You Never Told Me

by Sarah Jasmon

  Eleanor laughed. She seemed happier than Charlie had seen her since she got back from Thailand, no, from way before that. ‘You don’t want Dad living on the boat? I guess that would sort things out.’ She pulled a face to show she was joking, or at least that was what Charlie hoped.

  ‘Not quite.’ Charlie came up from her seat in her earnestness. ‘Though we did talk today. It’s not as cut and dried as it seems, you know. I don’t think it was easy for either of them.’

  Eleanor listened to her break-down of the morning and sighed. ‘I know, I know. I was talking about it to one of the other mums this afternoon, and it made me think how Mum wasn’t easy.’

  ‘The thing is, I want you to have a choice about Dad, I want us to have a choice. I don’t know, sheltered housing, taking turns being with him. I guess he needs to have a choice, right? And I’m going to need to work out what I’m going to do for the rest of my life, so let’s build that into the plan, OK? Talk about it, come up with options.’

  ‘Oh, bless you.’ Eleanor closed her eyes with a sigh. ‘I think it might be time to think about work for myself. At least work towards working towards it.’

  ‘Shout if you need an au pair,’ Charlie said. ‘I could do that. Just as long as you remember I can only really cook one dish, and I’m no good at ironing.’

  ‘Thank you for the offer.’ Eleanor gave a snort at the picture she’d conjured up. ‘Maybe some respite every now and then. But no, you need to get back to your boat.’

  ‘It’s not really my boat,’ Charlie said. The words spilled out before she could think, half regretted, half needing to be out there. ‘I do know that. I’m going to sort things out with Max, just let him have what he wants and get going. Life’s too short to be worrying about stuff like that.’

  ‘Of course it’s your boat.’ Eleanor spoke with conviction. ‘Mum wanted you to have it, for a start, and anyway it’s the right place for you to be. But you know what else we need to do, right?’

  ‘Find Elizabeth?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Charlie thought she could hear in Eleanor’s voice some of the reservations she was feeling herself. There was no point to any of this if they didn’t find their sister, Britta’s baby. And she wanted to, she really did. It was easy to picture the positives, the blurry vision of reunion, of past wrongs being set right. But nothing was as straightforward as that. ‘You won’t be the big sister any more.’ The words came out in a hurry, carrying a subtext of all the things that could go wrong.

  ‘I’ll always be your big sister,’ Eleanor told her. ‘So don’t go imagining you can get away with anything.’

  ‘You know what’s funny?’

  ‘Your face,’ Eleanor shot back. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been with five-year-olds all day. Go on, what’s funny?’

  ‘You need a better comeback,’ Charlie told her. ‘But you’re right, funny’s not the word. It’s just—’ She hesitated, trying to work out how to say what she was thinking. ‘We don’t know how much they talked, Mum and Elizabeth, or what Mum told her. She knows a completely different person, and I don’t know who the real one is. Our mum or hers.’

  ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’ Eleanor stood, looking back into the house. ‘Especially as I haven’t heard anything from those two for way too long. You need to come and practise those au pair skills.’

  THIRTY-TWO

  She was on the train with just Martha. The two of them were heading down to the boat, Bella curled up at their feet. The rest of the family, including Hugo, were going to drive down to visit the following weekend, and take Martha back. She’s only got a week of school left, Eleanor had declared, so I’m going to go in and cry over the head until she agrees to let her out of school. And if she doesn’t, I’m going to take her out anyway. Martha’s face had been worried on the first stage of the journey, which Charlie had put down to being away from her family. Then she’d cuddled in and whispered that she was scared Mummy would go to prison for letting her miss school. A little chat about the head agreeing that it might be a good thing for Martha to go with her aunty (I tell you, I was in there for an hour, I swear, and by the end she’d have said yes to anything!) put her mind to rest, and she’d chattered about school and boats and what they were going to do until they’d changed trains again. Then, suddenly, she’d run out of steam and gone to sleep across Charlie’s lap. Moving slowly so as not to wake her, Charlie managed to work her phone out of her bag, wishing she’d taken some travel-sickness tablets before they’d left. She was usually fine on trains, but it was pretty warm. Probably looking at her phone wouldn’t help, but there was something she wanted to get done before they arrived.

