The Ties That Bind

by Anthea Fraser

  He surveyed the table, made a minor adjustment and went to get changed.

  ‘Sorry about this, hon,’ Freddie Barlow said. ‘Partners not included in the invitation.’

  ‘From what I’ve heard of your family get-togethers,’ Lucy rejoined, ‘I’m probably well out of it!’

  ‘Too right; wish I was!’

  ‘Seriously, though, it can’t be that bad, surely?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ He shrugged into his blazer. ‘It’s just that Gem always sets the cat among the pigeons.’

  ‘What cat and what pigeons?’

  He shrugged. ‘The Mummy-doesn’t-love-me-any-more kind.’

  Lucy raised an eyebrow. ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Oh, this goes way back, but God knows what brought it on. We get on fine when we’re away from home – not that we see that much of each other – but she’s a totally different character when Mum’s around.’

  ‘Just your mother?’

  He nodded, picking up his car keys. ‘Poor old Dad tries to keep the peace, with varying degrees of success.’ He bent and kissed the top of her head. ‘See you later. Be good!’ And he swung out of the flat.

  The conversation was still in his mind during the brief drive to his parents’ home. She was an odd girl, his sister, he reflected, aware that she was highly thought of at the advertising firm where she worked and by her wide circle of friends. The guy she was shacked up with had seemed OK too, on the few occasions Freddie had met him. But put her in the same room as Mum and sparks began to fly. Personally he thought she should see a counsellor and had said as much to his father, but Dad shied away from it. Well, all he could hope was that she’d keep the lid on it today, for Mum’s birthday.

  He glanced at the small package on the seat beside him and smiled to himself. It was a Royal Doulton spaniel that bore an uncanny resemblance to a dog they’d once owned, and he knew Mum would go into raptures over it. As she would over Gemma’s offering, whatever it was. God, he hoped she’d remember to bring something!

  His parents’ house was in a leafy avenue in Shortlands and Freddie felt a tug of nostalgia as he turned into the drive, recalling cycling through these gates on his return from school. There was no sign of Gemma’s Golf.

  Bracing himself, he picked up his offering and got out of the car.

  It was another twenty minutes before Gemma arrived, by which time everyone had begun to wonder privately if she was coming.

  The sound of her car turning into the drive ended the speculation, replacing it with renewed tension. Then the front door opened, they heard her call, ‘Greetings, family!’ and she appeared in the sitting room doorway, her chestnut hair caught up in a ponytail and a slightly challenging smile on her face. To her father and brother’s relief, she was holding a gift-wrapped parcel.

  Jenny went quickly to greet her and Gemma submitted to her kiss before handing over the package. ‘Happy birthday, Mum!’ she said.

  The gift proved to be a toiletry set of soap, shower gel and talc. ‘Oh, how lovely, darling!’ Jenny enthused. ‘Now I can really pamper myself! Thank you so much!’

  ‘And now,’ Ron said, handing round flutes of champagne, ‘it’s time for a toast! To Jenny/Mum!’ He raised his own glass and launched into a somewhat shaky rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, joined, after a moment’s embarrassed hesitation, by his son and daughter.

  Jenny laughed and flushed. ‘Thank you. Now, lunch won’t be for another half hour so let’s go and sit in the garden. It’s a shame to be indoors on a day like this!’

  They dutifully filed through the patio doors and seated themselves on chairs grouped round the old wrought-iron table with a hole in the middle for an umbrella long since rotted and disposed of. This too stirred Freddie’s memories, of tea in the garden – and breakfast, during summers that were warm enough – or of relaxing after long bike rides with boys from school, cans of Coke in their hands.

  And now, he thought with an inward smile, it was champagne he was drinking. Sic transit something or other. He glanced at his sister and followed her gaze down the length of the garden to where the old apple tree still dropped its windfalls, the tree she’d tried to climb after him only to fall and break her wrist. Were hers happy memories? he wondered.

  As though she’d registered his glance, she switched abruptly back to the present, took a sip of her drink, and said with studied casualness, ‘We’ve not seen you since your pilgrimage. How did it go? Were the Tempest girls as beautiful, gifted and charming as ever?’

