A Winter's Wish, page 21
Damn right. He wasn’t the one on trial, his mother was. He had no interest in impressing her. This was about her proving to him she was worthy of being a part of his life. He didn’t need his mother’s approval, he’d done fine without her. Great, in fact. He’d beaten the odds, gained a degree, got a good job. He had dreams and goals and aspirations, all without any input from his mother.
So why did he feel so frickin’ nervous?
He glanced at Sam. ‘Sorry for snapping.’
‘You’ve nothing to apologise for. I was out of line. I forgot I wasn’t a social worker anymore.’
Taking the exit for Thorney Bay, he tried to dissect her words. ‘You must’ve asked the question for a reason?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I was talking nonsense.’
He rubbed the back of his neck. He felt sweaty and uncomfortable in his own skin, probably because she’d struck a nerve. ‘It’s illogical for me to want her to like me,’ he admitted, his clammy hands gripping the steering wheel. ‘But are you implying it wouldn’t be unusual?’
As if considering her response, she hesitated before replying. ‘You wouldn’t be the first person to feel that way. Kids don’t think like adults do. Their brains haven’t fully developed. They lack logic, so they have no idea their home life isn’t regular, or safe, and they don’t understand why they’re being taken away. They assume it’s something they’ve done, that’s it’s their fault and they’re being punished for misbehaving.’ She paused. ‘Did you feel like that?’
He nodded. ‘I promised the policewoman I’d behave better if she let me go home.’
‘Oh, Jamie.’ She reached over and squeezed his hand. ‘Most kids react the same way. And even though as adults we’re able to reason why these things happen, it doesn’t always eradicate the feeling that there was something we could’ve done to prevent it. But you know it wasn’t about you, right?’
‘Logically, yeah.’
‘And it’s still not about you.’
He frowned. ‘How do you mean?’
‘If your mum doesn’t react the way you’re hoping for today and be the kind, caring, stable woman you want her to be, it’s not a reflection on you. Okay?’
‘Okay.’ He knew she was right.
‘But for the record, if she isn’t impressed and doesn’t think you’re an amazing human being, then she’s batshit crazy.’
With an abrupt laugh, he felt something easing in his shoulders. She thought he was amazing?
‘If at any point it gets too overwhelming today, just let me know and we’re out of there, okay? Tug on your left ear as a sign and I’ll invent an emergency so we can escape.’
He rubbed his chest, trying to control his breathing. ‘Thanks.’
She patted his hand. ‘I’m on your side, remember?’
The sign for the mobile home park came into view. It was a big park with numerous dwellings spread around the area. He followed the numbers and parked across from where his mother lived. He almost couldn’t look.
Sam strained to see out of the window. ‘Are we here?’
He nodded. They were here.
The sight ahead was a far cry from the rundown area of his childhood. The property was a bungalow, painted cream with white shutters and bay windows. A pinecone wreath hung from the front door next to an inflatable Father Christmas. It looked nice. Happy. Safe.
He climbed out of the car, needing some fresh air. It was a blustery day, but the sun occasionally appeared from behind the wispy clouds, casting the sandstone paving in a wintery sheen.
Sam joined him on the walkway. ‘Ready to do this?’
‘God, no.’ He turned to her. ‘How do I look?’
‘Handsome.’ And then she blinked, as if she’d said something out of turn. ‘I mean… smart. Well-groomed. Appropriately dressed for making a good impression.’ She averted her gaze.
He was glad she approved. ‘Thanks.’
They crossed the pedestrian walkway. ‘You look nice too, by the way.’
‘Thanks. I didn’t think paint-splattered dungarees would be suitable.’ She smoothed down the front of her red jumper as they stepped up to the front door.
He took a deep breath, not quite ready to ring the bell.
As if sensing his anxiety, Sam’s warm hand closed around his. He was more grateful than he could express. ‘You got this,’ she whispered.
And then the door shot open. A woman with long blonde highlighted hair wearing a sports polo shirt and fitted jeans stood in the doorway.
They must have the wrong house. No way was this his mother. But then she said, ‘Jamie?’ and he instantly recognised her voice.
