Rich Promise (21 page)

He’s right, though. She does look better, healthier than I remember. Her eyes are clear somehow, more focused.

“Summer? How are you?” She addresses the question directly to me, so I have no option but to respond.

“I’m fine. We’re all fine. Now.”

She flinches, my meaning not lost on her. “I’m pleased. Really pleased. You’re a good girl. You always were. And thank you for taking care of the little ones.”

“What choice did I have?” My tone is more waspish than I perhaps intended. And the words untrue. I did have a choice, and I’m doing exactly what I wanted to do. My family means everything to me, I’m happy. So are they. I could tell her that, but I don’t. I choose not to.

“Yes, of course. I’m so sorry. I really dropped you in it. Not for the first time either. But still, I do appreciate what you’ve done. All you’ve done. Still doing. I don’t deserve you.”

Her voice trails away, and I wait. I’m ready for it, expecting it. She always starts like this. Always the wheedling, always the softening me up. She thinks I don’t know what her game is. I do, though. It never changes.

I wait for her to issue her next demand. It won’t come out like that. It’ll be a request, she’ll be polite, at least at the beginning of her campaign. She’ll say how much she needs me, how good and kind I am, how helpful. If that doesn’t work, she’ll remind me of how she’s always tried her best, put me first.

I stiffen at the thought. If she tries that one, I doubt I’ll be able to contain my anger. So I sit, silent, and I wait.

And wait. Nothing. I remain silent. Give her time. She always has an agenda.

Still nothing. I glare at her, my expression no doubt one of belligerence, exasperation. These are my foremost emotions right now, and it won’t take much provocation for me to simply get up from this little table and walk away. Just let her start…

“I’m a dreadful mother, I know that now.” Her words are delivered in a matter-of-fact way, her intonation flat.

I stare at her, scanning her face for some hint of what’s behind this sudden fit of self-blame. This is a new trick, after all. I underestimated her. That much is obvious. But I find nothing. Her eyes meet mine, clear and, as far as I can tell, truthful. I peer at her more closely. This can’t be right.

“I can see you don’t believe me. I don’t blame you.” Still her gaze is level and appears honest. Her eyes flick from me to Connor then back again. “Either of you.”

“Why should we believe you? Why now, after all these years?” Connor voices the question, but I nod. He’s speaking for both of us.

“I’ve been thinking. And getting myself into shape—physically, as well as mentally. I’m clean now, have been for months. Truly. I can think straight now. I don’t remember everything, but enough. Enough to know I don’t deserve you two. And I’ve no idea how you both turned out as well as you have. Thank God you don’t take after me. Must be your father’s DNA at work…”

Father?
That apparently casual remark shakes me to the core. As far as I can recall, she’s never mentioned him—them—before. I’d assumed we all had different fathers in any case. There must be gallons of paternal DNA swilling around the Jones family gene pool. I glance at Connor, who looks as stunned as I feel.

With her new-found clarity of perception our bewildered expressions are not lost on our mother. “You thought I didn’t even know who he was, I expect.”

I suppose Connor must have looked as though he might be about to deny that. I know I certainly was not, but our mother forestalls him, “Yes you did, and I don’t blame you for that either. Still, it was all a long time ago and he’s long gone now. Now, we should be thinking about the future. That’s why I wanted to talk to you, needed to see you both.”

Right. Knew it. Here we go.

“I’ll be in here for another three years, I expect. Even with good behavior, that’s probably realistic. But I’ve been thinking about what to do when I come out. I don’t have the house anymore, you know that, I suppose…”

The landlord took back the tenancy when she was arrested. He even tried to collect her rent arrears from me, but I refused to pay him. It wasn’t that I couldn’t lay my hands on the cash, but I don’t see why I should pay her debts anymore. Now it sounds as though she’s going to be trying to scrounge a place to live.

“I’m sure you’ll manage. You always have.”
And I should know.

“Yes, but I want my family back. My children around me. They’re what’s important to me from now on.”

No. Way.

“They stay with me.” I state it, flat, definite. Non-negotiable.

