Plan B (22 page)

The other people on the boat were commuters. Many of them were young, fresh-faced, puffed up with the importance of their first proper jobs. I wondered how many of them would be burnt out by thirty, clinically depressed by thirty-five, alcoholics incapable of fidelity by forty. I looked around. There were a couple of jaded older people here. I tried to process the fact that Matt had chosen this life above our peaceful community in France.

The boat stopped, but no one got off. More office workers got on. I stayed put.

At the Embankment, I followed a crowd off the boat, smiled wanly at the captain, and trudged along the riverbank with everyone else. Most of them walked into Embankment station, so I did too. Some walked across the concourse and out onto the road that led up to Charing Cross. I followed these people, because I didn’t want to get on the tube. It started raining, gently and then harder. The people in front of me diverted into a wine bar, and I went with them, since I didn’t know where else to go. I was desperate to sit down.

The wine bar was downstairs. It was dark, cosy and very busy. I found a tiny table in the corner and took out a book to act as a shield. Once, I would have been too self-conscious to drink wine on my own, but now I could not have cared less what anyone thought of me. Nobody was looking at me, anyway. If they did, they would assume that I was waiting for someone. I ordered a glass of New Zealand Sauvignon.

‘Large or small?’ asked the studenty waiter.

‘Large,’ I said, forgetting that a small British glass was bigger than a large French one.

It was impossible to buy anything other than French wine in France. I sipped from my bucket of wine, and breathed deeply. I felt the alcohol entering my system, and I welcomed it.

Sitting and thinking was terrifying, but I had to do it. Otherwise I could see myself drifting all evening, following random people around London and existing in a haze. It was half past seven. In France it was half past eight. That was Alice’s bedtime.

I took out my phone and made an extremely expensive call to see how she was. I had to put my finger in my other ear to block out the noise of the people around me.

‘Night night, Mummy,’ she told me, sounding all grown up. ‘I miss you, Mummy. I lub you.’

‘I love you too, sweetie,’ I said. ‘I miss you so much.’ I gulped as I put the phone down. Suddenly, I realised that I was properly angry. I, sweet, amenable Emma, was furious with my former partner and the destruction he had wrought upon my life, and, far worse, upon Alice’s life. Alice was still a baby. He had taken away everything I was trying to give her. She would come from a single parent family now. She would have to explain about her dad’s girlfriend and, maybe, one day, her mum’s boyfriend, or her stepfather. I could not imagine that I would ever meet anyone else. Matt was the only serious boyfriend I had ever had, and he had left me.

With horror, I mouthed the words that had forced themselves into my brain, the words that I was sure I had not spoken since I was three. I was on frightening, forbidden territory. Suddenly I could not shut it out any longer.

‘I want my mummy,’ I whispered. I left too much money on the table and ran up the stairs before anybody noticed the tears that were pouring down my face. I stood on the street and sobbed into the rain.

I want my mummy.

Christa opened the door. She looked surprised to see me, then concerned.

‘Emma?’ she asked, although she knew it was me. ‘Geoff!’ she called over her shoulder. ‘It’s Emma.’ Geoff shouted something inside the house, but I couldn’t hear him. I followed Christa indoors.

The house had a pacifying sameness to it. It was a large house in a street of large houses, not far from Caledonian Road tube station. I stepped into the hall, with its soft blue carpet, and looked up through the banisters, searching for Geoff. He duly appeared, taking the stairs two at a time, rushing down to see me.

I hugged Christa, who was stiff and wiry, and Geoff, who was soft.

‘Come in,’ said Christa. I noticed that her hair was entirely white now. ‘Dry yourself. You’re soaked. Geoff, you’d better call Charlotte. She’s been worried sick about you.’

‘Sorry,’ I said, handing my aunt my raincoat. I wished I wasn’t always so aware that they were not my parents. I was still not quite able to relax around them in case they decided that they didn’t want me any more. The fact that I was not their child had always stood unspoken between us. They would have assured anyone who had asked that I was exactly like a natural child to them; but I wasn’t. ‘I shouldn’t have run off,’ I added. ‘I got myself into a bit of a state.’ I was trying to be brisk and self-deprecating. I could barely force the words out. Christa did not go in for big emotional displays, and neither did I. She looked at me shrewdly.

