The Mother's Secret

by Clare Swatman

  She hopes so.

  It’s been a long, torturous day but it’s finally time to leave. Matt has already offered to come with her, but Georgie knows she has to do this on her own. She hopes he understands, that he doesn’t think she’s pushing him away. Although she is, in a way, she supposes.

  As she drives up along the dark, unlit roads towards the city her mind does somersaults. There are so many questions, so much she wants to know about these people who are part of her. It’s clear from their first meeting that Kimberley is fragile, treading a delicate balance between getting on with her life and tipping over the precipice into depression. Georgie wonders how many times in her life she’s plunged over the edge, only to be dragged back again, kicking and screaming. She wonders how much of it has to do with what happened to Kimberley, and how much was in her anyway. Then she thinks about Margaret, so angry, all her rage balled up into one tiny frame and hardened over the years. And she thinks about Sam, her twin brother, with whom she feels this inexplicable connection that she’s never felt with anyone else before, not even with Kate. Just being in his company feels so right and she’s desperate to get to know him better, to discover what he likes and dislikes, what his hopes and dreams are. And to find out more about how his life has been, living in the shadow of a lost sister for all these years.

  Shivering despite the warmth from the car heater, she realizes that they’re going to want to know more about her as well. What if she’s a let-down to them, after all this time?

  She pulls up on the street just down from the house and sits for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. She can do this. There isn’t any choice.

  Georgie steps out of the car, walks unsteadily to the front door and knocks gently, feeling strangely detached as she waits for someone to open it, as though she’s not really there, but merely watching from a distance. A shadowy shape appears behind the mottled glass and as it approaches she squints, trying to make out who it is. And then the door swings open and it’s like looking at a male version of herself as she sees her brother in front of her, his face creased into a smile. He looks even more like her than she remembers and she can’t believe he didn’t know who she was straight away. But then, he wasn’t looking for her, was he? They stand for a moment, staring at each other, then, out of the blue, Sam steps forward and puts his arms round Georgie’s shoulders and gives her an awkward hug. It’s unexpected but it feels so right that she squeezes him back. When he pulls away his face flames and he looks at the floor. ‘Come in.’

  She steps in, then follows him through into the cramped kitchen at the back of the house.

  ‘Sit down, I’ll just go and tell Mum and Gran you’re here.’

  She sits at the table nervously and looks round, taking in details of the room she hadn’t noticed last time. The walls are shabby, with paint peeling off in the corners and a few cracked tiles, but it’s cleaner than before, as though someone has made a real effort for her arrival, and she feels touched. There’s a plate of biscuits on the side, arranged in a neat circle, and she smiles. You don’t buy biscuits for unwanted guests.

  There’s a movement behind her and she turns to see Sam and Kimberley entering the room. Kimberley’s hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, making her narrow face look even smaller and accentuating the deep lines that run across her forehead and the wrinkles that pucker her lips. But it’s clear she’s made an effort, with a pair of faded black jeans and grey jumper that cling to her slender figure and make her look younger than her fifty-four years – younger than she did the last time Georgie saw her. She’s wearing a smile that wavers at the edges.

  Georgie stands and holds out her hand. It’s over-formal but she is a stranger still, and doesn’t know what else to do. Kimberley takes it and clutches it in both hands. Her hands are freezing cold and dry as paper to the touch. They’re shaking slightly.

  ‘Thank you for coming back. It’s good to see you.’

  She walks to the worktop and flicks the kettle on, then turns and places the biscuits on the table. ‘Please, have a biscuit. Would you like tea?’ Her words are slow and measured and Georgie wonders whether she’s taken something before her arrival to calm her nerves.

  ‘Tea would be lovely, thank you.’

  ‘Or coffee? I’ve got coffee as well.’ She turns and holds out a jar of cheap instant coffee.

  Georgie shakes her head. ‘Tea is fine, thank you.’ She hates how stilted she sounds but it’s going to take time to relax.

