said guiltily, clearly knowing the jig was up.

  “And the last week, when you said you were going to school? Where were you then? At Harry’s?”

  Zoe turned crimson, looked at her hands.

  “Zoe?”

  “I … was at Kate’s.”

  Somehow, even after what she’d learned about Kate’s involvement, Alice hadn’t expected this. It was a punch in the stomach. “What?”

  Just like that, Zoe burst into tears. “I wanted to tell you but you’ve been so sick and I didn’t want to give you anything else to worry about. It was so awful, Mom. The class had to do a debate. I was freaking out, but then I decided I should do it … I should challenge myself, you know … I actually got kind of excited about it.” Zoe broke into another short burst of sobs. “Then when it was my turn, I froze. I was trying to talk myself out of a panic, trying to remember what I had to say, and suddenly I was peeing my pants. In front of the whole class.”

  Alice’s anger was already gone. “Oh, no.”

  “I ran out of the school. Kate found me walking down the street. She already knew what had happened by the time she found me—she had your phone when the school called. I didn’t want to worry you but I couldn’t go back to school. I turned up at Kate’s place the next day because I didn’t know where to go.”

  The anger came back with a vengeance as she pictured Zoe at Kate’s house.

  “I know you are mad, but Mom, it wasn’t her fault, it was mine. And she … she was great. She was the one who convinced me to go back to school.”

  “Well, good for her,” Alice said sulkily. “I should have been the one to do that.”

  “I like her, Mom. I really like her.”

  “I don’t care. This is nothing to do with her. This is our business. She shouldn’t have had anything to do with it.”

  Zoe looked at her, head-on, in a way that Alice hadn’t seen before. “But Mom,” she said quietly, “what would we have done without her?”

  51

  Kate was used to dealing with upset people. Patients who’d been given bad news. Families of patients who’d been given b
ad news. Doctors who were overworked and on a short fuse. But as Alice hurled abuse down the phone line, it felt different. Because this time, it wasn’t Mother Nature that had betrayed Alice, it was Kate.

  “I understand why you’re upset,” she tried after five full minutes of uninterrupted shouting.

  “Do you? Do you really? I’ve spent my whole life trying to protect my daughter and I’ve done a pretty good job of it. And during the one period I wasn’t able to be there for her, you’ve swooped in—a stranger—and started making decisions for my daughter.”

  “You’re right,” Kate said. “I’m so sorry, Alice.”

  “You should be. You had no right.”

  Alice was right, of course. But it didn’t change the fact that some part of Kate was glad she’d been able to be there for Zoe. And no matter how she tried, she couldn’t regret it.

  “How is Zoe?” Kate asked when there was a lull in yelling.

  She heard Alice exhale. “She’s all right.”

  “Good.” Kate felt a small knot in her belly release. “You know, Alice, she’s a—”

  “Don’t you tell me anything about my daughter!” Alice interrupted, instantly incensed again. “Don’t you dare do that! I’m her mother.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kate said quietly. “I was just going to say she is an exceptional girl.”

  There was a short pause. Kate took a steadying breath, ready for a new torrent of abuse. But this time, when Alice spoke, her voice was calmer.

  “Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done, Kate. I really do. You helped us out when we needed it, and I can’t thank you enough. But from now on, if Zoe needs something she can come to me. Do you understand?”

  All at once the knot in Kate’s stomach was back. “Yes. I understand.”

  “Good. Well, I’ll let you go then.”

  Kate let Alice hang up first; then she slowly lowered her own phone. She looked at Zoe, standing opposite her in the kitchen.

  “What are you doing here this time of the morning, Zoe?”

  She looked shy. “Um … I just wanted to see you. Actually I wanted to tell you about … this guy, Harry.”

  Kate fought the urge to smile, to tell her to join her in the sunroom so she could find out all about Harry.

  “But…” Zoe’s shy expression melted away. “Why was my mom calling you?”

  “She’s very upset with me, Zoe.”

  “Oh, no.” Zoe closed her eyes. “This is all my fault.”

  “No it’s not. I’m your mother’s nurse, I should never have let you into my house without her knowledge. And I should have told her about what happened at school. She has every right to—”

  “—to what?”

  Kate sighed. “To be angry.”

  “She should be angry at me, not you. You’re the one who … who…” Zoe blushed. Kate was starting to find it her most endearing trait.

  “Zoe,” Kate said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea that you’re here, honey.”

  She was trying to do the right thing, trying to make it swift, but Zoe’s eyes narrowed. “Did my mom say that?”

  Kate couldn’t speak. She knew she had to make Zoe leave, but she couldn’t find the words.

  “She did, didn’t she?” Zoe said. “I can’t believe this. I’ll explain to her, I’ll tell her—”

  “Zoe.”

  “What?”

  “I think it might be for the best.”

  Zoe blinked. The hurt and surprise in Zoe’s eyes made Kate want to take the words and stuff them back into her mouth. But she couldn’t. “You should go home to your mother. And honestly, I need some time too.”

  Zoe looked mortified. “Oh. You mean … you don’t want me here?”

  “That’s not it,” Kate said, but tears were already welling in Zoe’s eyes. All Kate wanted to do was gather her in her arms and take it all back, but what would be the point? The result would be the same. So instead, she went against every instinct she’d ever had and remained silent and watched her walk out the door.

