‘Jan, come on, let’s stop this. Let’s get you inside.’ Sandy’s voice is calm but there’s a tremble in it, and she makes to pull Jan gently towards the house. But Jan rips her hand away and screams.
‘Get off me! I need to go to her. What’s it got to do with you? Why are you always interfering? Why do you always think you know best? Maybe you should just mind your own bloody business, you bitch, and stop telling me what to do.’ Jan’s face is screwed up in a rage that Georgie’s never seen before and she doesn’t know what to do, how to stop these terrible words firing like bullets from her mother’s mouth.
‘Is it because nobody else loves you? Is that why you always wanted me to love you? You just have to interfere because you’re a lonely old spinster that nobody else wants.’
Sandy gasps and drops Jan’s arms, and they fall roughly to her sides, almost tipping her off balance.
‘How could you?’ Sandy’s voice is lowered to a hiss and Georgie can hardly make out what she’s saying. She glances at Kate, but her sister also seems to be stuck, staring in horror at the scene unfolding. ‘You evil cow. After everything I’ve done for you.’
Jan’s body has sagged now, as though all the vehemence has been exhausted, leaving her weak. She sways on the spot slightly, and suddenly Kate is galvanized into action, walking forward to take hold of her mother’s arm and guide her gently towards the house.
‘I’m sorry. She doesn’t know what she’s saying,’ Kate whispers to Sandy as she passes her. But Georgie can see from the look in Sandy’s eyes that it’s too late. That her mother has gone too far, even for Sandy’s seemingly endless patience.
Sandy wheels around and follows them into the house. As they reach the door she strides in front of them and stops, blocking the doorway. She seems to fill it, such is her rage, and for the first time ever Georgie feels scared of this kind, gentle woman she’s known her whole life. She can feel the blood rush to her face as Sandy walks slowly towards them.
‘That’s it. I’m sorry, Kate. Georgie. I can’t do this any more. More than forty years I’ve been there for your mother, helped her with everything, been there whenever she needed me. I’ve kept her dirty little secrets – and believe me, she hasn’t even got any idea how much I’ve kept quiet. But I can’t do it any more. Not with this . . . this . . . anger. I just can’t. I’m done.’
‘But—’ Jan’s voice is small, weak, her eyes filled with tears, suddenly remorseful. ‘I’m sorry.’
Sandy looks at her oldest friend for a moment, and Georgie thinks maybe she’s going to forgive her, and that everything is going to be all right after all. But then Sandy gives a tiny shake of her head, turns and walks away, out through the kitchen, down the hall and out of the front door, closing it firmly behind her.
Georgie feels rooted to the spot, unable to believe what’s just happened. She looks back at the patch of earth where her mother was digging and wonders momentarily what on earth she was doing. She shivers, as a feeling of déjà vu ripples through her, as though she’s seen this patch of earth before, dug up and patted down, but she can’t for the life of her pin it down, work out its significance.
Kate’s voice breaks into her thoughts. ‘Help me get Mum back inside, will you, Georgie?’ Obediently, Georgie grabs hold of her mother’s arm and steers her into the living room, where the sound of the clock seems louder than ever, marking time.
Kate fusses around, trying to get her mother comfortable, plumping pillows, removing her cardigans, but Georgie can hardly bear to touch her. Instead, she walks numbly to the kitchen to grab the dustpan and brush. She heads back to the bottom of the stairs and bends to sweep up the mess from the thrown ornament. As she pushes the pieces into the dustpan she can’t get out of her mind the look on Jan’s face as she screamed at Aunty Sandy. She’s never seen her like that before, and she’s certainly never heard her speak to anyone like that, least of all her best – and only – friend.
As she clears up the last of the broken ceramic, she can hear Jan and Kate’s voices in the other room: Kate’s soft, soothing, trying to calm her mother down.
Kate’s so patient with her and she knows it’s not Jan’s fault, it’s what she needs. But Georgie can hardly bear to look at her mother at the moment. How on earth is she going to stay calm with her, to help her?
