‘You mean I asked you to go beyond the limits you’d set for yourself? Okay, that’s fine. You’re happy with your life, I can’t argue with that, but did you have to give up on us so easily?’ He lowered his voice, remembering the girl asleep.
‘You’re like the man who went next door to borrow the lawnmower. By the time he gets to the end of his garden he’s thinking, “Oh, he won’t lend me his lawnmower, he’s a bit miserable”, by the time he’s in his neighbour’s garden he’s thinking “There’s no way he’ll lend me his lawnmower because I had my music on loud the other night” and by the time his neighbour answers the door he shouts, “I don’t want to borrow your fucking lawnmower anyway!” That’s what you did, Kit, you had to assume that it was a foregone conclusion that it was over before you asked the question. It was easier to just turn around and run.’
She couldn’t hold back the tears that his accusations brought. Stubbornly she tried to brush them away. Her actions only incensed him further. ‘Look, even now you can’t do it, can you? Your body is feeling something real and you have to try and block it out. That’s what I can’t stand, Kit. I could never promise you that all the bad things allotted to you had already happened. I couldn’t guarantee that your life would be plain sailing from now on. No one can do that. But what I could promise was that I would be there. That we would face things together, but it wasn’t enough, was it? You want cast-iron guarantees of what tomorrow will bring, that’s why you’re happy with your safe job and safe life.’
He shook his head; the disappointment in his eyes slapped her.
She cried harder. Every word was true: she did want guarantees. She did want assurances that she would never need to walk the streets to feed herself or her pimp again. She wanted watertight contracts that said she would never need to smell stale sweat and urine as huge grubby hands pawed her body and stole her soul. She wanted it cast in stone that when she gave her heart to someone it would not be used, battered and bruised. Yes, she wanted all that. She wanted to know what her life would be from now until the day she died, because at least then she could have control. But in order to achieve that, she had lost the most important thing in her life.
‘And the funny part is you’ve spent this evening doing what I always knew you could. You know that girl is going home tomorrow and it’s because of you. Christ, Kit, I didn’t ask you to wear your past for the whole world to see and judge! I asked you to use it constructively and hopefully feel good about yourself and realise that the antidote to the virus in you is there. But again, it just wasn’t worth taking the chance, was it?’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ she protested.
His voice lowered but there was no softness there. ‘What exactly has helping that girl cost you tonight? Has it weakened your resolve? Has it reduced the person that you are? Has it eroded what you’ve built in the last eight months, or has it made you feel something good, the fact that her body will not be for sale again?’
Kit remained silent.
Mark sighed wearily, releasing the tension that accompanied his rage. ‘I can’t do this, Kit. I can’t have this conversation with you. It’s too late.’
He walked to the door. ‘Call me when she wakes and I’ll send a taxi to collect her, then your tidy life can carry on.’
Kit knew he was leaving for good. She’d lost him and there was nothing she could do about it. She wouldn’t see him again. For weeks she’d tried to pretend that she’d bounce back, that she could retrace her steps and bring back the old Kit but she was wrong. The Kit that was rougher than a cheese grater did not belong here and she couldn’t make her fit. She was still scared, still terrified of being used or hurt, but without that tiny bit of fear there was nothing. For just ten minutes her world had been alive again.
Even the version of Mark that hated her illuminated her life and made the world feel good. And now he was leaving her.
His hand was resting on the door handle and she knew that he was waiting for one sign from her, just one act that would signal her willingness to completely leave the past behind. She ached to run to him and allow him to enfold her in his arms. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks as she stood on the precipice of complete abandonment to another person and the trust the act entailed. Her heart broke as her mouth opened to the sound of the door closing right behind him.
18
Fran
Fran faced Alicia across the expensive furnishings and the perfection of a house in which no one had been young. She was afraid that the flames would leap from her eyes and melt the mask that was Alicia’s face.
