Her Last Promise

by Kathryn Hughes

  ‘You came back here?’ I asked.

  ‘No, no, it was not possible. Too many memories and I thought my parents would not want me, and Gabriela, the girl I had left behind, she was here. I couldn’t just disappear from her life and return three years later with another fiancée. No, we headed south and I found work as a blacksmith and Violet used to sing in a restaurant for the tourists. She has a beautiful singing voice.’

  Tom and I exchanged knowing looks as we both remembered, and for the first time in days, a tiny puff of hope inflated my heart, just a little.

  Leo carried on with his story as he poked at the fire. ‘We came back here after my mama and papa passed away. We carried on with the business, made a success of it. We are still full all summer. Violet is a fantastic hostess.’

  ‘Did you have any children?’ asked Tom.

  I shot him a look. It had never occurred to me that I might have half-siblings somewhere.

  Leo went over to the window and peered out. Seemingly satisfied that the coast was clear, he rejoined us at the table. ‘Yes, we have a daughter, Sonia.’

  ‘How lovely,’ said Tom. ‘Did you hear that, Tara, you have a sister.’

  ‘Yes, I heard, Tom. I’m sitting right here.’

  My immediate reaction was one of shock, which swiftly turned to jealousy and then anger. This Sonia had taken my place in my mother’s affections. I was Violet’s daughter, not her. I knew I was being unreasonable, so I steeled myself and tried to sound nonchalant. ‘How old is she?’ I did an admirable job of keeping my voice light and casually interested.

  ‘Thirty-five. She lives in Madrid, works as a teacher.’ Leo rested his hands under his chin. ‘I’m going to tell you something now that I’ve never told a living soul.’

  Usually when someone says this, my interest is piqued and I lean forward in anticipation of a scoop on the latest gossip. Not this time. I slid down in my chair, not sure I could cope with any more revelations.

  ‘At the hospital,’ Leo said, ‘after Sonia was born, the doctor came to see me. He placed a hand on my shoulder and I thought he was going to tell me some terrible news. I leaned against the wall, bracing myself. His voice was quiet but there was no mistaking what he said. “This is not your wife’s first baby.”’

  ‘What?’ I almost shouted. Tom laid a calming hand on my arm but I shrugged it off. ‘Do you mean to tell me that all this time you’ve known Violet had a daughter?’

  Leo looked alarmed and held up his palms. ‘I knew she’d had a baby, I didn’t know whether it was a boy or a girl, or even if the baby survived.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell her? Don’t you think she had a right to know?’

  ‘I thought it would have been cruel. Imagine being told you’d had a baby but you could not remember anything about it.’

  I stood up and slammed my hands on the table. ‘My God, I . . .’

  ‘Tara . . .’ said Tom. ‘Try to . . .’

  I swivelled round to stare at him. ‘Please don’t say “calm down”.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to. I was just going to say try to see it from Leo’s point of view before you say something you might regret.’

  ‘It is alright, Tom,’ said Leo. ‘I understand how this must feel for Tara. She has every right to be angry. She lost the most wonderful mama anybody could ever hope to have.’

  I knew that, of course. I didn’t need to hear it from Leo. Everything my mother had ever done was for my benefit. Even before I was born, she took action to make sure I would never know that I’d been a product of the abuse from her step-father. She made up stories about my real father being a boy she had truly loved, and spent the few years we had together protecting me from the truth. She worked hard to ensure that I wouldn’t have to go without too much, often singing in seedy clubs where men would think nothing of pawing at her or making lurid suggestions. I know she hated every minute of it. Even when she met Larry, she was thinking it would lead to a better life for me eventually. I’d missed out on a lifetime of her joyful zest for life, her instinct to protect me, her wisdom and above all, her absolute unwavering love for me.

  Leo had his head in his hands as I walked round and placed an arm across his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Leo. I know you did what you thought was best for my mother. Please forgive me.’

  He didn’t say anything but reached up and took my hand. I understood.

  We sat in silence for a minute or two, each of us alone with our thoughts, only the ticking of the clock marking time. The hinge on the gate outside gave its piercing whine and Leo looked up at me. He forced himself to smile. ‘Your mother is back.’

