What Lies Between Us(68)
‘No,’ he says. It trips off his tongue too quickly for him not to mean it. ‘You could have just glossed over everything but I’m glad you didn’t. I’d rather know than not know. I appreciate your honesty.’
There are many things I am able to give my son. Unconditional love and support are just two. But complete honesty will never be one of them.
CHAPTER 59
NINA
EIGHTEEN MONTHS EARLIER
It’s hard to stop myself from smiling when I feel so much joy. Most parents have hundreds, perhaps thousands of moments when their child has brought them the happiness I’m feeling right now. But it’s all still new to me so every minute I spend with Dylan is a precious one.
The only thing threatening my happiness is Maggie. I didn’t expect it to be an easy transition for her, but months into our new arrangement she’s not being as compliant as I’d hoped. When she becomes particularly troublesome, I’ve taken to using the remaining Moxydogrel tablets, crushing them into a fine powder and stirring them into her food to sedate her. Like last night. Through my clothes, I rub at the Band-Aid which covers the wound where she stabbed me in the arm with a fork. Later, she claimed she was confused and hallucinating and it must’ve been the fault of the tablets. We both know that’s untrue; she just wanted to leave me. I’ve taken all metal cutlery away from her.
The transition for me hasn’t been that much easier. Holding Maggie captive is harder than I thought and I’m not getting as much satisfaction from it as I’d hoped. In fact I’m starting to resent the energy she’s sucking out of me. When I’m around her I’m constantly on my guard or second-guessing what she’ll do next. My life outside that house should be about Dylan and spending time with him. Instead, I find myself trying to keep one step ahead of her and wondering what she’s up to while the cat’s away.
Today it’s my turn to visit Dylan in Leicester. We have been meeting fortnightly for the last seven months and take it in turns as to who goes to see who. If I had my own way, I’d be with him every day. But I’m mindful that he has a family of his own that I’m not a part of. I’d like it – in fact, truth be told, I’d love it – if he shouted from the rooftops that he’d found his real mum. However, navigating the periphery of his world is better than not being a part of it at all. Our relationship must be on his terms and I’ve learned to be patient. Most of the time.
He is waiting for me at the coach station when my bus pulls into the bay and he greets me with a broad smile and a hug. The family dog, Oscar, bounces up and down in the back of the car and greets me with the same enthusiasm as his owner. Dylan drives us to a village a few minutes away and we attach Oscar to the lead and set off arm in arm for a country walk around the plush grounds of a stately home. To the people who pass us, we must look like lovers.
I know how inappropriate that sounds but it’s how I feel. When we are apart and I think of Dylan, my heart swells with such happiness. I want to be with him all the time. I want to hear what he has to say, study his mannerisms, make him laugh, make him feel as if he is loved with every fibre of my being. I want all the things a couple in a relationship want from one another. Except we are not a couple. And sometimes, when I feel the lines starting to blur, I have to remind myself that we are mother and son.
According to the Internet, I’m reacting typically to our situation. I hate the term genetic sexual attraction and that there are websites and message boards devoted to it. It’s because we didn’t have that gradual mother-and-child bonding experience when he was a newborn. My love for him, my longing not to be apart and the elation I feel when we’re together is happening all at once and in a much more condensed timeframe. I’m hoping in time it will pass.
I catch our reflection in a window of the manor house. With his slim frame, dark hair, his angular face and his piercing grey eyes, it looks as if I am on his father’s arm. My grip becomes that little bit firmer. Now I have my son, I am never letting go of him.
A month after our second meeting we took a DNA test for our own peace of mind. And of course it came back as a positive match. And each time we’re together, I’m constantly searching for new things that we have in common. Today, I notice our earlobes are exactly the same shape and that his two bottom middle teeth overlap ever so slightly, as do mine. These simple things bring me a warmth.
We walk through woodland until we reach the river Soar. A gaggle of Canada geese waddle past us on the muddy bank, reluctant to return to the water until a canoeist paddles by. The mother keeps turning her head to check that her chicks are still behind her. It sounds silly but I realise I have something in common with her. I too have someone to look after.
‘Are you dating at the moment?’ I ask. ‘You’ve not mentioned anyone special.’
He’s hesitant at first before he replies with a ‘No.’
‘Your dad had so much female attention at your age,’ I continue. ‘He had to practically beat the girls off with a stick. Well, perhaps I was the one holding the stick. And you look a lot like him.’
‘I’ve seen photos of him online.’
‘You’ve looked?’ I ask, and I don’t know why I’m surprised. Of course he’d want to know more.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Do you think he and I would get on?’