The Memory Book

by Rowan Coleman

  I keep saying to Mum: this is the nineties, and a woman doesn’t have to be defined by the man she is with, or the choices she makes. A woman can do things her way. There aren’t any pigeonholes any more: we can do anything. Mum looks at me, and I know she used to believe that, but she doesn’t any more.

  I’m trying to tell you that … It seems so strange, so funny. To write it – to say it out loud. To know that it is true. But it really is, and I am smiling when I write this.

  Paul, I’m pregnant. I had a scan, I’m eighteen weeks pregnant. I know that logic says I shouldn’t have the baby – that I should ‘take care’ of it, and go back to college, and start again, and pretend that this hasn’t happened. But I can’t do that. I love this child already, from the instant I knew it was there, more than anything I’ve ever loved. The way I feel about this baby, the love I’m feeling, is how I know that I don’t really love you. I mean, I do love you, but not enough to make us being together right.

  And I know that if you read this, you will come and find me, and you will try to make us work, because you want to be that kind of person, and that is the thing about you I will always love. But it wouldn’t make it right, Paul. So I am sorry. I’m not going to send you this letter.

  I’m sorry,

  Claire.

  19

  Caitlin

  Not for the first time since we set off from my hotel, leaving Gran and Esther planning a trip to the cinema, I have serious second thoughts. It’s hard to know why we are doing this. I mean, I know the practical reasons, and I even know the emotional reasons, I suppose. Yet still, even knowing all of that, it’s hard to feel that it makes sense to go and turn my life, and Paul’s and his family’s life, upside down. And for what? We know nothing of each other, we’re strangers. Zach says I owe Paul a chance to get to know me, and Mum has an idea that having Paul in my life will replace what I am losing in losing her. And I can see why she would think that, but the truth is that nothing can ever replace my mother. Not anything. Especially not a man who, until recently, I thought had rejected me, and for whom I have not even been a nebulous idea.

  And yet Mum and I are going to Paul’s house to tell him the truth, whether he likes it or not.

  This wasn’t how I planned it, but when I saw Mum, and saw that somehow, in the very short time since I last saw her, she has faded a little more, I knew I didn’t want to take her on to campus, where it would be crowded and confusing. I have to protect her as much as I can from the world outside her head.

  Watching her float between this world and hers, I realise it’s as though she’s become free of gravity, and slowly, slowly, she is floating away. The tether that connects her to this reality is gossamer thin, and spinning ever finer. Soon she will be gone, but I don’t think the world she is going to will be any less real for her, and that comforts me somehow.

  So as Mum, Gran and Esther checked into their room, I called Zach and asked him if there was a way of finding out where Paul lives. He called me back within half an hour, and it turns out that he knew someone who knew someone who was studying under Paul. As fate would have it, my father has a barbeque at his home every summer for his students, so this girl knew exactly where he lives. Strange how easy it is to find the home of my father, and now the man who has been worlds away from me for my whole life is just minutes away. And all the way over there, I kept having second thoughts … third and fourth ones, too.

  Turning up at his home, where his wife and children will be, doesn’t seem fair, and I worry about him, and his family. Gran said it didn’t have to be dramatic, though. She said there doesn’t have to be a scene. All we have to do is ask for a quiet word, and when he sees Mum, he will agree to a meeting somewhere else, maybe at the hotel, to talk things through.

  That’s all this is: an introduction of sorts. So I put away all my doubts and take a breath, glancing at Mum, wondering where in time she is at the moment. She was with me when we got in the car, but we both stopped talking as we neared Paul’s house. There’s a new dreamy quality to her now, a little like when she first met Greg and I’d find her standing perfectly still, gazing out of a window daydreaming about him.

  We pull up outside Paul’s house. It’s a nice detached Victorian house, maybe three storeys, with a gravel drive and a garden. There are small conical trees in pots standing either side of the door, and the grass is very green and very neatly trimmed, just like the privet hedge. The light from the front room shines out into the world, and as we go to the front door, up three stone steps, I can just about see into the basement kitchen where Paul’s young children are eating their dinner.

