by Leah Mercer
I caught my breath at my mother’s words. The truth. Was I finally going to hear it? Was I ready to hear it? I faced my mother as certainty filtered in. I was. No matter what she said, I was ready.
‘Ella, Bertie didn’t hurt me. He loved me, and I loved him.’
I swallowed, trying to take in her words as hope leaped inside of me. ‘So . . . what Aunt Carolyn said . . .’
My mother shook her head. ‘I couldn’t tell her the truth. I couldn’t tell Bertie the truth. And I sure as hell didn’t want you to know the truth.’ She sighed. ‘Looking back now, maybe I should have said what really happened. But after the attack, things were so jumbled in my mind.’
‘Attack?’ I gulped at the word. So my aunt had been right about one thing: my mother had been hurt by someone.
‘I was on tour as an opening act, and it happened on the last night. He came into my room, and then . . . then, he forced himself on me.’ My mother’s face twisted, and she looked away. ‘He threatened that if I said anything to Bertie, he’d tell him we’d been together all through the tour.’ She sighed. ‘I didn’t think Bertie would believe him, but I couldn’t be sure.’ She met my eyes once again. ‘It was Bertie’s brother, Frank.’
‘Bertie’s brother?’ Oh my God. My hand flew to my mouth. How awful, that someone she had trusted – someone who’d practically been family – could do something so terrible to her.
‘Bertie loved me, but his brother, well . . . they’d grown up together in a difficult situation. Bertie would have done anything for him; anything to keep him out of trouble. How could I tell him what his beloved brother had done to me? Even if he did believe me, it would have put him in an impossible situation. So I tried to pretend.’ She gazed out to the sea.
‘I tried to pretend nothing happened. I tried to pretend I was all right. I tried to pretend that Bertie and I could carry on as normal; that the life I was living was intact.’ She shook her head. ‘And who knows, maybe it could have been.’
‘But then you found out you were pregnant,’ I said in a flat voice, realising what had happened next. My mother turned from staring out to sea and looked at me.
‘Yes. And Ella . . . I . . .’ She took a breath. ‘I wasn’t sure who your father might be. I was on the Pill but I’d missed one earlier that month, and, well, that was the only protection I’d had.’ She winced and I shifted on the bench. ‘I couldn’t bear telling Bertie the baby was his when I wasn’t sure, and I couldn’t bear telling him what had happened with his brother. The only thing I could do was leave.’
She paused. ‘I told myself that you were half mine, too. Half of me, and I’d love you no matter what.’ She put a hand on my arm. ‘And I did love you. I do. You are a part of me, and vice versa. I have always been with you. I have always been here – inside of you; a small piece of what makes you you.’
She stared back out at the water, her eyes filling with tears. ‘He stopped me from being the mother you deserved. The memories of the attack and what I’d lost closed me off. I had to stop caring about anything in order to survive, but then I stopped caring about surviving, too.’
‘So why didn’t you walk into the water that day?’ I asked softly. I didn’t want to upset her, but I had to know.
My mother met my gaze. ‘Do you remember the necklace I always wore?’
I nodded slowly. ‘Of course. You said that you’d give it to me one day. For a while after you left, I thought the fact that it wasn’t found on the beach meant you were coming back.’
My mother’s face tightened. ‘I was in such a state that morning . . . I wasn’t thinking clearly. All I knew was that I couldn’t let the sea swallow me with the pendant around my neck. Bertie gave it to me when he proposed and, to me, it was pure joy. It felt so wrong, taking it with me. I got out of the water to remove it, and then, well . . . I couldn’t go back in.’
My eyes widened as she drew it out from under her jumper. This necklace had saved her life, and she was still wearing it. It had been given to her by a man who loved her – whose pledge had lifted her up when she’d needed it.
‘I’m sorry, Ella.’ Her voice was soft. ‘I wish I’d done things differently. I wish I could have been a mother to you. I wish I could have been here, like I’d promised.’
