A Jarful of Moondreams: What Secrets Are Ready to Spill Out?

by Chrissie Bradshaw

  On that terrible day, Mac finished working in the studio and walked over to the house to chat to Cleo.

  ‘I’ve phoned the hospital and your mum has to stay in there for a few more days because they need to keep an eye on her and the baby,’ Mac explained.

  Cleo felt slightly put out; the baby wasn’t even here yet and was taking over all of their lives. This was the night of the lower sixth disco so she couldn’t visit Mum. Mac would go and she hoped he would give her a lift, as planned, then go on to see Mum after that.

  ‘Visiting is strictly seven until eight thirty tonight, so I can’t drop you off, Cleo. Your mum is not well and I don’t want to keep her waiting.’

  ‘It’s just half an hour! Mum won’t mind.’ Usually, she could wrap Mac around her little finger and Mum would want her to have a good time.

  ‘No. Maybe Mum won’t mind, but I will - and so should you, Cleo. You can take the bus to the disco for once or walk around to the Roberts’ and ask for a ride with Heather.’

  ‘I’ve put your favourite shepherd’s pie in the oven ready for when you get home, I’ve gone to visit Mum every single night and I’ve done the washing. I have a life too, Dad! I can’t walk all the way round to Heather’s in heeled shoes and I can’t wear my school coat, which is the only one I’ve got, for a night out. You’re just mean!’ Cleo stomped upstairs and waited. She loved Mac, he wasn’t mean at all and was always a pushover when she wanted something.

  Sure enough, five minutes later, he called up to her, ‘Hey, Cleo grumpy pants, it is all organised. You’ve got a lift with Heather’s dad and I’ll drive you around to her house but get a move on. I don’t want to keep your mum waiting and we need to leave now.’

  Cleo smiled, he never let her down. She finished her makeup and dashed downstairs a few minutes later to find Mac pacing along the hall looking agitated.

  ‘A minute or two won’t matter,’ she said. ‘Come on!’

  She knew that Mac wasn’t really pleased with her by the way his jaw was set and because he didn’t say she looked great. It was just a quick “take care” as he stopped outside Heather’s house.

  He was too busy rushing to Mum and that unborn baby who was changing everything. Well, she could be ‘off’ with him too. Cleo flicked her hair, didn’t give him his usual hug and, with a brief ‘thanks’, she was out of the car.

  Cleo got home from the party to find the shepherd’s pie burnt dry in the oven and nobody home. The phone flashed to show several messages. Her heart pounded as she picked up the receiver; was Mum OK? She heard message after message as her mum got more and more concerned about Mac’s whereabouts and then finally heard a call from someone else, asking her to call the hospital.

  She hadn’t even dialled the hospital number before Mary Collingwood had arrived at the door with her husband, Dr Collingwood. Their faces told her it was bad news.

  Mac had been killed in a crash on his way to the hospital. It was one of those things - a truck had skidded and Mac was in its path.

  Cleo knew differently; he had been there on that road because of that baby. That baby had put Mum in hospital. If it wasn’t for that baby, her mum and dad would be here at home. She had to think that way, otherwise she would have to face the fact that he was there on that stretch of road, much later than he should have been, because of her.

  Dad had gone. He was annoyed with her, and now, he always would be. They hadn’t hugged goodbye and that broke her heart.

  Silent tears ran down Cleo’s face as she watched Alex sleeping. Alex didn’t know that her big sister had made her father late and put him right in the path of that truck. Even Mum didn’t know about her selfish behaviour that night. Facing up to her part in the events made Cleo feel dreadful but it was much fairer than placing the blame on her unborn sister. If she could face her own part in Mac’s death, she could face anything.

  23

  Alex’s phone woke them late in the afternoon. The loud blast of a hunting horn ensured that Alex never missed a message. A text let them know that there was a Mary Collingwood chicken casserole, still hot, sitting on their back doorstep.

  They got up and ate it, enjoying the warm freshly made bread that had been left with it. After that, there was no more putting off the inevitable. They still had the garden room to put straight and the contents of the moonbeam jar were scattered into every corner, as Neil had frantically searched for something of value.

