Another Mother's Life

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Authors: Rowan Coleman

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BOOK: Another Mother's Life
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If Alison had known I was here, she wouldn’t have come back.

 

Catherine was glad for once that she had developed the talent of fading into the background. Even so, her heart was racing. She felt light-headed and hot, as if she had a fever. “It’s just a girl you once knew, a girl you fell out with over a boy,” she told herself. “It doesn’t matter. Why should it matter now?” But Alison hadn’t come back alone. She’d come back with two girls and a teenage son… and her husband.

Her husband
. Catherine had never known what became of Alison and Marc.

Once again, her eyes swept the room, but this time she was looking for something different. The sight that stopped her heart was the back of a man’s head, dark hair cut short into the nape of his neck. She was looking at her living, breathing past.

And then, as if he sensed the touch of her gaze on his skin, slowly and uncertainly the man turned around and looked right at her and recognized her.

 

Praise for
The Accidental Mother
by Rowan Coleman
“A disarmingly sweet tale of motherhood and reluctant love.”
—
Publishers Weekly

 

“Brilliant… moving and funny.”
—
New Woman
magazine

 

“Fun, poignant.”
—
OK
magazine

 

 

Also by Rowan Coleman
The Accidental Mother

 

 

Rowan Coleman

 

 

Another Mother’s Life

 

 

Pocket Books
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
[http://www.SimonandSchuster.com] www.SimonandSchuster.com

 

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2008 by Rowan Coleman
Originally published in Great Britain as
The Accidental Wife
by Arrow Books in 2008
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Pocket Books trade paperback edition October 2008
POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases,
please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-800-456-6798
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Coleman, Rowan.
Another mother’s life / Rowan Coleman
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-8302-8
ISBN-10: 1-4165-8302-5
eISBN-13: 978-1-416-58423-0
1. Motherhood—Fiction. 2. Domestic fiction. 3. England—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6103.O4426A85 2008
823’.92—dc22
2008002513

 

For my daughter, Lily, who is my sunshine
.

 

Another
Mother’s Life

 

One

 

A
lison James found that her feet could not move.
“Good-bye fireplace, good-bye window, good-bye spider’s web, good-bye doorknob …” Alison listened to her five-year-old daughter’s litany of farewells and she knew that her husband would be in the car, his forefinger drumming against the steering wheel impatiently as he waited for her and Amy to come out and join the rest of the family on their trip to their new home, their new life. The moving van had left almost half an hour ago and Alison knew that Marc was horrified at the thought of his widescreen TV languishing on the damp front lawn while the movers waited for someone to let them in. What he didn’t know was that despite all that had happened here, for two of the family, at least, it was hard to say good-bye.
The horn sounded from outside, three long bursts that made Amy jump in her skin.
“Come on then, sweetheart,” Alison said, picking up her
daughter’s hand. “It’s time to go to our new home, it will be very exciting, won’t it? A proper adventure.”
Amy looked up at her mummy.
“But I haven’t said good-bye stairs, good-bye loo, good-bye airing cupboard, good-bye …”
“How about you just say one big good-bye to the whole house?” Alison prompted, even though she would be perfectly happy to wait while Amy bid farewell to every brick and board. She knew exactly how her daughter felt about leaving their London home because she was just as reluctant to leave it, particularly considering where they were moving to. Everyone else thought they were starting afresh, beginning a new life and turning a clean page. Only Alison seemed to understand that they were traveling back into the past, specifically her past.
But the decision had been made and now it was impossible to turn back.
“Is Farmington nice, Mama?” Amy asked, closing her fingers tightly around Alison’s. Alison felt an echoing clench of anxiety in her gut.
“Yes, darling, it’s lovely. It’s the place where Mummy grew up, remember? And the town where Granny and Grandpa live is only a few miles away. When they get back from their trip we’ll see them all the time. Besides, Farmington has lots more room to play and not so much pollution. And the school will be great. You’ll love it. Just think of all the new friends you’ll make.”
Alison looked down at Amy’s small, quiet face. She could only guess at how terrifying this move must seem to the five-year-old.
What her husband didn’t seem to be able to understand was that going home was nearly as terrifying for her.
“Good-bye house,” Amy said on a heavy sigh. “Be happy with your new family.”
Then, finally, Alison forced her leaden feet to move and,
leading Amy by the hand, she shut the door on her old life forever.
“Get a move on, love.” Marc leaned out of the car window. “I’d like to get us all in before dark!”
Once in the car, Alison looked in the rearview mirror. Fifteen-year-old Dominic was slumped in the very rear, his arms crossed, his woollen hat pulled down over his brows so his black hair fanned into his eyes, his beloved electric guitar in its case on the seat next to him. He was plugged into his iPod with his eyes closed, shutting the world out, displaying his disapproval at what was happening with a silent if not peaceful protest. Her middle child, eight-year-old Gemma, was staring happily out the window, her legs drumming in anticipation of a new adventure, a new world to conquer and hundreds of new friends to make—possibly the only one in the whole family who was truly looking toward the future.
Only Amy, who had the flats of her palms pressed against the car window, kept looking back. Only Amy was still saying her good-byes even as they turned the corner and their old street was out of sight for good. Only Amy, who brushed away a tear, then put her thumb in her mouth and clung to her toy for dear life, seemed aware of exactly what they had left behind.
Only Amy and Alison, that is.
“Come on Alison, it’s perfect, admit it.” Marc had pressed her only six weeks earlier when he’d come home and told her he thought they should put the house on the market because he’d found them the perfect place to move to.
Alison had half looked at the details of the new house he had thrust under her nose the minute after he’d walked in the door. That was Marc. He was an all-or-nothing kind of man; things had to be done right away or not at all, and this, it seemed, was one of them. He had made a mistake and now he was taking decisive
action to fix it, decisive and drastic. The house in the photo was certainly much bigger than their current house, set in some grounds at the end of what looked like a long driveway.
“There’s no way we can afford a house like this near enough for you to be able to commute, and if you think that I’m going to be stuck out in the country while you’re in town all week, then …”
“That’s not it at all, Al,” he said. “I’ve been thinking and, well, the dealership in Notting Hill runs itself more or less, it’s established. There’s no challenge for me there anymore and I think we all need a change, a proper fresh start for all of us.” Alison looked at him and waited for the hard sell. Marc picked up her hand as he sat down next to her. “You need a change of scenery after everything that went on at Christmas, not to mention what’s been going on with Dom. That’s twice now he’s been brought home by a policeman, Alison. He’s been warned for riding in a stolen car. What will happen next? Will we find a knife in his school bag or have the next policeman turn up on our doorstep to tell us our son’s been shot for looking at some kid the wrong way? You don’t want that life for him, do you, Al? This is the perfect solution, and look at where the house is.”
Alison had stopped looking at her husband the moment he mentioned Christmas. Only Marc could refer to something so painful and humiliating in passing, as if what had happened was merely an inconvenience that a good holiday could sort out. But when she looked at the address of the house, all thoughts of Christmas disappeared.

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