by Ali McNamara
This evening I’d not only met my estranged mother in the orchestra pit of a cinema, but I’d found out exactly why she had abandoned me almost twenty-three and a half years ago. And the even crazier thing was it had happened for almost the same reason my father had encouraged my fiancé to allow me to go and do for a month.
Why would he risk the same thing happening again?
“I know all this must be a bit of a shock to you, Scarlett,” Rose said, standing up. She walked over to me. “Believe me, it’s been quite a shocker for me tonight, meeting you again.”
I thought for one awful moment she was going to try and hug me, so I rapidly backed away from her.
“I…I just need to think about everything for a bit, Rose…I mean Mu…I mean…”
“It’s OK, Scarlett. I understand, of course you do. Perhaps you’d like me to go now.”
I nodded.
Rose picked up a pad that was lying on the table. “Do you have a pen? I’ll jot my number down for you. Perhaps you’d like to call me sometime, when you’ve had a chance to think about everything.”
“Erm, there’s one in the hall, I think.”
Rose found the pen and returned to the room to write her telephone number down. Then she laid the pad and pen on the coffee table in front of me. “That’s both my home and mobile numbers. Call me any time if you want to talk some more.”
I nodded again.
Rose picked up her bag and coat. “Well, good-bye, Scarlett. I do hope I’ll hear from you soon.”
“Yes…bye then…er…”
“It’s OK—I don’t mind you calling me Rose. I used to be Rosie, of course, but I think Rose suits me better now. Rosie was the person I used to be, not the person I am now.”
“Yes, good-bye…Rose,” I said, still not able to face her properly. My head was spinning. I just couldn’t deal with all this right now.
Rose gave me one last look and then smiled again before walking out of the lounge and into the hall. I heard her heels clipping across the tiled floor and the click of the front door as it shut behind her.
The strange thing was that that was exactly the same noise my shoes had made earlier when they walked across the floor of the hall.
And the reason it was the same noise?
I just realized Rose was wearing exactly the same pair of shoes as me.
Twenty-Nine
I hardly slept that night. It was not surprising really after what had happened to me earlier on.
I’d rung Ursula almost as soon as Rose had left and briefly told her what had gone on. I didn’t feel like speaking to anyone, but I knew if I didn’t they would phone me anyway. So I quickly got that call out of the way and settled down to do some serious thinking.
There was so much that was still unclear.
So I now knew the reasons why my mother had left. Perhaps I didn’t fully understand them, but I knew more than I’d ever known before. But it was my father’s behavior that was puzzling me more than anything. If he’d lost my mother all those years ago, why would he encourage David to do the same thing to me? Did he really think that lightning wouldn’t strike twice?
I tossed and turned in my bed, going over and over all the possible scenarios that my next move might bring forth.
First, I had to decide whether I wanted to see Rose again—and my answer to that dilemma was an immediate yes. There were still so many questions I wanted answers to that I couldn’t wave good-bye to her just yet. Though I couldn’t imagine us ever being best friends like some mothers and daughters were. But she seemed likeable enough, for all her faults, and I wanted to spend more time getting to know her better.
I was going to have to speak to my father about all this at some point. But I didn’t know how he would react when I told him about Rose. What if he tried to stop me from seeing her?
My father couldn’t actually stop me from doing anything I wanted to—I knew that. I was, after all, a fully functioning adult. Although right at this moment I felt far from that as I huddled beneath my bedclothes like a frightened child, hugging my knees tightly into my chest and hiding away from the scary world outside.
But I couldn’t risk upsetting Dad over this—the emotional stakes were too high. No, I’d have to wait until after my time in Notting Hill was over and I’d returned home. Then I’d be able to tell him everything that had happened and ask him all the questions I wanted.
***
The next morning I called Rose. I lifted and lowered the phone from my ear at least five times before finally I was able to summon up the courage to dial the number and let the call go through.
Surprisingly she answered straight away. “Scarlett, how wonderful, I didn’t think I’d hear from you so soon.”
“I was wondering if you were busy today. I mean, if you’re working it doesn’t mat—”
“No, not busy at all. I don’t have a shift at the cinema until this evening. Would you like to meet up again?”
Part of me was hoping she was busy. “Yes, I would, if it’s OK with you…I thought maybe we could meet in Kensington Gardens…or somewhere else if that’s not suitable?”
“The Gardens would be lovely. What time?”
“Is eleven too early?”
“Eleven is just fine. Do you know the Peter Pan statue?” she asked. “I could meet you there.”
I didn’t. “Peter Pan, sure, no problem. I’ll see you later then.”
“I’ll look forward to it, Scarlett.”
She hung up.
I sighed heavily as I collapsed back against the scatter cushions on the settee. “Oh, Dad,” I said out loud to the empty room. “If only you knew just what you’d started…”
Thirty
I sat on a bench opposite Peter Pan while I waited for Rose.
I’d got to Kensington Gardens early so I’d be able to find the statue in plenty of time. But it hadn’t been that difficult, as the first person I asked pointed me in the right direction.