Slowly she stands and walks back to the kitchen, opens the bin and throws the pieces of ornament in roughly, letting the lid slam back down with a bang.
She can’t do this. She can’t be here pretending to care about Jan and her deteriorating mind when she’s got so many other things she needs to do.
She can’t help.
She needs to go.
And so, without thinking about it too much, she picks up her bag and walks towards the front door. She feels guilty for Kate’s sake, leaving her sister to cope all by herself. But she doesn’t feel guilty for Jan’s sake. She pulls the door open and shuts it quietly behind her without looking back to see if Kate has heard her leave. She couldn’t bear the look on her face if she had.
She walks back to her car and climbs in, pulling away quickly before she can change her mind, peering through the frosted-over windscreen as the ineffectual heater slowly clears it. She needs to get away, to put as much distance between herself and her mother as she can, even if that means stretching the bond between her and Kate so tightly it’s in danger of breaking forever.
All she can do is hope that, one day, her sister will forgive her.
The sky’s a heavy grey when Georgie gets up the next morning and she hopes it’s not an indication of how the day is going to be. She had a tough enough time yesterday.
She’s been awake most of the night, going over all the possibilities, all the different outcomes, and yet she still feels woefully unprepared. And what if she comes home tonight and the trail has gone cold? What if she discovers absolutely nothing? What will she do then?
She pulls a jumper over her head, runs her fingers through her hair and peers at her reflection in the mirror. Will she meet someone today who looks just the same as her? She shivers at the thought.
Downstairs, Clem is sitting at the table shovelling down a bowl of cereal. She barely glances up as Georgie walks into the room. Georgie watches her for a minute, feeling a surge of love for her daughter. She can’t even begin to imagine how it would feel to lose her, not to know where she was, what she was doing; to wonder whether she was happy or safe or even alive. She shakes the thought from her mind and walks over, wrapping her arms around Clem’s neck, pulling her into a hug. ‘Love you, sweetheart.’
‘Love you too, Mum.’ She carries on eating, barely stopping for breath and Georgie breathes in the scent of her daughter, a mix of lemon shampoo and washing powder. She hopes Clementine’s world isn’t going to be completely thrown if she finds anything out today. Clem doesn’t have a clue what’s happened so far, but Georgie can’t bear to tell her, not yet. Not until she knows exactly what she’s facing.
‘I made you a coffee, if you have time?’ Matt points to the worktop where there’s a steaming cup waiting for her.
‘Thanks.’ She takes a gulp and slams it down, spilling some over the side. ‘Sorry.’
Matt lowers his voice. ‘Nervous?’
Georgie nods.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’
‘No. I need to do this alone.’
He accepts this. ‘OK. But ring me if you need me, OK?’
She nods again.
‘And don’t do anything silly.’
‘I won’t.’ She glances at Clem. She’s reading the gossip pages of a magazine, not listening to a word they’re saying. ‘Love you.’ She gives him a quick kiss then turns to leave, aware that when she gets home her life could be turned upside down. It makes her feel dizzy if she thinks about it too much.
Her legs shake as she makes her way to the car and she takes a couple of deep breaths before pulling into the road. She drives on autopilot, hardly thinking about wh
ere she’s going or what she’s going to say when she gets there. The area isn’t a part of Norwich she knows at all so as she gets nearer she follows her satnav, turning down streets she’s never seen before. She feels lost.
Finally, she’s there. Woodcock Street. Her stomach is in knots and her head is throbbing and she sits for a minute, trying to gather the courage to get out and knock on the door.
She’d spent some time online last night, during the early hours when sleep was eluding her, trying to discover whether Kimberley still lived in this street, the street that Hazel Moore had said she’d moved to all those years ago. But she hadn’t managed to find anything, and so she was back to banging on doors, hoping someone would be able to help her. The Internet doesn’t have all the answers, after all.
