The Bad Mother

by Isabelle Grey

  ‘It’s just a party,’ Tessa responded. ‘I’m fine.’

  Accepting the rebuke, Pamela polished off her glass of wine and reached out for a second. Seeing Pamela’s eyes glaze over, a trickle of similar occasions when Pamela had had an extra drink, been tired and gone to bed early, or handed over her car keys and asked Tessa to drive, started to pool into a pattern. The dejection in Hugo’s face confirmed her insight, but she rejected pity or sympathy for either of them: she had enough on her plate.

  ‘I think I’m done here,’ she said. ‘I’m going home. Don’t want to keep Carol on duty longer than I need to.’

  Part of her cried out for Hugo to detain her, to claim her as his own, to insist on accompanying her, but he nodded in submission. ‘You must do what’s best,’ he agreed.

  On her way to the door she saw Charlie and Quinn ahead of her, Charlie guiding Quinn with a caressing hand on her back. She watched as he stopped to shake Sam’s hand, clapping him on the arm as if they were old friends, and, over Charlie’s shoulder, saw Sam spy her, unanchored and exposed.

  At that moment Lauren passed nearby with a tray full of empty ramekins, and Tessa stepped into her path.

  ‘You’re coming home tonight, aren’t you? It’ll be late before it finishes, and Dad will have a lot of clearing up to do.’

  ‘Nula said I could stay and help. It’s not like I have school tomorrow.’

  ‘But he’ll be tired in the morning. Come home, and leave him in peace.’

  ‘He likes having me stay!’

  ‘That’s not what I meant! You and Mitch should come home.’

  ‘Tessa,’ Sam greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. ‘I’m glad you came. What do you think?’

  Her face tight from the exchange with Lauren, Tessa forced a smile. ‘I think it’s going to be a huge success. Well done.’

  He grinned and let out a long, dramatic breath of relief. ‘Can’t believe it’s all gone so well. So far.’ He held up his crossed fingers. ‘Thanks to the brilliant extra help!’ He reached out and ruffled Lauren’s hair. She glowed with pleasure.

  ‘Dad, I can stay tonight, can’t I?’ she asked. ‘I’m supposed to be helping. Nula said I could.’

  ‘Couldn’t manage without you!’ laughed Sam.

  ‘Hello.’

  Tessa swung round to face Nula, trying to gather her wits enough to say something suitable.

  ‘Thank you for coming.’ Nula reached out and very lightly touched her arm. Tessa jerked as if she’d been given an electric shock. Looking around in panic, she found Mitch beside her and felt instantly calmed and comforted.

  ‘You’ve done a great job,’ Tessa told Nula. ‘I really like the chrome against the wood and brick. Very smart. And of course the food’s delicious.’

  ‘Of course!’ echoed Nula with a friendly smile. Tessa knew that the brief look of love Nula gave Sam was not intended to be proprietorial, but the warmth of his answering glance slashed through any remaining illusions to which she might have clung.

  Sam turned back to her. ‘You don’t mind if I get the kids cracking again, do you? Though you must stay and try some of the desserts. There’s lemon meringue about to come out of the oven.’

  ‘And banoffee pie!’ declared Lauren.

  ‘Come on, kids!’ Without further farewell Sam moved away, shepherding Nula and Lauren before him. Mitch hovered, uncertain, his gaze following Sam. Tessa grabbed his arm. ‘Wait a moment!’

  ‘I don’t want to leave Tamsin by herself,’ he apologised. ‘Her dad said it was fine for her to stay and help out so long as I take her home afterwards.’

  Tessa let him go. At the entrance to the kitchen, he turned and gave her a wave before he disappeared.

