by Sarah Morgan
“They might not be entirely dry.”
“I don’t care what state they’re in. I’m eating them. Your lemon cupcakes are the best things I’ve ever tasted.”
While she digested the cake, Flora digested the fact that Izzy had just paid her a compliment. And made a joke about people-pleasing.
“I think you should talk to your dad. Tell him how you feel.”
“About what?” Izzy ate a second lemon cupcake, and a third.
“About leaving home. About not feeling loved or needed. He’d probably want to know what’s going on in your head.”
“He definitely wouldn’t.”
“Why not? Why can’t you talk to your dad?”
“Loads of reasons, but mostly because I don’t want to worry him or be a burden.”
Flora felt a crushing weight on her chest. “Izzy, you’re his daughter.”
The atmosphere changed in an instant.
“See that’s the thing—” Izzy scrunched up the remains of the picnic and stuffed it into her bag. “I’m not actually his daughter. Not his biological daughter. You already knew that, right?”
Flora forced the words out of her numb brain. “No. I didn’t know that.”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“No.” She could see Izzy wondering why. Flora was asking herself that, too. She’d thought their relationship had reached a whole new level. She’d shared secrets with him she’d never shared with another person. She’d felt close to him, intimate in a way that wasn’t just about the physical. She’d assumed he was the same. Apparently not. And this wasn’t just about her feelings. How was she supposed to understand and support his family if he failed to pass on crucial pieces of information? “He probably didn’t want to invade your privacy.”
Flora knew this had big implications for her, but she also knew that right now her priority had to be Izzy. She was obviously feeling terrible and the reasons for her insecurity were now becoming clear.
Izzy shrugged. “It’s not a big secret. I’ve always known. Mom was pregnant with me when she met him. He married her anyway. He took me on. And we were a family, yes, but then my mom—” She broke off and stared out across the lake. “Well my mom isn’t here anymore. And he’s probably wondering when I’m going to leave and get out of his hair. You heard him. He wants me in college. And I don’t blame him. I’m not really his responsibility. I suppose in a way I never was. And now he wants me to make my own life. So I guess that’s what I’m going to do.”
Flora felt slightly sick. Sick for Izzy that she would feel that way, and also sick for herself.
She’d been starting to feel part of the family. Included. But he hadn’t shared this with her.
Why not?
“You need to talk to him about how you’re feeling, Izzy. About feeling angry—all of it.”
“No way!” Izzy jumped to her feet, panicked. “I can’t—you have no idea—there’s stuff—other stuff—”
“Okay, okay—” Flora lifted a hand “—but it might help to talk to someone.” And Flora knew for sure she wasn’t the right person. “How about Aunt Clare?”
Izzy stared at her, chest rising and falling as she breathed. “Aunt Clare?”
“Yes. She’s known you forever and she loves you. You could tell her everything that is on your mind. All of it. Get it off your chest. Even if she can’t help, I’m sure she’d be a good listener.”
Izzy didn’t answer for a minute. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Think about it.” Flora zipped up her backpack. “If nothing else, it might make you feel better to have shared it. Less alone.”
And what was she going to do?
Izzy wasn’t the only one who needed to talk.
She did, too.
18
Clare
Clare was up in the attic, braving dust and spiders when she heard her mother call up to her.
“What are you doing up there?”
“I’m looking for old photo albums. I know they’re up here somewhere.” Why was she so disorganized? She and Todd shoved everything that needed storing up here and there was no system. She’d come across baby clothes, toys and a pair of curtains she was fairly sure would never be hung by anyone anywhere. She badly needed to clear out but she was hopeless at throwing things away. Everything came attached to a memory. She’d just spent five minutes sighing over a scrapbook Aiden had made when he was four years old.
Todd had even talked about converting the loft into another habitable room but Clare couldn’t begin to get her head round the work involved.
Her mother’s head appeared at the top of the ladder. “Good lord, Clare. This place is a fire risk. I’ve never understood your inability to part with things. If you like, I’ll lend you my book on decluttering.”
“One person’s clutter is another person’s hidden treasure. I don’t like throwing things out in case I need them.”
“You don’t need any of this stuff, Clare. The fact that you can’t even find anything up here tells me you don’t need it.” Her mother brushed dust from her sleeve. “What photos are you searching for?”
“The ones of Becca and me when we were young. You shouldn’t be up here, Mum! We just spent four hours in the emergency department.” The laceration had been deep and required suturing. “You’re not supposed to get the dressing on your finger dirty.”
Her mother made a dismissive sound. “If you wanted to see photos, you should have asked me. I have most of them over at the Gatehouse.”
“Oh. That explains why I couldn’t find them up here.” Clare looked at the mess she’d created in her search. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she should think about having a clear out. Next to her hand was a box of baby clothes, neatly folded. Why did she feel the need to keep everything? “I didn’t know you had photos. Why do you have them?”
“Because I didn’t want them vanishing in this space of yours. Photos are to be looked at and enjoyed, cried over and laughed over. They’re not supposed to add weight to someone’s ceiling. You boxed up all the photos ready to go into the loft, so I decided to take them with me when I moved.”
