Blood Sisters(78)

Suddenly, she crumples. It’s as if I have hit her. I catch her just in time and steer her on to a chair. She puts her head in her hands. Her body begins to shake. I shouldn’t have done this, I tell myself, putting my arm around her. I ought to have let sleeping dogs lie. Haven’t I already given her enough grief?

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say urgently. ‘Forget I asked. Anyway, it can’t really be him. This man said his birthday was on the ninth of December. When I asked you years ago, about Dad’s birthday, you said it was the fourteenth of July.’ I stare at her pleadingly. ‘And I know you wouldn’t lie to me.’

I will her to confirm this. My father could not be a killer. It went against the lovely warm picture I’d built up over the years. Mum looks away. She can’t meet my look. My chest tightens. I wish now I’d left this well alone.

‘But I did lie,’ she blurts out. ‘Not just about the date but about everything. I was frightened you might find him if I told you the truth.’ She looks back at me but her eyes are scared. ‘You have to remember that I was so like Kitty as a young girl. Desperate to get away from home. To paint. To live in the big wide world. I had a keen sense of right and wrong too.’ She laughs hoarsely. ‘At art school, there was this notice asking for volunteers in a homeless centre. I joined up immediately. I’d only been there a few weeks when this amazing man came in.’

Mum’s face is transformed. It’s glowing with memories. ‘He was called Stefan and he … I don’t know … he just got me immediately.’ She flushes. ‘I don’t mean physically, but mentally. He knew what I was thinking almost before I said it.’

Like Lead Man, I think.

‘And I felt a keen sense of injustice on his behalf. He had escaped from a country where he wasn’t allowed to draw. At least, not what he wanted to.’

Just what Stefan had said. I think back to the work we did together. The painting of me. Yet this doesn’t mean that everything else he’d told me was true.

‘He wanted to paint the scenes that were happening in his country,’ continues my mother. ‘Draw political caricatures too. But it got him into trouble. When he came here, he had nowhere to live – at least that is what he told me originally – and the centre was full. Some of us volunteers occasionally took refugees back to our own flats. I invited Stefan.’ She flushes. ‘And, well, he just stayed.’

‘Did you know he had broken the law and was on the run from the British authorities too?’

She closes her eyes briefly. ‘Not then. Initially, he told me he was a political refugee. You’ve got to remember how angry we were about the situation over there. We were convinced we could do something about it. Naturally, I was horrified by what he’d done but, well … love can be blind. It was only later that he told me the truth.’

My throat is dry. This is where Mum will corroborate Stefan’s story – or not. I place a comforting hand on her arm but my voice is firm. ‘And what is the truth, Mum?’

I can see her swallowing as if it is hard for the words to come out. I have a bad feeling about this.

‘His father paid for him to get out of the country in a container ship. He was taken to a remand centre where he got into a fight. The other man died and your father was helped by a guard to escape. That’s when we met.’

So Stefan really had been honest with me. I’m stunned. Still trying to absorb this vision of my radical young mother taking in a man on the run.

‘I got pregnant in the first month.’ She reaches out her hand. ‘But …’ her eyes fill with tears. ‘I had the miscarriage. Then I got pregnant again. I can’t tell you how relieved we were when you were born safe and well.’

‘What about your art degree?’

‘I gave it up.’

My mother’s advice during my teenage years comes back to me.

You don’t want to get into trouble and ruin your future. Imagine if all your hard work was wasted.

‘Did you regret it?’ I now ask urgently.

Tears stream down her face. ‘Not at all. We adored you. Your father and I were in love. And we had four amazing years together. We moved from place to place so no one could find us. He took whatever job he could find. My parents were livid – especially when they found out I was pregnant without being married. They said it was your father or them. So I chose love.’

I butt in. ‘Are they still alive, too? Or did you mislead me about them as well?’

She flinches at my harsh tone but I can’t help it. Part of me is angry with Mum for being so stupid. Yet part of me also sympathizes with her younger self. Hadn’t I made mistakes too?

‘No. It’s like I told you at the time. They died a few years later. It’s one of my biggest regrets.’ She pauses to wipe her face with a sleeve.

‘Then, one day, the police came.’ She shivers. ‘It was unexpected. We were so happy that we thought we were invincible by then.’

‘But weren’t you scared that you were in love with a murderer?’

Her head shakes ruefully. ‘Stefan didn’t seem like a killer.’ She laughs out loud as though this is a ridiculous idea. ‘He was kind. Loving. A wonderful father. We desperately wanted to marry but it was too risky to apply for the papers.’