by Amanda James
It’s a good job he is, because I’m certainly not. This is a man who likes being in control, getting his own way. I hear a scornful little voice in my head that says we’re well matched, then. But this time I’m not going to pull my punches.
‘No thanks. I don’t really like people arranging things for me and I don’t think it’s appropriate to be celebrating yet. Of course it’s a good thing that we’ve met after so long, but tea is just fine for now.’ I allow a polite smile and then look away from the disappointment in his eyes and at my hands on the table. Tough, but had to be done.
‘Of course. I did wonder if…’ He clears his throat. ‘Okay, back in a tick.’
So that was a marvellous start to the reunion, wasn’t it? When I saw the disappointment I felt a little twist of regret, but it wasn’t big enough to change my mind. Champagne was a bad idea; it would loosen tongues and allow emotions to wriggle out into the world. I don’t want any wriggling emotions, thank you very much. I want clarity, honesty and, for now, a little detachment.
James is back with tea and a selection of cakes. A wasp has decided it’s joining us and dips its abdomen up and down as it buzzes atop a slice of carrot cake. Wasps seem permanently angry, don’t they, even though they aren’t? We know what they’re capable of, so we perhaps project our anger onto them. I’m already mildly irritated because of the way the meeting has gone so far, but the sight of that buzzing black and yellow creature thinking it can stick its germ-laden feet and proboscis into our cake makes me jab at it with a fork. Of course with that approach I achieve precisely nothing, apart from to make it properly angry and it does a frustrated little dance on the table.
James takes a napkin and flicks it so quickly at the wasp that I hear the snap. The wasp is no more, and peace is resumed. I listen to James talk about the journey down, the weather; we make small talk while we eat cake. All the time I’m comparing our approaches to the wasp nuisance and can’t help getting the beacon image out of my head that Mother placed in it so carefully many years ago. I jab at my problems ineffectually; he executes his – sharp, swift, deadly. Then I tell myself that’s not true now. It’s how I used to be in my old life. I have a new one now, and so far, it’s going in the right direction.
The small talk becomes so small it’s in danger of disappearing, so I decide to take control. ‘Tell me, James. How did the meeting go – the one you all had recently to talk about me?’
James’s face struggles between smile and a frown. It settles for the former with an added twist of his mouth. ‘It wasn’t quite like that, Lottie.’
‘What was it like then?’
He leans back and folds his arms. Classic defence position – I thought he would have known that and altered accordingly.
‘Beth and I…’ James unfolds his arms and leans his elbows on the table. ‘Beth’s my wife. We decided that we needed to set the past right after what Caleb had told me. I had no idea how it was and was appalled at her behaviour towards you.’
I watch his frown deepening and his face cloud with anger on my behalf. I like that he cares. ‘So, you went round to our parents’ house and confronted Mother?’ I say, imagining how she would have reacted to that.
‘Sort of. In the end it got a bit awkward. Our mother became upset.’
I bet she bloody did.
‘But initially we went around for Sunday lunch and hoped to make it more of a discussion rather than a confrontation.’
James then tells me that he told her all the stuff that Caleb had told him about the way she’d behaved and how it had affected me. His wife, Beth, had apparently said it was Mother who needed counselling! My God, what I wouldn’t have given to have seen her face. I like this Beth already, she sounds honest and fearless. And can you believe Dad stuck up for me too – stood his ground for once and told the truth? Miracles do happen after all. James also says he’s not blameless and should have tried harder to meet me and make a relationship, and that he reckons Mother was psychologically damaged by being made to give him away.
He has stopped talking and I can hear my heartbeat competing with the babble around us. It’s almost too much to take in. ‘So, what happened in the end?’ I say and pour more tea for us.
‘The thing is, Lottie, I’d hoped our mother would have done what we all agreed on at the end of the discussion before I met you. But you contacted me out of the blue before she had a chance.’ He looks at my frown and quickly adds, ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m so glad you did. But I’ll have to tell you what happened. We agreed that she should apologise to you for the vile way she behaved back then. We need to make things right before we can move on as a family.’ He reaches for my hand and I am so shocked I don’t pull away. ‘And I have to give you my deepest apology, too. I’m so sorry, Lottie. Please forgive me.’
James blinks his eyes a few times and swallows hard. This whole thing is crazy. Mother, apologise? As if. And even if she did I’m not sure I’d believe her. She might do it just to keep in favour with James. He’s still looking at me, waiting for an answer. I don’t know what to say, but words somehow order themselves and leave my mouth.
‘I haven’t really considered that you were to blame for anything. I was the one to reject you each time you tried to contact me.’
‘But I only tried a few times and I should have known better, but I was too busy with my career. I was the cuckoo in the nest, the one that pushed you out in the cold.’ He squeezes my hand and I take strength from it. ‘Of course, having said that, the majority of the blame lies with our parents. If Mother had handled it all differently, and Dad too, then it wouldn’t have been like that, shouldn’t have been like that.’
‘I guess so.’ I remove my hand because it’s beginning to feel uncomfortable. If I’m honest I have blamed James at times for not trying harder, particularly when Caleb pointed out that he should have when I talked about being the broken crockery. But in the main I haven’t tried to let him into my mind very much at all. I have always kept him distant – at arm’s length. And that’s because of the way my parents feel about me and the way they feel about him. ‘In that case I accept your apology,’ I say.
