Rosie pointed out of her side of the car window. ‘There’s Mrs E.’

When Mira spotted us, she stopped, parked her shopping basket on the camber and waved. Rosie waved back.

Resisting the urge to slap Rosie’s hand down, I sped on down the hill towards the station. Through the rear-view mirror, I could see Mira turn to watch us go. Had she really expected me to stop for a little chat?

As soon as Rosie and I were standing on the train platform, hand in hand, I stopped seething about Mira and I felt a surge of eagerness and delight at the prospect of sitting in the auditorium with Rosie to watch the musical show, which my mother would think terribly lowbrow, a fact that added to my glee.

We found two table seats on the carriage and sat down opposite each other with two hot chocolates in paper cups.

I looked at her and saw how grown-up she was. Her white shirt was buttoned up to the neck, like the girls in the fashion magazines, and the necklace Peter and I had given her for Christmas rested on her collar. I was starry-eyed with pride. Without the stresses and distractions of daily life, I understood how I had lost sight of how fast she was growing up. I couldn’t believe we had never been to London together before, just the two of us.

‘Tell me about school. What’s the latest?’

I had wanted to know about her friends. Or teachers. Or books she was reading.

‘I got thirty out of thirty in my spelling test, and a silver medal for the times table competition.’

Knowing she had wanted a gold medal, I mustered up some enthusiasm to say, ‘Well done, darling! That is wonderful.’

---

‘I only didn’t get gold because stupid Edmund distracted me. He says girls aren’t good at maths.’ She rolled her eyes to the heavens.

‘That’s annoying of Edmund. Was he told off?’ I said, possibly too aggressively, fighting the desire to get my phone out and email the school about this irritating Edmund who ruined Rosie’s chances of a gold medal.

‘Mum, don’t you dare talk to the teachers.’ Her blue eyes flashed.

‘I won’t, but it isn’t very good that he got away with that.’

‘He didn’t!’ she cried. ‘This is why I never tell you stuff. You just stress me out and then cause a fuss at school and then it is just so embarrassing!’

Oh God, I thought, reel it in, calm down, put your own shit aside, Gemma. I talked myself down from my default competitive mode.

I imagined a tantrum in this full train carriage. She didn’t often have tantrums in public, suggesting she had more control over herself than we gave her credit for. But she did have them. Her last public display of fury had been in the summer of this year. We had been enjoying a game of rounders on the recreational ground in the glittering sunshine. Before the game, Rosie had been edgy and moody. Rounders had been an idea to snap her out of it. When Noah had hit the ball into the hedges, Rosie had ordered him to get it for her, and I had reminded her that as a fielder it was her job to get the ball while Noah ran. She refused. I became insistent. She had thrown herself down onto the grass and rolled around, wailing in that high-pitched way. Her screams had echoed around the grounds. Dog walkers frowned, children stopped on their scooters to stare, mothers with prams stole sideways glances, families on their picnic rugs chewed on their sandwiches pretending it wasn’t happening, until I dragged her home by the arm, feeling rumpled, aggravated and humiliated.

The train carriage was relatively quiet. I imagined her losing her temper; the day ruined before it had started. Strangers had little tolerance for noisy children, and even less tolerance for bad parents.

I would do everything to make every second of her day happy today. If it came to it, I had her iPod in my handbag for emergencies.

‘Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to stress you out. I absolutely promise not to talk to the teachers. You are an absolute superstar for getting silver.’

Rosie dropped her chin onto the palm of her hand and slumped towards the window, her mouth down-turned, her eyes barely registering the landscape that shot by outside the window.

I was panicking. How could I bring her back? When she descended into this kind of a mood, it could be impossible to get her out of it. Her eyelids would hood and her shoulders would round and her answers would become monosyllabic.

Then she said, ‘The new boy, Ben, is really cool, you know. He is literally like the funniest boy I have ever met.’

‘Oh, yeah? Is he handsome too?’

‘Muuuum!’ She rolled her eyes and looked around her self-consciously. ‘I didn’t mean in that way,’ she said, but I could see she was blushing.

