by Zosia Wand
‘I feel we’re starting to make progress, me and Milly. After what happened…’ She gives a little smile. My mother, who loves me, who has stood by me, whose life has only ever been about me and helping me realise my potential. I feel her reassuring squeeze on my arm. ‘I can help with Milly. I can cook some proper meals for you. Take some of the pressure off? It’s not easy being a working Mum. I can help. It’s not like I have anything to rush back for.’ Finally, she’s recognised that I am an adult, a mother in my own right. She is a strong woman, my mother, she has endured, and she is a solid parent. I need to be that strong for Milly. With Mum’s support, I can be.
Neil swings into the kitchen. ‘All set, Joan?’
She hesitates, waiting for me to speak. I close my eyes and let her take responsibility. ‘I’m going to stay for a few more days,’ she says brightly.
The silence pulses through the kitchen. ‘Eve?’
I turn to face him. He wants her gone, but she’s on my side and she knows what’s at stake. She is the only person that knows the secret I’m keeping and I need her. I can’t risk making a mess of this. I can’t do it without her.
‘I’d like Mum to stay.’
*
As soon as we’ve waved Betty and Mike off, Neil tries to take me aside, but I grab my jacket and bag, telling him I have to meet Lizzie back at the park.
Lizzie can sense my mood immediately. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Just tired, that’s all.’ We are circling the tarn with two bin-liners. I’m collecting rubbish while Lizzie picks up the plastic bottles and recyclables.
‘How long is your mum staying?’ The question is loaded. Lizzie and I have talked about the difficult relationship we both have with our mothers. Not in any detail. I sometimes left off steam, encouraged by Lizzie’s candour, but it makes me itch with guilt. I regret confiding in her now. My mother loves me and complaining about her is an ugly betrayal.
‘She’s going to stay a few more days,’ I explain brightly, making it clear that I’m happy with the situation.
She gives a small laugh and says, ‘I don’t let mine come up here if I can help it.’ I envy her this lightness. Her ability to find a difficult relationship so amusing. Is it a front? If it is, she maintains it well. ‘The last time my mum was here, the barman from the Crown had to phone me to go and collect her because she was too pissed to remember where I lived and didn’t have enough money to settle her tab.’
Lizzie has confided to me the traumas of her childhood, but the brutality of this makes me shrink from her, I can’t help myself. There is something raw and painful behind these words that I don’t want to feel. This is Lizzie’s story, not mine. My mother is difficult, but she isn’t a drunk, I wasn’t abused. I should be grateful. Lizzie’s mum is an alcoholic who neglected her children. There is no comparison. My mum has never neglected me. She has always been there and she’s here for me now. I’m the centre of her world.
25
First thing Monday morning the team arrive for our final review. This is it. The day they decide whether we can go ahead. I’ve been longing for this day for months, but now it’s here I’m sick with nerves, because I know something they don’t and I cannot tell.
Neil has a son. I’m the one who’s infertile. I can’t have children.
What was it Mum said, back in Hitchin? There is a reason we couldn’t conceive. There is a reason I couldn’t have a baby with Neil.
I was not meant not be a mother.
Shona, Helen and the reviewing officer gather in the living room. Milly isn’t at school this morning, so I’ve arranged for Mum to take her to the park until we’re ready for her. Mum was efficient and cheery and Milly, for once, was compliant. She knows that today’s a special day. She’s eager to present herself to the panel and tell them we are her Forever Family.
We discuss the suggested contact issues and agree to visits with Nana and Gramps twice a year, as was always the plan. In addition to this we need to agree what sort of contact, if any, will be appropriate with Claire, but before we can start, I hear Mum approaching the doorstep with Milly. I apologise and go to meet her in the hall.
‘What are you doing here? I said I’d call you when we were ready.’
‘Milly wanted to come home. I think she’d rather be here. Maybe if she waits upstairs?’
Milly shakes her head.
I crouch down. ‘Darling, Shona and Helen are here and they’d like to talk to you in a moment, but we’re not quite ready yet. Would you go into the kitchen with Grandma for a bit?’ But Milly is glued to the floor. ‘Milly, please? For me? There’s some cake in the tin; Grandma will cut you a slice.’