Shit, it was his mother.
Shock rendered him speechless. His recollection of his mum was of a skinny woman with sallow skin and rotten teeth. Not a woman with rosy cheeks, manicured nails and a perfect veneer smile.
‘Come in, come in,’ she said, seemingly caught between wanting to reach for him and being scared to touch him. Thankfully, a dog appeared in the hallway and barked, saving him from being hugged. He wasn’t ready for physical intimacy.
His mother caught the dog’s collar. ‘It’s all right, Cooper, they’re friends.’
He still hadn’t spoken. He was too shocked.
Sam came to his rescue. ‘I’m Sam, a friend of Jamie’s,’ she said, stroking the dog’s mane. ‘What a lovely home you have, and such a gorgeous dog.’ She crouched down and ruffled the Labrador’s ears.
‘Thank you. Yes, he’s a sweetie. I’d be lost without him.’
Jamie flinched. She hadn’t been lost without her son though, had she?
‘I’m Kirsty,’ she said to Sam. ‘Come through to the lounge. I’ve made lunch; I thought you might be hungry after your journey. Was the traffic bad?’
Sam glanced at Jamie, waiting for him to answer. When he didn’t, she said, ‘Not too bad. The M25 was slow.’
‘Isn’t it always.’ His mother gestured to the brown leather sofa pushed against the wall. ‘Take a seat. I’ll put the kettle on.’
His mother disappeared into what looked like the kitchen. He glanced around the room. It was light and airy. A family-sized dining table and chairs were positioned in front of French windows which led to a garden. He could see a football goal set up at the end of the lawn. A reminder he had brothers. Three of them.
Sam squeezed his hand. ‘Sit down,’ she whispered. ‘Remember to breathe.’
He hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath. He sat on the sofa next to her. It was worn and faded in places and he could imagine a family lying on it watching the huge TV attached to the wall. A small Christmas tree sat in the corner, the decorations mismatched and seemingly homemade. There were numerous pictures hanging from a picture rail. Photos of football teams. Sports certificates. A school photo of three boys.
A lump constricted his throat.
Next to the TV was a display unit with more photos and ornaments. This time he recognised the subject. There were a range of photos from when he was born to the age of seven. Pictures of him smiling, cuddling a teddy, playing with a train set. But nothing after that. It was creepy. Like he’d died.
His mother returned carrying a tea tray. The china mugs and milk jug matched. She placed the tray on the coffee table where triangular-shaped sandwiches sat on a china plate, along with a selection of cakes and a bowl of crisps. It was nothing like he remembered. Meals had been irregular, leftovers thrown together from tins of food in the bare cupboards. He’d lived off cereal, mostly, feeding himself whenever he’d been hungry.
‘How do you take your tea?’ His mother looked directly at him.
Despite the assurance in her smile, he could see a slight shake in her hands. It was the first action he recognised, although he suspected this wasn’t down to drug use. At least, he hoped not.
He opened his mouth with the intention of saying, ‘Milk, no sugar,’ but what came out was, ‘Are you clean?’
If she was surprised by his direct line of questioning, she didn’t show it. She simply nodded and said, ‘Yes, eighteen years now.’ She waited for another question. When it didn’t come, she poured the tea. ‘Help yourself to milk and sugar.’
Sam edged forwards and added milk to one of the mugs. ‘Thank you, Kirsty. You’ve gone to so much effort.’ She handed Jamie a mug of tea, urging him to drink it.
Sam’s watchful eyes darted between estranged mother and son. As if sensing the pair needed a kick-start, she said, ‘Maybe you could tell Jamie about your recovery? I imagine it wasn’t easy.’ She turned to Jamie, her hand resting on his knee. ‘Is that okay with you?’
He nodded, grateful for her taking the lead, he seemed to have lost the ability to speak. And he was supposed to be an investigative journalist.
Kirsty remained kneeling by the coffee table. ‘If that’s what you want?’ She looked at him with an anxious expression.
He nodded again. It helped to think of her as ‘Kirsty’, rather than wrestling with the fact that she was his mother.