Clare sat down in the dust and stared at her mother. “Which photos?”
“Most of them are of our family, and your dad of course, but there are lots of you and Becca, too, over the years.”
“You’ve been looking at photos of Dad all alone and you didn’t tell me? Mum!”
“What? Life goes on, dear. We all have to find our own way. One of my ways is to look at the photos. It reminds me of all the good times we had. So many good times, probably more than I deserved. The photos help me.”
“I can’t bear to think of you looking at photos and feeling sad.”
“Who said anything about feeling sad? Occasionally, maybe, but far more often I find myself laughing. When I see photos of your dad wearing his slippers in the garden for example, the silly man. Did you know he called them his ‘outdoor slippers’? Ridiculous, but endearing, too. And there’s a wonderful one of him sailing. His hair is all over the place and his nose is scarlet because you know how forgetful he was about sunscreen. I’ve put that one in a frame. He would have been furious that I chose that one to be on display. We probably would have argued, but I would have won. It’s the one I like.”
“Where is it? I haven’t seen it.” Clare racked her brains, picturing her mother’s living room.
“It’s next to my bed. His lovely sunburned face is the last thing I look at every night before I go to sleep and the first thing I see in the mornings, just as I did when he was alive.”
“Oh, Mum.”
“Don’t ‘oh, Mum’ me. I’m happy. Do I miss him? Of course. Every minute of every day. But it’s a little easier now than it was in the beginning. Not the pain—that’s the same—but I’ve learned to breathe round it. I’ve learned that the pain doesn’t stop me doing things, it just comes along with me like a very annoying companion. And having the photograph right there makes him feel clo
ser. If I confess that I talk to him, are you going to have me locked up?”
“Of course not. But why didn’t you tell me all this sooner? Todd and I moved here so that we could be closer to you. So that Aiden could have you in his life.”
“And I will forever feel lucky and grateful that you moved here. But it doesn’t mean I need you on my doorstep every minute of the day. That would be irritating for both of us.”
“But you miss him terribly.”
“I do. I miss his smile, the way he always put his head on one side when he listened. I miss the way he always found the good in the bad. And of course I miss the sex—”
“Mum!”
“What? I’m only seventy. Seventy is the new seventeen, did you know?”
Clare didn’t know. Her face was hot, and it had nothing to do with the stuffiness of the attic.
“Oh, Clare.” Her mother looked both exasperated and amused by her discomfort. “You think sex ends when you’re forty? Or fifty? Your father and I had a very active sex life right until the week before he died.”
Clare felt light-headed. She couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. Her mother never failed to surprise her. “I— Have you thought of dating again?” Was that the wrong thing to say? Apparently not because her mother had a thoughtful look on her face.
“I have thought about it. I’ve even gone online and had a look—”
“How?”
“Aiden helped me. I made him promise not to tell you. Judging from the look on your face, I assume he didn’t.”
“No.” Clare felt faint. “No, he didn’t.” She thought about her boy, her baby, sitting next to his grandmother helping her log on to a dating site. Even while a part of her was handling the shock, another part was saying good for him.
“That boy is growing into a fine young man. He dropped by one day to see if I needed him to empty the bins because he knew his grandad always did it, but I have no issues with my recycling. It’s other things I need help with. Anyway, in the end I didn’t have the energy for it. Good sex isn’t just about having the right parts. It’s about intimacy and knowledge. For me, it’s about caring. You can’t buy that online. You can buy sex toys, of course. I bought a vibrator.”
Clare swallowed. “Did Aiden help you with that?”
“I’m quite capable of making a purchase from the internet, Clare. I don’t need teenage assistance with something as basic as that.”
“Right.” Was she about to have a conversation about vibrators with her mother? Because she was fairly sure she’d die. Todd, of course, would think it was hilarious.
“The vibrator is better than nothing, but not as good as your father. I imagine him smiling smugly from wherever he is.”
Clare, who was imagining something quite different, decided that the conversation had to end right now. Yes, she was the one who had encouraged her mother to talk more about her feelings, but there were limits and Clare had reached that limit.
“I’d love to see the photos of Dad. And of Becca.”
“I’ll fetch them. I was looking at them just last night so I know exactly where they are.”
Now that the topic of conversation was no longer her mother’s lack of sex life, the guilt returned. “I wish you’d told me you were looking at those photos.”
“Why? You’d only cluck over me and neither of us needs that. You have your own life, and I have mine. I love that our lives intersect regularly, but I don’t need you checking on me. If I need you, I’ll ask. I proved that this morning when I called you for a lift to the hospital.”
“I’m glad you called.”
“Well I couldn’t figure out a way to keep pressure on the wound and drive. I would have ended up with blood on the upholstery, which would have been hard to explain if I was stopped for speeding.”
Clare started to laugh. “You’re the best, Mum. I don’t tell you that enough.”
