The Betrayal (34 page)

A
li lives
with Christine in a two-bed flat in Islington.
Her bedroom is the width of my arms and the kitchen in
Eyebright
is bigger than the galley where she’s making lunch.
She rang last night and asked to meet me after my art class finished.
Christine is out and we’re alone.
Something is wrong.
Shadows under her eyes.
Disturbed sleep and she’s probably prey to those voices in the small hours that distort whatever rationality she still possesses.
I know all about them.

I haven’t seen her for a few weeks.
She’s cancelled on two occasions when we were supposed to meet for coffee.
She came to Wharf Alley a few times when I first moved in but not so much anymore.
On her last visit, Aurora did an angel reading.
Ali was subdued afterwards.
Her radiant smile may fool others but not me.
When we’re together she changes from giddy optimism to tearful admissions that Mark’s divorce is not a simple as she first believed.
His wife invested money in Barnstormers.
She was supportive when her husband was a struggling director.
I have a deep sympathy for this faceless woman, whom he is betraying with my daughter.
Ali must be patient and understanding; it will all work out in the end.
He offers her these reassurances.
I can offer a comforting arm but my words of caution are not welcome.
She reserves her acting for the stage.
I, as her mother, get the full brunt of her emotions.

I sink into a sofa with broken springs and indefinable stains I’ve no wish to analyse.
She seems tense and preoccupied as she sets a low coffee table with fresh bread rolls and cheeses, some cooked chicken and appetising chutneys.
I know better than to ask for information.
Pull one way and Ali pulls in the other direction.
She’ll get to the heart of the matter in her own good time.
She avoids my eyes and passes the salad bowl, waits until I take what I need before she says, ‘I received a letter in the post yesterday.’

‘Go on.’
I nod at her to continue.
Kitten claws scrape against my chest.

‘It’s something you wrote…’ She reaches into the pocket of her jeans.
‘Years ago… in your teens.’

The envelope she hands to me has been ripped open.
It’s printed with her name and address.
The letter inside is a photocopy.
Saliva floods my mouth and, for an instant, I’m afraid I’ll throw up all over this grubby sofa.

‘You read it?’
I ask.

‘Yes, I read it.’
She finally meets my gaze.
‘I wasn’t going to… but once I started I couldn’t stop.’

‘Do you know if Brian or the twins received the same letter?’

She shakes her head.
‘They’d have told me.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Positive.
We’re in touch all the time about you and Dad.’

I imagine bewildered and exasperated sessions on Skype and instant messaging.
What a worry we are to them.
Drama, broken hearts and messiness are the prerogative of a young generation.
They should not be expected to deal with the complexities of sundered parents.

‘How does that woman know my address?’
Ali asks

How indeed… did she stalk my daughter as she travelled from the theatre to her flat?
The thought is terrifying.
I see my own fear reflected in Ali’s eyes and rush to reassure her.

‘An address is easy to find if you set your mind to it.
Don’t worry about her.
She’s not interested in you.
I met her when I was in Dublin.
She made it clear I’m her target.’
I take the letter from Ali and crumple it in my hand.

‘Will you tell me about that summer,’ she asks.
‘I’d like to know about him.’

Where can I begin?
I shake my head.
‘Not today, Ali.
I’m not ready to talk about him.
But I will… I promise.
Please don’t mention any of this to Jake.
He feels responsible for Eleanor’s stroke.
I don’t want him to have to deal with anything else.
Promise you’ll let me know immediately if another letter arrives.’

‘I will.’
She nods vehemently.

‘And that you’ll give it to me...
unopened.’

‘Are there more?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, Mum.’
Ali holds me, a subtle role reversal.
I’m glad of her comfort.

I read the letter on the tube as it powers underground then races through the blustery May sunshine.
Love letters for my eyes only.
Why did I take such a risk?
It didn’t seem risky at the time but that’s the arrogance of youth, its sense of invulnerability.
It calmed me down, this physical act, the construction of a fantasy with blocks of words.
But, by the following day, my skin was on fire again.
My ears attuned to his voice, his laughter, his step, his gaze.

D
arling Max

I can’t sleep.
My back is too hot even for the sheet.
But you’re okay.
Your skin is used to the sun.
What were you thinking when we lay together on Table Rock?
I still can’t believe it, just you and me lying there with the ocean shining around us.

It was Jake who suggested we swim to Table Rock.
We’ve never done that before.
It’s so far away on the other side of the bay.
He really believed he could make it.
Barry was the first to turn back, then Karin, Reedy, Hart and Daryl.
When Jake decided it was too far he yelled at me to swim back with him.
I kept going.
I knew I could reach the rock and rest there before heading back.
That’s what the strong swimmers do.
Then the sea got choppy and the rock looked even further away.
I was going to turn back when you swam alongside me and suddenly I felt like I could swim to the other side of the world.

