The Good Mother

by Karen Osman

  ‘But I can help you with that,’ he said. ‘Didn’t I help you before? Haven’t I spent hours with you going over all the course material?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I’m really sorry, I just feel—’

  ‘Tell me one thing, Alison,’ he interrupted. ‘Just tell me this. Why have you kept me waiting so long, only to tell me this now? Did you not think it might be worth telling me before?’

  ‘But you promised to give me some time to think—’

  ‘Which I did. In fact, I’ve given you more time than you deserve. Alison, I don’t know who you think you’re dealing with, but I won’t let you keep me dangling while you make up your mind what you want.’

  Alison could see he was getting himself worked up.

  ‘Of course not, I just want to be honest with you. And that’s why I came to see you—’

  Alison didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence as all of a sudden she was forced to step back as he swiped the glass of red wine with his backhand. Almost in slow motion, she watched it fly through the air and smash against the fridge. Streaked rivulets of ruby contrasted against the white glare of the fridge doors. His rage was palpable.

  ‘So, let me get this straight,’ he said, now looking menacingly at her. ‘Here’s me thinking you were coming over and everything is fine. But now you’ve decided that it’s over. Well, here’s some news for you. I decide when it’s over, not you. Got it?’

  He paused, breathing heavily. Alison didn’t dare say a word. An eternity passed.

  ‘So, what have you been up to while I’ve been giving you time?’ he snorted. ‘Were you waiting for Mark to get back to you? Is that it? Had a better offer?’

  ‘Wh—’

  ‘Don’t lie to me, you little bitch!’ he yelled. ‘It’s that guy Mark I saw you with in the coffee shop, isn’t it? I should have known. How long has that been going on for then?’

  Furious, Alison forgot all her fear and after months of suppression, felt her own rage, which she had ignored for so long, boil up in her.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ she screamed back at him. ‘This has nothing to do with anyone else. This is about you and your treatment of me! You’re a monster! You’ve lied to me, beat me, and treated me no better than a dog.’

  ‘And why do you think that is?’ he stormed back. ‘It’s because you are a dog! You’re a puppy looking for someone to love you. Well, welcome to the real world, sweetheart, because it’s not all flowers and chocolate. When I punish you, it’s because you deserve it – it’s because you need to learn.’

  She was crying now, her heart beating wildly with the unfairness of it all. How had she ever found him attractive? Her desire to hurt him, to emotionally, psychologically, and physically crush him, tore through her.

  ‘Well, you know what?’ she screamed, wiping her tears aside. ‘Maybe there is someone else, and I can tell you now, he treats me a lot better than you ever did!’

  The Professor’s head snapped towards her.

  ‘You bitch! I knew it!’ he said quietly in a tone she recognised. ‘I swear to God I’ll make you pay for making a fool out me.’

  He lunged at her and, whether it was the amount of wine he’d drunk making him clumsy or he had simply tripped over a chair leg, he came crashing down on the floor. Seeing the knife still in his hand, Alison didn’t hesitate. She turned and ran for her life. Out through the kitchen and into the hallway. She could see it now – the front door was just a few seconds away. She had to get out into the street where there were other people. Her hand reached for the door handle and she yanked it hard. But it wouldn’t open – it was either stuck or locked. She tried again, praying the door was just jammed by the carpet, but it didn’t budge. She could see the keychain hanging on its hook to the side and made a grab for it. Shaking, she tried to find the right key from the bunch to open the door. She could hear him stumbling around in the kitchen and knew she only had seconds to spare. Hearing him coming out of the kitchen, she turned to look back. He looked deranged. There was blood where he had banged his head on the floor and as he came rushing towards her, the last thing Alison saw was the cruel glint of the Victorinox logo on the blade of the knife, and she knew everything was over.

  Chapter 45

  Kate

  Kate paced nervously, glancing at the clock. There was still an hour to go until the results came out. Her husband was making some breakfast and even the girls were quiet, aware of the tense atmosphere but unsure of its exact cause.