She sipped her tea. ‘I guess… I hit rock bottom after social services took you away,’ she said, her voice steady and even, a contrast to the shake in her hands. ‘I was angry and distressed, and I couldn’t see it was my fault. I blamed the so-called do-gooders who’d stolen my son from me.’
If she was looking for sympathy, she was going to be disappointed. But her eyes remained cast downwards, as if overwhelmed by a sense of shame. ‘I spiralled into a shocking state. I don’t remember much about that time.’
He had no idea he was shaking, until Sam’s hand slid up his back and gently rubbed, trying to get him to relax. ‘That must’ve been difficult for you, Kirsty,’ she said.
Kirsty began to rock, slow movements back and forth, which only stopped when the dog nudged her arm. She did a double-take and then patted the dog’s head, and whispered, ‘Good boy.’
A few moments later, she continued, ‘It was a difficult time, yes. But I accepted the offer of a treatment programme and went into rehab. A few months after leaving, I met Mike. He supported me through my recovery and gave me something to live for.’ Stroking the dog’s ears, her smile was sad. ‘Following rehab, I went through a period of deep self-loathing. I didn’t feel like I deserved happiness. But Mike persuaded me otherwise. It took a long time, several years, in fact. Eventually we got married and it felt like I’d been given a second chance. We went on to have three boys. Liam, who’s seventeen and in sixth form. Logan, who’s fourteen, and Levi, who’s just turned eleven. They’re at school today.’
‘Is Mike at work today?’ Sam’s hand still discreetly rubbed his back.
‘Mike passed away a couple of years ago. Brain aneurism. It’s just me and the boys now.’
Sam’s hand stilled on Jamie’s back. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss, Kirsty. What an awful thing to happen.’
‘But I didn’t relapse,’ she added quickly, her eyes darting to her son’s. ‘I didn’t want to fall back into old habits, or risk losing the boys.’
He must have looked pained, because Sam resumed rubbing – harder this time – like an over-zealous Swedish masseuse.
Kirsty began fiddling with a leather strap tied to her wrist. ‘Rehab taught me it isn’t enough to just stop using drugs, you have to create a new life where it’s easier not to use in the first place. There were too many triggers in my previous life. Reminders that would make me angry, or sad, or lonely, which would make the temptation to escape unbearable.’
Was he one of those triggers?
She took a deep breath. ‘I knew if I was serious about reforming my life, then I had to make drastic changes. So, that’s what I did, with Mike’s help. We moved area, had the kids and made a home together. After he died, I had to change again and learn to be a single parent. So, I trained as a football coach.’ She pointed to a team photo on the wall. ‘I coach my youngest son’s team.’
‘That’s amazing,’ Sam said, turning to him. ‘Isn’t it, Jamie?’
He wanted to follow Sam’s lead and join in the conversation, drink tea and eat the food on offer, but his mind and stomach were too knotted.
Kirsty offered him cake. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like something? More tea, perhaps?’
But he was feeling too claustrophobic. Too agitated.
He stood up. ‘I need some air.’
She looked disappointed at the idea of him leaving.
Sam got to her feet. ‘Good idea. Why don’t we take the dog for a walk?’
On hearing the word ‘walk’ the dog went into a frenzy of excited barking and running around the room. Kirsty got up and grabbed the dog’s collar. ‘The beach is only down the road. We can take him there. He loves the sea. I’ll get his lead.’
When she’d dragged the dog from the room, Sam turned to him. ‘You okay?’
He shook his head. ‘No. It’s not what I expected. She’s so… together and positive. With her perfect home and her perfect kids. Like she’s got it all worked out.’ He let out a shaky breath. ‘My brain can’t process it. I was expecting to find a flake… not a flipping… zen football coach.’
She touched his arm. ‘It’s a lot of information to absorb, I know. But don’t panic, okay? You’re doing really well.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ve barely said a word.’
She smiled encouragingly. ‘But you’re still here, aren’t you? You haven’t run screaming from the room, threatening never to return or burst into hysterical tears.’
‘I’m close,’ he admitted.
