Juliette was shocked when her mother opened the door. She looked so old these days, but, Juliette reasoned, she was in her mid-sixties now, what did she expect? Elisabeth had that pinched look to her face, of someone who has suffered, and the lines around her mouth were like a hangdog’s, largely thanks to the packet a day habit she still hadn’t conquered.
‘Oh,’ said Elisabeth. ‘Goodness. I wasn’t expecting you. Why didn’t you ring? Now’s not convenient.’
‘It never is, is it, Elisabeth?’ said Juliette, but she sounded less hurt, less bitter than usual. Today she just felt sadness to the moon and back for her mother. The hatred had gone elsewhere.
‘When can I come back?’
‘Well … Oh, you might as well come in now you’re here, but you can’t stay long, I have to go out. What d’you want to drink?’
‘Nothing, thanks,’ said Juliette. She moved inside the cramped cluttered hallway, and she could smell damp faintly, wet washing perhaps. Elisabeth ushered her through to the kitchen, which was small and dark, and one of the cupboard doors was hanging at slightly the wrong angle, like it might fall off, and the work surfaces were scratched and stained. There was a gleam of grease covering the once-white walls, and paint was peeling in one corner. The washing-up had been done – a single bowl and plate and mug – and the ancient-looking dishcloth was hung over the tap to dry. My God, this place is depressing, thought Juliette.
Juliette sat at the tiny table, which was still wet from wiping. A copy of the Daily Mirror was lying folded next to an unhappy-looking spider plant, open at the crossword. It was half done.
‘What d’you want, Juliette?’ said Elisabeth. She stood with her back to the sink, arms folded. Her jumper was navy, acrylic, worn-out. ‘Do we have to go through it all over again?’
Juliette didn’t know what to say. She had literally got in her car, dropped Camilla back home in Chelsea and driven straight over to Wood Green, ignoring Camilla’s protestations. She hadn’t been thinking.
She looked at her mother, at the grief etched into her skin like knife wounds, and she started crying.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Elisabeth.
‘I know why you gave me away,’ said Juliette, snivelling.
‘What do you mean? Of course you do, I’ve told you enough times over the years.’
‘No, I know the real reason.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know,’ said Juliette.