The Bad Mother (19 page)

‘Your main present is in the car,’ said Hugo gruffly. His eyes had welled up when he’d first explained the idea behind it to Pamela. ‘It’s a magnolia, a white tulip tree,’ he told Tessa. ‘You always said you’d love to have one in the back garden.’

‘I would. That’s wonderful, thanks!’ Tessa leant over to kiss each of them in turn. ‘Great idea!’

Hugo cleared his throat. ‘We thought maybe planting a tree together could mark a new beginning.’ He glanced across at Pamela. ‘Something positive.’

‘Thanks,’ repeated Tessa, a little more stiffly.

‘I brought a spade so we can do later. The kids can help.’

‘That’ll be nice.’

‘They can be in charge of watering until it gets its roots down.’

Tessa nodded. Pamela thought she looked sad, and wondered how much she minded about Sam not being part of things any more, but didn’t like to ask.

‘I’ve dug out a few more photos for you, of when you were little,’ she said instead, reaching into her bag and handing over the snapshots she had collected. It had made her so happy when Tessa had first asked for pictures of Erin, and she was keen to encourage Tessa’s interest and affection. ‘I always had copies made to send to Erin.’

Tessa took the envelope. ‘Thanks.’ She turned to stow them away, but Hugo reached out his hand.

‘Let’s have a look.’ He took the prints out of the envelope and shuffled through them. ‘Oh, I remember this!’ he said, holding one out for the two women to see. ‘This was the year we went to Brittany.’

Pamela looked: there were several colour photos of Tessa aged about five, wearing a striped swimsuit and licking an ice cream cone, standing slightly knock-kneed against a backdrop of rock pools. As with every memory of Tessa’s childhood, Pamela felt the piercing arrow of guilt that she had been occupying Erin’s rightful place. In consequence, her younger self was always a shadowy figure at the edge of the frame, trying not to be in the picture at all.

‘Remember?’ Hugo asked Tessa. ‘They had blackcurrant flavour and you loved it.’ Not waiting for a response, he held out another picture. ‘What was this?’ he asked Pamela.

‘A fancy-dress party,’ she told him, turning to Tessa. ‘For one of your friends at primary school. You’d be about seven or eight.’

The image showed Tessa in the small back garden of their old house. An attempt had been made to curl her hair and she wore a short red dress with white collar, cuffs and belt.

‘Little Orphan Annie,’ said Tessa with a grimace.

Hugo laughed heartily. ‘Oh well, no more of that!’ he said, replacing the snapshots in the envelope and handing it back to Tessa.

Pamela caught sight of Mitch and Lauren making their way along the beach towards them. Lauren cut a rather poignant figure in her unsuitable clothes: half plump child, half presumably some vain attempt to emulate an admired celebrity. But she smiled and waved when she noticed Pamela watching her. Mitch seemed to have acquired a new air of quiet self-possession; always a dreamy boy, Pamela hoped he was happy in his private thoughts.

After the greetings and birthday salutations, Pamela heard the kettle whistling and went inside. She considered risking a nip from the bottle of diluted juice she always carried in her handbag, but then saw that Hugo had followed her. ‘Want a hand?’

‘If you pour the tea, I’ll light the candles on the cake.’

He obeyed silently and went back out with a tray. Pamela decided she could do without, and carefully carried the illuminated chocolate cake out into the sunshine.

As Tessa cut the cake and made her wish, sharp-eyed Lauren spotted the thin gold bracelet on her wrist. Pamela had noticed it earlier and had entertained the wild hope that Erin might have sent it.

‘Who gave you that?’ asked Lauren.

‘A friend.’

‘Who?’

‘Who wants the first slice?’ asked Tessa, not looking at Lauren.

‘Me!’ Lauren reached for her plate, and Tessa concentrated on cutting the next slice.

‘Is it from a boyfriend?’ Lauren persisted.

‘No!’ Tessa was shocked. ‘Of course not.’

‘So where did you get it?’

Seeing Tessa’s cheeks redden, Pamela hoped that perhaps there
was
a new man on the scene, someone to take her mind off Sam. In an attempt to divert Lauren’s enquiries, she said tentatively, ‘I wondered if you’d thought of giving Erin a ring later?’

‘She sent me a card,’ was Tessa’s reply.

‘That’s good! You must’ve been pleased.’

‘With some photos of her dogs.’

‘Might be nice for you to have a bit of a chat as well?’

‘She can call me,’ responded Tessa briskly.

