Letters to Leonardo (13 page)

I open my mouth, ready to start my explanations – to justify why I stayed. That’s how she’s made me feel – that I’m the one who shouldn’t be here, even though she invited me.

“Hi, Matt. You’re still here?” she says. She’s calm – as if I hadn’t spent hours yesterday knocking on her door, and she hadn’t spent all that time pretending I wasn’t there.

I don’t get it. She saw me. Why wouldn’t she answer her door?

A hand strokes my forehead. Bluff it, I tell myself. That’s what Troy would do. I open my eyes fully and sit up. Hurt and disappointment get the better of me.

“You heard me knocking, didn’t you? Why didn’t you open the door?” These are not what I imagined my first words to my mother would be, but I can’t stop them from spilling out.

She smiles. “I had the most awful migraine. Couldn’t get out of bed. I’m really sorry about that. I know you came a long way to see me.”

It doesn’t make sense. If she couldn’t get out of bed, who was sitting on the verandah yesterday, drinking coffee? It’s too much. Too many lies. I want to put my hands over my ears – to yell at her. Stop it! No more lies!

“You’d better come to the house. I’ll get you some breakfast. I’m not much of a cook,” she warns. “But I should be able to rustle up something.”

Now that I’m about to finally step inside her house, I hesitate. I don’t really know this person, even though she’s my mother.

My stomach growls as if to say, “Don’t be pathetic. I’m hungry.”

I look at the back of her, her long dark hair stretching down to her waist. Is she how I pictured her? Yes. Is this how I thought our reunion would be, after being apart for ten years? No. I guess the kid part of me hoped she’d take me in her arms and tell me how much she missed me and how glad she is that I’m here. Clearly, that’s
not
going to happen.

It’s awkward, we sort of know each other, but we don’t. She talks as if she has been my mother all along – like there isn’t a ten-year gap between us. “Mind the step. Go and wash your hands before you eat.” She points down the hallway. “First door on the left.”

“Soup,” I say. “You had soup last night.” I wipe my eye, as the little-boy memory creeps back into my head.

She turns to me. “Sorry, I ate all that.”

Strange – the way she doesn’t even mention that I spent the night in her shed, cold and hungry. She doesn’t even seem embarrassed about it. But the tone of her voice is calm and reasonable – not a bit crazy.

She takes me into the lounge room and goes to make breakfast. I look around at the high ceilings and exposed beams. The place is old but arty – different. A huge spider works on a web that reaches across from one beam to another. Mum comes back.

“That’s Charlie,” she says. “He’s my pet huntsman. Must think he’s a trapeze artist. He’s always swinging between the beams.”

I smile. Dave hates spiders. So that would be one area where they didn’t get along. Somehow, it makes me feel connected to her. We both like spiders.

“Great web, isn’t it? I don’t like to spoil his fun,” Mum says. “And I must admit, I’m not really a big one for housework.”

“Me neither,” I agree.

Mum laughs. She passes me a plate with toast and jam and sits in the chair across from me. It’s hard not to stare. What should I call her? Mum? Ms Matthews?

She seems to read my mind. “You don’t have to call me Mum, you know. You’re almost an adult now. You can call me Zora,” she says.

Dave hates me calling him by his first name. “I’m all right with Mum,” I say. I’ve longed to call someone Mum for such a long time.

We stare at each other. The silence is too hard. I try to think of something to say. “Dad doesn’t let me have toast for breakfast. Says I need something more substantial.” How dumb does that sound?

“Well, that’s your father for you. He would have read it in one of his books.”

I think of the shelves at home, lined with volumes of useless information. “Has he always been like that?”

Mum nods. “Even before we were married, he had an amazing collection.
How to Find the Right Woman
,
How to Keep the Right Woman
,
How to Be Slim and Successful
.”

“I think he’s still got that one.”

We both laugh. Zora takes the empty plate from me and looks at her watch. “You’d better make sure you don’t miss that train back to Melbourne. It’s the only one on a Sunday.”

But there’s so much I still have to find out about her.

“Mum, why don’t you live with us?

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t work, Matt.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m sick.”

“So Dad said. Big deal. Lots of sick people live with their families.”

She clings to my arm. “Matt, do you know anyone who’s sick? I mean really sick?”

Her words scare me. What if her illness is terminal? What if she knows she’s going to die and that’s why she stayed away?

The only person I know who has really been sick is Troy’s sister, Angie. But she doesn’t have something you can die from – not unless she eats the wrong foods. “Troy’s sister has allergies. She has to be careful with everything she eats. They reckon if she ate a peanut, she’d go into a coma and die.”

“That’s awful,” says Mum. “The poor girl.”

She still hasn’t answered my question, not really. There’s so much I need to know – about me, about her, about her and Dave. Why don’t they love each other any more? Why didn’t she ever contact me? Why didn’t she want me?

Mum takes my hand in hers and strokes my fingers. “Did you tell Dave you were coming?”

“No.” I like the physical contact with her. It brings me closer. “I rang him last night so he wouldn’t worry – told him I was staying at my mate’s place.”

Mum pulls her hand away and clasps her fingers together on her lap. I pick up my backpack. “I brought some stuff to show you.”

I take out the photo of my first day of school and pass it to her. She hugs it to her chest.

“It’s gorgeous,” she says. “Can I keep it?”

“If you like.” I pass over the painting I did of Dave. “I got first prize for this.”

“Really? Looks like you inherited some things from me. Have you kept on with your art?”

