The Goodbye Gift

by Amanda Brooke

  ‘John wouldn’t be too pleased if he knew you were ogling someone else.’

  Helen had snarled when she answered, ‘Like I care what he thinks. He’s not the one home all day with nothing to do but feed, burp and change the baby. Anyway, I thought we were talking about your model, not my boring husband?’

  Phoebe kissed the top of Milly’s head and smiled. ‘Did I tell you he followed me home?’

  Helen’s jaw had dropped. ‘Erm, no, Phoebes. I think I would have remembered that!’

  ‘Only in the last couple of weeks. We’ve all been going to the pub after class and Paul’s been tagging along. He offered me a lift and when I said no, he followed me on foot. He said he wanted to make sure I got home safely.’

  ‘OK, so now he’s gone from an Adonis to sounding more like a weirdo.’

  ‘No more than any of the other blokes I’ve known in my time.’

  ‘You haven’t got in his car, have you?’ Helen had asked. She was becoming more anxious by the minute.

  Phoebe looked as if she were about to say no, but then nodded.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing happened! Jesus, Helen. I’m eighteen, not a child. It’s bad enough that Nan doesn’t think I’m allowed out on my own, but you too? When I was in Manchester I did what I wanted and, believe me, I can take care of myself. What’s the worst that could happen?’

  Helen looked from Phoebe to the baby she was cradling. ‘You really need me to spell it out?’ she asked. ‘And that reminds me, I won’t be dragging you along to see Westlife after all.’

  ‘Thank God for that. You really do have bad taste in music, Helen.’

  ‘Count yourself lucky there’s no chance Take That will ever get back together, because believe me, there’s no way anyone would stop me going to see them.’

  ‘Wow, and there I was thinking I had no luck.’

  ‘The point is I can’t go to this gig. And do you want to know why?’ Her pitch had risen and she was griping now. ‘One, I can’t afford the ticket and two, I can’t find a babysitter because John’s working and, oh yes, everyone else has a life.’

  Rather than looking dismayed, Phoebe stared in awe at the baby’s tiny hand wrapped around her finger. ‘My mum was around our age when she had me. I’ve always wondered what it must have been like for her, and if having me so young made her the way she was.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean you have to try it for yourself,’ Helen had warned. ‘If you need to know how demented having a baby can make you then look no further than me.’

  When Phoebe looked up, Helen had crossed her eyes and was pulling a face, making them both laugh. ‘Seriously though,’ she said when they had settled down again, ‘this Paul does sound a bit creepy.’

  ‘You think I should keep away from him?’

  Helen began to squirm. ‘Don’t look at me to tell you what to do, I don’t know! It’s your life, Phoebes.’

  Helen had felt out of her depth. She knew so little about what had happened with Phoebe’s mum other than she had had a mental illness, and she couldn’t begin to imagine how it had affected Phoebe, but her friend had certainly changed. The timid little girl had turned into a feisty teen and Helen wasn’t sure if she should admire Phoebe or fear for her. ‘You should talk to someone though, someone older and wiser.’

  ‘I don’t get to do much talking with Nan, I’m just forced to listen,’ scoffed Phoebe.

  ‘God, I didn’t mean someone that old,’ Helen said. ‘But Julia’s been asking about you. Maybe we could have a little reunion?’

  ‘Is she still as bossy as ever?’ Phoebe had asked suspiciously. When Helen refused to answer, she added, ‘Look, I’d love to meet up with Julia again but not until I’ve got my act together. She’s only going to give me an earful about dropping out of college otherwise.’

  ‘Yes, probably, but—’

  ‘Please, Helen, don’t tell her. This is between you and me.’

  It felt now that those past secrets were coming back to haunt Helen. Was she wicked to even think that those old, buried feelings might be rising to the surface? Phoebe wasn’t that reckless teenager any more, she preferred her own company these days and she had said she wasn’t looking for love. More importantly, she wouldn’t betray one of her best friends.

  And what of Paul’s intentions? Even if his marriage was under a lot of strain, it was only because he and Julia loved each other so much. They wanted the same things out of life and they wanted each other, anyone could see that.