You reached the rock first and pulled me up beside you.
I couldn’t stop panting for ages.
We just lay there side by side without talking.
Then our breathing became the same and your chest was rising and falling just like mine.
The water on your body looked like jewels.
Even when I closed my eyes I could see those jewels sparkling under my eyelids.

‘Well, my lovely mermaid, are you ready for the swim back?’
you said after a while.

I stood up and so did you.
I didn’t slip deliberately.
It was the rock, all that seaweed.
You caught me.
I know it was only to steady me but it was like you’d given me an electric shock.
The smell of the sea was on your skin and I could feel every part of you, even… well… I’m not really sure if you were… it seems weird to think you were hard, like Jake got when we kissed in the cave.
Then you let me go and dived straight into the water.

Karin was furious when we came back.
I was dripping wet but she wouldn’t even let me dry off.

‘Walk,’ she said, as if I was a dog and flounced off down the beach in a temper.

‘You frightened the life out of my mother,’ she said when I caught up with her.
‘She was worried sick in case you got drowned and took my father down with you.
So was I.
Not that you cared.’

When I looked at Joan she just lying there with her sunhat over her face.
She hadn’t even looked up when we came back.
I told Karin to stop getting at me.
The only reason she was in a temper was because she hadn’t been able to keep up with us.
It was the wrong thing to say.

‘You think you’re so brilliant at everything.’
She started shouting at me.
‘But you’re not.
You’re just a big, clumsy whale who keeps trying to attract my father’s attention all the time.’

I hit her.
I’m sorry, Max.
Sorry it was your daughter I hit.
But not one bit sorry I did it.
Oh my God!
It was awful afterwards.
I was sure she’d hit me back.
I wish she had.
That would have made us even but she ran back up the cliff path to the cottage and wouldn’t come out of her room for ages.

I apologised when she let me in.
I told her I was going to ring Mum to collect me.
She stopped sulking then and said we should let bygones be bygones and she was sorry she called me a whale.
We’ve made up our row… for now.

I’m not going outside tonight.
Her insults stick like glue and I feel like one now.
A big, clumsy whale that you all feel sorry for.

I’m so unhappy.
I’d definitely go home if it wasn’t for you.
I can’t stop thinking about Table Rock and when I slipped.
My skin is shivery every time I move.
I’m not sure if it’s the sunburn or thinking about how you pulled me into you real close and how I could have kissed you if I’d moved my face just a tiny inch closer.

Goodnight, Max.
I love you.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

T
he passengers
on the tube check their iPhones or stare blankly into space.
Some cling to tradition and read neatly folded newspapers.
A man speaks loudly on his mobile about the groceries he must pick up from Tesco Express but the years are falling away from me.
Curling like onion skins until all I can remember are those heady sun-filled days and star-dazzled nights.
How many letters did I write?
Four?
Five?
All of them are in her hands and primed.
Where will they explode next?

I
t’s almost
a relief when Brian rings.
He stammers when he tells me about the letter, uncomfortable and embarrassed by this glimpse into his mother’s screwed-up teenage mind.
He only read the opening paragraph.
That shows a lack of curiosity he must have inherited from his great-uncle Donal.
Unlike Ali, he doesn’t want to know the back story of my youth.
I told him enough when I visited him in Slí na hAbhann.
He has a pottery to run and more orders coming in for the Willow Passion collection than he can handle.
But Karin Moylan is pushing my buttons one by one, determined to expose me before the eyes of my family.

Brian agrees to scan the letter and email it on to me.
Then he will burn it in his kiln.
1400°C should do the trick, he says.

My Darling Max

Tonight we looked at stars.
My hands shook when you gave me your binoculars and showed me the path of the Milky Way.
You named the constellations.
I can only remember a few like Orion and Gemini.
But I remember what it was like when you put your hands on either side of my head and pointed my face towards Venus.

‘The first star of evening and the wonderful Goddess of Love,’ you said.
Your breath tickled my ears.
A shooting star fell from the sky.
You said it happens all the time and that the heavens are always in a state of flux.

We sat on the bench and you told me more about India.
How you were almost killed by an elephant and watched a dead man being burnt.
I could have stayed there forever listening to you.
God!
If anyone knew.
I feel as guilty as anything writing this.
You kissed me.
3!!
times.
Oh God… oh God… 3 times!!!
You opened my mouth with your tongue and it was so different to the way Jake does it.
Like I’m dreaming what’s happening and there’s arrows shooting through me.
I wanted so much for us to lie on the ground and keep kissing forever.

It was so dark I couldn’t see your face.
You told me I was special and beautiful.
No one ever said I was beautiful before.
Well, Jake did but he said ‘weirdly beautiful’ and that’s not a compliment, not as far as I’m concerned.
You said it properly and that’s when you kissed me for the 3
^rd
time.
That one was deeper.
A bit scary and it hurt a bit, the way you were holding me so close but I didn’t pretend.