  ‘Come on, love, come and get something to eat. You staring at that clock all morning isn’t going to make the time go quicker,’ called out her husband from the kitchen as he started to place breakfast on the table.

  ‘This is terrible,’ Kate complained. ‘What if I’ve failed? What if the last four years have just been a complete waste of time?’

  ‘You haven’t and it hasn’t. Now sit down, eat your breakfast and then we’ll go, OK?’

  Calling to the girls to join them, they sat at the table but Kate couldn’t eat a thing. She had invested so much of herself into the course, she didn’t think she could bear it if it turned out she hadn’t passed.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mummy, even if you’ve failed you’re still the best Mummy,’ said her elder daughter, and her younger child nodded in agreement.

  Turning to face the girls, Kate felt a swell of pride. Both children were in school now and doing really well. They were keen learners, loved books, and their teachers all commented on how polite and respectful they were. Kate never tired of hearing the praise that came her way and she sometimes wondered if she had turned into one of those mothers who bored everyone with her children’s successes. Yes, they could still be mischievous when they wanted to be but all in all, she reminded herself that she had done a good job so far. Her daughter’s words – so honest and straightforward in their message – brought a lump to her throat. ‘Thank you, my angels,’ she said, kissing each of them in turn. Picking up a slice of toast, she began to eat.

  *

  Arriving early at the college, Kate could see everyone had had the same idea. There was still another twenty minutes before the results would be released. Turning to her husband, she said, ‘There’s no point in all of us queuing. Why don’t you take the girls for a walk around campus and I’ll meet you back here?’

  ‘Are you sure, love?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.’

  Kate joined the rest of the students, taking a place at the end of the line to wait for the results. They were mostly young people but there were a few mature students such as herself. She had decided to study English and psychology. At the time, she had wondered if it would be too much, and while it wasn’t easy, she had enjoyed the work. It was the counselling sessions that had helped guide her on the path of education and, ironically, Mr Barnes. She had never forgotten his theme of regret and as she talked through her various feelings with the counsellor, a number of topics had come up time and again.

  ‘Do you think it’s possible you had post-partum depression, Kate?’ the counsellor, Jane, a woman in her mid-forties, had asked her. By that time, Kate had been seeing her for six weeks. Initially, Kate had had a hard time opening up. She hadn’t ever discussed her feelings with a stranger and she found it embarrassing. But as the weeks went by and she got more used to Jane, Kate could feel a slight shift in herself. A sense of lightness, a feeling of hope that hadn’t been there before.

  ‘Post-what?’ Kate had asked, confused.

  ‘Post-partum depression,’ Jane repeated gently. ‘It’s something many new mothers suffer from but unfortunately it’s not widely talked about.’

  Kate thought back to when her eldest was a newborn; the incredible feeling of love that surpasses everything, the sense of wonder as she was placed in her arms, the look on her husband’s face, the joy of that first gummy smile. It was harder to remember this with her second child. Instea
d, she remembered the severe lack of sleep, the overwhelming sense of responsibility, the pain of breastfeeding. But that was what every mother went through, she thought. Casting her mind back even further, she also remembered the sadness, the mood swings and withdrawing from family and friends. She remembered crying herself to sleep each night and waking up to her younger daughter’s cries with such irritability, she sometimes had to walk away. As Jane talked through some of the symptoms, Kate thought there was a possibility she may have had post-partum depression after the birth of her second daughter.

  Kate and Jane talked about freedom and what it meant to Kate as a value. She talked about how she felt her freedom had been taken away from her and with Jane’s help she was able to come up with ideas and solutions as to how to resolve those feelings. Kate also talked through her fears of having made a mistake marrying and having children so early and she came to understand that she still had many opportunities in life. While she was content with her children and her husband, Jane reminded her it was important that she also did things for herself outside of being a mother and a wife. As she discovered her own happiness, so, too, did the happiness in her marriage grow.

