Mothers & Daughters (40 page)

‘Wait,' said Phil.

‘There! Look!' I said.

He pulled up, and turned the engine off. ‘What are you planning to do, Carol?'

It was as if he could read my mind. He looked into my eyes and saw the film play out: me running across the road, grabbing Matty, lifting him over the fence, dashing back to our getaway car with my grandson in my arms.

‘No,' he said sternly.

‘What's he doing out on his own? He's not safe.'

‘There are railings all round, and a gate.'

‘Who's keeping an eye on him, though?'

‘The front door's open. Someone'll be watching out, trust me.'

It was impossible to see anything in the windows from this angle, bar reflections of the sky. The porch was empty.

‘Take a moment or two,' said Phil, placing his hand on my arm. ‘How are you going to do this? You want me to come over with you? You're not going to get hysterical, are you?'

‘I'm not going to get hysterical, no. I just need to—' Again I felt for the handle. The physical urge to hold Matty was becoming overpowering, eclipsing even, for that moment, the risk of upsetting Jaz.

‘I'll walk across with you. We'll put our heads round the door and see what happens.'

‘Let me have a minute with him first.'

He sighed, then shook his head. ‘You know, Jaz is my daughter too. I'd quite like to see she's OK.'

‘You told me she was fine!'

‘Carol. Calm down.' He took my wrists in his hands and held them, and I let my eyes close while I counted to ten. My breathing was too fast, my heart pounding. When I opened my eyes, Matty was still there. I shivered violently.

‘Now,' I said. ‘Please.'

‘Come on, then.'

I climbed out, and Phil escorted me across the road as if I were an invalid. My legs were weak with nerves, and when I got to the railings I had to hold onto them for support. Matty was crouched on the lawn, two-handedly bashing some gourd-shaped object against the ground. His hair had grown, and he was wearing a cream-coloured outfit I hadn't seen before, with grass stains on the knees. So absorbed was he that he didn't look up till the gate creaked open.

‘Hello,' I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

‘Macca, Nanna, look,' he said, straightening up and holding out his gourd. In one swooping movement I reached down, lifted and pulled him tightly to me, nestling my face into his curls, and his weight and shape were such a blissful sensation against me I could have cried out. There's no feeling on earth
like holding a child you love. It's a comfort beyond anything else, a crucial jigsaw piece slotted home. Matty smelled of shampoo and butter and soil and himself. I breathed him in, and thanked God.

Somewhere in the background I was aware of Phil shifting about; then I heard the sound of footsteps in the porch. I knew we only had seconds left, and I kept my eyes screwed shut.

And then Jaz's voice went, ‘Jesus wept,
you
!' and the game was up.

CHAPTER 31

Photograph 155, Album Two

Location: the back garden, Sunnybank

Taken by: Carol

Subject: Eileen under the lilac tree, holding newborn Jaz. She looks so utterly absurd with a baby in her arms that, at first, Carol laughs out loud. Eileen wants to know what's so funny. Carol realises, in the nick of time, that the truth might not be diplomatic. ‘I'm just a bit giddy,' she says instead. And because Carol has been high as a kite since the birth, manically so, Eileen accepts this explanation
.

She does look bloody odd, though; there's no getting away from it
.

I kept my face buried against my grandson, counting down the last few moments.

‘Hey up,' said Phil.

When I mustered the courage to peep, Jaz was, astonishingly, in the process of embracing him. He looked caught out and embarrassed, and relieved. ‘Dad!' she said. ‘What are
you
doing here?'

‘You sent a text.'

‘No, I didn't.'

She moved over to me and I thought maybe I was going to get a hug too. But the outstretched arms were for Matty. Of course. It was all I could do not to cling onto him and fight her. A part of myself tore away with him, and I was left standing there, exposed and frightened.

‘Jaz didn't send a text. I did.' A short man with a frank, pleasant face was advancing across the lawn towards Phil.

I waited for Jaz to explode with fury, but she just went, ‘Oh! I should have known.'

‘Well, someone had to.' He smiled at me as he shook Phil's hand. ‘Nick Page, pleased to meet you. Shall we go in?'

