Fourteen

 

‘Why are you out of breath?’ Seph asked, hugging her mum hello.

Laurel stood back and blew a puff of air upwards from her mouth. ‘I was up in the attic.’ She brushed a strand of hair back. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

Seph didn’t reply as she closed the front door behind her. She’d woken up that morning with an irritable feeling swarming in her belly and had known instantly there was no chance of getting any work done. How could she possibly be confined within the walls of her studio when everything had changed? She had a whole other family, a sister, and a completely different heritage.

She’d barely slept through the night since coming back from France as it was, but after meeting Nico, she’d only managed three to four hours a night. She’d toss and turn, her mind unable to settle. One minute, she’d be buzzing with excitement, her skin literally tingling as she imagined herself on a plane to Crete to see where Nico came from, where her roots came from. And the next minute, her belly would burn with sickening anxiety over having to tell her parents that she’d met him. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to tell them. It was impossible to do anything that required even the tiniest bit of focus until she did.

Seph hung her satchel on the post at the bottom of the stairs before crouching down to pick up Taro. He extended his paws, his sharp claws reaching out in protest. He loved climbing up into people’s laps and being stroked but had always hated being picked up. Seph held him close anyway and looked through to the living room.

‘Where’s Dad?’

‘At the garage getting the car MOT’d. He’ll be back soon. Cuppa?’

Seph shook her head. ‘I’m trying to lay off the caffeine.’

She was a coffee addict but, in combination with her minimal sleep pattern, it was starting to take its toll. Her nerves constantly felt jangled and on edge.

The washing machine beeped from the alcove under the stairs and after reaching down to switch it off, Laurel disappeared into the kitchen for the laundry basket. Seph stayed in the hallway, leaning against the wall with Taro in her arms, trying to relax into the familiarity of the house. Coats were hung on the wall hooks and the air diffuser her mum always kept on the windowsill by the door provided a subtle scent of jasmine. Seph stroked Taro’s neck and stared at the pink light streaming onto the stairs through the stained glass panels in the front door.

‘You alright, love?’ Laurel asked, coming back into the hallway with a plastic laundry basket in her hands.

Seph nodded as her mum opened the washing machine door and started pulling the clothes out. She was hit by a sudden memory of running into the house aged six, sweaty and tired after playing outside in the sun. Her mum had been in front of the machine, filling the basket with freshly laundered clothes, just like she was now.

‘I met up Nico,’ Seph blurted out. ‘Two days ago.’

Laurel stopped what she was doing for such a small fraction of a second that, if she’d have blinked, Seph might have missed it. Seph kept her eyes on her as she continued pulling the clothes out of the machine.

‘Oh,’ Laurel said.

In the memory of her six-year-old self, she’d leaned on her mum’s back, throwing her arms around her neck for no reason other than it had felt good. Seph looked at her mum now, crouched in front of the machine over two decades later, dressed in her same Saturday uniform of a plain T-shirt and jeans. The need to hug her was as strong now as it had been then. 

Laurel’s response to the news had sounded underwhelming, but Seph knew it was because she was hurt. She pushed her back into the wall to stop herself from fulfilling her need to hug her mum because, despite talking things through on the phone, there was still a gap between them. It was barely perceptible but it was there, and it was swallowing up the places where their frequent hugs used to be.

Laurel said nothing more as she picked up the basket and disappeared into the kitchen again. Seph followed and watched as she went out into the back garden, methodically hanging up T-shirts, shorts, jeans and skirts under the beating sun. Taro lay uncharacteristically still in her arms, as if he knew better than to disturb whatever was about to go down. Seph decided to change tack as her mum walked back to the house with a passive face.

‘So,’ she said, rubbing a finger between Taro’s ears, ‘what were you doing up in the attic?’

‘Clearing stuff out, getting rid of old crap,’ Laurel replied. She looked up towards the ceiling and dropped her shoulders before sighing. She turned to Seph with a look of resignation. ‘Come on.’

Seph put Taro down and followed her mum out into the hallway. ‘What for?’