  That was one thing about writing emails on a phone: she wasn’t tempted to keep going back over it to refine or convince. This was intended as a statement of fact, a message to Max as a line drawn and finished. She was sorry about what had happened, she hadn’t behaved well, but neither had he, or Zoe. She hoped they could put it behind them so, in this spirit, she was prepared to accept his offer without further delay. Without reading it back or letting herself think, she pressed send.

  The first thing they saw as they walked down to the boat was a familiar face. Martha was running ahead of her down the towpath, Bella frisking at her feet. The air was warm, a sense of holidays in the air. Charlie was breathing in the space, anticipating the moment when Skíðblaðnir would come into view, holding down the little bubble of worry that she’d be underwater. A halloo came from a boat just pulling up alongside, and Charlie turned to see its familiar colours. There was Bob on the back, hat down over his eyes, and Libby leaning out of the side hatch, waving. There was a surge of noise as Bob went into reverse, and then they were bobbing in neutral, catching up on news.

  ‘We saw your boat back down there,’ Libby was saying, ‘and we were wondering if we’d catch you coming along. And this is Britta’s granddaughter, is it? Well, my lovely, you look just like your grandma!’

  Martha, overtaken with shyness, had to be prompted into a reply, but Libby’s warmth was all-encompassing. Soon, Martha was telling her about the train journey, and how she was missing school (‘it is authoritied, so we won’t get into trouble’) to stay on the boat.

  ‘And how are you getting on then?’ That was Bob, cutting past the marginal stuff. ‘Boat behaving?’

  ‘It all seems to be OK.’ Charlie grinned at him. ‘I’ve got your number for when we start to sink.’

  ‘Ah, that’s not going to happen.’ He was watching Bella twist herself round trying to catch a butterfly. ‘Got yourself a dog, have you?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I hear you’ve met Margareta?’

  ‘Yes.’ Charlie was taken aback. How fast did news travel here? Faster than the boats, by the sound of it.

  ‘One of the first boats I ever went on, Guillemot was. Bit of a wild lad I was, you know.’ For a second, their eyes locked, as if a message was being passed, and then he tipped his head up, glancing down the canal at an oncoming boat. ‘We’d best be off,’ he said, his words drowned in the forward churn of the engine.

  Libby waved as they began to move away. ‘See you back in Macc!’ she called, and then she was gone. Charlie waved back automatically, but her mind was on Bob’s last words. Guillemot, boating with Margareta. She tried to remember the face of the boy with the quiff, the one Sylvia had been gazing at so adoringly. Her mind was working overtime, sparking out ideas. Bob’s face superimposed on the boy’s, Bob being at the marina. Bob arranging for Britta to buy the boat. But was he enough of an actor to have kept it a secret? But then, he didn’t have to act. All he had to do was not talk about it, be his silent, reserved self. It wasn’t until Martha came running back to ask how much further it was that she returned to the present. There was nothing she could do until she got back to Macclesfield, anyway.

  They carried on, the handle of Charlie’s bag of groceries beginning to cut into her fingers with its weight. She shifted it to the other hand, watching Martha and Bella race ahead
again. They should be nearly there, just around the next corner. Martha spotted the name with a whoop, and cartwheeled along the path towards the far end. Then she stopped, turning uncertainly back towards her aunt. Before Charlie could respond, Bella had taken off at a dash, tail lashing. She was whining, in short excited squeals that rose in volume as a figure got up from his seat on the gunnels. Max.

  Martha had been sent to explore the boat. Charlie and Max sat opposite each other in the living room, in an awkward near-silence. Bella weaved her way between them, curling herself first through Max’s legs, then back to Charlie’s, pushing her nose up and under her elbow to remind her she hadn’t had a biscuit.

  ‘She’s really grown up,’ Max said at last, nodding down the boat to where they could hear Martha murmuring to herself as she opened cupboards and turned on taps.

  ‘Yeah, she has.’ Charlie bent forwards so that she could call down through the galley to Martha in the bathroom. ‘Don’t be wasting all the water!’

  ‘I won’t!’ Martha called back, and the sound of the pump cut out.

  ‘You seem happy here,’ he continued, taking in the cosy, homely space. There was a pause, awkward, but at least with no aggro. Charlie waited for him to say more, to explain why he was there. Eventually he spoke. ‘I got your email.’