I glanced at Phil.
I don't know, should we? Are you getting any of this
?

He gave a tiny shrug. At the same time, Nick Page took my elbow and began to draw me towards the door. As we walked, I was gaining the impression of someone who liked to act older than his years. In spite of the slightly receded hairline, he didn't look much past thirty-five.
Who is this guy? Do we know him? How should I be playing this
? said Phil's expression.
No idea
, I signalled back.

We funnelled through the porch straight into a wide, light room with cream walls and a bare wooden floor. Books filled almost every available horizontal space except for the mantelpiece, which had been used to display a collection of African masks and statuettes. Above the fireplace was a mirror with a blue and green mosaic frame, while near the opposite skirting board, a stone painted with a rainbow served as a doorstop. Hippy, I was thinking. Intellectual, middle-class. Everything here's ethically sourced and unprocessed; I'd seen rooms like this in the Sunday magazines. What a contrast from Sunnybank's chintz cushions and Beswick budgies. No china cabinets here, I'd be prepared to bet.

Indignation rose up in me. I was who I was, I'd done my best and if all Jaz valued in the end turned out to be a certain set of lifestyle trappings, then that was her failing, not mine. To come across the country to this man and seek shelter here, when the ones she'd left at home were beside themselves—

‘What can I get you?' asked Nick, clasping his hands like a hearty waiter.

‘Tea, please,' I said feebly.

‘Tea,' echoed Phil.

Nick took himself off, leaving us to our awkwardness, and that's when I registered the little shrivelled palm cross tacked to the chimney breast.

‘For God's sake, sit down,' said Jaz, and plonked herself on the large squashy sofa with Matty on her knee. At once he slid himself onto the cushion next to her, and reached up for me. He was still holding his gourd.

‘What is it, love?' I asked, bending to see. My heart was thudding as though I'd swum ten lengths.

‘African maracas,' replied Jaz. ‘Nick spent some time in Kenya.'

Who is he
? I wanted to ask, but didn't dare voice the question yet.

‘Who is he?' said Phil.

Jaz laughed, as if we were being particularly dense. ‘Nick Page. You do know him. Dr Page. When I was at Leeds? You met him, Mum.'

I thought about it, and tried to recall the detail: standing with Jaz in the Union building, being hailed by a man in a moss-green jacket. I couldn't have told you another thing about the encounter, though.
Yes, Jaz, I did meet him, for about ten seconds, more than six years ago. If I'd known you were going to run off with him, I'd have paid a sight more attention
. How much older than her was he, for a start? Wasn't it against the
rules, or something? Could she possibly have stepped straight from Ian to an old fogey like this?

Then, in a rush of understanding, I heard Tomasz's voice once more:
She went to the clinic with her personal tutor
.

Back he came into the lounge, Dr Page, with a tray of cups and a bright smile for everyone. ‘That's the kettle on,' he said, placing the cups on the coffee-table and settling himself on a carved stool by the fender. ‘Now. I'm guessing there are probably lots of questions you'd like to ask.'

‘I'll say,' growled Phil.

For God's sake, don't ruin it, I thought. I held onto Matty, who'd decided to study the bobbles on my jumper, and stroked his hair in an effort to calm myself.

‘You're Jaz's teacher?' I said.

‘I was.' They exchanged a smile that made my heart contract with jealousy. ‘I had that privilege.'

Phil addressed Jaz. ‘Have you been here all the time, then?'

‘About a fortnight. I went to Whitby, first off.'

‘
Whitby
? Why?'

‘I felt like going to the seaside. We stayed in a hotel.'

‘Who did?'

‘Me and Matty. Who do you think?'

‘What hotel was it?'

‘Just a hotel, I dunno.'

I said, ‘I wish you'd let me know where you were. It was – really difficult.' That was as much protest as I dared.

‘Yeah.' Again she cast her eyes towards Dr Page. ‘Sorry.'

‘Nanna bag. Here y'are, Nanna,' said Matty, struggling to pull up the strap he was sitting on.

‘Are you coming home, Jaz?'