  The smell of fabric conditioner intensified, pulling Helen back from her thoughts. Lifting up the iron, she discovered a shiny triangular mark on her dress.

  Refusing to let her mind wander again, Helen ploughed on until the only thing left in the laundry pile was the tablecloth that had been hiding it all. With a swell of pride, she practically glided upstairs and after dropping off a mound of freshly pressed clothes in her bedroom, she slipped into Milly’s room. She tried to keep her temper in check as she stormed across the room to open the curtains for the second time that day, but halfway to the window she stumbled when her foot caught on something. Whatever she had tripped over hadn’t been there earlier and Helen had a sinking feeling she knew what it might be.

  As soon as the late morning light flooded into the room, Helen took a deep breath, but rather than calming her, it gave her the lung capacity to scream at Milly.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  Milly had been fast asleep, lying on her back with an arm dangling over the bed and her mouth wide open. She must have jumped at least an inch off the bed and when the look of terror faded, it was replaced by one of fury that was a match for her mother’s. ‘What did you do that for? I was asleep!’

  Helen’s heart was hammering and her eyes widened as she looked from her daughter to the clothes strewn across the floor. There was some vague suggestion that they had once formed a neat pile of laundry but nearer the bed they had merged with dirty clothes that hadn’t yet learned the technique of getting up and walking themselves to the laundry basket. ‘Look!’ she screamed. ‘Look at the mess!’

  ‘I’ll clear it up in a minute.’

  ‘Four hours it’s taken me to iron all of that and you’ve just – you’ve just flung it across the room without a thought. You can’t even tell what’s clean and what’s dirty now!’

  The look of pure disdain on Milly’s face made Helen’s blood boil. ‘You didn’t spend all that time doing my clothes. You must have been ironing your stuff too.’

  Helen’s jaw locked and it was a small miracle that any noise came out of her constricted throat at all. ‘Get out of bed now and clear up this mess.’

  Milly flung back her covers and scooped up an armful of clothes. Shoving past her mum, she fumbled to open her wardrobe and then squeezed the crumpled mess onto a shelf before forcing the door shut. ‘There!’ she said, putting a hand on her hip. ‘Is that better?’

  ‘You little bitch!’ Helen said. She never swore at Milly and she hated people who cursed in front of their children, let alone directed such abuse at their offspring. A red haze had descended and the next thing she knew Helen was hurling the pile of laundry still in her hands directly at her snarling daughter with enough force to make Milly stumble backwards. ‘Don’t you think I have a hard enough job working full-time, looking after you and looking after the house?’ she said before pausing to take a gulp of air. ‘And now, if that isn’t bad enough, I have to do the fucking housework twice! Do you think I’m some kind of doormat you can walk over? I’m sick of it, Milly! I’m well and truly sick of it!’

  ‘Well, I’m sick of you! I hate living here! It’s so boring and you never want to do anything. The only time I get to do something interesting is when your friends take me somewhere and even then you just stay at home!’

  ‘So going to the cinema is nothing?’ Helen demanded. To her credit, she was talking more calmly in hope of reining in her emotions. ‘Oh, well, actually, it is nothing now because you’re n
ot going. You’re not going anywhere.’

  ‘I am! I’m going to my dad’s!’

  ‘No, you’re not. The last thing he’ll need under his feet is a stroppy little madam like you – and besides, it’s not your choice. You’re grounded and that’s all there is to it.’

  Helen’s calmness was making Milly all the more furious. ‘You can’t keep me locked up! It’s against the law.’

  ‘I’m going downstairs to make myself breakfast. When I come back up, this room had better be tidy.’

  Milly was oblivious to the angry tears sliding down her cheeks. ‘You can wait all day! I’m not doing it. I don’t care how messy this room is because I’m leaving! I’m going to ask Dad and Eva if I can live with them.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ Helen said and turned her back on her daughter.

  ‘You can’t stop me.’

  Helen didn’t acknowledge the empty threat and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  ‘I hate you!’ Milly screeched after her. ‘Did you hear me? I hate you, Mum!’

