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A SCREAM WENT UP AND Margo flinched. Loud, sudden noises frightened her these days and Veronica searched for the source. She saw the young girl who’d been frolicking about the garden earlier clutching her foot, her concerned mum bending down to look. ‘I think the poor thing got a bee sting, that’s all, Mum.’ She rubbed her arm to reassure her. She was still holding the tutu on her lap. The sun had moved across the sky and the seat was beginning to feel hard beneath her Veronica realised, shifting to try and get comfortable. She shivered at the breeze that had dropped from summery to spring cool and glanced at her watch. She’d been here over an hour. It would be time to go soon and catch up with all the things needing doing at home.
‘Mum, I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.’ She took Margo’s hand in hers.
‘It’s very pretty,’ Margo said, her eyes on the tutu.
‘Yes, you made it. Weren’t you clever?’
‘I made this?’
‘Yes, and I never thanked you properly. You did so much for me and I never told you how much I appreciated you. I was angry for a long time over dad leaving us and then, well, then he died and you wouldn’t talk about it. I had all these feelings churning inside me and nowhere to put them so I took them out on you. It wasn’t fair and it was wrong of me. Mum, I’m so, so sorry.’ Veronica squeezed her hand gently. She hadn’t understood it at the time, the sacrifices Margo had made for her. Not just the long hours at the sewing machine or taking the extra shifts at Tesco’s to pay for her lessons. The sacrifices had started when she was still in the womb and she’d gotten married.
Margo and Phil had done the right thing after the pressure had been heaped upon them by their families when they broke the news Margo was pregnant. They hadn’t been together long and they were young but they had their big day, a white pretence, and gave it their best shot until there was nothing left to aim for anymore and Phil moved to greener pastures. It wasn’t how Veronica had seen it at the time though. Back then she’d seen her mother be short and snippy with her father. He could do no wrong in her eyes and she’d held on to the belief that if Margo had been kinder, spoken to him more softly, he would have stayed and if he’d stayed, he wouldn’t have died.
She hadn’t understood how things had been for a long time, mostly because she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the reality of the situation. Their dad had left not just his wife, but his children too, not once trying to contact them and that had hurt far too much to accept. It had been easier to blame her mother.
‘My daughter was a dancer.’ Margo stared straight ahead, her expression blank.
‘Yes, she was.’
‘She was very good, you know.’
Her mum had always been her biggest champion. As a parent you pushed and encouraged because you saw the potential others might miss. Veronica knew this now. Her eyes burned and her throat tightened until it hurt to hold back the tears. She wouldn’t cry though, not in front of her mum it would only upset her and she swallowed hard trying to rid herself of the lump lodged. ‘Was she?’
‘Yes. I have two daughters.’
‘You do, Mum, yes. Abi and Veronica.’
‘Abi, I haven’t seen her in a long while.’
‘She came to see you yesterday.’
‘Did she? I don’t remember.’
‘She did. She’s been to see you every day this week.’
‘Has she?’ Margo shook her head. ‘I don’t remember things. This,’ she tapped the side of her head. ‘It doesn’t work like it used to.’
Veronica sensed her agitation. ‘I love you, Mum. Shall we go and see what’s for afternoon tea today?’
‘I don’t mind.’
Veronica stood up, rolling her shoulders forwards and backwards to loosen the knot that had formed, she must have been hunching while she was sitting there talking. Then she helped Margo up and led her towards the open doors.
‘I can hear music,’ Margo exclaimed, her face suddenly alight.
Someone was playing the piano, Veronica realised. An entertainer of some description came most Saturday afternoons. This was much better than the trio caterwauling Peter Paul and Mary’s hits last week. It was Tchaikovsky she realised, recognising the tune as the waltz from Sleeping Beauty. She’d once danced to it and closing her eyes she remembered how it had felt.