She was back. Her small smile was like finding a gemstone in mud. If I could keep a cool head, there would be no reason for her to tantrum.

‘What does he say that’s funny?’

‘He just is. Like Daddy when he says, “Answers on a postcard”, Ben says, like, “Talk to the hand.”’ Rosie giggled, blushing more.

‘That’s quite funny,’ I chuckled, enjoying her amusement.

And she began to talk more about this boy, Ben, and how he had asked every pretty girl in the class out except her, which his friend said was because he liked her best. She talked ten to the dozen; a long-winded, wonderful, barely intelligible story about how Charlotte and the other girls in her class were vying for his attention. Her eyes lit up and her hands gesticulated wildly and she overused the slang ‘I was, like...’ and ‘awesome’, which I studiously ignored. I assumed the whole carriage was listening and watching her with awe, impressed and charmed by this funny and enthusiastic child, so full of life and intelligence, and I listened hard to the details so that I could respond well.

‘What did Charlotte do when Noah laughed at your joke?’

‘Oh, she didn’t talk to me for the rest of the day.’ She crossed her arms over her chest.

‘Is everything okay between you and Charlotte?’

‘Yes, Mum! I know you don’t like her but she’s so, so, so nice, you know.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I just can’t believe you don’t believe me,’ she cried, defensively.

Again, the knife edge.

‘I really do believe you. I think Charlotte can be very lovely when she tries. I’m only responding to what you were telling me. It’s not very nice to ignore someone for a whole day.’

‘That was just one day. The rest of the time she is my best, best friend.’

‘Good. I’m glad you two get on so well.’

‘We do,’ she said, staring out of the window again.

We didn’t talk very much more for the rest of the journey. Plainly, she was still hurt by my scepticism about Charlotte. I didn’t push it this time. It had been a breakthrough to hear her talk about the social dynamics in her class, and the boy scandals. Slowly, slowly I would try to win her trust again over the day. Today was going to be a turning point. Miranda Slater’s patronising letter – all crumpled and stained – would gather dust, that much I knew.

There was a buzz outside the theatre as we queued to get in. I bought her candyfloss and a souvenir key-ring. I clutched her hand to keep her safe in the throng of the theatre audience. Despite the many decades I had grown up and lived in London, I was nervous in the city with her. She was a country girl, ill-equipped to negotiate the pace of city crowds.

During the musical I stole glances at her face: gripped, enthralled, absorbed. After the performance, we had shared a huge ice cream at Fortnum and Masons.

In the taxi on the way back to the train station, she snuggled up to me.

‘I think we should do this again soon, don’t you?’ I enfolded her in my arms.

The enticing lights of a city nightlife outside of the taxi window was a world I had no desire to be a part of while I had my daughter nestled next to me.

‘That was literally the best day of my whole life,’ she said. My stomach flipped over with surprise and love.

---

The train station was peppered with drunks and rowdy groups of revellers, and that same sense of insecurity came back to me about Rosie’s safety.

‘Keep up with me darling,’ I said, pulling her arm. ‘Come on, or we’ll miss the eight o’clock.’

‘Can I get a magazine?’

‘No, no, darling, we don’t have time.’

‘Please, Mum, I can get it with my own money?’

Feeling the creep of tiredness, I relented, knowing it would give me some time to read the newspaper if she was occupied.

‘Okay, quickly, we only have ten minutes.’

Just before we got to the checkout, she said, ‘Actually, Mum, I think I want the National Geographic one instead.’

‘Go on, then, quickly.’

I watched her go while I kept our place in the queue. She disappeared into the aisle where the children’s magazines were shelved. The seconds were ticking by towards eight. I let a suited man go in front of me.

And then a couple more minutes went by. I left the queue, my heart began to flutter out of rhythm as I made my way to the magazine aisle, expecting to see her knelt down, sifting through the bottom shelf, indecisive. The aisle was empty. I ran to the end, looking left and right frantically, right along the soft drinks section, left along the bestseller shelves. She was nowhere to be seen. My pulse throbbed in my throat and my head spun.