‘I know everything,’ she stated icily. Her eyes fixed on Alicia’s expression as she removed her glasses and placed them on the book she’d been reading. The standard smile leapt to her face. It wasn’t a smile at all, Fran realised. Only a slight movement of the lips intended purely to distract you from the searching eyes that probed your face and mind to extract your thoughts.
‘I really have no idea—’
‘Moth—’ Fran’s word trailed off. The word came so naturally to her, even in anger. ‘Sorry, Aunt Alicia. That’s what I should be calling you, isn’t it?’
The name felt alien on her lips. Fran watched as the colour drained from Alicia’s face. She heard the sharp intake of breath as the controlled expression that was usually glued to her features became a little shaky.
The silence infuriated her. ‘For God’s sake, say something!’ Fran roared. How the hell could she sit there and act as if she’d just been informed that there was no pheasant for dinner? Fran leant against the door frame for support.
Alicia sat neatly forward. No emotion was evident on her face. ‘What would you like me to say?’ she asked calmly.
Fran felt like she’d been slapped. She didn’t know what she’d expected but it wasn’t this. The utter rigidity by which the woman lived her life made her want to shake some remorse into her.
‘Aren’t you at least sorry?’ she cried.
‘Please calm down, Frances. You have wealth, privilege and luxury. For what part should I be sorry?’
‘The love, the affection you never gave me. You took me away from someone who loved me—’
‘Be very careful, Frances.’ Her voice held a note of steel. ‘At this moment I am content to let you believe your father’s romantic tale. Don’t push me.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘It means don’t ask me questions that you really don’t want answered.’
‘Tell me the truth,’ Fran demanded.
‘You have heard the version that I’m sure suits your purpose so why do you need to hear more?’
Fran wanted to slap her. She wanted an apology; she wanted her mother to admit what she’d done wrong.
‘Don’t you have any inclination to defend yourself?’
Alicia nodded. ‘Yes, but not at the expense of you,’ she said honestly.
‘I’m a big girl, I can take it.’
‘Okay, Frances, you asked. You were nothing more than a toy to Beth, a doll that she wanted to dress up and squeeze to see if you cried like Tiny Tears.’
The undercurrent of rage found Fran. ‘Why did you hate her?’
‘That’s not important. It’s too far in the past. Leave it—’
‘Not for me. I found out an hour ago that you’re not my mother. I am entitled to answers.’
‘Yes, but do you really want my truth?’ Alicia asked, meaningfully.
‘Of course.’
Alicia glided gracefully to the crystal decanters and poured herself a generous measure of whisky. Fran envied her that freedom of moderation as she lowered herself on to the luxurious sofa some three feet away from a grand piano she’d never played. Her shaking legs refused to hold her body any longer. Why couldn’t she just leave? Why did she still want something from this woman? She could walk out of the door with a conscience as clear as a midsummer afternoon, yet she couldn’t.
‘You’re wrong, you know. I didn’t hate her. As child
ren we were very close. Our parents were very restrictive. They were both descended from ancestors with so much blue blood there were no red pigments left. Beth was the cloud that breezed dreamily past the solid mountain that was me. I recall a distant aunt wondering how our mother could give birth to both a delicate soufflé and a hardened rock cake. I didn’t mind that she got the praise for her beauty and imagination because she always came back to me. We would sit on each other’s beds late at night, laughing at the idle comments of our relations. She was clever, you see. She charmed everyone as if they were her only best friend. She had a foot in every camp. Where she was dreamy, I was solid. Where she was artistic, I was—’
‘Oh, but you were,’ Fran interrupted with bitterness. ‘You were artistic. You stripped me down to a bare canvas and then painted the picture you wanted.’
A sad smile breezed across Alicia’s mouth. ‘I don’t expect anything from you, Frances. I’m not seeking your compassion but you asked me a question and I’m answering it. No one was concerned about Beth. It was a foregone conclusion that she would be married before she reached twenty to a rich friend of the family with wealth to keep us in the position we were accustomed to but could not afford. Only things didn’t go to plan. Our parents were killed in an air crash when she was fourteen.’
