A Mother Like You

by Ruby Speechley

  ‘No,’ he said with his mouth full.

  Kate’s jaw tightened. So, she hadn’t been dying to meet her at all. Of course she hadn’t. The malicious messages popped into her head again. She blew harder on the spoon, splaying soup over the edge onto the table. She fixed her eyes on Paul. ‘You still haven’t told me what the money was for.’

  ‘Are you serious? Do you need me to spell it out? Have you contributed anything in twenty years?’

  ‘That’s not quite true though, is it?’

  He frowned.

  ‘My father was paying you a tidy sum every month until he died. That’s why you started coming after me, because his payments stopped.’

  ‘What he gave me was a minuscule amount. He was trying to make up for what you should have been paying. Did you think we were going to survive on fresh air?’

  ‘So there you are, you’ve had your money. Why were you expecting more?’

  ‘I just told you, because it wasn’t enough, especially for what you put us through. It will never be enough for what you did!’ He shoved his plate, crashing it into hers. The couple by the window looked in their direction.

  ‘Oh, you want compensation as well, do you?’ Kate placed her spoon down and wiped her mouth with the serviette. She watched him glug down his third glass of wine. She should end this now and go home, but she was curious to meet her, see how she’d turned out.

  ‘You still need to tell me who else you’ve told. I’m receiving more of these texts.’ She took her phone out and showed him one of the messages. ‘Do you recognise the number?’

  His smile broadened. ‘We’ve been through this. I told you before, I haven’t told anyone. I don’t know that number.’

  ‘There have been different numbers and messages on social media too.’

  ‘All I know is there was only one other person there that night. So you better ask her yourself.’

  She reran the messages in her head. If Paul was telling the truth, then there was no one else it could be.

  The door jangled open and a young couple walked in surrounded by a flurry of snow. The woman’s skin was pale except for pink cheeks and bright red lipstick. She wore a parka and long boots and walked with a stick. The man behind wore a snow jacket and beany hat, his arm round her. The woman pulled her hood down and shook out her long dark hair. She looked straight at Kate.

  ‘Hello, Mother,’ she said.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Kate tried to speak but it felt as though something was stuck in her throat. Only a croaky sound came out. As she stood up, her legs suddenly became weak, her breathing shallow. She cleared her throat.

  ‘Francesca… Frankie.’ She felt the shape of the name in her mouth. This was her daughter talking to her for the first time. She could hardly believe it was really her, standing in front of her. Her head pounded. How could she have left her baby girl and not gone back? She felt sick with shame. Frankie’s gaze fixed on her. Kate could barely meet her eye, but she searched her face for traces of the baby she remembered. The soft hair, just a tuft then, the dark-lashed eyes and face shape were like her own. Paul’s chin and ears. Their daughter had turned into a beautiful young woman and she’d missed out on it all.

  Paul stood up and kissed Frankie on both cheeks, all the time watching Kate.

  ‘Meet your daughter. Twenty years too late.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Kate said, and covered her mouth. Guilt stabbed her hard and threatened to overwhelm her. She’d imagined this moment for so long, dreamt about it many times, but never thought it would happen. She looked from Frankie to Paul and back again, trying to read their thoughts. Francesca. He had chosen her name and she’d loved it straight away. One of the few things they’d agreed on. She should have stayed and faced the consequences of her actions, but she’d been too ill, too cowardly.

  Frankie held out her hand, head tipped, inquisitive.

  Kate took it and with that one touch felt the gravity of everything she’d missed. Shame swept through her like a ghost of herself. She wrapped her arms round her daughter, eyes squeezed shut to block the tears. Frankie stiffened.

  ‘Careful, my back…’ Frankie pulled away, frowning.

  ‘I’m sorry, did I hurt you, are you okay?’ Kate stood back, not knowing what to do.

  ‘It’s an old injury,’ Frankie said.

  Paul asked the waitress for two more wine glasses and ordered another bottle of red.

  ‘This is my fiancé, Matt,’ Frankie said. The tall, smiling man behind her stepped forward and shook Kate’s hand. She was grateful for his friendly face.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Matt. And what do you both do?’

