Conditional Love (31 page)

He looked me up and down from under his floppy fringe, hands on hips. He was so young! I couldn’t believe I had been subjected to such a thorough character assassination by this whippersnapper!

‘Drinks?’ said Jess, merrily taking orders in the cramped hallway. Milky tea for Terry, beer for Brodie and large glass of wine for me. She bustled off to the kitchen.

‘Thanks for giving me another hearing,’ said Terry.

Brodie huffed.

‘This is for you. For Christmas. In case I don’t see you again. I mean before then.’

He took out a rectangular box, beautifully wrapped and tied with Bloomingdales ribbon. I took it from him and thanked him. It hadn’t even crossed my mind to buy him a present.

‘And these are for now. We can’t get decent ones in the States.’ He handed me a box of Marks and Spencer’s mince pies.

As I helped Terry out of his coat, he touched my hair.

‘Your curls.’ He shook his head softly. ‘Just like Aunt Jane said. Just like mine.’ He paused. ‘And Brodie’s.’

Brodie glowered at me as I ushered them both into the living room in front of me. I resisted the urge to poke my tongue out him and twisted my mouth into a reluctant smile.

What was his problem? It was me that had the axe to grind. He’d had a lovely cosy life with two loving parents by all accounts. Brodie’s presence was making an already difficult situation worse. I considered telling him to bob off and leave us alone.

No sooner had Brodie stepped into the living room, he reappeared before I’d even had a chance to follow.

‘Who’s the hot redhead?’ he hissed.

‘Emma, my flatmate,’ I replied, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice.

‘Nicole Kidman, eat your heart out. Is she single?’ he said, blinking his green eyes at me hopefully.

‘Yes and thirty-three.’

He shook his head and gave a low whistle. ‘Will you put in a good word?’

God, this kid was unbelievable! Our father must have passed my share of the confidence gene onto him.

‘Which one, sullen or argumentative?’

‘Please?’

I pushed Brodie ahead of me just as Jess came in with the drinks.

Emma introduced herself as Terry lowered himself onto the sofa and I sat next to him. I was so close that I could smell his scent. I was no expert on men’s aftershaves, but this was lovely – woody with a hint of cinnamon, quite appropriate for Christmas. I was tempted to bury my nose in his neck for a good sniff. On the snug sofa, his leg brushed against mine and we both inched apart. Brodie perched on the arm next to his dad and gazed across adoringly at Emma, who grinned back at him from the arm chair.‘Sorry not to join the party,’ said Jess jauntily, looking anything but. She handed Terry his tea. ‘I’m meeting my boyfriend for a very special dinner.’

She giggled from the doorway as she collected her bag and coat. ‘Don’t wait up!’ And then she was gone.

We sipped at our drinks in silence for what seemed like hours. I started to feel a bit claustrophobic. I regretted wearing a wool dress; it was hot and itchy and felt tight round my arms.

Was no one going to speak? I looked over at Emma. She flashed a smile at me and then went back to studying Brodie appreciatively.

I couldn’t believe the transformation in him! He had changed from Rottweiler to Labrador puppy; I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d had his tongue hanging out.

‘So,’ I said, unable to stand the tension any longer. ‘Terry, tell me how you met my mother.’ I squashed myself into the furthest corner of the sofa and turned to look at him.

Terry took a slurp of his tea and handed Brodie his mug. Brodie bristled and sat up straight as if ready for a fight.

‘I don’t know how much you know, so I’ll start at the beginning,’ he said.

I nodded some encouragement. He leaned forward and clasped his hands on his knees.

‘We met at a club. Someone’s birthday, I think. She wasn’t a guest, she was singing.’ He smiled and his eyes softened. ‘Valerie was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. I was star struck, there’s no other way to describe it. She was so full of energy and life, a free spirit, I suppose.’

Terry flicked a brief glance at me. I heard Brodie huff.

‘The complete opposite to me. I’d finished my apprenticeship as a tiler. I was earning good money. All I wanted to do was settle down, get a house, start a family.’

I frowned. So far he sounded like perfect husband and father material. Hard to believe, given the circumstances. I held my tongue and listened to what he had to say.

‘Most of Valerie’s friends had gone to uni or were still at school. She liked the fact that I was a bit older and had a steady job. She brought out a lighter side in me and I was totally smitten. I couldn’t believe my luck when she agreed to marry me. We had only been together six months.’

