She returned to her living room and placed the bottles on the table.
‘Where’d you magic those from?’ Senara called, her internal alcohol-locating radar as sharp as ever.
‘I just thought we might need them,’ Anna smiled back, formulating her plan. Eat, let the wine flow and get Mum talking . . .
Senara’s culinary creation was revealed to be a slightly overcooked pasta bake, heavy on the cheese and light on seasoning, but as it was the most complicated recipe Anna had ever seen her attempt, it was as impressive as a highly technical dish. Just as Anna expected, her mother relaxed as the wine disappeared. After dinner they left the table and sat at opposite ends of the sofa, Anna trying her best to pace her drinking and not mind Senara propping her feet up on the coffee table. Eventually, just after eleven o’clock, Anna sensed the time was right to begin her questions.
‘So, you were saying about Dad?’ She hoped it was leading enough to coax her mother’s reply.
‘Was I?’ Senara replied, yawning.
‘Mm-hmm. You said he was good with words.’
Her mother leered towards her. ‘T’ain’t all he was good with, neither. Oh, don’t look so disapprovin’. Did you think you were an immaculate conception?’ She rested her head against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. ‘Tall, he was. And broad. Little wiry curls all over his chest – colour of your hair. I thought the world revolved around him . . .’
‘What was his name?’
‘. . . And the thing was, I never could say no when he asked me over. More fool me, course.’
‘Mum? His name?’
Senara’s eyes screwed up. ‘Can’t recall.’
‘Yes, you can. Tell me, Mum. Just his name.’
‘Can’t, An. Wasn’t mine, was he? Another woman had his name. Had to keep it quiet, we did. Sneaking around like a couple of guilty kids. ’S what made it exciting, though. Till he went back – to her. And those screamin’ brats . . .’
The revelation sobered Anna in a second, as a sick chill took hold of her. So her father was married, with a family of his own, too? No wonder he wanted nothing to do with his daughter – the product of an illicit affair. She’d considered the possibility, of course, over the years; and it explained why her grandmother couldn’t tell her much about her father. But having it confirmed so casually crushed Anna. Feeling numb, she pressed on.
‘Just give me his name, please?’ Grasping at straws, Anna made a bid for the only thing she could think of. Even if her father had written her off, even if he’d want nothing to do with her now, somehow hearing his name would give her a connection to who she was. It wasn’t much to ask of her mother, but her heart beat rapidly as she awaited Senara’s reply.
Senara stared at her daughter and for a moment appeared to be battling with the question. Anna almost swore she saw a flicker of compassion pass across the swarthy features. And then –
‘Whose name?’
‘My father’s.’
‘Liar, that’s the only name I know him by now.’
Heart sinking, Anna knew her chance had gone. It was time to try a different angle. Leaning over to fill Senara’s glass, she forced a smile. ‘And Grandma? You said you’d tell me about her.’
Her mother shook her head. ‘Bitch!’
‘Mum . . .’
‘Always tellin’ me I wasn’t good enough, that I didn’t deserve two kids like you and Ruari. Said I was an unfit mother, did you know that? But oh no, ’s far as what you and he are concerned, that woman could do no wrong.’
‘Is that why you stopped us seeing her? Because she said that?’
Her mother’s laugh was sharp and bitter. ‘You’d think.’
‘It wasn’t?’
She shook her head. ‘No. In the end it was a tiny straw that broke that camel’s back.’
Having been denied the information she’d longed for about her father, Anna was determined to hold out for this. She didn’t know her father, and now wasn’t sure she wanted to any more; but Morwenna was an entirely different case. She had been the closest thing to a mother Anna had known, a strong presence in her formative years and the one whose loss she felt more keenly than any other. Since the last night she saw her grandmother alive, one question had evaded her: why?
Senara’s kohl-smudged eyes were closed and her wine-stained lips had begun to droop open as she drifted to sleep. The wine glass tipped at a dangerous angle, but Anna wasn’t concerned for her sofa. Covers could be easily replaced, but she may never have the chance to ask this again.