  ‘I’m a plumber. Frankie’s an artist.’ They pulled up chairs next to Paul.

  ‘Oh really? That’s fantastic.’ Kate raised her eyebrows at Paul not mentioning it. He smiled back.

  ‘Do you want to see Frankie’s work in progress?’ Matt pressed a button on his phone.

  ‘I’d love to.’ When she had been expecting Frankie, they’d day-dreamed about her becoming an artist like Paul. But imagining their lives as a family had been the easy part. Living them had been so much harder. How different things could have been if only she’d asked for help. Her behaviour had been shameful. Because of her, this beautiful young woman had grown up without a mother.

  Matt showed her the tall, half-painted canvas set up on an easel in what looked like a living room.

  ‘That’s beautiful, reminds me of The Three Ages of Woman, by Gustav Klimt. It’s incredibly accomplished.’

  The light in Frankie’s eyes glimmered. ‘Do you know Klimt’s work well?’

  ‘He’s one of my favourite artists.’

  ‘Really? Dad never said.’ She elbowed him playfully.

  ‘What a wonderful talent you have,’ Kate said.

  Frankie took a sip of wine. ‘Call it my homage to Klimt. I’m about to work on the older woman just here.’ She pointed to the blank space on the left of the canvas. ‘Did Dad tell you he used to sit with me as a kid? We’d draw together for hours. He says it’s the only way he could get me to concentrate on anything.’ She burst into laughter. ‘Every time I said I couldn’t draw something, he’d draw it first and get me to copy it.’

  ‘She exhibits all over the place now,’ Matt said. ‘She’s even been invited to exhibit in a London gallery next spring.’

  ‘It’s no big deal.’ Frankie blushed.

  ‘Of course it is,’ Matt said. ‘You’re starting to be recognised; your mum should know you’re going to be famous one day.’

  Frankie stopped laughing. Kate looked out of the window, hoping a hole might open up so she could fall through it. The word ‘mum’ rattled round in her head like a bead from a broken necklace she couldn’t quite reach.

  ‘Let’s call everyone by their first names, shall we?’ Frankie said.

  Paul poured Frankie and Matt a glass of wine each then tipped back his last mouthful and refilled his own glass. Kate tried to read the look that passed between him and Frankie.

  ‘Had a nice meal?’ Frankie asked, taking off her coat. She was speaking to Paul, not her.

  ‘Yeah, I think so.’ Paul rubbed his palms together. ‘Do either of you want something to eat?’ He passed Frankie the menu. His leg brushed against Kate’s, bringing back the memory of his hands on her body, his lips over hers. Her head began to swim.

  ‘I’m not hungry, thanks,’ Frankie said, passing the menu to Matt, but he put it straight down on the table.

  Paul took an envelope out of his jacket pocket and pushed it across the table. The flap was unstuck. ‘I brought you these photos, so you can see what a good job I’ve done.’

  The photo he sent her of them both on the beach immediately came to mind. She’d told him she was pregnant just minutes before it was taken.

  She took out the photo on top: Francesca, aged about eighteen months, holding a rag doll under her arm, giving a toothy grin straight into the camera. Peering closer at her daughter’s
face, she touched it with her fingertips and looked up at her now. She couldn’t believe she was sitting opposite her. She struggled to conjure a clear memory of her as a newborn, but she remembered the first time they’d taken her out in the pram, she’d cried all the way and Kate couldn’t work out why. She’d been certain everyone was staring at her, wondering why she was such a bad mother.

  She eased the rest of the photos out of the envelope. They were mostly holiday snaps: catching crabs on Steephill Cove beach; riding on a merry-go-round at The Needles; digging up fossils from muddy sandbanks at Alum Bay. The loss of every moment she’d missed snagged like an old scar. She’d abandoned her own daughter. The shame and guilt of her actions had eaten away at her every day since. For all her own mother’s faults, at least she’d been there for her. She vowed to do everything right for this little one. She secretly touched her bump under the table. Paul had been both parents to Frankie. He’d done everything she should have. Despite his recent behaviour towards her, she had to acknowledge what an incredible job he’d made of it. But his success only showed up her failure all the more.

