Page 86 of A Good Mother
‘Just give me a minute, sweetheart. I need to get rid of this nasty pop and while I’m gone, perhaps you could get dressed. I’ll be back very soon. Go on, get your clothes out.’ Robin saw Willow nod and a huge smile spread across her face.
Robin’s legs were like jelly but she turned quickly and ran into the bathroom then tipped both drinks into the toilet and flushed the chain before racing downstairs. In the kitchen she dumped the glasses in the sink and went to her bag, hands shaking uncontrollably as she grabbed her phone and prodded the screen.
Please be there, please answer, hurry up, please be…
‘Hello. Well, I must say this is a very nice surprise. And what can I do for my favourite person on this fine Sunday morni–’
‘Arty, shut up and ask me.’ Robin heard her voice crack as her heart pumped so hard she thought it might burst.
‘Ask you what? Robin, what’s wrong…? I don’t understand. Has something happened?’
‘Ask me the question you said you never would. Ask me now, Arty. You have to ask me, right now.’
The silence was deafening, apart from her short shallow breaths that she desperately needed in order to stay alive and upright.
Finally, Arty spoke, his voice deep, choked with emotion that she heard clearly, across the many miles that had separated them for so long.
‘Robin, will you leave him? Will you come and live with me?’
‘Yes, yes I will.’
She was crying, and when she heard his next words Robin suspected so was he.
‘When, when will you leave?’
She smiled through her tears and wiped them away, laughing as she answered.
‘Now, my love. Me and Willow are leaving right now.’
LOURDES, FRANCE.
TWO YEARS LATER
Today we are blessedwith a cloudless sky and a flaming June sun. It warms my arms and face while I sit out of sight, watching Willow. It’s something I do often because seeing her laughing, carefree and as she is now, playing barefoot on the grass of the convent reminds me of how lucky I am. And how close I came to making a terrible mistake.
It plagues me, you know, that day. I have recurring dreams about it. Even the moments right up to driving away from the vicarage, the car loaded with our possessions. We didn’t have much really, just our clothes and treasures like photo albums and Willow’s precious angel books.
In my dreams Edmund comes home as I am loading our cases and bin bags into the boot and stops us from leaving.
In reality, it went very smoothly although those final few yards, from the doorstep to the car, as I hurried Willow along almost shoving her in the front seat and racing around to mine, seemed to take an age not seconds.
I did stop though, for a second when we reached the road and looked up to the graveyard to where Martha is. I imagined her standing there on the hill, waving me off, her voice clear in my head.
‘Off yer go, girl. Be ’appy, mate. We’ll meet again, one day.’
I hope we do.
I drove to Dover. There we caught the next ferry to France. I should have been exhausted after hardly any sleep and a four-hour drive, but adrenalin and fear kept me going. I must have checked the rear mirror a thousand times expecting the devil to be on our tail.
I relaxed somewhat when we arrived in France, and we took our time driving south to Lourdes where Arty was waiting. He’d offered to come and get us, but it would’ve taken too long, and I wanted to be gone.
And you know what the strange thing is. That from the minute we arrived at his house – our house now – it felt like home. Like it had been waiting for us.
From then on, Arty took control, which was a relief. He phoned Nate to tell him where we were, and after the bomb went up and the dust settled we’ve been able to work things out. I swear there’s not a useful person that Arty doesn’t know either here or in the UK and the old school tie network has been invaluable.
The very slow cogs of law turned and now the authorities in England are eventually satisfied that Willow’s legal affairs are in good hands, she and Nate can divorce. He got what he wanted in the end and so did I. My daughter.
Talking of which, Edmund kind of got what he deserved when the bishop decided, in his infinite wisdom, that it was time for a new broom at St Mary’s and shuffled Edmund off to a dusty office at diocese headquarters. I like to think of it as dour and depressing, a place where he also shuffles paper, day in, day out.