  55

  Leo left the kitchen and hurried out into the yard to intercept my mother. I wanted to run after him but Tom held me back. ‘Let him tell her, Tara. He knows her better than we do.’

  ‘But it’s not fair. She . . . she’s my mum.’ I realised I’d reverted back to sulky-teenager mode. ‘Oh, ignore me, Tom. You’re right.’ I desperately wanted to peer out of the window but I’d got lead boots on. ‘Take a look, Tom. What’s happening?’

  He looked out. ‘I can’t see anything. Leo is standing in front of her. All I can see is a basket of fruit and veg hooked over her arm. He’s talking to her though.’ He ducked down. ‘And pointing over here.’ He straightened up again. ‘Oh, hang on, they’re walking away, he’s holding her hand, the basket has been left on the ground.’

  I managed to stand and join Tom over at the window, catching my first glimpse of my mother in forty years. She was not as slim as I remembered and her dark hair was now silver and cut so that the soft waves finished just above her collar. We watched as they disappeared into the barn.

  ‘What are they doing, Tom?’

  ‘It was never going to be a quick conversation, Tara. Leo has a lot of explaining to do. We’ll just have to wait it out.’

  ‘I feel sick, Tom. What if she can’t remember me? What if she thinks I’m an imposter after her money or something?’

  He managed a laugh. ‘After her money? Take a look around.’

  He was right, of course. I was being ridiculous. ‘Pass me that brandy, will you, Tom?’

  He gave me a look that was just about the right side of judgemental. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes, give it here.’ I swiped the glass but as soon as I smelled the brandy, I recoiled and set it back down on the table. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

  He peered out of the window again. ‘Right, Tara.’ He turned to face me. ‘They’re coming back. Are you ready for this?’

  I closed my eyes and drew a long breath. ‘How do I look?’ I smeared my fingers under my eyes and fluffed my fingers through my hair.

  Tom cocked his head and regarded me closely. ‘Like Violet’s daughter.’

  The door opened and Leo guided my mother over the threshold.

  ‘Violet,’ he said, gesturing towards me. ‘This is Tara . . . your daughter.’

  As I stared at her, mute and no doubt open-mouthed, the years rolled back. She may have been seventy years old but her iridescent beauty had not been diminished. Her skin was darker than I remembered and there may have been some subtle erosion of her once-sharp cheekbones, but her eyes were bright and still framed by expertly crafted eyebrows. Her lips were stained ruby red and matched her long woollen cardigan. I immediately thought of Nan, and the regret I felt that she had not lived to see this day almost overwhelmed me. I felt Tom’s reassuring arm across my back.

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ I whispered.

  She pulled her cardigan tight across her body, her voice quivering. ‘Hello.’

  We all stood looking at our feet, nobody sure what to say next. The uncomfortable silence dragged on and I wondered who would be the first to crack.

  It was Tom. ‘You look well, Violet.’

  A bit lame, but it was better than anything I could come up with.

  ‘I . . . um . . . thank you.’ She turned to Leo. ‘Creo que sera major que me sirvas un brandy.’

  Leo took hold of
her hand. ‘Ven y toma asiento.’

  She was an older version of the person I remembered. There was no mistaking it was her but hearing her speaking in Spanish made her sound even more of a stranger. Although I had gathered she’d asked for a brandy and Leo had asked her to sit down, I was fervently hoping they’d switch to English.

  We all took our places at the table and I decided to take the proverbial bull by the horns. ‘Do you remember me, Mum?’

  She stared at me, her eyes narrowing as she studied my face. ‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘No, I’m sorry but I don’t.’

  ‘How can you not remember me?’ My tone was incredulous rather than angry.

  ‘Perhaps it would help if you tried to fill in the blanks, Tara.’ Tom’s calm voice was just what this little gathering needed.

  I hardly knew where to begin but decided to leave out any mention of Lytham and Nan at this stage. I took out the photo of me, Mum and Alf standing outside his shop and pushed it across the table. She picked it up and stared at it before passing it over to Leo. I realised then that she had not seen a photo of her younger self for forty years. ‘That’s me,’ she said, laying the photo down.

