The Accusation

by Zosia Wand

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, it’s not important. Call her what you want.’ She continues to unpack, pulling out underwear, large, waist-high cotton pants. As she shakes them out onto the bed, one pair on top of the other, I wonder at what age I will move into big pants. When did my mother become a grandmother? It was long before Milly. She used to be slim, dark-haired, young, but I can’t remember when that was and when it stopped. She says, primly, ‘You’re the parents, not social services—’

  ‘Listen to me!’ Her eyes narrow. ‘No one is doing anyone any favours. We want to be a family. Milly needs a family. And, as a matter of fact, we are not yet her parents; we’re still in a trial period. Until the adoption hearing, social services are Milly’s legal guardians and we need to respect that. I’d like you to respect that.’

  She turns back to her suitcase. ‘Well, I’m sorry if you found me disrespectful.’

  I’ve hurt her feelings. She doesn’t appreciate being pulled up by her daughter and she’ll do her injured thing now until she feels she’s made her point. I let it go. Milly is in her bedroom and I’d much rather be with her. I leave my mother to her unpacking.

  *

  Neil arrives home with two large bags of shopping from Booths and dumps them on the table. ‘Has she gone?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I’ll drive her to the station.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. Have you seen the time?’

  ‘Well, she’s not staying here.’ I knew he was angry, I expected him to moan, but not this. ‘That woman is not staying in my house!’

  ‘Your house?’

  ‘Don’t do this, Eve.’

  ‘This is my mother! I’m not kicking her out. She’s travelled for hours to get to us today. She can’t go back tonight.’

  ‘Eve, she’s trouble and we don’t need trouble right now.’

  He’s afraid of her. He did make me choose and that’s not fair. Why should I have to choose? I’ve missed my mum. I chose him, I put my marriage and our need to create a family first, but that can’t go on for ever. We have Milly now and I want my mum back in my life. I love her. I want Milly to love her.

  But Mum will keep poking at him until she gets the reaction she wants, anything to undermine him, and we can’t risk that right now. I can’t throw her out tonight. We have the weekend before Shona returns. ‘Look, it’s Milly’s birthday on Sunday, the Play in the Park tomorrow. I want her to be here. Can you just put up with her for a couple of days? For me? I’ve missed her.’

  ‘Whose fault’s that?’

  ‘She was hurt. I’m her only child.’

  ‘You moved to a different town!’

  ‘To the opposite end of the country!’

  ‘No one was stopping her coming here.’

  ‘Well, maybe she doesn’t feel welcome!’

  He takes a step back. ‘Oh, come on! She’s not welcome now! Not after this, but before…’

  ‘You welcomed her? Really?’ He says nothing, but I’ve wounded him. ‘I need her, Neil.’ He shakes his head. ‘Give me this chance? Please?’

  I glance up and see Milly hovering in the doorway, watching us, Gerry dangling from her hand. Her face is impassive, reading the scene, storing it up. ‘Coming in for a cuddle?’ I ask, not knowing what to say to put this right, needing to feel her little body close to mine.

  Neil turns and crouches down to her level. She drops Gerry and runs to him with arms outstretched. How easy it is with children. No grudge, no lingering unresolved issues. He lifts her up and I wrap my arms around them both, creating a circle with her in the centre. Our girl. My family.

  She soon starts to wriggle. ‘Let me down! Too hot! Too hot!’ and Neil lowers her to the floor, laughing.

  ‘Where is your mum?’ he asks.

  ‘Upstairs.’

  ‘Good,’ says Milly firmly. Neil laughs.

  I slap his arm. ‘Don’t.’ If I’m honest, I don’t really want her here, any more than he does right now, but I want her to be part of my life, Milly’s life, our life. This is difficult. She’s struggling to adjust. I was her world and then Neil took me away and now Milly has come along. Mum needs time to get used to this, and I can set some boundaries. ‘If we send her home now I might not get another opportunity.’ He gives a long, resigned sigh. ‘We’ll make it work. I’ll make it work. We’ll do things together. She’ll get to know Milly.’ I drop a kiss on his mouth and whisper, ‘Be nice.’