I swallowed. Nothing could erase the pain I’d felt after she’d left me and the numbness of the following years as I tried to protect myself. Like her, I wished she could have been here for me – that she’d stayed. But neither of us could change what had happened. The past had affected us, twisting us in certain directions. But now we had come together, and we could make the future what we wanted. She could make the future she wanted, too. God knew she’d been through enough.
‘You’re here now,’ I said, touching her arm. ‘And, Mum, you don’t need to be afraid to tell Bertie the truth any more. Frank died a while back, and by the sound of things, he and Bertie weren’t talking. I’m sure it won’t be easy for him to hear what happened, but I think their relationship was long since over, anyway.’
My mother’s eyes were wide and she nodded slowly. Her face eased, as if some invisible strings had relaxed. She almost looked like a different person.
We sat in silence as the minutes ticked by. The stream of people on the promenade became a trickle, and the sun sank lower in the sky. I leaned back on the bench and closed my eyes, tipping my face up as I tried to get a grip on my feelings . . . on the truth of what had happened. I’d thought for years that my father was dead. Then, I’d been told I was the product of an abusive relationship, but had struggled to believe it, hoping my aunt had been wrong. And now, even though the details had shifted, the end result was much the same: my father was either the love of my mother’s life, or the man who had ruined it.
My head was spinning, but one thing was clear: Bertie’s sincerity and kindness were genuine. He’d loved my mother with such strength that it had lasted all these years – that even as his memory was fading, his love for my mother wasn’t. He’d stood fast by those ten words. This reunion wouldn’t be one of anger or hatred, but of love.
Suppertime came and went, the sky pinkened and the air cooled, and there was still no sign of Bertie.
Sighing, I picked up the mobile to call Angus, but the phone rang out. It wasn’t far from the hospital to here, but perhaps they’d got delayed? I shook my head, thinking how fortunate it was, in a way, that Bertie had needed medical assistance and they’d called Angus as his emergency contact. Otherwise, we might not know where Bertie was . . . although I couldn’t help feeling that, somehow, Bertie would have made it here.
The sky darkened and the promenade lights came on, bathing the pathway in a golden glow. Beyond us, lights twinkled from the houses on the hill, and the whoosh of the sea seemed louder as silence blanketed the town. Apart from the odd dog walker or jogger, Mum and I had the promenade to ourselves now. I pulled my light coat around me, every inch of me sagging with exhaustion, but there was no way I’d leave my mother here alone.
If she was going to wait, so was I.
I jerked forward as something in the dark caught my eye. Two figures were making their way down the pavement. One was moving very slowly and unsteadily with the other one keeping him upright. I held my breath as they got closer, not wanting to blink unless they disappeared into the night. My mother still hadn’t noticed, staring in the opposite direction as the lights on the pier flashed on and off. I watched as the two shapes got closer and closer, their features gradually coming into focus.
And my heart grew, bigger and bigger, until I could hardly breathe.
There, almost in front of us now, were Angus and Bertie. Bertie looked awful, with a huge white bandage around his arm, his hair tousled and his face grimy. Angus didn’t look much better. But they were here. They’d made it . . . at last.
‘Mum,’ I said, and she turned my way.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
JUDE
Jude sat on the bench, barely noticing anything except her daughter by her side. S
he’d told Ella several times that she didn’t have to stay, but her daughter refused to go; refused to leave her on her own. And even though Jude knew she’d done nothing to deserve it – even though she was more than used to being alone – she was relieved to have Ella here as she waited for Bertie. Ella was a part of this, too.
Jude could see now that everything was connected; that everyone was connected. Good and bad, for better or for worse . . . you couldn’t simply chop out one piece of the fabric without damaging the rest. You had to take life as a whole and cherish the good without letting the bad blacken you. She hadn’t been able to do that in the past, but maybe she could now.
It was hard to wrap her mind around the fact that Ella knew now what Jude had tried to hide from everyone – even herself – for so long; strange that the first one to know the truth was the person who’d been the outcome of that horrific event. What would Bertie say when he found out what had happened? Would he even be able to remember that time – remember the tour, her singing, the listless days and nights when she came back again? How much was clear and how much lost in the fog of time and disease? The events of the past were as vivid in her memory now as if they’d just happened, like they’d been waiting, perfectly preserved, beneath multiple layers.
