expectantly.
“I just don't know why you couldn't have come sooner,” I said.
My mother nodded. “I should have,” she said quietly. “I know that. It just seemed easier to … to …”
“To pretend I didn't exist?” I looked at her accusingly and she flinched.
“I never forgot you existed, Jessica.”
I digested this for a few seconds. “So why did you go? Why didn't you want me?” As I said the words, my tears began to fall. My mother got up, moved toward me, took my hands in hers.
“I didn't not want you,” she whispered. “It wasn't like that.”
I shook her off. “You used a double negative. Tell me the truth properly. Either you wanted me or you didn't.”
“I wanted … I did want you, Jessica. But not in a … It was difficult for me.”
I stared at her. I didn't want to be so angry but I couldn't help it; rage was coursing through my veins, rage and hurt and defiance and petulance. “Why? Why was it so difficult?”
She looked at me worriedly. “I had problems,” she whispered. “Jessica, I've never been very good at normal life. Never been very good at organizing things, at doing well at things, at being successful in the way your grandmother wanted me to. She had very fixed ideas about what made a good life, and I'm afraid I failed her every which way.”
I looked up and caught her eye; I knew all about Grandma's expectations. “She meant well,” I said in her defense, even though I wasn't entirely sure it was true.
“Perhaps.” My mother shrugged. “The thing was, Jess, I wanted different things. I wanted excitement, glamour, wanted to be someone, you know?”
I didn't say anything; I just looked at her, waiting for her to continue. She was sitting on the floor at my feet and as she pulled her legs under her she gave me a sad little smile.
“People used to say I was beautiful,” she continued, pulling a strand of her hair out of her chignon. “I think I probably was. But it can be a poisoned chalice, you know. You're lucky, Jessica. Beauty can be quite a curse.”
“Thanks,” I said sarcastically.
She smiled weakly. “Oh, Jess, I didn't mean … You're very attractive, darling. Really you are. I'm so very bad at this. Explaining things. I blame my lack of education. I left school early, you see.”
“To be
someone,”
I said, probably more tersely than was necessary, but she didn't seem to notice.
“I fell in love,” she said sadly, her eyes misting again. “With a man twice my age. He was rich and handsome and promised me the world.”
“And?” I prodded her.
She looked back at me. “And it didn't last.” She shrugged. “But he took me to London. London!” Her eyes lit up again. “It was wonderful—the parties, the nightlife, the people. So exciting. So different from the village I grew up in.”
“You mean the village we grew up in. I lived there, too, remember.”
My mother nodded vaguely.
“So why didn't I live in London with you?” I asked.
She sighed. “You were a … I was young, darling. Young and naïve.”
I bit my lip. “Okay,” I said tentatively. “And what? I was a mistake? Something you wanted to forget? To dump with Grandma so you could get back to your glamorous London existence?”
My mother started slightly. “It wasn't like that,” she said.
“Then what was it like? Tell me.”
She nodded. “Your father,” she said quietly. “He was the love of my life. Poor as a church mouse, of course, but I loved him anyway. He was a student at the university. I met him at a party—a terrible party, as it happens. But he made it wonderful.”
She unfolded and refolded her legs gracefully; she reminded me of a dancer. “Anyway, the pregnancy came as a shock to both of us. He wanted to make a go of it but it was impossible—he wasbroke, the poor thing. Had no prospects at all, just years of study ahead of him. And I …”
I looked at her insistently. “You?”
“I had other friends,” she said with a little sigh.
“I just don't know why you couldn't have come sooner,” I said.
My mother nodded. “I should have,” she said quietly. “I know that. It just seemed easier to … to …”
“To pretend I didn't exist?” I looked at her accusingly and she flinched.
“I never forgot you existed, Jessica.”
I digested this for a few seconds. “So why did you go? Why didn't you want me?” As I said the words, my tears began to fall. My mother got up, moved toward me, took my hands in hers.
“I didn't not want you,” she whispered. “It wasn't like that.”
I shook her off. “You used a double negative. Tell me the truth properly. Either you wanted me or you didn't.”
“I wanted … I did want you, Jessica. But not in a … It was difficult for me.”
I stared at her. I didn't want to be so angry but I couldn't help it; rage was coursing through my veins, rage and hurt and defiance and petulance. “Why? Why was it so difficult?”
She looked at me worriedly. “I had problems,” she whispered. “Jessica, I've never been very good at normal life. Never been very good at organizing things, at doing well at things, at being successful in the way your grandmother wanted me to. She had very fixed ideas about what made a good life, and I'm afraid I failed her every which way.”
I looked up and caught her eye; I knew all about Grandma's expectations. “She meant well,” I said in her defense, even though I wasn't entirely sure it was true.
“Perhaps.” My mother shrugged. “The thing was, Jess, I wanted different things. I wanted excitement, glamour, wanted to be someone, you know?”
I didn't say anything; I just looked at her, waiting for her to continue. She was sitting on the floor at my feet and as she pulled her legs under her she gave me a sad little smile.
“People used to say I was beautiful,” she continued, pulling a strand of her hair out of her chignon. “I think I probably was. But it can be a poisoned chalice, you know. You're lucky, Jessica. Beauty can be quite a curse.”
“Thanks,” I said sarcastically.
She smiled weakly. “Oh, Jess, I didn't mean … You're very attractive, darling. Really you are. I'm so very bad at this. Explaining things. I blame my lack of education. I left school early, you see.”
“To be
someone,”
I said, probably more tersely than was necessary, but she didn't seem to notice.
“I fell in love,” she said sadly, her eyes misting again. “With a man twice my age. He was rich and handsome and promised me the world.”
“And?” I prodded her.
She looked back at me. “And it didn't last.” She shrugged. “But he took me to London. London!” Her eyes lit up again. “It was wonderful—the parties, the nightlife, the people. So exciting. So different from the village I grew up in.”
“You mean the village we grew up in. I lived there, too, remember.”
My mother nodded vaguely.
“So why didn't I live in London with you?” I asked.
She sighed. “You were a … I was young, darling. Young and naïve.”
I bit my lip. “Okay,” I said tentatively. “And what? I was a mistake? Something you wanted to forget? To dump with Grandma so you could get back to your glamorous London existence?”
My mother started slightly. “It wasn't like that,” she said.
“Then what was it like? Tell me.”
She nodded. “Your father,” she said quietly. “He was the love of my life. Poor as a church mouse, of course, but I loved him anyway. He was a student at the university. I met him at a party—a terrible party, as it happens. But he made it wonderful.”
She unfolded and refolded her legs gracefully; she reminded me of a dancer. “Anyway, the pregnancy came as a shock to both of us. He wanted to make a go of it but it was impossible—he wasbroke, the poor thing. Had no prospects at all, just years of study ahead of him. And I …”
I looked at her insistently. “You?”
“I had other friends,” she said with a little sigh.
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