Beneath the Surface (36 page)

‘I wasn’t well,’ she said. ‘I realise that now, I never knew.

‘She told me you were threatening the girls,’ she continued when I didn’t respond. ‘She said you’d cut her.’ Kathryn looked at me, imploring me to believe how awful that must have been for her. ‘I was scared, I didn’t know what to do.’

‘That was the scar wasn’t it? Hannah said she had one. She turned up one day with a gaping cut and told me it was a tree branch.’ Abi laughed. ‘Oh my God, the mad woman must have done that to herself. I never cut her, Kathryn.’

‘I’m so sorry—’

‘You never stopped to ask me,’ I said again. ‘Not once did you listen to me, you always took her word for it.’

‘I know, I realise that now, I—’

‘She ruled you, Kathryn. And you let her,’ I said.

‘If I could turn back the clock, I would,’ she cried, holding her hands out to me. ‘I’m sorry, Abigail, I’m so sorry for what happened.’

I stared at her outstretched hands, her futile attempt at an olive branch and resisted the urge to slap them away.

‘Well, sadly, we can’t,’ I said calmly.

Do you know what I realised then, Adam? That no matter what words were spoken, I would never get what I needed because that was impossible. My mother left me, she took my girls away, and yes, she might have tried to contact me, but the fact was, she lived another life without me for fourteen years. So whatever we said to each other then it didn’t really matter because what had happened was unthinkable, it had changed my life too much and there was no going back. No explanation would ever be good enough.

Maggie had asked me yesterday if I wanted her back in my life.

‘I never wanted her out of it,’ I told her honestly. ‘But I don’t know if I could take her back.’

She asked me what I hoped to get out of the meeting, and I said I didn’t really know, maybe it was just to be able to move on.

Kathryn had started rummaging in her handbag and I half-expected her to pull out a strip of pills, but instead she produced another large padded envelope. ‘I’ve got something for you,’ she said, holding it tightly in her hands for a moment before passing it over to me.

‘What is it?’ I took it off her cautiously.

‘Some things I took away that I should have left out,’ she said.

I looked inside and pulled out a photo, and then another and another: all pictures of my dad.

‘Oh!’ I threw my hand to my mouth. ‘Daddy!’ Tears rolled down my face.

‘I have a boxful – they’re yours when you would like them. I never threw them away,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t.’

‘Why?’ I gasped, ‘why did you take them all away from me?’

‘I don’t know,’ Kathryn was shaking her head. ‘I … I thought I needed to move on.’

‘You thought?’ I cried out. ‘Or
she
did?’ I stared at my daddy’s face, pictures I hadn’t seen for so many years. He looked so full of life and hope. ‘It could have been so different,’ I said.

My mother stared into her lap, twisting the bottom of her sweater into a tight ball. Under the cover of her pretty clothes and neat haircut her nerves were still fragile. Those were snatches of my mother when I was a teenager that I saw: the one who let me down again and again.

‘Maybe we could start—’ Her mouth snapped shut without finishing the sentence, and her brow was furrowed as if she was trying to find the right words to explain what she wanted from me.

‘Start what?’ I asked coldly. ‘Not start again, surely?’ Suddenly her appearance, her words felt like a charade. Did she really think we could brush over what had happened so easily?

‘Well, maybe we could talk about—’ she drifted off again. ‘Or you could tell me about yourself. Or, I don’t know, there must be so many things we could tell each other about our lives over the years.’

Like the fact I ended up sharing a house with drug addicts and spent most of Eleanor’s money on alcohol and clubbing, or that I didn’t allow myself to trust anyone for years for fear that they would leave me like she did. Or that I ruined my marriage because I was too scared to have children with the man I loved. Yes, Kathryn, I could have screamed, there are many things I could tell you, but do you know what? I actually don’t want you to be part of any of it. Not the good times or the bad times. Not the really, really low times when I thought there was no way out, or when Adam came into my life and showed me there was.

‘No,’ I shook my head. In the end all I could say was, ‘I can’t do it.’