‘Mum,’ she prompted, watching her mother jump back to consciousness, saving her wine before it spilled out.
‘Mmm-whaa?’
‘Tell me what you and Grandma were fighting about, the night you came to get Ruari and me.’
‘It doesn’t matter now. Bitch is long dead . . .’
The word smacked Anna as hard as a physical blow again, but she refused to give up. ‘It matters to me, Mum. What caused the fight?’
Senara’s eyes flicked open and she stared at her daughter. ‘You don’t want to know, girl. There’s a reason I never told you.’
‘I do want to know.’
‘I’m sayin’ nothin’.’
‘Then I’ll keep asking.’
Senara’s groan was long and pained. ‘Leave it, An!’
‘Tell me.’
Her mother threw up her hands in frustration. ‘She wanted you, yeah? Happy now?’
What was that supposed to mean? Adrenaline pumping, Anna moved in. ‘But she had us. What are you saying?’
‘She wanted to have you herself, and not me . . . She was going to take you and your brother. Thought I didn’t know about it, didn’t she? Well, she was wrong.’
‘Take us? Take us where?’
‘Away . . .’ Senara moaned, fat tears suddenly falling. ‘And I couldn’t let her do that. I might not be the best mother – and Lord knows she told me that often enough – but my own mother wanted to steal my flesh and blood away from me. Bitch!’
Was it true, or another figment of Senara Browne’s twisted imagination? Anna had always known there was little love lost between her mother and grandmother, but had Morwenna really threatened to take Senara’s children? ‘Are you sure? Maybe you were mistaken? Got the wrong end of the stick? I can’t believe Grandma would have done that to you.’
‘I might have known you’d think no ill of her,’ Senara spit back, swatting salt water from her cheeks. ‘Morwenna Browne, the untouchable saint! Well, I know different. You want the truth, girl? Your precious bloody grandma went to a solicitor to have the courts take you two off of me for good! She was plannin’ on taking you off that weekend – to Devon, would you believe? Steal my kids from me and call me an unfit mother!’
‘I don’t believe you – you’re lying . . .’
‘That’s what you want to believe, ain’t it: your lyin’, cheatin’ mum accusing a dead-woman-saint? Shows what you know, Anna Browne. She planned it all right – only I found out, didn’t I? Bitch from Social Services called me; somethin’ your grandma didn’t count on. So I drove straight over there and took back what was mine. I see it all over your face: you think I’m wrong. But I remember what that woman said to me. She called me a filthy drunk and a whore – to my face! I’ll bet you don’t remember that, do you?’
Tears were streaming from Anna’s eyes now, the truth ripping into her. All she had known of her grandmother – save for that final night – was a dear, sweet woman, whose smiles and embraces made everything right with the world. Senara had made many mistakes as a mother, but could Anna’s grandmother have really planned to take custody of her children? She was torn between shock at Morwenna’s actions and grief over the life she and Ruari might have had. Would she have been a different person, growing up away from the constant rollercoaster of Senara’s life? Or would her problems have grown worse without her mother?
‘Call me what you like, An, but I never – not in all the time I’ve had you and Rua
– stopped lovin’ you. You’re my blood. You’re the only two things I’ve done successful in my life.’ Senara looked straight into Anna’s eyes and, for the first time, Anna saw a glimpse of something resembling love. ‘Lord knows I’m a mess. I stuff up everythin’. When I met your dad I was young and I fell for his lies. Folks said nothin’ good could come from it. But look at you two! Ruari with that business of his; you in your swanky flat with your secret admirer . . . I look at you both and I think maybe I didn’t too bad after all. Your grandma, she never saw that. Had me pegged as a bad apple from the start. When she found out ’bout you and where you’d come from, she nigh on disowned me. ’Twas only cos she saw you in your pram that she ever changed her mind. You and Rua are the reason she ever talked to me again. And then I found out what she was plannin’ – and it broke my heart. I thought she’d see me as good, cos of you pair, but all she wanted was to steal you away . . .’