  She sits, jiggling her leg up and down under the table, as Kimberley flits around making tea. Strangely, Kimberley reminds her of her mother – of Jan – the nervous manner she has, the way she’s unable to sit still when she’s anxious. Georgie wants to tell her to relax, that she’s not going to make this difficult for her, that she’s not going to ask her any questions she doesn’t want to answer, she just wants to get to know her. But the words won’t come so she sits and waits patiently, watching as Sam sits down opposite her and pops a whole custard cream into his mouth in one go. Crumbs spill out and he brushes them away, raising his eyebrows apologetically.

  Finally Kimberley sits down, spilling tea as she puts the mugs down on the table. They sit in silence for a while as they sip their scalding drinks, and Georgie holds hers to her face, letting the steam rise and warm her cheeks, covering her face like a flimsy mask.

  It’s Sam who speaks first.

  ‘So, we haven’t stopped talking about you since you came last time. Can we – do you mind if we ask you some questions?’ His voice is shaky and he glances at Kimberley who gives a faint nod.

  ‘Yes, of course you can. But I don’t know very much, not about – what happened. I’ve only just found out about it myself.’

  Sam shakes his head. ‘No, we know. But we just – we want to know more about you. You know. What your life’s been like. What you’re like. I want to know if we’ve got anything in common. I mean – I’ve never had a sister before, let alone a twin . . . ’ He stops, his voice catching in his throat, the torrent of words suddenly stuck. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to go on.’

  ‘It’s OK. You didn’t. There – there’s not really much to say, to be honest. I grew up with Mum and my sister, Kate.’ Her heart tightens at the mention of her sister. Despite everything, she misses her. ‘She’s two and a half years older than me, and she was my only friend for a long time, growing up. I’ve got an Aunty Sandy too, but she’s not really my aunty, she’s just my mum’s best friend who’s always been there for me. For us. Mum—’ She glances at Kimberley to see her reaction to her using this word, but her face is blank, her gaze fixed on a point just behind Georgie’s head. She wonders whether she’s even listening or whether she’s drifted off to some other world, a world where she doesn’t have to deal with meeting the daughter she thought she’d lost all those years ago. A world where she doesn’t have to deal with anything. Georgie carries on anyway, aware of Sam’s eyes on her. ‘Mum hated us going anywhere so it was mostly just me and Kate, growing up. We never really went anywhere or did anything. I still never have – it’s why I was looking for my birth certificate in the first place, to get a passport. I never met my dad, he died before I was born and I’ve only ever seen a few pictures of him. But I’ve got Matt now – we’re not married but I met him at school and we’ve been together ever since, and we have Clementine. My daughter. She’s eleven.’ She stops, aware that she hasn’t talked for all that long, and yet she’s covered most of her life already. It can’t really have been that boring, can it?

  She looks up at Sam to see him watching her, studying her face. They don’t look alike, exactly, and yet there’s something familiar about the angle of his head, the crook of his eyebrow, the slant of his mouth when he smiles. She wonders what he sees when he looks at her. She runs her hand through her hair self-consciously.

  ‘So I have a niece as well?’ A smile plays at the corners of Sam’s mouth. Georgie nods. ‘Yes. Yes, you do. She’s – well, she’s lovely. But she doesn’t k
now about any of this, not yet. I haven’t been ready to tell her yet, but I want to, now I’ve found you.’

  Sam nods but says nothing.

  ‘So, what about you? Do you have anyone? Do you work?’ The questions sound stilted but she wants him to tell her all about himself.

  Sam shakes his head. ‘No. It’s just me. And Mum and Gran, of course.’ He smiles weakly. ‘I’ve never moved out and – well, girlfriends don’t tend to like it when you live with your mum.’ His smile is sad now and he presses his hands together, his knuckles white. ‘I work at the petrol station down the road. Keeps me out of trouble.’ He takes a deep breath.

  ‘It’s been tough, though, to be honest. Mum – well, Mum never got over losing her baby. Losing you.’ He glances at Kimberley. Her lips are pulled into a tight line as though she’s trying to hold in all her emotions, to stop them spilling out all over the table. But the pain is visible in her eyes and Georgie feels her heart contract. She can’t believe her mum – Jan – inflicted so much damage on someone and yet seems to have shown so little remorse. She can hardly get her head round it.

