The Girl Who Cried Wolf(9)

Apart from my fascination with my mother’s ever-growing bump, I do not remember giving the new baby much more thought until the day she was born.

My mother ended a lovely outing rather suddenly, and took me to my grandparents’ house, telling me to be good and wait for her. Something about buying me ice cream was mentioned, but even then I knew placation when I heard it. I begged her to take me with her, but she left me crying at the front door and never came back as promised.

‘She said she would be back before bedtime,’ I complained to Grandad that afternoon.

‘Well, Anna, Lillian will be home when she’s home, won’t she? Won’t be long now, I’m sure. Run along and fetch Grandad a bottle of beer from Granny, and I’ll help you make Tulip another daisy chain.’

I felt certain something bad was happening and did not like him calling my mother by her actual name, but I went inside to find Grandma anyway. Tulip did need another daisy chain – I think she had eaten the last one.

Grandma looked very worried and sad all evening but if I asked why she had been crying she told me not to be silly and said, ‘Grandmas don’t cry, darling. They’re always happy and if we ever do cry, they are tears of joy. Don’t you worry about that.’

I can’t have looked convinced because she finished her drink and tickled my tummy until I cried lots of happy tears.

The following day, the phone rang and, afterwards, Grandad walked into the living room, beaming, and said, ‘Well, my dear, you have a new granddaughter. Seven pounds and three ounces. Anna, you have a brand new baby sister!’

‘Did she get her at the shops, Grandad?’

He laughed softly and plonked me on his lap. ‘That’s right, my little treasure, she went to the shops and swapped that great big bump in her tummy for a beautiful little girl for you to play with.’ He chuckled again and downed the last of his celebratory beer.

Izzy was born on a Friday, but she was not brought home until nearly a week later. I was excited to see her, but had especially missed my mother, who had thought it was best if I stayed at home rather than going into hospital to see her. I had never been apart from her for so long and when I saw her walk through the front door, I ran straight into her arms.

But something was wrong; she had a huge cut along her forehead and a bandage on her arm. Dad was carrying a baby basket behind her. He looked terribly angry and did not acknowledge me at all.

‘Hello, angel.’ My mother bent down and hugged me as best she could. She held me tightly then stood back while Dad placed the bassinet on the settee beside us. ‘Don’t worry, Anna. Mummy just fell over. Come and say hello to Isabel.’

I was still deeply shocked to see my beautiful mother with bruises, but she did sound OK and I could not resist a peek at my new sister. I leaned over and there she was, wrapped up and pink-faced. I remember looking at her for a long time while the grown-ups fussed and got my mother settled. ‘I wanted to call you Tulip like my bunny,’ I told her, and gently put my hand near hers, a little afraid to touch her just yet. To my absolute delight, she reached up with her tiny fingers and grabbed my hand. ‘Mummy, look! MUMMY! She’s holding my hand!’ I desperately wanted someone to see, to share the moment with me, but when I turned around I saw my dad leaving the house with a suitcase and Grandma with her head in her hands, crying more happy tears.

***

I remember Isabel coming home, but the years following are hazier. I know my father worked away for much of the time. I could often hear Mother crying in her room, so I supposed they had argued and he had left, but she would always give me the same response. ‘Your father and I are just fine, Anna. I don’t know where you get these things. You know he sells antiques all over the world; of course he couldn’t be in two places at once.’ The conversation would end with something like, ‘God, your sister never asks these bloody questions!’

She got more and more bad-tempered as the years went by, and the beautiful, joyful mother of my childhood was a long way from the miserable, bitter-faced shell we had lived with since.

Don’t get me wrong, my mother was still extremely beautiful. She was strikingly tall and fashionably slim – she barely ate so couldn’t really be anything else. She had piercing green eyes which looked striking with her long blonde hair.

Her hair was usually pulled back into a conservative chignon, but the few times I had seen it worn loose, Mother really became exquisite. A little frown line had appeared between her eyebrows over the years, but other than that it was hard to find fault with her appearance. Lillian’s character, however, was far from charming.

Before Isabel was born I remember her laughing so much more. She was always a little reserved but affectionate in her own way. Izzy and I were wary of her mood swings, and although she tried to disguise them, she was short-fused and liked to spend a great deal of time alone. We were often packed off to our grandparents’ for the weekend, even during the rare occasions my father came home.

We never minded going to Grandma’s. During the day we would run wild in the huge garden, and were not told to stay clean and make sure our hair was tidy. There were no designer dresses and ribbons to spoil anyway at Grandma’s. As soon as we got there, Gran would pack them into a drawer and give us the clothes she had made especially for us: fabulous denim dungarees with big, red flower-shaped buttons. She would take our long hair down from its braids and tell us stories about Rapunzel and Sleeping Beauty.