Alicia drained her whisky and hastily re-filled it. Fran was aware that she was not speaking directly to her but only reliving events of which she had been a part. Fran could have left the room and Alicia would not have noticed.
‘Beth acted characteristically. She ran away with some friends who had more money than sense. There was a funeral to arrange, creditors to mollify and a huge white elephant of a house to be sold. She didn’t even come to the funeral. There was no one but me to do it. I was a nineteen-year-old law student.’
Fran could feel the loneliness and isolation. She summoned back the full force of her anger.
‘But what you did—’
‘Oh Frances, you have no idea, do you? By the time the free drinks and holidays dried up I had turned the pittance left over from the estate into enough money for a deposit on this house and married your father. I’d been out of law school for two years and was just beginning to carve a career for myself when she returned. I searched for any tiny sign of remorse for what she’d done to me. There was none. She had come back for money. I only had the deposit for this house. It was, of course, afterwards that I wished I had given it to her, because then maybe she wouldn’t have taken my husband.’
Fran heard the words catch in her throat. ‘Oh my God, you loved him, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. It didn’t start out that way. We were drawn to each other because of our mutual achievements. Just as misery loves company, so does success. To us it felt right to be together. So what if the earth didn’t move or the lightning strike, some things are more important.’
Alicia re-filled her glass. Fran had never seen her drink this much. She returned to the couch a little unsteadily, her eyes slightly hooded.
‘During her pregnancy I kept a sharp eye on her. One never knew what Beth was going to do. When I gave her the money to go abroad it was supposed to get it out of her system, so she would return and settle down. Yes, while she was away I took certain precautions but I had every intention of relinquishing any claim on you when it was clear that she’d grown up. She returned for more money and I refused to give it to her. Patrick thinks that she was seeing a private investigator to get you back but she wasn’t. She was trying to find a way to extort money from me. She wanted the PI to get something she could use.’
Fran’s head was swimming. Alicia painted a very different picture to her father. She realised that Alicia didn’t elaborate on her feelings about Patrick or the affair. That was too deep.
‘Did you forge documents?’
There was no hesitation. ‘Yes, and I’d do it again.’ Alicia looked directly at her. ‘What exactly do you feel I did wrong? Should I have let you be taken away into Beth’s world, where you would have been a fashion accessory being dragged from place to place when things were good? But as with all things, Frances, they go out of fashion. And when she tired of you, or when her so-called friends tired of supporting her, do you think they would have given two hoots about you? You were a bundle of curly hair, Frances, innocent and unspoilt.’
Alicia drained her glass. ‘What was so bad about your life?’
There it was. The question that she’d waited years to hear. Fran couldn’t breathe. At last it was her turn to bare her soul. Her turn to accuse Alicia of all the things she’d done wrong; her chance to recriminate Alicia for her failings.
‘The love, Mother.’ The word crept in unnoticed by either. ‘You took me away from my real mother and then gave me nothing. All my life I’ve tried to please you. I’ve modelled myself on you in the vain hope it would gain your affection. I would have been content with any morsel going spare, but you didn’t see me. The first chance you got, I was shipped off to boarding school.’ Fran’s voice had raised an octave.
‘Children who go to boarding schools become much more independent, Frances, that is a fact.’
Fran thought of Kit and the boarding school she’d attended. The boarding school of hard knocks, yet Kit’s independence couldn’t have been more obvious.
‘You’ll never admit it, will you? You’ll never understand how lonely it was while I waited alone, terrified and pregnant.’
‘Maria was a fully trained nurse,’ Alicia defended hotly. ‘She had impeccable references.’
‘Yes, and references are everything, aren’t they, Mother? Maybe when you’re boarding your dogs in kennels but not when your sixteen-year-old daughter is having a baby.’