  ‘Mum won’t mind me saying this but she’s been depressed a lot. She – it’s been just me and Gran, a lot of the time.’ He reaches out his hand and wraps it round Kimberley’s small fist. ‘I know Mum loves me, but it’s been like a little piece of her heart went missing that day, and she never found it again. Life has always had a shadow over it. And this – ’ he gestures at Georgie – ‘you coming here and, well, just being, has kind of thrown us.’ He rubs his hand over his face and breathes out heavily. ‘Who am I kidding? It’s blown our family apart a little bit, to be honest.’

  ‘God, I’m so sorry. I never wanted—’

  ‘It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. But it’s not ours either, and our family has been the one that’s suffered.’ He stops, glances at the wall. ‘I never knew my dad either – he buggered off before I was born – but, well, half the time I didn’t have my mum either, because of everything. Because of what your mum did. And that’s hard to get over. I don’t think we ever will.’

  Georgie nods slowly. ‘I’m trying to understand what you’ve been through. I’ve felt lost, broken, really, since I found this out. It’s only been just over a week and yet I feel as though I’ve lived a lifetime since then. I’ve tried to talk to Mum about it, but – well, I haven’t got much from her yet.’

  Kimberley’s head snaps up. ‘Why not? I think she’s got quite a lot she needs to explain.’ Her voice is harder than Georgie’s heard it until now and she wonders what lies beneath the quiet, expressionless exterior. Anger, heartache and – what else? Mental illness, she suspects. Georgie takes a deep breath. ‘It’s complicated. Mum – she’s not well. Over the last few weeks, no, months, really, she’s been getting confused a lot, forgetting things, getting angry over nothing. We’re waiting for an official diagnosis but it’s very clearly Alzheimer’s and we’re really worried about her, so I just can’t talk to her about it at the moment. At least, not if I want to get any answers. And apart from any of that, I can’t face her. I don’t know what to say to her. I feel as though my childhood has been stolen from me, and it’s all because of what she did. And worse than any of this, I think I’ve lost my sister too. I think I’ve lost Kate.’ Her voice breaks on these last words and she stops, looks down at the tabletop.

  ‘But I’ve found mine.’ Sam’s voice is gentle and when she looks at him she sees a sad smile. ‘I can’t help being pleased that your mother’s suffering now. We’ve suffered for so long – my childhood was stolen from me before it even began because of what happened.’ He shrugs. ‘Sorry if that sounds harsh.’

  ‘No. I understand. I do.’ She fiddles with the strap of her bag and for a few moments it’s the only sound that fills the silence. There’s a clattering upstairs and floorboards creaking, and it’s only then that Georgie realizes Margaret’s not there.

  Sam must see the question in her eyes before she says anything, because he looks at the door. ‘Gran wasn’t sure if she could see you. But – well, she’ll be OK. I think she’ll come round. She’s just – angry, and she couldn’t trust herself to contain it. Not yet.’

  The clock on the cooker glows. It’s not even 7.30, and yet Georgie feels as though she’s been in this kitchen for a lifetime. She’s not sure she can stay much longer, she’s starting to feel a little ill. The walls feel as though they’re closing in, the ceiling is coming down and Georgie’s lungs are shrinking, until there’s no air left in them and she tries to gulp down lungful after lungful but nothing happens. She plants her feet firmly on the floor but it’s no good, the world is tilting and she grips the table and then slips forward and then she’s falling, falling, falling . . .

  Georgie opens her eyes and blinks quickly to block out the harsh strip light immediately above her. She’s lying on her back on some cold tiles, and for a few seconds she has no idea where she is. Then a familiar face drifts into her vision and it all comes rushing back. She feels terror wash over her and she struggles to sit up.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Don’t try and sit up too quickly.’ Sam is crouched next to her and has his hand on her arm. ‘You passed out. You’re all right now.’

  Georgie puts her hand on her forehead. It feels clammy despite the chill in the air. ‘God, that’s never happened before. I – I couldn’t breathe.’

  ‘You had a panic attack. I have them all the time.’ Kimberley’s on the other side of the room, standing with her back to the worktop. Her voice is blank, robotic, as though she’s reciting the words. Once again Georgie wonders what she’s taken, and how much.