She took his hand. ‘Then it’s a good thing we’re going outside. You’ll feel less tense in the open air. Trust me.’ She tugged on his hand and they exited by the front door.
Kirsty joined them a few moments later, striding off down the pathway, the dog hot on her heels. ‘This way.’
Jamie watched her, thinking how strong she looked. Her head was held high, her shoulders pulled back, and when she gave the dog a command he instantly obeyed.
It was totally irrational, but he couldn’t help feeling disappointed she wasn’t still a pathetic nervous wreck. It would have been easier to deal with. He’d have felt reassured she wasn’t a woman capable of taking care of a kid, and he could have left feeling vindicated in his decision not to have her in his life.
They walked under the ‘Welcome to Canvey Seafront’ sign and passed the carousel and arcade of shopping booths, boarded up for the end of season. Kirsty removed the dog’s lead and he immediately ran off, heading for the sea.
‘He loves water,’ she said, shielding her eyes from the sun. A beat passed before her gaze switched to Jamie and she gestured to the expanse of beach. ‘Walk with me?’
Jamie searched for Sam, but she was running down to the water’s edge, throwing sticks into the sea for the dog to fetch.
‘Sam’s rather lovely,’ Kirsty said, mirroring his thoughts. ‘Good friends are important to have.’
When he didn’t offer a response, she walked off down the beach, albeit slowly.
He debated whether to follow. It would be easier to stay put, but that would be cowardly. He needed to see this through.
The sand was damp and hard to walk on, but the ache in his legs detracted from the ache in his chest.
When he caught up with Kirsty they walked together, not exactly companionably, but in step, listening to the crash of waves and sound of seagulls diving into the water.
He had no idea how to engage in conversation with this woman.
Thankfully, she spoke first. ‘I have so many questions for you,’ she said, her face angled towards the sea. ‘But today isn’t about me. It’s about you. I can’t even imagine the rage you must feel. You probably hate me. Quite rightly. But I’m hoping we can move past that and reconnect, I want that more than anything. Ask me anything you want. Don’t hold back.’
But the words refused to come. He focused instead on the way his trainers left imprints in the sand.
‘Cooper is a therapy dog, you know? I get quite depressed when I think about my past and what happened to you.’ Her step slowed. ‘Or rather, what I did to you. It’s not like it was an accident, or something that was unpreventable. It was a direct result of my drug addiction. My selfishness resulted in you being taken into care.’ She stopped and looked at him. ‘I’ll never forgive myself for that. Never.’
What was he supposed to say to that? I’ll never forgive you either?
Then he remembered what Sam had said. It wasn’t about forgiveness; it was about acceptance. And in order to achieve that, he needed some answers.
‘You said you got sober eighteen years ago?’
He could sense her looking at him. ‘That’s right.’
‘I would’ve been twelve. So why didn’t you apply for custody?’
‘That’s a fair question.’ She took a step closer. ‘I did consider it, but when I spoke to social services they advised against it, said it would be too distressing for you. For me too. My recovery was in its fledgling stage, so any stress might’ve triggered a relapse. It was too risky.’
‘Jesus.’ Taking him back was considered too risky? He turned to her, suddenly angry. ‘Do you have any idea how unhappy I was? I spent seven years being passed from one placement to another, feeling utterly alone and unloved. And you didn’t think it was worth the risk to take me back?’
Her cheeks paled. ‘I wanted to, believe me I did… but… I didn’t trust myself not to let you down again.’ She reached for him, but he pulled away. ‘I’m trying to be honest with you, Jamie. By the time I felt strong enough to fight for you, it was too late.’
He frowned at her. ‘How do you mean?’
‘You were with Peggy. I wasn’t allowed direct contact, but I knew you’d gone to a good home. Peggy kept me informed of your progress via my social worker. I knew you were doing well at school, you were playing football, and flourishing in your new environment.’
She made it sound like it had been easy. Well, it bloody hadn’t been. It had taken him years to settle and trust Peggy.
‘Peggy told me she loved you like you were her own son and I honestly felt you were better off with her than returning to me. I mean, look at you. No wonder she’s so proud of you.’