  It hadn’t taken her long, Freddie thought bitterly during the brief silence. Then Jenny gave an uncertain laugh and Ron said steadily, ‘I don’t know about that, but everyone seemed on good form.’

  Freddie forced himself to say, ‘It was Cassie’s eighteenth, wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right. Rather more formal than usual – godparents and so forth, so Tony and Lynn were there, which was nice for us.’

  Jenny stood up suddenly. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and put the potatoes on.’ And she disappeared through the patio doors.

  Freddie turned accusingly to his sister, noting the secret smile on her lips, but before he could upbraid her Ron continued quickly, ‘It was quite a posh affair, buffet meal and best bib and tucker. Frankly it was quite a relief to escape to our familiar bolthole in Weston and just relax.’

  ‘Did you see those people who are usually there at the same time?’ Freddie asked.

  ‘Sadly not. We were earlier this year, because of Cassie’s birthday.’ He went on to tell them of several outings they’d enjoyed during their holiday, and of the storm that had struck days after the party. ‘It was spectacular, standing at the window and watching it roll in across the sea while the thunder crashed overhead. I’d visions of rain for the rest of the week, but fortunately the sun was back the next day.’

  Jenny appeared at the window to call them in to lunch, and as they made their way to the dining room Freddie hoped that now Gem had shot her bolt they could all relax. And for a while it seemed that might be the case; her barb having had limited effect, she remained largely silent throughout the meal, speaking only when specifically addressed, while the rest of them kept up a somewhat artificial-sounding conversation.

  Jenny had served a side of salmon with béarnaise sauce, new potatoes and a salad.

  ‘It’s delicious, Mum,’ Freddie said appreciatively, ‘but you shouldn’t have had to do all this work on your birthday!’

  ‘That’s what I told her,’ Ron responded. ‘I wanted to take her out for a special meal, but she insisted she’d rather have lunch at home with the family.’

  Dessert was a strawberry pavlova, which Freddie remembered had been a favourite of Gemma’s when they were growing up, but it seemed wiser not to mention it.

  ‘That’s a pretty bracelet, Mum,’ he said instead, as she handed him his plate.

  She smiled, glancing down at it. ‘Yes, isn’t it? My birthday present from Dad.’

  Gemma spoke for the first time in a while. ‘What did Freddie give you?’ she asked, spooning up a mouthful of pavlova.

  ‘A dear little china spaniel,’ Jenny replied. ‘He looks just like Spike!’

  ‘And the Tempests?’

  Her mother looked bewildered. ‘The Tempests don’t give me presents, darling.’

  Gemma raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s a bit off, considering all you do for them.’

  Ron tensed, but before he could speak Jenny said hesitantly, ‘I’m not sure what you mean, dear. I don’t do anything—’

  ‘Oh, Mother, don’t give me that! For a start, how about abandoning your foreign holidays? You used to look forward to them all year till the Tempests left Bromley, when you promptly switched to a B&B in Somerset!’

  ‘Gemma, that’s enough!’ Ron said, but now there was no way of stopping her as years of hurt and imagined slights ignited.

  ‘And don’t try to pretend you go to see Owen and Fleur,’ she stormed, her spoon clattering back on to her plate, �
�because you were never specially friendly with them! It’s those blasted girls, who obviously mean more to you than Freddie and I do! So tell me, what’s so special about them that you can hardly bear to have them out of sight?’

  Jenny’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘Gemma, that’s not fair! You know I love you both! It’s—’

  Gemma shook her head vehemently. ‘That’s just what we don’t know, so why don’t you tell us? Why is it necessary to see the Tempests on every conceivable occasion?’

  Suddenly Jenny flung her napkin on the table, taking them all by surprise. ‘Because Cassie’s my daughter!’ she cried. Then, registering the shock on the faces around her, her trembling hands went to her mouth. She held their gaze for a moment longer before pushing back her chair and running from the room.

  Ron rose slowly to his feet and Freddie tensed. He had never seen his father so angry.

  ‘I think you’d better leave,’ he said, his voice shaking from his effort to control himself.

  Gemma was staring at him, her face suddenly white. ‘Dad …’ she began hesitantly.

