Becky
Kent, UK
11 June 2018
Becky’s mum’s funeral is held in a small church not far from the cave where she passed away, sitting atop a cliff with vast views of the sea. The sound of waves whistles through the church’s heavy doors, propped open to provide some solace from the intense heat of the day. There are scores of people there, all of them strangers to Becky … maybe to her mum too. She was a successful writer, a bestseller. People like that attracted temporary acquaintances, hangers-on. There were articles about her death in various newspapers after all.
There are people who care deeply for her mum though. Becky can see it in their faces, especially in the two nervous-looking women who stand up to do poetry readings during the simple service: ‘Remember’ by Christina Rossetti and ‘You’re’ by Sylvia Plath. And that hurts Becky, how distant she was from her mum’s life that she doesn’t know who her closest friends were, and how they don’t seem to know who she is either.
She sighs. She needs to stop dwelling on the ‘what if’s. It was just the way it was between her and her mum and she needs to accept it, just as she needs to accept the lies her mum told – the biggest one of all uttered just before she died: that Becky had a sister. Her dad had been shocked into silence on the phone when she’d told him her mum had passed away. She understood the strange clash of emotions he must have felt: grief for the woman he once loved combined with the hurt from her leaving him, even after all these years.
‘She said something strange before she died,’ Becky had said after breaking the news.
‘Oh yes?’
‘She said she had another daughter … with Idris.’
A pause. ‘No,’ her dad had said eventually. ‘I’d have known.’
‘Exactly.’ She’d taken a deep breath, glad that her dad could reaffirm her own thoughts. ‘The funeral’s a week on Monday.’
‘That was quick.’
‘Her solicitor sorted it all. She gave him instructions. He also confirmed that no other person had been named in the will apart from me. Surely Mum would have left something to another child if I had a sister?’
‘It’s nonsense, Becky. I told you. You know how your mum was.’
‘Yes.’ But something niggled inside.
‘But I’m pleased she left something to you in her will.’
More than ‘something’. Becky had been surprised when the solicitor had told her it would all be left to her. Silly really, as she was her mum’s only living relation after all. It meant she got the whole estate – this house, the London flat, all the items within, and her mum’s savings too. Plus there were the ongoing royalties for her mum’s books. She hadn’t quite figured out what to do with it all yet. She loved her job so couldn’t possibly think of leaving, even though she might be able to afford to now.
‘I still haven’t quite wrapped my head around it,’ Becky had said to her dad. ‘I’ve taken the week off after the funeral to go through all her belongings.’
‘Good. At least you got something out of the relationship.’ He must have regretted saying that as he sighed. ‘She was a good mum, before everything.’
‘Will you come to the funeral then?’
Another pause, another sigh. ‘I can’t, Becky. Cynthia and I have booked a holiday to see her parents in Spain, and you know how ill her father is.’
Becky had tried to hide her disappointment. ‘Okay. I understand.’
Becky pulls at her starchy black dress now and follows everyone outside as the service ends, aware of the flood of bright colours around her. She clearly hadn’t got the memo. She watches as people exchange kisses on cheeks. Dramatic sighs and the slow shaking of heads. Dabbing at tears with silk handkerchiefs.
‘Quite a turnout,’ someone says from behind her. Becky turns to see a woman with long, frizzy grey hair who looks to be in her seventies. ‘You’re Becky, aren’t you?’ the woman asks.
Becky smiles. ‘I am.’
‘Thought so. I recognise you from the photo your mum used to keep in the cave.’
‘You knew her from the cave?’
The woman smiles and puts her hand out. ‘Yes. My name’s Maggie.’
Becky shakes the woman’s hand, noticing grey powder when she takes it away. She wipes it on her dress, leaving a handprint on the black material.
‘Oops, sorry,’ Maggie says, spitting on a tissue and rubbing at the mark. ‘I was in the middle of making a pot with my granddaughter when I noticed the time and had to leave. That’s what happens when you’re in the current.’
‘It’s fine, really, I’m usually covered in dog hairs!’ She frowns. ‘What’s the current?’
‘The flow. The zone.’
Becky nods. She vaguely recalls her mum mentioning something about it. Or maybe it was from one of the school kids? Word had quickly got around about Idris and his ‘followers’ and their strange ways that summer, the fact her mum was part of it all bringing endless embarrassment and teasing for Becky.
‘How long were you there?’ she asks.
‘Almost a year. It was quite something,’ Maggie adds with a wistful sigh.