  ‘We don’t have to do this.’ I stop Mum, who smoothes down her hair. She is holding her memory book, in which the letter that she showed me for the first time this morning is neatly stuck. The letter, written in her own hand, so familiar – always disorganised, looping madly, leaning forwards and then backwards again, as if she’s never really decided who she is. There is something more careful than usual about the way this letter is written, though – as if it had been rehearsed – and when I read it, I realised that must have been true. The letter that she folded inside the memory book is probably a much-honed version, and I understand finally what she was trying to tell him and me. Mum always knew that Paul wasn’t the love of her life, and she knew that to try to make their relationship something it wasn’t, purely because of me, would be a mistake. Twenty-one years ago, when Mum discovered she was pregnant by her first proper boyfriend, she decided that she wanted me more than she wanted him: she chose me. And not everything she decided since then has been perfect, but neither has she once wavered from that first decision. Even in deciding not to tell him about me, even then, Mum chose me; and now I am choosing my baby, and our future together.

  Mum holds the book to her chest, cradling it across her heart like a shield. If everything were OK, if she were well, even then this would be an almost impossible thing to do. But as it is, with her life, her mind in such chaos, it seems an incredible notion that she should turn up here and do this. But even now she is choosing me, putting me first.

  The door opens, but it isn’t Paul who appears: it’s his wife. She is small and neat, her blonde hair tied back from her face, and she’s dressed in a jacket with a scarf wrapped round her neck, looking as though she is about to go out.

  At the sight of us, she stops abruptly, and raises her eyebrows questioningly. ‘Hello,’ she says pleasantly. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘We’re here to see Paul.’ Mum grins at her. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Um, Mum,’ I say, stepping between the two women.

  ‘I’m Alice.’ Alice is still smiling, but it’s faltered a little, tinged with just a hint of concern. ‘I’m Paul’s wife. Are you a student?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mum says. ‘You’re Paul’s mum, you mean? He’s not married. He better not be.’ Mum laughs. ‘Married, Paul!’

  ‘Mum.’ I turn back to Alice. ‘I’m sorry. This is my mum. Her name is Claire Armstrong. She knew your husband – they were at university together.’

  ‘Oh.’ Alice does not look reassured, only more alarmed, and I realise she thinks Mum is on some midlife-crisis road trip to track down her lost first love.

  ‘Is he in?’ Mum asks. ‘What sort of party is this, anyway?’

  ‘Mum,’ I say. ‘She’s not well. She … really needs to talk to Paul.’

  Alice still stands between us and the door to her home, and I see the conflict on her neat, pretty face. Blue eyes, small nose, pretty mouth, lovely hair, thick and blonde and smooth. Short and tastefully dressed with understated chic. She is the opposite of my mother. And she isn’t at all certain about us.

  ‘My children are eating their dinner,’ she says. ‘Perhaps you could leave a number and I’ll ask Paul to call you …’ Tutting and tossing her hair over her shoulder, Mum struts past Alice and into the hall. I follow her at speed. ‘Hello, Paul?’ Mum calls out. ‘Hello, babe? Where are you?’

  ‘Excuse
me!’ Alice raises her voice. ‘You don’t just walk into my home. I want you to leave now, please.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say again, holding out my hands to placate her. ‘We’ll go. Mum …’ I put my hand on her arm, but she doesn’t move.

  ‘Go?’ She looks perplexed. ‘Don’t be silly. We just got here. Where’s the booze? Have you got a DJ? Not much of a party, is it?’ she all but shouts. ‘Turn the music up!’

  ‘Oh, Christ.’ Paul blanches white as he appears from the basement and sees Mum, and then the look on Alice’s face. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘You tell me,’ Alice says to him. ‘They just turned up. This woman here knows you, apparently.’ ‘I do know him.’ Mum smiles flirtatiously. ‘From top to bottom, hey, Paul?’

  ‘Mum,’ I hiss at her, the excruciating awfulness of the situation making it almost impossible to see a good way of leaving. I only know that we must, before we cause more damage. ‘Mum, Claire, come on. We’ve come to the wrong place.’

  ‘No, we haven’t, and we’re not leaving. We came to see Paul,’ Mum says, breaking free of me, whirling round to fling her arms around Paul, and kissing him quite firmly on the lips. He resists her, watching his wife’s eyes widen with horror as each millisecond ticks by.