Anna had waited for this for so many years; yet when it finally arrived, amid a mother and daughter’s drunken tears, it failed to bring the peace she’d longed for. With Morwenna gone, she would never know the whole truth, but what she had learned tonight would stay with her forever. Moved by emotion and wine, she found herself wrapping her arms around her still-sobbing mother – their first embrace in over a decade. It wasn’t a reconciliation, but a truce. And given the tumultuous waters under the bridge between them, that was perhaps the best outcome.
‘I s’pose I’ll be gettin’ the train back to the Duchy tomorrow then,’ Senara sniffed when they were side-by-side once more.
The wine and the strange events of the night conspired to mellow Anna’s mood. ‘I don’t mind if you want to stay another day,’ she said, scarcely believing her own words. ‘You haven’t seen London yet. Seems a shame to come all that way and not do some of the sights.’
‘Really?’ Senara’s hesitant smile looked alien on a face that was more used to snarling. ‘I wouldn’t need you to babysit me. I could head out on my own. Thing is, I quite fancied a trip on that big wheel. Nance from the Blue went on it for her fiftieth last year and said it was proper stunnin’.’
‘I tell you what, I’ll phone to book you in on the London Eye in the morning and call you a taxi to take you there.’
‘You’d do that for your old mum?’
‘You made dinner. Call it my contribution to your trip.’
Anna was slowly finding her feet in this new territory and still wasn’t sure what to make of it all. But Senara’s obvious surprise set a tiny spark alight in her daughter, far beneath the layers of protection and disappointment. For the first time Anna felt as if she’d made her mother happy. She’d longed to feel that as a child, but never had. Tonight, a hurt that had stung all her life was healed.
‘Then I accept. Right, I’m to bed.’ Senara reached out and ruffled Anna’s hair as she rose. ‘You’re a good girl, An. Always was. Better ’n I deserved, anyhow.’
In the early hours of the morning Anna lay in her room, her eyes and body aching. It had been a remarkable night, even if some of her precious memories of Morwenna had been forever altered. Questions still remained unanswered; perhaps they always would. She would still ask Senara to leave – she had to, for the sake of her own sanity – but maybe one more day together wouldn’t hurt. Her mother had unwittingly moved closer to her than ever before this evening, and Anna wondered if they might have reached a turning point.
They would never be close, of that much she was certain. Too much had been said and done over the years to make any kind of normal relationship possible. But as the sky began to lighten beyond her window, Anna felt a curious new hope dawning.
Forty
London was too busy, too dirty and too loud. As a tourist, Senara Browne was yet to be impressed. Traffic moved slower here than the tractors on Cornish country lanes and smelled about as bad as the muck-spreaders they towed. She would be glad to get home – whenever that happened. To add to it all, the taxi driver had a roving eye and when he dropped her off at the entrance to a swanky Mayfair hotel the only tip she gave him was, ‘Keep your eyes on the road and stop pervin’ on your passengers.’
Inside the sumptuous lobby her thong sandals sank into thick carpets that felt as if they were made of money – making her smile for the first time since Anna had waved her off in the black cab that morning. This was more like it: light and spacious; not like that horrible poky flat of Anna’s. Here, the soothing tones of a grand piano drifted through the opulent interior, where people with more cash than brains moved in slow motion as if weighed down by the wealth in their pockets. Chandeliers the Queen herself would envy shimmered expensively overhead and every inch of the sculpted pillars and ceiling appeared to be crafted out of apricot and cream-coloured royal icing, like the fancy wedding cakes her dumb-headed girlfriends all insisted on having.
Shame I didn’t book in here instead, Senara mused. I might’ve liked this city a whole lot better . . .
She passed the sharp-suited men and women in reception and headed for the hotel bar. Once in its polished mahogany and brass surrounds, she scanned the room until she saw him.
The man by the bar was as shifty-looking as she’d expected. But Senara Browne wasn’t looking for a date. What the overweight reporter with his three-day-old stubble and sleazy leer was offering her was better than sex. Sex always led to trouble; money solved it.