  7

  The next morning, I lie fretting while the rest of the household sleep. Mum causing all that fuss with the police has put us in a seriously precarious position. Cold fingers of fear scratch at me. Shona phoned as she left the office yesterday to tell us that Milly’s social worker has scheduled an emergency review meeting for Monday morning. Shona did her best to reassure me, but we are vulnerable. Quick, short breaths. Milly is not our child yet, not in the eyes of the law. We could lose her. My body is alert in the half dark. Milly, who fills this house, whose giggle echoes in every corner, who has claimed her space in our world, could be gone in a moment. The prospect of this is as real as if she’d been snatched already and I have to slip out of bed and creep downstairs into her room to prove to myself that she’s still there.

  The slow, steady rise and fall of her chest. The deep sleep of contentment, unaware that this may all end abruptly. I stand, drinking in her warm, honeyed smell, filling myself up, as if this might be enough to keep her here.

  Mum said that Neil was not in the house when she arrived, which is nonsense, but he did leave her unsupervised in the garden, and that’s serious. They may decide, on reflection, that we’re unable to provide a stable enough environment. They could take Milly back.

  I close my eyes. Keep breathing her in. Try to steady the clackety-clack of my heart behind my ribs. I remind myself that Shona seems to think it will be OK. If we’re honest and reasonable on Monday, we’ll keep them onside. Helen, Milly’s social worker, likes us. She is as keen as we are for this to go ahead and, above all else, Milly is happy.

  I know there’s no chance of getting back to sleep. The sun will be up within half an hour. I pull on a pair of leggings and a T-shirt. I’m reaching for my hoodie when Neil stirs. ‘Just going for a run.’ He sits up, rubbing his face with the flat of his hand, and blinking. If he gets up now, I’ll be leaving him and Mum alone together. ‘Milly’s still fast asleep. Why don’t you have a lie in until I get back and then you can take your bike out for a bit? I’ll be back before she wakes up.’

  A silent conversation passes between us which ends with a nod from him, and I creep downstairs to get my trainers.

  I started running when we got back from New York. I needed something to distract me. I’d seen women jogging through Central Park, independently and in groups, and thought how powerful they looked, how at ease with their bodies. They weren’t all stick thin and athletic, but energised and taking control. I was nervous, didn’t know if I’d be able to do it. Neil downloaded some practical advice from the internet and I started with sixty-second bursts interspersed with plenty of walking. Now I try to run every day for half an hour. Nothing too demanding or ambitious. I’m not particularly fast, not fast at all, really, but I can do this and the feeling is magnificent. I run up Fell Rise, a long hill lined with irregular, brightly painted houses. Some are still the traditional grey or off-white, but more and more are being revived in claret, indigo blue, moss green. Three-storey Victorian terraces nudge up against squat, low-beamed cottages. Some have pillars and steps up to the front door, others traditional shuttered windows and delicate gables. The steady rhythm of my trainers, beating against the pavement, echoes in my chest. This first stretch as I climb out of town is hard, that pull on muscles that really want to give up, but I know once I reach the crest of the hill and the road flattens out it will get easier, and when I’m off the road and onto grass, then open countryside, I’ll be in my stride. It’s invigorating, empowering. I feel in control. Just me, this body, and the landscape. I am claiming
my place in the world in this moment. I’m owning it.

  I have headphones on, music propelling me forward and drowning out the sound of my panting. It also means no other early birds can attract my attention to ask about Milly. Everyone will be eager to hear, first-hand, the story behind the police search. The remainder of the weekend rolls out in front of me like a minefield. We’re hosting the annual Play in the Park this afternoon, which should be a distraction for everyone. I will dismiss yesterday’s events with an embarrassed laugh. I’ll turn it into an anecdote. Something and nothing. History. Other people have difficult parents and manage to laugh it off. I need to learn to do the same. My problem is I take it all too seriously.

  Though I’ll be working today, I’ll have plenty of time with Milly. The show is a touring outdoor adaptation of Enid Blyton’s Magic Faraway Tree, with songs. A family event with picnic blankets, macaroons and lashings of ginger beer provided. Think positive! The sun is out, the clouds are plump and white and my family are coming to see the show. Three generations. I lengthen my stride, kicking the road out behind me. I’m strong. I’m free. I am invincible.

