reading aloud Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, one of her favourite books. It was far easier to read than attempt to talk, and the words of Lewis Carroll seemed fitting somehow. My mother had disappeared down a rabbit hole and into another world, just like Alice.
Finally, I got up to leave, and kissed her cheek. I pulled on my coat, and as I tucked my hand in my pocket, I felt the picture, and questions darted around my head. Should I show it to her? Would she recognise the farmhouse? Would her older memories be easier to reach? I didn’t want to upset her, but desperately needed to know. I pulled it out, unfolded it, and placed it on her knees. ‘I wondered if you remember this place, Mum?’
She looked down, and her eyes filled with tears, as she ran shaking fingers over the black clouds and down the creases. ‘Rachel added the clouds.’
‘Did I?’ I couldn’t remember.
She stared at the picture for some time before a sudden desperate sob came from deep inside her. ‘The cuts,’ she cried. ‘They were the same size. They should have been different, you see. I should have said something.’
I reached over, folded the picture, and stuffed it back in my pocket, as Margo rushed over to comfort her, pulling her into a hug.
‘Mum,’ I said. ‘Mum, tell me what’s wrong. What is it you wanted to tell me last time I was here?’
But as quickly as her tears came, they stopped. She pulled away from Margo, and her eyes, vacant once more, focused on the window.
It was time for me to leave.
***
Snow fell thick and fast on the journey home, settling on the grass verges, and I began to panic that I wouldn’t get back in time for Lawrence bringing Grace home, but thankfully I skidded to a stop outside my house the same time as he did.
‘Mummy,’ Grace called once he’d unstrapped her from the car seat, and plonked her down on the snow-covered pavement.
‘Hello, my lovely girl,’ I said, crouching and holding out my arms. She padded across the snow towards me, wrapped in her winter coat, a wool hat with a fur pom-pom covering dark curls. She’d inherited her hair from Lawrence, although he kept his short these days.
I took her into my arms and squeezed, breathing her in. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’
‘I’ve missed you more,’ she said, as I released her. She looked up at the dark sky, and a snowflake landed on her nose. ‘Can we build a snowman?’ she said, eyes back on me.
‘Maybe later,’ I said.
She crouched down, and began scooping snow into her gloved hands, singing ‘Do you want to build a snowman?’ from Frozen at the top of her voice.
Lawrence approached, tall, slim, and handsome, in a smart jacket with jeans and a green woollen hat with an oversized pom-pom. I glanced at the car. Someone was sitting in the passenger seat. Farrah?
‘I got your text,’ he said, folding his arms.
‘Yes, well, I was angry.’ I looked up at him and stuffed my hands in my pockets, conscious I looked a mess. ‘You should have talked to me before introducing fucking Farrah to our daughter.’ I never swore much, and it always sounded a bit lame – silly – like I was a child trying out the word for the first time.
‘Don’t be pathetic, Rachel.’ He’d said that to me a lot in the weeks leading up to our breakup. ‘Her name’s Farrah Bright.’
‘Of course it is.’
He glanced over his shoulder at Grace. ‘Listen, I think it’s only fair you should know.’ He paused for a moment. ‘The thing is …’ He scratched his eyebrow. ‘The truth is, I’ve been seeing Farrah for over a year now, and we’re pretty serious. I’m sorry, Rach …’
‘A year?’ I cut in. ‘Jeez, Lawrence, how could you?’ I felt my chin wobble. ‘You were seeing her when we were together?’ My stomach heaved. I’d had no idea.
‘Not seriously.’
‘Well, that’s OK then,’ I spat.
‘I’m sorry.’ He tried to take hold of my hand, but I dodged his, my arms flapping like helicopter propellers as I smacked the cold air, and skidded around on the ice like Bambi.
‘I didn’t want to hurt you,’ he said, catching my elbow.
‘Well, that didn’t work out for you. Just leave me alone,’ I cried, snatching my elbow away, and storming past him, almost slipping again as I fumbled for my keys – desperate to get inside before tears came. ‘Grace, come on, lovely girl.’
‘Farrah adores Grace,’ he called after me. ‘She can’t have kids, so …’
I turned, glaring at the car. The woman faced forward, a fur-lined hood obscuring my view of her. I wanted to rush over, bang on the glass, scream that she could have Lawrence with knobs on, but Grace belonged to me. ‘Keep her away from Grace,’ I said calmly.
I opened the front door, and Grace ran to my side. ‘Wave to Daddy,’ I said, trying hard not to show her how angry I was.
‘Bye, Daddy,’ she called, waving.
‘Bye, chipmunk,’ he called back, and it took all of my willpower not to pick up a clump of snow and chuck it at his stupid shiny black car.
October 1987
Laura stood in the dense darkness at the water’s edge rocking Rachel, hoping the night air would send her daughter to sleep.
‘Shh, please,’ she whispered, but Rachel continued to yell – a piercing sound, like an incessant dentist drill inside Laura’s head, screwing with her mind, twisting her thoughts so they were no longer recognisable as her own.
She couldn’t see her baby’s face, but knew it would be red and blotchy, coated with tears and snot, because it always was. It always is.
The birth had been problematic – a bad start. Laura’s hopes that the anger she felt towards Jude would dissipate once she held her child in her arms hadn’t happened. Rachel had been premature, with respiratory distress syndrome and severe jaundice. She’d been kept in intensive care for almost a month, and Laura had struggled to bond with her. In fact, she felt nothing. Was she no better than her own parents?
Now Rachel was three months old. The midwife and health visitor were long gone, leaving her to it, believing she was OK. She’d somehow convinced them of that.
She had nobody to turn to. If she’d only kept in contact with the other students at university – accepted Abi’s offer of help when she’d called. But it was too late now they’d gone their own ways. In fact, the only people she saw were those behind shop counters, or old ladies who cooed at the child, telling Laura how beautiful her daughter was. She wished she could see what they saw. The consuming guilt was unimaginable.
