A Wild Affair: A Novel

by Gemma Townley

  “I wanted … I did want you, Jessica. But not in a … It was difficult for me.”

  I stared at her. I didn't want to be so angry but I couldn't help it; rage was coursing through my veins, rage and hurt and defiance and petulance. “Why? Why was it so difficult?”

  She looked at me worriedly. “I had problems,” she whispered. “Jessica, I've never been very good at normal life. Never been very good at organizing things, at doing well at things, at being successful in the way your grandmother wanted me to. She had very fixed ideas about what made a good life, and I'm afraid I failed her every which way.”

  I looked up and caught her eye; I knew all about Grandma's expectations. “She meant well,” I said in her defense, even though I wasn't entirely sure it was true.

  “Perhaps.” My mother shrugged. “The thing was, Jess, I wanted different things. I wanted excitement, glamour, wanted to be someone, you know?”

  I didn't say anything; I just looked at her, waiting for her to continue. She was sitting on the floor at my feet and as she pulled her legs under her she gave me a sad little smile.

  “People used to say I was beautiful,” she continued, pulling a strand of her hair out of her chignon. “I think I probably was. But it can be a poisoned chalice, you know. You're lucky, Jessica. Beauty can be quite a curse.”

  “Thanks,” I said sarcastically.

  She smiled weakly. “Oh, Jess, I didn't mean … You're very attractive, darling. Really you are. I'm so very bad at this. Explaining things. I blame my lack of education. I left school early, you see.”

  “To be someone,” I said, probably more tersely than was necessary, but she didn't seem to notice.

  “I fell in love,” she said sadly, her eyes misting again. “With a man twice my age. He was rich and handsome and promised me the world.”

  “And?” I prodded her.

  She looked back at me. “And it didn't last.” She shrugged. “But he took me to London. London!” Her eyes lit up again. “It was wonderful—the parties, the nightlife, the people. So exciting. So different from the village I grew up in.”

  “You mean the village we grew up in. I lived there, too, remember.”

  My mother nodded vaguely.

  “So why didn't I live in London with you?” I asked.

  She sighed. “You were a … I was young, darling. Young and naïve.”

  I bit my lip. “Okay,” I said tentatively. “And what? I was a mistake? Something you wanted to forget? To dump with Grandma so you could get back to your glamorous London existence?”

  My mother started slightly. “It wasn't like that,” she said.

  “Then what was it like? Tell me.”

  She nodded. “Your father,” she said quietly. “He was the love of my life. Poor as a church mouse, of course, but I loved him anyway. He was a student at the university. I met him at a party—a terrible party, as it happens. But he made it wonderful.”

  She unfolded and refolded her legs gracefully; she reminded me of a dancer. “Anyway, the pregnancy came as a shock to both of us. He wanted to make a go of it but it was impossible—he was broke, the poor thing. Had no prospects at all, just years of study ahead of him. And I …”

  I looked at her insistently. “You?”

  “I had other friends,” she said with a little sigh. “Rich friends. Friends who would look after me.”

  “What sort of friends?”

  She drank the rest of her tea and put her cup down. “I was a party girl,” she said carefully. “Party girls tend to have friends. Men who will bestow their … generosity. Men who, if they understood that something was their responsibility, would … offer their help.”

  It took me a few seconds to work out what she was saying. “You mean you told some rich benefactor I was his baby?”

  My mother smiled tightly. “It worked at first. A very nice gentleman looked after me very well. After us. He put us in a flat, he bought you lovely presents. But it was never quite enough. He meant to be generous, but he didn't understand the pressures.”

  “Diapers are very expensive,” Helen said sagely.

  “Diapers?” My mother turned and looked at her in surprise. “Yes, I suppose they are. But nannies are the real cost. I wasn't ready to give up my life, Jessica. It wasn't fair.”

  “Wasn't fair?” I asked. “To whom?”

  She didn't say anything for a few minutes.

  “So what happened?” Helen prompted her eventually. “What happened then?”

  My mother took a deep breath. “I was forced to borrow money. And I didn't know how to pay it back. I didn't mean to, but he left his cards lying around sometimes, and …”

  “And you stole from him?” I gasped.