‘Thank you. I’m not expecting instant forgiveness either – that’s something I will work on in the future, if you’ll let me.’
He looks like a vulnerable young boy now and I can see something that looks like shame in his eyes. This isn’t what I want. ‘Please don’t feel bad. In the end the person to blame is Mother. And to be frank, even if she does apologise, I’m not sure it will be for the right reasons.’
James shrugs. ‘That thought had crossed my mind too – she might do it to please the rest of us. But we have to give her a chance.’ His face brightens as if something nice just occurred to him. ‘Another reason why we think now is the right time for fresh start is because you are soon to be an auntie and we’d really love you to be involved in our child’s life.’
Hell’s bells. Not sure I can take any more shocks today. An auntie. Me? How does that feel? In fact, how does being a sister feel, having a sister-in-law? A muddle of thoughts swill about my brain and I need to drain them. James scans my face and bites the edge of his thumbnail.
‘Sorry, Lottie. That came out wrong. It sounded selfish, as if just because we are having a baby we want everything to be neat and tidy, our family made whole – happy. It’s not like that at all. We do want those things, but our main concern is you. You have had a shitty time of it all and we want to help make that better – eventually. No easy quick fixes.’
I’m glad he said that about the selfish part, because I had started to think it. For something to do because I need to think before I speak, I drink my tea and look at the ocean and let my thoughts free-fall. The idea of being an auntie is very appealing, which surprises me. I picture myself bouncing a big-eyed brown baby on my lap and teaching it to paint. That’s the teacher in me, I expect. Children are the future, after all. Who doesn’t like to feel that they have a part in shaping it?
&nb
sp; ‘Lottie, what’s on your mind?’ James has his arms folded again. I tell him almost exactly what I have been thinking apart from the bit about bouncing his baby on my knee. That’s too private and I need to get used to that a bit more before I share it.
‘Children are indeed our future.’ He grins and unfolds his arms. ‘I’m overjoyed that you’re considering being involved.’
‘Any names yet?’ I ask because it seems like a good idea.
‘One or two, but nothing definite.’ He tells me about Mother’s reaction to Welsh and Nigerian suggestions. I tell him I think she’s a narrow-minded prejudiced snob. He laughs humourlessly and says, ‘Beth’s instincts are spot on, then.’
I’m about to say that I’d like to meet Beth, but don’t. That sort of thing should come from them, because if none of it works out, I can’t be blamed for pushing things along. James’s phone rings and he says it’s Beth and would I mind if he answers it. I say of course not, and he wanders off, chatting to her.
James is in the car park just in front of me and I watch him pace up and down. He stops, closes his eyes and tilts his head to the sun, a big smile on his face. Then he ends the call and comes quickly back up the steps and to our table.
‘Beth is chuffed to death that we’ve met, and I told her what we’ve been talking about. And… I’m not sure how you’ll take this, but she asked that you think of a few names for our baby for us to choose from.’ He holds his hands up. ‘Of course, we would totally understand if you weren’t happy with that.’
‘What?’ My skin’s on fire again but I realise I’m honoured to be asked. ‘Why does she want me to do that?’
‘Because regardless of what happens with our parents, she said it would show you how much we want you in our lives, our child’s life. You will feel like you’re really part of our little family if you name him or her.’
My throat seems to have developed a lump. Perhaps I’ll ask James to have a look, him being a doctor and all. This thought makes me smile and the lump is dislodged. ‘I would be honoured to name the future, James. Thank you.’
James does the blinking and swallowing thing and puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘No. Thank you.’
‘You might change your mind when I tell you the names I have lined up,’ I say in a serious voice, but I know he can’t fail to see the humour in my eyes. ‘Favourites are…’ I screw my face up and pretend to concentrate. ‘Algernon, Confucius and Salvador, for a boy – Ethel, Betty and Edna for a girl.’
‘Ah, right. I’ll try and remember those,’ he says and grins again. Then he looks out over the ocean and says quietly. ‘I’m so glad you came today, Lottie.’
I don’t have to take time to consider my response. ‘So am I, James. So am I.’
23
The Next Step
The calico cat is looking so much better two days on. Her coat is shiny and glossy as if she’s just been groomed and her green eyes have more life and depth. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing as I can feel them on me wherever I’m in the room. Sometimes I think she’s looking fondly at me, sometimes I’m found wanting. This is obviously a ridiculous idea, but one that I can’t shake. The companion in the tree turns out to be called Bella – and is a beautiful tabby. She is finished and so is the tree. Bella’s eyes follow me too, on occasion, but I can tell that she’s never anything but happy with what I’ve done for her.
I’m folding towels still warm from the dryer and I catch the calico cat’s eye as I take them to the bathroom. I can tell she’s fed up again and realise it’s probably because her foreground – a garden of spring flowers – isn’t finished and nor is she. She has missing whiskers and those tufty bits some cats have sticking out of their ears. I think she’ll be happier when the whole painting is finished so she can walk through those flowers and nose about the garden.