Terry reached into his wallet and took out some photographs.

‘I thought you might be interested in these,’ he said.

He passed me a picture of him and my mother on their wedding day. Tears pricked at the back of my eyes. They looked so young and happy.

Terry was handsome in a dark suit and sapphire blue tie. But it was my mum who I couldn’t take my eyes off. Even from this old photograph I could see her blue eyes sparkling. She looked radiant in her long, puff-sleeved wedding dress. She was holding hands with her new husband and laughing. I wiped away a tear. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her that happy in my whole life. I passed it across to Emma.

‘This was a few months later,’ said Terry quietly. I took the second picture from him.

What a different story! It looked as if there was a celebration going on in the background, but the couple definitely weren’t in the party spirit. Terry had his arm around Mum, but her body language was telling him that he wasn’t wanted. She had her arms folded and shoulder turned away.

‘Jeez, Dad! What are you wearing?’ said Brodie.

I sniggered under my breath. Terry’s jumper wouldn’t have looked out of place in the video for Wham!’s ‘Last Christmas’.

Brodie caught me laughing and scowled. ‘Little wifey’s true colours are coming out in this one, aren’t they, Dad?’

‘Brodie!’ Terry frowned at him.

‘Well, wasn’t it around then –?’ Brodie began to protest.

‘Mince pie, anyone?’ I said, reaching for the box.

Emma leapt up out of her seat. ‘Brodie, fancy nipping out to the pub? I’ll buy you another beer.’

‘Cool,’ said Brodie nonchalantly. He followed Emma out of the room and punched the air behind her back.

‘Have you seen
Eyes Wide Shut
?’ I heard him ask as they left the flat.

‘Cheeky!’ snorted Emma.

‘Sorry about Brodie,’ said Terry. ‘This year has been tough on him. He’ll come round.’

Maybe. I wouldn’t be holding my breath. In truth, my offer of a mince pie was a genuine one, I’d forgotten about the code word. But Emma and Brodie had seemed keen to get away and actually, now that we were getting to the crucial part of the story, I was glad it was just the two of us.

‘Tell me more about this photograph,’ I said, changing the subject.

He linked his hands and began twirling his wedding ring round and round with his opposite hand. Then one knee started twitching. Whatever he wanted to say, it was clearly difficult to put into words.

‘This was taken on the Valentine’s Day after we got married.’ He pressed his lips together into a thin line. ‘We were at another party. Your mother loved parties, she was a real party animal. I was happier at home, to be honest.’

‘She doesn’t look that happy to me,’ I said.

He shook his head unhappily. ‘We had just found out she was pregnant. With you.’

I squeezed my eyes shut. I felt sick all of a sudden.

Please don’t tell me that I was the reason you fell out of love?

Terry saw my face and immediately laid a hand on my knee. ‘Finding out your mother was having a baby was the happiest day of my life. Even better than our wedding day. I felt like the luckiest man in the world.’

I studied his face: the penetrating green eyes, thick eyebrows showing the first signs of grey, dense dark hair. Already he was becoming more familiar to me. His eyes glazed as he looked at the photograph in my hand.

He sounded sincere, he looked as if he meant those words.

‘Why, Terry? If you were so happy, how could you have walked away?’

He stared at me for what felt like an eternity. The tension was building in me like a balloon filled with too much air. Something was going to burst any second, I could feel it.

Breathe, Sophie, breathe.

‘When I met you on your birthday, I could tell from your, um, attitude, that perhaps you hadn’t heard the full story.’

What was it my mum had said?
‘Well, no doubt you’ve heard the whole sordid story.’

My whole body was trembling. So there was more to it! As much as I wanted – needed – to hear what Terry had to say, I was scared. All at once, it felt as if my whole life had been leading up to this moment.

‘Go on.’ My voice was so shaky, I hardly recognised it.

Terry exhaled as if psyching himself up. I held my breath.

‘Your mother –’

Buzzzzz.

We both jumped. A very persistent person was leaning on our entry bell.

I leapt up, shooting my father a look of apology as I ran to the door.

‘Probably Emma, forgotten something.’ I released the outer door without checking who it was.

