The Mother-in-Law(81)

59: DIANA


THE PAST . . .

After Ollie leaves, I go to Tom’s study and pull out my letter. I look down at it.

I could have written more, but in the end, there’s really only two pieces of wisdom worth leaving behind. I worked hard for everything I ever cared about. And nothing I ever cared about cost a single cent.

Mum



I’d never been a woman of many words. I could have crafted a letter to my children explaining why I’d chosen to end my life, or about how much I loved them . . . but that wasn’t my style. Besides, how would it help them? Sentiment had a way of diluting truth, and if I was going to leave a last few words of wisdom for my children, I wanted them to be clear.

At least I had wanted to be. But now, I won’t be needing any letter. At first I think about burning it. Then I wonder if I should keep it as a reminder of how I felt this past year. Perhaps it’s a good thing, to remember. I tuck the letter into the office drawer and head down the stairs and am just walking past the front room when Nettie lets herself in.

“Hi Mum,” she says. “Can we talk?”

Nettie walks into the small front room. I follow her, sit beside her. She picks up one of the cushions and begins fiddling with the gold tassels nervously. “I’m here about the money, obviously,” she says, not wasting any time on small talk. “For the surrogacy. I’ve been talking to the agency, and I’m going to need to pay the deposit soon. I’m sorry to pressure you, but this is my . . .”

“ . . . last chance.”

“Yes.”

My mind drifts to Patrick. His flashing eyes. She’s on a mission for a baby. She’s obsessed by it.

It’s like she’s possessed.

“And Patrick is . . . on board?” I ask lightly. “About the surrogacy?”

“Of course.” She avoids my gaze, the way she did when she was little and didn’t want to talk about something. “Of course he is.”

“How are things with Patrick, Nettie?” I ask. “Is your relationship . . . solid?”

She shrugs. “Sure it is.”

“Really?”

Nettie looks up, takes in my skeptical expression and becomes guarded. “What?” She sounds almost angry.

“You know Patrick has been unfaithful, don’t you?” I say. “You must know, Antoinette.”

The expression on Nettie’s face—a kind of bewildered rage—is so jarring that for a moment, I wonder if it’s possible that she doesn’t know. Then she laughs. “Of course I know. Everyone knows.”

I hesitate a moment, thrown by the bizarre laugh, but decide to plough on. If I’m going to help my daughter, I need to understand her, see her side of things. “Then why would you want to bring a baby into a relationship like that? Tell me, darling.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not about Patrick, don’t you see that? It’s about me.”

Nettie stands up, starts pacing. She goes back and forth several times.

“Nettie, I’m worried about you,” I say. “You’re not in a fit state to go into surrogacy. I think you need to see someone, get some professional help.”

Her pacing stops abruptly. Her eyes lock on mine. “Does this mean you won’t help me?”

“It depends what you mean by help. I’ll help you find a psychologist to speak to. I’ll help support you if you decide to leave Patrick, and I’ll help support you if you decide to stay with him. But I won’t be funding your egg donor and surrogate plan, no. Not right now.”

Nettie hovers over me, her hands shaking with rage. She shift from foot to foot in front of me. I remain still, as if trying not to spook a frightened animal. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have the one thing you want taken away from you?” Her voice grows in volume and intensity as she speaks.

“Yes. Tom was taken away from me.”

“Did it make you question your own life? Your purpose?”

“It did.”

“I don’t believe you. If you knew what I was talking about, you would never do this to me.”

“Believe me, Nettie, I know,” I say. “I understand what it’s like to feel that your entire purpose is wrapped up in one thing, one person.” I hadn’t intended to tell Nettie about my planned suicide, but suddenly it feels like the one thing that might bring her to her senses. “After your father died, I contemplated suicide. I researched it, I bought poison online—it’s still in the door of the damn fridge! But it was madness, the whole thing. I loved Tom, but he wasn’t my entire life. I have you and Ollie and Lucy. I have my grandchildren. My friends. My charity. And Nettie, you may not see it now but your life isn’t about having a baby.” I stand so we are eye to eye. “Forget about babies. Take your life in a different direction. You could do anything you want!”

“So you won’t give me the money?” she says, when I’m finished.

“Nettie! Have you heard anything I’ve said?”

Nettie turns her back to me and for a moment, there is total silence. But after a few seconds a curious noise begins, thin and reedy, like the ragged edge of a tin can. It takes me a moment to realise the noise is coming from Nettie. I reach for her shoulder but before I grasp it, she spins around and lunges at me like a force. Her elbow catches my nose and I careen backward, landing hard on my tailbone. As I cry out, Nettie appears over me, gripping the cushion so tight the veins in her hands pop out.