How had I got that so wrong? How had the rest of my life matured and yet that one part I’ve allowed to stay in the past? It jars with me in every way. It’s as if I’ve been in the dark and never made any attempt to seek the light. The dark is comforting. The light means I have to look at things I don’t necessarily want to see, the fear of the unknown has held me back. I don’t want to have that fear again.
‘I love you, Dad.’
He gives the slightest nod of the head. It’s all he can manage. ‘Love. You,’ he says. Dad is getting weak, the effort to communicate taking its toll. He taps my hand with his finger and I lean in closer. ‘I know,’ he utters.
Those two words are loaded with so much, I don’t know how to respond.
‘He knows about the baby.’ Mum’s voice comes from behind me. I spin around, I hadn’t heard her come in. Mum rests her hand on my shoulder. ‘And so do I.’
Once again, I struggle to find any words. So much is happening, I’m finding it difficult to process it all. They know?
‘How?’ I finally manage to ask. I’m glad I’m sitting down already. My legs feel weak and are shaking. I look at Dad, his eyes are in that half-open state again.
Mum walks round to the other side of the bed. She adjusts the cushion on the plastic chair before settling herself down.
‘I’ve always known you had the baby,’ she says. ‘I’ve always known that baby was Sophie.’
Chapter 33
Mum’s matter-of-fact revelation poleaxes my thoughts. My whole mind goes blank. All thought pathways are numbed and blocked. The implications are far too great to compute at once.
‘I had my suspicions for a long time,’ says Mum. ‘Probably when Fiona was supposedly pregnant. All that trouble she had conceiving in the first place and then she becomes pregnant at the same time as you. And then her only coming home in the early stages of the pregnancy. After that she said she was too ill to come and when I suggested I come over to visit, she made all sorts of excuses.’
I feel guilt and shame wash over me. I set out to deceive my mother and all this time she had known.
‘We thought we had planned it so carefully,’ I say at last, my voice is as small as I feel. I can’t meet Mum’s gaze. ‘We had no idea you knew.’
‘Sure, I’m not as green as the country I was born in.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything before?’
‘Now, what would be the point of that? It would only cause problems. The way I saw it, Fiona had the child she wanted, you didn’t have to go through with a termination and I still had my grandchild.’
Dad still appears to be caught between the conscious and unconscious world. ‘And Dad?’ I say, finding the courage to look at Mum.
Mum doesn’t answer straight away. She shifts in her seat and smoothes her skirt.
‘He only found out recently.’
I can sense Mum’s not telling me everything. The niggling unease that has been prodding me over the last few days, one I’ve tried to waylay, punches me in the stomach. I draw a sharp breath.
‘When exactly did he find out? And how?’
‘All I’ve ever wanted is for my daughters to be happy. It’s a natural inbuilt part of being a mother. Being a parent. I would do anything…anything, to ensure you and Fiona were happy,’ says Mum.
‘I know, Mum. I get that,’ I say softly, as I try to hide the unease which has morphed into fear and is battering my stomach.
‘I never told your dad. There didn’t seem any need. If he knew, he would be furious that you had lied to him. You know, he too only ever wanted what was best for his girls. He truly believed a termination was the right thing to do at the time,’ says Mum. ‘He spent many a waking night fretting over you and what would happen. And then, it seemed my prayers were answered, but in the cruellest way possible. It was as if your baby’s life was a trade-off for Niall’s. God had seen it fit to answer my prayers and yet punish our family at the same time. I did not want to cause any more pain. I let your father believe that you had lost the baby and that Fiona had become pregnant. You had had too much grief in your short life already, you didn’t need your father and the likes of the Marshalls on your back. It was the best way I knew to protect you.’
I listen intently. I can identify with everything Mum is saying. Haven’t I only ever wanted what was best for my own child? I can justify every action on that one principle, that one belief – the best for my child, whatever the cost.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Thank you for that and for everything since.’ I reach out across the bed. Mum mirrors the gesture.