I ran my eyes over the statue while I waited. The Peter in this sculpture appeared to be standing on a tall tree stump playing a set of pipes. A crowd of fairies, rabbits, and other woodland creatures swarmed around the base of the tree—and I guessed it was probably Tinker Bell who was at the top of the stump looking up at Peter. It seemed quite apt, in my current situation, to be sitting in front of “the boy who never grew up.” The reason I was waiting here now was because of something that had happened when I was just a baby—something that had never allowed me to completely leave my childhood behind.
While I waited, I watched walkers and joggers pass by, mothers and nannies push prams along the path in front of me, and dog owners allow their mutts to urinate on the gates that surrounded Peter.
Two women wearing baseball hats and tracksuits came running along the path toward me. I expected they’d pass by like all the others, but they paused and leaned on the railings.
“OK, let’s have twenty,” one of the women said to the other as they began to do push-ups while leaning on the wrought iron.
They’d completed twelve when I heard a mobile phone ring. “Oops—really sorry, I’ll just switch that off.” The woman instructing, who I assumed must be a personal trainer, reached into her pocket.
“No need. Take the call…” the other woman panted. “It’ll give me the chance for a break…I’ll still do the last few push-ups, don’t you worry.”
The trainer answered her phone, then wandered a little way away to speak to the caller. Her client finished her push-ups and came and sat down next to me on the bench. Resting her elbows on her knees, she dropped her head down so she could catch her breath.
“She’s working you hard, I see,” I said, partly out of politeness and partly to take my mind off my mother’s imminent arrival.
“Just a bit,” she said, sitting up. “She always does. But that’s what I pay her for; she’s very good.”
We sat in silence for a moment staring at the statue in front of us.
“It’s ama
zing to think, isn’t it, that that whole story was thought of by a man sitting here on a bench just like we are now,” my companion said, still gazing up at Peter Pan.
I was surprised; people didn’t usually converse with you much in London. Let alone a stranger you’d just met. “Yes, although I have to say I only really know that story because of the movie that was made about it—Finding Neverland.”
“Yes…I believe I know it.” She paused for a moment. “What did you think of it?”
“It’s a lovely film,” I said, thinking about the movie. “It also stars two of my favorite actors, which helps. And I’ve actually met one of its stars too.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, Johnny Depp.”
“And what was he like in real life?”
“Erm…he was cool.”
“Yes, Johnny’s definitely very cool.”
“Oh, have you met him as well?” I was slightly put out my bench buddie wasn’t more impressed at me hobnobbing with a Hollywood A-lister.
“Yes, just a few times.”
“Kate!” The trainer was back on the scene now. “Come on, or your pulse rate will drop out of your ideal training zone.”
My bench buddie turned to me now.
“Glad you enjoyed the movie,” she said, standing up. Then she lifted her hat for a second and winked at me. “And all my other movies too.”
And I sat and watched, aghast, as Kate Winslet and her personal trainer jogged away from me down the path and into Kensington Gardens.
Rose appeared seconds later from the same direction, hurrying along the path toward me. Out of her cinema uniform she was elegantly dressed again, this time in black trousers, leather boots, and a red wool coat. She didn’t appear to recognize the Hollywood A-lister who jogged by in her tracksuit and baseball hat any more than I had.
“I’m so sorry. I’m not late, am I?” she asked as she arrived by my side.
“No, you’re fine,” I said, standing up to greet her. “I wasn’t quite sure where Peter was, so I thought I’d better get here early. Though there’s been lots going on to keep me busy.”
“That’s good.” Rose looked up at the bronze sculpture. “You know I used to read Peter Pan to you when you were a baby. I know you were too young to understand, but it was always one of my own favorite stories when I was a child.” She glanced at me.
I didn’t know quite how to respond, so I said nothing.
“Would you like to go for a walk, Scarlett? Or perhaps we could just have a coffee?”
“A walk sounds good.”
We set off together along the path. At first we kept to the safe subjects of the weather, the news, and the people we passed in the park. Then we moved into the semi-safe territory of my life, and I told her about David and Maddie and a bit more about the business.
That led us on to Dad again.
“Have you told him yet?” Rose asked, looking straight ahead. “About me?”
“No, not yet.”
“Will you?”
We had reached the Diana memorial fountain. I stopped walking and watched the tourists taking photos and the people just stopping for a moment’s reflection in the clear flowing water.
“I don’t know. Probably.”
“What do you think he’ll say?”
I turned to Rose. “I have no idea. I’m not expecting a good reaction, though.”
“Will it cause trouble? Between the two of you, I mean?”
I shrugged. “Possibly—for a while. But Dad’s usually OK about most things in the end. Once he gets used to the idea, that is.”
“The idea?”
“Of me seeing you…” I paused. “I mean if we continue to see each other…in the future.”
“Would you like that, Scarlett?” Rose looked as if she might burst if she had to contain the smile any longer that was so desperate to break free and spread across her expectant face.
“I think so…yes, yes, I would.”
Don’t hug me. Don’t hug me, I silently prayed.