Pamela fell silent, ignoring Hugo’s reproachful look. He got to his feet. ‘I’ll put the kettle back on,’ he said, and disappeared into the hut.

Lauren moved to take his empty chair, allowing Mitch, sitting on the top step, to stretch out his legs.

‘Can I have more?’ she said, reaching out her empty plate.

‘When I’ve finished mine,’ Tessa replied.

Lauren reached across to the precarious little folding table and picked up the cake knife.

‘Just wait!’ ordered Tessa.

Lauren subsided for a moment. ‘I want to know who gave you the bracelet. You’re always hiding things when I come into the office,’ she complained.

‘Lauren, if I had a boyfriend I’d tell you. I promise.’ Tessa’s voice betrayed how cross she was.

Lauren’s lips curled. Tessa reached out to take her hand, but she snatched it away. ‘I don’t believe you!’

‘Sweetheart, it’s true. If you saw me put things away, then it’s to do with my adoption.’

‘Your mum’s allowed to keep some things private if she wants,’ Pamela told Lauren gently.

‘Everyone’s got secrets except me. You all think I’m stupid.’

‘No, we don’t. But you must try not to blow things out of proportion.’

‘You see! No one trusts me,’ cried Lauren. She leaned forward and hacked at the cake, splitting off a clumsy chunk that she tipped onto her plate.

‘That’s too much!’ cried Tessa, but Lauren, hunching up in her chair, the plate right under her chin, started to cram cake into her mouth. Pamela saw Mitch shake his head and look away.

Helpless, Tessa put her own plate of half-finished cake back on the table and sat with slumped shoulders, her eyes narrowed against the brightness of the glittering sea, fingering the gold band on her wrist.

Pamela looked past her, along the gulley of tightly packed verandas that faced the beach. The crammed vista – it was impossible to see an end – seemed to mirror the inescapable tensions of family life. She felt for Tessa, remembering the wrenching responsibility, guilt and resentment over an unhappy child, the impossible struggle between elemental love and impotent fury at always being the one to blame. It wasn’t fair, she thought, how a mother could never be above the fray. Which was when the other realisation had inevitably followed: she was not a mother.

She had so wished for this birthday to be different, to be light and carefree and silly. She realised now that the disclosure of the secret had not disempowered it; for that to be accomplished would require work, and despite their best attempts might never be achieved.

Hugo appeared in the doorway with the teapot in his hands. ‘Who’s for another cuppa?’ He looked around, taking in the disaffection. ‘Or maybe French cricket?’ he suggested, another family tradition. ‘I bet the old racquet’s still in here somewhere.’

Mitch got to his feet. ‘Good idea. You coming, Lauren?’ He held out his hand and, after some mulish consideration, his sister consented to go with him. Hugo followed with the ancient wooden tennis racquet that now hung as an ornament on the wall inside. ‘Tessie? You coming?’

Tessa shook her head. ‘In a moment.’

Hugo made his way down to the beach, leaving Pamela both comforted and frustrated by his customary diplomacy. She got up. ‘I’ll just put the cake out of the sun.’ Alone in the hut’s dim interior, she reached into her handbag for the plastic bottle. As she raised it to her lips she became aware of Tessa watching from the doorway. Startled, the liquid spilled and she had to wipe her chin.

‘Nula, if you please,’ began Tessa angrily, ‘thinks Lauren is comfort-eating. That I should keep an eye on it.’

‘Well, she does seem a little unhappy.’

‘It’s not my fault. Nothing’s any different at home. It’s Sam who’s changed.’

‘I know how hard it must be for you, my darling. But you won’t force Mitch and Lauren to choose sides, will you?’

‘I’m not! It’s Nula who’s upsetting them. It’s far too soon for Sam to expect them to make themselves at home in her place!’

Pamela recognised the bitterness of the usurped, certain it was what Erin, too, had felt. ‘We’ve all had to fit in around one another,’ she began, wanting so desperately to suck the poison out of the wound. ‘Sam too. It’ll be a while before everyone recovers from all that’s happened, but we’re still a family. Even Sam. He’s still the children’s father.’

Tessa looked at her strangely, her mouth set in an obstinate line that reminded Pamela of Lauren. ‘I’ve met my father,’ she announced.

Pamela gasped at the collapse of her prayer-like hope that Tessa had dropped all notions of pursuing Roy Weaver. ‘You’ve been to the prison?’

‘Twice now.’

‘Where? Which one?

