It is interesting, I have to agree – these two are like a happily married couple, without ever being married, or ever being a proper couple. Maybe that’s the secret to a good relationship, who knows?
Andrew listens keenly to our story so far, and tuts sympathetically when we describe the hostel we visited. He works at a busy hospital in the A & E department, and is more than familiar with the likes of Big Steve.
He tells us about an outreach clinic he’s started, and it becomes obvious where Mal gets his philanthropic streak from. Between Belinda’s grass-roots law practice and Andrew’s clear dedication to his calling, it would have been more surprising if Mal wanted to be a banker.
It’s been a long day, and I’m content to just listen as Belinda and Andrew chatter. Michael is slumped on a sofa, eyes glued to his phone, occasionally laughing. Funny texts or cat videos, I’m guessing.
After a while, and a few more glasses of wine, Andrew stands up and stretches in an obvious ‘I’m off to bed’ way.
He looks at Belinda, and says: ‘Still single?’
‘Still single,’ she replies, smiling.
‘Come on then,’ he says, and she follows him out of the room.
Michael and I are left looking at each other in confusion as we hear the two of them giggle their way up the stairs.
‘Wow,’ he says, as we hear the door close. ‘She is human after all. They must have an … arrangement?’
‘Looks like they must,’ I answer, shrugging. ‘And it seems to work for them. You get off to sleep as well, if you like. I’m going to try and do a bit more research.’
‘No, I’ll stay up and help,’ he replies, unfurling himself and coming to sit next to me on the sofa. ‘I’m weirdly wired. Can’t get some of those faces out of my mind, you know? Those kids on the noticeboard? I keep thinking about being kicked out for being gay – for no bigger a crime than being who you are. And about that becoming your only option. Cuddling up with Big Steve and his black toes.’
He shudders, and tries to smile, but I can see it’s really affected him.
‘It’s very sad,’ I say, patting his hand. ‘But that will never be you. You’ll always have me, Michael, no matter what happens with your mum and dad.’
‘That’s very kind of you, cousin dearest – but it made me think, you know? My life has made it too easy to hide. I’ve never needed to be brave, I’ve never stood up to them – I’m just a hypocrite to be honest.
‘And it’s more than just that – I’m not arrogant enough to think the gay rights movement needs yours truly to survive. It’s just … this entire thing. All the lies we all tell each other, tell ourselves, just to get by. Your mum keeping all those letters hidden. Mine ignoring the fact that I haven’t brought a girl home since I was fifteen. Geraldine fooling herself that she could save her marriage. It all just feels … horrible. Even when people have the best of intentions, things seem to get screwed up.’
‘Not always,’ I reply, wanting to rescue him from his doldrums. ‘And loving someone … well, it’s not a curse. It’s a blessing. It just doesn’t always feel that way.’
‘I’ve never been in love,’ he announces. ‘Not properly. Infatuated, yes – but not in love the way you and Joe were. And I’ve never been a parent, so I can’t pretend to understand why your mum did what she did. But the way I feel right now, it seems like the safest way to live is without complications.’
I think about what he’s said, and understand it. I can see that from his perspective, it’s logical – but life isn’t logical. Feelings definitely aren’t. And love defies all attempts at reason. I know Joe loved me. I know my mother loved me – but they both had very different ways of showing it.
‘I have a letter from her, you know,’ I say, reaching for my bag.
‘Who? Your mum?’
‘Yep. She’d left it with the lawyer, to be opened after her death.’
‘What does it say?’
‘I have no idea. I haven’t quite had the courage to read it. I’m angry with her, but … I miss her. She was the centre of my life for a long time. She was my mum. It’s only being here with you guys, chasing after someone I might never even find, that’s stopped me dropping off the edge of an emotional cliff. Do you think I should read it?’
I take the envelope from my bag, and hold it in my hands like it’s made of nitroglycerine.
He frowns, and answers: ‘I wanted to come up with some clever analogy about bears and popes and woods or what have you, but I’m too tired. Yes, though. I do. I think just carrying it around with you is weird. I think you and your parents have a long track record of not reading things that demand to be read. I think the time for that should be gone, don’t you? You can’t hurt her, she’s dead. She obviously wanted you to see it, so yes. Read the bloody letter.’
I nod, and take it from its smart white envelope, and unfurl the pages. My mother’s perfectly neat, perfectly controlled handwriting stares up at me, and my eyes swim with tears.
Michael looks over my shoulder, and together, we read.
Chapter 25
10 January, 2010
Dear Jessica,
This all feels a little dramatic, like something from one of those spy movies your dad used to watch on a Sunday afternoon, but if you’re reading this then I must presume I am no longer with you. Your father passed away a few months ago, which called for a visit to the solicitor, and for me to get my affairs in order.
I have no clear idea of what I want to say, but mainly it is this – I love you. You were the delight of my life, my bright, imaginative girl. I always wanted more children, but it wasn’t to be – and I consoled myself with the fact that if I was only to have one, at least it was the best child a mother could have hoped for.
I love you so much. These are words we rarely say in our home, and that makes me sad. So many lost opportunities to say what is most important to us.
I also want to say that I am sorry, for this and for many other things. You never really knew your grandparents on my side, and now is not the time to dig up the dead, but Rosemary and I were raised in a household where my father’s word was law, and any infringements were severely punished. I have had my faults as a mother, but I never laid a hand on you, and neither did your father – because I experienced too much of that as a child.
It wasn’t by any means unusual in those days. My father was a military man, as you know, and we moved around from base to base, our own family unit, with our own dark secrets.
Perhaps it is no coincidence that both Rosemary and I married men who were so very controlled. Your father was never a violent man, but he always believed he was right – and perhaps that gave me a sense of security.
You, though, were different. You wanted the opposite. You wanted to be shaken, you wanted to be stirred, you wanted so much more than the small, safe world we had planned for you. Again, I don’t think your choice of man was coincidence – Joe was as wild and free as you, the very opposite of your father. You were always so very brave, and that terrified me. I knew how cruel the world could be and wanted to protect you.