that tea of yours.’ She gave a shiver as though swallowing something horrible. ‘So, this time, have you done what I told you?’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘Two teabags, then?’
‘Yes, Mother. Two teabags, one sugar – the way you like it.’
‘I bet you didn’t warm up my cup!’
‘Yes, I did that too.’
‘Good girl. At long last, you’ve learned your lesson. You can be such a naughty child!’
Through the haze in her mind, Eileen saw a chubby six-year-old with long, fair plaits and mucky hands, instead of a shapely, pretty woman aged thirty. ‘What am I to do with you, eh?’
‘Sorry, Mother.’ Following doctors’ advice, Libby had learned how to deal with her mother’s unpredictable moods. ‘It won’t happen again, I promise.’ Gently reaching out, she suggested in a quiet voice, ‘Come on now, Mum. Don’t let your tea go cold. You know how you hate cold tea.’
Unsure, Eileen moved back a step. ‘Too cheeky for your own good, that’s the truth of it. Drive me to distraction at times, you really do!’
‘I try not to.’ She gently wrapped her fingers about the older woman’s hand. ‘Come on, Mum.’
Eileen took a tentative step forward, only to pause again as though unsure. ‘You do realise, don’t you? I shall have to tell your father when he comes down.’
‘If you must.’
‘He’ll probably smack your legs.’ She jabbed her forefinger into Libby’s chest. ‘Oh, and don’t think I’ll stop him this time, because you deserve a smack!’
‘I expect I do.’
There followed a quiet moment, during which the older woman took stock of the situation, her kindly gaze holding her daughter’s attention. ‘Perhaps I won’t tell him,’ she confided in a whisper, ‘because he can get nasty when he has to give you a telling-off.’ Her face softened. ‘Yet he loves you, Libby. We both do.’
Choking back the tears, Libby told her, ‘And I love you, Mum . . . so very much.’
Libby had small recollection of her father, who had gone away when she was still a little girl. Like a fast-fading picture in her mind, she saw a big man with blue eyes, dark hair and quiet manner; a man with a beguiling Irish accent who came home from work and went upstairs to change before the evening meal. Most times when the meal was over, he would go out – returning much later when she and her mother were in bed. Occasionally she recalled the odd, brief cuddle, but that was all. There was no memory of closeness or laughter. There were no night time prayers or bedtime stories from Ian Harrow. There was a quiet sadness about her mother then, and in the years following his desertion of them, that made Libby feel guilty, even when she had not misbehaved.
At school she was a bit of a loner. She did have one good friend, though. Kit Saunders was in the same class as her. They laughed and played, and their friendship lifted her spirit, but when the bell rang for home-time, a great loneliness came over her. Kit’s dad worked shifts and was always waiting at the gates for his beloved daughter. Kit and her parents did fun things together. Sometimes they took their daughter to the summer fair and one year, they invited Libby to go with them. Kit’s father won his daughter a big teddy-bear on the coconut-shy. The kind girl asked him to win one for Libby, and he did his best. It was a much smaller one, but the little bear had the funniest face, and Libby was thrilled. Oh, how she loved him!
During the day, George the bear (named after Boy George, her favourite pop star) sat on Libby’s bed, and at night he came under the sheets and together they cuddled up to sleep. He was her friend and to this day, George still sat on her bed, waiting for his cuddle.
Sadly though, Kit’s family moved away and Libby lost touch with them.
The truth was, Libby never really knew her father. Her mother adored him, though. Apparently, during their marriage, Ian Harrow chose countless women over his wife. He had many affairs and once or twice even left her, but he always came back. Until the last time.
Even then, her mother continued to love him; every day and well into the night, she watched for him through the window, and afterwards cried herself to sleep. After a while, she became forgetful; she began to lose direction. If it hadn’t been for Libby coming home from school and clearing up, the house would have been buried in filth. It was only a matter of time before Eileen’s health really began to deteriorate, and after a while it really did seem that she didn’t care whether she lived or died.
It was a cruel, heartless thing he did, deserting them. Over the years, Libby often wondered if that was why she had shut him from her mind. In a way, because of him – and because her mother increasingly withdrew into her own little world – Libby’s childhood ended the day her father abandoned them.
Eileen Harrow’s breakdown happened gradually, without her daughter even noticing. At night, when Libby lay half awake in her bed, she could hear her mother sobbing, calling out, asking why he had wanted to leave her; asking if it was her fault. Had she let him down somehow? Had she not loved him enough, or not shown it enough? And was he really never coming home? It was that which she found hardest to accept.
Libby’s grandmother would come up on the coach from Manchester and stay for a time, but then she began to buckle under the strain, and her visits grew less frequent. Still grieving after the loss of her own husband, Arthur, she eventually stopped coming altogether, and died in 1992, aged seventy-three.
Libby’s grandparents on her father’s side didn’t want to know them. They claimed it was Eileen’s fault that he had strayed and they could not forgive her. They thought she should have done more to keep him happy at home. The letter they wrote was very harsh. Soon after the event, they returned to their native Ireland.
When Eileen became too confused to be left on her own, Libby quit her job as a teaching assistant and began working part-time at the local supermarket, Aston’s. Thanks to their very good neighbour, the widower Thomas Farraday, Eileen was looked after, and even occasionally taken out for drives and for walks in the park.
Unfortunately, Thomas then suffered a health scare, and Libby was obliged to give up work altogether, in order to take care of her mother. That was five years ago, and now, her mother was her life. Thankfully, Thomas regained his health, and for that Libby was immensely grateful. It meant she could do a couple of hours each morning at the supermarket and get out of the house for a while.
Eileen continued to believe that her husband Ian would come home. But he never did, and Libby never forgave him, as her mother’s mental health worsened.
‘Hey!’ Eileen’s angry voice shattered Libby’s thoughts. ‘Did you hear what I just told you?’
‘Sorry, Mum. What was it you said?’
‘I said you’re not such a bad child after all,’ Eileen replied sharply. ‘You’re just a bit mischievous at times. So I’ve decided I won’t tell your father. At least not this time!’
Familiar with her mother’s mood swings,