Laurel didn’t reply as they headed upstairs, or while they climbed up the creaky ladder into the attic. The two light bulbs hanging from the central ceiling joist filled the space with brightness. She’d been terrified of the attic as a little girl, mostly because it seemed like a place where things went to die. Like those red roller-skates peeking out from a box. She’d got them one year for Christmas and had been so excited that she’d put them on and gone in circles around in the living room until she’d made herself so dizzy she’d almost thrown up. She hadn’t thought about that memory in years. There was so much stuff up here, so many belongings that had once been a part of their lives. She wasn’t a kid anymore but still, a shudder of unease ran down her spine. Seph wasn’t one for clutter. When things weren’t needed anymore, they were taken to the charity shop or recycled. 

Seph followed her mum to the far end of the attic where Laurel handed her a bag of Tony’s ancient golf clubs. As her mum began rifling through a box, Seph quickly set the clubs down. She could almost see the apprehension emanating from Laurel’s body and had a feeling there was a reason this box had been stashed away in such a difficult to get to place.

‘I wasn’t sure whether to give you these, but now you’ve met him.’ Laurel turned and handed her a photo album bound in cream leather. ‘You said you wanted to know where you come from.’

Curiosity peeked up in Seph’s head. Every milestone of her life had been photo-documented, from her first time using the potty to her first school disco. Her mum had an almost emotional attachment to photos, so it was strange for any to be left up here gathering dust.

Seph sat down and crossed her legs, pushing out tiny plumes of dust from the floor. She eagerly opened the album to see a photograph of a young girl. It was old – probably from the eighties given the high-waisted jeans, bandeau top and leather jacket she was wearing. All of her clothes were black and her lips were streaked bright red, pouting with defiance. Dark shades covered her eyes and a chin-length blonde bob framed her face. Seph studied the photograph for a few more seconds before looking up at her mum.

‘Is this you?’

The total shock in her voice seemed to diffuse the atmosphere a little and Laurel’s mouth relaxed into something like a smile.

‘I was eighteen,’ she replied, sitting down next to Seph on the floor.

‘Wow.’ She shook her head, looking at the picture again. ‘You look so different.’

Her mum had never looked like this before. Laurel was stylish and always dressed well, but she had a definite mumsy air about her and Seph was sure she’d never seen her wear lipstick before, let alone anything resembling bright red. The girl in the photo exuded confidence that Seph had never seen in her mum. She looked like the kind of girl who would have once been described as a siren. Everything about the photo oozed sex appeal. Seph turned to the next picture, another of Laurel sitting on a wall, taken in profile.

‘You look like a bit like Madonna,’ she said.

‘Oh, give over. I look nothing like her. I was always trying to get the Kim Wilde look. Madonna wasn’t my cup of tea.’

Seph found herself smiling as she leafed through the album. It was like stepping back in time, with the dodgy perms, geometric patterns and awful fashion until she turned the page and saw Nico. Seph stared at it, as shocked as she had been with the picture of her mum. He looked like a cheekier version of Tom Cruise, just like her mum had said. She tried to picture him and her mum together, walking down the street. They must have made one intimidatingly good-looking couple.

Did her mum see the similarities between herself and Nico, too? She must do. How could anyone miss the dark, inquisitive eyes, or their highly arched eyebrows. And now Seph had seen it in Nico, she realised where she got the slight tilt to her mouth from, the one that sometimes made it look like she was sneering, even when she wasn’t. It was a physical attribute that had often got her into trouble.

‘When was this taken?’ she asked.

‘Just after I’d moved to London with him, so 1987. The end of summer.’

‘What’s the story behind it?’

Seph looked at her, hoping she’d share it. Laurel always told the story behind photographs, what had happened in the moments before and after, why she’d felt the need to take it, her feelings about it. Her memories.

‘Well,’ Laurel began with a small sigh, ‘it was a happy day. One of the best, actually. We went for a drink at a pub somewhere on the Thames and sat in the beer garden for hours. It wasn’t long after I’d moved.’

‘Did you miss home?’ Seph asked, making herself more comfortable and settling down for the story, just like she had as a little girl. ‘You always said you never really liked London.’

‘Not then. Back then it was exciting and, as far as I was concerned, it was the Promised Land. Everywhere I looked there was something new. It was an inspiring place to be.’

Seph flicked through the rest of the album hoping for more stories, but there were only photographs of herself as a baby.

‘There’s none of you two together,’ she said when she got to the end.

Laurel shook her head.

‘Why?’

‘I only ever took one and he ripped it up, so I never took another.’

‘Was he violent?’