  Cleo had looked into the room when she’d first got home and guessed that there had been nothing of value taken. She knew Mum kept most of her valuables in the studio safe and a few special things in the lid of the moondream jar. The studio was still locked and the lid of the jar hadn’t been opened.

  Alex picked up slips of wishes and daytrip tickets and a few old photos while Cleo picked up the ornate lid, knowing its contents were safe by the weight of it in her hands. She gently shook it; yes, Mum’s things were still inside. There was a knack to opening the lid, rather like opening a giant bottle of pills. A push down and twist motion.

  ‘Did Mum ever show you how to open this?’ she asked Alex.

  ‘No. Does the top open?’ Alex stopped looking at one of the photos and sat back on her heels.

  At least that was one thing that Mum hadn’t shared with Alex, Cleo thought and then immediately felt guilty. It was such a habit to have a down on Alex that she sometimes did it automatically and now it just didn’t feel clever any more.

  ‘Here, I’ll show you,’ she said, trying to assuage her guilt. ‘You grip it between your knees and then push down and twist.’ It didn’t work. ‘You hold it, Alex and I’ll push then twist. It’s hard to do it yourself.’

  ‘Neil would never have guessed this hidey-hole,’ Cleo said as she pushed and twisted and felt the lid twisting open.

  Inside were Mum’s saltwater pearls, Mac’s gold Saint Christopher charm and both of their baby bangles. There was an envelope with certificates in it. A birth certificate for Alex, a death certificate for Mac, their parents’ marriage certificate, and one or two other papers that belonged to past McAplin relatives. Cleo had her own certificates, one birth and one adoption. She’d asked Mum if she could keep them after renewing her passport a while ago.

  As Cleo returned the certificates to their original folds to fit into the envelope, she noticed that Alex was staring at the empty jar, rolling it over on the floor and deep in thought.

  ‘Did Mum say there were three compartments?’

  ‘No, just the lid and the main part of the jar, why?’

  Alex’s eyes glistened with excitement, ‘Look at the pattern on the rim of the lid and see how it’s repeated at the base. The base feels heavy even now that the jar is empty and I think it might open as well.’

  Cleo studied the base. Mum hadn’t mentioned that, but Alex, the bright spark, could be right.

  ‘Maybe Mum didn’t know,’ she offered.

  ‘Ok. While it’s empty, let’s try. You hold on to the main part of the jar and I’ll try and do that push and twist thing with the base.’

  Easily, more easily than the lid, the base opened to reveal another cavity. Out dropped a bottle green cotton bag; it was an old fashioned gym shoe bag gathered at the top with tape handles. Alex picked it up and Cleo read the yellow chain stitch embroidered initials, ‘MD’ on one side of the bag. Who was MD?

  ‘I don’t think this can be Mum’s; maybe it’s been here all the time,’ she said, as Alex was opening the bag.

  ‘We’ll have to look to see who could have put it here and what’s inside,’ Alex said.

  Cleo picked up an old exercise book, there were a few of them, with M Donaldson written on the front. Inside, she could see dated pages; it had been used as a diary. A spike of fear pierced through her. There was no mistaking Teri’s beautiful cursive writing - the books belonging to ‘M Donaldson’ were something to do with Mum. Cleo dropped the book she was holding as if it was an unexploded bomb.

  Hidden in the base, the girls found a birth ce
rtificate for Margaret Donaldson and a change of name certificate for Neferteri Moon, as well as the four exercise books that had been used as diaries.

  The diaries started when Margaret Donaldson was sixteen and ended four years later. So Mum had changed her name. Why?

  ‘She’s never spoken about her family; just said she lost her parents before we were born. Why would she change her name?’ asked Alex.

  ‘We’ll find out if we read the diaries,’ Cleo said.

  ‘Maybe we should ask her first,’ Alex looked longingly at the books, ‘but I bet she’d say no.’

  ‘I deserve to know who I am,’ Cleo said.

  ‘And me.’

  ‘We know who you are, Alex, with me it’s different.’

