A Mother Like You

by Ruby Speechley

  Back at home, Kate hung her coat in the hallway. This time James followed her, hanging his in its usual place next to it.

  ‘Do you think Mum will recover?’ she said, in the dimness of the hall.

  ‘I really hope so.’

  Without another word, they moved into each other’s arms. She listened to his heart beating and imagined the baby’s heartbeat too. He kissed the tip of her nose and she squirmed leisurely in his arms.

  He smiled and planted a kiss on her lips.

  ‘Let’s have a drink.’

  ‘There’s that bottle of white still in the fridge,’ she said, eyes darting round for any sign of Paul’s visit.

  ‘Will you have a drop?’ He took out a glass and hesitated at taking down a second.

  ‘I’ll have sparkling water, thanks.’ She took both bottles out of the fridge. James pulled out the cork.

  ‘Susie came to see me,’ she said.

  James gulped down a mouthful of wine and followed her into the living room with the bottle.

  ‘She told me she would call in,’ he said.

  ‘Did you ask her to?’ Kate sat on the sofa and put her feet up on the beanbag. James sat next to her.

  ‘Only if she was passing; I needed my badminton kit.’

  ‘She thinks you walked out on me.’

  ‘You know that’s just Susie being dramatic.’

  ‘Well it felt like it,’ she said, cradling her glass. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘If it makes you feel any better, neither could I.’ He finished his wine and refilled the glass. He wasn’t giving much away.

  ‘Are you going back to the cat tonight?’ Kate stared at the bubbles in her drink.

  ‘Not with Elizabeth still so ill; it’s been a shock for you.’

  ‘So you’re going to leave me again when she’s better?’ She put her glass on the coffee table and switched on the CD player. A classical compilation thundered out of the surround sound speakers. Her fingers lingered on the volume dial.

  ‘I think we can work this out.’ His words were followed by the rolling drums.

  ‘I’m not having an abortion, James.’

  He seemed to be waiting for the wave of music to fall back to the sound of plucking strings. ‘You’ve made that very clear,’ he said.

  ‘And?’ She touched her bump.

  His eyes fixed on her hand there. He swallowed before he spoke. ‘I’ve thought of nothing else. I respect your decision, despite our agreement.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But nothing, Kate.’

  ‘So what do you mean you respect my decision?’

  ‘Susie told me it’s time I grew up.’ He stood over her.

  ‘Yes, she said.’

  ‘And Harry told me I’m a bloody idiot.’ He bounced his palm off his head to demonstrate. ‘He told me I’d regret it forever if I didn’t stand by you.’

  ‘Harry’s a good man.’ She pressed her fingers to her lips to hide her growing smile.

  ‘He told me he’d kick me into next week if I didn’t.’

  ‘Does this mean…?’

  James sank to his knees. ‘It means…’ he took her hand in his, ‘that I can’t live without you, Kate.’

  She blinked, her eyes filling with tears.

  ‘Whatever you throw at me.’ He smiled.

  Kate laughed and wiped away a tear. ‘Are you back for good?’

  ‘If you’ll have me?’

  She cupped his face and kissed him.

  ‘And I know you don’t want to hear this,’ he continued, ‘but this whole pregnancy thing has made me think about the baby that might have been with Susie: how old it would be now; if it would look like me, be like me. I’ve tried not to think about it over the years, but this has made me face it and… well… what we did makes me incredibly sad.’

  Kate ripped up the tissue in her lap. Now would be the perfect time to be honest with him about her past. If she told him everything, it would take away Paul’s power over her before he had the chance to expose her or bleed her dry. But she couldn’t risk losing James now he’d finally accepted they were having this baby.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  On Monday, Kate arrived home from work before James. She’d bought a quick dinner of fresh pasta, sun-dried tomato sauce and a salad from the village shop.

