‘Natalie, you look terrible,’ I said as I spied her walking home after drop-off that morning.
She stared at me from behind dark glasses. ‘Thank you, Caroline. Remind me to come to you whenever I need a pick-me-up.’
Oh dear. Someone was a little tetchy this morning. ‘Is everything all right?’
She sighed. ‘Yes, I just have a tiny hangover.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘What did you tell me about alcohol not solving your problems?’
‘Again. Thank you but if you could spare me the lecture today, that would be marvellous.’
‘O-kay. I’m sorry,’ I said without really meaning it. There was no need to take out her bad mood on me. ‘So, will we be seeing you at choir later?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I dunno, Caroline. I’ll have to see. Sorry, but I’ve got to dash. See you later.’
‘Bye,’ I said. How irritating and how typical of Natalie and people like her. They had no staying power. The slightest whiff of trouble in their personal life and everything else was put on hold.
I made my way back home and opened the front door, remembering with a sinking feeling that Oliver had gone to a meeting. He’d looked a lot like his old self as he headed out before breakfast, wearing one of his sharp-fitting business suits.
‘Very handsome,’ I told him as he kissed me goodbye. We lingered over our kiss for a moment.
‘Euw!’ complained Matilda, hiding behind a box of Shreddies on the breakfast table. My mother sat, chewing her toast, staring into the distance as usual. She seemed to chew everything about five hundred times.
‘Good luck, darling,’ I told him. ‘You’ll be amazing.’
‘Thank you,’ he replied. ‘I’m excited about this. Hopefully, I’ll have a big surprise for you soon. See you later, Tills. Bye, Patricia. Have a good day, girls!’
I uttered a silent prayer as he left. Let it be a good job with a six-figure salary. Please let us be able to afford a fortnight in the Maldives and let me be able to find a new home for my mother before then. I really need some unbridled luxury back in my life, I thought as I wiped up Matilda’s spilt milk and glanced at the bedsheets from my mother’s bed, which were waiting to go in the washing machine. It was a daily occurrence, a revolting daily occurrence.
The washing machine was on its final spin as I let myself in through the front door. I peered into the living room. My mother was staring at the television screen, not watching, just staring. It was on pretty much twenty-four/seven these days. I had always wondered why nursing homes just left their residents in front of blaring TV sets for hours at a time. I realised why it was now. It was to drown out the awful silence of people essentially waiting to die. I honestly felt that was what my mother was doing now; merely existing, her body locked in time, unable to function as it had done but unable to cease functioning too. It was such a depressing thought and I hated her for making me think it.
I didn’t stop to speak to my mother, I just carried on down to the kitchen, keen to get on with my ‘to do’ list. I flicked on the kettle and feeling weighed down by the silence in the room, I decided to put on the Ella Fitzgerald CD that Jim had recently lent me. I remembered Natalie telling me that she had borrowed a different one and how wonderful she had found it.
I pressed Play and started to listen. I expected to be soothed and lifted by what I heard but for some reason, I felt deeply unhappy. It stirred up unexpected sadness and sorrow and I realised that I hadn’t heard these songs since my father had been alive. I also remembered that these were songs that my mother and father had played and sung along to on day-trips we had shared.
I could almost smell the velour-seated interior of the old Maxi we used to have and see the chunky cassette player on the dashboard. The memory was so deeply buried that I nearly cried out as I recalled sitting in the back of the car with the scratchy brown-check picnic blanket, listening and laughing as my parents smiled and sang. It was like seeing the old cine-film and I couldn’t bear it. Any happy scenes from my childhood had long since been replaced with the anger and bitterness of my mother, like an old canvas painted over with a new picture.
I was about to turn off the music when I heard singing; not Ella Fitzgerald’s perfect harmony but a small, reedy voice joining in with ‘Top Hat, White Tie and Tails’. I turned in surprise to see my mother standing in the middle of the kitchen, lost in the music, her face rapt as she sang along.
What on earth is she doing? Part of me wanted to snap her out of it. It looked so odd. But part of me wanted to see what would happen. She seemed so happy, so different all of a sudden. She didn’t seem to see me but I believe she could see my father because at one point she reached out her arms.
‘Oh, Charles,’ she said. ‘We love this one, don’t we?’
And then I realised. She was there again, sitting next to my father in the car on a day-trip to Clacton, happy, beautiful and in love. She swayed in gentle time to the music. I watched the whole ghostly performance as she carried on singing and dancing, lost in time. When the piece finished, she drifted back out of the kitchen, towards the living room, as if nothing had happened. I felt shaken by what I’d witnessed. I was so used to seeing her motionless and often helpless.