  Buoyed on by her acceptance, I produced Exhibit B, the article from the Evening News. I read the headline out loud to her. ‘The Skye’s The Limit.’

  She took the newspaper cutting and leaned into Leo so they could read it together. ‘The Amethyst Lounge,’ she whispered. ‘I . . . can . . .’ She rubbed her temples as I held my breath waiting for her to continue. She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’

  I pointed to the cutting. ‘This is where you met Larry.’

  She frowned. ‘Who’s Larry?’

  ‘Larry,’ I said louder, as though raising my voice would make all the difference.

  Tom shot me a look. ‘Tara . . .’

  I understood and forced myself to speak calmly and quietly. ‘Larry is the one who took you on holiday to Spain. All three of us were supposed to be going but he turned up in the wrong car and I stayed behind because I was obviously not part of his plan.’

  ‘I don’t remember.’ She grasped Leo’s arm. ‘I don’t remember any of this. Why is this woman here in my kitchen saying these things?’

  ‘I just told you, Violet,’ explained Leo patiently. ‘I wrote to her, left the letter and the locket in a place of safety, should she ever be found. And now she has been found and she has come here to see you.’

  Violet sighed but whether it was weariness or irritation, I could not tell. ‘Where is this locket then?’

  I nudged the box over to her and watched as she took the necklace out and held it in her fingers. She turned it over, read the inscription then prised it open with her thumbs. I could see her gazing at my young face, her eyebrows drawn together. ‘This is you?’

  ‘Yes. This is the present I gave you for your thirtieth birthday. You took it with you on holiday with Larry.’

  ‘Alf helped her pay for it,’ said Tom. ‘He was so fond of you, Violet.’

  ‘Alf? Who’s Alf?’

  I pointed to the photograph again. ‘That’s him. Standing outside his hardware store. We lived with him in the flat above. He took us in when we were desperate, Mum. You must remember?’ My voice had risen a couple of octaves.

  ‘Tara,’ warned Tom.

  I remembered the mink coat. The sense of smell has an extraordinary power to evoke memories. I still have my primary school satchel and whenever I smell it, I am immediately transported back to my first day in the classroom. It had been raining and I’d stood helplessly in the cloakroom, unable to find my peg, my damp gaberdine heavy on my tiny frame. A boy with bright red hair, pale skin and a weeping cold sore on his lip stood in front of me and for reasons known only to himself, kissed me on the mouth. I was distraught. I was convinced he’d got some sort of lurgy that he’d passed on to me. I burst into tears and ran out into the playground. Oh, yes, one sniff of that satchel brings it all back in glorious technicolour.

  I eased the mink coat off the back of my chair. ‘This is the coat that Alf lent you for your first gig at The Amethyst Lounge. It belonged to his late wife. He insisted you wore it.’ I closed my eyes and pressed it to my nose. I was back in the shop, surrounded by firelighters, paraffin and paint stripper. I could picture Alf, half-way up a stepladder, arranging bottles of turpentine on a shelf. My heart ached for him, for me, for my mother and everything we had lost. I felt Tom touch my elbow.

  ‘Are you alright, Tara?’

  I sniffed loudly and raised my chin. ‘I’m fine.’ I held the coat out to my mother.

  Slowly she rose from her chair and came towards me. ‘Can I put it on?’

  I eased her into the coat and she took a step backwards.

  ‘You look sensacional, Violet,’ said Leo, wiping his eyes. ‘Maravillosa.’

  ‘Alf wanted you to have it,’ I said. ‘On his death bed, he made me promise to make sure you got the mink.’ I choked out the next sentence. ‘They were his final words.’

  Violet lifted up her arm and buried her face in the crook of her elbow, inhaling the long-forgotten smell. She closed her eyes and swayed gently. Leo was on his feet. ‘Violet?’

  She shrugged him off, fled the kitchen and bolted upstairs.