  Upstairs, she lay on the bed and stroked her tiny bump. Eleven weeks, two days. The last scan photo lived on her dressing table, so it was always in view. Their little baby. Almost the size of a plum. It was still so hard to take in that she was pregnant, especially when she’d spent most of her life being so against the idea. So far though, she was enjoying the thought of parenthood and was determined to do everything she could to be the best mother possible. But she couldn’t ignore the tiniest niggle in the back of her mind. What if she woke up one day at nine months pregnant and changed her mind? Or worse still, after it was born? All these years she’d told James she wasn’t cut out for it because she was focused on doing well in her career. So was she kidding herself and him that she could see it through?

  She sat up and took her dad’s bank statement out of her handbag and Paul’s letter from the bedside drawer. Right now she needed to eliminate a different kind of niggling doubt. She placed both pieces of paper side by side: Paul’s account number scribbled on the back of the note next to the typed list of income and outgoings. That couldn’t be right. She followed each number with her finger and checked it again. How was this possible? Paul’s account number matched the one on her dad’s statement. Her dad had been paying him three hundred and fifty pounds a month – for years according to her mother. Jesus. Paul must have been blackmailing him. Which meant he’d told her dad… everything. A shudder ran through her body. God, what must he have thought of her? He’d probably been glad he wasn’t her real father. She lay back on the bed and ran her hands down her face. Her poor dad had been paying for her mistakes. No wonder he hadn’t told Mum. She had to thank him for that. The torture he must have gone through keeping it to himself. How would she explain any of this to her mother?

  The crunch of tyres on the drive made her sit up. She glanced at the clock. It was already half past six. Out of the window she could see the corner of James’s silver Mercedes as it pulled onto the drive. She tidied the papers away. The front door opened as she reached the last stair. She clung to the bannister a little out of breath.

  ‘Are you okay?’ He pecked her on the cheek.

  ‘I completely lost track of time. I need to get dinner on. We have to be out of here in half an hour, otherwise we’ll miss visiting time.’

  James followed her into the kitchen. ‘Why don’t we call in at the drive-thru takeaway?’

  ‘Are you sure?’ She held a pan in her hand, poised under the cold-water tap.

  ‘Yeah, come on, let’s go.’

  * * *

  Elizabeth had been moved to a ward on a different floor. When they found her, she was sitting up in bed. She welcomed them with a weak smile.

  ‘How are you doing, Mum?’ Kate asked and indicated to James to pull up a second chair.

  ‘I brought you some things,’ Kate said. James lifted the case onto his knees. Kate took out the paperback and magazine and put them on the table that stretched across the bed. ‘There’s underwear, nighties and a cardigan.’ She tucked the toiletries bag away in the bedside cupboard. ‘There’s a dress in here too, for when you come home.’

  ‘Goodness knows when that will be,’ Elizabeth said. ‘It’s enough to make you ill all the tests they put you through.’

  ‘They say you have pneumonia, Mum, brought on by a mild heart attack. You’ll have to take it slowly.’ Kate sat down.

  ‘You were in quite a bad way,’ James said.

  ‘You kept telling me a nurse was trying to drown you.’

  Elizabeth reclined onto her pillows and gazed at the ceiling.

  Kate glanced at James who shrugged one shoulder. They all sat without speaking for several minutes.

>   A tea trolley rattled onto the ward. A man in a plastic apron and gloves offered tea to the patient in the bed nearest the door. He dropped two cubes of sugar into the cup, making the liquid splash into the saucer. He stirred it, dropped in a straw and placed it on the table next to the woman’s bed.

  Elizabeth continued to stare at the ceiling. James flicked through The Lady magazine.

  ‘Do you know what it was about?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Hmm?’ Her mother closed her eyes.

  ‘You thinking some nurse might be trying to drown you?’

  Elizabeth crossed one hand over the other on her chest.

  ‘Don’t you remember?’

  James glanced up from the magazine. Elizabeth’s eyes and mouth remained closed.

  ‘Whatever it was,’ Kate hesitated, ‘you’re going to get better now.’

  The trolley pulled up at the end of the bed.

  ‘Can I get you a tea, coffee or hot chocolate?’ the orderly asked with an overstretched smile.

  Elizabeth’s eyes opened. She eased herself upright. ‘Hot chocolate, please.’