‘I’m sorry about what’s happened,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’

I followed her into the kitchen and sat on a stool. She threw me a tea towel and I rubbed my hair till it was almost dry. Geoff took three tall glasses from the dishwasher and opened the fridge.

‘I see you’re looking like a chic French lady these days,’ Christa said, admiring my mac as she hung it on the back of the kitchen door, next to her apron.

‘Hardly,’ I told her. ‘I look like a farmer’s wife, except that the farmers’ wives are all pretty well turned out round where we live. I smartened myself up in an emergency dash to Gap when I was staking out Matt’s office. Charlotte did my make-up.’

She shrugged. ‘You look kind of well, anyway, under all that exhaustion. Beneath those tear stains.’

I managed to smile. ‘Thanks. I think.’

Geoff held out a drink. It was clear, and it fizzed. ‘G and T,’ he explained, unnecessarily. ‘Get that down you. Do you good.’

I took the glass and felt the tonic fizzing.

Christa sat opposite me. ‘No sign of the bastard then?’

I smiled genuinely this time, shocked at my uptight aunt saying such a word. ‘Christa!’ I admonished her. ‘I’m surprised at you.’

‘You’re surprised?’ asked Geoff, widening his eyes. ‘You should hear her in private.’

‘This is in private,’ Christa reminded him. ‘And if anyone ever deserved it, Matt is that man.’

Nobody spoke for a moment.

‘A week ago,’ I said, ‘I would have sworn that we had the safest and most secure relationship out of everyone I know. Now I’ve no idea where he is. Charlotte probably told you that we did manage to stalk his friend Pete who said he’s in London. He wouldn’t tell me anything else except that he’s sorry.’ I shrugged and forced myself to carry on speaking. ‘Apparently, in spite of my fantasies about alien abduction, he is alive and well and not in the least bit innocent.’

Christa nodded. ‘Obviously.’

‘And to be honest, I’m already sick of it. I’m sick of looking for him, sick of feeling like this, sick of the guilt I feel about Alice. I’ve just had enough. I don’t have much in the way of inner strength to fall back on.’ I looked at her, then at Geoff, hesitant to make my request, but knowing that I had to say it. ‘Christa. Um, Geoff.’ I was hesitant to ask Geoff because I knew he shied away from anything too emotional. ‘I realise this is coming out of the blue. It’s going to seem like a huge change of subject, but it’s not really. Could you tell me about my mother?’

Christa put down her drink. ‘In the middle of all this, you develop a sudden interest in your mother?’

Geoff stood up. ‘Sorry, girls. I’ve got a move to make in my online chess game. I’ll leave you two to it, if that’s OK. Better you talk about this together than have me hanging around.’

Christa nodded and waved him out of the room. She looked at me expectantly.

‘I’ve never wanted to know,’ I said, ‘but now I don’t know who I am or where I came from. Everything’s fallen down around me. Everything that I thought I had is gone, and I want my mum.’ I paused and collected myself. A large gulp of gin helped me. ‘You’re my mother, I know you are, and you’ve been brilliant at it. I’ve always felt like one of the family. But I can’t stop thinking about my first three years.’ I was almost talking to myself. ‘I barely remember her. I haven’t tried before, but now, when I do, there are just fleeting impressions. I’m walking along a pavement, holding her hand, seeing everything from a low level. My arm’s raised right up, stretching to meet hers. I’m wearing a purple anorak.’

Christa nodded. ‘I remember you in that purple coat.’

I forced myself to breathe calmly. ‘And her hand feels safe. I can’t remember her at all. Just what it was like to hold her hand and know I was safe.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Her saying goodnight and putting me to bed. I remember leaning up against her while she was reading me a story. I remember that it was a book called
The Great Blueness
. I can remember the story. It was about a king in a black and white world and a scientist discovering colours, one by one. I can remember what the pictures in the book looked like. But I can’t remember what she looked like. And I can’t remember her voice.’

Christa swallowed hard. ‘Funny to think that it was twenty-eight years ago. I remember it as if it was yesterday. I used to long to get this far away from it all.’

‘Why did she do it?’ I realised as I said it that this question had haunted me. Everything I had done since the age of three had been directed by this great, unanswerable question. I looked to Christa hopelessly, knowing that neither of us could possibly know the answer. All we could do was guess.

‘She was ill,’ Christa said at once. ‘It wasn’t her fault.’