It was as if I’d seen my mother as a completely different person, a younger version of herself trapped in an old person’s body. She had been young once. She had been happy once.
What had happened to the Patricia Winter who had lived, loved and laughed with my father? How had she become replaced by such an angry and bitter woman, who made the childhood I recalled so unhappy and devoid of love?
I started to recall Laurie’s words and wonder. Something had happened, something deeply troubling. I realised that I didn’t want to hold onto my anger any more. I could now see what it had done to my mother, how she had lost her happiness and hope because of it. I didn’t want the same to happen to me. I didn’t want to continue to be angry after she was gone, forever wondering what had caused her anger.
I had to know.
I went into the living room. My mother was back in her chair, her face fixed on the screen. I walked over and switched off the television. Her eyes remained glued to the blank screen. I went to the bookcase and pulled out a photo album. I sat down next to my mother and flipped it open. I stared at a picture of me in a sun hat sitting in front of my mother on the beach at Clacton.
Where to begin? How do you start a conversation after so many years of not talking?
‘I remember that sun hat,’ I remarked. ‘I never wanted to take it off.’
My mother’s head dipped as if listening, but her eyes still stared forwards.
She can hear me. This is progress.
‘I was thinking about our day-trips in the old Maxi, with you and Dad singing along to those Irving Berlin songs – “Top Hat, White Tie and Tails”, “Putting on the Ritz”.’
My mother turned to look at me, the corners of her mouth inching upwards.
Keep going, Caroline. Keep talking.
‘You remember too, don’t you?’ She moved her head down slightly; the merest of nods. ‘You were happy then, weren’t you? And then something happened, didn’t it?’
The corners of her mouth moved back down as the ghost of a frown spread across her brow.
Never mind the frown, keep asking the questions. You’re onto something.
‘What was it? What was it that happened?’
She started to shake her head very gently as the frown deepened.
Maybe I should have stopped but I wanted to know. Something drove me on to find out. ‘Who was Virginia? Who was that boy?’ I asked.
She stared at me in horror and suddenly her face looked more familiar, transformed to one of anger and hurt. ‘Virginia bitch, Virginia bitch!’ she growled.
I felt a pang of fear but kept pressing. No going back now. ‘But who is she? Who is Virginia?’
‘Virginia bitch, Virginia bitch,’ she shouted, pounding her gnarly fists on her lap, harder and harder.
I was frightened by her anger. I’d pushed it too far. ‘Stop it!’ I cried. ‘Stop it, mother! Stop this at once!’
‘Virginia bitch, Virginia bitch!’ she repeated, hitting her lap and chest with increasing ferocity.
‘Stop it, mother! Please stop it!’ I caught hold of her hands and held onto them. She was strong but I managed to make her stop. She was starting to weep now, worn out by her own efforts. She rested her head against my arm. I hesitated for a second, paralysed by the fear and anger of my own past before I found myself placing an arm around her shoulder and patting her gently. The roles of mother and daughter reversed.
There, there. We’re all right now.
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘We don’t have to talk about it. It’s okay. Really. Stay here a second. I’ll be right back.’
I hurried to the kitchen and fetched the Ella Fitzgerald CD. I put it on in the lounge. Soon my mother seemed happy and calm again – the other, younger Patricia Winter. After a time she closed her eyes and went to sleep. I watched her for a while, realising that I needed to know the truth. It was high time.
I returned to the kitchen and reached for my phone. Laurie answered after just two rings.
‘Caroline?’
‘You said to call if I ever needed anything.’
‘Of course.’
‘Please help me. I need to find out who Virginia is and what she did to upset my mother.’
‘I was hoping you’d call. I think I actually might know but I need to make some phone calls first.’
‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’
It was a little after five when the doorbell rang. Oliver was home, reassuring me that he’d had a very productive day, but he didn’t want to say more until he’d had confirmation. Matilda was reading to my mother and I was starting to make dinner.
‘I’ll get it!’ I called, heading down the hall. I had hoped that it might be Laurie with news, so I was surprised to see Guy standing on the doorstep. He looked pale and worried. ‘Hi Guy, is everything okay?’
He swallowed, his face deadly serious. I realised he was nervous. ‘Caroline, are you able to come somewhere with me? We’ll need a couple of hours.’
I glanced behind me before turning back to him. ‘What’s this all about? What about choir?’
‘I think we may need to cancel choir this evening. This is important, though. I’ll wait for you in the car.’
He was starting to worry me now. ‘Can’t you tell me what this is about, Guy?’
