‘Hattie, why didn’t you tell me?’ Mum says, and I can tell she’s trying not to cry. ‘All the time you’ve been unconscious I’ve been sitting here watching you and I’ve been going over and over it. Why did she not tell me? Am I such a bad mother that my own daughter can’t turn to me when she needs me? Is she scared of me? Please tell me you’re not scared of me, Hattie. Did you think I’d be angry?’
‘No—’ I try to interrupt, but she’s on a roll.
‘You’re my baby, Hattie. I can’t bear that you felt you couldn’t share this with me.’
She’s crying now, properly. And seeing her tears makes me cry too.
‘I thought you might not wake up,’ she says. ‘When we got the phone call to say you’d had an accident. And then when we got here and you just looked so pale and lifeless and . . . small. And Carl had told me on the way up, he’d told me you were pregnant. He’d found the tests you’d hidden under the bed. And I thought I might never be able to tell you how much I love you and that I’ll always be there for you and—’
‘Mum,’ I say. ‘Shut up a minute, will you? I know all that. I didn’t feel scared of you. I felt . . . stupid. I felt embarrassed. I was sort of in denial about it.’
‘You told Gloria,’ she says.
‘I didn’t mean to. I was angry. I only said it to shut her up.’
‘Yes, well that I can quite believe. We’ve been getting to know each other this week.’
I smile. ‘How’s that been going?’
Mum rolls her eyes but in a funny way rather than a genuinely annoyed way. I’m relieved. I can tell she likes Gloria. I don’t know why it matters, but it does. ‘Carl’s good with her,’ Mum says. ‘You know he’s got a bit of a way with the older ladies. And she likes me as long as I keep her supplied with large gin and tonics. She’s been worried about you.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘At the pub across the road with Alice.’
I laugh, which makes my head and chest hurt. ‘Jesus,’ I say. ‘What could possibly go wrong? I hope you’ve got all emergency services on standby.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Mum says. ‘We’ve got to know the landlady rather well over the last few days. She’ll keep an eye on them.’
‘I hope she’s got good insurance cover.’
‘Where’s Ollie?’
‘He’s here. With Kat.’
‘Kat’s here?’
‘Yes. I called her when we were driving up to let her know what’d happened. She came straight away. She’ll be so relieved.’
I feel a flood of happiness.
‘You told her too. About being pregnant.’
‘She’s my friend.’
‘I’m your mum.’
‘Exactly! I didn’t want to upset you. Or disappoint you. That’s all. I didn’t want you to be worried. I would have told you. I just needed to get my head round it.’
‘Oh, Hattie. I’m not disappointed in you,’ she says. ‘Although, you know. Contraception?’
‘I know, Mum.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’ She sighs and takes my hand. ‘I just wish you didn’t have to deal with this.’
I lie back.
‘Do you know what you’re going to do?’ she says, and I can tell from the way she says it that she’s scared to ask, scared of the answer I’ll give. I don’t know whether it’s because she knows the answer she hopes I’ll give, and she’s worried it’s not the one I’m going to give her. Or maybe it’s just because of what Gloria said: that there’s no choice that won’t be hard, that won’t hurt, that I won’t regret.
I pause. ‘I think so.’
She stops and looks at me, pushes the hair back from my face.
‘I had an abortion, you know,’ she says quietly.
I stare at her. ‘When?’
‘When the twins were about a year old. Things weren’t good between me and your dad at the time. We tried, but I think we both knew the marriage wasn’t going to last. I could barely cope with the twins as it was.’
I think about how it must have been for Mum.
‘I knew an abortion was the right thing. I’ve never felt guilty about it.’
‘Why did things go wrong with you and Dad?’
She sighs and smooths the bed sheet. ‘Lots of reasons,’ she says. ‘We should never have got married. He didn’t want a domestic life. I thought we were in love, but really I think I found your dad exciting and a bit dangerous. Now I’ve got Carl I know what love is.’
I look at her doubtfully and she laughs.
‘I know you think Carl’s a bit dim and superficial.’