Kathryn looked up at me, wide eyes searching for a reason why. ‘But now you know about me, and that I didn’t know I had—’ she stopped, hands reaching out as if she truly believed she had given me a good enough reason to rebuild a relationship.

‘But you left me,’ I spluttered. ‘You walked away from me when I was the same age as the girls are now. And I had to grow up all on my own and along the way I’ve made some shitty choices that I’ll have to live with forever because of you.

‘I’m sorry you were kept in the dark,’ I went on. ‘I’m sorry you were never told you’re schizophrenic, and I know that goes a long way to explaining many things – but not everything. Because you could still have come looking for me.’

Kathryn looked up at me, her eyes so full of remorse and longing.

‘You still shouldn’t have left me. You were so controlled by that woman,’ I cried.

‘I can see it now,’ she said quietly.

I gave a short laugh and shaking my head, sat back in my chair, my heart thumping wildly.

‘Can’t we move on from here?’ Her eyes pleaded with me, so full of hope. ‘We can take it slowly and see how things go.’

*****

I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a tiny part of me that was tempted: she’s my mother. She was supposed to be my role model, the one person I could turn to and rely on, no matter what. Every daughter wants a mum in their life if they have the chance, surely?

But I couldn’t forget, and to be honest, I don’t think I can ever forgive her for what she did. So actually it’s too late for her to be a mother to me now. I spent fourteen years wishing she was still in my life but now I realise that isn’t what I need.

I told my mother I wished her well and for the sake of the girls I hoped she would look after herself and accept the help she’d so obviously needed for many years. But I said I couldn’t have her in my life. We were too broken for that, and I didn’t have the energy or even the wish to fix a relationship that had shattered so far beyond repair.

Maybe one day I might change my mind, I don’t know. Maybe one day I might want to talk to her about what happened, but to be honest I don’t think she has the answers any more than I do.

There are many things I will never know for sure. Like why my mother let Eleanor rule her life. I imagine her condition played a huge part in that. It is a sad thing she was never allowed to get the help she needed – I believe if she had then our lives would have been very different. I imagine my mum was desperate for a love she never received as a child, and in her skewed mind believed that in letting Eleanor control her, she might earn it.

Strangely, I find Eleanor easier to understand. Everything about her was unambiguous. I believe she was a narcissistic woman, heady with the lifestyle, the money and the power her marriage brought her. She was ashamed of her daughter’s condition, so much so she would do anything to make sure no one found out about it. My grandmother thought about no one but herself. She was never cut out to have a child; she was far too selfish to be a mother. I hope that in climbing to the top of her ladder she never actually made herself happy. I hope that she at least had a moment of realisation that it wasn’t worth it if you didn’t love and be loved in return. But I accept I will never know that for sure.

*****

I will miss talking to you, Adam. It’s a cathartic process, laying your life out in black and white, but it’s time for me to stop because I need to move on. I have Hannah in my life. And Lauren too, of course – we are both working at our relationship, and I have no doubt we’ll get there.

I still feel sad I’ve missed out on so much of them. Every time I see them I picture them as babies, curled towards each other, Lauren on the right, Hannah on the left. I can’t believe I haven’t seen them grow into the beautiful girls they are today, and that breaks my heart. Time is one thing you can never get back.

I try not to let the past control me anymore, but I still regret never giving us the chance to be parents. I always knew you would make a wonderful dad, but now I know I could have been a good mum too. I have it in my heart, I always did. At first I wasn’t given the chance to show it, but then with you, I no longer had the confidence to try.

*****

I didn’t know Hannah was going to look for you, Adam. If I had, I would have stopped her long before she found you, and told her what happened at the end.

The last time I saw you in St James’s Park, you kissed me on the cheek and said, ‘Look after yourself, Abs.’

We’d been through so much in those last few months, after you told me you wanted to work things out. At first I couldn’t see how we could because I knew I still couldn’t give you the baby you wanted. But you didn’t push me, saying that we were more important. And so I finally believed that it could be OK.

