The Mother’s Lies. Joanne Sefton
Читать онлайн.| Название | The Mother’s Lies |
|---|---|
| Автор произведения | Joanne Sefton |
| Жанр | Контркультура |
| Серия | |
| Издательство | Контркультура |
| Год выпуска | 0 |
| isbn | 9780008294441 |
Katy
She wondered if there would still be honeysuckle.
From the car window she caught sight of it from time to time – flashes of mottled flowers on the motorway embankment and in the hedgerows – pink and cream against the bright beech and shadowy hawthorn. There had been honeysuckle in flower a year ago; scrambling around the edges of the building site, its tendrils grasping over the broken earth and scattered debris and scenting the afternoon air. It would all be different now. But still, she would like Mary to have honeysuckle.
That was why they were coming today, Mr Robertson had said. It might seem more familiar at this time of year; Katy might be able to remember something new. It was also the last chance before the building was due to open to the public.
Katy didn’t want to remember at all.
Last time they had brought her back, it had been in winter. The windows of Mr Robertson’s stately old Austin had frozen up while he waited for her. Katy remembered that, and she remembered Etta, wrapped in a fur coat with black felt hat and gloves, standing stiff with malice whilst Katy and the police shivered from the cold.
It had all been different to that first June day with Mary. In winter, there had been no broken earth and no wire fences, no ramshackle no man’s land where the site met the farms. By January it was all flat tarmac surfaces, white paint and clean lines. Builders’ vans were parked neatly by the entrance, and a pair of window fitters had stopped work to gawp at them, until one of the coppers went over to have a word.
‘This is us, then,’ Mr Robertson called from the front seat, bringing Katy back to June; back to honeysuckle and the present. Miss Silver, sitting next to her, gave her hand a quick squeeze, as if she were embarrassed but felt she had to do it anyway. There was a copper waiting at the bottom of the slip road. Mr Robertson pulled in, past the signs advertising next week’s grand opening of the service station. Moreton Chase it was going to be called – someone had told Katy that last time. The Austin slowed as if to stop, but the young constable waved them on, scurrying to replace the painted wooden traffic cones that were being used to block the slip lane.
As the car swung round a wide bend into the car park, Katy felt her heart beat faster. She didn’t want to remember what happened a year ago. She didn’t want to feel Mary’s weight in her arms. She didn’t want to see Mary’s face. Instead, she forced her mind’s eye downwards, remembering only her own feet in their scuffed school shoes, tramping through the grass and clover on a sunny June morning.
Helen
Her phone rang just as the children were finishing their food. Helen answered, then tried to balance the slim handset between her ear and shoulder so she could bend to wipe Alys’s mouth, but the child was too quick for her, wriggling off her stool and smearing jammy stickiness down Helen’s clean tights. She let her go, too bone-tired to do anything more.
‘Sorry, I didn’t catch …’ she started to say.
‘It’s Dad, Helen.’
‘Oh, hi, just a sec …’ She paused to push down the door handle for Alys, allowing her to make her escape. Even through the confusion, Helen caught a weight to her father’s tone, and registered that it was odd for him to call when he must have known it was the children’s teatime.
‘The kids on good form then?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, they’re both fine.’
‘They’re not too …’
She heard Neil try to shape the question on his tongue and pictured his fingers worrying at the grey hair that was still thick behind his ears. Eventually he gave up, failure escaping his lips as a gentle sigh down the line.
‘They’re doing fine,’ she repeated, making an effort to say it more gently. ‘But what about you – is everything okay?’
Another breath down the line – this one heavy, steadying.
‘Your mum was up at the hospital today, love.’
Helen racked her memory, uncertain whether this was an appointment that she was meant to have known about. Had Barbara’s eye problem flared up again? Was there anything else that she’d mentioned recently?
‘Right …’ she stalled.
‘It’s not good, Helen.’
His voice cracked on the ‘H’ of her name and she felt her heart jump, then race.
Her father continued, ‘She had a mammogram … They’ve found a lump.’
*
It was twenty minutes after the call ended when Alys and Barney came tumbling down the stairs. Helen was still sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by their leftovers. The phone was by her side and she was dabbing her eyes with her knuckles. Barney wobbled on his tiptoes to get the box of tissues from the windowsill before placing it on the table by her elbow. She went to take one but the box was empty – he must not have realised – so she kissed his gorgeous chestnut hair and tried to keep her voice steady to ask him to fetch some toilet paper instead. She hated that they were seeing her like this.
‘Mummy? Are you sad because of Daddy?’ Barney asked, frowning as he handed over a streamer of toilet roll.
‘No, my love, don’t worry.’ Helen shook her head. ‘That was Granddad. He was phoning to tell us that your Nana Barbara is ill. She might be very ill, and that’s why I’m sad.’
‘I’m sad too,’ said Barney, looking relieved.
‘We’ll have to go and visit them,’ Helen said, attempting a smile. ‘You’ll both like that, won’t you? A trip up north? You can see Granddad Adam and Nana Chris while we’re there.’
Alys spoke at last. ‘Daddy come too?’
‘I don’t think so, lovely.’ Helen bent to kiss her, which allowed her to hide the fresh tears from Barney. She could smell the jam around her daughter’s mouth. ‘But we’ll tell him we’re going. And you’ll be able to talk to him on the phone.’
‘But we’re staying with Daddy on Friday,’ said Barney, in his matter-of-fact way. His small brow wrinkled and Helen caught her own father’s frown in his expression. ‘We’re all going to Gambado.’