  Alone, Tessa left the heat and noise of the brasserie and encountered the cool breeze from the sea. Felixham was quiet, and the tap of her high-heeled shoes on the pavement echoed off the dark shopfronts. She hoped that maybe, when she got home, one of the guests might need a hot drink or an extra pillow, something simple she could offer someone which would be gladly received.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Ten days later Tessa sat with Mitch and Hugo on the train to Cambridge. Pamela had originally said she’d come with them, but Hugo was by himself when he’d met up with them at the station. She questioned what his tactful excuse that Pamela was ‘a bit under the weather’ truly signified. Watching the green East Anglian countryside sweep past the windows of the train, she wondered how far Pamela’s habitual reserve over the years had disguised a problem with alcohol, or whether drinking provided an excuse not to face the difficulty of engaging with family life. Either explanation helped make sense of Pamela’s absence on similarly important occasions, like choosing Tessa’s wedding dress (a sensitive endeavour, since her pregnancy was already showing) or driving to college for her first term away from home. Tessa had always assumed that Pamela had cried off because she hadn’t cared enough to put herself out, but now she began to view the past differently.

  She couldn’t yet decide whether Pamela’s fear that her motherhood was merely a masquerade exonerated or further condemned her withdrawals. Surely her repeated failures to share in significant events such as this – Mitch deciding his future – were reason enough to bring the adoption out in the open, so they could all have led normal lives? Either way it felt healthy to Tessa now to admit that she was angry with Pamela for not accompanying them today. Hugo, too, must be tired of covering up for her. She wondered what Pamela’s absences must’ve been like for him. Looking across at him, she thought how careworn he was, the result, she supposed, of years of watchfulness – and possibly loneliness too. He caught her eye and smiled back.

  While Mitch explained the reasons why certain colleges were better than others for studying law, Tessa tried to puzzle it out. It would have made more sense if Hugo had been the one to enforce the secret of her adoption: he, after all, had the most to gain from it. But they’d told her that it had been Pamela’s decision to obey Averil and say nothing. Why? It couldn’t have been that Pamela shared Averil’s fear of scandal, especially when an acknowledgement of Erin’s motherhood would have absolved her guilt and set her free to love her adopted child in her own way. So why else had Pamela been so scared of the truth coming out?

  If Tessa had been on her own in the train with Hugo she might have asked him, but she didn’t want to involve Mitch. And besides, the poor man looked miserable enough. Tessa knew how badly she would have wounded him by not telling him herself about her visits to Roy. Pamela must have told him, but Tessa had not yet had the courage to raise the subject. And if she didn’t, she knew he’d be too considerate to bring it up himself.

  Once off the train, Tessa wished she’d worn more comfortable shoes, admitting to herself that she’d dressed more smartly than she might otherwise because she found the idea of Cambridge a little intimidating. Reaching the centre of town, they discovered that most of the colleges were closed to the public, with people in elaborate gowns stationed outside the great wooden entrance doors to turn tourists away. Those that were open were expensive to enter, but Mitch insisted they all pay to go into Trinity because it was the college Tamsin favoured.

  Despite the flawless green of the lawns, into which were stuck discreet signs forbidding visitors to walk, the heat came in pounding waves off the stone buildings enclosing the Great Court. Amidst such grandeur, Tessa knew it wasn’t only the heat that was beating down on her but also the sense of privilege and exclusion. She wasn’t sure she could imagine her son here, or picture Mitch’s name painted in old-fashioned black and white lettering on the wall alongside those listed at the entrance to each of the dim stairwells where she assumed the students lived during term-time.

  But Tessa could imagine Mitch here. With a sinking heart, she knew she couldn’t picture herself as the parent of a Cambridge undergraduate. The featureless classrooms where she’d learned about hotel management couldn’t have been more different from these ancient surroundings. No one in her family,
or Sam’s, had ever been to university, and Hugo, although fascinated by history and old buildings, was no more than a tourist enjoying the sights. Except, she corrected herself with a jolt, that of course Mitch’s grandfather had studied architecture and then become a university lecturer. Maybe, she realised joyfully, Mitch had every right to expand his horizons, just as Roy encouraged her to do.

  In her mind, she listened to Roy’s voice assuring her that she could be good at anything she set her sights on. So why did she fear to believe that for her children too? What heights might Mitch reach if he succeeded in gaining a place here? Maybe he would become one of those barristers in a wig and gown, inhabiting imposing courts of justice like those she saw on the news. Rather than be intimidated by such a future, she should embrace it.

  ‘There’s not much shade around here, is there?’ Hugo’s question interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘There are one or two other colleges I’d like to look at,’ said Mitch, consulting the map he’d bought. ‘But we could get a cup of tea first, if you want.’