The moment you kissed me and walked away I had a sense that something was wrong. I told myself not to be stupid, what a ridiculous notion, I couldn’t possibly know anything like that. You were only going on a business trip – you were coming home. But still I couldn’t shake the unease. I stood up and almost ran after you, begging you not to go. How I wish I’d done that, Adam. But I knew you wouldn’t have taken me seriously – you would have held my face in your hands and laughed and told me not to be so silly. Then you would have kissed my forehead and walked away, as you did, leaving me in St James’s Park to watch the back of you fade into the distance. Watching you run your fingers through your hair and put your other hand in the back pocket of your jeans, turning round as you were about to walk out of sight to grin and wave at me.

I replay that moment again and again and again in my head until it hurts so much, I need it to stop.

The following day, when I saw your father at the front door I knew immediately something was wrong. His face was grey, his eyes heavy with sorrow. He could barely look me in the eye and when he spoke my name his voice cracked through the ball of grief lodged inside his throat.

‘Let’s go inside,’ he said, leading me into the kitchen.

‘Don’t,’ I cried once inside. ‘Don’t tell me.’

I didn’t want to hear what he was about to say. Because if I didn’t hear it, I didn’t have to believe it and then I didn’t have to deal with it.

‘There’s been an accident,’ he said, ignoring my plea.

‘No,’ I said. ‘No!’ I remember saying that over and over: no, no, no. It couldn’t be true.

‘He was in a taxi,’ your dad told me. ‘A lorry swerved around the corner too quickly.’ He was shaking his head and I watched the tears slipping down his cheeks, thinking it was the first time I had ever seen him cry. His words pierced through the fug surrounding me. The lorry hit the taxi head-on. You weren’t wearing a seat belt; you died on impact.

‘Stop,’ I begged him, as I felt his arms grip my own to stop me from falling to the floor. I needed their strength yet even then I knew he himself couldn’t have had any left. He was as broken as I was, so filled with the grief of losing his only child.

*****

It’s taken me a long time but I do now accept there was nothing I could have done to stop what happened. And finally I realise that many things weren’t my fault.

I didn’t start seeing Maggie because of my past; I went because I couldn’t see a future without everyone I ever loved in it. But I can now. I can see a really bright one and for the first time in a very long while I’m excited about it. So I’m going to let you go now. And I’m going to let myself go, too. Because I have two beautiful girls in my life again and I can finally see the future I was so desperately searching for.

Thank you for listening to me, Adam. I will always love you.

   Abigail

    xxx

Writing a book is something I have always wanted to do, and along the way there have been many people who have given me the encouragement to get on and do it. From everyone at the school gate who asks how the book is going, to friends who have given me feedback and helped in other ways, I am grateful to all of you.

In particular I have some wonderful friends who have helped me on my journey to publication: Lucy Emery, Donna Cross, Deborah Dorman, Becci Holland and Kevan Kelsey. Thank you all, I know I am very lucky to have such good friends in my life.

My many early readers who encouraged me with enthusiasm and direction: Vanessa Edkins, Sandra Clayton, Fran Moore and all the Hinchley Wood Literary Ladies: Jennifer Plant, Jane Worsley, Vasiliki Arvaniti, Roisin McHugh, Larisa Strickland, Liz Sabell and Rach Hyams. Thank you Kate Bradford for your medical input (any mistakes are entirely my own) and Kate Chisman for all your insights into the world of social media!

Without my wonderful support group of writers there were plenty of times I wouldn’t have known which way to turn. Your thoughts, comments and motivation kept me going and I feel very grateful to have made some good friends along the way. Thank you Alice Clark-Platts, Catherine Bennetto, Julietta Henderson, Dawn Goodwin, Alex Tyler, Moyette Gibbons, Grace Coleman and Elin Daniels.

Thank you to Sheila Crowley and Becky Ritchie who believed in me and the book from the start. And to Christopher Wakling and Anna Davis for your support and guidance.