  Returning to the kitchen, Helen put away the iron and ironing board and set about preparing the cooked breakfast she had been looking forward to, all the while knowing that neither she nor her daughter would be able to stomach it, or each other for that matter. She grilled sausages and bacon, fried tomatoes and mushrooms and even made eggy toast, which was usually only reserved for high days and holidays.

  Helen had never argued like that before with Milly, but it had been building for some time. Milly’s anticipated rejection of her new sibling might have failed to materialize but they were still going through a period of change and that had put family relationships under considerable strain.

  For a moment, Helen wished that Milly had refused to have anything to do with the baby because her daughter’s actual reaction was far more difficult to contend with. Milly loved her little brother and she thrived on being a member of John’s perfectly balanced family unit. From what Helen had gleaned from John over the last few weeks, Milly couldn’t be more helpful, whereas Helen was lucky to raise a smile from her daughter.

  Once breakfast was prepared, Helen went upstairs and, with each purposeful step, she told herself over and over again not to lose her temper no matter what she found. Helen wasn’t particularly good at the serious stuff and she tried to imagine how Julia might handle the situation. If Milly had retreated beneath the bedcovers again then Helen would peel them back and gently persuade her daughter downstairs. Barking orders hadn’t worked so far and it was hardly a good foundation for the open and frank discussion she wanted to have with her daughter.

  She knocked on the door before opening it a crack. ‘Can I come in?’

  There was no answer so Helen pushed open the door until she could see Milly standing in front of her wardrobe. The curtains had been drawn wide and Helen had a good view of the bedroom with its neatly made bed and a relatively clear floor with the exception of one corner of the room.

  ‘That’s all the stuff I want to throw out,’ Milly said when she noticed her mum examining the newly constructed mound of clothes.

  ‘Oh, all right. I’ll get a couple of bin bags and we can drop them off at the charity shop.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Milly said with a shrug. She had her hand resting on one of the interior shelves, her fingers playing with the corner of a precisely folded T-shirt.

  ‘You’ve done a good job in here. I hardly recognize the place.’

  The smile she offered wasn’t returned and Milly appeared in no hurry to say anything else.

  ‘I’ve made breakfast,’ Helen added. ‘Do you want to come down?’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘I know, and the last thing you want to do is to look at my ugly mug, but I’d really like you to come downstairs, Milly. Please.’

  Casting her gaze to the floor, Milly remained stubbornly silent.

  ‘Don’t make me beg, sweetheart.’

  To her surprise, there was a catch of emotion in Helen’s words. Milly had heard it too and although it didn’t tempt her to look up at her mum, she did accede to the request and slipped past Helen with her head down.

  Helen took her time following Milly downstairs. She was overcome with a sudden urge to cry and had to wait for the pressure building at the back of her nose to subside. It was ridiculous to be so upset over a silly argument with an eleven-year-old child, even one fuelled by unrestrained anger on both sides. And it wasn’t as if it was the first time that Milly had said she hated her; in fact it was such a regular occurrence that Helen had once threatened to have a T-shirt made for Milly with the words ‘I hate my mum’ emblazoned on the front. This time, however, it felt different and she had a bad feeling about how the next conversation with her daughter was going to play out.

  Milly was sitting at the table with her arms folded when Helen came into the kitchen.

  ‘What would you like?’ Helen asked as she heated a container of baked beans in the microwave.

  ‘Coco Pops.’

  ‘But I’ve made a cooked breakfast.’

  ‘I did say I’m not hungry.’

  ‘I’ve made eggy toast,’ Helen said, aware her voice had gone up an octave.

  Milly was concentrating on straightening the cutlery in front of her and, without looking up, she said, ‘Then I suppose I’ll have to eat what you want me to. I’d forgotten I didn’t have a choice in this house.’

  ‘Milly … Please, I’m trying to make things right. Couldn’t you at least meet me halfway?’

  The silence that descended was leaden and Helen would have liked nothing better than to drop into a chair and admit defeat, but she pushed on and plated up two breakfasts. When the microwave beeped, it had the effect of a gunshot with Helen so tense that she almost dropped a plate.

  ‘What do you want to drink?’

  ‘Whatever you want me to have,’ mumbled Milly.

