Mothers & Daughters (27 page)

I emerged round the back of the cottage to face a long, immaculate garden, full of ornaments and add-ons. Stone animals eyed my progress; gravel had never crunched so loud. I dodged a miniature wheelbarrow, hurried past a picture window and started down the path that ran along the side of the lawn, searching for a gate out onto the cinder track.

Almost at once I heard the sound of a top-floor sash being pushed up. I half-turned, lost my balance and stumbled into a bed of lavender.

‘Hoy, you!' a man's voice called.

The normal me would have stopped, faced him, and apologised sincerely for trespassing. That wasn't a consideration for now, though. I didn't even bother framing the words.

Instead I charged on through his plants, snapping red hot pokers and lupins and foxgloves like I'd never cared for flowers in my life. Clouds of pollen rose up around me, spider webs wiped themselves across my bare forearms.

‘What the hell do you think you're doing?' he shouted.

There was no gate, and the picket fence was too high to stride over unaided. In the corner, though, I could see a stone bench that I thought I might use as a leg-up.

‘This is
not
a public right of way. I'm sick of it. I'm calling the police.'

I reached the seat, hoisted up my skirt, climbed on, and jumped forward.

‘Bloody sick of it! If there's any damage, you're paying for it, lady!'

He was still yelling as I landed with a thud in the dirt. My ankle went over and I grazed the palm of my hand, but I managed not to go sprawling. When I looked around, the immediate stretch of lane was deserted – no one to identify me or confirm my criminal activity – so I began to hobble between the ruts in the direction of the main road. I didn't look back. Just let him come after me, just let him.

At the end of the track was the A41. I emerged from between the hedges of the lane into a roar of traffic, big lorries thundering past at sixty so you could feel the suck and beat of air from them on your face. My car was parked round the side of the Horse and Jockey; I could see it 300 yards down the hill. I could go home now, if I wanted. Did I want to go home? I didn't know, couldn't think. Another tanker shot past me, whipping my hair about my face. In the gap which followed, I launched myself into the road, limping as fast as I could. A car horn sounded. I was past caring.

Inside the pub it was cool and almost empty, the calm before the duck race finished and everyone piled back. I decided I'd use the loo, splash cold water on my face while I pulled myself together. It was what my mother used to do to calm herself. The number of times I stood in public toilets watching her bend over the sink, wrists offered up to the tap. Sometimes
she'd finish by pulling out her Yardley's cologne stick and rubbing it across her temples. ‘This is what it's like, being a woman,' she once said to me. ‘You'll find out.'

When my face was dry again, I went into a cubicle and locked the door. I put the toilet lid down and sat, listening to the pipes gurgle and the hum of cars through the open window.

‘If she's taken Matty without telling me,' Ian had said, ‘it's abduction.'

I'd put on this fake no-nonsense tone, even though inside I was panicking.

‘Don't be dramatic. She was upset, she needed a break, that's all.'

‘Where? Has she been in touch with you?'

‘Not yet, but she will.'

Ian had sworn at me, and then David came on. ‘Look, do you know where Matty is, or not?'

‘I've a good idea,' I lied, outrageously. ‘Give her two or three weeks' space, let her calm down, then I'll go up and see her and bring him back.'

‘What if she won't let you?'

‘I'm his grandmother.'

‘And do you know how much that counts for in law?' said David. ‘You might as well be the postman or the butcher.'

‘I know how her mind works. I'll talk her round.'

‘The way you did before, Carol?'

‘Give me this chance. You know what she's like when you corner her.'

Seconds ticked by while he considered.

‘I understand that,' he said at last, and I thought how strange it was that David seemed to have more of a handle on Jaz than her own father did. ‘OK, you win. For now. I'll talk to Ian about it. But come back to me soon. Otherwise—'

He didn't need to complete the threat.