‘No!’ I say. She looks at me, eyebrows raised. ‘Well, not exactly,’ I concede. ‘Dim and superficial. That’s a bit harsh.’
‘You think he’s all about six-packs and biceps and stuff that you don’t think is important. But he’s not shallow. It’s not all vanity. You know, the reason all the old ladies want him to do their personal training sessions is because he listens to them, he takes them seriously, he treats them with respect. He wants them to feel good about themselves. He understands people.’
I think of the times Carl has somehow managed to know what I’m feeling without me telling him. Why have I never given him credit for that? I always found it irritating more than anything, but why?
‘I suppose it’s just he’s so different from Dad and I kind of . . .’
I can’t think of the right way to explain it. My head is throbbing and my mouth is dry. Everything feels like an effort.
‘You resent him for that?’
‘No! I don’t resent Carl,’ I say. But as I say it I’m suddenly not sure. ‘I suppose I just always felt like maybe he wasn’t really good enough for you.’
‘Or good enough to take your dad’s place?’
I think about it. ‘Maybe.’ I’d never thought of it like that but maybe Carl had always suffered because I’d inevitably compared him with Dad. Not even with Dad, really, but with the dashing, heroic father I’d created by filling in the gaps left by his absence, even before he died, with what I wanted to be true. Not very fair, comparing someone with a fairy tale.
‘There are different ways of being brave, Hattie,’ Mum says, taking my hand. ‘Putting yourself in physical danger isn’t the only way.’
‘I know that, Mum,’ I say. ‘I’m not a little kid.’
‘Don’t be annoyed,’ she says, soothing. ‘I wasn’t having a dig at your dad. He was brave. He really was. Put him in front of a man with a gun or stand him in a marketplace where a bomb’s just gone off and he was fearless. But you know there was stuff he couldn’t face too. Boredom. The claustrophobia of family, responsibility. Of love even. Being needed. That stuff scared him.’
I think about what she’s saying. ‘Do you mean he didn’t love us?’
‘No,’ she says. ‘Not at all. he did. Very much. I’m just saying that facing up to the realities of life, accepting the truth about yourself and other people, accepting responsibility, that’s hard. It’s brave in a different way. And on that score, no one will ever beat Carl, Hattie. He loves me. And you. He’s been beside himself while you’ve been in here.’
‘So why did you call the wedding off?’
She looks away.
‘I got married before, Hattie, and it was a mistake.’
‘But he really loves you.’
‘And I really love him. That’s not what this is about.’
‘What is it about then?’
‘Love and marriage aren’t the same thing.’
‘So you’re scared it’ll go wrong like last time?’
‘It’s not as simple as that. It’s not just me who’ll get hurt if it doesn’t work out. It’s Carl too. I just don’t see why we can’t carry on like we are. What I feel for Carl – it’s not about a big dress and flowers and themed tables and co-ordinating wedding favours, whatever they are. I never did listen properly while he was trying to explain it to me. I never wanted the big showy thing with the ice sculptures and
the bubbles and the bloody doves—’
‘Doves?’
She sighs. ‘Don’t ask.’
‘Okay. Well, I get that. I wasn’t wild about the whole peach-bridesmaid thing as you know—’
‘Exactly! I thought you’d be with me on this one.’
‘But just because you don’t want all that doesn’t mean you can’t get married, does it? If you said to Carl that you wanted to make it a quiet thing he might be a bit disappointed but he wouldn’t really care as long as he got to marry you. You know he would. I reckon you’re just using that as an excuse. I think you’re just scared.’
‘Maybe I am!’ Mum says, her voice louder. ‘And maybe I’m allowed to be. That’s exactly what I’m trying to say to you, love, about your decision.’
‘Don’t try to change the subject—’
‘I’m not! This is exactly what I mean. It’s okay to say “I’m not ready and I don’t want to make a choice that will hurt me and risk hurting another person” – a person who doesn’t even exist yet – and I mean really hurting them, Hattie, because nothing could be more hurtful than growing up feeling resented, unwanted. Imagine how that would feel.’
