The Bad Mother (33 page)

And so she was unspeakably grateful when Sam nodded and spoke kindly. ‘So where do you go from here?’ he asked. ‘Do you still think he deserves any kind of place in your life?’

‘No!’

‘Good.’

‘But I’ve let him in, haven’t I? We’re his family. I
am
his child, Mitch and Lauren
are
his grandchildren. We have to deal somehow with what he’s done, with what that makes us. Oh, I can’t forgive myself for what I said to Mitch!’

‘That was pretty unfortunate,’ Sam agreed. He reached over and took hold of one of her hands. ‘But there’s nothing wrong with you, Tessa.’

Tessa had wanted for so long to hear him say such words that she hardly dared look up and meet his eyes. She felt as though Sam was offering the only known antidote to a patient who had been lethally poisoned.

When she did not trust herself to reply, Sam spoke again. ‘Don’t worry too much about Mitch. He’s young enough to bounce back. It’ll blow over.’

‘But can you understand why I panicked?’ she appealed to him. ‘Especially about the drugs. It was only a moment. A split second. And there
is
addiction in the family; Pamela drinks on the sly, did you know that?’

Sam shrugged. ‘Sure.’

‘Is it only me who fails to see these things?’ she asked.

‘It’s easier when you’re not so close to people.’

‘Mitch looks so like Roy sometimes. Then it’s hard not to think of the terrible things Roy has done.’

‘Even if Mitch
is
like him being a criminal isn’t genetic,’ said Sam. ‘Roy didn’t bring you up, and he’s never so much as laid eyes on Mitch. He hasn’t influenced your identities in any way.’

‘You don’t think there’s some awful inheritance?’

‘No.’ Sam gave her hand a bracing squeeze. ‘Mitch is being a typical teenager, and, by the sound of it, Charlie Crawford is an arrogant prick who likes throwing his weight about.’

Tessa allowed herself to laugh, though she was very close to tears. ‘Are you sure?’ she begged him. ‘Are you sure Mitch is really Ok?’

‘He’s a great kid,’ declared Sam. ‘A credit to us both.’

Tessa nodded. She wanted to blow her nose and drink her wine, but most of all she wanted Sam to keep holding her hand. ‘I know a lot of it’s been entirely my own fault, but it’s all been a bit much recently,’ she said.

‘I know. And we need to talk about that.’ Sam let go of her hand as he picked up his glass. He got up and wandered over to the window. Tessa remembered how he always used to do this when he had something he wished to avoid saying.

‘It’s partly my fault too,’ he confessed to the panes of glass. ‘I’d already guessed Mitch and Tamsin were sleeping together, but ignored it because it made me so angry.’

‘Angry?’ asked Tessa, surprised: not that Sam should appear prudish, but that she couldn’t remember when he had ever admitted to being angry. ‘Why?’

‘I was so terrified he’d repeat our mistakes,’ he said at last.

Tessa shivered. ‘
Were
we a mistake?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘Did you ever love me, Sam?’

‘I didn’t say
you
were a mistake,’ he exclaimed in exasperation. ‘Why do you always do that? Turn it against yourself, so I can never explain what I mean. You getting pregnant was the mistake. Never having a chance to find out what we really wanted was the mistake.’ He came and sat beside her, cupping her cheek. ‘I was never allowed to think things through. Of course I love you, and the kids, but so long as Averil was alive, I was never allowed to decide anything for myself. I couldn’t breathe!’

She looked into his eyes. ‘And now you can?’

‘Yes. I never meant to break us all up, to make the kids have to shuttle between us. But I had no choice.’

As Sam sat back, Tessa felt a great calm descend upon her. He had finally explained himself, had finally spoken and told her why he’d left. ‘So it wasn’t me?’ she asked. ‘You don’t hate me?’

‘No! No, Tessa. But I felt so awful about leaving that for a long time afterwards I couldn’t even bear to look at you. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s all right. I didn’t know who I was either. And I’ve made an even worse mess of working it out!’

‘We’ll manage better now, won’t we?’

‘We can try!’ They clinked glasses and drank to it. As more of her tension melted away with the wine, Tessa voiced her other shame. ‘What about Lauren?’ she asked. ‘Does she hate me?’

Sam smiled. ‘Of course not. Don’t worry about her. She’s doing fine. We’ve been paying her the minimum wage to help out in the brasserie kitchen, and she loves it. Amazing what a bit of responsibility can do.’