To my great relief she didn’t. Instead, she just allowed her smile to escape at last.
“Oh, Scarlett, I was hoping you’d say that.”
“It doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you or anything like that. For leaving us,” I added, as if she needed reminding.
“No, that goes without saying, of course. Oh, I’m just so happy you feel this way, Scarlett. I’m glad I brought this with me now.” She held up a large shopping bag. I’d noticed she’d been carrying it earlier but I hadn’t liked to ask what was inside. “Here,” she said, handing it to me. “Don’t open it now, have a look when you get home.”
The bag was quite heavy. “What is it?” I asked, taking a quick peek. Inside was one of those large decorated boxes with a brass-cornered lid and handles, the type you put wedding mementoes in or old photos.
“It’s something I’ve kept for you over the years. No,” she insisted when I tried to lift the lid up inside the bag. “Please look at it later, when you’re back home again.”
“OK, but you’ve got me intrigued now.”
“It’s not much, honestly. Shall we get a drink?” she said, changing the subject. “There’s a little café over there that looks as if it might be open.”
We spent a further hour together in the café, chatting and drinking coffee. And I actually quite enjoyed it. Rose was good company. I think I’d have liked her even if she hadn’t been my mother. In fact, it would have been so much easier if she wasn’t.
I watched her as she sipped her cappuccino.
“What is it?” she asked, noticing my stare.
“It’s nothing, really.” I averted my eyes.
“Scarlett, if this is going to work, I think we’ve got to agree from now on to be honest about everything with each other, yes?”
I nodded reluctantly. “Yes, you’re right, of course.”
“Well then?”
I took a deep breath. “I was thinking that if you were a person I’d just met casually then this would be a lot easier, that’s all.”
“What, you mean easier to like me?”
“I guess so.”
“Then why don’t you pretend that’s what I am for now—just a friend and nothing else.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “And keep calling me Rose if it makes you feel more comfortable.”
“I think it would, yes.”
Rose sat back in her seat and lifted her coffee cup. “I think that deserves a toast, don’t you? Here’s to friendship with a total stranger you met in a cinema, and nothing else!”
I lifted my teacup in agreement. “Yes, here’s to that—nothing more, nothing less…”
***
I went straight back to the house after Rose and I had parted in Kensington Gardens, Rose promising to call me the next day to arrange another meeting.
I didn’t even glance in the direction of Sean’s house as I climbed up the steps and let myself inside. I swiftly dealt with Buster, threw my coat on to the chair in the hall, and then hurried into the lounge to open up Rose’s box.
I don’t know what I expected to find in there—some old diaries maybe, a pair of baby booties, that kind of thing. But what I found as I lifted the lid on the colorful box momentarily took my breath away.
Inside were lots of tiny presents—all gift-wrapped in brightly patterned paper. There was one with pink rabbits hopping about on it, and another with numbers, one that was covered in lipsticks, and the next flowers. All the boxes were small, but all were beautifully wrapped with bows and ribbons.
There was a note lying on top, so I opened it—
My darling Scarlett,
Although I was not able to be with you for any of your birthdays in the past I want you to know that I always thought about you on your special day, and never forgot you.
Every year after I left, I bought you a small gift on your birthday, wrapped it up, and placed it here in this box.
As every year passed
and it became fuller, I lost a little more hope that one day you would be able to open the gifts for yourself.
But now I have been given a chance to pass this on to you. I hope you will understand that although I may not have been with you in person on these very special days, I never forgot my little girl.
Mum x
I read the letter through one more time before placing it to one side, and as I carefully picked up the box covered in the pink rabbit paper, I noticed my hands were shaking. The tag attached to the present read—
On your 1st birthday.
I hesitated. I knew that by opening up this box I was going to be opening up so much more than just a gift.
Cautiously I peeled the paper off the box. Inside there was a tiny red teddy bear. I looked at the label around its neck. My name is Scarlett bear, it proudly announced, Please look after me.
I held the teddy close to my face for a moment and closed my eyes. Then I sat it down carefully next to me, so we could do the rest of the present-opening together.
You are 2! the next gift declared. Inside this one was a soft cloth book, Amelia’s Alphabet. The front cover had a picture of Amelia—a cheerful-looking rag doll, with ringlets and a red checked dress.
There followed a succession of toys just perfect for a toddler. Then there were more books, a wooden game, and a real rag doll, who looked very much like Amelia. Then we moved into my teens—where I opened cassettes, and then CDs, of music that strangely I had actually liked when I’d been that age. Some jewelry followed, and a tiny jewelry box, a small evening bag, a couple more books, some earrings, and a bracelet. Then the final few—a beaded makeup bag, an ornate photo frame, and a beautiful silk scarf. When finally I came to the last present, I held it carefully in my hands. The last few minutes had been like traveling through time at supersonic speed, watching my life unfold in front of me.
The truth was, every single present my mother had bought for me was something I knew I would have loved at that age; she’d got it spot on every time. I peeled the paper off the last gift as carefully as I’d opened all the others, trying to rip it as little as possible.