Cathy Kelly 3-book Bundle (72 page)

No longer in the mood for work, she tidied up then headed to her bedroom to get changed. Her precious photos of her mother were in the bedside bureau, and she took them out and looked at them. There were three photos of her mother, two with Natalie when she was clearly only a baby, and another when Natalie was perhaps two and a half. Her mother looked just like her, the same lanky body, the same long dark hair and eyes that looked black in old photos. Her smile burst out of the pictures, though, and she looked as if holding the baby Natalie was the greatest joy in the world.

Natalie ran her thumb over her mother’s face, as if touching it would somehow impart knowledge of her.

‘Mum,’ she tried. ‘Mum.’

This woman was her mother. And she knew nothing about her.

‘Hey, Nat.’ Joe wandered in. Her youngest brother never waited to be invited in, just sort of threw himself against the door in a half entrance, half knock at the same time. Natalie shoved the pictures under her pillow quickly.

Joe’s hair was all gelled up and he was wearing an awful lot of aftershave.

‘You going out?’ she said.

‘Yeah. What do you think of this look?’

He was wearing an old rock band T-shirt and the hoodie she’d given him for Christmas. It was Diesel, very cool, he loved it.

‘Fabulous. You’ll knock their socks off. Or her socks off…Is it a date?’ she asked.

‘Yeah,’ he said, still in full-on cool mode. He admired himself in her dressing-table mirror, posing, putting his hands in his pockets and striking a moody look.

‘What’s her name?’ Natalie asked.

‘Sarah,’ he said. ‘She’s really different, not like Kylie at all.’

Kylie had been his last girlfriend, a major mistake in Natalie’s opinion. A blip on Joe’s previous record, Kylie measured worth in terms of Louis Vuitton handbags and was scouting around for somebody to keep her in the style to which she wished to become accustomed. Natalie had disliked her on sight, and the feeling had been mutual.

‘What’s Sarah like?’

‘She’s sort of pretty, has long hair and…you know. She’s into music. She’s sound,’ he added.

Natalie grinned: a man of few words, was her brother. She loved him, even if he didn’t have that much to say. She’d go out and kill Sarah with her bare hands if she wasn’t nice to him. Actually, she owed Kylie a bit of thumping too, now that she thought about it. Anyone who dared upset her little brothers would have her to contend with.

‘You look great,’ she said, ‘but I’d wash off a bit of the aftershave, just a small bit, you know.’

‘Too much?’ he said anxiously, a little boy again.

‘Sort of.’

‘OK, Sis–bye,’ he said.

When he was gone, and his overpowering miasma with him, Natalie looked at her photos again briefly, before putting them back in the bureau. There were no more answers there.

But after closing the drawer she had second thoughts. She opened it again, took out the smallest photo and put it in her handbag It would be comforting to carry it around with her.

The next morning, Natalie was on the early shift in Kenny’s. Although the store didn’t open until nine, the café itself opened
to staff at half past eight for breakfast. The first person in that morning was Charlie.

‘How lovely to see you,’ said Natalie, smiling. She hadn’t seen Charlie for an age, although someone had said her mother had had an accident and she’d taken time off to take care of her. The place wasn’t the same without Charlie around. There was something so friendly about her smiling face and shining eyes. And she’d been a life-saver at Lizzie’s wedding when the make-up artist hadn’t turned up.

‘Hello, Natalie. Can I have a large cappuccino and–’ She scanned the pastries on the countertop–‘I fancy one of those maple-syrup muffins, even though I shouldn’t.’ Her hand patted her stomach. ‘But I haven’t had one in weeks.’

Natalie plated one up and began to make the cappuccino.

‘Your mum was sick?’ she said with her back to Charlie.

‘Yes, I was taking care of her and today is my first day back.’

‘Welcome back. Very worrying, was it?’

‘You could say that,’ Charlie said slowly. ‘Perhaps I’m not cut out to be a nurse. It’s hard taking care of someone, and my mother’s not the most patient patient in the world.’

‘It must have been tough for both of you,’ said Natalie automatically.

‘Yes, it was,’ Charlie said, following the approved script. She sighed and abandoned the script. ‘It was a nightmare, actually. I thought I’d never get back to work. My mother and I don’t really get on that well. Throw a broken hip into the mix and it’s a recipe for disaster.’

There, it was out. She’d said it.