Milly narrows her eyes at my mother. ‘Two slices.’
‘Let’s see you eat one, first.’ Mum turns to me. ‘You OK?’
Her concern, that irritated me before, is now an anchor. ‘I’m fine.’ I drop a kiss on Milly’s forehead and return to the living room, closing the door behind me.
We’ve just settled back into a discussion of Claire’s request for contact, when Mum makes a big fuss of bringing in a tray of tea and biscuits that nobody really wants. We wait for her to distribute cups and entreat everyone to take a biscuit, but when that’s done she doesn’t leave. Instead, she pulls up a chair and makes herself comfortable. Shona isn’t happy and Neil is bristling. The reviewing officer and Helen exchange a look. After a few awkward moments, the reviewing officer asks Mum to leave.
Mum shakes her head. ‘I’m family. I’m involved.’
I apologise to everyone. ‘Mum, please. It’s not appropriate for you to be here. We need to discuss contact issues. There’s no need for you to be involved in that.’
‘What contact issues?’ Mum asks, not budging from her chair. I know she’s trying to show her support, but she’s misreading the situation.
I try and catch her eye, but she’s focused on the reviewing officer, who says firmly, ‘I’m afraid that’s confidential information.’
Mum looks her up and down through narrowed eyes. ‘My daughter has rights too, you know.’
‘This isn’t about rights, Mrs Leonard, it’s about what’s best for Milly.’
‘What about Evangeline? How is she supposed to mother this child if she’s constantly being undermined by you and whoever else it is you think should be parenting this—’
‘Mum!’
Neil stands up. He’s shaking. ‘Get out, Joan. You’ve been asked nicely and that clearly hasn’t worked now so I’m telling you. Get out before I throw you out.’
No, no, no! Burning. Crimson fear, the colour of blood seeping from scalded flesh. I grab Neil’s arm and try and pull him back into his seat but he shakes me off.
‘Mum, please. You’re not helping.’
Absolutely still. She glares at Neil. All the knowledge she has is in that look. I can feel him falter. She’s scared him.
This is enough for her. She gives a little nod and turns to Shona. ‘I was simply trying to support my daughter.’
‘I don’t need you here, Mum. Please. Just wait in the kitchen and look after Milly.’ I’m begging her. ‘Please.’
That pinched look. This was a mistake. She can’t hide her hostility to Neil, to anyone who she sees as a threat to me. She gets up with an exaggerated wince and rubs her knee. We wait for her to straighten up. She takes her time. No one speaks, we all seem to be holding our breath until she closes the door behind her.
I look at the reviewing officer. ‘I’m sorry. She didn’t mean to be rude, she can get a bit defensive on my behalf. She means well.’
Shona picks up her paperwork, looks around at us with a smile and says, ‘So, contact. Claire. Where were we?’ We can move on.
Shona reads a letter from Claire outlining her request. She would like supervised contact once a month. My heart sinks. I feel Neil’s hand reach for mine, his fingers stroking my palm. Once a month is a big commitment; regular disruption for Milly and a regular opportunity for disappointment, but before we can sa
y anything, Shona is explaining, ‘I’ve spoken with Claire’s parents. As Milly’s primary carers for the last four years, they are best placed to advise us on what they feel would be best for Milly. Whilst they appreciate that Claire’s intentions are good, and they love their daughter very much and hope she will, eventually, overcome her difficulties, they’re not confident in her ability to do so, at this point in time. There is, apparently, a boyfriend on the scene, who is proving a negative influence. It was a difficult decision for them to give Milly up for adoption, but they remain convinced that this is what’s best for her. A clean break. An opportunity to have a stable life. They’ve been there and seen, first-hand, the consequences when Claire lets Milly down. They strongly recommend that there is no direct contact until Milly is an adult and can choose for herself.’
Neil squeezes my hand. I feel terrible for Claire but if her own parents recommend this, then that gives me confidence. It’s Milly we need to focus on, her needs. Everyone in the room agrees. I’m the one who suggests letter-box contact, via social services. I know I’m making life difficult for myself but I need to do this. I’m not able to have children of my own. I wasn’t one of the chosen, for whatever reason. Claire is a mother, she’s losing her daughter. Her tragedy is my gain and I need to do something in return. ‘I could write. Once a year. Just to let her know how Milly is. Nothing too personal, but checking in. I could send a photo.’