  ‘Alice, I’m so sorry,’ Paul says, prising himself out of Mum’s arms. ‘This woman is sick.’

  ‘This woman?’ I ask him. ‘She isn’t just some random stranger, and you know it.’ I turn to Mum, saying her name. ‘Claire! I am your daughter, Caitlin, remember? And we came to see Paul today, to talk to him about the …’ I glance at Alice. ‘About the past. When you were at university together, remember?’

  ‘Oh.’ Claire blinks. ‘Oh. But …’

  ‘I knew this was a bad idea,’ I say. I turn to Alice, whose expression is balanced finely between fury and upset. ‘I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean to barge in like this. You must think we are awful. Please, let me explain. This is Claire Armstrong, and she’s my mum. She has early-onset Alzheimer’s, and it’s quite advanced, so sometimes she gets in a muddle. Things happen in her head, and stuff just comes and goes. We never quite know which. But we certainly never meant to burst into your home and cause a scene, did we, Mum?’

  Mum looks at her book, still in her arms, and I see some sort of remembrance pass over her face. ‘Oh, shit,’ she says quietly. ‘Sorry, Paul. Sorry … er … Mrs Sumner.’

  Alice stands stock-still for a moment as she takes in the chaotic scene unravelling in her hallway. ‘I don’t want the children to be alarmed,’ she says.

  ‘Of course not,’ Mum says. ‘Of course you don’t. I’m so sorry. I’m only here for Caitlin, for my child.’ She turns to Paul, who is staring at her as though she has just materialised out of thin air.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Alice says eventually. She looks at me, and her smile, though faltering, isn’t fake. ‘It’s fine, come in. Come and have a cup of tea with us. I’m sure Paul would love to talk over the old days with you. You obviously have something important to say.’ Alice smiles at Mum.

  ‘But you were going somewhere …’ I say.

  ‘Nowhere important, just the gym, it will still be there tomorrow. Come on, Paul. Claire must be feeling very disorientated, in unfamiliar surroundings. And she’s come all the way to talk to you, so you will come and sit in the kitchen and talk to her, OK? You can take that stressy look off your face. I do know you had girlfriends before me. I had boyfriends before you, believe it or not. I’m not going to divorce you over past loves.’

  I watch Alice take Mum’s coat and lead her into the kitchen. Paul and I exchange wary, uncertain glances. I shrug apologetically and follow them down the stairs.

  ‘My gran had Alzheimer’s,’ Alice tells us, pouring us cups of tea as we sit around a large table with her two daughters, who are staring at us like we just dropped in from outer space, which I guess we sort of did. ‘I remember thinking at the time it’s almost like being a time traveller. What’s to say that isn’t exactly what it is – and it’s just that the rest of us can’t know it?’

  ‘I always did want to time travel,’ Mum says, smiling at the girls. ‘I’d like to make friends with Anne Boleyn, or hang out with Cleopatra. I’m Claire, what are your names?’ The girls respond to her smile, just like her pupils always did; and as they relax, so does Alice.

  ‘I’m Vanessa, she’s Sophie.’ The older one, who is dark like me, nods at her younger, fair-haired sister.

  ‘I’m very pleased to meet you both, and thank you for not minding too much that we just turned up in the middle of your dinner.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Sophie says. ‘Dad made it, and it wasn’t very nice.’

  ‘Why are you here?’ Vanessa asks her. ‘Are you friends with Daddy?’

  ‘I was once,’ Mum says, glancing at Paul, who is standing, his arms crossed protectively over his chest, leaning against the counter, unwilling to sit down with us. Mum ignores him, looking at Alice instead. ‘But for now I just want to see my daughter settled and sorted out, before … well, before I zap off to see Cleopatra.’

  ‘Of course,’ Alice says. She sits down between her daughters. ‘That’s fair enough.’

  I smile at the girls, and resist the urge to stare and try to find our similarities. But it seems I don’t have to: Alice is looking hard at me, and then at Vanessa, and then at Mum.