At that moment, the door in the far corner was pushed open and a young woman walked in carrying a teapot. Her blonde hair fell forward as she put the pot down, a process that
involved her bending at the knee rather than the waist, since she was heavily pregnant.

‘This is my wife, Steph,' said Dr Page.

Oh thank God
, I nearly said out loud. I don't know how Phil was feeling at that moment, but I could have whooped with relief. Now I knew for certain we weren't looking at a predatory tutor taking advantage of an ex-student; I wouldn't have to go back to David and Ian and break the news that Jaz had moved in with a new lover a hundred miles away, and field their outrage and dismay. Simply, Jaz had been with friends, people who knew her history and accepted her, who were in a position to offer practical help.

‘Nice to meet you,' I said, meaning it.

‘I must tell you,' she said. ‘Jaz has been such a help to me these last two weeks.'

‘She contacted me to ask if she could drop by for a chat, catch up on old times,' continued Dr Page. ‘Then, when she got here . . . well, she ended up staying. Turns out there was quite a lot to talk about! Not that it's put us out in any way. As Steph says, she's actually been a tremendous help. Although we didn't know till yesterday that she hadn't told you where she was.'

‘I was
going
to phone,' said Jaz, rolling her eyes as if she was fourteen again.

‘Well, you don't need to now, do you? Mrs Morgan, your daughter and I had a very long discussion late last night.'

‘You're telling me.'

‘And I'd say she resolved quite a few issues that were troubling her. Is that a fair summary, Jaz?'

Another of those looks passed between them.

‘Yeah, I'm feeling loads better,' she said. ‘I've got a lot of stuff into perspective. Sometimes you have to, you know, get right away.'

‘You certainly did that,' said Phil. ‘Your mum—'

‘Shh,' I said.

Dr Page nodded understandingly. ‘So we've done a lot of talking, and a little bit of praying, and I think Jaz feels it might be time to come home.'

Jaz nodded. ‘I'm much more straightened out. I'm in a better place now.'

I heard Phil snort under his breath.
A little bit of praying
? I was thinking. Is this the same person who told me not eighteen months ago that having a child christened was a form of bullying? Who as a teenager, for spite, once picked the cross off a hot cross bun before eating it? Then again, hadn't she begged me last Advent for my Nativity set, and put it on display in the front-room window? I closed my eyes and thought of us all gathered round the table for Christmas dinner. Dear God, that it might happen.

‘When do you think you might be ready?' I asked.

‘Oh, I reckon she's pretty much ready now,' said Dr Page. ‘Is that right, Jaz? You could pop upstairs and pack your stuff while your mum and dad finish their tea. Then you can all set off home together. A merry convoy. Steph'll help you gather your bits and pieces. Leave Matty down here, eh?'

‘Oh, I don't know. It feels a bit sudden. Maybe tomorrow, so I can sort a few more things.'

‘Didn't we say last night that delay becomes, in the end, an additional burden?'

‘Yeah, I know. I can see that. But it's still—'

‘The truth is, you'll never be as ready as you are right now. You admitted that yourself, not twelve hours ago. Take control of the moment, eh?' He leaned forward encouragingly. ‘I know you can do this, or I shouldn't ask you.'

She went like a lamb.

Once she was gone, he said, ‘I'm sorry I couldn't let you
know earlier. We weren't aware of the full situation. But I want you to be clear, I didn't go behind her back in contacting you; she had said she would ring you within the next couple of days. I just felt it might be difficult for her to make the call, and I didn't want you worrying even a minute longer than necessary.'

‘If we could have talked to you before we came up,' Phil began.

‘Yes, I did consider that. But I decided, on balance, it would be better if she could explain to you herself, here. I didn't want to overstep my remit.' His manner was so candid, so disarming. All those years ago my daughter must have sat in his study, pouring out crisis after crisis: Tomasz, the boy who killed himself, a positive pregnancy test. This man and his wife drove her to the clinic and stayed with her till the abortion was done. Took her back home with them, tucked her up in bed, brought her painkillers and sanitary towels, mopped her tears. Things I should have done myself, but wasn't allowed. Gratitude struggled with jealousy, and shame.

‘You were her
personal
tutor?' I asked carefully. ‘I was.'