“But I could—”

“No. You couldn’t,” I interrupt her, not caring how rude I may sound. We’re well past the good manners stage and whatever she might have in mind, I don’t want to hear it. “Lucy and Maisie are happy. They’re secure and settled. They’re doing well. By the time you get out, they’ll be old enough to choose and they’ll choose me. Don’t have any illusions about that. You are not uprooting them ever again.” My eyes are narrowed. My resolve on this, I hope, perfectly apparent. She’ll never shake me on this. Not happening.

She seems unfazed by my cold tone and icy determination. “That’s not what I had in mind. I want my girls to be secure, and if you can provide that…well, I’m pleased. I wouldn’t interfere. Never. But I could be part of their lives too. If they want to see me, maybe they could visit me here. With you. And later, when I’m out…”

“Have you been listening to me?” I start to rise. I’ve heard enough. Connor’s hand on my wrist stops me.

“Wait. A few more minutes, please. We can hear her out. You can always say no later. It’ll be your call, Summer.”

Reluctantly I retake my seat, leaning back in my chair now. My arms are crossed defensively, despite Connor’s reassurance that ultimately I have the final say. I know her. She can wheedle and manipulate and convince me black’s white if I let her.

“Go on. What is it you want? How do you see this working?” His voice is low and reasonable, and my mother looks across the table at him, her gratitude shining in her expression. She’s right. He
is
the only reason this conversation hasn’t ended with me slamming the door on my way out.

“I’d like to see them, be in touch with them. With all of you. I could live near you perhaps, Summer, maybe rent a little house or something…”

My eyes roll skyward. I can just imagine Nathan’s reaction to my mother setting up her next knocking shop down the lane from us.

“Right. And what will you do for money?”

That’s a good question from Connor. Excellent question, in fact. I wait with interest.

“Floristry.”

My jaw drops. I blink, look at her again. Did she say floristry?

“I beg your pardon.” Connor is polite, but equally incredulous.

“I’ve been re-training. There’s an education program here. I’m learning to be a florist. I’ll be qualified by the time I get out. I could start a little shop, or maybe just a stall at first. I like flowers.” Her last sentence is delivered with a note of defiance, our expressions of disbelief not lost on her.

“Flowers?” I’m not sounding especially incisive just now, I do know that. But…flowers?

“I think that sounds…like a good plan.” Connor is rallying more quickly than I am. No doubt his reflexes have been honed by his experiences with the Taliban. I’m finding it a real struggle to imagine my mother being able to tell one end of a tulip from the other.

She seems encouraged, though, by Connor’s guarded response. “Yes. I think so. It’ll be difficult to borrow any money to get started, not with my record, so I’m going to build it up slowly. Start small, see what happens. They buy flowers in Yorkshire, don’t they?”

Her last remark is directed at me. I shrug. “Yes. Maybe. I expect so. But…” My voice trails away, I just don’t get it, really can’t see it. My mother is silent too, her efforts at convincing us apparently at an end. She’s tried. I’ll grant her that. It was a good effort. But…floristry?

“If you’re still not using drugs and still keeping your head straight when you get out, I’ll let you have the start-up money for your business.”

I turn in time to catch the serious frown on his face as Connor makes his offer. He’s silent now, regarding our mother with considered interest. And I watch him.

This is no rush of misplaced altruism. I believe he sees a chance here, a real possibility of rehabilitation. I’m not convinced. Really I’m far from it. But I can do no less than back my brother up, surely. I don’t trust my mother, regardless of the promising signs. But I do trust Connor, and that’s a start. I remain silent while they talk, and Connor sets out his terms.

* * * *

Connor and I walk slowly back across the car park. Dan spots us from his vantage point as he leans against the bonnet of the Discovery and comes across to meet us.

“So?” His one word says it all.

I shrug, shaking my head, still not sure what to make of our conversation. Certainly, it didn’t go as I expected it might. Or feared it would. “So, she says she’s reformed. She wants to be a florist.”

“A…?”

“You heard.” I fall into step beside him as he turns to head back to the four-wheel drive, and we all three make our way back over to the Land Rover.

“Right. That’s nice. I like flowers.” Dan seems less surprised than I expected.

I grin up at him. “Yeah, she said that.”

“How does your mother know I like flowers?”

“Not that, idiot.
She
likes flowers. Connor’s going to lend her the money to start up her own shop when she gets out.”

