Page 160 of Tangled Up In You

“It was for the best,” she said, ignoring him again. “I was in no position to be a mother, a wife. It’s taken me so long to come to terms with myself. By the time I felt capable of returning, I knew it would have only made things worse for you all.”

Her inability to acknowledge the damage of her actions was hard to bear. He took a deep breath and decided his only choice was to pursue a different direction. “What about later, then? We did grow up, you know?”

She met his stare with silence.

He stood up and paced the small room.

“Your absence, your abandoning me, hasdefinedmy life. Everything I am is a result of your decision to run away and not face your problems like a fucking adult.”

“Ah, but look what you’ve made of yourself, Mr. Rock Star.” She tried for a coquettish smile and he felt revulsion.

“Who are you, even?” he asked.

“I’m me. I did what I did and there’s nothing I can do about it now.” She retreated into herself then, staring at some middle distance. “I did what I did for Maria,” she sang softly.

He shook his head in frustration and confusion. He vaguely recognized the song she had sung apropos of nothing as the cheesy 1970s hit “I Did What I Did For Maria” by Tony Christie, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand what she was getting at. Her explanations and moods were all over the map. Perhaps she really had gone mad with the accident and was left in this perpetual state of teetering on the edge ever since.

“Do you know that I was desperate to be a famous singer so you’d have an easy time of it when you decided to find me?” he asked, and then laughed softly at himself.

“I’ve always followed your news stories. I saw the way you played it off as if I were dead.”

“And?”

“I decided to stay that way,” she replied meekly.

He watched her for a long moment, slowly understanding that she enjoyed the solitary life she had established for herself. She hadn’t wanted to be found.

He shook his head. “So once you had run away from your family, you found you quite liked the single life, aye? Is that it? Better off with no children, no husband?”

“No, not exactly. Gavin, I love you and your brother. I do. But I couldn’t imagine that I’d ever be capable of giving the way you needed it. Something in me died when Nora died. I’m not who I used to be.”

“You should have fucking tried,” he said with disgust. Why did he have to repeat such a basic point to her? “You don’t walk away. You don’t do that to those you’re supposed to love.”

Bernadette nodded contritely but said nothing more. The look of sympathy on her face was so at odds with the rationalizations she had given him thus far that he found the attempt pointless. And then he realized she hadn’t apologized for leaving.

He turned away from her and looked out the front window. The sky had gone pale as the sun began its descent. The disappointment of this encounter threatened to overwhelm him. But he soon found he shared something with his mother. He had done exactly what she had done. He had walked away from Sophie when things got tough.

“You know,” he said softly, “it was a bleedin’ miracle I was still able to learn what it feels like to be loved. I’ve been loved beyond all limits since I was sixteen.” He turned to her. “I don’t want to be like you. I don’t want to reject those that love me.”

Bernadette’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Gavin. I am so very sorry for the damage I’ve done.”

There it finally was. The apology.

He waited for it to have the impact he’d thought it should. But it didn’t heal him the way he had fantasized. It didn’t make up for anything. Nor should it have, he realized. What had happened couldn’t be undone.

He understood now that subconsciously, he had known this would be the case. He had nurtured his hurt and loss all these years with the buried understanding that the artistic benefit he reaped was more rewarding than any kind of resolution he might get by tracking down his mother. It wasn’t his pride that kept him from seeking her out. It was the fear that he’d find it was all as simple as what Ian said: their mother couldn’t be bothered.

And at this point, the life he had lived as a result of her leaving couldn’t be altered. The truth was, he wouldn’t want it to be. For all his faults, he was the passionate and brilliant singer-songwriter of one of the best bands in the world, and she had set that into motion by leaving.

He saw her then for what she was—an emotionally fragile, aging woman who had done the only thing she knew to ensure her own survival. But it was her selfishness that stuck with him. Wasn’t the point of parenthood that you gave up being selfish in order to care for your children? He shook his head in frustration and was dizzy from the conflicting emotions she brought forth.

“I think I’ll be going now,” he said.

“Won’t you stay the night? You can’t drive back to Dublin now.”

Prolonging this reunion like that was the last thing he wanted. Had she presented herself the way he had always hoped, as someone desperate to make amends and to care for him after all these years, he might have felt differently. But the will to dissect their history had left him. All he wanted now was out. He needed time and distance to process all of this.

His instinct was to let her down easy, though, to employ the charm he had become so well known for.

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