Becky looks in the direction of the cave. ‘Mum was in the cave when she passed away. She asked me to take her there.’
Maggie puts her hand to her mouth, her grey eyes filling with tears. ‘Was it peaceful?’
Becky nods, trying to contain her own tears. ‘Very.’
‘Poor girl,’ Maggie says, clasping her hand. ‘It must be so difficult for you.’
‘It’s been a shock.’
‘Yes, I imagine.’
‘Is anyone else from the cave here?’ Becky asks, looking around.
‘Not from what I can see. I’ve only kept in touch with a couple of them.’
‘Like Idris?’ Becky asks, voice tensing at his name.
Maggie shakes her head. ‘No, not Idris. Haven’t seen him since I left.’
‘I’m surprised he didn’t show up today.’
‘Me too,’ Maggie sighs. ‘But then they did part rather abruptly, your mum and Idris.’
‘What happened?’
‘I wasn’t there at the time. It’s just what I heard. He upped and went, leaving your mum behind.’
Becky had never learnt the details. All she knew was that the cave’s occupants had all packed up one day, leaving just her mum behind.
‘They argued?’ Becky asks, keen for more details now.
‘I’m not sure. Something must have gone on though. They were so in love. It was hard in those last few weeks …’ Her face darkens. ‘That’s why I had to leave. Though I sometimes wonder if I ever really left, if any of us did,’ she adds, looking towards the cave, her smile returning. Maggie sighs. ‘Oh well, it’s ancient history. I’d rather not go into all that. I’ve worked bloody hard to leave it all behind.’ She looks around her. ‘So where’s your sister then?’
Becky almost stops breathing. ‘Sister?’
‘Yes. I thought she’d be here?’
Becky tries to talk but finds she can’t.
Maggie’s eyes widen. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t know?’ Becky can’t say anything. She just stares into the distance, mind struggling to compute what Maggie has just said. Maggie puts her hand to her mouth. ‘My God. You didn’t.’
‘Mum said something before she died but I presumed she was just delirious from the meds.’ She closes her eyes, suddenly feeling weak.
Maggie senses it, and helps steer her to a bench. A willow tree hangs over, its leaves stirring in the summer breeze. Becky turns to Maggie. ‘Did you meet my sister?’
My sister. There, just like that, another member of her family is formed.
‘I was there when she was born,’ Maggie replied. ‘I left the cave not long after but met your mum again in this very café just before I headed off to the States. That’s where I’ve been all these years, why your mum and I lost touch. Well, I like to blame it on that but, truth is, I simply never got a response to any of my letters to her.’
‘It was definitely her baby? The one you met in the café?’ Becky asks, desperate to keep on track.
‘Yes, definitely. Pretty little thing.’
‘Why didn’t Mum tell me? Tell my dad?’
‘Sweetheart, she’d just lost you in that court battle with your father. There was no chance she could risk social services marching her baby off. They kept her hidden away in that cave and your mum barely went out in those later stages of her pregnancy.’
‘And barely saw me,’ Becky adds. That would explain a lot, how suddenly her mum’s visits dropped off in the months before Becky moved to Busby-on-Sea with her dad.
‘Do you know what happened to the baby?’ Becky asks Maggie.
Maggie shakes her head. ‘Like I said, I lost touch with your mum after that. Maybe social services did catch up with her. Maybe the little mite was adopted?’
Becky thinks back to what her mum said before she died. ‘Mum said something about Idris taking her.’
Maggie’s face darkens. ‘Really? That’s not good. You’d think she’d try to track her daughter down if Idris took her though. She had all that money, probably contacts too.’
‘Do you know where Idris is now?’
‘I heard he went to Spain, to some cave encampment above the hills of Granada. I think he was hoping to start over, build up a brand new group. Maybe he’d have got his way if—’
She stops talking.
‘If what?’ Becky asks.
‘Like I said, ancient history.’ Maggie pulls an old watch from her pocket and looks at it. ‘I have to go. I have a flight to catch later and I need to say my goodbyes to the family. You take care, okay?’ She digs around in her bag for a paper and pen, scribbling her name and number down. ‘Here’s my number, in case you ever need to chat.’ Then she walks from the graveyard.
Becky stays where she is, looking towards the cave where her mum died … and maybe gave birth to a secret child, hidden away so she wasn’t taken from her as Becky had been. But in the end, someone did take her child away.
Idris.