  After that, Kate started writing a journal and discovered the pleasure of the written word once again. She wrote letters to her family and enjoyed receiving the responses in the post, but it wasn’t enough. She had a thirst for knowledge and it was this that led her to doing some extra studying. She looked into taking a night class in typing or creative writing but it was her husband who suggested going one step further.

  ‘Why don’t you look into doing a degree course?’

  Kate looked at her husband in surprise. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Of course I am – why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘I don’t know – you’ve never mentioned it before.’

  ‘Neither have you,’ he said reasonably. ‘The girls are both in school, you’ll have a bit more time on your hands, and with this new job being closer to home I’ll be able to help out more with the girls in the evening, leaving you time to study.’

  ‘You make it sound so easy!’

  ‘It is. But if you’re not sure, why don’t you just take the first step and pop down to the college on Monday and see what’s available? You’ve nothing to lose.’ And with her husband’s support, that’s exactly what Kate had done.

  *

  There was a flurry of excitement as a very official-looking person posted the results up on the board. Just at that moment Kate’s family joined her. Her elder daughter slipped her hand into her mother’s while her husband took their younger daughter by the hand, a reassuring arm placed on Kate’s lower back. Moving forward, Kate felt the apprehension grow in her chest. As she reached the board, she found her name and read the result. Inhaling sharply in disbelief, she looked over at her husband, who was smiling broadly at her, his face failing to hide his ‘I-told-you-so’ grin. She had achieved a first-class degree.

  *

  Kate walked home in a trance. She had never thought it was possible that she could have achieved so much. After seeing the result, she had caught up with some of the other students on her course and gone for a drink to celebrate. Her husband had taken the girls home, telling her to enjoy herself. The atmosphere in the pub had been celebratory and Kate was thrilled with her mark. Excusing herself from the pub, she decided to head home to make some phone calls to let her family and friends know. As she came up the flight of stairs, she heard a door bang. Not sure if it was hers or a neighbour’s, she quickened her steps but when she reached her door, it was closed. She felt a stab of panic at the possibility of Mr Barnes coming back. She hadn’t thought about him for years. She put her ear to the door. It was all quiet. Too quiet. Quickly, her levels of anxiety rising, Kate put her key in the door and opened it up.

  She jumped in astonishment as the cries of ‘Surprise!’ rang in her ears. As she looked around, balloons and streamers hung from the ceiling while a huge congratulations banner had been hung on the back wall. The dining table had been set with a buffet and in the middle was a huge cake, which said ‘Congratulations on your degree’. Looking around her, seeing all her friends and family gathered, including her parents, and her husband coming towards her with a glass of champagne, Kate let herself be surrounded by their love.

  Chapter 46

  Catherine

  It was finally happening. Catherine’s months of writing had paid off and she had agreed with Michael to meet following his release. After all this time, she was desperate to meet the man behind the letters. She had agreed to visit him in his flat in Durham at 12 noon on 15 August 2011.

  Catherine had told Richard that she would be attending a series of meetings so not to bother with his normal lunchtime phone call as she may not be able to pick up. Meeting Michael at lunchtime would also give her enough time to drive there in the morning without rushing.

  The night before, Catherine barely slept. She was understandably apprehensive. When she finally did drop off, it was the early hours of the morning, and by the time she woke, Richard was just about to leave for work.

  ‘I was just writing you a note,’ he said when he saw her padding towards him in her dressing gown. Slipping the note in her pocket for her to read later, he gave her a quick kiss, eager to get the day started. Catching his hand, Catherine drew him close to her and wrapped her arms around him.

  ‘I love you,’ she said simply. ‘I hope you have a good day.’

  ‘I love you, too,’ he replied. ‘Hope your meetings go well.’ And with a last kiss, he was gone.

  She felt bad for deceiving him but the stakes were too high, and after writing to Michael for so long, she needed to do this last part by herself. She knew it was dangerous meeting a convict and not telling anyone where she was going or what she was doing. But she was prepared to take that risk – had been waiting for it, in fact, for so long now. She felt ready.

