Secrets of the Tides (46 page)

Helen has thought about calling her since, but every time she moved towards the phone, every time she stood in the kitchen with her hand hovering over the handset, aching to speak to her, she heard a soft, insistent voice in the back of her head saying
Don’t do it. She doesn’t need you. Leave her alone
. And it had proved easier to walk away and distract herself with everyday life, to carry on with her quiet routine down by the coast, than to pick up the phone and face her daughter.

That was the funny thing about Clifftops. From the moment they had moved there she had considered it her prison, a place she had only ever really wanted to escape from. Then, after Alfie, it became her punishment; and when Richard had finally left her she’d known with absolute clarity that it was her personal cross to bear. Richard hadn’t wanted to live there; he’d made that perfectly clear during their strained divorce negotiations, and so she’d stayed on, treating the rambling old house as her penance. And it had proved a weighty cross, steeped as it was with the painful memories of losing Alfie.

Yet, over the years, something unexpected had happened. It was as though the house had slowly infiltrated her bones and had wrapped its heavy stone walls around her, pulling her into its comforting embrace. Perhaps it was the other memories the house held, memories of happier times with Richard and the children that she occasionally now felt strong enough to dwell upon. Or maybe it was the garden she had taken to pottering around, the simple tasks of dead-heading roses, weeding thistles or collecting apples from the orchard reminding her of the natural order of the world, the ebb and flow of a life force both timeless and inevitable. Even the things she had detested at first, like the great clanking Aga, the dusty clutter of antiques and paintings, or the draughty old window frames that rattled and moaned in the brisk sea breezes, had begun to feel like old friends. She realises now that she has assumed the role of custodian; she has become a sort of caretaker for the sprawling estate. It is as if she is keeping it safe – for the next generation perhaps? It surprises no one more than her that she should have come to this, but if she has learnt anything over the last ten years or so, it is that life is full of unexpected twists and turns, both good and bad.

And now Dora has called
her
. She has made the next move and invited her to London, and she can’t help but wonder if this, at last, is a sign that they can finally get things back on track. Perhaps it isn’t so ridiculous to imagine being a part of her daughter’s life again, to look forward to sharing in the joy of a first grandchild. She knows it is more than she deserves but she can’t help the tiny well of hope that bubbles up inside her. This feels like her last chance to bridge the divide.

It is a mild day for September, much warmer in the capital than down on the Dorset coast, and as Helen leaves the tube station and begins to walk down the busy road, past noisy cars with stinking exhausts and screeching brakes, she finds herself shrugging off her coat and rolling up her sleeves. She wanders past a shabby-looking dry-cleaners, a greengrocers with its sad array of wizened fruit and vegetables out on display, and blocks of red-brick council flats until she turns left onto Primrose Hill Road. The green grass of the park sprawls away invitingly to her right, but she carries on down the road, eager to get to the café on time.

Rosie Lee’s Tearoom is tucked away at the end of a quiet, residential street lined with genteel Victorian homes. The shop front itself is decorated with a pretty rose-covered awning and Helen sees several tables and chairs outside on the pavement, covered in patterned tablecloths and cushions, already occupied by patrons soaking up the sunshine. She pushes her way through the front door and into the cosy interior.

The café’s discreet exterior belies the buzz and hum of the crowds inside. Tables are bustling with confident young professionals chattering into mobile phones, sipping on lattes and reading the weekend papers. Helen looks around for a space, despairing at the lack of seats, until a frantically waving arm catches her eye.

‘Mum! Over here.’ It is Dora. She is sitting in the far corner at a table for two, a pot of tea already in front of her. It seems Helen isn’t the only one who has arrived early. She gives her daughter a little wave, before squeezing her way through the cluttered tables to reach her.

‘Hello.’ Dora stands and Helen gives her a peck on the cheek and a little squeeze on the arm, noting with private delight the gentle swell of Dora’s belly underneath her T-shirt. ‘You look great,’ she compliments. ‘You’re glowing.’

‘Thanks, Mum. I like the new “do”.’

Helen pats at her hair self-consciously. ‘It’s a bit shorter than I was expecting, but I’m getting used to it.’

Dora smiles. ‘It suits you.’

‘Thank you.’

She sits down opposite her daughter and folds her coat onto her lap, smoothing the fabric with trembling hands. She is suddenly overwhelmed with nerves. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asks. ‘Is the morning sickness still bad?’