She steps out of the car and stands for a minute, looking at the innocuous houses either side of her. It’s quite a long street, curving away into the distance so she can’t see where it ends, but it’s not as nice as the street in Sprowston where she was yesterday. It’s scruffier, the houses council-built and less well maintained, paint peeling from windowsills, graffiti on crumbling garden walls and an underlying air of menace that makes her shoulders hunch. She pulls her bag further up on her shoulder and takes a step onto the pavement and up the first garden path.
Her heart thunders as she waits for the first door to open but, as it becomes clear there’s no one in, she starts to breathe more easily. She wishes she’d taken Matt up on his offer to come with her, but she can’t have them both taking so many days off work. She’s already worried the library will think she’s pulling sickies.
She moves on to the next house, but the old man who lives there can hardly hear her, let alone help her with her search. At the next couple of houses is a harassed mum with a screaming toddler at her ankles, and a youngish man in tracksuit bottoms who looks as though the doorbell has woken him up, his hair standing on end, the circles dark under his eyes.
She knocks on the glass pane of the next door, ignoring the taped-up doorbell. It takes several seconds for someone to appear, and Georgie’s about to give up hope and head to the next house. Then the door swings open and there’s a man standing there, about her age. In fact, exactly her age, and she gasps as her legs start to shake.
It’s him.
It’s Samuel.
It has to be.
Her voice seems to have stuck in her throat and she swallows, trying to unblock it. Samuel – she’s utterly certain it’s him; he has her green eyes, her cheek dimples, her slightly arched eyebrow – stands patiently and waits for her to speak.
‘Are you OK? You’ve gone really white.’ His voice is gentle, warm and she feels it seep into her skin.
‘Yes—’ She clears her throat and tries again. ‘Yes, I’m fine. I – I was just looking for someone but I think I must have the wrong house, I’m sorry.’ She can’t look at him, can’t meet his eye. She’s made a terrible mistake, coming here. She can’t spring this on him, on his doorstep on a chilly November day. It’s not fair. She should have thought this through better but now it’s too late and she’s here and she needs to get away. ‘Sorry to bother you.’ She starts to turn but his voice stops her in her tracks.
‘Who are you looking for? I know a few people in this street, I’ve lived here most of my life.’
Reluctantly she turns back around and trains her gaze on the door frame just to the side of him. She holds her hand up to her cheek, hoping he doesn’t spot any resemblance. But why would he? He’s not expecting his long-lost sister to come knocking on his door. She’s being ridiculous.
‘I – I’m looking for Kimberley Foster.’ Her voice wobbles and she’s sure she’s given herself away, but his face lights up at the mention of the name.
‘That’s my mum!’
She doesn’t say that she knows that. She doesn’t say it’s her mum too. But all these words are clogging up the air between them, making it hard for her to breathe. Instead, she says, ‘Oh right. Well. Excellent. Can you – can you tell me where she lives?’
He cocks his thumb behind his shoulder. ‘Right here.’ He shrugs and gives a wry smile, the dimples appearing in his cheeks again. ‘I know, bit sad eh, still living with my mum at my age?’ He’s so open, so warm, there’s no hint of suspicion or defensiveness and she feels guilty for even being there. She shouldn’t have come, not like this.
‘Who’s looking for her?’
‘Er . . . ’
‘Well, who are you?’ He smiles warmly again and it’s so familiar she feels as though she’s going to pass out. She rubs her hand over her face. ‘It’s – er – my mum was an old friend of hers and – I just wanted to say hello. But I’ll come back another time.’
She takes a step back and the world tips away from her and she loses her footing, almost falling backwards onto the crazy-paved pathway. Samuel reaches out and grabs her elbow, steadying her. ‘God, are you OK? Do you want to come in, have a glass of water? You look terrible.’
She shakes her head. ‘No, I’m fine. Sorry. I just – I should go.’
‘I’ll tell Mum you were looking for her, shall I? She’s just gone out with Gran, she should be back in – ’ he glances at his watch – ‘about an hour?’
‘Thanks.’ She turns and hurries back to the car and sits for a minute, feeling as though the sky is pressing down on her. The door to the house is shut now, and it’s hard to believe, looking at it, what’s just happened. What was she thinking, just turning up like this? What did she imagine was going to happen?