“Sort of. Dave’s not too keen on me painting.” I wonder whether to tell her about the water tank, and decide against it. Don’t want her worrying that Dave didn’t bring me up right. Some people freak out when you mention police.

“Thanks for the card, by the way,” I say.

“I wrote you one every birthday, you know. But that’s the first I’ve ever sent. I kept every single card.”

Why did she wait till now before sending me one?

“Can I see the others?” I ask.

“Sure.”

She leaves the room. My head’s stuffed with questions, but I don’t want to scare her off. I have to be careful what I ask.

Mum comes back with a brown paper bag. “It might be best if you read these when you get home.”

I look at my watch. “Guess I’d better go.”

We both stand. She takes my hand again and holds it for a while. “I’m really glad you came. Promise you’ll come again,” she says.

I nod. “Bye, Mum.”

“Bye, Matt.”

As I walk off towards the station, I turn back hoping to see her wave from the verandah. But of course I can’t because of the peppercorn trees.

On the train I take out the brown paper bag with the cards she gave me.

Every single one of them is handmade. Each one has a painting on the front. There’s so much written inside that they seem more like letters than birthday cards.

The first one says:

Dear Matty
,

Happy sixth birthday, my sweet boy. I wish I was there with you, holding you on my knee as you huff and puff out those candles like you did last year
.

A mother should be there to celebrate her son’s birthday
.

How is school? I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for your first day. Were you scared? Did Daddy take time off work to make sure you were okay? I bet he did. He’s always done everything right. Always the perfect parent, not like me
.

I hope you have a beautiful cake and lots of little friends to help you celebrate. If I were there, I would have given you a dinosaur party with a big tyrannosaurus rex cake – the sharp tooth, he was always your favourite
.

You won’t get this card because I’ve promised myself I won’t send it. I just hope you can feel what’s in my heart and know that your mother loves you
.

Happy Birthday, my sweet angel
.

Love Mummy

I look around the train. I’m not sure what I’d say if someone asked why I’m crying. Not a good look for a guy my age. I brush away the tears, pretending they’re specks of dust.

For a while I sit and look out the window. I can’t bring myself to open another card. Not yet. There’s already too much to think about.

There’s nobody home when I get there. I go to my room and lie on my bed. I’m feeling much calmer – safer – since I saw Mum. I take out the next card and start reading.

Dear Matt
,

Seven today, huh? I bet you’ve forgotten who I am by now. Did your father tell you I was dead? I hope so. I don’t ever want you to come looking for me. I’m no good for you. I’m not good for anybody
.

So, what have I done with myself in the year since you turned six? Not a lot, I’m afraid. Nothing to boast of, that’s for sure
.

I wonder if you’ll have a party this year. I’m so tired at the moment, I don’t think I could have done it for you anyway. I can’t sleep again. My hay fever was really bad this week, so I had some drops – big mistake. It doesn’t seem to mix very well with the stuff I take. I think I’m going to take a break from medication. I really need to paint
.

I’ve had about two hours sleep in the last three days. I must look a fright. You wouldn’t want to see me like this
.

It’s been even harder this year. I’ve wanted to come to your school, to the house – to tell you I’m your mother and that I love you. But it wouldn’t do you any good to know me. Look what I put your father through. Look what I did to you. Just goes to prove I should never have been a mother. Not that I didn’t want you. I was so excited when I got pregnant. And I loved you from the moment you poked your grumbling little head into the world
.

But being a mother was hard. Not because of you, my darling boy. You were the most adorable child. It was me. Normal people don’t understand. Not that I’m making excuses for what I did. But it all just got too much for me that day
.

And you can’t talk to people about these things – about the terrible fear you have of what you might do to your own child
.

You know I had to make your dad hate me so he’d let me go. I’m right, you know. I would have ruined your life. I hope I never do that
.

Love, Mum

How could she ruin my life? She’s my mother. Why is she bad for me? I totally don’t get it. Why didn’t she want me to look for her?

I’m glad she changed her mind.

For ages, I stare at the letter. It makes no sense. What’s so terrible about her? I know she’s sick, but lots of people get sick and nobody takes their kids away. Mum doesn’t seem that bad – odd maybe – but not terrible. I have to admit that spending the night in the shed wasn’t great, but maybe the migraine came on, like she said. Maybe that’s what the medication was for.

The first card was bright, but this one is dark – sad. I guess being without your kid would make you pretty unhappy.

Seeing her again has made all these snapshots in my head. I think they’re memories from when I was little. It’s like there’s an electrical storm going on in there. Now I remember being cuddled by her like that kid on a train. I remember me as a little boy sitting on my mother’s lap, resting my head against her softness.

It’s so confusing. Like a jigsaw where some of the pieces are mixed with pieces from another puzzle and none of them quite fit together. None of it makes sense. Mum reckons she left for my own good. What a cop-out! Dave reckons he kept me away from her for my own good. And what about Dave? What did he do to make her leave and not return? The court said she could have “supervised access”, so how come she never did?

There must be someone who can tell me the truth in all this?

Dear Leonardo
,

Lies. Truth. How can you tell the difference?

Mum gave me the letters she wrote to me every birthday when I was little – only she never sent them
.

Ten years of not knowing how much she loved me – ten years of Dave’s lies
.

It’s a bit hard to take
.

But finding her hasn’t answered my questions like I thought it would
.

If I couldn’t write to you, Leo, and let it all out, I think I’d go crazy with all this
.

Matt