  She pulls herself up to her feet and stands awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen.

  ‘I’m really sorry. I think I just – I think this is all a bit overwhelming.’ She pushes her bag back onto her shoulder and sniffs.

  ‘Maybe we should call it a day, for now,’ Sam shrugs. ‘Maybe we could meet somewhere else next time, somewhere more – neutral. Sorry, I don’t mean to make it sound like a battleground, but you know what I mean.’

  Georgie nods. ‘Yes, I think I should be going. Shall we – are you free tomorrow?’ She looks from Sam to Kimberley expectantly, but Kimberley’s staring out of the window into the featureless black night.

  ‘Sorry about Mum, she’s – well, she took something to steady her nerves, but it always makes her seem a bit vacant. Let’s meet tomorrow.’ He glances at his mother again but she doesn’t respond. ‘I’m sure she’ll come too.’

  ‘OK. Do you – do you want to come to my house?’

  Sam shakes his head. ‘No, I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. Maybe somewhere away from everyone. There’s a restaurant, a little Italian, Mario’s, a mile or so that way.’ He points vaguely out of the window. ‘It’s nothing special, but how about we meet there for lunch? It might be easier to have something to do while we talk.’ He smiles wanly and she smiles back. She loves the way he says what he means. She prefers to know where she stands.

  ‘You’re on.’ She holds her hand out and he takes it awkwardly then turns towards his mother. ‘Mum, Georgie’s going now, do you want to say goodbye?’

  Kimberley turns her head slowly to look at them, and frowns. ‘You’re off already, are you?’

  ‘Yes, sorry. I don’t feel very well. I – I might see you tomorrow?’

  She tilts her head and lifts her shoulders slightly. ‘Yes, maybe. Thanks for coming.’ Her eyes are blank, staring right through Georgie, her words stiff, detached, as though she’s trying to keep a distance to protect herself.

  Georgie’s glad to find herself, a few minutes later, walking down the path and letting herself back into her car. She’d been looking forward to meeting them all properly, to finding out more about her mother, her brother and her grandmother. But she realizes now that it’s not going to be as easy as she’d hoped. She’s walked into a broken family – Sam seems OK, at least on the surface, but Kimberley is a woman on th
e edge, and Margaret is too angry even to look at her. She wonders whether she’s made a mistake after all. Perhaps Kate was right. Perhaps she should have stayed well away.

  But she couldn’t have done. She couldn’t have spent the rest of her life knowing there was a family out there that she belonged to and not even have tried to find them. It would have been like living a lie, a half-life, always wondering, always searching the faces of the people she passes and thinking is that you?

  Before she pulls into the flow of traffic she glances back at the house one more time. Upstairs a curtain is pulled back, and standing there, watching her from one of the bedrooms, is Margaret. She doesn’t flinch when she sees Georgie watching her back and they are still for a moment, frozen, looking at each other like a challenge. Then Georgie tears her eyes away and starts the car and drives off, feeling the older woman’s gaze almost burning a hole in the back of her head.

  She has a feeling Margaret is going to be a tough woman to get to know.

  Georgie arrives at the restaurant early the following day and sits at a table for four, unsure who will be joining her, sipping a cool glass of water. Her eyes are trained on the door and every time it opens she jumps, her heart pounding, until she realizes it’s not them. She’s anxious and on edge and just wants someone to arrive, to get it over with.

  She’s thought a lot about how yesterday went, and she’s determined that today will go better. She wants to find out more about this family, about the kind of people they are, what lies behind the tragedy that hit them all those years ago. And, she’s not ashamed to admit, she wants them to like her too. Especially Sam.

  She almost jumps out of her chair as the bell over the door jangles again and she looks up to see Sam walking towards her, his shoulders hunched. He’s alone, she notes with disappointment. The waiter points him over to her and as he approaches she takes a moment to study him. He’s wearing a beanie and a thick Puffa jacket, and his face is half buried inside the collar of his coat so that she can’t really see his features. But she does see his eyes, and today he looks wary, unsure of himself. He sits down opposite her.