He hesitated before he answered. ‘I need to take you to see my mother. Her name is Virginia Henderson.’
I stared at him in amazement. ‘Virginia.’
‘Please, Caroline. Will you come?’
I ran back inside and quickly brought Oliver up to speed, then I grabbed my bag and ran out to the car. We drove to the care home in silence. Guy was clearly uncomfortable and to be honest, I was in shock.
Laurie met us in reception. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘I think that depends on what I’m about to be told,’ I replied.
She nodded kindly. ‘It will come as a shock but you need to know.’
I felt my body stiffen. I don’t like surprises, shocks or anything that occurs without notice. She led Guy and me along the corridor, past my mother’s old room and around the corner to another wall of doors. She paused outside one and knocked.
‘Come in,’ called a frail female voice.
‘After you,’ said Laurie, opening the door and ushering me inside. Guy’s mother sat at a table by the window, identical to the one in my mother’s room. She was gazing up at us, a nervous expression on her face.
‘Hello, Mum,’ said Guy, leaning over to kiss her.
‘I think you better sit down,’ said Laurie to me. ‘Mrs Henderson has something she wants to tell you.’
I sat down at the table and stared expectantly at Guy’s mother. She was a tiny woman, as frail as a sparrow, and, I estimated, a little older than my own mother. She was looking at Guy and wouldn’t meet my gaze.
Guy turned to her. ‘Mum, you have to tell Caroline. It’s not fair that she doesn’t know the truth.’
The truth.
She kept staring at him. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered.
Laurie knelt down beside her. ‘Virginia, you have to tell Caroline what happened. She needs to know why her mother was behaving the way she was. I know you understand this.’
Mrs Henderson gave a small nod before transferring her gaze to me. She looked frightened. ‘I’m sorry, dear,’ she said.
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘What could you possibly have to be sorry for?’
She looked down at the floor. ‘Your father …’ she began.
‘My father?’ I replied. ‘Did you know him? How did you know him?’ Panic rose up inside me.
The old lady looked as if she might cry. ‘He’s Guy’s father,’ she said with a sob.
The world started to blur around me. ‘W-what?’ I stammered. I looked at Guy. He was staring at me and suddenly I saw something in his eyes, something familiar I’d noticed the first time we’d met.
Blue eyes. Bright-blue eyes, just like my father’s. My darling father. My hero.
‘But this isn’t possible. My father was married to my mother. They were together until he died,’ I protested. A pathetic, pointless protest.
‘He had two families,’ said Guy. ‘He lived with you most of the time but he came to stay with us some evenings and at the weekends.’
‘Oh, my God,’ I murmured. ‘He lied to me.’ Betrayal slammed my body like a wrecking ball. ‘How on earth did he stop people finding out?’
‘Your mother knew,’ said Virginia, through her tears. ‘She put up with it. We both did, really. I did it because I loved him. I was a fool and I’m sorry.’
I stood up, feeling hot and faint. ‘I have to go,’ I said. It’s too much. I can’t listen to this. I don’t want to be here.
‘Caroline, please don’t go,’ said Guy. ‘Let’s try and talk about it. We can make everything all right.’
I stared at him. My half-brother. I had a half-brother. ‘You knew! All the time you knew and you didn’t think to tell me! How could you run the choir, how could you socialise with me and not say anything? How could you do that?’ Fury surged through my body. ‘How dare you? How dare you?’
‘It wasn’t like that, Caroline. I didn’t know who you were to start with. I wanted to talk to you but you seemed so closed to it.’
‘Oh, so this is my fault, is it? This is all my fault? No! This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. I have to get out of here.’
‘Caroline—’ Laurie began.
‘No! I should never have listened to you! I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this!’ I shouted as I fled the room and ran down the corridor. My body was shaking as I reached reception and remembered that Guy had driven me here.
‘Please, Caroline! At least let me drive you home,’ cried Guy, running after me.
‘You stay away from me! And my family! Do you hear? I don’t want anything to do with you!’
I ran out of the door of the home and onto the main road. I rushed to the nearby railway station. Luckily, it had a mini-cab office. I fell into a cab and told the driver where I wanted to go, then I slumped back into the seat and stared out of the window, my brain whirring as revelation after revelation sped through it.
I have a half-brother. And a lying, cheating father; a father who hasn’t even done me the decency of staying alive so that I can hate him. And my mother. My mother, once young and full of joy, transformed by anger, weary with bitterness at having to deal with my father’s double life.
Everything I thought I knew was imploding, my world was being turned on its head and I realised that I had no idea how to handle it.