But even if Bertie’s memory was hazy, he remembered her. He’d never have come all this way if their relationship hadn’t affected him. He’d never have written all those letters. Even without knowing why she’d gone, she’d left a space in his life that had reverberated through the years.
Would he be angry that she’d never told him – never told him that he might have a daughter? Would he be able to take in her words about what had happened with Frank, or would they be too much to bear? Even if he had fallen out with his brother, he was still just that: his brother. Perhaps he’d come expecting a happy ending, only to be told of her damaged past. Would he walk away after finally finding her?
Whatever happened and whatever he remembered, he deserved to know why she had left. He deserved to know that he may have a daughter . . . or a niece.
He deserved the truth.
‘Mum.’ Ella’s voice cut into her thoughts, and Jude turned to smile at her daughter, her heart swelling with love.
‘Yes?’
Ella’s face shone as she gestured towards two people approaching them on the pathway. Jude squinted, unsure at first what why her daughter looked so excited. That wasn’t Bertie, hobbling along like an old man. It couldn’t be, could it? But as they got even closer and his face came into focus, she knew in an instant it was the man she’d loved; the only man who had made her feel safe. A huge bandage was wrapped around his arm and his face sagged with fatigue, but the familiar blue eyes and jutting chin were just the same. And it wasn’t only that: it was his expression when he looked at her, as if he really saw her. So much had changed, but that hadn’t.
She leaped to her feet. Her muscles screamed in pain after sitting for so long, but she barely noticed as she closed the gap between them, stopping in front of the man she’d tried everything to forget. Her heart beat so loudly that it drowned out everything else, and her mouth went dry. Her eyes locked on his and, despite the years etched on to their faces, the time that had separated them melted away.
Bertie let go of the man who was supporting him, reaching out a trembling hand to touch the heart around her neck. His fingers were warm on her cool skin, and Jude’s mind flipped back to the first time he’d placed the necklace over her head. His hands had been warm then, too.
‘You’re here,’ he said, in an echo of the phrase that had drawn them together. He gripped her hand. ‘I can’t believe you’re here.’ Jude nodded, unable to grasp on to the many words that were pouring through her. It was enough right now to stand here, facing each other, with the sound of the waves colouring the night air . . . the same way it had when they’d camped out on the beach their first night together. Bertie squeezed her fingers. ‘Come on, let’s sit down.’
Jude took his arm and helped him over to the bench, noticing Ella and Angus chatting on the next bench over. Apart from the low murmur of their voices and the occasional cry of a gull, the promenade was silent.
‘Do you remember that night we first met, when we took our fish and chips down to the beach?’ she asked, then she bit her lip, realising he might not remember.
The corner of Bertie’s mouth lifted. ‘I’m hanging on to it as much as I can,’ he said. ‘Some days it’s clearer than others. Right now, it feels like yesterday.’ He met her eyes. ‘Ella probably told you that I have Alzheimer’s,’ he said simply, and Jude nodded. ‘It’s an unpredictable thing and I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep everything straight in my head. Often, especially lately, I can’t. But it’s teaching me one thing, and that’s to live in the present . . . to cherish the here and now, because I may not have the past to rely on, and I’ve no idea what my future may hold.’ He took her hand again, and she gazed down at his fingers closing over hers. Their skin was much more wrinkled than the smooth surface of their youth. It was a reminder that time passed, and that you had to grasp on to the people you loved while you still could.
Jude swallowed. ‘Bertie, I need to tell you why I left.’
Bertie met her eyes. ‘You don’t,’ he said softly. ‘You don’t need to tell me anything, not now. Like I said, I’m happy to see you again; to be in this moment. I don’t need anything else. I always wondered, of course. I’m not going to lie about that. But that’s behind us now. It’s over and done with.’