‘Wayleigh Heath.’

It meant nothing to Pamela. ‘You’re absolutely certain it’s him?’

‘We have the same hands.’ Tessa raised hers. ‘The same eyebrows. And he remembers Erin.’

‘What does he remember? What did he say?’

‘He asked me specially to tell Erin that he remembers her fondly.’

‘Fondly?’ For a moment Pamela’s heart soared. ‘He said that?’

‘Yes.’

‘And really meant it?’

‘Yes!’

‘And you believe him, trust him?’

‘He may’ve made a mistake, but he’s not a monster.’

Hearing the latent resentment in Tessa’s voice, Pamela clasped Tessa to her. ‘Of course not!’

‘He even said that we should take our time getting to know one another, that I was right not to rush in. He only wants the best for me.’

‘Really? Oh darling, I’m so relieved.’ Pamela drew back so she could look into her daughter’s eyes. ‘So everything’s going to be all right?’ She sank back against the worktop
and, in need of its sedative effect, raised the bottle again and took a little sip.

Tessa’s anxious look had softened, but now she seemed to sense something suspicious, and her gaze fixed on the plastic bottle. ‘What’s that?’ she asked.

‘Nothing!’ Pamela said automatically, and immediately regretted the lie. She pushed the bottle away from her on the worktop. ‘It’s just juice. Such a hot day.’

Tessa frowned, unconvinced.

‘Do the children know?’ Pamela continued.

Tessa shook her head.

‘Will you tell them?’

‘Soon. Can we talk about this another time?’

‘Yes, darling. Of course. But I can tell Erin, can’t I? That you’re glad you’ve met him?’

‘Yeah, fine.’

Tessa seemed disappointed, dejected, and Pamela watched helplessly as she retreated into the sunshine. She did not feel able to follow: it was just too difficult. She longed to go after her daughter, drag her into her arms, tell her she loved her, that all she wanted was for her to be happy. But she knew she’d only get it wrong, that she’d failed at motherhood yet again.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Mitch lay in bed with Tamsin. He could scarcely believe it possible to be so happy. His happiness spread out from the bed to fill the room, then radiated through the house, out across Felixham, the world, the universe. It felt childishly ridiculous and simultaneously the most grown-up emotion he had ever experienced.

They had just made love for the third time. Each time had been different. Somehow, he had not expected that. All the expectations that he and his friends had entertained about sex had focused on losing their virginity, and he had never looked beyond. No one had told him that each time you got closer and the sensations felt more familiar, and yet that very closeness and familiarity only increased the desire to be even more at one with each other. Already he was looking forward to what he might discover about Tamsin – and himself – the next time, and the time after that.

It had been Tamsin who initiated their first encounter. Even though she was sixteen now he would never have
pressed her to have sex with him, although he’d longed for it. He suspected he knew why she had, and still felt the tiniest twinge of guilt. It was because her father had been so rude and dismissive to him. It had been unnecessary, over nothing, and Mitch hadn’t even cared; he knew it was the way Charlie was. But Tamsin had been mortified, and would have felt her atonement rebuffed if he had tried to talk her out of her apologetic seduction. And once they were naked together under her sweet-smelling white cotton sheets, their ecstatic discoveries had been too intense for him to address his scruples.

It was the very ordinariness of the intensity that made him so happy. He could imagine nothing better than the thought that soon they would get up, get dressed, and take Blanco for a walk. What more could he want than to stand with his arms around her, breathing in the scent of her hair and looking out across the marshes to the sharp brightness of the sea beyond? Yesterday the beauty of a pink and dusky grey sunset against the blue sky seemed to wrap itself around them, as if they were at one with the whole of creation. He felt like the luckiest person in the world. They had walked home hand-in-hand, smiling at other dog-walkers, knowing they invisibly carried their joyfulness between them. There was nothing that Charlie Crawford could say or do to mar such a bond.

They were a few days into half-term. It was only a week’s holiday, but Mitch had no more exams, no more revision, nothing else to worry about, and the relief of pressure made the days stretch out luxuriously like holidays used
to when he was younger. Tamsin had also had exams because at her school they took a couple of GCSEs a year early, but she didn’t seem unduly bothered about them. She took it for granted that she’d get good grades and he liked her blithe confidence, so different from his parents’ assumption that it would only be by sheer luck if he did well. The way Charlie had talked when Mitch’s future was mentioned had been amazing too, as though his ignorance of anything other than success guaranteed it absolutely. It was a good way to think.