  “Borrowed,” she insisted. “Just borrowed. And I thought I'd be able to pay him back.”

  “How?”

  My mother shifted uncomfortably. “I was young. I was frustrated,” she said. “I had nothing to do. Nothing but look after you. And you weren't an easy child. You weren't easy at all.”

  “So?”

  “I started to gamble,” she said. “I was good at it, too. I won a thousand pounds on the horses.”

  I shook my head incredulously. “You stole, sorry borrowed, his money then gambled it?”

  “I wanted to pay him back,” my mother said indignantly. “I wanted to be self-sufficient. Only he found out. And when he did, we had an almighty row, and I didn't mean to tell him, but I was so angry, so upset with him, and … and …”

  “And what?” I asked, my heart thudding.

  “I told him he wasn't your father,” she whispered. “It was a stupid thing to do. He was so terribly angry.”

  “You blame him?” I asked pointedly. “People don't like being lied to. I guess you don't really understand that, do you?”

  My mother shot me a look. “I blame him for making us homeless,” she said tightly. “He sent us packing, without caring where we'd end up. I was desperate. I owed money, lots of it.”

  “I thought you borrowed it all off him? The rich guy.”

  “I borrowed some from him, but it wasn't enough, and I knew that to pay him back I needed more money, to take bigger risks, only it all went wrong for me, darling. I came so close, but … but …”

  “So who did you borrow from?”

  “People,” my mother said awkwardly. “Not very nice people. Which is why I decided to take you to your grandmother's. I knew you'd be safe there.”

  “And then?” I asked, barely trusting myself to speak.

  “The car accident was her idea,” she said simply. “A chance to start again. She said I was dead in her eyes anyway; this way, my debtors wouldn't pursue me anymore and you would have a chance at a normal life.”

  I stared at her, my mouth open. “You faked your own death?”

  She nodded. “I did what I had to do, darling.”

  “And you gave me up? All because of some debts?”

  “Some very large debts,” my mother said defensively. “I didn't have a choice.”

  “Of course you had a choice.” I stood up; I was trembling with rage, with indignation. “You were my mother. Your job was to look after me. And you went gambling, then gave me up so you could start again? What about me? Did you ever stop to think about me? You could have visited. You never even came to see me.”

  “Of course I did,” my mother said, looking up at me imploringly. “I thought about you all the time. But I couldn't come. You might have told someone I was alive. And your grandmother said I shouldn't. Said it would confuse you.”

  “Confuse me. Yeah, that would have been terrible,” I said irritably. “Whereas telling me my mother was dead—that was just dandy.”

  My mother sniffed. “You remind me of her, you know. Your grandmother. She was always so sure about things. But I'm not like you, Jessica. I'm not strong and independent and confident. Not everyone is brave, darling. You're lucky, you really are.”

  “Lucky? You think I'm lucky? I grew up with no mo
ther, with a grandmother who resented me, and with no idea who my father is.” I stopped suddenly. “So I have a father, too? He's alive? Who is he? What's he doing now?”

  My mother looked down at her feet. “I don't know, darling. He left the country. Moved to the States to work as a doctor. For all I know he might be …”

  “Dead? I'm surprised you didn't just tell me he was. Since you think killing people off is better than facing up to things.”

  “You're being cruel, Jessica,” my mother said, tears appearing at her eyes. “I came here to ask for your forgiveness. I hoped you might give it to me.”

  I walked over to the window and looked down at the street below. A mother was walking along, pushing a stroller. She looked happy. Or was I imagining it? Did she feel overburdened, too? Would she dump the child with her mother if she got a chance?

  “So why now?” I asked, turning back to my mother. “Why come and find me now?”

  She bit her lip. “I saw an announcement in the newspaper, an announcement that Jessica Wild was getting married to Max Wainwright. I thought it might be you. I didn't know what to do, didn't know how to come back into your life. So, in the end, I called Max. He's been wonderful, Jessica. Understanding, non-judgmental, supportive. You're so very lucky to have him, you really are.”

  “Max!” I stared at her for a second. “Oh my God, I have to see Max.”

  “Now?” My mother looked at me in surprise.

