My mother reacts just as I’d expect when I tell her Martin’s going back to London. She looks at me as if I’ve lost the plot, even though all along she’s been assuring me she doesn’t think there’s any truth in those horrible notes.
‘Are you sure you don’t want him to stay?’ she says. ‘Did he say something to you to influence you to let him go?’
‘No, Mum,’ I say. ‘I just realise if I trust him I have to prove that I trust him and this is one way to do that.’
‘Hmm.’ She eyes me. ‘He should be the one proving things to you, though.’
‘I think we both need to work on that and let the police work on finding out the truth of what’s going on.’
‘And being here, without him, while all this is going on? Are you not scared?’
I am, of course I am, but I don’t want to let whoever’s behind this win. I don’t want them to know they’re scaring me.
‘Sure, but I have you,’ I say with a forced smile. ‘Haven’t you always kept me safe? Haven’t you always told me that a mama bear protects her baby bears? You’ll stay with me, won’t you?’
My mother, hearing the phrase she’d quoted to me every time I felt scared as a child, can’t help but smile back.
‘Of course I’ll stay, but I’m not sure how that mama bear story holds up now that I’m older and have a dodgy knee.’
I see it then. A chink in her perfect armour. Fear, perhaps. I suppose fear of what’s happened is natural. I’m shaken by it myself. My mother had been downstairs, close to it, when it happened. She’d run out, fearless, I’d thought, to see who was there. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, she was more aware that there could actually have been an intruder inside the house. There would’ve been little she could’ve done to defend herself, or me.
‘Well, I suppose, then, we’re in this together, Mum. There will have to be a bit of mutual protecting.’
I pull her into a hug, allow myself to melt into the soft fabric of her jumper, the scent of her perfume mixed with talcum powder. The scent of home.
‘Look,’ I say, pulling back, ‘why don’t we do something nice to distract ourselves? You’ve been on at me to do some shopping for this baby. Why don’t we go together? Today. To Mothercare. You can help me to look at a crib and maybe a pram. I know nothing about this stuff and I’d really value your opinion.’
I force enthusiasm into my voice. I don’t really want to go baby shopping. Martin and I have already more or less decided on what pram, sorry, travel system, we’re going to get. Well, Martin has. I just nodded when he showed me one he said rated highly in Which? magazine that was considered to offer value and style. I hope my mother will jump at the idea of coming with me. That we can share some lovely mother/daughter time, where we don’t have to talk about everything that’s happened over the last few days.
‘Ah, pet, I don’t know,’ my mother says. ‘I didn’t sleep well last night and I might not be the best company.’
Perhaps irrationally, I find myself welling up at her answer. I’d expected her to react with enthusiasm at the notion of going shopping with me. She was always trying to drag me round the shops in Belfast. Admittedly, she normally likes to stay close to home when she comes to visit me – always citing that our house is like a country escape and she’d prefer not to get caught up in the traffic and noise of a city when it was such a big part of her daily landscape at home. But I really thought she’d be itching to get out baby shopping. I was relying on her to be extra excited about it to gee me along.
She must see the disappointment in my face.
‘Look,’ she says, ‘here’s an idea. How about you come home with me for a bit? You’re off for a couple of days. It might help you to get away from all this for a while. Get your head round it. We can shop tomorrow together. There’s a lovely new coffee place close to Victoria Square. And they have the Mamas & Papas store there too, as well as some lovely little baby boutiques. We can sit in front of the fire tonight, with a mug of hot chocolate, made just how you like it, with marshmallows and everything. It’ll give us the chance to have a good chat, just like old times.’
There’s a certain appeal to it. There is, if I’m honest, a massive appeal to it. To escape back to Belfast where I’d spent my teenage years, to the familiar sounds and smells of home. My old bedroom isn’t quite how I left it when I moved out, but my mother’s made sure it’s still very much my room. Yes, there’s a double bed where the single one once was, and the Take That posters aren’t on the walls any more, but she’s got framed pictures of me, my friends, and Martin and I hung on the wall.
My mother’s living room is the perfect haven in a busy city. Even though her house is close to Queen’s University, once she pulls the heavy curtains across the bay window in the evening, it feels like a cocoon of safety. I hadn’t been a teenager who routinely disappeared up to my room and away from my mother. When my friends went home, I’d often come and sit with her in front of the fire, both of us talking about our days. Those were good times. Innocent times.
And I miss them, want to relive just a little of what that was like, so I find myself nodding to my mother and saying that sounds like a brilliant idea. She rewards me with a broad smile and I leave her in my living room, which suddenly feels sterile in comparison, and go upstairs to pack an overnight bag.
Martin’s standing by the bed, looking at his open case.
‘I’m going to Mum’s for a day or two,’ I tell him. ‘Just for a change of scenery. After everything …’
He looks at me and nods. ‘I understand. I feel awful that you’ve been through this. That I wasn’t here when that rock came through the window.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I tell him, even though I can’t say with absolute certainty that it wasn’t. ‘Did you confirm your travel arrangements?’
‘Flying out of Belfast tonight at eight,’ he says. ‘But only if you’re sure?’
I’m as sure as I’m likely to be, so I nod.
‘I can be back if you need me, at any time. I can fly back tomorrow if you want. Fly out again on Tuesday. Whatever you need to make this work.’
I know that’s not true. After all, he couldn’t get an earlier flight back this time and even then he was delayed, but I had to believe his intentions were honest. I had to try and trust him.
‘I’ll be fine with Mum,’ I say and I kiss him lightly on the lips.
He bends down and kisses my stomach, whispers that he loves our baby and that he loves me. I ignore the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach and start packing.