Fran was aware that she should be using words like ‘Aunt’, ‘Niece’. But they just wouldn’t come.
Before Fran’s very eyes Alicia began to shrink in stature. She was deflating as she fell back against the sofa, drained, as though her shoulders had been forced to remain staunchly upright to support all the lies. She stared unseeing into the crystal glass that had not moved from her hand. Fran waited, the anger contained in the charged atmosphere palpable. She wanted to shout some more, scream some more, but the fighting spirit had left Alicia.
‘I’ve made many mistakes. More than I care to remember, but one that I will admit to is your incarceration. I realise now that that was unforgivable. I should have helped you. Just be sure that that day was one of the saddest of my life. I have never been able to show the affection that I feel and that failing has probably hurt me in more ways than one.’ Alicia imperceptibly raised her eyes to the ceiling. Fran knew she was talking about Patrick. ‘I have no one to blame, no excuses to make for that. But, Frances, tell me, do you understand the difference between right and wrong?’
‘Of course.’
‘Are you finally beginning, in spite of your past, to find yourself in the world?’
‘I think so…’
‘Do you have someone that you love?’
‘Yes.’
‘And are you following a path that is right for you?’
‘Yes…’
‘Then I’m not sorry for what I did. Maybe my methods leave a lot to be desired but I see before me a beautiful, intelligent, focused woman who now appears to know her own mind. I’m not taking credit, I am merely stating the truth. You have grown into a stable, level-headed person. It’s not because of me, but in spite of me. You should be proud.’
There was more, so much more that Fran could have said, but the words wouldn’t come. She wanted to hate the woman sitting opposite her.
‘What about Jamie?’ The last seed of anger sprouted before her eyes. ‘For whose benefit was it exactly that you had him sent away? Couldn’t you bear to look at your own grand… great-nephew? Didn’t you want your friends to know about—’
‘You were sixteen, Frances,’ snapped Alicia, revealing no surprise at Fran’s knowledge of her son. ‘You would not have coped with a handicapped child. I ensured
that he was sent to the best facility in the country. He is well taken care of.’
Fran could not argue with that. ‘But didn’t I have the right to know?’ she cried.
Alicia thought for a moment before answering. ‘At that point, Frances, no one knew what path your life would take. If you are the person I think you are, you would have insisted on keeping the child. You would have felt the responsibility as his mother to keep him away from an institutionalised way of life and though commendable would have been wrong.’
She sounded so sure it incensed Fran further. ‘How can you possibly know that?’
‘Because the guilt would have made the decision for you. Come now, Frances, you’ve been to see him, I assume. Even in your anger at me you have to admit that he is happy and that Thelma speaks with knowledge and experience.’ She paused and met Fran’s eyes. They were sad and unmasked. ‘I kept the name you chose. It was something for him to take from his mother.’
Fran’s mind raced. She couldn’t argue with the facts but the methods were wrong. Alicia had already admitted that. What more could she ask for?
‘Why did you visit him?’ asked Fran quietly.
‘Because he’s my grandson,’ stated Alicia forcefully.
Fran opened her mouth to refute this. He was her great-nephew but she raised her head to see Alicia’s bottom lip quivering. ‘Regardless of what you might think…’ her voice shook with stifled emotion, ‘…I’m proud of you, I love you, and you are my daughter.’
Fran gasped at the words she’d waited all her life to hear. The tears fell again. Her eyes were sore but she couldn’t stop them. She craved the anger and rage that had shaped her relationship with Alicia. She searched inside herself for something solid and real to cling to as she spiralled down beneath the waters of the unknown but any negative feelings she found were cancelled out against the knowledge that, whatever mistakes had been committed, they had been made with her best intentions at heart. That although this woman had been cold and immovable, she had taken care of a child who had represented searing pain to the best of her ability. She no longer had the strength to hate her.
The Forgotten Woman: A gripping, emotional rollercoaster read you’ll devour in one sitting Page 27