  With a fixed grin on her face and a look of panic in her eyes, Helen made a fresh cup of coffee for herself and poured a glass of juice for Milly. When she was ready to sit down, her daughter had a knife and fork in her hands but had so far refused to touch her food. She reminded Helen of an automaton – one she had somehow lost the key to operate.

  As she began cutting into a slice of bacon, Helen counted to ten. When she was sure she could keep her voice level and calm, she said, ‘Look, Milly, I’m sorry I flew off the handle before, but you’re old enough now to realize that I’m not a machine programmed to do everything a perfect mum should, or say the right things all the time. I’m as flawed as the next person and it’s hard for me sometimes. It’s scary being a single mum, not having anyone else to back me up or share the load, or someone who can step in and take over when I’m feeling under pressure.’

  ‘It’s not like Dad doesn’t help.’

  Milly had kept her head down as she spoke, so Helen found herself talking to the top of her scalp. ‘I know, but it’s not the same as being a couple. You’re lucky we get on so well.’

  ‘I don’t feel lucky.’

  ‘I know it can’t be easy for you, especially with a mother from hell.’

  Aware that she had cut her bacon into tiny slivers, Helen put a morsel in her mouth and then struggled to swallow.

  ‘Please, Milly,’ Helen said, ‘could you at least look at me?’

  When Milly lifted her head, Helen wished she hadn’t. There was no pain in Milly’s eyes and certainly no love. There wasn’t even anger. Her daughter’s expression was devoid of emotion. ‘I want to live with my dad,’ she said.

  The piece of bacon Helen had swallowed lodged in her throat and she almost gagged. Taking a gulp of air, she said, ‘Well, I don’t want you to.’

  ‘Dad said I can.’

  ‘Oh, really? And when exactly did he say that?’ Helen asked, then immediately dreaded the answer.

  ‘I phoned him before.’

  ‘And said what?’

  Milly cocked her head. ‘I didn’t tell him you assaulted me, i
f that’s what you’re worried about.’

  ‘I didn’t assault you, Milly!’ Helen said and then remembered she was supposed to keep the conversation calm. ‘I might have thrown a handful of T-shirts at you but I hardly think that constitutes assault.’

  ‘You threw what happened to be in your hand at the time when you lost it. What happens next time if you’re in the kitchen and you have a knife in your hand?’

  Helen narrowed her eyes. ‘I hardly think I’ve reached the point where I’d be throwing knives at you, and what’s more, Milly, I don’t think you believe that either.’

  There was an imperceptible shrug of the shoulder. ‘I still want to live with Dad. You said how hard it is looking after me and now you don’t have to. Everyone would be happier.’

  Helen only realized her jaw had dropped when she managed to close her mouth. The saltiness of the bacon had left her lips parched. She lifted her mug to her mouth and noticed how the surface of the coffee trembled in her grasp. ‘I’d never be happier without you, Milly,’ she started and then, recognizing too late how she had fallen into a trap of her own making, quickly added, ‘For all my complaints, I love being your mum, your full-time mum. I’m already dreading you going off to university.’

  ‘See, you don’t even know me. I don’t want to go to university. I want to go to art college like Julia did.’

  ‘I don’t want to lose you, Milly. I won’t agree to you living with your dad. I can’t,’ she said, the words catching on the lump still lodged in her throat.

  The stony expression Milly had been so intent on keeping, dissolved beneath a gentle stream of tears. ‘But I want to go, Mum. Please don’t stop me.’

  ‘Why, Milly? Am I that bad?’

  Milly twisted in her chair. ‘It’s not that … I do love you, mostly. It’s just that I’m happier with Dad and Eva. My friends live nearer to them and besides, I want to help look after Ollie. It’s not fair that we’ll hardly see each other. I’m his sister and I want to be around him, I want to be around a family.’

  ‘You’re happier there?’ Helen said, needing to repeat the words that had already kicked her in the stomach. It was all her fault. She had assumed that the love and adoration of her daughter was a given. Daughters always wanted to be with their mums, didn’t they? Helen hadn’t had to put the effort in because she had never felt there was a competition. What the hell had she done?