  He spooned two heaps of brown powder into a cup and poured in boiling water, stirring the grainy-sounding mixture at the same time.

  ‘Anything for my visitors?’ Elizabeth asked as he set the cup down and manoeuvered the table nearer to her.

  ‘Sorry, darling, no can do. There’s a machine near the entrance they can use.’

  ‘Don’t worry about us.’ James put the magazine down.

  ‘How are you two?’ Elizabeth blew a hole in the brown froth.

  ‘We’re fine, Mum.’ Kate smiled and caught James’s eye.

  ‘Pleased to hear it.’

  James smoothed his trousers with his hands.

  ‘This baby needs both of you,’ Elizabeth and Kate exchanged a look, ‘more than you realise.’ Her hands began to shake as she tried to put her cup down. Kate steadied it and helped her rest back on the pillows.

  ‘There’s something I’d like you to bring in for me. A large brown envelope from the strongbox under my bed at home.’

  ‘Where’s the key?’ Kate didn’t want her to know she’d been snooping round for it. She probably wanted to check over her will.

  ‘It’s in the top tier of my jewellery box.’

  ‘I brought your book and reading glasses.’

  Her mother gave a weary nod.

  ‘We’ve tired you out. I think we’d better be off.’

  ‘I’ll bring the car round.’ James said goodbye to Elizabeth and strode towards the exit.

  ‘Is there anything else you need?’

  Elizabeth grabbed Kate’s wrist with a sudden surge of energy, her eyes fixed wide. ‘Paul came to the house,’ she whispered.

  Kate stopped breathing.

  ‘Pushed past me, forced me into a chair, scared me half to death. He still wants money from you.’ Elizabeth squeezed Kate’s hand.

  ‘Did he say what for?’ Kate tried not to sound desperate.

  ‘No, but he said some terrible things about you.’

  ‘What exactly?’ Kate’s heart pounded.

  ‘Tell me it’s not true.’ Elizabeth grasped Kate’s wrist again. ‘I didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t leave. What’s it all about?’

  Kate’s heart stopped. ‘He didn’t tell you?’ She blinked at her mother, trying to appear calm.

  ‘No, but he said Ray knew as well.’

  He could easily have told her everything. This was clearly a warning. She gently removed Elizabeth’s hand, pulled the sheets up and tucked her in.

  ‘Why don’t I know about all this?’

  Kate swallowed hard before she spoke. ‘It’s nothing important. Try not to worry yourself, Mum.’ But she couldn’t bring herself to look in her mother’s eyes. It was impossible to erase what she’d done, but no matter how hard she tried to suppress it, her deepest fear always reared up as a phantom in her mind – was she capable of doing it again?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  After Kate had gone, Elizabeth wondered if she should have asked more questions. What if it was true? Or had Paul been exaggerating when he said Kate could be in trouble with the police for something she’d done?

  But Ray. Paul said Ray knew. Why didn’t you tell me? Paul must be up to his old mischief. Still as cocksure as ever. Ray wouldn’t have kept something from her if it was serious.

  Dinner arrived under a plastic dome. She gave Sheila a little wave. An orange curl was hanging down from her blue hairnet.

  ‘Extra pudding for you, my love,’ Sheila said, waving back with her see-through gloves. No doubt the same sort they used to examine patients’ intimate places.

  Elizabeth tried to pull on her best smile, despite the waft of boiled cabbage and some sort of meat with gravy so thick it wobbled in its own skin.

  Food was the first thing she’d been aware of when she first came round, before she’d even opened her eyes. In an instant, she was back in the sanatorium. Seventy-odd years vanished in a second. The smell, the clatter of plates and shuffling of nurses in their thick stockings and starched uniforms. She used to wonder if the doctor caring for her was her father. His handsome Errol Flynn face with its neat moustache emphasised his kind smile. He’d put a cool, soft hand on her forehead and told her she was making good progress. Once she’d said ‘thank you, Daddy’ instead of ‘thank you, doctor’, by mistake. He’d given her the biggest smile which made his eyes twinkle. He made her want to get better for the first time since they’d told her about Edward.