‘Really?’ Swallowing her resentment that Nula had been able to help her child when she had failed, Tessa ordered herself to be glad for Lauren’s sake.

‘I’ll bring her over tomorrow,’ promised Sam. ‘You both just needed a bit of space, that’s all. She’s a kid. Forget it.’

‘How did we manage to get ourselves in such a state?’ asked Tessa, going to fetch more ice. ‘I can’t tell you how miserable I’ve been, Sam.’

He joined her as she refilled the ice tray at the sink. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. ‘There’s a lot I should’ve handled better.’

Tessa turned to face him. ‘I’m sorry too.’ She took a deep breath, letting go of years of hurt. ‘It’s so
horrible
being jealous!’

Sam laughed and, out of long habit, put his hands around her waist to pull her to him in a comfortable hug. ‘What a pair, eh?’ he said into her ear.

Tessa returned his hug, laughing too with the wonderful relief of it all. ‘Oh, Sam! Let’s be friends again.’

FORTY-SIX

On the beach, Mitch got to his feet, brushing off the sticky sand. He looked out to sea, sighing over his utter stupidity in jettisoning his phone: one more thing for his parents to shout at him about. The horizon seemed to expand forever, and he felt very small, a mere dot, just like the aeroplane in which Tamsin was now travelling. He rubbed away the tears that prickled at his eyes at the thought of her, relaxed and oblivious to him, in her flying metal tube. It couldn’t be! The idea of having to survive the remainder of the summer without her was impossible.

He climbed up to the promenade and crossed the road to the Seafront B&B. Aware of his mucky jeans, he let himself in quietly and slipped upstairs, hoping to avoid any guests. As he went up the last flight to the flat he heard his mother gasping. Gripped with guilt that she was weeping over his sins, he knocked once on her bedroom door and went in. She lay on the covered bed, her skirt around her waist, her blouse pushed up, one breast exposed. A man lay on top of her, naked from the waist
down, thrusting between her legs. Tessa’s face turned, her eyes focused on Mitch, and she grabbed a fistful of duvet to try and cover them both. ‘Sam!’ she cried, attempting to wriggle herself free and draw down her skirt. ‘Sam, stop!’

Mitch fled.

By the time he reached the marshes, his chest hurt from the effort of dragging in enough air to keep running. It didn’t help that he was crying, and, with a blocked nose, could only breathe through his mouth. At last he had to stop to bend over, panting, waiting to take in enough air so that he could stand upright without feeling dizzy. He must have run almost two miles, and could look back towards the twinkling lights of South Felixham and, beyond, the distant glow of North Felixham where he’d left his parents in bed together. It wasn’t yet dark, but the moon stood out more brightly than the setting sun. Knowing he’d never return, he’d had the sense to stop on his way out of the house to grab his waterproof jacket from the hall and, with fumbling fingers, steal two twenty-pound notes from Tessa’s handbag in her office. So she’d call him a thief on top of everything else, but it didn’t matter what she thought of him now. The instant she’d recognised him standing in her doorway he’d known she would hate him for seeing her nakedness and Sam would hate him for witnessing his betrayal of Nula. He could never go home again.

He carried on, slowing now to a walk, not caring which path he took, where he went, just so long as Felixham lay
behind him. He wished for a moment that he had Blanco to whistle to, but the pain caused by the thought of never seeing Tamsin again felt dangerously sharp, and he banished the notion. He was on his own, and might as well get used to it.

His head felt full of whistling static, as if he’d been slapped and smacked until his ears rang. He could not believe the layers and layers of lies that adults told just so they could get what they wanted yet still go on pretending they merited respect. He was used to it from teachers, but he’d
trusted
his parents. They were supposed to set an example of special goodness, to do everything within their power to keep the family safe. But the fortress he’d stupidly thought was his family had collapsed. There were no ramparts. The walls were flimsy, unreal, a lie. He longed for the sense of abandonment and escape the cocaine had given him, wished for some drug to take away his pain.