Shona’s shaking her head. ‘No photos. Too loaded. And Cumbria’s a small county, Eve. We need to protect your anonymity. Milly’s safety is an issue here, given her mum’s life choices.’
‘OK, no photo. But some news. Just letting her know she’s OK. That she’s loved.’ I can feel tears pricking at my eyes and my voice is catching. I swallow, steady myself. ‘I would like Claire to know how grateful we are.’
It’s no use. They think I’m pathetic and I feel pathetic, tears streaming down my face. But it’s true. I am so grateful and my heart is breaking for Claire, who’s made such a mess of things, but isn’t much more than a girl herself and will suffer so much. Neil slides his arm around me and rocks me gently until I’ve got a grip of myself. He suggests a compromise. We’ll write, if Claire writes. She can request information once a year and we’ll provide it. If she doesn’t contact us we won’t communicate. He looks at me. ‘I don’t want to raise Milly’s expectations if Claire isn’t interested.’
I agree to this, because I cannot imagine a mother not asking for information about her child. Neil thinks Claire won’t bother, he’s cynical, but his mother gave him up and severed all contact until he was eighteen. And then, when he did meet her, what happened? I try to imagine how she might have felt, how difficult it would have been to meet Neil, afraid that he wouldn’t like her, wouldn’t be able to forgive. Laura said he tried to help her, but she didn’t want his help. Did she feel judged? Did she realise that she wasn’t the mother he wanted her to be? How devastating that must have been for her. And for him. He has never spoken to me about this. Private places. Bruised places.
Is this how it was with my father? Did he keep a distance because she told him to? Did he have to overcome his fear to make that initial move? Does he think I received his card and didn’t want to respond?
But these are our stories, Neil’s and mine, not Milly’s. Milly will make her own choice one day. And so must I. The address is tucked into the pocket of my diary. Waiting.
Shona fetches Milly. I hold my breath while the panel ask about her trip to Hitchin and she tells them all about the outdoor pool and Max and the dogs at Nana Bet’s. She says nothing about Mum or the smack, or the arguments she’s overheard. They ask about school and she talks about Roisin and a boy called Barney who does smelly farts and thinks it’s funny. She also announces that we’re to get a dog next week, which is news to me and, thankfully, to Neil too. There are a few careful questions about food and Milly rolls her eyes. ‘I eat ham, cucumber, pasta and fish fingers and Mummy says that’s enough.’
I add, ‘And Nanny Bet’s soup.’
Milly gives a solemn nod. ‘And Naz’s curry and rose-petal tea.’ Everyone laughs. They’re delighted with her progress.
Shona is smiling at me. She glances at the reviewing officer. ‘Well, I think we’re good to go?’
The reviewing officer nods, gathering up her papers. ‘Yes, I think so. I suggest you submit your application to the court promptly.’
I hear Neil exhale slowly beside me. He reaches for my hand.
Shona nods. ‘Good. Hopefully it won’t take too long.’ She looks at Milly and back at us. ‘The sooner we get all the paperwork signed and sealed the better it will be for all of you.’ She hesitates, clears her throat. ‘Neil, your mother-in-law has something she’d like to discuss with us privately, and has suggested that you take Milly out while we talk.’ Neil stiffens. He shakes his head. ‘I’ve agreed to hear her out.’
‘When?’ My voice is a croak. Cold, cold. An icy drip. ‘When did Mum talk to you?’
‘She called me first thing this morning.’
Drip. Drip. I try to swallow. ‘She has your number?’
‘The call came through the main switchboard.’
She called social services? This morning?
Neil’s voice is low, firm. ‘Whatever she’s got to say, she can say it in front of me.’
Shona continues in a steady voice. ‘Why don’t we let her say her piece to me in private, and then, when that’s done, I’ll ask her to leave? I’ll tell her that you need bonding time with Milly and that she must give you that time. How does that sound?’