‘No, it eased up a few weeks ago. I’m feeling good now.’

‘Great. That’s great.’ She looks at Dora and can see it is true. Her cheeks are a little rounder, her breasts a little fuller, and her skin and hair shine with life. She looks beautiful.

A waitress in a floral apron appears at Helen’s side, hovering politely with pen poised over pad.

‘Do you want anything else?’ Helen asks.

‘No, I’m fine with my tea thanks.’

‘Just a black coffee please,’ says Helen, addressing the girl in the apron, who fades away with a scribble and a nod, leaving the two women alone again.

‘Thanks for coming,’ says Dora finally. ‘I wasn’t sure you would.’

Helen gives a start of surprise. Did Dora really think she wouldn’t come? Is there really such a great divide between them? It makes her ache to realise how far she’s let things slide. ‘I was pleased you called,’ she admits, finally. ‘I wanted to call you. I really did. So many times I nearly picked up the phone, but something always stopped me. I guess I wasn’t sure you would want to hear from
me
?’

Her last sentence has ended in a question but Dora just responds with a little shrug of her shoulders. ‘Of course I would have,’ she says, eventually.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘But things were so difficult . . . at your last visit.’

Dora nods.

‘I handled it badly.’

Dora nods again.

I deserve that, thinks Helen.

Just then the waitress returns with the coffee. Helen distracts herself for a moment with the sugar, tearing carefully at the paper packet and stirring the granules into her mug, watching the silver spoon shift the dark liquid vortex round and round and round. It’s like our relationship, thinks Helen suddenly, dark and deep and bittersweet. She stops stirring, tapping the spoon against her mug and placing it carefully back onto the saucer.

‘So,’ she says, ‘here we are.’ She gives Dora a nervous smile and Dora seems to be about to say something, but then stops, busying herself instead with the laminated menu in front of her. She flexes it back and forth in her hands, making a funny
whumph-whumph
sound with the air. Somewhere behind them a man breaks into a loud, braying laugh. Only as the sound of it dies away does Dora finally begin to speak.

‘I went to see Cassie a few weeks ago.’

Helen starts. ‘Oh yes? Was she OK?’

‘Yes. She seemed great.’

Helen feels a surge of relief. ‘She seems to have found her calling, doesn’t she?’

It is Dora’s turn to nod. ‘Yes, it certainly seems so.’

They fall silent for another moment.

‘We talked about the day Alfie went missing.’

‘Yes?’ Helen’s voice sounds calm but she can feel her mouth suddenly go dry and reaches across for her coffee with trembling hands.

‘Cassie told me some things I didn’t know; some things about the day; things about her . . . and things about you.’

Helen takes a gulp of coffee. It is too hot but she forces it down, scalding her tongue and throat as she swallows. Here it comes. She steels herself, preparing for the juggernaut of Dora’s accusations and recriminations but is surprised by what Dora says next.

‘I don’t honestly want to get into it all. I’ve done a lot of soul searching and I’ve come to the conclusion that how it happened . . . all the individual decisions we made that day that led to us losing Alfie aren’t what’s important. He’s gone. We’ll always live with that. So perhaps it’s time to stop torturing ourselves with regret?’

Helen looks at Dora, confused. ‘You know about the . . . you know about Tobias?’

Dora nods, slowly.

Helen feels herself blush. The shame is still fresh. ‘You know, I wanted to tell you on your last visit. I really did, I just still find it hard to say out loud. I still feel so horrified about the choices I made.’

Dora nods. ‘It doesn’t matter, Mum. I’ve come to terms with a few things now. Between the four of us we’ve lived too many painful years of guilt and grief, haven’t we? For all the yearning, and longing, for all the sorrow and pain we feel, none of that emotion can bring him back. It won’t change a single moment from that day . . . it won’t shift a single pebble on that beach.’

It is Helen’s turn to nod. She looks down at her lap. She doesn’t want to cry, not now.

‘I just needed to tell you that I understand things a little more clearly now. And I wanted to let you know that you were right; it is time to let it go.’

From out of the corner of her eye Helen sees Dora gently rub the tiny swell of her stomach. It is such an unselfconscious, intimate gesture that it makes the tears Helen has been fighting suddenly flow freely. She sits, with her head hanging down, crying silent tears until she feels Dora press a paper napkin into her hand.

‘Here.’