  56

  It was at least an hour before Leo returned to the kitchen. I could tell by his pink eyes that he’d been crying. ‘You can go up now, Tara.’

  ‘Really, she said that?’

  He nodded. ‘Be gentle, Tara.’

  With a solemn nod of my head, I picked up the locket and climbed the stairs. I pushed open the bedroom door to find her sitting on the bed, hands clasped in her lap.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked, for want of anything more useful to say.

  She touched her forehead. ‘Confused, dis . . . dis . . .’

  ‘Discombobulated?’ I supplied, sitting down next to her.

  She tilted her head and looked at me quizzically. ‘Yes, that’s right, although it’s a long time since I’ve heard that word.’

  I picked up her hand and spread her fingers. Starting with her thumb, I counted off the syllables. ‘Dis–com–bob–u–lay–ted.’ Having run out of fingers, I clapped my hands for the final syllable. Do you remember?’

  ‘I . . . don’t know, maybe.’

  My heart quickened. Progress. At least it wasn’t a ‘no’.

  ‘I know this is all a big shock to you, Mum. I can’t imagine what it must feel like.’

  ‘I’ve had a good life, Tara. I’m happy now. Leo is the love of my life and we have our beautiful daughter, Sonia.’

  I bristled at the mention of her name. I couldn’t help myself. ‘I’m glad, Mum. I really am. I’ve dreamed up all sorts of scenarios over the years so to find that you’re alive and happy is more than I could have dared to hope.’

  ‘And you?’

  I thought of Nan then and my promise to her. ‘I did OK. After you left, I had to go and live with Nan in Lytham.’

  I held my breath, waiting for her reaction. She flinched and clamped her hand over her mouth.

  ‘It’s alright, Mum. I know about George.’

  ‘Tara, please don’t say his name.’

  ‘I know that you spent your life protecting me from the truth. Making up stories about how my real father had gone off to Mongolia with his parents to trap fur.’

  She managed a small laugh. ‘Did I say that?’

  It was so frustrating. She recalled who George was immediately.

  ‘What was the last thing you remember?’

  ‘Leaving a house somewhere with my suitcase in the middle of the night. The next clear memory I have after that is waking up on the edge of a cliff, my head threatening to explode.’

  ‘And no memory of me at all?’

  ‘Tara, don’t you think if I could’ve remembered, I would have been on that first ferry back home?’

  I realised I was asking too much. I was that desperate for her to remember me that I was pushing too hard. �
��You remember Nan though? Your mother, I mean?’

  ‘Vaguely.’ She gazed off into the distance, her eyes wide and glassy as marbles.

  I squeezed her hand as tight as I could. ‘Nan had no inkling at all about what George was doing to you, Mum.’

  Parallel tears ran down her face. ‘I hope she didn’t.’

  I felt around in my pocket, pulled out a crumpled tissue and waited whilst she blotted her cheeks. ‘Nan would’ve believed you, Mum. I can absolutely promise you that. She was devastated when George confessed on his death bed. She felt she’d failed you, abandoned you when you needed her most.’

  ‘I can’t remember what I was thinking when I ran away. There’s so much I don’t remember. Sixteen years of memories were wiped away like chalk from a blackboard.’

  I hung my head, unable to imagine what that must feel like. ‘Honestly, I could not have had a better mum. I want you to know that. You and me were a little unit. We only had each other but it was enough. We survived because we loved each other and you were always trying to make things better for me. And when I went to live with Nan, I could see where you got it from.’

  She stroked the sleeve of the mink coat. ‘She sounds like a wonderful person, Tara. I’m grateful that she gave you a good home, a happy life. It sickens me that my memories of him are clearer than my memories of her.’

  I decided to have a go at lifting the mood. This was supposed to be a celebration, yet all we were doing was dwelling on the hideous parts of Violet’s past.

  ‘You have a grandson,’ I said brightly. ‘His name’s Dylan, he’s eighteen years old and he’s studying to be a doctor. How about that?’

  ‘A grandson? Well now that is . . . wonderful. Sonia doesn’t have any children yet.’

  I mentally chalked up a point to myself. ‘I’d love for you to meet him.’