They both stopped what they were doing–Charlie fiddling in her purse for coins and Natalie wiping the bottom of the cup with a piece of disposable towel–and stared at each other, Charlie’s honest words still hanging in the air.

‘Sorry,’ she said suddenly.
Why did I say that?

‘No,’ Natalie said, ‘don’t say sorry. If that’s the truth, that’s the truth.’

‘I shouldn’t have said it,’ fretted Charlie. ‘There must be something wrong with me. Nobody else talks about their mother that way, do they?’

‘I don’t know–my mother died when I was little,’ said Natalie.

‘God! I’ve made it worse,’ Charlie groaned. ‘I’m really sorry–’

‘No, stop.’ Natalie placed the cup on Charlie’s tray. ‘I’m glad you said it. I’ve spent my life thinking I was intrinsically different from the rest of the world because I don’t have this classic mother person. I mean, I have Bess, my stepmother, and she’s wonderful, but I don’t call her “Mum”. Everyone and their granny seems to have a marvellous relationship with their real mother, so it’s nice to hear someone say they don’t get on with theirs.’

‘Is it?’ said Charlie doubtfully.

‘Of course. It makes me feel less out of place. If all you’ve ever heard about mothers is that they’re wonderful, then you feel even more left out. People tell you the good stuff and that’s what you see mostly. And even when they do have their quarrels, everyone says:
No matter what happens, your mother loves you.’

They both considered this.

‘It’s not easy being a mother,’ said Charlie. ‘You’re afraid of getting it wrong all the time. Whenever I get angry with my mother. I look at my son and wonder if, when he’s my age, I’ll be driving him nuts and he’ll want to murder me. Like it’s a cycle and, no matter what you do, your kids’ll end up groaning about the mistakes you made. Do you mind me asking, what happened to your mother?’

‘She died when I was three. I don’t really know the first thing about her,’ Natalie said.

Charlie recognised that Natalie was about to cry.

‘Sit down with me,’ she urged.

‘I can’t–’

‘You can. If anyone else comes in, you can hop up and serve them, but sit now.’

Charlie went behind the counter and poured another cup of coffee for Natalie, then carried the whole lot over to a table.

‘Go on,’ urged Charlie, sitting down.

It was strange. Natalie thought of all the people she could have talked to about this, yet Charlie was just the right person. And here, in the cosiness of the café, knowing that only people from Kenny’s would come in, was the right place.

‘David’s funeral really upset me,’ she said, ‘and I began to think about her. I did some research on the internet about being motherless, and some things began to make sense. Like everything that was hard when I was growing up, stuff I didn’t understand at the time. I remember when my friend, Lizzie–she’s my best friend, sort of–had long talks with her mum about periods, and her mum gave her a book. I borrowed the book and then, when I started my periods six months later, I didn’t even ask Bess about it. It was like this was something mums were supposed to do and it was safer to hold it all inside than ask. Does that make sense?’

Charlie nodded.

‘This website talked about the defining moments in your life and how they’re hard when you’ve lost a parent. And in my house, nobody talked about my mother.’

‘So you feel you can’t ask your dad about her?’ Charlie prompted.

‘Exactly. He’s never spoken about her to me. He gave me photographs when I was small, but that’s it. I don’t want to dredge up painful memories.’

‘You have to ask him,’ Charlie said.

‘I should,’ Natalie said unconvincingly.

‘Listen, I spent years not getting on with my mother and feeling guilty because of that. I didn’t learn to deal with it
until I started writing down how I felt in a journal. It really helped. Keeping it in your head makes it worse. I did something and you need to do something. You have to find out as much as you can about her. She’s your mum, you’re entitled to know. It’s unfinished business otherwise.’

‘I’ve got a picture of her with me,’ Natalie said.

She ran to her locker in the kitchen, found the photo of her mother she’d popped into her bag that morning and came back.

‘She looks so like you,’ Charlie said, staring at the beautiful woman with the long dark hair and wide smile, holding her precious baby close to her heart. ‘Maybe your dad doesn’t talk because it’s too painful rather than because of anything he wants to hide.’

‘If you were my stepmum, would you be upset if I wanted to know about my real mum?’

Charlie shook her head. ‘Of course not. You said Bess is a wonderful person and she loves you. She and your dad have probably been waiting for you to ask. It’s like people who adopt children: they know that one day the child will want to know about their birth parents. Just ask them.’

