‘Mum, you’re not making any sense. Who’s died?’
On arrival at the static, Star found Estelle Bligh sitting in front of the old electric fire nursing a mug of whisky. ‘And you can’t fool me into thinking there is coffee in that mug.’
‘I’m not,’ Estelle said truculently. ‘It’s just there’s no clean glasses.’ She clumsily put her drink down on the table, then lit a half-smoked roll-up that was sitting in the ashtray. Star opened the window.
‘Don’t let all the heat out!’ her mother whined.
‘Then put that bloody thing out whilst I’m here,’ Star said. ‘I’ve got to go back to the shop, and I’ll stink of smoke. I’m also not feeling a hundred per cent today.’
‘Always about you, isn’t it?’
Star closed her eyes in the hope it would also shut her mouth and prevent it from saying what it really wanted to.
‘Your father has died.’
‘You’ve got me all the way up here to tell me that the man I presumed dead for thirteen years has actually died.’ Star felt her throat stinging. ‘You could have just told me on the phone, I would have come at lunchtime or after work. Anyway, I thought you didn’t know him, let alone care about him?’
Estelle started sobbing. ‘I loved him. I loved him, Star. He was the love of my life.’
‘So what was his name? You owe me that at least now.’ Gripped by nausea, Star rushed to the toilet. She came back white as a ghost.
‘I made him a promise that whatever happened, I would never tell a soul.’ Nervously playing with the grey braids in her hair, Estelle took another slurp of whisky.
‘I’m your daughter, his daughter – what harm would it do? He’s dead, for God’s sake! Come on – I want to know.’
‘Oh, fuck off, Steren. What do you know about anything?’
Star felt the anger rising within. ‘What I do know is that I will fuck off – and Skye will fuck off too, and you’ll be left a lonely old woman up on the hill, smoking weed, getting pissed and shagging ridiculous men. I’ve had it with you, Mother.’ She swept up her coat. ‘My father is what we are talking about here. Not any man. He’s half me and a part of your grandchild.’
‘In genetics he may be, but I raised you, my girl. Nurture over nature is what matters.’
‘You raised me, you say?’ Star’s voice was shrill. ‘Hardly! If it wasn’t for Uncle Jim and Auntie Flo, I’d probably still be here, sitting next to you on that stinking sofa, wasting my life like you’ve wasted yours.’
By now she was spitting with rage. ‘You made me have Skye too, a decision with your own interests at heart! Sixteen, I was. Still a child myself. You wanted a new baby, with the hope that maybe you could treat her better than you ever treated me. But luckily I knew how to be a mother!’
Estelle laughed. ‘There, that’s the fire, that’s the fire I gave you. Good girl!’ She then stood up calmly and, grabbing her daughter’s chin, stared right at her. ‘And it’s lucky that you do know how to be a mother, as by the look of you, you’re going to be one again before too long, and you’ll need more than St Patrick to help you with the next one.’
Without even stopping to ask her mother what she meant, a sobbing Star ran to her car, started the engine and drove right to the top of Hartmouth Head and into the car park, close to the bench that sat facing out across the endless ocean. As a child, this had been one of her thinking places. She knew the wording on the brass plaque fixed to the bench off by heart. It read: In Loving Memory of Diggory Pickett 1950-2000. He swore by and at the tides who took him away to his final watery resting place. Here was where she would take refuge from Estelle and the small space that she shared with her.
Ignoring the cold, Star opened the car window and inhaled lungfuls of fresh sea air. No one was about to see her as she felt her boobs and put a hand on her stomach. She didn’t feel pregnant. She couldn’t be pregnant. So infrequent were her periods that she couldn’t even remember when she had last had one, certainly not since she’d been seeing Conor, that was for sure. Yes, it was irresponsible not always using a condom, but he had assured her he had recently had a sexual health check and she had lied, saying that she hadn’t had sex for years so definitely had a clean bill of health. They had been enjoying abandoned, latex-free sex, with Conor always pulling out in time. This had always worked without fail if she hadn’t used a condom before. Ironically, the only time she had got pregnant was when Skye’s father had insisted on using them, and one had obviously split.
Yes, Star decided, she had felt a little bloated lately but that was because she was now eating regular, hearty meals with Conor. In fact, she had never eaten so much or had so much sex in such a condensed period of time in her whole life. Sod Estelle’s premonitions. The only baby she was having was a bloody food baby.
She would keep her word and stay away from her mother too. How could the selfish woman not realise how much hurt she had caused her? Yes, she may never have known her father, but he was still her blood. Him dying wasn’t a matter of grieving for him per se, but more about grieving the relationship she could have had with him. And how dare Estelle keep his identity to herself! Especially now.
Star shut the window and turned the radio on. Pat Benatar singing ‘Love is a Battlefield’ blared out through the speakers. Reaching over, Star found a random pack of tissues in the glove box and blew her nose hard. Love in its many guises was definitely just that – a battlefield. Relationships were hard. Especially the one she had with her mother, who sadly had only ever managed to care about the relationship she had with alcohol and drugs.