What Lies Between Us(67)

Bobby replies without giving it any consideration. ‘I’d like to know everything, please.’

‘Are you sure?’ I ask again, and he nods. ‘Okay.’ I take the biggest breath my lungs will allow. ‘Well, to begin with, I am not who you think I am.’

His hands tense as if I am about to renounce him again, and I think he wants to slide them from under mine. I hold them firmly in place.

‘We are related, Bobby, but not in the way your birth certificate suggests. I am not your half-sister. I’m your biological mother.’

I release my grip and he withdraws his hands. His posture tenses as if being drawn by invisible strings. ‘I don’t understand,’ he says. ‘It says . . .’

‘I know what your birth certificate says,’ I continue softly. ‘But it’s a lie. My mum didn’t have a baby on that date; I did.’

‘You?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘But you were . . .’

‘. . . I was fourteen when I fell pregnant and fifteen when I gave birth to you. But I was told that you were stillborn.’

He shakes his head. ‘Who told you that?’

‘My mum – your grandmother. Let me explain.’ I return to the start and recall all I know, but I leave out his grandfather’s and grandmother’s fates. I finish by describing the special place in the garden where I’d go to mourn his passing. It’s no wonder that by the end of it, he looks as if he’s gone twelve rounds in a boxing ring.

‘Do you need a few moments?’ I ask, and he says yes. Then he makes his way outside while I remain seated, my heart beating twenty to the dozen, doubting myself and questioning whether I’ve done the right thing. I take a little comfort when I notice he has left both his phone on the table and his coat on the back of the chair. After an interminably long period of time, he returns.

‘Why did your mum do that to us?’ he asks as he sits. Now, his eyes are locked on to mine like magnets.

I adapt the truth and tell him I’ve been in touch with my Aunty Jennifer who confirmed the truth. ‘She said that Mum didn’t think I could cope with a baby,’ I say. ‘Back then I was what you’d call a wild child; I accept that. But I was acting up; I was angry and upset at Dad leaving us, so I took it out on her. You have to believe that I really wanted you. I know that I was so, so young, but given the chance, I think I might’ve been a good mother. I couldn’t have given you the opportunities your adoptive parents have, but I’d have loved you and that would have counted for something.’

‘Did you have any more children? Do I have brothers and sisters?’

I shake my head and explain how the Moxydogrel brought on an early menopause. The hatred I feel towards Maggie is every bit as raw as it was six weeks ago when I unlocked those suitcases. I worry it’s going to reveal itself in my face. I don’t want Bobby to think that I’m bitter, although it’s exactly what I am. ‘My mother was a conflicted woman,’ I continue, ‘and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive her for what she did.’

‘Does she know I found you?’

‘She died a few years ago,’ I say quickly. ‘Breast cancer.’ As much as I hate myself for lying to him, he cannot know what I’ve done to her. I deserve someone in my life who sees only good in me.

‘What about my dad?’ Bobby continues. ‘Are you still in touch? Does he know about me?’

Even now, my default setting is to smile fondly when I think of Jon. ‘I wish I had better news. Your dad was reliant on a lot of substances back then. At the time, everyone in the music scene was doing it so he wasn’t alone. It’s only with hindsight that I can see it was a problem for him. I don’t know all the details but Jon became involved in an altercation with a girl he knew and she died. He was adamant that he wasn’t to blame but he was found guilty of murder and has been in prison ever since.’

Bobby lets out a long breath like a whooshing sound.

‘For what it’s worth,’ I add, ‘the Jon I loved and the Jon the newspapers wrote about weren’t the same person. He was sweet and sensitive and I never saw any violence in him.’

‘Shit,’ he says. ‘Do you visit him?’

‘No, I’ve never been.’ My face flushes with guilt as if I’ve turned my back on him. ‘For my own recovery, I had to let him go.’

I don’t tell him that I wrote to his solicitor soon after I discovered he was jailed to ask Jon for a visitor’s permit. I don’t mention that I was turned down because his client ‘didn’t recall who I was’.

‘Does he know about me?’

I shrug. ‘I hadn’t seen him for two years when I discovered what he’d been accused of. Over the years I’ve followed his case and his numerous appeals and I’ve wondered why he never got in touch. He knew I was pregnant but he didn’t know I thought I’d lost you. I like to think he was trying to spare us from the life he is trapped in.’

We sit in silence; this is an incredible amount of bleak information to take on board in one sitting. Until tonight, he thought he’d tracked down his long-lost sister. Instead, it turns out I’m his mother and I’m carrying more baggage than a jumbo jet.

‘Would you like me to leave?’ I ask. ‘I’ve given you a lot to think about. I’ll understand if you need time to yourself to process it.’