  * * *

  The meds trolley rattled into the middle of the ward. Her favourite nurse, Josie, brought over a little pot of coloured pills. Elizabeth tried not to stare at her silver scars.

  ‘How are you doing today?’ Josie passed her a glass of water.

  Elizabeth tried to smile as she swallowed a tablet.

  They had these strange little chats together that sprang out of nowhere, when they came straight out with secrets they’d barely told a living soul. Josie had told her about the time she cut her wrists after she gave birth to her stillborn baby. Her mother had found her in the bath and saved her. And Elizabeth had told her all the things she wished she could say to Kate about her own childhood and Kate’s real father.

  ‘Has your daughter been in?’ Josie asked in her sing-song voice.

  Elizabeth nodded and swallowed another tablet.

  ‘You sorted things out with her?’ She picked up the empty pill pot.

  Trouble was, telling Kate the truth could send her packing again. She’d be so ashamed of her. She could see her now, standing there with her arms crossed trying to work out how they could even be related. But wasn’t it better than her finding out after she was dead and gone? And after the last few days, she didn’t honestly know how long she had left.

  ‘Don’t leave it, my darling, remember what we said?’ Josie brushed a tear from Elizabeth’s cheek with the back of her hand. ‘You have nothing to be ashamed of, do you hear me? Just be yourself.’

  Josie was right. Ray had been right too. By trying to protect Kate, she’d pushed her away. But there was also the matter of Kate’s real dad. Should she have told her everything or would it have made things worse? Perhaps it was too late to put everything right.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kate called into her mother’s house on the way to the hospital on Friday. She’d still not worked out what she was going to say if she asked again about Paul. What was he doing turning up at her mother’s house? What if his sudden visit had made her ill? It must have been a shock for her, and then him saying Kate had done something terrible. And what about the money Dad was paying him? How could she tell her the truth about that?

  The angel’s trumpets in the porch were giving off their fragrance. She unlocked the front door, cracking open the silence. All the curtains were closed, leaving the house under a veil of greyness. The faint smell of furniture polish mixed with citrus enveloped her as she opened the living room door. Everything wa
s back in its place, but she missed the smell of fresh flowers and the familiar hum of voices from the kitchen radio.

  As she stood absorbing the silence, memories pushed in on her: arriving home from school for the summer holidays; her dad coming home from work, hanging up his jacket with leather elbow patches, whistling a tune as he untied his laces. And the aroma of warm honey cake wafting from the kitchen. Kate would watch through a crack in the door as her mother beat the mixture, but if she was seen, Elizabeth would shoo her away.

  Kate climbed the stairs. She crossed her mother’s room to the dressing table and searched for the little key. There it was, hidden in the upper tier, under a string of pearls. She knelt by the bed and, reaching under, pulled the black strongbox towards her. Her hand smoothed across the lid. As she turned the key, the lid popped open and a pile of papers slid out onto the carpet. Kate tidied the bundle to one side. She lifted out a wad of fifty-pound notes secured with an elastic band, followed by documents relating to the house and the brown envelope her mother had asked for. Beneath all of these was the silk purse.

  Kate took the tiny object out and stood at the window to examine it. The initials M.L. were embroidered with a delicate feather-like stitch. It must have been red when new but now it had faded to an uneven pink. She took out the disc of yellowing plastic with the number ‘23’ carved in the centre. It was the sort of thing a mudlark might find washed up in low tide along the River Thames.

  Years ago, Kate and her dad had collected stones together on Chesil Beach. On the way back to the car they’d been weighed down with their haul – two plastic bags half full. Her dad bought a machine to tumble them to a high polish using various grades of grit. When they returned from the holiday, Elizabeth accused them of deliberately leaving her out, of Kate keeping her dad all to herself, even though it had been Elizabeth who’d encouraged them to go without her, to give her some peace. Kate had silently withdrawn to her bedroom and had sat on her bed staring at the pebbles. That was when she’d first imagined swallowing them: dropping them in her mouth one by one, and when she shut her eyes, she could almost hear the rattle as they landed in the depths of her stomach.