I put my drink down, hard. It slammed onto the table, which I hadn’t intended. ‘Of course it was her fault! If she was ill she could have got treatment. That’s not so hard. Everyone’s depressed. Most people manage to get through a bit of depression. Particularly if they’ve got a child!’

I was outraged. My fury with Matt was nothing compared to this. I suddenly wondered whether all my life I had been seething below the surface. My mother had taken the decision to leave me. She walked out of my life, for ever. She knew that she was all I had, and she killed herself. I avoided Christa’s eyes. I had always thought that, with enough will power, I would be able to live happily without ever having to deal with any of this. I probably could have done, if Matt hadn’t left me. I felt myself beginning to unravel. ‘It looks like I’m going to be a single mother too,’ I added. ‘And I would put Alice before anything and everything.’

‘Of course,’ said my aunt. ‘But Sarah was ill, Emma. You say everyone’s depressed, but that’s not true. The word has been devalued to the point where it’s practically meaningless. Real depression, serious depression, is a very different matter. Sarah had bipolar disorder – manic depression – and she suffered the most almighty delusions. It was horrendous to see because we all feared this outcome. And there wasn’t really much we could do.’ Her voice was brittle and tight. ‘Of course with hindsight there is a lot we could have done. Needless to say I’m haunted by that knowledge to this day. We should have taken you in sooner. We should have had Sarah sectioned. It was one of those things that was constantly under discussion. All she had to do was to take her medication. But she craved the highs so she often pretended to be taking it. I think that even when I was standing over her watching her take a pill, she’d sometimes hide it in her cheek and spit it out later. What could I do? Should I have pulled her mouth open and checked? With hindsight, yes, I should. The highs were wild. She’d disappear with you for days on end, and you’d come back with your hair dyed purple, both of you, with glittery stars glued all over your bodies. That sort of thing. She had a predilection, when she was in that state, for dancing naked, out of doors, with flowers in her hair. You lived in a tiny village, very staid and conservative, and they weren’t used to that kind of thing. There were women there who were always calling the police. Sarah was desperate to move to Cornwall with you, and Hampshire was a compromise between London and St Ives.’

‘What about her lows?’

She shook her head. ‘Everybody dreaded them. Blacker than black. She would become hopeless and we would desperately try to get her to hospital. We would come to take you home with us, but that made her bleaker than ever. Emma, it was horrific.’

I looked down. There was a gaping hole at the centre of my life. ‘Can you tell me about that last time?’ I asked.

Christa drained her glass. ‘If you want. I still relive it. I’d spoken to her the day before. I knew as soon as she answered that she was low. It was heartbreaking to hear it. Sarah wasn’t herself. She was taken over by hopelessness. I said we would drive down. She knew what I meant. She knew we were coming to collect you until she was better.’ She looked at me closely. ‘Are you sure you want to hear the detail?’

I nodded.

‘I drove down with Greg, because he was still a baby. I arrived and let myself in. Straightaway I heard little footsteps. You came running up to me. You have no memories of any of this?’ I shook my head. ‘I’m not surprised, I suppose. You came running up and as soon as I saw the look on your face I knew that it was different this time. You were wearing a little blue velvet dress with purple shapes sewn haphazardly onto it with green thread. Sarah had embellished it for you. I put Greg’s carrycot down, and you ran into my arms. You kept saying “Mummy, Mummy”. I walked around, carrying you. You were clinging onto me, burying your face in my shoulder. I found her in the bedroom.’

‘Her bedroom?’

‘You slept in the same room. The same bed. She was lying on the bed. It’s an image I will never forget.’ She paused and swallowed. ‘Her eyes were open but it only took a glance to see that she wasn’t there. She had taken pills. They said afterwards that what she had taken would have killed her four times over. They estimated that you had been there, with her body, for at least an hour before I arrived.’

I was numb. ‘I can’t remember it at all.’

‘You forgot it instantly. I’m sorry, Emma. I couldn’t deal with you very well. You’re so like she was – obviously you don’t suffer from her illness which is a tremendous blessing. You reminded me of her all the time, but almost as soon as she died, you blanked her. You wouldn’t talk about her, wouldn’t have pictures of her. Sometimes, when you were three or four, you’d ask where your mummy was, but after that you stopped. You wanted to be like Bella so you just fitted yourself into the family. You were the most amenable child anyone had ever met.’