Maybe she should feel bad about lying to her daughter – and about what she was here to do. But Senara had her reasons. Having the whole of the village buzzing about Anna on the day the news story broke had prompted her into action. There was only one Browne who ought to be in the Polperro spotlight. What made it worse were the things her neighbours said – how nice Anna was, how polite and how pretty – every compliment a backhanded jibe at the mother who, in their opinion, didn’t deserve credit for the way her daughter had turned out.
‘She’ll be famous now,’ she overheard Doreen Rees in the post office saying, ‘and this time for the right reasons.’
Oh, my girl’ll be famous all right . . .
It was time the world knew the truth about Miss I’m-So-Perfect Anna Browne . . .
The man raised his hand as she entered. At first Senara wondered how he’d recognised her. But one look at her old leather jacket, long green embroidered skirt and jangling silver at her wrists and ankles confirmed she wasn’t a London local.
‘Mrs Browne,’ he gurned, sincerity obviously not part of his job description.
‘Ms,’ she corrected him, her long eyelashes giving a coquettish flutter. ‘No man’s been lucky enough to turn me into a missus yet.’ It was an old line, one that had got her under more than a few covers before, but it still had the desired effect. Senara congratulated herself when she saw the telltale shudder of delight pass across his portly frame. Poor beggar was in the palm of her hand and didn’t even know it.
‘Their loss, I’m sure. Drink?’
She eyed his empty glass on the bar. Match him drink for drink – making him think he was getting her drunk – and the meeting would no doubt turn in her favour. She had honed the skill over many years and it never failed her. ‘Whisky would be good,’ she purred.
‘Ah – a lady after my own heart. And before midday, too? Well, well. I think you and I are going to get on famously.’
This was too easy. Following a long-practised routine, Senara coiled a strand of silver-black hair lazily around one finger, passing it slowly along her bottom lip. ‘Oh, I hope so, my ’ansum.’
One glance at his eager smile told her she’d already won . . .
With her mother off sightseeing and her home returned to her sole use – if only temporarily for now – Anna settled in her armchair with a book. She was enjoying the silence when her phone rang.
‘Hi, Anna, I’ve got news.’ Sheniece sounded more excited than usual. ‘Is now a good time to chat? I’ve managed to sneak out for five minutes. Ashraf thinks I’m smoking again.’
‘You have my full and u
ndivided attention,’ Anna smiled, despite the dull headache from too much wine and emotion with her mother last night.
‘I wanted to call you the moment I found out. It looks as if the paper’s saved!’
Anna’s book tumbled to the floor as she sat upright. ‘What? Are you sure?’
‘We had it confirmed this morning. It’s a management buyout, apparently. Damien Kendal and a couple of the cronies from the Board made DayBreak Corp an offer and it was accepted last night. Can you believe it? The Dragon reckons there’ll still be some job cuts – streamlining, they call it. But it’s better than us all being shown the door.’
‘That’s amazing! Everyone must be so relieved.’
‘We are. Didn’t take Ted long to start his conspiracy theories again, of course. He upset Babs by suggesting the oldest will be the first out, if jobs go. Babs is due her golden handshake next year and now she’s convinced management will chuck her out before it happens.’
Anna could picture Ted snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. Poor Babs. But the news was incredibly welcome, especially after the events of recent days. To know her job was – if not completely safe – safer than it had been was a huge relief. ‘Tell Ted to stop stirring and be happy for a change. And give Babs a hug from me.’
‘I will. We’re all missing you. How does it feel to be a viral Internet sensation? Oops, sorry, don’t answer that. My little sis found a story about you on a Malaysian blog today. How mad is that?’
Anna shuddered at the thought. ‘Please don’t tell me any more. It’s scary enough as it is. I haven’t dared to look online since it happened.’
‘So you won’t have seen Ben’s other stories, then?’
A Parcel for Anna Browne Page 27