I waited in the hallway for Emma to bound up the stairs with her long legs. Instead, there was a slow shuffle, a thump and a grunt. Intrigued, I poked my head out over the stairwell. It couldn’t be? I blinked several times to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.

‘Mum?’

thirty-six

I raced down the top few steps and took Mum’s heavy suitcase from her.

‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

Honours degree in stating the bleedin’ obvious, me.

She paused, out of breath, and gave me an injured look. ‘Well, if it’s not convenient?

‘It’s a nice surprise, obviously,’ I added too late.

The shock of seeing her on my doorstep took my breath away, but the change in her appearance gave me even more of a jolt.

My mum was always immaculately turned out: accessorised and colour-coordinated to the hilt, her fine blonde hair lacquered in place, full war paint on. I used to swear blind that if I turned up at hers at four in the morning, she would have lipstick on.

But not today. Today, she had bags under her eyes that wouldn’t pass the Ryanair baggage allowance, her hair was flat at the front and all bird’s nesty at the back, and instead of tanned and healthy she looked tired and old.

I put the case down in the hall and hugged her. A wave of relief washed over me; she had come home and she was OK – miserable, but OK. When did she get so thin, she was a bag of bones? I pushed down the instant figure-envy and scanned her face. Her chin had a distinctly unhappy wobble going on.

‘Mum?’

She collapsed against me and her petite frame started to shake. ‘I’m finished, Sophie,’ she sobbed. ‘Past it, they said, nobody wants that sort of thing anymore.’

‘I thought your Madonna act was going really well?’ I stroked her hair. I don’t think I’d ever seen her so upset.

‘I’ve been replaced with a Madonna
drag
act.’ She took a tissue from the pocket of her thin coat and dabbed her eyes. Her mascara had made black streaks down her cheeks. She would be horrified when she looked in a mirror.

‘A
miming
Madonna drag act. All pointy boobs and reinforced gussets.’ She looked at me distraught. ‘Apparently, even a man looks better in the outfit than me, a man half my age!’

My heart melted for her. To a woman who prided herself on a youthful attitude to life, being told she was too old would be the ultimate insult. My second emotion was less altruistic. When I saw her coming up the stairs, I had assumed that she had come to patch things up between us, but evidently she was here to lick her wounds. And to think I’d been worried about her all these weeks! I mean, how difficult would it have been to let me know she was on her way?

‘I didn’t know where else to go,’ she whispered into my neck.

I rolled my eyes at no one in particular. Nurse Sophie to the rescue – again. Her body felt heavy pressing against me. She was probably exhausted from such a mammoth travelling and crying combo.

I peeled her coat off. No wonder she was cold. She was wearing a silver off-the-shoulder jumper, which could have doubled as a spider’s web, a thin camisole and skinny jeans. I put an arm round her shoulders.

‘Come on,’ I smiled at her. ‘You look shattered.’

‘Thanks, Sophie, love,’ she sniffed and allowed me to lead her into the living room.

‘Friggin’ Nora!’ cried Mum and promptly fainted.

Damn! I’d forgotten her ex-husband was here.

Terry jumped up out of his seat unsteadily. He’d gone a murky shade of ash white. I guessed it was as much of a shock for him as it was her. For a hideous moment I thought he was going to pass out on top of her. That would take some explaining when they both came round.

Thankfully he rallied and between us we managed to lay her on the sofa. I covered her with a blanket while he fetched her a glass of water.

My heart was pounding, my dress was tight and I was feeling a bit breathless. Of all the moments Mum could have chosen to spring a visit on me! God knows what was going to happen when she opened her eyes, but there was a good chance of fireworks.

‘I should go,’ said Terry, anguish etched in lines around his eyes.

I hesitated.

Mum moaned and stirred.

His departure would make it easier; I would be left to face the music on my own, but at least there would be no bloodshed.

No, stuff it!

I had had enough of taking the soft option, avoiding conflict and doing anything for an easier ride. My father had disappeared before, presumably when times got tough, and I wasn’t going to give him the chance to do it again. And before Mum had made her dramatic entrance, I had been on the cusp of finding out why.

I shook my head. ‘You're staying.’

At least if they were in the same room, I would get to hear both sides of the story. Terry sighed reluctantly and began to pace up and down our small living room, raking a hand through his hair.