She closes her eyes and tries to picture the warm, kind face of the man who’d just opened the door – her brother – but she struggles to form any features in her mind. She’s desperate to go back and have another look, to spend hours drinking in the familiar lines and contours of his skin, the dimple in his cheeks, the dark hair, gelled into short spikes at the front. She pulls the sun visor down and peers at her reflection again. Her eyes are framed by the edges of the mirror and she stares at them; despite the dark rings around them she can see they’re just like Samuel’s, the shape, the colour, everything. She pulls back and looks at the shape of her face and smiles at herself, wondering whether her smile is as warm and welcoming as his. Probably not.
She leans her head back against the headrest and breathes deeply. She knows without a shadow of a doubt that she’s going to go back and knock on that door later and, hopefully, meet her real mother. She has no idea what she’s going to say, or how she’s going to say it, but she knows that whatever happens, several lives are about to be torn apart – including her own.
She doesn’t know how much time has passed when she hears a shout outside the passenger window and her eyes fly open. It takes a moment to remember where she is and she peers out of the window to see where the noise is coming from. There’s a little boy running past; she can just make out the top of his head above the edge of the door, and behind him a woman’s running, pushing a pushchair. ‘Stop, Tyler, now!’ Her voice is almost a scream as she chases after her son. Georgie watches as the woman reaches him and scoops him up and straps him angrily into his pushchair. Then her attention is drawn to the sound of footsteps approaching behind her and she cranes her neck round to see who’s there. Two women are walking up the road towards her, laden down with carrier bags, one older than the other, with a slight limp. When they get close enough for her to make out their faces Georgie stops breathing.
It’s Kimberley, and her mother.
It’s her mother.
She grips the steering wheel, holding her breath as they pass her car as though the sound of her breathing might draw their attention. They walk past, not noticing her, as her eyes follow them from the safety of the car. She watches as they stop outside their house, readjust their bags and walk up the short path. Kimberley kicks the door with her foot, gently, unable to find a free hand to knock with, then Georgie sees her brother again as he opens the door and lets them in. He glances up and looks at her car and she prays he can�
�t see her. As he turns away, taking the bags from his grandmother, she lets out a huge puff of air and waits until her heartbeat slows and she can breathe properly once more.
Part of her wants to go and knock on the door again, introduce herself, watch their reactions as they realize who she is. The other part of her wants to run away and pretend she’d never even started this search, pretend she knows nothing, just carry on with her perfectly happy life as it was.
But she knows she can’t do that. She’s come too far already. Too much has already changed, or been destroyed. She needs to fix things again.
Slowly she climbs back out of the car, clutching her handbag to her stomach. Her legs feel heavy and it’s an effort to make them move, one in front of the other, up the path to the door. It’s an effort to lift her hand and knock, and she holds it there, suspended in mid-air, for a few seconds. It seems amazing that what she does next will change her life forever: one knock at a tatty old plastic door will change everything.
And then she knocks on the door, quickly, and steps back, and waits.
13
30 October 2016
It seems like forever and also no time at all before the door is opened and Samuel is standing there again, and it takes all Georgie’s effort not to gasp. His face breaks into his already-familiar smile and he takes a step back into the house.
‘Hello,’ he says. ‘Mum’s just back. I’ve told her someone was looking for her but she seemed confused. Come in, I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you.’ Samuel’s standing with his back pressed against the peeling paint of the hallway wall, watching her expectantly.
Georgie looks down at the threshold of the door and tries to imagine stepping over it. She tries to imagine lifting her foot up and over the door frame and placing it down again on the thin grey carpet on the other side. It’s such a simple movement, hardly anything at all. And yet it’s everything.
She glances behind her briefly. It’s not too late to turn around and run, far, far down the street away from here, and never come back. She could just run and run until she got home, and then carry on with her life as though nothing had ever happened, and pretend that she’d never even knocked on this door, and seen this man. And maybe that would be for the best, for everyone. Maybe she should never have come here, to destroy these people’s lives. Maybe she should just go, right now. She pauses a second longer.
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