‘Rosie!’ I screeched. Strangers stared at me with a mixture of concern and suspicion.

‘Rosie! Rosie!’ I ran outside. ‘I’ve lost my daughter!’ I cried helplessly as I scanned the criss-cross of humans.

I ran back into the shop, and rushed towards an official person in purple uniform and described Rosie to him.

‘I didn’t see anyone.’ He rubbed at his a fuzzy moustache and looked at me blankly.

‘What do I do? Who do I talk to?’

‘Err.’ He looked to his equally gormless colleague.

‘I could check in the storeroom?’

‘What? Oh Jesus, what the hell would she be doing in the storeroom?’ I shouted, losing my composure. I ran out of the shop.

The various signs dotted around the train station blurred as I looked for an official person to talk to.

The information desk was at the other end of the station. By the time I got there, I was panting and I breathlessly bombarded the young woman with my garbled description of Rosie. Immediately she was on the tannoy. An echoey, electronic voice ricocheted around the station.

The wait was almost unendurable. A few minutes later, the crowds pushed out little Rosie. She ran towards me smiling, holding two magazines in the air.

‘I lost you, Mummy!’ she cried. A young woman in a purple uniform waved her away.

Relief didn’t register immediately.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ I yelled, gripping her shoulders.

Her face crumpled, ‘The girl in the shop got me another one from the cupboard. It’s for Charlotte.’ The pages of two National Geographic Kids magazines flopped open from her fingers.

‘Never ever, ever leave me like that again. Do you hear?’ I shouted, shaking my finger right up to her nose. A woman passing us frowned at me.

‘But you said...’

‘I didn’t say you could go wandering off without telling me, did I? You silly, silly girl!’ I was overreacting. She had been out of my sight for seven minutes. She was back safe. Let it go, I thought.

‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she said, tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘Oh, Rosie,’ I said, squeezing her too tightly to me. ‘It’s okay now,’ I said. ‘It’s over. You’re okay. Sorry I got cross. I was just in a panic.’

During the journey, the mood between us was forced. I was feeling low, although I was trying hard to hide it. I willed the train to go faster.

On the cold and foggy walk from the platform to the car park, I held her hand, which was floppy in mine.

‘Can I have my iPod?’ she asked as she belted herself into her seat at the back. Usually she would sit up at the front with me.

‘No, darling.’

‘Please?’

‘No, you can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s only five minutes until we’re home.’

‘So?’

‘So, you don’t need to play a game.’

‘I promise to switch it off as soon as we’re home.’

‘What’s the point?’

‘Please,’ she pleaded, edgy, antagonistic.

Like a dog about to fight, I bristled. ‘No.’

My nerves were frayed. The effort of our day came down on me like a ton of bricks. The surface of our moods had been glassy smooth, but our ongoing troubles lay deeper, churning underneath like a riptide beneath our smiles.

I turned the ignition.

‘Don’t start the car!’ she screeched. ‘Don’t start the car!’

‘Drop it. The answer is no!’ I barked.

‘Please. I just want five minutes. That’s all. What’s the big deal?’

I was entrenched. There was nothing she could say to change my mind. ‘Don’t ruin the lovely day we’ve had together.’

‘I’m not! I just want to play a game. That’s all.’

I clutched the wheel to quell the intense resentment that was worming like a parasite through my flesh. I couldn’t concede defeat. ‘No. And don’t ask me again.’

‘You’re so stupid!’ she screamed at the top of her lungs.

In an aggressive, unsafe manoeuvre, I swerved into a small driveway and slammed on the breaks. The car behind me beeped angrily. I didn’t care. My hands shook as I scrabbled frantically in my handbag for her iPod and I chucked it at her.

‘There you go! There you go, you little brat! I hope it’s worth it.’

‘Ow! It hit my leg.’

‘I try my best. I really do. I try my best to give you everything you want and it still isn’t good enough, is it? Why are you being like this to me? Why? Why?’ I ranted, hitting the steering wheel with one hand over and over again. I hated her. I hated myself. I hated us. There were no tears, just hot-faced loathing.