‘What does she want to talk about?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
But I do. I get up and run to the kitchen. Neil follows me out.
Mum is sitting ramrod straight at the table, poised, ready. ‘Mum, please! Don’t do this!’ Her face is set firm. I know that look. She’s on a course and nothing’s going to stop her. Stupid! Stupid! I thought she was staying to defend me. I thought she was on my side. ‘Please!’
Neil looks at me, his face panicked. ‘What’s going on?’
Mum says, ‘I’ll explain when we’re in there.’
‘Mum, please! Please! You promised!’
‘I did not promise, Evangeline. I said I understood. I’m doing this for your own good.’
‘No!’
Neil’s voice cracks the air. ‘What’s going on?’
‘There’s a lot riding on today. They’re about to give us permission to apply for the adoption order. If you say anything now it could ruin everything!’
‘If I don’t speak, it will be worse.’
‘Eve?’ He looks bewildered. What have I done? I should have talked to him.
And then he turns to face Mum. He’s trembling, his fists clenched at his sides. ‘Do it!’ he spits. ‘Go on, you poisonous bitch! Do it!’
He takes a deep breath, pulling himself in and looks at me, his face cold. ‘I’ll take Milly to the park. Call me when she’s done.’
*
The three social workers are waiting in the living room. Mum marches in, ignoring my pleas to stop, to let me explain, as if anything I say could possibly make any difference to the bombshell she’s about to deliver. She unfolds a page of A4 paper, like someone preparing to deliver a speech. Has she made notes? One side is covered in typed text. She smooths it out and I think she’s going to start reading, but instead she looks up. ‘I’m afraid to tell you that my son-in-law is a sex offender and, as such, poses a sexual threat to Milly. You need to protect her from him. I have proof. A statement from the father of a child he raped.’
26
I grip the mantelpiece for support. My mother pushes the page towards me. There’s a look of triumph on her face that makes me feel physically sick. This is her moment. ‘Read it.’ She gives the page a little shake. ‘You have to read it.’
I look at Shona. There’s a stone in my throat and I can’t swallow. My arms hang by my sides. I can’t lift my hand. I can’t touch
this.
Shona reaches out. ‘Shall I read it?’ Mum frowns, considering. After a moment, she hands the sheet of paper to Shona. I watch as Shona pushes her reading glasses back up her nose and scans the page. Helen and the reviewing officer sit either side of her, watching, waiting. A film of my life is unfolding before me. A horrible parallel that has split away from the life I thought I was living, and whirls into an abyss. The colour seeps from Shona’s face. This is bad.
Shona reads, ‘This is my formal record of the serious sexual assault that took place against my daughter by Neil Wright in the spring of 1991 and the subsequent consequences.’
My knees are trembling. I feel my mother’s arm around my waist. She steers me to the armchair. I let my legs fold and slide down as she guides me into the seat.
‘My daughter was fifteen years old.’
Fifteen! She was just fifteen!
‘She attended a party with a friend who subsequently left her there. She was plied with alcohol, which she was not used to, and Neil Wright, who was eighteen, and therefore an adult at the time, took advantage of the situation and raped her.’
Not Neil. Not my Neil. He couldn’t do this. Could he? Why hasn’t he told me about Tina? If he has nothing to hide, why has he kept this a secret from me?
Shona gives a small cough to clear her throat before she continues. The paper is trembling in her hand. Does she believe this? ‘My daughter was too ashamed to report the assault at the time. We felt it best to protect her reputation. However, as a result of this episode, Tina’s behaviour changed. She became unpredictable, volatile, wilful. Some weeks later she revealed she was pregnant.’
Shona pauses. The room spins. The walls are shifting, moving closer. My head is too heavy for my neck. There’s saliva building in my mouth, a metallic taste, my stomach flips and I heave. My mother shouts, ‘She’s going to be sick!’ and she’s on her feet, grabbing the waste-paper basket from beside the door and all I can think, as she thrusts it towards my face, is that this is no good, that the vomit will seep through the wicker, but that thought is overwhelmed by the heaving and I no longer care about the basket, the carpet, I just want this to be gone, to vomit it up and be rid of it.