And surprise, surprise, Mother has phoned and informed me that James had told her we’d met. She said she’d phoned to apologise as agreed, because she couldn’t do it face to face as she would get too emotional. She used a voice I’d not heard before. Not stabby, karaoke, wheedly, or snotty. The closest to it would be the ironed-out flat one. It sounded as if she was reciting lines in a play – in fact I did wonder if she was reading it at one point – then she broke down. So much for not getting emotional.
She cried and cried. In the lull between sobs I asked her to please stop, said that I accepted her apology, and can we just put it all behind us now? Mother said no, she had to finish, had to get it all off her chest, and she sobbed and hiccupped through the rest of the script. I held the phone away from my ear at one point, because her words became intelligible and the snot bubbling sounds were most unpleasant.
Areas covered were her extreme youth upon giving birth, her overbearing father forcing her to give James up, the fact that she was psychologically damaged, the guilt – oh, the guilt, I had no idea – and also the fact that at the time she was so worried that something would happen to me – that I would also be taken away from her somehow – made her keep an emotional distance from me.
This bit did make me wonder if she’d looked it up on the internet, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. She repeatedly apologised for the vile things she’d said and snivelled most horribly – but then immediately qualified her actions by reminding me that she was damaged and so forth. She told me her heart was breaking, but I remained unmoved. In the end her words amounted to excuses for her behaviour, really. Still, I would never have believed she would even consider saying half of what she had. Just before we ended the call, Mother asked if we could start afresh, look to the future. I said we could and that we’ll see what happens.
Will it ever be okay between us? I have no idea. I will try though. If it’s true she was damaged then I have to give her a chance, don’t I? Before my walking holiday I wouldn’t have considered it, but I think I have changed so much, learned so much en route and after. Having said that, I’m not sure that I will ever trust her completely. Of course I need to swallow the past, but I need to take small mouthfuls at a time to ensure against indigestion. She put me through too much to just let my guard down and go skipping through the tulips with her.
Tulips… I look over to the painting again. I will definitely put some of those amongst the spring flowers – red and yellow should complement the calico cat’s fur. Have I got time to make a start now? No. I’m meeting Louisa at my new studio. I can’t get over how wonderful that sounds and keep saying it over and over in my head. I picked up the keys yesterday and then just pottered about there for ages thinking about decor and how to display my work to the best effect. I need to think of a name for it. I also need to think of a selection of names for my niece or nephew.
Who would have thought I would ever have had such a task? Certainly not me. Am I glad I have it? Yes and no. Mostly yes, because, as I said before, I like the idea of being an auntie, teaching, having fun with a little one. The no part is just apprehension, I think. I have never been used to being part of a wider family and, as you know, after the age of thirteen, I struggled with the narrower one I had. Narrower as in the opposite to wider, but I suppose you could apply it to Mother’s mind, too.
Involvement with a wider family isn’t necessarily something to be apprehensive about, but because of our history, it is a bit daunting. If James and I had grown up together it wouldn’t be a problem, would it? We didn’t, though, so that leaves me unsure of how to behave when I meet Beth and so forth. However, I am determined to try my best. The new me won’t allow anything less.
I tend to think of myself as a new me after the third turning point when Caleb and I parted company. This is tricky, though, because I was already a new me after the second turning point when I walked out of the classroom. Now I think about it, before we parted company, I had learned such a lot from people we’d met on the journey too… so now I’m confused about whether I am in fact newer after the third turning point or not.
I’m in the bathroom now, putting make-up on and thi
nking that this is one of those times where I need to stop thinking about things, analysing everything to within an inch of its life. In the end what does it matter about measuring newness, and anyway, can it be measured? There I go again – thinking too much. Too much thinking is sometimes bad for you. Don’t worry, I haven’t turned into a Daily Mail reader, it’s just that sometimes my brain can’t cope with itself.
It’s one of those humid August afternoons that have skies heavy with pregnant clouds. They are full-term and desperate to give birth, but for now they just hang suspended over the ocean in hopeful anticipation of a storm’s release. Once out of my car I hear a grumble over the hills and expect they won’t have to wait too much longer.
Louisa is already here, and she turns and waves as I approach. We hug and although it’s only just over a week since I saw her, I feel like it’s been forever. Well, not forever, obviously, but a long time. Isn’t that the way of things? When you really like a person it seems like ages, when you don’t, it seems like minutes. Mother’s face looms so I push her away. Things have to be different now.
‘You look lovely, my dear,’ Louisa says, holding me at arm’s length.
‘Do I?’ I say, wondering what was lovely about black jeans and a red T-shirt.
‘Yes. You look fresh, happy, as if excitement is bubbling up inside you.’
‘Really? That’s good, then.’ I think about what she said and guess she’s right. ‘I think it might be the fact that I have this place, and also that I’ve started swallowing more of the past and keeping it down.’
Louisa gives me a puzzled look but laughs. ‘Do tell.’
I put my key in the door. ‘I will when we’re inside. I have cake.’
An hour later we have eaten half a chocolate cake and are on our second cup of tea. I have told Louisa all my news and she is very pleased that I took her advice.