  ‘Maybe your mum and I can find a bench somewhere,’ Hugo suggested. ‘And you can explore on your own for a bit.’

  Tessa saw the gratitude in Mitch’s smile, though he tried to disguise it. ‘Be cheaper, too, than all of us paying to go in,’ she pointed out, encouraging Mitch to feel free and independent.

  ‘Well, if you don’t mind.’ He looked at his map again. ‘You could sit by the river,’ he suggested. ‘That might be nice.’

  Letting Mitch make his escape, Tessa and Hugo found an unoccupied bench under a willow tree with a view across to a pub that must once have been a mill. They’d bought bottles of water, and were sharing a bag of crisps – a guilty pleasure that took them back to Tessa’s childhood when Hugo had always made the pretence of holding out for cheese and onion before capitulating and buying salt and vinegar.

  ‘Whether or not he comes here, it makes no difference to how proud I am of Mitch. He knows that, doesn’t he?’ he asked.

  Tessa watched him fold the empty crisp packet, then store it away to dispose of later: it was typical of his sense of responsibility, his kindness towards the world, and she felt a pang of regret at how little he had gained from all this upheaval in his life. She squeezed his arm. ‘Nothing could shake your place in his life,’ she told him.

  Hugo stared at the ground in front of him. ‘I know it’s not the same for you,’ he said, with an unaccustomed meekness that cut into her heart. She started to reply, but he spoke over her. ‘I want to say something. And I don’t want you to interrupt because I want to make sure I say it right.’

  ‘Pamela told you?’

  ‘Yes.’ His face was suddenly grey and old. ‘So it’s important you don’t think I’m speaking out of jealousy, though I admit to that – I’m terrified of losing you. But that’s not what this is about.’

  Tessa could already feel a mild resentment stirring: she would not allow Hugo to speak ill of Roy. Why could no one see how difficult it was to have two mothers and two fathers and have to work out who she was in relation to them all, or understand the impact of discovering a stranger who had such faith in her? How could she listen to them when she was still in the process of becoming her new self?

  ‘This may sound strange to you,’ Hugo began, ‘but over the years I’ve felt a relationship with your real father – a kinship. I felt guilty, as Pamela does over Erin, that his loss was my gain. And I’d speculate about what he was like: was he an ordinary bloke like me or someone clever, with special talents, like you?’ Hugo reached out and patted her arm. ‘And how bitter was he, missing out on this beautiful child, this miracle I got to call my daughter?’

  Tessa felt somehow trapped by such kindness, unable to rebel against it, but did as he asked and remained quiet.

  Hugo sighed. ‘Even when you told us that Roy Weaver was in prison, I made up my mind that if you wanted me to, I’d accept him. Whatever he’d done, I’d shake his hand.’ When he spoke again his voice was stronger, more like himself. ‘But I also decided that I’d be failing in my duty as your father if I didn’t find out everything I could about him, so that, if needed, I could protect you.’

  ‘But I do know about him,’ Tessa burst out. ‘He wants to play a part in my life.’ Watching her verbal blade cut into him, she felt a mixture of horror and voyeuristic fascination; while one part of her screamed at herself to stop, another thrust deeper. ‘He cares for me.’

  Hugo nodded to himself several times, then spoke at last. ‘Of course he does. Anybody would.’

  ‘He’s not “anybody”,’ she protested, appalled now at her cruelty.

  ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant that you’re worth caring for, Tessa. I don’t care whose DNA you’ve got. You’re my child and I love you.’

  It was wonderful to hear him say those words, and she longed to believe they carried real power, yet somehow they were not enough; somehow she was beyond their reach.

  ‘And that’s why I want to be sure that you understand exactly who and what you’re dealing with.’

  ‘I’m not stupid, Dad! Of course I understand. I asked, and he’s told me everything.’

  ‘Tell me, then.’ Hugo turned to look at her, and she quailed under his calm and level gaze.

  ‘She was his girlfriend,’ she answered. ‘They’d been together for years. But she was mentally ill. When he tried to help, she attacked him. It was a terrible, tragic accident.’