  ‘Remember when you thought you’d picked up the wrong baby at the hospital?’ Paul’s laugh cracked the silence.

  ‘Only because she wouldn’t stop crying. She’d been so quiet those first few days.’ Every time she’d held Frankie, her baby face would screw up in one of those end-of-the-world cries. Whatever Kate tried to do to calm her made no difference.

  ‘You can’t deny the resemblance,’ Paul said.

  It wasn’t so apparent in the younger pictures. She looked at another, of Francesca aged fourteen, where the likeness to her was a little clearer: the wavy hair loosely plaited framed her bronzed face, holding a floppy hat on her head against a sea breeze. The sunshine had made her half squint, half smile but the pose was casual, comfortable. She wore cut-off jeans and a bikini top with shells draped round her neck, strung together haphazardly on a shoelace. The shadow of the photographer, probably Paul, elongated across the sand dunes beside her.

  ‘Your dad didn’t tell me you’d hurt your back,’ Kate said.

  ‘You mean my accident? No, he wouldn’t; he says people should look beyond appearances.’

  ‘Accident?’ Kate glanced at all their faces waiting for an explanation from one of them. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’ Kate sipped her glass of water.

  Frankie didn’t answer.

  ‘She fell off a horse.’ Matt sat back in his chair. Frankie finished her wine and crossed her arms.

  ‘That’s terrible. When?’

  ‘I was fifteen,’ Frankie said.

  ‘Seven years ago?’

  ‘Two weeks after my birthday. I broke my back.’

  ‘She couldn’t walk at first; they thought she was paralysed,’ Matt said.

  ‘Why didn’t you contact me, Paul?’

  ‘Hang on a minute, he didn’t know where you were.’ Frankie pointed her finger at Kate.

  ‘He knew where my parents lived; in fact, my dad was sending him maintenance payments for you for years.’

  ‘Here we go,’ Paul said, crossing his arms.

  ‘That doesn’t even make sense.’ Frankie scraped back her chair as if she was about to leave.

  ‘Why doesn’t it?’

  ‘He told me he never got a penny out of you.’

  ‘Well I gave him fifteen thousand pounds not so long ago.’

  ‘Gave it voluntarily, did you?’ Paul said.

  ‘Didn’t he tell you that either?’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’ Frankie’s frown morphed into a smile. She put her arms round her dad and gazed into his eyes as she spoke. ‘But he gave the money to us for our wedding next year.’ She kissed his cheek and he hugged her back.

  ‘Congratulations, I’m really pleased for you both.’ Kate thought for a moment. ‘Things ended badly with your dad and me.’

  ‘Wow, you don’t say.’ Paul laughed.

  ‘But I’m glad things are working out for you.’

  Frankie nodded and slipped her hand into Matt’s.

  ‘There’s something I need to check. Could I see your mobile number, please?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ Frankie switched her phone on and turned the screen round for her to see. The number ended with three twos, not any of the ones that had sent her messages.

  ‘Is this the only mobile you use?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve only got one. Don’t most people?’ She turned to Matt who nodded.

  ‘She thinks you’ve been sending her cranky messages.’ Paul grinned.

  ‘Thanks, Paul. Subtle as always.’

  ‘You thought that?’ Frankie wrinkled her nose.

  ‘No, not really, it could be anyone.’

  ‘It’s not me.’ Frankie tucked her phone in her pocket.

  Kate had hoped to take her number so they could keep in touch. She showed her one of the messages: ‘I WISH YOU WERE DEAD’.

  ‘Have you been to the police?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘They’re coming from different numbers, so I’m guessing it’s a pay-as-you-go phone, so hard to trace. Could we possibly exchange ours? I’d really like to stay in touch with you, if you’ll let me?’

  ‘Yeah, why not?’ Frankie took her phone back out again.

  ‘How’s your mother by the way?’ Paul leaned back in his chair, glass in hand.

  ‘She’s still very ill, especially after your little visit.’ Kate tried to work out what was coming next; the three of them sat in front of her, watching her every move.