I think of Reuben, and how growing up unloved has made him feel. I think of it clearly and dispassionately, not as an excuse but as a fact.
‘You can be brave by saying I can’t do that, saying I’m not going to attempt something that’s impossible for me, something that I will regret or resent. Facing up to that reality . . . I think that would be an incredibly brave thing to do. If you knew deep down it was the right choice.’
I look her in the eye. ‘But you don’t know what you’ll feel later.’ I think again of Gloria’s words: You can’t be scared of regret. ‘And don’t you think it’s also brave to trust other people to know what’s right for them. Even if you hate the choice they’re making? Even if you think it’s a terrible mistake?’
As I say this, I wonder if I’m being hypocritical. When Gloria had suggested she wanted to end her life I’d argued with her. If she made the choice that her life wasn’t worth living, that death at the time and in the manner of her choosing was what she wanted, would I try to stop her, save her? I’d want to. But what right do I have really, to make that decision for her? It’s her life.
I feel exhausted suddenly, overwhelmed. My body hurts and my head aches so much it feels as though it’s bursting. I want to sleep again, to switch everything off for a while. Hot tears trickle down my cheeks. I feel exactly like the little kid I’ve just told Mum I’m not.
‘I know what I want to do, Mum, I just don’t know if I can. I’m not brave.’
She takes my hand.
‘Oh, love,’ she says. ‘Inside nobody is.’
I must have been sleeping, because when I open my eyes Kat’s sitting there on the seat next to me engrossed in a book, her long blue-streaked hair falling over her face.
‘Hello, stranger,’ I croak. ‘I like the new hair.’
‘Oh my God, Hattie! You’re awake!’ She gives me a careful hug, making sure not to hurt me or pull out any of my wires. ‘I came as soon as your mum called and said—’ her voice wobbles—‘you’d had an accident. You scared the life out of us.’
‘Sorry about that. I can’t believe you came all the way from Edinburgh,’ I say, unable to stop smiling. ‘It feels like years. It’s so good to see you.’
‘Of course I came,’ she says.
‘What about Zoe?’ I bet she wasn’t best pleased. Probably thought I’d engineered the whole thing just to get Kat’s attention. ‘Did she come too?’
Kat shakes her head and her forehead creases. ‘She went mad. Said if I came to see you it was over between me and her.’ She smiles. ‘I told her if she was making me choose between her and my best friend there was no contest.’
‘Oh, Kat,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ she says. ‘I really liked her and at first it was kind of flattering that she was so jealous and wanted me all to herself.’
I nod, just a little bit because my head is still sore. I don’t think anyone’s ever wanted me all to themselves. I can see the appeal of it.
‘But the longer it went on the more I knew it wasn’t right,’ Kat says. ‘Zoe was so controlling. I started to act like someone else when I was with her. I didn’t feel like I could be myself. If I went anywhere without her she’d give me the third degree afterwards or sulk. If I spoke to anyone else for more than two minutes when we were out she’d start yelling at me afterwards. She started going through my messages on my phone. It was horrible.’
‘God, Kat, that’s awful. You should have said.’
‘The thing is, it happened gradually. I didn’t even realize, and she made it feel as though it was my fault, like I was being unreasonable. Anyway, alarm bells really started ringing when I found out she’d been checking my voicemail and texts but I figured you had enough going on what with crazy great-aunts and pregnancy and all. And then just when I was thinking I’d have to tell you, you had the accident. After those weeks in the flat with her up in Edinburgh I started to feel as though I was forgetting how to be myself. I know that sounds stupid.’
‘It doesn’t sound stupid at all.’
She shudders. ‘It wasn’t a nice feeling.’
‘Well, it’s her loss,’ I say.
I give her hand a squeeze. ‘Why is it so easy to know that someone else has fallen in love with a dangerous lunatic and so hard to tell when it’s you?’
‘Yeah,’ she laughs. ‘We haven’t exactly got the best track record, have we?’