‘But it’s not,’ Jude said, turning to look at Ella’s profile on the next bench over. ‘It’s not over and done with, and I need to tell you this, as much for Ella as for me.’ She didn’t know what Ella might do with the information that Bertie could be her father, but if she needed Bertie’s help to investigate further, then Bertie needed to know. Jude paused, hoping what she was about to say wouldn’t distress him too much. It had been years ago, but . . .
‘Frank raped me when I was on the tour.’ Jude let out her breath. She hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but there was no delicate way to say it. Even after all this time, it was still difficult to say those words aloud, but she wouldn’t let that terrible event control her any longer. ‘He threatened that if I told you, he’d say we were having an affair.’
Bertie was so still and unmoving that Jude wasn’t sure if he’d taken in her words. What happened had been brutal, and she couldn’t soften the blow even if she wanted to. Frank hadn’t just taken her body that night. He’d taken her life, too.
‘Frank,’ Bertie said, spitting out the word in a tone she’d never heard him use before. ‘Frank . . . attacked you?’
She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to utter the word. It was so ugly that she could barely bring herself to say it, but she’d had to. Jude nodded, and Bertie’s other hand covered hers.
‘Oh my God. Oh, Jude.’ He squeezed her hands, as if he could give her the strength now that he couldn’t before. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I tried to carry on after the tour and pretend everything was fine,’ she continued, desperate to get it all out. ‘But then I discovered I was pregnant, and I couldn’t be sure if you or Frank was the father. And so I left. I left you, and I raised Ella on my own.’
‘Ella.’ Bertie’s voice was soft in the darkness. ‘You got pregnant with Ella on the tour?’
Jude nodded. She couldn’t trust herself to speak now.
‘Ella’s my daughter?’ Bertie was shaking his head, and Jude’s heart dropped. Perhaps he hadn’t understood. It was a lot to take in at once.
‘Well, I’m not sure,’ she said slowly. ‘You’d been down to visit two days before Frank attacked me. I was on the Pill, but he . . .’ She dropped her eyes, then forced herself to look up again. There was nothing to be ashamed of. None of this had been her fault. ‘He didn’t use anything,’ she said, ‘so we can’t be certain.’
But Bertie was still shaking his head.
‘
You’re wrong,’ he said, a look of wonder in his eyes. ‘I can be certain.’ He was squeezing Jude’s hands so tightly now that it almost hurt. ‘Jude, Frank couldn’t have children.’
‘What?’ Jude drew in a breath, her heart pounding. Frank couldn’t have children? So was Ella really—? She interrupted her thought. She couldn’t go down that road until Bertie explained. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Frank had some sort of infection when he was young,’ Bertie said. ‘Something to do with the tube that stores sperm. I don’t know all the details, but I do remember it resulted in him not being able to have children. He never minded, actually. Always said he wasn’t interested in kids, anyway.’
Jude sat in silence as the words washed over her, trying to understand. Ella was Bertie’s daughter. There’d never been a chance she was Frank’s. Jude had run – first from Bertie and then from her own daughter – for nothing.
She wanted to pound the bench, to scream, to laugh. If only she had known. If only she’d talked to Bertie and told him what had happened. It would have been horrific, of course, telling him about Frank. But with their baby on the way, the two of them could have got through it together, she was sure. Life would have – could have – been completely different for her and for Bertie . . . and for Ella, too. By keeping quiet, she’d destroyed that chance. She’d cheated them of the life they should have had.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought I was protecting you, keeping you safe from what had happened. I thought leaving you was best for everyone.’
Bertie was silent, staring out at the sea, and a fist of regret twisted Jude’s insides with such force she thought she might be sick. Then, Bertie turned and smiled that same old smile, the one where his eyes gleamed with warmth and love. She could see back to the man he’d been when she’d first met him . . . the man she’d fallen in love with.
‘I wish you’d told me,’ he said. ‘I wish you’d let me be there for you . . . for Ella.’ Jude gazed down at the bench again, and he tipped her chin up to meet his eyes. ‘But I meant what I said. The past will be lost to me soon. I don’t want to waste time thinking about what we could have done differently.’ He got to his feet, staring down at her. ‘So . . . can you take me to meet my daughter? Our daughter?’