Читать книгу Tell the Truth: Or they’ll tell it for you… - Amanda Brittany, Amanda Brittany - Страница 20

February 2018

I arrived at Dream Meadows Care Home at two o’clock. Mum was in the communal lounge, a peaceful place looking out over the grounds.

I made my way through the people dotted about on chairs and sofas, reading, sleeping, or doing crossword puzzles, and sat down beside her.

Her blonde hair, not a trace of grey, hung loose and damp, from a recent shower I suspected. She looked younger than her years. Pretty in a flowing purple top with a ruffled hem, that I’d bought her for Christmas, over navy leggings, and a pair of fluffy slippers.

‘Mum,’ I said, taking hold of her hand, and she looked up, her eyes wide and vacant. I knew before she said a word that she didn’t know who I was.

‘Hello,’ she said, locking her eyes on mine. ‘I’m Laura Hogan. Do I know you?’ The question always stung. But before I could answer, my mother continued, ‘My daughter’s at school at the moment – she’s very clever. She came to see me this morning.’

I sighed inside. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ I said, trying to control the usual surge of tears burning behind my eyes. ‘Coffee?’

‘Are you my carer?’ She looked about her. ‘Where’s Margo today? I like Margo.’

‘I’m not your carer, Mum. It’s me. Rachel.’ I swallowed a lump rising in my throat. I had to keep from crying, for her sake.

‘I don’t want any …’ She stopped, and tapped her knee with her free hand, as though she was sending Morse code to her brain. ‘I don’t want any brown hot water … thank you. I’ve had several cups already. It keeps me awake at night.’

I squeezed her hand, wanting to ask her what she’d wanted to say the last time I was here, ask her about Mr Snookum, show her the painting, but what good would it do?

‘I love you,’ I whispered.

‘Love you more,’ she said, eyes still closed.

‘It’s still you and me against the world, Mum. It always will be.’

Her eyes flickered and opened, and she broke into a smile. ‘Would you get me a coffee, please? My daughter might come later, and I want to be awake when she does.’

For an hour I sat by her side, 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.