‘No, never. He was just unpredictable and changeable.’

Seph closed the album. ‘You haven’t asked me what he’s like now.’

‘I don’t need to. I already know him, remember.’

‘But it’s been years since you last saw him. Aren’t you even a little bit curious?’

‘No.’

‘Did George like him?’

The question came out before she’d even really thought about it. She’d always looked up to her uncle, but didn’t know why it should matter what his opinion of Nico had been.

‘No,’ Laurel replied eventually. ‘He didn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘They’d never really got on. Nico didn’t like George’s lifestyle and George always thought I could do better. He was right in the end. I was much better off without him. We were much better off without him.’

Seph’s eyebrows pinched together. Why did that sound so familiar? She looked down at the album cover trying to follow the trail of unease uncurling in her mind. And then she remembered Nico’s email. Seph put the album down and picked her phone from her jeans.

‘That’s so weird, Nico said the same thing in his email. He said you were right about us being better off without him.’

Seph scrolled through her emails until she found the one she was looking for – the one she knew by heart, word for word. 

‘…your mum was right. As hard as it is to admit it, you have been better off without me.’

Seph looked at her mum’s face and caught a flicker of trepidation.

‘When did you last speak to him?’ she asked.

Laurel got up from the floor, dusted her jeans down and tutted as if Seph were being silly. ‘What? What kind of question is that?’

Something about her mum’s voice told her that it was exactly the kind of question she should be asking. Seph picked up the album and scrambled up from the floor.

‘Mum?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘When did you last speak to him?’

Laurel didn’t answer and Seph quickly followed her down from the attic. She still waited for an answer as they tramped down the stairs, through the living room and into the kitchen. Despite Laurel’s silence, and maybe even because of it, Seph began to seriously question if her mum’s story of Nico never being heard of again after disappearing all those years ago, was really true. There was something about the way she was acting…it made Seph think that his surprise email hadn’t been such a surprise after all - at least not for her mum.

Seph watched her as she picked up a damp dishcloth and began wiping down the already clean surfaces. Frustration boiled inside her until she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

‘Mum!’

‘What?’ Laurel snapped, throwing the cloth down on the side. ‘What do you want me to say?’

‘I just want the truth.’

Seph had never seen her mum’s eyes blaze so fiercely before. Her lips were thin, as if she were fighting to contain an explosion brewing inside. For a few seconds, they stood facing each other in charged silence until Laurel sighed so deeply, it was as if she’d pulled it up from the earth’s core with her bare hands. She leaned against the counter and scrubbed her hands over her eyes.

‘The truth…’ she said. ‘The truth is that he turned up a few months ago. He wanted to meet me. To ask about seeing you.’

Seph’s jaw dropped. ‘A few months ago?’ She screwed her eyebrows together, shaking her head. ‘You said you hadn’t heard from him since he left.’

Now she understood why her mum hadn’t asked for details about him. Why would she, when she already knew exactly how he’d turned out?

Laurel sighed. ‘I wanted to tell you, but you were so under pressure with your exhibition.’

‘Who gives a fuck about work compared to something like this, Mum? This is my life we’re talking about.’

It was the very same excuse her parents and George had used to explain why they’d kept his diagnosis a secret from her for weeks. They hadn’t wanted it to interfere with her coursework, as if turning in a project meant anything in comparison.

‘For God’s sake, Mum. Don’t you think I should’ve known the minute he got in touch?’

‘It’s not that easy, Seph. You’ve been so stressed out, you were a mess. You collapsed for heaven’s sake. I thought you were on the verge of a burnout. I didn’t want to add anything to it, especially when I didn’t even know for sure that he’d actually contact you.’

‘Why wouldn’t he?’

‘I’ve already told you, he’s unpredictable like that.’

‘Here we go with the bipolar thing again.’

‘Seph, people don’t just change overnight, no matter how much we wish they might.’

‘It’s not overnight, it’s been twenty-seven years.’

‘Oh, I suppose he tried to convince you that he’s a new man now, is that what you’re saying?’

Seph shook her head, flinching at the acidic edge in her mum’s voice. ‘He hasn’t tried to convince me of anything.’

Laurel laughed dryly. ‘Sounds about right. That was always his speciality. He never was one for trying. Putting things off when they got too heavy, turning his back when things got real, being unable to handle a family, that was more his style. He hasn’t even tried to convince you to give him a chance but you’re doing it anyway. Some things never change.’