  ‘That’s manslaughter,’ said Hugo. ‘Roy Weaver was convicted of murder.’

  ‘It was self-defence. He lost control, and she was strangled.’

  ‘He strangled her,’ corrected Hugo. ‘And got a life sentence.’

  ‘Oh, what’s the point of you asking, if you’ve already made up your mind against him?’

  ‘If he’s got nothing to hide, then he won’t object to you asking as many questions as you need to.’

  ‘I have! He’s told me!’

  ‘Then what made it murder and not manslaughter?’

  ‘You’ll just have to trust my judgement,’ she said. ‘I believe him – that’s good enough for me.’

  ‘How long’s he been in prison?’

  She remembered what Declan had told her about an average life sentence. ‘He must be coming up for release soon.’

  Hugo flinched. ‘How often do you see him?’

  ‘I go when I can. And we write to each other.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Will you ask him? Ask him why it wasn’t manslaughter.’

  ‘He said his barrister couldn’t understand it either.’

  ‘Will you ask him why he was convicted of murder, not manslaughter?’

  ‘No.’ Tessa took a stand.

  ‘Why not? Is it that you can’t?’

  ‘I can’t because it would be rude and insensitive. If it comes up, fine, otherwise I’m not doing it.’

  ‘Then would it be possible for me to come with you one day?’

  Tessa tried to imagine Hugo and Roy shaking hands, but good, kind, decent Hugo seemed somehow pale and insubstantial in comparison to her vivid recognition of Roy’s shared and inherited traits. She was once again sorry Roy did not have other children: how wonderful it would have been to discover siblings so robustly like herself.

  ‘I’d like to meet him,’ Hugo persisted.

  ‘Meet who?’ Mitch had materialised beside them. The shocked expressions with which they both turned to him crushed his excitement about all he had to tell them.

  Hugo jerked and his face trembled as if he were palsied. He deferred to Tessa, who, unprepared to take on this further responsibility, got to her feet, brushing at some fallen crumbs.

  ‘Are you seeing someone?’ Mitch asked. ‘A boyfriend?’

  ‘We’re talking about Tessa’s biological father,’ said Hugo quietly.

  ‘Really? Why? Have you found him?’

  Feeling under attack, Tessa avoided her son’s candid gaze.

  ‘Tessa has, yes.’ Hugo answered for her. ‘H
is name is Roy Weaver.’

  He paused, offering Tessa the option to speak, but Mitch was impatient. ‘So who is he? What’s he like? Can I meet him?’

  Tessa remained silent, so Hugo spoke. ‘It’s not easy, I’m afraid, Mitch. He’s in prison.’

  ‘Prison? What for?’

  ‘He killed a woman,’ Hugo told him.

  Tessa knew she should be the one to explain to her son, but, suddenly afraid of her own reluctance, reassured herself she shouldn’t have to be the only one to account for a situation that was not of her making.

  ‘He’s a murderer?’

  Tessa heard the shock in Mitch’s voice and faced him squarely. He was pale, his eyes wide, and she thought how brave he was. ‘It was a long time ago,’ she assured him. ‘She was his girlfriend, and it’s his only offence. I’m sorry it’s such a shock, Mitch, I really am.’

  ‘You’ve been to see him?’

  ‘Yes. A couple of times.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘When you were at school.’ She curled inwards, away from his expression of disgust.

  Mitch pointed at the gold bracelet. ‘He gave you that, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And he’s my father.’ She reached for him, wanting to console him. ‘Your grandfather.’

  ‘I’ve got a grandfather!’ Mitch moved to stand beside Hugo, who shook his head in sorrow then awkwardly laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, making Tessa aware of what she had not noticed before – that Mitch was now almost the same height.

  ‘He’s a member of your family too, Mitch. You should keep an open mind.’

  ‘So when can I meet him?’ he asked.

  ‘I think it’s time we all went,’ said Hugo. ‘Lauren too. She may be young, but let’s not have any more secrets. How about it, Tessie? You can make the introductions.’

  This was what she’d thought she wanted, but now it felt like an attempt to encroach upon something delicate and private. ‘I’d have to ask Roy,’ she hedged.