Ever since that call, I'd been living a strung-out life, vibrating between hope and terror, and in no state to tell which was more realistic. I ached, ached for Matty's weight on my lap, the feel of his palm against mine, the scent of his hair. All last night I'd been kept awake by two voices running through my head. My own –
What if she doesn't come back?
– and Eileen's, reciting over and over some line of poetry we'd had to learn at school –
And Lycius' arms were empty of delight
. ‘I only ever wanted to help,' I said to Jaz, in my head. ‘You know I'd never take sides against you. You and Matty are the world.' But even an imaginary Jaz wouldn't answer me.

I thought of the little rituals Matty and I had going: giving three kisses at bedtime; the Dalmatian-spot towel he used for his bath and how he loved to be rolled up in it; breakfast porridge in his farmyard animals bowl; playing growly tigers through the bars of the stair-gate. And for no reason at all there came to me an image of Dad and Jaz standing in his garden shed, tightening something into a vice – I swear I could smell the oil and rust. (A pictureframe, was he helping her make? A hamster ladder?)

That was all gone now: that was the past and you expected to lose it. It was a sadness you were prepared for. But what I couldn't bear was the thought that I might lose the future, too. Because that's what Matty was, that sense of life continuing, the sense that, however old and decrepit you felt, however many of your peers got ill – or died – there was this new generation carrying it on, and carrying it on for you. A new set of hopes, a job well done, your own small impact on the world secured. And someone, too, who'd look up to you, who always had the time to spend on nothing much and was delighted to spend it with you. Children and grandparents are such a natural fit.

I don't know how long I sat in the gloom like that, trying to
articulate, to no one at all, what Matty meant. Then suddenly I heard a swing door thump open. Someone walked into the toilets, clearing their throat, and when I came to myself I was staring at the crinoline lady logo on the hygiene bags, and half-recalling that same motif embroidered on a traycloth of my mother's.

‘Carol? Carol?'

My name registered like a shock. I stood up unsteadily, held the wall for a few seconds, then shot the bolt back.

Dove was standing by the sink, waving an envelope at me. ‘You've won!' she was saying.

‘Won what?'

‘The duck race. We've been looking everywhere for you. We thought you'd gone home, but your neighbour said your car was still here. So I thought, I'll just pop and check . . . It's fifty pounds!'

She held out the envelope and I took it.
Number 169: Matty Reid (via Carol Morgan)
, it said on the front. Someone had drawn a smiling duck in the top right-hand corner.

‘Fifty pounds,' said Dove again. I suppose she was waiting for a more dramatic response.

‘Thanks.'

‘I bet you can't believe it. We had nearly three hundred ducks, you know. Fantastic support. A really good turn-out. And this weather, can you believe it? What a shame Matty isn't here. He'd have loved it. He'd have been cheering.'

‘Yes.'

Her eyes scanned my face. Just go, I was thinking. Leave me alone.

‘First prize, eh?' she said. ‘Fantastic. All those toys you can buy him.'

‘Yes.'

She gave up on me and half-turned away.
Should've seen her
reaction
, she'd tell the others later.
Never even cracked a smile, can you believe it? Fifty quid!

‘Anyway,' she said, ‘you've obviously got the lucky touch this week, haven't you? Lucky Granny.'

I waited till the door hissed shut behind her.

‘Looks like it,' I said.

Natalie was currently living back at her mum's, a Seventies semi on the Bowbrook Estate where every street was named after a bird. ‘Skylark Rise! Like there were ever skylarks anywhere near there,' I remembered saying to Phil once. ‘Oh, there were, apparently,' he'd said. ‘All up that side of the town was fields. Some woman at work was telling me.'

Some Woman at Work: it was months before I cottoned on. Now I never walked along this road without thinking of Penny. It had become another area her existence had polluted.

I'd called ahead to say I was coming, so I knew Nat would be in, she couldn't pretend she wasn't. Her small face showed briefly at the window, and I thought what a hard look she'd always had about her, even as a child. Now she was twenty-seven, and her features had settled into a scowl. All the highlighting and tanning beds and nail polish in the world couldn't offset her vinegar soul.

‘I don't know where she is,' were her first words as she opened the door. ‘I told you that on the phone.'

‘Yes, I'd love a coffee,' I said brightly, stepping forward so she had no choice but to let me across the threshold.