  ‘How’s that?’ Alex was looking at Cleo and waiting for an explanation.

  The words stuck in Cleo’s throat; the thing she had hated most about Alex. ‘Mac is your biological father but he’s not mine,’ Cleo admitted.

  ‘He’s not? I didn’t know that; bloody hell, Cleo! This family is full of secrets. I know the grownups weren’t married when you were born but I thought you were their ‘happy accident’ as Mum calls you.’

  ‘The accident part is right, I’m not sure of the ‘happy’ but it wasn’t for you, or anyone else, to know about my father.’

  ‘Why not? Why the secrets?’

  ‘Mum didn’t speak of her past much and I suppose she preferred to think we were full sisters. Mac adopted me, I’ve got the papers, so we are, sort of.’

  ‘You were so lucky to know him,’ sighed Alex.

  ‘You were even more lucky to have him as your real father. You are Mac’s flesh and blood.’ There, Cleo had said it, the fact that had given her so much grief. She felt lighter and maybe it didn’t matter so much. She had been lucky because she had been chosen by the best dad ever.

  ‘Alex, I’m not proud of this but I have always felt really envious that you were part of Mac and Mum while I had a father who didn’t want me. You know, it really doesn’t matter anymore because I wouldn’t have changed having Mac as my dad for the world.’

  Alex came over and draped herself over the arm of Cleo’s chair to give her a hug. ‘You’re as deep as Dunleith well at times, Cleo. Come on, let’s just read the first book and see if we can find out why Mum changed her name,’ Alex persuaded. ‘All of this was over thirty years ago and if she hasn’t told us yet, we need to find out a bit about our family history for ourselves.’

  They read the first book and there it all unfolded. Mum falling in love with Ralph - her biological father, she couldn’t ever say real - their romance was frowned upon by Ralph’s father, who was their headmaster, and kept a secret from Mum’s own parents because her mother was so strict.

  They read about the awful realisation that she was pregnant, too frightened to tell her parents and Ralph, too frightened to support her or tell his father. They learnt about her fear of being sent away, the dreadful reaction of her mother when she found out. They just couldn’t stop reading.

  Tomorrow I have to go to the home in the country to hide away until the baby is born and then adopted. R’s parents are helping to pay for this and both parents have agreed that we are never to see one another again. Is he as broken by this as me? I think not. R is going to go to Oxford; nothing has changed for him. I have lost him, I’ve lost my place at Oxford and I’ll lose my baby. Well little one, until I have to give you up, I’ll love you more than my parents have loved me.

  ‘You’d never dream that Mum had such a hard time.’ Tears coursed down Alex’s cheeks.

  ‘I did know a bit, but she never really elaborated. She just said that teen pregnancies shouldn’t ruin girls’ life chances and she’d fought for hers but not everyone could. That’s why the TeMPs unit for the school is so important to me. It’s something that I have to do because of Mum fighting to keep me.’

  They read on and discovered how Margaret had bolted from the maternity home, took a new name in case her parents found her, and made a new life for herself in Manchester. She’d shared a house with students and here was the first mention of a new friend, Angus McAplin.

  They read two more books together; reading silently and nodding at each other when they were ready to turn a page. When they came to the end, Alex sat back and looked at Cleo.

  ‘This was your start in life so it’s bound to be more of a shock, Cleo, but I’ve got to admit that it’s all such news to me and I’m bloody shocked too. It’s like we’re reading about other people in here.’ She stared at the faded maroon exercise book that she’d been hugging to her chest and then looked back at Cleo, waiting for a reaction. Since they’d got to the end of this one, Cleo had said nothing.

  ‘Is that it? Is that the last one? It doesn’t carry on past then?’ asked Cleo, looking around the floor for another exercise book.

  ‘No... Mum’s either kept them elsewhere or she stopped writing after this one.’

  ‘I can remember bits of this; I’m sure they’re real. I can remember being with Dad when I was small and calling him Mac long before I called him Dad.

  I remember missing him and crying when we went away, I think it was to London for a while and I remember us all being together again. As this comes back to me, there’s something else I’ve remembered about being young and it’s not here. It happened after this last book ends and I need to check with Mum if it was real of not.’