“Good, because that embarrasses me as much as tales of my sex life embarrass you.” Her mother sneezed. “Now could we go down and continue this conversation somewhere that has been vacuumed this century?”
“Sorry.” Clare stood up and brushed thick layers of dust from her jeans. “And you’re right. I really ought to have a clear out. I don’t know why I find it so hard to let go of things.”
“You were always the same. Didn’t matter whether it was toys or friends, you were never able to part with anything.”
Clare frowned. “Friends? What do you mean, friends?”
But her mother had already disappeared down the ladder.
Clare followed and closed the loft. “What did you mean about friends?”
“Wash your hands, dear, or you’ll leave dusty prints everywhere.”
There were times when her mother still made her feel about six years old.
“I’ll wash my hands and then put the kettle on.”
“And I’ll fetch the photos while you do that. I’ll drive back because there are quite a few boxes.”
“Give me five minutes and I’ll drive you.”
“I drive along the Wrynose, the Hardknott and the Kirkstone passes on a regular basis. I think I can manage to negotiate my own driveway. But thank you.”
“You’re supposed to be resting your hand!”
“The doctor said that normal movement was perfectly fine. Now stop fussing.” Her mother disappeared, leaving Clare anxious. But she was also proud.
Her parents had done everything together, but after Clare’s father had died her mother had continued to do things alone. To begin with it had been a way to honor his memory, but now it was a way of life. She’d forced herself to be independent, and in doing so had made a new life.
Clare had nothing but respect for her.
She couldn’t imagine she’d do as well if she lost Todd. She wasn’t proud of how she’d handled losing Becca.
She scrubbed the dust and smears of dirt from her hands and went downstairs to the kitchen.
Todd, Jack and Molly still weren’t back and neither was Aiden. She had no idea where Izzy or Flora were, although she knew they were unlikely to be together.
Clare decided it was the perfect time to enjoy a cup of tea and a chat with her mother, although certain topics were going to be off-limits.
She had the tea brewing and the table laid when her mother staggered through the door carrying three large boxes.
Clare was on her feet in a moment. “For goodness sake, Mum—” She grabbed the boxes and her mother flexed her wrists.
“Turns out memories weigh a lot. There are three more of these in the car. The boxes are labeled by year, and a rough list of contents.”
Clare hauled the rest of the boxes from the car and transferred them to the house.
“You sorted them?”
“Someone needed to, and it wasn’t going to be you. The ones of your father naked are in the bottom box.”
Clare froze and then saw the glint in her mother’s eye. “You’re terrible.”
“And you’re gullible. And also fun to tease.”
Clare dumped the boxes on the floor with the others. “I knew you were joking. You wouldn’t really have naked photos of Dad.”
“I have several naked photos, but they’re in the drawer by my bed, not in the boxes. Now sit down and let’s enjoy the tea while it’s hot. I’m parched. And I wouldn’t say no to a chocolate-chip cookie.”
Clare poured the tea, and made a mental note never ever to go in her mother’s drawers. “When did you find time to sort through all those photos?”
“Last winter, when we were snowed in. It was very cosy. Just me, a large whisky and all those memories.” Her mother selected the box on top and put it on the table next to Clare. “These are early photos of you and Becca. There are some of that year the two of you camped in the garden. Do you remember?”
She remembered. “Becca hated the insects. She crept into the house in the middle of the night and slept in the living room.”
“She was a g
irl who always knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it.”
“That’s true. She always said that no one was going to give her anything so she had to just take it.” Clare forced herself to open the box. Nerves fluttered in her stomach. Was this going to make her feel worse or better?
“She had a difficult start in life. No child should grow up feeling unwanted.”
Clare wasn’t going to argue with that. She flipped open the first album and smiled. There was Becca, aged seven, a fierce look in her eyes as she’d urged a donkey on to greater speed.
“Look at her face. She was competitive even when she was riding a donkey. I always felt so inadequate. There were times when I wondered if she hung out with me because she knew she could beat me at most things.”
Her mother put her cup down. “Clare—”
“It’s true.”
“I know she made you feel that way, and because we’re being honest I’m going to tell you that I found it so frustrating. She made you feel bad about yourself. And you let her.”
“I—”
“You let her, Clare. You didn’t stand up for yourself. You didn’t say what you wanted from the friendship. It was all about keeping Becca happy. You were so shy when you were little, and having Becca in your life brought you out of yourself so for a while I was pleased, but then I saw that she didn’t really bring you out of your shell, she kept you there. And you were so anxious to be her friend, so afraid she’d reject you, that you allowed her to behave however she pleased with no rules or boundaries. You let her dominate you. Honestly? I think you were a little afraid of her. It was a very unbalanced friendship. Your father and I often talked about it.”
“You—you did?”
“Yes. If Becca had been a boy we would have been talking to you about toxic relationships, but for some reason I didn’t do that in this case so I bear the blame, too.”
“Blame?”
“You and Becca outgrew each other a long time ago. Your friendship was glued together by history, her insecurities and your inability to accept that sometimes it’s okay to let things go.”