  It’s a relief to be on speaking terms again with Mum. Milly will help us forge a new relationship, though that will take time. Milly’s not stupid; she can sense the tension and she made it quite clear over dinner last night that she doesn’t want to be called Amelia. ‘Tell the lady, my name is Milly.’ This was met with a sharp, ‘Tell the child my name is Grandma!’ which didn’t help.

  Neil is prepping his bike in the garden with Milly, when I get back. We wave him off and head up to the house.

  Mum intercepts me in the hall. ‘Good God! Look at the colour of you! You’ll give yourself a heart attack!’ I bend down to undo my laces. ‘Evangeline, this is ridiculous. You’re forty years old and you need to take care of your joints. You’ll be a cripple like me if you carry on like this.’

  ‘I’m off for a shower.’ I turn to Milly. I was about to suggest she stay downstairs with Mum, but something about her expression stops me. Before I can say anything, Mum suggests the TV and Milly rushes into the living room while Mum makes her way to the kitchen. Her gait has become more lopsided. Her knee is clearly troubling her.

  I follow. ‘Couldn’t you read to her or play a game with her?’

  ‘She’d rather watch her programme.’

  ‘What’s her programme?’

  ‘I don’t know. Something she used to watch with her nana.’ Mum leans against the kitchen counter for support, looking at me helplessly and I shift from irritation to guilt in an instant.

  ‘Was Milly rude to you?’ I know she can be terribly stubborn when she wants to be and if she’s taken a dislike to Mum after yesterday’s drama, she won’t hide it. Milly may be young, but she is intuitive. The conflict between Mum and Neil is palpable; she will sense it, and it’s only natural that her allegiance would be to Neil. Of course, the rational part of my brain tells me this is Mum’s own fault, but that doesn’t stop me feeling her hurt. And I want this to work. We have an opportunity here. Milly needs a grandmother and my mother needs to loosen her grip on me. If she shifts the focus of her attention onto her granddaughter, this could be the beginning of a new chapter for us. I need my mother in my life, but we have to find a more adult, less claustrophobic way for us to be. ‘Did something happen this morning?’

  A little shrug. ‘I offered her some breakfast, but she said she didn’t want any.’ She hesitates. ‘She went upstairs to fetch Neil. They had breakfast together and went straight out.’

  ‘You didn’t have breakfast with them?’

  ‘It’s fine. I had some tea and toast.’

  There’s more to this. Milly said or did something. Mum is going to have to work a bit here to earn back Milly’s trust. She was an infant school teacher, this should be her forte, but right now she looks vulnerable.

  ‘The child hasn’t taken to me.’

  ‘No! No! Don’t take it personally. She’s probably worried that you’re trying to replace her nana. She’ll be missing her.’ Mum doesn’t look convinced, but she managed to charm Milly easily enough when she first arrived, persuading her away from the house with offers of ice cream and treats. She was a popular teacher in her time, though of the old-school ‘firm but fair’ variety. She didn’t have the luxury of time, being a busy working mum and a single parent. I had to wait in the school library until she finished work and my memories are of always having to hurry to keep up as we rushed to and from school. The best times were weekends, when we’d snuggle up on the sofa together and watch films. Bedknobs and Broomsticks with Angela Lansbury was our favourite. She didn’t have a lot of time back then, but she does now. This is an opportunity for her too.

  ‘I’ll have a word with Milly.’

  ‘No, don’t. Don’t make an issue of it.’ She pauses. A change in tone. ‘I’m afraid I have no idea where Neil is.’

  ‘He’s gone out on his bike. He’s probably cycled up to Grizedale. He’ll be at least a couple of hours.’

  She raises an eyebrow. ‘You aren’t sure where he’s going?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Nothing.’ I wait. She gives that little shrug. ‘What if you need him here? Or he has an accident?’ But that wasn’t the point she was making.

  ‘He has his phone.’

  ‘Does he disappear on his own like this a lot?’

  ‘He hasn’t disappeared!’

  She watches me. ‘Has he told you where he was when I arrived?’