Nat frowned, grudging. ‘OK. It'll have to be a quick one. I've to be back at work at two.'

I took myself through to their lounge and waited for her to make the drinks. I wanted a minute to get my head straight.

Last time I ruined everything by losing my temper. It had been Phil who'd got the information out of her, in the end.
Phil who'd grabbed my arm as I went to slap her. Twelve years ago I'd sat in this same room, on this same cream leather sofa, under that David Shepherd print of lion cubs, desperate to know where on God's earth my daughter was.

Nat came in with one cup only and put it on the coffee-table next to me. ‘You tried ringing her?'

Of course I've bloody tried ringing her. What kind of an idiot do you take me for?

‘Yes,' I said. ‘There's no answer. I've left messages. Has she been in touch with you?'

‘No.'

‘And she didn't speak to you before she took off?'

‘No.' Nat perched herself on the arm of the chair opposite. ‘

I know you won't believe me.'

Can you blame me?

The ghosts of before shifted through the room. Skinny Nat in her school uniform, her shrew of a mother standing by the telephone with her arms folded. Me, shouting in their faces.

‘She's a grown woman,' said Nat. ‘It's not the same.'

‘No, I know that.'

Last time Jaz had been intercepted at Lancaster services on the M6, having cadged a lift with a lorry driver. She'd told him she was eighteen. Thank God he'd been a decent sort, who'd called as soon as he realised something wasn't right. Daughters of his own, he had. But before that, Nat had let slip Jaz was headed north. Why north? Nat didn't know, or said she didn't. Jaz would never tell.

‘Do you think,' I said, ‘she might have gone in the same direction?'

Nat shrugged.

I tried again. ‘When you last spoke, was there anything she said, any clue she might have given about her plans? Did she tell you about Ian?'

‘What about him?'

‘Me letting him see Matty at my house.'

‘Oh, that, yeah.' She let her gaze drift over to the window.

So, I thought, she did speak to you before she went. You bloody little liar, Natalie Gardiner. I took a deep breath.

‘What did she say?'

‘She was really pissed off. Like, really really. I've never seen her as . . . Jesus, she was mad. With you, mostly.'

‘I was trying to help, Nat.'

‘Yeah,' she said. ‘I know you were.'

That unexpected sympathy made my eyes prick with tears. ‘I was worried about Ian. That he might retaliate. You hear stories in the news.'

She nodded.

‘At the very least, David was talking about involving the courts. And if Jaz doesn't come back soon—'

‘He could get shitty.'

‘Which is the last thing Jaz needs right now. So can you see what I was trying to do, Nat?'

I thought I had her on my side for a moment. She squinted at me, as if considering. ‘You shouldn't have done it behind her back, though.'

‘I know.'

The room blurred.

‘I'm sorry,' I said, wiping at my eyes with my knuckle. ‘Only I miss her. I miss Matty. I just want to know where they are. I know I've messed up, I know I should have stuck up for her more, and she's been saying about how she hated me staying married to her dad. I had no idea. Did you know, did she ever tell you? She didn't tell me. At least, I don't think she did. What I thought was, if I let Ian come round a couple of times, it would keep him sweet, stop him getting too resentful while he waited for her to get herself together. It would take the
pressure off. She wouldn't move an inch, you know, wouldn't even talk to him. I couldn't sit by and do nothing, could I? All my life, I've been trying to do the right thing and it's never good enough. Whatever I do, turns out I should have done the opposite. I must have been a really bad mother. Sometimes I think I might as well not have tried.' My voice was thick with self-pity. ‘I just want them back, how it was, together. That's all I want.'

‘Tell you something,' said Nat, as I attempted to fish out a hanky from my sleeve, ‘I'm never having any fucking children. Seems like one big fucking load of grief to me.'

When I'd dabbed my face dry and looked up, she was watching me with what might have been pity, or boredom.

‘Please,' I said. ‘I'm begging you. If you know anything.'

There followed a long moment where Nat stared up at the ceiling, down at the carpet, and finally settled her gaze on the lion picture above my head.