  She went to get dressed, carefully putting on the outfit she had chosen the night before. Despite the month of August being lovely and warm, she dressed all in black, making her blue eyes and blonde hair stand out even more dramatically than usual. In her bag, she packed all the letters she had received from Michael, as well as the address, phone number, and directions he had provided. With one last look in the mirror, she carefully applied a rich, red lipstick.

  With a little time left, Catherine sat at her desk, remembering all the times she had admired the view while working. Picking up the Mont Blanc pen, she remembered how happy she had felt when Richard had given it to her all those years ago. Taking one last appreciative look of her living room, she headed to the car.

  *

  It was a relief to be on the road and focusing on the drive. Catherine admired the stunning scenery as she drove cross-country, taking in the majestic North Pennines. She involuntarily shivered at the thought that they were all that separated her now from Michael. It had been over ten years since Catherine had been in Durham and as she entered the city, she realised how much she had changed. She was older, wiser, more focused, and certainly more experienced. Even her hair colour and style were different, as was her dress sense. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, Catherine caught sight of herself, the red lipstick almost brazen against her cool and composed face.

  She followed Michael’s written directions to the flat towards the outskirts of Durham on an old estate. As it was a Monday; parking was easy. Getting out of the car, Catherine looked around her. A dog barked noisily somewhere nearby, while in front of the block of flats a large skip was close to overflowing. The block itself was made of grey stone, its ugliness somewhat diminished due to the sunny day. But there was no escaping the peeling paint, the graffiti on the stairwell, and the occasional boarded-up window. Catherine took the stairs to the seventh floor, passing a group of youths with strong North-Eastern accents. At the sound of their voices, she was instantly enveloped in a wave of memories from her childhood. She had worked hard to lose the Pitmatic, or what many mistakenly r
eferred to as the Geordie accent, to fit in with the local accent of the Lake District, but at that moment she would have given anything to go back in time. The memories were simple but warm: chatting over tea with her parents, messing about with her friends at school, meeting her husband in the local pub. It was so long ago now but Catherine felt like it was yesterday. At the top of the stairs, she followed the flat numbers until she reached number 17. The blue painted wooden door was slightly rotting in places and the ‘7’ of the flat number had a screw loose so it hung like an ‘L’. Catherine took a deep breath and knocked.

  Michael answered the door quickly. He must have been waiting for her. Catherine, knowing that the first interaction with Michael might be difficult, had prepared her first words and practised them in the car.

  ‘Michael, hi!’ she exclaimed cheerfully. ‘My name is Catherine – it’s good to meet you at last!’ She held out her hand and Michael shook it formally.

  Inviting her in, he smiled at her, showing her through to the living room.

  ‘Thanks for coming all this way. You must be thirsty. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee or something a little cooler?’

  ‘Thank you – coffee would be great – milk and… just milk, please.’

  As he headed into the kitchen across the hall, Catherine tried to calm herself. Her anticipation was making her forget she no longer took sugar in her coffee. As she heard him preparing the drinks, she took in her surroundings.

  The sofa was a two-seater – clean but she could feel a spring coming through under her left thigh. An attempt had been made at disguising the two mismatching armchairs with a throw over the back of each one. A seventies tiled fireplace was the unfortunate focal point of the room. There were no plants, just a couple of pictures as well as a small television and coffee table with some newspapers. There was a pile of books in one corner. She was just about to go over to take a closer look when Michael entered the room carrying a tray. Placing it on the coffee table, he seemed relieved to have something to do. Watching him, Catherine took in his appearance. His hair was completely grey and, while combed neatly, she could see that it needed to be cut. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved, dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up slightly to reveal his forearms. As he leant to pour the drinks, his sleeve moved slightly to reveal the edge of a scar. Catherine wondered if he had received it during his time in prison.