  That was fast. It wasn’t far to the boat in a car, but he’d have had to be making a guess at where she was, taking some time to walk along and find her. ‘I meant it,’ she said at last, as he didn’t seem to be carrying on with his sentence. ‘I just think it’s time to draw a line, you know?’

  ‘Look.’ His hands twisted together between his knees. He always sat like that when he had something particularly serious to say. He’d been sitting like that the night he’d proposed. A sharp twist of regret for all that was lost shot through her belly, fading into a surge of nausea. What was coming next? ‘I didn’t send that email, the one about Bella or nothing.’ He waited for her to respond, but she was having trouble processing the words. He bounced his hands up and down with even more earnestness. ‘It was Zoe. I left my laptop at home that day, and she knew my password. I’d never have—’ He stopped and took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. About Bella, about everything. And if it means anything, Zoe’s gone. I’m not quite sure …’ Again his voice trailed off.

  ‘It’s me that should be sorry.’ Charlie was thinking about Eleanor and Jon, how they both had that underlying need to be together. She looked Max straight in the eyes. ‘Not for leaving. I had doubts, you know that, and there were too many gaps between what we wanted. I couldn’t promise babies.’ She thought about Max’s sister, taking her aside on that awful Easter to point out how much Max wanted children, how unfair it was of her, Charlie, to keep him waiting. ‘Your sisters staged an intervention, you know.’ She caught sight of the anger sweeping up his face and put a hand out, touching his knee. ‘No, it’s fine, honestly. They were right, I think, though I couldn’t see it at the time. It made things clear, in one way.’ Her hand was still on his knee, and she tightened her grip, feeling his muscle and bone under her fingers. ‘But I should have talked to you about it properly, not just panicked and run away.’

  His expression was still dark, but not directed at her. ‘I wish you had,’ he said at last. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t understand? I was never with you because you were some kind of—’ He stopped to give an incredulous laugh. ‘Some kind of breeding machine.’

  ‘Max, I know.’ Charlie could feel tears building, the pressure tight and hot behind her eye sockets. ‘And it wasn’t ever that. I don’t think I really knew myself at the time. I had to leave so that I could understand.’

  He put his hand over hers, the warm weight of it familiar and comforting. ‘Friends?’

  She smiled at him, her eyes still a bit blurry. They’d moved so far apart now, had become new people. He knew it as well, she could tell by the tiny hint of relief in his voice. ‘Friends,’ she agreed.

  ‘So, what’s the next plan?’ he asked as she got up to put the kettle on.

  ‘A week with Martha here, having some fun.’ She smiled as Martha came up from behind to wrap herself into her back. ‘Though also some homework, yes?’ Martha gave a groan and wriggled on past, to collapse cross-legged beside Bella. ‘Then, I don’t know. I might take the boat back up north for a bit, be within reach for Eleanor.’ So many more things she could have said. Decide on a new career, find my long-lost sister, get to know who my dad really is before it’s too late. So many things that would never be part of their shared experience. Take the boat to London. Find out if Dave was more than a brief encounter. A life after Max. Her life. ‘Max, thank you.’

  She’d arranged for Margareta to come and visit the next day. Everything was ready, the kettle just needing to boil, and fancy biscuits arranged by Martha on one of the pretty vintage plates. Charlie was searching in her bag for some tissues and touched a package she hadn’t noticed before. It was small, flat, wrapped in brown paper. She pulled it out and saw Eleanor’s handwriting on the outside. A little something for the boat. Can’t wait to see you there! Inside was a picture frame, in plain brown wood, with a small snapshot inside. Eleanor had tucked another note in there. Found this in one of the boxes, thought you’d like to have it x.

  In the picture, Britta was sitting on a bed, her blonde hair tucked up into a scarf. She was smiling, with a reckless, giddy happiness that made Charlie’s heart contract. On either side of her, tucked under her arms like chicks in a nest, was a girl. Charlie on one side, Eleanor on the other. Charlie was grimacing, clowning for the camera. Eleanor was more subdued, her face turned towards her mother with a hint of a question.

  ‘Is that you?’ Martha had popped up at her shoulder.