Natalie nodded tremulously. ‘I will,’ she said. ‘Soon. What about you and your mum?’

‘Don’t think there’s anything I can do,’ Charlie said wryly. ‘“Detach with love” is what Shotsy says to me.’

‘Is it that you fight a lot?’

‘Not really. More that she disapproves of me. I didn’t become what she wanted, although my older sister did.’

‘What did she want you to be?’

‘Somebody important.’

‘Must be difficult.’

Charlie sighed. ‘Yes, it is. Maybe one day I’ll find out what makes my mother tick, and then I’ll work it all out. Wouldn’t that be good?’

The rest of that day, Natalie thought how simple Charlie had made it sound: Just ask. She would, tonight, she decided.

As it turned out, it was the perfect night to discuss things with her father. When Natalie phoned during the afternoon, Bess said the boys would be out and she had to visit a client for a fitting for a wedding dress.

‘I hate missing you,’ said Bess. ‘Tell you what, I’ll ask if I can see the girl earlier and then–’

‘No,’ said Natalie quickly, hating herself for not being truthful with dear, kind Bess. She felt that her father would find it hard to talk about her mother with Bess present. ‘I was only dropping in for coffee on my way home from work. Just a five-minute thing. Don’t rearrange your fitting.’

When she walked into the kitchen her father looked up from eating shepherd’s pie. Natalie thought how brilliant a wife Bess was: even when she was going to be out late, she fixed dinner so her husband could sit down after a hard day’s work and eat the sort of food that he liked, with the paper on one side of him and the dogs clustered around at his feet.

Natalie wondered if she’d ever have this sort of relationship with Rory. Would they settle down to the point that she’d cook in advance for him, so that, when she was out, he could eat something she’d prepared? It was strange to think about that. But she found herself imagining living with him, waking up beside him, sitting on the couch with him at night, taking calls for him when he was out with a sick animal…

‘Natalie!’ said her father, surprised. ‘I didn’t know you were coming. Bess never said anything.’

‘Just thought I’d drop in,’ she said. Now that she was here, she didn’t know how to start this. Anything she said would sound like a criticism of her father and Bess, which wasn’t what she wanted.

‘Sit down–have you eaten? This is delicious,’ he said, waving his fork towards the shepherd’s pie. ‘I’ll have to cut
back, though,’ he added. ‘My cholesterol was up last time I went to the doctor.

‘Was it?’ Natalie asked, slightly alarmed, thinking of David Kenny.

‘Ah no, only a little bit,’ her father said. ‘Nothing to worry about, love. Sit down, have some.’

‘No, I’m not hungry,’ Natalie said. She busied herself making a cup of tea she didn’t really want and then finally sat down opposite him.

‘How’s Rory?’ he asked, then grinned. ‘Bess reckons it’s serious. Is he it–the One? I have to say, I’m fond of him myself. He’s a decent lad.’

Natalie smiled, thinking of other conversations about boyfriends over the years. He’d never been the interfering sort of father, the sort who’d stand over visiting lads with a grim face and a threatening look in his eyes.

‘Rory’s great,’ Natalie said.

‘But you’re here to talk to me about something?’ her father said, still eating. He knew her so well.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘What’s wrong, Natalie?’ he asked. ‘There’s something wrong, I can tell.’

‘No, there’s nothing wrong,’ she said quickly. ‘Not exactly.’

‘Well, what is it?’

Now that the moment was here, Natalie toyed with the idea of fibbing about being broke (though that was true), or something else; anything to put off the conversation. But no, she’d waited too long.

‘It’s about my mother,’ she blurted out. ‘I just need to know a little about her–’ She broke off when she saw how stricken her father looked. It was there, in his eyes: an expression that wasn’t fear, but something else. Sadness?

‘I’m sorry, Dad. I don’t mean to hurt you or Bess, but…’

‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s my fault.’ He put his knife and fork together and pushed the plate away.

‘Don’t stop eating,’ Natalie said.

‘I’ve had enough,’ he murmured. ‘I’m really sorry, Natalie, I should have spoken to you before, but there was never a right time.’

‘That’s it exactly,’ Natalie said, grasping the opportunity. ‘There’s never been a right time, Dad. I’ve wondered so often over the years what she was like. I don’t really know anything and I’ve so few pictures and you don’t talk about her and…’