  ‘I said leave! Now! I’m going to your mother, and I want you gone by the time I come down.’ His eyes, two brown stones in his white face, moved to Freddie and his tone softened. ‘You too, son. The party’s over. We’ll speak later.’

  And he too left the room. They heard his footsteps going slowly up the stairs.

  ‘Now you really have done it!’ Freddie said heavily.

  ‘But what did she mean, Freddie?’ Gemma whispered, her lips trembling.

  ‘God knows.’ He was equally shaken by his mother’s words. ‘You’d better go,’ he added. ‘I’ll clear the table, and be right behind you.’

  She said falteringly, ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Of course you did!’ he contradicted harshly. ‘You always “mean”.’

  She gave a little half-sob, stumbled to her feet and ran out of the room. A minute later the front door opened and closed, and he was alone with the abandoned birthday table, lovingly set with the ‘best’ china which had been used for special occasions all his life. The pavlova had subsided into a crumpled heap, and remnants of it smeared all four plates.

  Cassie’s my daughter! What the hell?

  Then his eyes widened. Could Cassie have been the ‘dead’ baby, all those years ago?

  Jenny was sitting at her dressing table, tears streaming down her face. Ron put a hand on her shoulder and she met his concerned eyes in the mirror.

  ‘What have I done?’ she whispered.

  ‘“Cat” and “bag” come to mind,’ he said.

  ‘If only we could have told them at the time, but Fleur was so insistent! They must be feeling so hurt!’ She swivelled to look up into his face. ‘What happened after I’d left the room?’

  ‘I told them to leave.’

  ‘Oh, Ron!’

  ‘My one thought was to get to you as quickly as possible.’

  She reached up to lay her hand over his on her shoulder. ‘But how must they be feeling?’

  He gave a deep sigh. ‘Admittedly I didn’t handle it well, but I was so furious with Gemma I could barely speak. This time she really went too far.’

  ‘She still didn’t deserve my outburst. That wasn’t how she should have learned the truth.’

  Downstairs they heard the front door open and close a second time. ‘They’ve gone,’ Ron said heavily. ‘Come down again and I’ll pour us both a drink.’

  She shook her head. ‘We must think of the best way to explain.’

  ‘We can do that with a glass in our hands. I reckon we’re both in need of it.’

  She patted his hand and turned back to the mirror. ‘You go on down,’ she said. ‘I’ll join you in a while, but I need a little time to myself.’ A smile touched her lips briefly and was gone. ‘You could stack the dishwasher!’ she said.

  He frowned. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Really. I’m all right. A cup of tea, perhaps, in half an hour or so?’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  And as she nodded confirmation, he reluctantly left her and returned downstairs.

  How could she have been so brutal? she wondered achingly. Yes, Gemma had withdrawn from her, repulsed all her attempts at affection, but perhaps with reason. It had taken her too long, eighteen years ago, to accept her enforced separation from the baby she had carried, and that interval had done untold damage to her relationship with her other daughter.

  Jenny sighed, her thoughts going back. Incredible to think that if she hadn’t bumped into Lynn Dawson in Bromley High Street that day and they’d gone for a coffee together, her life would have been quite different. And it must surely have been fate that two young mothers and their babies came to sit at the next table, and because she was feeling a bit down, ridiculous tears had come into her eyes. Which of course Lynn had noticed.

  ‘Feeling broody?’ she’d enquired with a smile.

  ‘All the time,’ Jenny replied, ‘but finances don’t allow.’

  ‘Then be thankful for the two you have,’ Lynn said quietly. Lynn, who had no children at all. But she dismissed Jenny’s embarrassed apologies with a shake of her head. ‘It’s all right, I accepted my lot a long time ago, but it’s still raw for you, isn’t it?’

  Jenny nodded. ‘It’s all I ever wanted – to be married with a large family. I never wanted a career – I wasn’t clever or academic.’ She gave a half-laugh. ‘In fact, my colleagues at the office called me Scatty Jenny, maintaining I didn’t have a thought in my head other than make-up and the latest pop group. And they were right.