  ‘What is it?’

  Cleo rubbed her hands across her eyes. Were the images she was seeing her imagination or a memory?’ she couldn’t be sure.

  ‘I was young, about three or four, not school age, and we had been living away, in London I think. We had packed up and were going to see Mac so I was really happy. We had cases and we took the train but Mum said we had to make a stop somewhere else, first of all.

  ‘We went to a house and a woman answered the door to us. She looked at us in a horrified way and then she was bloody horrible to Mum, saying, “You’re not wanted back here, get away, you and your brat”.’

  She shouted, “How dare you come dirtying my doorstep” and awful things like that. I remember looking at my shoes because they were clean and we hadn’t been in any dirt. Mum took my hand and, as we turned to go, the lady yelled at her.’ Cleo covered her face with her hands.

  ‘Go on Cleo, tell me what she said. I know you remember,’ Alex urged.

  ‘It killed him, you going missing like that. You destroyed him.’ That’s what she yelled.

  We returned to the station to get our second train and Mum was upset. I asked her why we had to see that naughty lady and she said, “It wasn’t to see her my darling, the person I wanted you to meet isn’t there anymore”.’

  ‘I asked her,“Did you kill someone, Mummy?” and she hugged me. “Of course not and she is a very naughty lady to say those things,” she said.’

  Cleo had forgotten about the incident in the excitement of getting onto another train to see Mac and she’d never mentioned it to Mum after that day.

  ‘Who was that, Alex? It must have been family.’

  ‘I’d guess it’d be Mum’s mother and she’d be blaming her for killing her dad,’ said Alex.

  ‘Aren’t you a regular sleuth?’ Cleo hit back, but she was smiling. ‘Yes, after reading those diaries, I’m sure you’re right. We must have gone to Mum’s old home, her mother was still angry; her dad had died and so she knew she had nothing left there.’

  ‘Then she came to Dunleith, well to Berwick station and you and Mac and Mum lived happily ever after, until I spoiled things.’

  Cleo looked at Alex and tried to read her expression. She was calm and didn’t seem upset.

  ‘Be honest, that is what you think, Cleo. Fortunately, I know better than to blame myself for being born. You didn’t ruin Mum’s life by being born and I didn’t ruin yours. We were both babies. It’s funny how, in all of this, you don’t ever blame Mum for being pregnant with you but you blame her for my appearance. What about the sainted Ma
c, our father, wasn’t he involved in my arrival too?’

  Cleo put her head in her hands. Alex was right, and over the years she had allowed herself to develop the most screwed up take on things. Until now, she’d never been willing to deal with losing Mac and any of her mixed emotions.

  Alex gave Cleo a hug and she didn’t shrug her off but leant into her. Her little sister made a lot of sense. Changing her views meant accepting she’d been wrong all these years but her feelings had shifted and there was no going back to her old way of crooked thinking. She felt a rush of tears of regret and relief as she cried and admitted to Alex that she’d been wrong, totally wrong in the way she’d looked at Mac’s death and Alex’s birth. She admitted that she’d felt jealous but hadn’t known why.

  She told Alex about her guilty feelings over Mac’s accident and their lack of a proper goodbye and how responsible she felt.

  Alex wasn’t horrified by this confession at all, she said, ‘Mum and I often have words and we both know it’s nothing. Look at how we weren’t speaking this weekend until you called me about Neil. Families can’t make every day be as perfect as if it’s their last. You should forget what makes you sad about Dad and just remember the best times, Cleo.’

  Alex was young but, Cleo had to admit, she spoke sense at times.

  Cleo noticed it was dusk already, too exhausted to pack up and drive home, she suggested that they should stay another night and make a really early start to travel into school the next morning.

  ‘OK. Shall we bunk up together in Mum’s room tonight?’ asked Alex. ‘It sort of makes her closer.’

  Cleo nodded and as they went upstairs, she realised that she didn’t feel guilty and she didn’t resent her little sister, in fact she admired her and she felt responsible for her. No, it was more than that, she had opened her heart and let herself love her.