“Oh?” Dan looks to Connor, clearly seeking a little more explanation for this apparent rush of filial generosity.

“I made a deal with her. I’ll stump up the money, provided she stays off the drugs. And she wants to come and live near Summer, in Yorkshire.”

Dan chuckles at that. I take the opportunity to dig him in the ribs—I don’t think it’s funny at all.

“Nathan’d love that. We’d have to warn him to lock up his silver. He’d probably fire me for bringing down the tone of the neighborhood with my ex-con family. No, that’s not happening. She’ll have to sell her daffodils and daisies and suchlike somewhere else.”

“Not happening? Why not? It’s a free country, she can live where she likes can’t she?” Dan stops as we reach the vehicle, but doesn’t unlock it yet. He turns to me. “Don’t you believe her that she’s a reformed character? Or going to be one?”

I frown up at him, considering his question. In truth, I’m just not sure. It was all so unexpected, I’m still assimilating. But, she did seem sincere. She did seem as though she genuinely wanted to start afresh.

“Well?” Dan prompts me

“Maybe. Possibly. I think she wants to try. It’s not that simple, though.”

“I can see that. So, what’s the issue with her living near you?”

“You have to ask that? You know what she did. To me.” My tone is harsh, bitter, my anger surfacing again. The real issue preventing any sort of reconciliation was never resolved back there. We never even touched on the elephant in the room. I let myself be sidetracked by talk of flowers.

“I just don’t want her there. That’s all. She…upsets me. Unsettles me, I suppose. She makes me uncomfortable.” I hesitate for a few moments, then, “She makes me so fucking angry.”

“Ah, is this a forgiveness thing then?”

How does he do that? How does he always manage to hit the nail so squarely on the head?
I drop my head, nodding slightly.

Dan tilts my chin back up, forcing me to meet his eyes. We both ignore Connor, who is discreetly strolling away toward a bench overlooking the lawned gardens. “Forgiveness is easy, if someone is truly sorry. And if they’ve accepted their punishment. Does she accept her punishment, would you say?” Dan’s voice is low as he asks his question. It occurs to me this is familiar territory to him, as a Dom. Sort of.

I detected not a hint of resentment from my mother at her incarceration, so this at least seems easy to answer. “I would.”

“So she’s paying her dues to society. Do
you
want to punish her too? Is that what’s needed to get you past this?”

I consider that for a few moments. “No. I don’t think I do. I want justice, not revenge.”

“So, if you have justice, if you accept that her time inside covers that, there’s a possibility of moving on then? Of finding a way forward?”

“Yes. Perhaps.” I gaze up at him, at a loss what to say next. “It all seems so…messy. I hate mess. You know I hate mess.”

Dan smiles. “You don’t much like mess, but you seem to me to handle it pretty well.”

“But I don’t know where to start.”

Connor steps forward. “I do. Well, I think I do. I know she needs our help. Yours as well as mine, but if you don’t feel you can, I do understand.” Connor looks thoughtful, troubled, as though he doesn’t think his financial lifeline will be nearly enough to keep our mother on the straight and narrow. I rather fear he’s right.

“Summer, look at me.” Dan’s tone has that familiar hint of Dom in it, and I turn to him automatically. “Assuming you can forgive her, what else do you want from her? What would she need to do? What does she need to convince you of to get your support?”

I think for a few moments, chewing on my lower lip. “I just need to know she’s sorry. That she realizes what she did to me, and that she takes responsibility for it. I want her to apologize and mean it. And I have to be quite be certain that she’s telling the truth now. And that she won’t try to get my sisters back. I want her to promise me that Maisie and Lucy are safe with me forever.”

“So those are your terms then?”

“Yes, those are my terms.”

“In that case, get back in there and tell her how it’s going to be.”

“I…”

One eyebrow tilts upwards. It’s enough. I square my shoulders, drawing in several deep, steadying breaths as he’s taught me to do.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you. I can do that. Would you excuse me for a few minutes? I want to talk to my mother again.”

“Would you like me to come with you? Or Dan?” Connor makes the offer. It occurs to me that if he finds it odd that I would call Dan Sir he hasn’t said so. Yet. Sooner or later he’ll realize the true nature of our relationship, but that’s an issue to be faced another day.