Wow.
Michael’s music studio is … wow.
I suck in a breath.
‘You like it?’ Michael asks.
I nod and nod. ‘Who wouldn’t? It’s amazing.’
‘Diane isn’t too interested,’ Michael chuckles. ‘Not her sort of thing. But you’re a musician. You get it.’
I walk around, hands running over instruments and recording equipment. ‘Totally amazing.’
The space is open plan, like Peter Gabriel’s recording studio. No separation between the sound engineer equipment and the recording area. The mixing desks are within the rehearsal room. Not that I’ve ever been to Peter Gabriel’s studio, but I’ve seen YouTube videos.
I feel like I’m in a playground.
Skywalker sniff, sniff, sniffs at the floor, suspicious of its texture.
‘It’s a great space, isn’t it?’ says Michael, closing the door behind us. ‘I’m guessing you’ve never been in a real music studio before?’
‘Never. My mother isn’t keen on me exploring that particular avenue. This is like … amazing.’
‘Better than you were expecting?’
‘A hundred times better.’ My boots squeak on the floor. ‘You have everything. You’ve got a TR808 …’
‘Oh, yeah. Of course. I’m a musician who also happens to be a millionaire. What else would I spend my money on?’
I look around the studio. ‘Can I record something?’
‘Don’t you want to wait until the rest of your band are here?’
‘Nope. I want to play around with all this stuff right now.’
Michael laughs. ‘If it means I get to spend more time with you, you can do anything you like. You can even have a rock and roll moment and smash a guitar.’
‘As if I would. I’d never hurt an instrument. It would be sacrilegious.’
‘Let’s get everything set up then,’ says Michael, going to a mixing deck and flicking switches.
I grab a guitar.
Something happens when I play music. It’s like being carried away. Time just … goes. Before I know it, a lot of time has passed. We’ve recorded three of my songs, and I’m still freestyling, messing around with the sounds.
‘I’ll tell you one thing, Liberty,’ says Michael, leaning back in a white swivel chair. ‘You’re the best thing I’ve heard in a long time. A very long time. And that guitar suits you down to the ground.’
‘It’s the coolest guitar ever.’ I’m holding Joan Jett’s guitar of choice.
‘You want that guitar?’ says Michael. ‘It’s yours.’
‘No way. You mean it? No way.’
‘Of course I mean it. You’re my little girl. You’ve missed enough birthday and Christmas presents. Anyway, you need a good guitar. It’s a necessity for you. To play like that at your age … I have to tell you, I’m pretty blown away.’
I look down at the guitar, plucking strings. ‘Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you. Do you know what? How long have we been out here? It must have been hours.’ I shake my head, fretboard-toughened fingers finding chords. ‘I feel guilty.’
‘Because of your mother?’ Michael plinky-plonks a few notes on the piano.
‘Yes.’ I hang up the guitar and shake out my fingers.
‘So on that note, pun intended, I think now is the right time to have our talk.’
I nod. ‘Okay. Just let me give Skywalker some fresh air.’ I go to the studio door and heave it open so Skywalker can scamper outside. Michael comes to stand beside me, and we both watch dogface sniff a tree then pee against its trunk.
‘Once we do this, there’s no turning back,’ says Michael, returning to the piano. ‘Your life is going to change forever. You’ll never see the world the same way.’
My nodding gets slower. ‘Yes.’ I let out a long breath. ‘Yes, I know. And I’m ready. I came here because I wanted things to change. Things can’t stay as they are. And that means knowing the whole truth. About everything. Whatever my mother is hiding, I need to know.’
‘Okay.’ Michael stares at piano keys. ‘But you should be prepared for something. You’re not going to like your mother very much once I tell you. You might not like me much either.’
‘I’m prepared for that.’
‘Well then.’ Michael slides his hands from the piano keys. ‘Here goes. We talked about Lorna’s cancer before, didn’t we?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that she never told you what kind of cancer she had.’
‘Yes.’
Michael laces chubby fingers together. ‘She told me all about her cancer. The operation, the radio-chemotherapy, how it all made her feel. Where the cancer started. It’s a bit weird, don’t you think, that she hasn’t told you, her own daughter, what kind of cancer she had?’
‘Maybe she wants to put it behind her,’ I say, rubbing Skywalker’s ears as he comes to stand beside me. ‘Positive outlook. Don’t mention the C word.’
‘What about her new partner? Has she told him, do you think?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. I don’t get why it matters.’
‘Oh, it matters so much, Liberty bell. So much. It changes everything.’
‘Why?’
Michael watches me for a moment. ‘Lorna had uterine cancer.’
‘Is that … the womb?’
‘Exactly. Uterine. Uterus. She had cancer of the womb. They removed her womb, Liberty. The whole thing. Before you were born.’
There’s a long silence, broken by a wood pigeon squawking outside.
‘So … how did she have a baby?’ I say eventually.
‘She didn’t.’
There’s another long silence.
‘She’s not your real mother, Liberty. She’s just a girl who liked me a heck of a lot and couldn’t let go. When I had a baby with someone else, it drove her mad with jealousy. So when she saw a chance to hurt me she took it. By stealing you.’
I stare at him. ‘No. My mother … I mean, she has her faults. But she would never do that. Take another woman’s child? No way.’
‘Lorna was a young kid who thought she might die, Liberty. And then she was told she could never have children. She wasn’t in her right mind. And she was obsessed with me and my music. Hearing my voice during the chemo and all of that. And then she finally met me and thought I could wave a magic wand and make it all okay. Marriage and children. The whole fairy tale. I treated her badly. I admit it. I should have known better. The whole thing sent her a bit mad. Being sick can make people do crazy things. Lorna was sick in the body and sick in the head. I don’t know if it was all the treatments, but her head wasn’t right. Liberty, look right into my eyes, baby girl. Your mother isn’t your mother. She stole you from this house on the day you were born.’
‘No,’ I blurt out. ‘That can’t be true.’
Michael puts his hands on my shoulders. ‘Now tell me, do I look like I’m lying?’
I look into his eyes. They are totally sincere. ‘No.’ I turn away. ‘But none of this makes sense. Is … is Diane my mother?’
‘Oh, Liberty bell. I wish she were. But Diane knows nothing about any of this. She thinks Lorna is your real mother. To tell Diane the whole truth would just hurt her even more. And trust me, she’s been hurt enough.’
‘So who is my real mother?’
‘Listen – let’s go back to the house. Okay? We’ll talk more there.’