‘You look funny,’ she laughed.

It took all of my willpower to hold back the venom, to methodically push the handbrake down and pull the car out of the lay-by, to continue home.

‘Do you want to upset me? Is that it?’ I whined, a lump of desperation in my throat. I clicked on the indicator into Virginia Close and the feelings of inadequacy and regret clawed at my insides.

‘I don’t care.’

‘You are insatiable. I give and give and give and nothing is ever good enough.’

‘La, la, la, la, shut up, shut up, shut up,’ she sang from the back.

Anger flooded my bloodstream. In a split second, a mindless, animalistic ferocity took me over. Flipping, I rasped in a deep guttural booming voice, hurting my throat, ‘Go on then! You carry on like that and I’ll never take you on a day out ever, ever again!’

‘I don’t want to anyway. I wish I had a different mummy,’ she yelled, her voice nearer to my ear.

A surge of raw, reciprocal hatred rose up from my gut. My wrath knocked away barriers of intellect or reasoning. I stopped thinking, stopped feeling, stopped pretending, stopped holding back. Uninhibited malevolence shot through my clenched teeth, ‘That’s lucky then, because I’m not your real mummy!’

There was a hefty, savage silence.

My whole body quivered with shock and I grabbed at my throat with one hand as if strangling away the foul words that had already escaped, the car wobbled.

‘Don’t say that,’ she said quietly.

I pulled up outside our gates by the roundabout, too stunned to speak again, too cowardly to turn back to look at her. I wished I had struck her instead. It would have been a lesser blow.

Neither of us moved to get out; an excruciating purgatory.

What had I done? How long I had kept the secret, how successfully, and now the spirits of that secret were howling around my head as though I had opened a chest of demons.

Eleven years ago, the hot flushes, the mood swings, the night sweats and the irregular periods hadn’t been considered abnormal symptoms of coming off the pill. When my periods had stopped completely, the doctor with the ear hair and untrimmed eyebrows had delivered his news, informing me of my diminished ovarian reserve and FSH count of over fifteen, informing me that I would never be able to conceive my own child.

‘There we go then,’ I had said to him across his wide desk.

‘It’s a lot to take in,’ the doctor had said, glancing over at the box of tissues on the mantle as though someone had died.

I had held my breath, holding in the desire to shout at this tweed-suited old man, irritated by his sad smile. Why was he sad, when I wasn’t? I had thought.

The memory was paralysing. Why had I not been sad? My hands were glued to the steering wheel.

Rosie’s deathly whisper punctured my eardrum. ‘It’s not true is it, Mummy?’

Powering my reluctant limbs into action, I climbed out of the car and round to open her door. The ghastliness of her whitened face was as dreadful as anything I had ever witnessed before in my life.

‘Of course it’s not true. I was just angry.’ I bent in to scoop her out of the car, just as I had when she was a baby, her face upturned to mine, the mass of me oppressive. Me, the vile mother. She, the frightened child.

‘You promise?’ she asked, her wide eyes rimmed red in horror.

‘It’s not true! Of course I’m your real mummy,’ I stuttered, the half-truth breaking my heart.

I lifted her up, and her legs encircled me, the weight of her almost bringing me to my knees.

Rosie’s chest heaved against my body in quiet sobs. ‘Why did you say it then?’ she asked, sounding utterly baffled.

‘I was just angry. So, so angry. You know when you’re angry you say things you don’t mean? Like when you say “I hate you, Mummy”, do you mean that when you say it?’

‘No, of course not!’ she cried.

‘And listen,’ I said, burying my head into her neck. Her hair smelled the same as it had from the first ever moment I had held her. ‘I should not have shouted at you like that. It was totally wrong and I am truly, truly sorry. Nobody should ever shout at you like that, whatever you might or might not have done. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ she nodded gravely, adding, ‘And I’m sorry for screaming, too.’ And she broke down again. The poor child would have no choice but to believe me. I was all she had.