  “Yes, now,” I said, feeling a potent mixture of guilt, panic, and need rising up inside me. What had I done? How could I ever have doubted him? I stood up quickly and looked around feeling sick, like I might faint. “Max is very important to me.” I was babbling. “More important than anyone else.”

  “Of course he is,” she said matter-of-factly “And so a fiancé should be. It's important to let men think that they are the center of our worlds.”

  I nodded, turning toward her, taking in her face, her immaculate makeup. I found my eyes traveling to her shiny shoes, her perfect, glossy handbag. She was nothing like me, I realized with a thud. I'd always thought my mother would have been like me, but we had nothing in common at all.

  “He is the center of my world,” I said pointedly.

  “Yes,” my mother said, a hint of sadness in her voice. Then she smiled. “Then why don't I come, too?”

  “Really?” I asked uncertainly. I wanted Max to myself, wanted to have him fill my mind to push out all the wretched thoughts about what I'd done the night before. Or not done. Nearly done. Whatever.

  She walked over to me, grabbed my hand, pressed it to her cheek. “I'm just so happy to have finally found you,” she said. Then she dropped my hand and opened her handbag. “Lipstick,” she said brightly, feeling my gaze on her. “You should try some, Jessica. Men love it when you make an effort. I'm sure Max deserves it.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it again. She was right. Max did deserve it. He deserved so much more than I'd given him lately, but that was all going to change.

  “Come on,” I said, tugging my mother out of the room and leaving Helen who appeared utterly bewildered. “Come on, we have to go home. My home. My home with Max. We have to go now.”

  Chapter 10

  MY MIND WAS RACING as fast as the cab that was driving us through the streets of London—there was too much to take in, too many questions circling. Every so often the image of Hugh Barter would flash into my head and a feeling of nausea would take hold as I realized what I had done, how stupid I'd been. I had never felt more desperate to see Max, never needed to feel his arms around me quite so much.

  And then, suddenly, we were there, and Max was waiting outside the apartment building, his face serious but sweet—his arms outstretched, waving. I'd never gotten out of a car so quickly. Max wasn't prepared for the impact of my racing toward him and nearly keeled over, but somehow he managed to catch his balance. Then he looked down at me, grinning. “So, you met your mother then?”

  He thought that was what the hug was for, I realized. So I nodded.

  “I can't believe you didn't tell me,” I said, still holding on to him.

  “I know, I'm so sorry,” Max breathed. “Esther wanted it to be a surprise. I thought you'd be so pleased. You are, aren't you? You're not angry?”

  “Angry? No!” I assured him. “Just … just a bit shaken up. I thought … I really thought …”

  “She thought you and I were having an affair, Max,” my mother said suddenly, walking up behind me. Her voice was no longer choked and her hair was back in place. She'd fixed it in the cab, amazing me with her dexterity; in the moments I'd been in Max's arms she'd evidently redone her makeup, which was no longer running down her face but perfectly emphasizing her cheekbones and her slanted, inquisitive eyes. “Can you believe it?” She smiled flirtatiously and I felt a surge of irritation flood over me.

  Max grinned. “An affair? Jess, you flatter me.” He winked at my mother, then looked at me earnestly. “But you didn't really, did you? You couldn't really imagine that I'd ever even look at anyone else?”

  “No, of course not!” I shook my head for good measure.

  “Good.” He pulled me closer, kissed my neck. “Because I couldn't live without you, Jess. I adore you. You know that.”

  “Yes, I do,” I said quietly.

  He sighed. And as I pulled away I saw how tired he looked. “I'm sorry for not calling you,” I said. “I … I was a bit confused.”

  “I can imagine,” Max said. He squeezed my shoulder. “You had a lot to take in. But next time, just a text, please? Just something to tell me you're okay?”

  “There won't be a next time,” I said.

  “Sorry, Esther. Just catching up over here,” Max said to my mother. He leaned closer. “You want to go somewhere and talk?”

  I nodded gratefully. “You think she'll mind?”

  Max shook his head. “Esther, I think I'm going to take Jess out for some brunch. She's got quite a lot to take in, wouldn't you say?”

