Selma
Kent, UK
15 May 1992
I checked my face in my little compact mirror, smoothing more concealer under my eyes. I looked ragged, which was no surprise considering I’d given birth just a few weeks before. At least my stomach was more easily covered now, even if it hadn’t returned to its previous form.
I peered behind me, looking towards where Catherine was sleeping in Idris’s arms as he looked down at her in awe. I had to go see Becky as it was her last day in Queensbay. I wanted to see her, of course I did, but this was the first time I’d left Catherine alone. It made me feel sick, frantic even. But I couldn’t let Becky down.
I took a deep breath and headed to the café. Becky was waiting at a table with Mike, reading a magazine as Mike talked on a mobile phone. So much for being made redundant. He must have got the promotion he’d always wanted with the move to Busby-on-Sea, a guaranteed work phone part of the package. Social services wouldn’t blink an eye if I were still with him. In fact, we’d be ideal parents. But now I was the worst kind of parent according to the authorities, living in a cold, damp cave with no money and an unemployed partner.
I clenched my fists. Stop the negative thoughts. The darkness was hovering above, a stormy cloud waiting to burst. I was working hard at keeping it at bay, focusing on my love for my girls. And today was all about Becky. She was growing all the time, taller now and becoming less the little girl I remembered. Sun filtered in through a window, creating the effect of a halo over her head. She looked healthy, fit.
Would Catherine look like that in eight years’ time? She wouldn’t be afforded the luxuries Becky had: four walls and a secure roof over her head. Three square meals a day. Baby classes. Pre-school. Soft play and regular ice creams. It wasn’t just the money. I couldn’t have social services knowing about Catherine so we’d have to spend a lot of time hidden away until we got enough money to leave the UK for Spain, and that wasn’t looking likely. To make matters worse, Catherine had a little cough, no doubt caused by living in that godforsaken cave.
A woman looked up sharply as I entered. Panic flickered inside. What if it was a social worker spying on me? What if Mike had set me up?
I went to back away but then the woman stood up and walked to the counter, putting an apron on.
She wasn’t a social worker, she worked at the café.
Of course she wasn’t a social worker.
I took a deep breath as I walked forward, making sure my coat was buttoned up over my stomach. Mike frowned when he saw me. Could he sense I’d had a child?
‘Hello darling,’ I said when I got to Becky.
Becky peered up, a bored expression on her face. ‘Hi Mum.’
Mum. She used to call me Mummy.
Mike stood up. ‘You look tired, Selma.’
‘I’ve been ill, remember?’ I replied, voice trembling slightly. ‘That’s why I haven’t been able to meet up the past few weeks. I didn’t want Becky to get it.’
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Mike asked, a concerned expression on his face. ‘Maybe we should rearrange? We’ll be back in a couple of weeks.’
‘Yeah, I don’t mind,’ Becky said, sticking out her chin defiantly.
‘No, of course not,’ I said. ‘I want to see my girl.’
‘I’ll be sitting outside, making a call,’ Mike said. ‘I have some work to do so thought I’d do it looking out to sea. Got to make the most of these last hours in Queensbay.’ He looked at me sadly then kissed Becky on the forehead before walking out of the café, strolling to a bench just a few metres away.
Why was he staying so close? Didn’t he trust me? What if he was spying on me from that bench for social services?
‘You’re acting weird.’ Becky’s voice cut through my fears.
I turned to her, forcing a smile. ‘Just tired, that’s all.’
‘You always say that when you’re lying.’
I took her cold hands between mine. ‘So tell me everything! How was your Easter? Are you excited about moving? I’ll plan something fun for when I see you in two weeks, a whole day of it.’
Becky moved her hands out from under mine and dropped her gaze. ‘Easter was all right. We spent most of it with Cynthia and the twins.’
I frowned. ‘You seem to be spending a lot of time with them.’
‘She has a swimming pool,’ Becky said, shrugging. ‘Anyway, she’s cool.’
I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of jealousy. ‘I can’t stand the woman personally.’
Becky’s face hardened. ‘I like Cynthia. She’s a really good mum.’
I blinked. ‘Really? That surprises me.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s always struck me as being a bit competitive, one of those stage mums, you know?’ I tried to get the waitress’s attention. I needed a coffee.
‘At least she cares,’ Becky spat.
I looked back at her in surprise. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Becky crossed her arms and looked away. ‘Nothing.’
The waitress came over. ‘What can I get you?’ she asked.
‘We’re not ready yet,’ I snapped. The waitress gave me a look then walked away. I leaned towards Becky. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I repeated.
Becky sighed and turned back to me. ‘You’re just not much of a mum, you know?’
I flinched back, like Becky had slapped me.
‘I mean, when’s the last time I saw you?’ Becky asked. ‘Four months ago or something.’
‘Two,’ I said. ‘I told you, I’ve been ill!’
‘Yeah, you keep saying that. Whatever.’
‘What’s with this attitude all of a sudden? Where’s my little girl gone?’
‘Where’s my mum gone?’ Becky shouted.
The café went silent, people looking up from their plates. We both glared at each other. Then Becky pushed her chair away from the table and stood up. Tears started gathering in her eyes.
‘You’re rubbish! You bloody left us, Mum. Just left us for a hippy and a smelly cave! Mums don’t do that!’
‘I had to,’ I said in a quiet voice. ‘I – I felt trapped. Not by you, not even by your dad. But me! I was trapped by me, by these feelings I get. I love you.’ I started to sob. ‘More than you could ever know. Please believe me, Becky.’
I went to grab her hand but Becky took a step away. ‘Dad says you don’t really know what love is.’ She angrily wiped her tears away. ‘I agree with him. You don’t think like other people. All the lies you tell … I know you’ve told some to me. Like you being ill, what rubbish. I know you’ll just go and have another kid, that’s what I heard Cynthia say to Dad. You’ll have another kid with Idris and you’ll forget about me and you know what? I don’t really care, not for me anyway. But what about the poor kid?’ She grabbed her backpack, looking down at me with hard eyes. ‘That poor kid won’t have a chance, at least I get to escape you.’ Then she ran out of the café and into her dad’s arms.
I stayed where I was, breath a thunder in my ears, my eight-year-old daughter’s words echoing in my heart and my soul, over and over. Maybe she was right.
That poor kid won’t have a chance.
I didn’t return to the cave straight after the incident with Becky. Instead, I walked to a patch of beach where I used to take her when I was on maternity leave. It was in the opposite direction to the cave, ten minutes’ walk from the house, in between Queensbay and Margate. It wasn’t as busy as the other beaches in the town as the sand wasn’t as white, nor as smooth. Instead, there were small rock pools and pebbles. I used to go as a child, my father skimming stones across the waves. It made me happy.
Or at least it used to.
I stepped onto the beach, feeling the familiar crunch of pebbles, imagining Becky wrapped up against my chest, the sight of her blonde hair in wisps as they lifted in the wind. I used to love holding Becky as a baby there, close to my chest in a cold coastal breeze. I used to imagine this beach as mine and Becky’s private little world, even telling her we’d get a tent and set up there in the summer. Not that Becky understood, she was so young. But she’d still smile and look up at me with those happy blue eyes of hers.
Why hadn’t I fought harder to keep Becky in my world? I’d wanted to escape the wider world, but it shouldn’t have been just about me. It should have been wrapped up in Becky as well. If Becky couldn’t come, then I shouldn’t have gone. Sure, I’d gone to court to fight for her. But after, I’d given up so easily. What mother does that?
‘Well this is a surprise.’
I froze. I’d recognise that voice anywhere.
It was my mother.