  ‘Then I met Ron and we married and I couldn’t wait to get pregnant. I just loved those months! It’s such a happy time, full of anticipation. Everyone smiles at you and offers you their seat and there’s this incredible knowledge of a new life growing inside you, the first fluttering movements, then the overwhelming joy when the baby’s born. Looking back, it was the happiest time of my life. And when Freddie was a toddler, Gemma came along and again I was in my element. But when she was two and I was about to ask Ron if we could try for another, his business lost a valuable contract and it became clear we couldn’t afford a third child. I cried myself to sleep for weeks.’

  So the years had passed, but the sense of loss persisted, intensifying when Gemma joined Freddie at school, and though Ron’s business had to a large extent recovered, its future remained uncertain and she’d never felt able to raise the subject.

  She’d glanced at Lynn with a half-laugh. ‘By this stage I’d almost settle for a time-share baby – have all the joy of the pregnancy and its sense of achievement, then hand the baby over so that it didn’t incur any expenses!’

  Lynn had looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You mean that?’

  She was slightly taken aback. ‘It was a joke, but actually I think I do.’

  Lynn topped up both their cups. ‘I have some friends who’ve had all sorts of difficulties starting a family,’ she said slowly. ‘Several courses of IVF and so on, which sadly only resulted in a couple of miscarriages. Eventually they adopted a little girl, and they’d dearly love another baby. But Jessica’s now eighteen months and the process of adoption is getting longer and longer. It could be years before they can give her a little brother or sister.’

  Jenny waited, unsure where this was heading. There was a lengthening silence, filled with coos and gurgles from the next table. Then Lynn looked up and said abruptly, ‘Have you heard of surrogacy?’

  And that was how it had started. She’d rushed home, full of excitement, to discuss the possibility with Ron, who’d taken a great deal of convincing. Lynn then spoke to the couple involved, and eventually, with Lynn and Tony as facilitators, they all met for what proved to be an awkward and embarrassing discussion.

  She and Ron learned that the attempts at IVF had failed due to Fleur’s eggs being few in number and of poor quality, so it was suggested that Jenny’s should be fertilized with Owen’s sperm. And it was at this stage that Fle
ur, who’d so far remained silent, interrupted. ‘I thought a donor was used,’ she’d said, her voice rising.

  The others looked at her in surprise.

  ‘Well, yes, darling,’ Owen said after a pause. ‘And that would be me!’

  She’d looked wildly from one of them to the other. ‘But shouldn’t he be anonymous? Isn’t that how it works?’

  ‘Actually, no,’ Tony said uncomfortably. ‘I thought it as well to check; one of the couple must be the child’s biological parent.’

  Fleur’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Then I’d rather wait for adoption!’ she said.

  Owen leaned forward, taking hold of both her hands. ‘But don’t you see, darling, this would be the best of all worlds! It will be our own biological baby, without laying you open to the danger and heartbreak of more miscarriages.’

  His biological baby, Jenny remembered thinking. Fleur had risen to her feet. ‘I want to go home!’ she said.

  Owen took her arm, giving them an apologetic smile. ‘We’ll be in touch,’ he promised. She’d later learned it had been only after storms of tears and much pleading on his part that Fleur had finally agreed, with the proviso that no hint of surrogacy should ever be revealed and that the baby should be regarded as adopted.

  What was it she’d said to Lynn that morning nineteen years ago, about going through all the joy of the pregnancy and then being able to hand the baby over? How little she’d known! For though she told herself repeatedly that the child she was carrying was not hers, her body refused to believe it and all her latent maternal instincts rose to the surface, only to be remorselessly crushed. She would never forget her first sight of Cassie’s tiny face, her baby-blue eyes staring trustfully up at her, and the bitterness of knowing she’d have to betray her.

  With a sigh, she pulled open the dressing table drawer and began to blot out the trace of tears. Looking back, she accepted that she’d not even tried to come to terms with her position. On the contrary, while not actually stalking Fleur, she’d constantly engineered ‘accidental’ meetings as she wheeled Cassie out in her pram, as well as frequently calling at the house with little gifts for the baby. All in all, it was no wonder that Fleur had always been coolly distant with her, while Jenny had indignantly felt she should be grateful. Would she ever have gone into this, she wondered, had she known the heartache that lay ahead?