‘No.’
We’re silent for a moment. The beep of the monitor thingy I’m attached to sounds loud.
‘Reuben’s gone then?’ she says quietly.
‘Yep.’ I look at my hands. ‘I knew he would, once I told him.’
‘He’s such a selfish—’
‘Yeah.’
‘Are you going to keep the baby?’ Kat says.
‘I think so,’ I say. ‘Yes.’
Even saying it makes me scared. Can I really do it? I don’t know. I’m going to try.
‘Blimey,’ Kat says. ‘Do you think I can be Aunty Kat?’
‘Fine by me,’ I say. ‘But you’d probably better run it past Alice.’
‘Jesus.’ Kat laughs. ‘Can you imagine Alice being your aunt?’
I smile. ‘Have you met Gloria yet?’ I ask.
‘Oh, yeah. We’re old mates now. Got to know each other while you’ve been in here.’
Weird to think of everyone carrying on while I’ve just been lying here unconscious.
‘Is she okay?’ I feel guilty about leaving Gloria, just driving off like that. And now I’ve ruined the end of our journey. I might never even find out what it was she wanted to come here for. I’m determined to make sure we go up to the abbey before we leave, just like she planned. Will she tell me the end of the story? I guess that’s up to her.
‘I think so. Worried about you. Keeps calling me Beryl. Fancies Carl. Other than that all fine.’
‘She was . . . upset last time I saw her. And then I left and told Reuben to look after her. And then the next thing I had the accident.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘Carl’s been looking after her. She’s very keen on him. Why was she upset?’
‘Long story,’ I say. ‘It’s to do with what happened to her in the past, all the stuff she’d been telling me on the journey.’
There are so many steps up to the abbey I wonder whether I’m going to make it to the top, let alone Gloria. I’m still weak from my stay in hospital. We take it slow, stopping often. But we will make it to the top, because this is why we came. This is the end of the journey.
When we get to the top I follow Gloria through the graveyard to the edge of the cliff and we stare out over the sea. When at last we’ve caught our breath I turn to Gloria.
‘So,’ I say. ‘Why here? Why is this end of the story?’
She pauses, looking into the d
istance.
‘I came here, back then. With the baby.’
‘With the baby? When?’
‘It was his first birthday.’
‘But I thought they wouldn’t let you see him? I thought once he was adopted that was it?’
‘I tricked them.’
‘But why here?’
‘This was where Edie lived. I knew her address from the letter she’d sent me after she left. I took the baby and then I panicked. I had nowhere to go. Edie was the only person I could think of who would understand. So I came here.’
* * *
It’s so clear, still. Edie’s face as she sees me standing on her doorstep, clutching the baby. He’s screaming; he’s hungry and he wants his mum. His mum is not me.
Her face lights up on seeing me, but I see her look at the baby and the smile disappear. She hugs me tight.
‘Oh, Gloria,’ she says. ‘What have you done?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Come in,’ she says. ‘You look perished. Let me take the little one and you get warm by the fire.’
‘His mum will be worrying about him,’ Edie says. ‘You know she will. It’ll be breaking her heart. You’ve got to let her know where he is, Gloria.’
I know she is right. I let her make the phone call. But I cannot sleep that night, and when it starts to get light I know what I must do.
I step into the long grass and yellow flowering weeds and thistles that grow wild on the other side at the cliff edge, the baby clutched to me, warm, heavy with sleep. I’m breathless, and my heart is beating hard against him from the exertion of climbing the steps. Strange to think that it’s the same heart that beat for him, that kept him alive, that he knew from all those months hidden away inside me, under the elasticated school skirt, beneath the duffel coat. Do I feel familiar to him? Do I smell right to him? Animals know their families by their scent. Perhaps it is the same for babies.
Perhaps it is the same for mothers.
There is something – I cannot describe it – a physical feeling that I have when I see him, when I hold him. Is it love? It can’t be. I can’t love him. I know I never can.
I want to. I should.
How Not to Disappear Page 30