  ‘Yes, me,’ she dabbed at the glass, touching the little bright face, ‘your mum and Granny Britta.’

  ‘Granny Britta who was really Sylvia?’ They’d had a long conversation the night before, Martha soaking in the details with fascination. ‘And the lady who’s coming now is sort of like your granny?’

  ‘Well, not really.’ Charlie looked at the photo again, wondering who had taken it. Was it Hugo, in a rare happy family moment, or Margareta herself, when Britta had made her brief run for freedom? ‘She was a special person to Granny Britta, though. I think you’ll like her.’

  They got on straight away, the old lady and the girl. Charlie sat and watched them, Martha chattering to Margareta, asking her to teach her more Norwegian words. ‘I can say Skíðblaðnir,’ she heard her announce. ‘Aunty Charlie taught me that. And she told me about the story, that you could fold the boat up and take it with you in your pocket.’

  ‘You must say it like this: Skíðblaðnir.’ Margareta’s pronunciation made the syllables skip across the surface, like a stone skimmed on water. ‘A useful possession, I always thought, to be able to fold up your boat.’

  ‘You’d need a big pocket for this one,’ Martha said, and they put their heads together and laughed.

  Margareta caught Charlie’s eye with a smile. ‘Now then,’ she said to Martha. ‘We’ll learn some more in a while.’ She picked up one of the old paperbacks that Martha had brought from the bookcase. ‘Why don’t you read this, and tell me which of the girls you like best?’ As Martha settled down in a corner, Bella settling onto her lap, Margareta patted the sofa next to her for Charlie to come and sit. ‘So, this is Britta’s boat?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. Is it what you expected?’ Charlie felt warm being next to her, their relationship subtly different from the last visit, in Margareta’s home. Now it really did feel as though there was something familial between them.

  ‘My dear, I could be back in the cabin of Guillemot,’ she replied. ‘Not exactly, you understand. It isn’t a replica. But the feeling is the same.’ She held Charlie’s hand with a squeeze. ‘I think your mother must have been happy here. And you will bring the next generation on board, yes?’

  ‘Martha?’ Charlie squeezed back and laughed. ‘She loves it here.
I might have a permanent house guest. Or boat guest.’

  ‘But no one for yourself?’

  ‘Bella is enough for me.’ The dog heard her name, lifting her head with a sigh, as if to ask if she really had to get up. Seeing the two of them sitting there, she dropped back down. Charlie watched Martha’s hand rub across her ears and felt a blast of contentment. ‘Can I ask you something?’ she said. ‘But say if you’d rather not answer.’

  ‘How mysterious.’ Margareta turned to her, her eyes very blue and direct.

  Charlie nearly changed her mind, but the question had been needling in her mind. She needed to ask someone. ‘Do you ever regret it, not having children, I mean?’ She kept her voice low enough that Martha wouldn’t hear, not knowing what she hoped to hear, or if asking it would cause offence.

  Margareta smiled at her. ‘I think I can tell you that I have never once regretted it.’ She picked up Charlie’s hand, asking for all of her attention. ‘I am a selfish old woman, and I am afraid that being a mother would not have suited me at all. But this is a question that is different for every person. You must make up your own mind, you know, and not listen to anyone telling you what you should think.’ She smiled, following Charlie’s gaze to where Martha was sitting. ‘And enjoy being an aunt to your beautiful niece. Now, tell me what you will do next.’

  ‘I don’t know. Find out who I am, maybe?’ She caught the sly glance Margareta was giving her and grinned. ‘I know. But this is a bit more specific than it sounds.’ She paused for a moment, her gaze back on Martha and Bella as she thought about it all. ‘The thing is, I’m having a bit of a crisis over names.’ It was a relief to say it all out loud, and a second relief that she didn’t sound ridiculous. The boat being in the name of Charlotte Nilsson, the wider question of women changing their names, her own uncertainty about her allegiance being assumed through any one choice. She wound up. ‘So, I have Britta wanting me to have a name that was never hers and, by extension, a nationality that wasn’t hers either. And I feel a responsibility to keep my family name, to stay part of my family, except Eleanor’s already changed her name. And there’s this other sister, who might already be calling herself Nilsson.’ She shook her head to clear it of all the words.