Mitch stumbled, and realised it was getting too dark to see his way. The moon was not quite full and there were hazy clouds from the day’s summer heat; he knew they would gradually clear, and hoped the brightness would be enough to light his way. But he had not considered the extreme contrast of the shadows that sliced across his path, obliterating hazardous detail and slowing his pace. He stopped to take his bearings, and became aware of all the night noises. The faint rush of the sea, invisible except for its slight phosphorescence, came to him like the sound of a shell held to his ear. He couldn’t remember being
able to hear it at this distance during the day. Nearer at hand, marsh water lapped irregularly against mud, driven by the breeze that rustled between the reeds. Far off – he couldn’t make out the precise direction – he picked up the rasping cough of a bullock in a field. He realised he had expected to hear traffic, some sound of human activity, but there was nothing, and the nearest lights seemed very far away.

But he had made his decision, and he had nowhere else to go – he couldn’t turn up at a friend’s house at this hour. Hugo was the only person he could turn to, but what if he, too, believed what Charlie had said and despised him? That was too calamitous even to consider. Besides, how could Mitch explain why he’d run away? Would he even be believed? He didn’t want to think about the consequences of what he’d seen. If his parents
had
got back together – though he didn’t reckon that was what had happened – then it was too late for him to be glad about it. Although it had been terrible when they first split up, it was far better now for Sam to stay with Nula, better for Lauren too. So if he kept away, then maybe no one need ever find out what they’d done, and no harm would follow.

As for his mother, he couldn’t think straight about her, he felt so betrayed. Tessa no longer seemed to care what she said or did to anyone. She’d excluded him from this whole Roy Weaver thing, crept about at night so that she could sleep with Declan, and had chosen to believe Charlie rather than him. It was bad enough that Tessa thought
he
was a liar and a pervert, but now she’d turned Sam into a liar and a cheat as well.

Mitch trudged on, raising his collar and pushing his hands into his pockets for warmth. He realised he couldn’t keep moving all night, but for now it seemed the best thing to do. He was afraid that if he had nothing to distract his thoughts, he’d have to think about how he was going to survive if he never heard from Tamsin again. He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid as to destroy his phone, and prayed Tamsin wouldn’t conclude that he didn’t want to speak to her.
If
she ever tried to call him. What if she agreed with Charlie and never wanted to speak to him again? He might as well stay out here alone on the marsh forever.

A mist was rolling in, blanketing both the faint glow of the sea and the denser blackness of higher land against the sky and obscuring any identifying landmarks along the higher ground. The reeds rustling around Mitch soon merged with the outer darkness, and he could no longer even make out the path. He began to be afraid. It would be all too easy in the dark to slide into cold mud and deep water and be unable to gain a firm enough foothold to pull himself out. He knew very well how dangerous the marsh waters could be. He stopped and squatted down on his heels, fearing the chill of lying or sitting on the damp ground. Hugging his knees to conserve body heat, he began to shiver, less from cold than from the perishing wound of hurt and grief and self-pity. Suddenly, in his mind’s eye, a fox stepped delicately out of the trees in front of
him, gave him a look and went on its way. Mitch’s physical panic subsided, but the tearing pain of blame and loneliness increased. He was cold, hungry, thirsty and lost, and it was hours until sunrise.

FORTY-SEVEN

When Tessa woke it took her a moment or two to locate the source of her unease: how on earth was she to face Mitch? It was early, but she got out of bed and opened the curtains to a pale moonstone sky. It would be hot again today, and if this week’s fine weather continued it would draw hordes of day-trippers to Felixham over the weekend. Tessa felt too embattled to struggle through dawdling, ice cream-licking crowds or even to face her own cheerful guests.

Sam had departed almost immediately after Mitch had found them together. If only their son had not walked in on them, then she and Sam might have laughed in embarrassment, straightened their clothes and parted amicably with something between them settled. After so much misunderstanding and estrangement the sex had been no more than a gesture of comfort and familiarity, the undoing of a painfully tight knot. And it was wonderful to discover that she was not, as she had feared for so long, unlovable. But how could they ever explain that to
a romantic seventeen-year-old? It would be impossible to convince Mitch that what he had seen was not the start of a shameful affair but an affectionate farewell to their marriage.

Tessa had tried to stay awake until she heard him come in, but had been too exhausted from the tumultuous day. Beyond her immediate concern for Mitch lay the obscenity of Roy’s actions, and the knowledge of her own complicity. No high solid walls, razor wire, gates, locks or security cameras could keep her safe if she herself was negligent. And she had been; she had very nearly agreed to hand over images of Mitch and Lauren as toddlers and pre-teens. How could she ever have faced her children again if she had actually done so? What kind of mother was she?