‘Sorry,’ Helen sniffs, dabbing the napkin at her eyes. She takes a moment to compose herself and then looks up at Dora.

‘I really didn’t want to fall apart in front of you. I actually wanted to apologise to you today.’ She sees Dora tilt her head slightly. ‘You know, for the terrible way I behaved when you last came to visit. I know I didn’t seem it when you told me, but I am thrilled about your pregnancy. It’s wonderful news. You and Dan will make great parents, I have no doubt.’

It is Dora’s turn to look away now.

‘Dora, please look at me. I have to tell you this. It’s important.’

Dora raises her head and Helen can see the tears welling in her daughter’s eyes.

‘It pains me to say it, but a tiny part of me was jealous when I heard your news, you know, Dora. I know that sounds silly. I’m your mother. I want this for you more than anything. But I couldn’t help but feel a stab of envy for the fresh start you have been given. It’s a new life; a new adventure.’ Helen pauses, runs her fingers through her hair. ‘It’s hard getting older, looking in the mirror and seeing time marching on.’

‘You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to, Mum. I don’t want to dredge everything up again.’

‘No, Dora, I need to say this. I’m not angling for sympathy. I’ve made my mistakes – so many of them. And now I live with my regrets. I didn’t realise what I had until it was gone: your father, Alfie, you girls. But maybe something good will come out of this; maybe my mistakes can help you in some way.’

Dora gives another slow nod.

‘When Alfie went missing I couldn’t face the reality of what I had done. I looked for anyone to blame but myself and I’m so sorry that you took the brunt of that. I was horribly unfair to you, Dora. I’m so sorry.’

As Helen stares into Dora’s eyes she sees something else behind the tears, a look of something – perhaps relief – dart across her daughter’s face.

‘I failed Cassie too,’ she continues, keen to lay it all out now. ‘I didn’t see what she needed. I pushed her according to my own agenda, heaped all kinds of pressure on her. And of course, perhaps most of all, I failed Alfie. I wasn’t there to protect him when he needed me most. I would do anything to turn the clock back and make everything right again. But I can’t. All I can do is sit here in front of you and tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you, all of you.’

Dora gives another slow nod. ‘It’s OK, Mum. We’ve each made our mistakes. I’m sure you had your reasons for the choices you made. We don’t need to thrash it through again and again. It was just important for me to tell you that we can leave it behind us. It’s water under the bridge to me. I’m OK now.’

Helen drops her gaze again. Her coat is bunched up in her lap and she smooths it with the flat of her hand. She desperately wants to ask Dora if she can forgive her, if she will let her try to make amends, somehow. She wants to know if she can share a tiny part of her life again, but it still seems too much to ask.

There is another loud, braying laugh from the man behind them. Dora looks round and then back at Helen, rolling her eyes. ‘Shall we get out of here?’

Helen nods and Dora waves at the waitress, leaving Helen to discreetly wipe her eyes and tidy the mascara smudges with the damp napkin she still clutches in her hand.

After they have paid the bill Helen suggests they take a walk up onto Primrose Hill. She doesn’t feel ready to leave Dora just yet and there is nothing waiting for her at Clifftops. The sun is shining and she could do with stretching her legs before the long train journey home.

‘I haven’t been up here for years,’ she confesses as they wander up one of the pathways leading to the top. ‘Not since you and Cassie were little girls. Your father and I brought you both here one spring day when all the daffodils were out. I remember Cassie wanted to do roly-polys all the way to the bottom but she had to stop halfway down. She made herself sick.’ Helen gives a little laugh and she sees Dora smile next to her. ‘The London Eye and the Gherkin didn’t exist then, of course. Gosh, it must have been over twenty years ago.’

‘Yes,’ agrees Dora quietly.

They walk on a little further until they reach an empty bench positioned perfectly for gazing out across the urban vista.

‘Shall we sit for a minute?’ Helen asks.

Dora nods and they perch next to each other, taking in the bustling city below. Helen can see tall towers of concrete and glass winking at them in the sunlight, and the spaceship-like thrust of the BT Tower from across the treetops of Regent’s Park. It is all so familiar, like a painting she has gazed upon for half of her life. In some ways she realises she feels no different to the young woman she was all those years ago when she had first moved to London with Richard. And yet so much has happened since then. She takes a deep breath and then reaches out and puts a hand on Dora’s arm, looking intently into her daughter’s sea-green eyes.