  ‘So, you came to talk about the past, and it’s got something to do with your daughter?’ She is talking to Mum, treating her like a whole person, even after everything, even after the way we turned up and barged in. And it’s more than that. I can tell we aren’t going to need to do the big reveal: Alice has worked out already what Paul didn’t want to believe.

  ‘Yes,’ Mum says, and perhaps seeing Alice’s thought process as well, adds, ‘But maybe we shouldn’t talk in front of your girls.’

  Paul begins to agree, but Alice stops him. ‘No, it’s fine. We’re a family. We deal with everything all together. I think that’s what makes us stick together. I hope so, anyway.’ Alice nods for Mum to continue.

  I take a breath, and Mum reaches out and takes my hand.

  ‘The thing is, when I was going out with Paul, I got pregnant with Caitlin,’ my mum says bluntly. ‘And I wanted to keep the baby, but I didn’t want to keep Paul. No, that’s not quite right. I loved him, a lot. But I knew even then that we weren’t for keeps. And so I wrote him this letter, this letter that I never sent. And I never told him about Caitlin, which was wrong of me.’

  ‘I see,’ Alice says very carefully, smiling reassuringly at her little girls, whose eyes are wide with shock. She looks intently at me and I hold her gaze, determined to take her scrutiny.

  ‘And Caitlin came here to tell Paul … well, just that she exists, I suppose. Because I asked her to. I wanted to put things right. She went to see him the other day and he, well, he didn’t react as we hoped. Caitlin was ready to come home, but I persuaded her not to. And I came to be with her and to … to tell him that it is true. I have proof.’

  ‘Oh, Paul,’ Alice says, her eyes filling with tears as she looks at me. ‘Look at her. She’s the image of you. How could you even doubt that she is yours?’

  It was the last thing I expected her to say – the last way I expected her to react – and yet there she was, just looking at me, and looking was enough. The sudden surge of relief at being seen, and being known as a whole person, almost knocks me to the floor. This is it – this is what it feels like to really know who you are – and it is Alice, not Paul, who has given it to me.

  ‘It came out of the blue,’ Paul says. ‘I was thinking of you and the girls. I didn’t handle it right.’ He looks at me. ‘I am sorry if I hurt your feelings. I’m so sorry. I got it all wrong …’

  Mum pushes the open book towards Paul, and Alice walks around to read the letter over his shoulder.

  I smile at Vanessa, the dark one, and she smiles back at me, nudging her sister, who mirrors her expression. ‘This is crazy, bat-shit mad, isn’t it?
’ I say, the swearword making them giggle. ‘Oops, sorry.’

  As they finish reading, Paul continues to stare at the book for the longest time. And then he looks at Mum, and this look passes between them, this moment of recognition: a hello and a goodbye in a single moment. Mum nods, just slightly, and Paul looks at me.

  The strangest thing happens as our eyes meet: I see the muscles of his face reform, and his eyes – that have been so closed off and embattled – really see me for the first time. For the first time, I am looking into the face of my father. The world shifts a little, and I realise that it will never be the same.

  ‘I never knew a thing,’ he says. ‘All these years …’

  ‘No, you didn’t, and that was my fault,’ Mum says. ‘I thought I could do it all alone, and I could. But Caitlin couldn’t. She shouldn’t have had to. I was selfish.’

  ‘We don’t want anything,’ I say to Alice, because she is easier to talk to than him. ‘Mum just wanted us to connect. We’re not after money, or even contact, if that’s not what you want.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Alice asks me.

  ‘I’d like to be your friend,’ I say, realising all at once that this is true.

  ‘So, that girl is, like, our sister?’ Vanessa says. ‘From when Daddy went out with this lady, in the olden days?’

  ‘That about sums it up.’ Alice smiles, and looks at Paul. ‘It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it, darling?’

  ‘It’s cool,’ Sophie says. ‘It’s cool to just suddenly have a big sister! Daddy, isn’t it cool?’

  Paul nods, and for a minute he covers his eyes with his hands. ‘I couldn’t understand how you could just leave the way you did,’ he tells Mum at last. ‘I tried for a few weeks to find you, to ask you why. It hurt me. It hurt me a lot – more than I expected. There wasn’t anyone else as important to me again, not until Alice. If I’d have known about Caitlin …’