She spat the words out before turning to pick up the cloth and scrubbed the worktop so hard it looked like she was trying to rub a hole in it. Maybe she was trying to wipe away the huge black splotches she seemed intent on inflicting on their family.

‘Maybe he didn’t tell you while you were having your little heart to heart behind my back, but he can handle a family. He has a wife now, and a daughter. I have a sister. So it looks like he doesn’t walk away from everything after all. Maybe it wasn’t him that was the problem. Maybe it was you.’

Laurel flinched and stopped wiping but she didn’t turn around. Seph’s entire body was flushed hot with rage and even though she was absolutely certain that she had every right to be furious, she knew she’d just crossed a line. She’d said something that could never be taken back.

Laurel looked up at the ceiling. ‘You’ll never know him how I did, Seph. But if you want to try then go ahead.’ She went back to scrubbing the worktop, her elbow jerking backwards and forwards. ‘Be my guest.’

She sounded so bitter. So wounded, still, even after all these years. Why couldn’t she just let it go? Why did her mum have to keep making things worse? Seph stalked out of the kitchen with the photo album under her arm. She had nothing else to say that her mum would want to hear and even if she did, anger was constricting her throat so much it was difficult to talk. She picked up her bag from the bottom of the stairs and left the house, letting the door slam behind her.

She hated this. She hated the fact they were fighting, that she was storming out again with anger multiplying like bacteria between them. Why couldn’t her mum have just been honest from the start, instead of making out like she was someone who couldn’t handle the truth?

Seph walked as quickly as she could. It was the weekend of the Oxley village fete and the street was lined with colourful bunting, fluttering in the summer breeze. The air smelled of barbecued sausages and candyfloss. Seph kept her eyes down to the ground as she approached the war memorial in the central square. It was packed with stalls selling rubbish that nobody needed, and people wandering around eating ice cream with their faces tilted up to the sun as if they didn’t have a care in the world. She didn’t want to look at them. The sight of them all, so happy and content inexplicably made her even angrier than before. A man walking his cocker spaniel approached her and his smile made her want to punch him in the face, right between the eyes, because she was not relaxed, or happy, or even anywhere close. And then she felt sick for even thinking it, because she’d never do something like that. Seph clamped her jaws together to hold in the tears building with every step as the man and his dog walked past, her nerves jangling, as if someone were poking her with a stick over and over again, trying to find her breaking point.

She quickly hurried away from the square towards the train station. Maybe Ben could meet her at King’s Cross. She needed to talk this out, to make sure she wasn’t going crazy by expecting her mum to have told her about Nico making contact months ago. She needed to know that she wasn’t overreacting, that it was totally acceptable to feel this way. Seph took her phone from her pocket and her heart sank as she saw the WhatsApp message on her lock screen.

Ben: Got a last min stand in gig in Cannes, big bucks! Meeting up with Clara and co. to sort it all out, leave on Tues. See you later tonight xxx

Seph thought back to that night in Passing Clouds when Clara had caressed his neck in that intimate way. It had made her feel sick. And now she felt like disintegrating into a puddle of water on the pavement because, ever since then, the idea of Ben spending any time alone with Clara made her head spin. It had been bad enough knowing they’d shared a cramped camper van in Tangiers, her mind playing images of the two of them pressed up against each other in a tiny, intimate space. Now she had to handle the news that they’d be going away together again.

Seph threw her phone back in her bag. Her pulse thudded in her neck as she walked towards the station. This wasn’t news she could cope with right now. Her mind was already running on overtime as it was, whirring with a million and one thoughts about her mum, dad and Nico, not to mention her exhibition. And now she had to think about Ben and Clara too. Seph shook her head as she crossed the road. She had to calm down. She was being silly, she knew she was. Her mind just needed to slow so that she could collect and regroup her thoughts. She needed to breathe.

She laughed at herself, trying to trick her mind into feeling better, but it didn’t work. Panic pushed her heartbeat faster and faster, which made her breathing shallower and her thoughts more jumbled. Seph looked up at the station sign ahead. The urge to stop in the middle of the street and scream until she couldn’t scream anymore was so strong that it felt like vibrations welling up in her legs. She tucked her head down and walked faster. She would be fine. She just had to get home.