him she wouldn't have been able to summon the courage.
But this wasn't how she had planned it. Last night on the phone, her father had begged her again, for the last time, not to go ahead with it. And when she said she wasn't going to change her mind, reluctantly, they had agreed that when she brought Tommy home from school, they would first have a family supper and then, as gently and lovingly as possible, tell him. But the air was already bristling. She had to do it now. She was still standing by the door. They were all staring at her. On the television the cricket scores droned on.
"What is it?" Tommy said. "What's wrong with everybody?"
"For heaven's sake, Diane," her mother said. "Just get it over with."
Diane walked stiffly across to the television and switched it off. Then she came back to the sofa and sat down at the opposite end from her mother. She tried to smile but it felt as phoney as it must have looked. It was as if all her acting skills had suddenly deserted her. She patted the cushion beside her.
"Tommy, darling. Come and sit here. There's something I've got to tell you."
"What?"
Instead of simply puzzled, he now looked frightened. Warily watching her, he came and sat down next to her. Diane took his hand in both of hers.
"Tommy, this is something I've wanted to tell you for a very long time. In fact, all of your life. But I've never been brave enough."
She glanced at her parents. Her mother shook her head and sighed and looked away.
"All these years, darling, you've thought that I was your sister. Well. I'm not."
"What?"
"Tommy... I'm your mother."
Tommy gave a confused little laugh.
"Is this a joke or a trick or something?"
He looked around and saw from their pained faces that it wasn't.
"I was very young when I... when you were born. Only just sixteen. And we all decided that it would be better, at least for the time being, if everyone thought that I wasn't your mother but... your sister, instead."
She couldn't believe what a wretched job she was making of it. She never normally forgot her lines. But now, when it really counted, she could hardly remember a single word of what she had prepared.
"Why?" Tommy said. "I don't understand."
Diane looked again at her mother, this time out of some desperate, instinctive hope that she might come to the rescue. But the face showed no mercy, just a stony disapproval, distorted by drink. Her father looked desolate, his forehead now propped by one hand so that she couldn't see his eyes.
"Tommy, I was so young. I was still at school. Girls that age, if they get pregnant, usually have—"
"Diane, really," her mother said. "He's just a boy. Surely you don't have to go into all that."
Diane ignored her.
"Sometimes, Tommy, when women get pregnant but don't want to have the baby, they can... Doctors can do an operation so that the baby doesn't get born. But I didn't want to do that. I wanted to have you. I..."
The tears ambushed her, suddenly, out of nowhere. And the last thing she wanted to do was cry. She wanted to be strong, and loving. Like a mother should be for her child. She angrily wiped her eyes.
"I'm sorry. It's just..."
Tommy put his arms around her and clung to her and, of course, that made it so much worse. She was sobbing and couldn't help herself. She put her arms around him and now he was crying too. It was all going wrong. She had completely messed it up. Through her tears she saw her mother get up, snatch her empty glass from the coffee table and walk from the room.
"Joan, dear, please," her father called after her.
"I'm sorry, I can't listen to this."
"Joan..."
He got up and hurried after her. It was probably better that way, Diane thought. It had seemed the right thing to do, to tell Tommy when all three of them were there to reassure him and make him feel everything was all right. But she'd been foolish to imagine it could work. Her mother's resentment could never be put neatly to one side. Diane hugged Tommy even more
But this wasn't how she had planned it. Last night on the phone, her father had begged her again, for the last time, not to go ahead with it. And when she said she wasn't going to change her mind, reluctantly, they had agreed that when she brought Tommy home from school, they would first have a family supper and then, as gently and lovingly as possible, tell him. But the air was already bristling. She had to do it now. She was still standing by the door. They were all staring at her. On the television the cricket scores droned on.
"What is it?" Tommy said. "What's wrong with everybody?"
"For heaven's sake, Diane," her mother said. "Just get it over with."
Diane walked stiffly across to the television and switched it off. Then she came back to the sofa and sat down at the opposite end from her mother. She tried to smile but it felt as phoney as it must have looked. It was as if all her acting skills had suddenly deserted her. She patted the cushion beside her.
"Tommy, darling. Come and sit here. There's something I've got to tell you."
"What?"
Instead of simply puzzled, he now looked frightened. Warily watching her, he came and sat down next to her. Diane took his hand in both of hers.
"Tommy, this is something I've wanted to tell you for a very long time. In fact, all of your life. But I've never been brave enough."
She glanced at her parents. Her mother shook her head and sighed and looked away.
"All these years, darling, you've thought that I was your sister. Well. I'm not."
"What?"
"Tommy... I'm your mother."
Tommy gave a confused little laugh.
"Is this a joke or a trick or something?"
He looked around and saw from their pained faces that it wasn't.
"I was very young when I... when you were born. Only just sixteen. And we all decided that it would be better, at least for the time being, if everyone thought that I wasn't your mother but... your sister, instead."
She couldn't believe what a wretched job she was making of it. She never normally forgot her lines. But now, when it really counted, she could hardly remember a single word of what she had prepared.
"Why?" Tommy said. "I don't understand."
Diane looked again at her mother, this time out of some desperate, instinctive hope that she might come to the rescue. But the face showed no mercy, just a stony disapproval, distorted by drink. Her father looked desolate, his forehead now propped by one hand so that she couldn't see his eyes.
"Tommy, I was so young. I was still at school. Girls that age, if they get pregnant, usually have—"
"Diane, really," her mother said. "He's just a boy. Surely you don't have to go into all that."
Diane ignored her.
"Sometimes, Tommy, when women get pregnant but don't want to have the baby, they can... Doctors can do an operation so that the baby doesn't get born. But I didn't want to do that. I wanted to have you. I..."
The tears ambushed her, suddenly, out of nowhere. And the last thing she wanted to do was cry. She wanted to be strong, and loving. Like a mother should be for her child. She angrily wiped her eyes.
"I'm sorry. It's just..."
Tommy put his arms around her and clung to her and, of course, that made it so much worse. She was sobbing and couldn't help herself. She put her arms around him and now he was crying too. It was all going wrong. She had completely messed it up. Through her tears she saw her mother get up, snatch her empty glass from the coffee table and walk from the room.
"Joan, dear, please," her father called after her.
"I'm sorry, I can't listen to this."
"Joan..."
He got up and hurried after her. It was probably better that way, Diane thought. It had seemed the right thing to do, to tell Tommy when all three of them were there to reassure him and make him feel everything was all right. But she'd been foolish to imagine it could work. Her mother's resentment could never be put neatly to one side. Diane hugged Tommy even more
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