  * * *

  Kate couldn’t stay in that empty house another second. So, she decided, she was going to work. At least there she could be of use to someone. She drove purposefully through the pretty suburban streets until, without deciding on it, she pulled up in front of her father’s house.

  She wasn’t sure what she was doing here, rather than at work. Reaching out, perhaps, to the only blood relative she had? Maybe she was just desperate. In what she had thought was a full life, she was fast running out of people. She wasn’t sure when her heart started to pound. Her palms were a little sweaty too, and she had that pain in her sternum—the one that felt like indigestion but was actually mild anxiety. All because of a visit to her father.

  She rapped on the door. After about thirty seconds, it swung open.

  “Kate.” Her dad blinked a couple of times, then glanced at his watch. “Did we have an arrangement?”

  “No, but I thought I’d pop in. If that’s all right.”

  “Oh, well … I mean … yes. Of course.”

  It wasn’t the reception that she’d been hoping for. But as he stood back, allowing the door to open further, Kate realized he was inviting her in.

  Actions.

  Inside, she sat on the same couch she’d sprawled on as a kid—after school watching TV or on a Saturday morning with a book. She didn’t remember having any particular affection for it then, but now it filled her with emotion. Her dad sat beside her, stiffly. There were no hugs, no offers of a cup of tea. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

  “I’m sorry to just show up like this,” she said.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

  “Not really,” she admitted.

  He watched her, not speaking but at least looking concerned. It was all it took for her to not burst into tears. “I don’t really know what I’m doing here, Dad. I just … needed someone and—”

  “Where’s David?” he asked.

  “In Mexico.”

  He considered that a moment. “Are you having marriage problems?”

  “No!” she said. “Yes. I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s happened?”

  It was amazing the difference a shift in attitude could make. Her dad’s words alone had done nothing to make her feel like her visit was welcomed. But everything about his actions—inviting her in, asking her to confide in him—conveyed something else entirely. And it made her want to talk to him.

  “David doesn’t want to try for another baby,” she sobbed. “He’s done with miscarriages, he says. But all I’ve ever wanted was a child of my own. All we’ve done is fight about it. And now he’s gone off to Mexico to have a think about things. I just … don’t know what to do.”

  It occurred to Kate that she couldn’t remember the last time she had come to her dad with a problem. She’d certainly never done it as an adult. She didn’t think he would care. But as she watched him now, thinking really hard, she could see that wasn’t the case. His forehead was pinched, and he chewed his lip, his gaze fixed on something in the distance. He cared very much.

  “That does sound like quite a conundrum,” he said finally.

  He pushed a box of tissues toward her. It brought up a memory. Of the time when she was eleven, and had the flu. Her dad had taken the entire week off work to take care of her. She’d been so ill, all she could do was lie on the couch and cry. He’d slept on the floor of her room at night, and during the day he was always nearby, offering tissues.

  Actions.

  “I’m not great at these kinds of things, Kate,” he said finally. “But if you want to talk … I’m not a bad listener.”

  This was true, she realized. Her father had always been a good listener. Now that she thought of it, he had lots of good qualities—it was just that his inability to communicate well hadn’t allowed her to see them. It occurred to Kate how easy it must be for someone who was uncomfortable with social intera
ction to become isolated in the world. She also realized how easy it was to overlook the value that person could bring.

  “You know what?” she said. “A good listener is exactly what I need.”

  52

  Alice was lying on the couch, hoping a nap would come, when the door crashed open. By the time she opened her eyes, Zoe was standing over her, her finger pointed at her.

  “Did you tell Kate she wasn’t allowed to see me anymore?”

  Alice sat up. “Zoe—”

  “Did you?” she cried. Alice couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Zoe so angry.

  “Yes, I did.”

  She saw it then, something she’d never seen on her daughter’s face before—a flash of pure white rage. “How could you? After everything Kate has done for us?”

  “Give you a place to hide, you mean, when you were playing hooky from school?”

  “How about: let me stay at her house so I didn’t have to go to foster care?” Zoe cried.

  Alice felt a wave of indignation. But she forced herself to breathe. She was the adult here, she needed to remain rational and in control. “I was grateful to Kate for that, Zoe. But that doesn’t excuse what she did.”

  “Help me, you mean? When I really needed it?”

  “Why didn’t you ask me for help?” Alice’s voice broke unexpectedly. “I’m your mother.”

  With her mouth already open to respond, Zoe glanced at the cushion where Alice’s head had just been. Alice followed her gaze to a chunk of hair left behind on the cushion—blond at one end and a lightish brown at the other.

  “Oh,” Alice said, her hand rising instinctively to her head. She knew now was the time to say something calming, to whisk the hair away with a smile so as to not traumatize Zoe. But she was momentarily frozen, unable to react. Her hair.

  Zoe picked it up.

  Years ago Alice had seen a stand-up comedian do a skit about hair. When attached to someone’s head, he’d said, hair was lovely. People smelled it, brushed it, ran their fingers through it. But once it left your head, he said, hair became something to be feared. A hair in your soup could have a restaurant shut down. People had cleaning companies brought in to remove dog hair from furniture.