Page 96 of Winter at Wishington Bay
‘And I’d lost my father! The one person I could be myself with. The one person who loved me for what I was, who I was! And then he was gone and any love that had managed to live in that house withered overnight, just like the roses on his grave. I could have been there for you if you’d let me. But even that wasn’t enough of a jolt for you, was it?’
‘You know nothing about what losing your father did to me!’ My mother snapped suddenly.
‘No, because you wouldn’t tell me! And you know nothing about what losing him did to me because you didn’t bloody well care enough to find out.’
The atmosphere in the snug room was charged, as though one spark would ignite everything.
‘That’s not true.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No. But it’s a bit late for all that now, Sophia. You’re a grown woman.’
‘You’re right. I am. But I’m still your child. Which is why I did so much to try to please you. For God’s sake, Mother! I even married the “right” man,’ I cried, making the punctuation shapes in the air. ‘The one you said would be right for me. Would treat me well and who already had a, what was it you called it now, oh yes, a fondness for me.’
‘He did.’
‘He had a fondness for my title and my money. That’s all.’
A shadow of distaste flitted across her features.
‘I admit, I may have overestimated Jeremy’s character. But it was all meant to be for the best.’
‘The best for whom?’
‘For everyone.’
‘For “The Family”? For you? For the bloodline? Well that bit certainly didn’t work out, did it?’
She cleared her throat. ‘No, apparently not. Although from what I understand, that particular issue lies with Jeremy, and not you.’
I sat down, heavily. ‘Is that all you can say?’
She looked round at me for a moment before standing and walking to the window, sweeping her gaze up and down the street outside.
‘What do you want me to say, Sophia?’ she asked on a sigh. ‘Unlike you, I haven’t had some hippy makeover.’
I shook my head. ‘You’ll never get it, will you?’
‘Get what, exactly?’
‘Do you even understand how hurtful the casual comments you’d drop over dinners whenever one of your friends became a grandparent could be?’
‘It was just conversation. Don’t be so sensitive about everything.’
‘I’m not being sensitive, Mother! I’m being a normal human being. With feelings and emotions and all the other things that seem to have completely passed you by!’
‘Oh, really,’ she muttered, exasperation in her tone.
‘Do you not remember sitting at the table, making digs about how you were still waiting for your grandchildren? How you couldn’t understand how things could take so long? How Jeremy’s mother was likely to become a grandmother before you did, the way he carried on sometimes? Do you remember that?’
She didn’t reply, which I took as a yes.
‘Have you any idea how upsetting all that was? How humiliating? Laughing with your so-called friends about my husband’s affairs in front of me? My inability to get pregnant?’
‘You obviously took it far more to heart than you needed to. Like I said, I was just making conversation.’
‘It shouldn’t have been conversation! And I would have thought that so-called good breeding you’re so damn proud of would have taught you that. It was cruel and hurtful and absolutely the last thing any mother should do to their child if they have one speck of humanity about them.’ I swiped at my cheek with the back of my hand, surprised to find it damp. I’d been so caught up in my memories, the tears of now and years past had begun to flow unnoticed. My mother held out a delicate handkerchief towards me wordlessly. For a moment, I considered refusing it, but there had been enough pettiness in my life already, and I was disinclined to add to it.