  “What a lovely idea. I'm famished,” my mother said brightly. “How thoughtful, Max. So, where are we going?”

  He faltered slightly. “Oh, right. Oh, you want to …”

  My mother's face fell. “You weren't inviting me, were you? Oh, silly me. Of course. I'm not really in the gang yet, am I? I suppose I have to earn my place, don't I?”

  Max shook his head. “No, Esther. No, I just thought … I mean …” He looked at me helplessly.

  “Of course you're in the gang,” I said quickly, trying to swallow the disappointment rising up my stomach. “We'd love you to come, Mum. Honest we would.”

  “Oh, how wonderful.” My mother smiled, linking arms with the two of us, placing herself firmly in the middle. “We all have so much to catch up on, now don't we?”

  Max didn't even ask me where I'd been. That's how trusting he was. He kept putting his arm around me and squeezing me, and he didn't seem to notice that I couldn't look him in the eye, not properly. We went to Browns for brunch, an old school restaurant with dark wood tables and paneling on the walls, and I wasn't sure I was going to be able to eat anything, but my mother and Max seemed so enthusiastic about the idea that I didn't want to mention that. So I ordered poached eggs on an English muffin and a large latte and as the two of them made idle conversation about the terrible weather, I tried to regain my composure, tried to process the last twenty-four hours in my head, tried to calm my beating heart and racing mind.

  The wedding was back on. I had to tell Giles pronto.

  Max still loved me. There was no affair, no other woman.

  My mother was alive.

  I'd slept with Hugh Barter. Maybe. Probably.

  I was the kind of person who didn't know if she'd slept with someone.

  My mother was a flirt.

  That last thought just wended its way into my head unannounced, but as soon as it did I knew that it was absolutely true. She was flirting with Max right in front of my eyes, and hadn't Ivana seen he
r draped all over him the other night? Mothers didn't do that, not usually, not with their future sons-in-law. And right now, she was flirting with the waiter, putting her hand on his arm completely unnecessarily. If she was so heartbroken to have lost me, why was she smiling at him for all she was worth?

  “You have very white teeth,” I said accusingly. She looked at me strangely, then laughed.

  “I should hope so. They cost me enough in whitening treatments.”

  “Oh,” I said, slightly put out by her honesty. The waiter disappeared and I took a slug of coffee, surreptitiously digging out my phone and sending Giles a text.

  Wedding back on. Not affair. Esther = my mother. Long story. x

  “Coffee's the worst thing for staining teeth,” my mother said. “After tea, of course. And red wine's terrible, too.”

  “So that blows any idea of me having white teeth for the wedding,” Max said, rolling his eyes in mock frustration.

  Your mother???!!! Okay, in brief pls.

  “Who would give up those things for the sake of white teeth?” I asked. My mother smiled, refusing to look uncomfortable, which, I realized, was what I'd wanted her to do.

  “I think it's a small sacrifice.” She shrugged. “People notice teeth.”

  Not dead after all. She ditched me when I was baby. Saw wedding announcement. Max was keeping it as surprise.

  “Do they,” I said flatly. “Do they really.” It wasn't a question, I wasn't looking for an answer.

  “Jess, are you okay?” Max asked concernedly.

  Surprise? Coronary more like :) So is back on? Knew it would be. Your love shines like the sun. Am thinking sunflowers for ceremony. On invitations, too. How is mother? Must be so wonderful. Am welling up. Need handkerchief. x

  “Me? Oh, fine. Absolutely fine.” I smiled brightly. I was fine. I was great. I was … I tapped my foot on the ground, trying to work out the complex mix of emotions that were flooding through me, trying to put my finger on the frustration welling up inside me, the anger. Anger at my mother. Because she wasn't dead, because all that time I'd mourned her and dreamed of her and wished she was alive so she could rescue me and look after me and love me, and now here she was, larger than life, with white bloody teeth and red lipstick and … and … And then I realized what it was I was feeling. I was feeling like a petulant teenager. Years of pent-up frustration were unleashing themselves on her, blaming her for everything from my lack of confidence to the fact that I'd kissed Hugh Barter. It was all her fault. I wanted to stamp my feet and slam doors and shout at her.