  ‘I’m talking about the woman who couldn’t wait to see the back of me,’ Paul told Frankie. ‘Your dear grandmother thought I wasn’t good enough for her beloved daughter.’

  Kate glowered at him. ‘She had her reasons.’

  ‘Now come on, Katie, are you telling me you didn’t want to get as far away from her as possible?’

  Kate clenched her teeth. ‘He turned up at her house unannounced and scared the life out of a seventy-nine-year-old woman.’

  ‘Seriously, Dad?’ Frankie seemed genuinely shocked.

  ‘They could barely stand the sight of each other.’ Paul crossed his arms.

  ‘That’s not true!’

  ‘You told me she was a cold… now what was it?’

  Kate scraped back her chair.

  ‘Da-ad.’ Frankie pulled at his arm.

  ‘And now all we need to know is why you didn’t contact us before now.’ He pushed his empty glass onto the table, almost knocking it over.

  ‘Desserts anyone?’ asked the waitress in a bold voice as she cleared away the plates.

  While everyone answered, Kate eyed up her route to the door and the esplanade beyond. If she could squeeze round the waitress, then two tables, she could be out of there. She didn’t appreciate being ambushed.

  ‘So come on, was it convenient not having us around, pretending you didn’t have a daughter?’ Paul looked to Frankie to join in, but she stayed silent.

  ‘Dad, stop,’ Frankie said. Matt laid his hand over hers.

  Kate tried to lock eyes with Paul, but he shifted his gaze away from her.

  ‘That looks good,’ Paul said as the waitress put his dessert on the table.

  ‘I could eat tiramisu every day,’ Frankie said.

  ‘You do, pretty much,’ Matt said under his breath.

  ‘I heard that.’ Frankie laughed and slapped his arm. Matt grinned at her.

  ‘Try not to eat it all,’ Paul said as he went to the bathroom.

  Kate smiled apologetically at the couple by the window. She wondered if she could come up with an excuse for leaving.

  ‘Dad’s been saving his anger up all these years,’ Frankie said.

  ‘I know I should have kept in touch with you, but I honestly thought you’d be better off without me.’

  ‘Why?’ Frankie tilted her head, her big blue eyes already knowing the answer.

  Flakes of snow were blowing round outside. She willed herself not to cry. ‘I’m sorry, I need some air.
I’m so sorry.’ She scrambled past their astonished faces, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  Outside, she took in a deep breath and wiped her face, exhaling into the icy air. All these years she’d managed to lock this part of her life away in a heavy box out of reach, tethered to the bottom of her heart. She pictured Frankie curled up in the plastic cot next to her hospital bed. She’d tried to feel the joy that everyone told her to expect, but instead she’d felt bruised and in pain after almost two days in labour and all she’d wanted was to forget everything and sleep. Days then weeks later she’d still felt nothing for the little mite, no rush of motherly love, only impatience when she cried and cried and wouldn’t stop. Then the despicable, unforgivable way she’d lost her temper with an innocent baby. The fear and dread of the damage she might have done.

  She ran her fingertips across her bump. Would she be able to bond with her baby this time and feel like a proper mum, or was she going to make the same mistake?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ‘Blimey, who’s left the door open?’ Paul stood in the restaurant doorway.

  Kate hurried away from him, across the road, and sat on the edge of a bench facing out to the choppy grey sea. Now they’d met, she wanted to stay in touch with Frankie by email and telephone. For now, it would be best all round if she went home.

  ‘So, what are you really here for?’ Paul said behind her, taking her by surprise. ‘To pay off your debt or see your daughter?’

  ‘How did I know she was going to turn up?’

  ‘Very funny. I told you yesterday she’d be here.’

  She ran a finger along the thin layer of snow on the seat. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about her accident?’ She shivered and pulled her coat collar up.

  For a few seconds he didn’t answer. Without looking at him she knew every muscle in his face was pulled tight.

  ‘You didn’t deserve to know.’

  Kate caught a glimpse of him rolling up his shirt sleeves as if they were about to slug out their differences.

  ‘How can you say that? How could you keep something like that from me?’ She swivelled round to face him.