Page 52 of After the Accident
I’ll never forget that moment on the lounger, because Mum looked so old and I felt so helpless. I wanted to hold her and be next to her. There’s an urge to say everything will be all right, even though we both knew it wouldn’t be.
I started wondering if it would be better to lose a parent suddenly, or if this long, winding build-up is the way it’s supposed to be. Where you can sit and have conversations about nothing that are really about everything.
We sat for a little while and then she spoke. It was so soft that I barely heard her over the noise from the pool. That quietest voice in the room again.
She said: ‘How did you know where the girls would be?’
I was a bit surprised Julius had told her they’d gone missing, but I suppose it would have been hard to keep from her, given the number of staff who’d been searching.
I told her that I hadn’t known for certain and that I was only going off what I would have done at that age. Mum nodded but didn’t reply at first.
When she did, she had already moved on. She said that the manager had told her she could stay on in the hotel if Dad was stuck on the island. I told her that she had commitments at home, with treatments and doctor visits. That she had to think of herself. She nodded along, but I don’t think she took it in. She said that Dad was almost certainly going to return to the UK for his operation anyway.
I wanted to say that it wasn’t all about Dad – but I knew she wouldn’t want to hear it. She’s stubborn and she’s loyal… I don’t know if those are good things or bad. Perhaps they’re both.
Mum and I hadn’t talked properly many times since I was released – but that felt like a moment.
I asked if I was a disappointment to her and Dad. I suppose what Daniel said to me outside the cottage had stuck, even though I wanted to believe that it hadn’t.
Sometimes, when you say something, you want an instant reply. If you tell someone you love them, you don’t want a pause and an ‘um…’ followed by the inevitable: ‘I love you, too.’ Sometimes those silences are more important than the words.
Mum didn’t say anything for a little while.
She sat and stared out towards the pool before she said: ‘Your father understood,’ which she quickly corrected to: ‘We both understood.’
…
I think I need another minute.
Julius:The thing you have to understand about Emma is that she’s always felt like she needs to prove herself to Dad. It’s why, when she didn’t have that approval, she went so far the other way. She got involved in protests and started taking up causes she knew would annoy him. It’s all or nothing with her: if she couldn’t make herself the perfect child in the eyes of Dad, then she’d be the rebel instead.
Emma:Mum told me that the crash wasn’t my fault and that she and Dad both believed that. The problem was that I don’t believe that myself. I knew I shouldn’t have got into the car after that second glass of wine – but I did it anyway. If you want the truth, I’d done it before. It’s not as if I ever downed a couple of bottles and then drove, but I was never bothered about the odd glass.
Mum probably said two or three times ‘we don’t blame you’, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I was still chasing that anger from her because I’d taken away her only grandson. Being blamed isn’t the same as being disappointed. I could live with them blaming me for something I did wrong – but I didn’t want them to be disappointed with the person I’d become.
Does that make sense?
After a while, Mum said that Dad was far more disappointed that I never returned to the business. She said that, after I came out and was on probation, he wanted me close. He thought it would bring the family together if I went back to the business but, when I said ‘no’ to that, it was like I was saying ‘no’ to the family. She told me that he felt rejected…
…
I almost asked her about the fake driving licence at that moment. I wondered if she knew. It felt as if, perhaps for the first time ever, I could ask her whatever I wanted and get an honest reply.
We were both vulnerable…
I didn’t.
I asked the wrong question instead. I asked if Dad knew anything about what happened to Alan. There was another pause, but it felt less purposeful than the previous one. More that she couldn’t believe I’d come out with it.
She goes: ‘Why would you ask that…?’ and there was hurt in her voice this time. It was one of those things where the words were already out and it’s too late to take them back.
I said a documentary was being filmed about Alan and that I’d met some of the crew on the island. It all came flowing out then. I said that I’d seen Scott and that I’d given an interview. She asked what I’d said and I told her that there was nothing bad. I didn’t know anything to say about Alan – and I couldn’t remember much from nine years ago anyway.
She was quiet for a long time after that. It was one of those silences that leaves you wondering whether the other person is ever going to reply. You could sit there for hours and hours until someone finally cracks.
I went first. I said: ‘Why are we back here?’
Mum replied: ‘You know why,’ as if it was obvious. The thing is, Dad had billed it as a mix of Mum’s final trip here, plus a celebration for their anniversary and her birthday. It was all those things, but it felt like none of them.