  ‘He was in the house.’ The eyebrow again. ‘I don’t have to check up on him, Mum. I trust Neil.’

  She says nothing. My mother is the queen of loaded silences, but this is serious now. I take her by the arm and steer her down the hall, away from the living room and out of Milly’s earshot. Once we’re inside the kitchen I close the door and turn to face her. She looks small and rather tired. ‘Mum, you have to stop this. Do you understand? We’ve got another review meeting on Monday because of what happened, with the police search. The adoption isn’t secured yet. We need them to believe in us. That Milly’s safe with us. We need to make sure that she isn’t upset, because if they think she’s distressed in any way, they…’ I struggle to swallow, the words blocking my throat.

  Mum nods. She takes both my hands in hers and I feel her courage, as I have done so many times when I’ve been anxious: before my first school trip, the morning of my maths O level, the day of my interview for uni. She’s strong, my mother. My protector. ‘It will be fine, Evangeline. If you like, I’ll explain. I’ll say I was mistaken about the front door being shut.’

  ‘No. No, don’t do that. Don’t lie, but don’t, don’t…’ She looks at me, doing that thing she does; creating a story where there isn’t one. ‘Just try and… try and be nice? Try and get along with Neil. I know it’s difficult, but if you could just… be nice? Please?’

  ‘Of course.’ She wraps her arms around me and I’m forced to bend down to her, like a clumsy, overgrown child. ‘Now don’t you worry. The meeting will be fine.’ She pushes me away to look me in the eyes. ‘You are a wonderful mother, Evangeline. That child is lucky to have you and anyone with an ounce of sense can see that.’

  *

  Reassured, I go to check on Milly. She’s engrossed in the TV. It’s not a children’s programme but an episode of The Simpsons. I don’t know how appropriate that is for a child of Milly’s age. ‘Did Nana watch this with you, darling?’ She shakes her head, her eyes not leaving the screen.

  ‘Matty and Frankie.’ The two teenage sons at the foster parents’ bustling farm outside Carlisle where Milly lived after her nana’s stroke. Cheeky boys with a playful affection for Milly. If they take her away from us, that’s where she’d go, until another couple are identified for her.

  But that isn’t going to happen. I can feel Mum’s strength. What felt awful and inevitable in the early hours of this morning seems a little hysterical now. There was a misunderstanding. Milly was safe enou
gh. She’s settled. I can imagine Ruth, the foster mother, a no-nonsense farmer’s wife, hands on her broad hips, batting away my worries with a wave of her floury hand: ‘Now why would you be fretting about stuff that’s never going to happen?’

  Milly lived with the foster family for almost a year, while the wheels of bureaucracy ground slowly on. She missed her grandparents, but there were regular visits to look forward to, and her new life had so much to distract her. Ruth’s house was full of life and warmth. Dogs, cats and rabbits wandering in and out of the yard, a poorly lamb curled up in a box in the airing cupboard. Milly loved it. And there was a Forever Family to get to know. I had to pick Neil up from work every day and drive up the M6, where we’d join Milly for tea, along with her foster brothers, Ruth, her jolly husband and various farm labourers. We’d put Milly to bed, read her a story, and gradually built a relationship of trust. In the second week, we stayed over, in a tent, on the small campsite run by the family. (I was hoping we’d be able to sleep in the delightful Shepherd’s Hut, but it was high season and booked up.) Staying over allowed us to be at the house when Milly woke and familiarise ourselves with her breakfast and morning routine. The plan was for her to visit us in Tarnside for a day and eventually an overnight in the third week, before moving in, but it soon became clear that things were going to move a lot quicker than that.

  This is something I should be sharing with my mother. She knows nothing of this story: how Milly blocked the door to her bedroom as we went to leave that first evening and demanded to know when she could come to our house. How a Tarnside sleepover for Milly was agreed in the middle of the second week and she moved in for good, a week ahead of schedule. ‘No different to the lambs we wean,’ Ruth said, taking it all in her stride. Everyone agreed; her social worker, the foster family, Shona. Things couldn’t have been better.

  Mum was not part of that. She doesn’t understand. Because I chose to do it without her. My choice. I created that wound in my life and now I have to do what I can to heal it.