The Day She Came Back(33)

‘I don’t know what to say.’ She breathed deeply. ‘I . . . My whole life! The people I trusted, the people I loved. They lied to me. It’s like grieving – this feels like grieving, but no one has died, the opposite, someone has come back to life, but I am still grieving – no one told me the truth!’

‘I know,’ Sarah whispered, as if shamed.

‘I don’t know what to think. I don’t know how to feel. What about my dad? Did he really die? Or is he living in a different European city with a new wife, just waiting to pop up out of the woodwork at another low point in my life?’ She regretted the flippant, almost callous nature of her comment, fuelled by distress and embarrassment. The noise Sarah made was one of deep sorrow, almost torment, and Victoria knew it would stay with her.

‘Your dad . . .’ Sarah coughed to clear her throat. ‘Your dad died while I was pregnant with you. He never got to meet you, but he did hear your heartbeat and it was the most wonderful day we had ever had.’

The picture she painted was so beautiful that for a short while Victoria forgot her pain and, despite her tears, smiled briefly at the image.

‘My head is such a mess.’ She spoke aloud.

‘I can only imagine. Please try to forgive me. I know your hurt is raw, new. But you have to know that not a single day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you, loved you, ached for you . . .’

‘But you never got in contact, never came to see me or Prim or Grandpa! How could you do that? You say it has hurt for all these years, but if that’s true, how could you stand it?’

‘Because, Victory, my beautiful girl. That was the deal . . .’

‘The deal? You made a fucking deal? I am a person! I am a person, Sarah! Not a thing, a deal! How could you? How could you?’ She only realised she was yelling when Daksha rushed into the room.

‘What’s going on?’ She placed her hand on her chest, like she was ready to face an emergency.

‘I gotta go.’

‘No, Vi—’

Victoria ended the call and slammed her laptop shut. She jumped up with her fists balled and punched the cushion on the chair by the fireplace.

‘What’s the matter?’ Daksha took a cautious step into the room.

‘Everything! Is the matter! Everything!’ Victoria yelled.





SIX

Victoria spent much of the morning in contemplation, with a shiver to her bones, despite the warmth of the day. Dozing for moments on the sofa before waking with a feeling of confusion so profound she thought she might be dreaming. Mentally prodded by the facts that would not sink in.

Sarah Hansen is my mum.

My mum did not die.

Prim lied to me. She lied!

My mother is Sarah Hansen . . .

Sarah Hansen. A lawyer.

A lawyer from Oslo.

I still don’t think it’s true! It can’t be true, can it?

It was a surprise when Gerald poked his head around the door of the drawing room. ‘Hello, dear.’ He pointed towards the front door. ‘Your friend let me in.’

‘Hi, Gerald.’ She sat up on the sofa and swung her legs around to make space. He sat next to her. The kind man who still believed that Prim was a good person, but she knew differently.

‘No need to ask how you are doing. I can see not great, and I mean that in no way disrespectfully.’ He folded his hands into his lap.

‘And you’d be right, but not necessarily for the reasons you might think.’

He twisted to face her, his eyes bright, and she felt a shot of something like malice in her veins; it felt appropriate to shatter the regard in which he held her gran, the woman who had lied to her, made a mockery of her life. The woman who had held her hand while she cried for her mum and who had helped her draw pictures of her mother in heaven, which she would store under her pillow, when all the time she knew that Victoria’s mother was in bloody Oslo! It was the worst betrayal, and Victoria was angry.

‘Is life getting you down?’

‘Just a bit.’ She laughed at the understatement.

‘Well, if there’s anything I can do, or if you just want a good listening ear, I—’

‘Actually, Gerald.’ She cut him short. ‘There is something I would like to tell you. Not a secret exactly, not any more, but a strange thing, that’s for sure.’

‘Oh?’ He looked at her as if what came next might require his full attention.

She took a deep breath, aware that she might be stripping away some of Prim’s veneer for him too, having to inform him that she had lied for all these years . . . but that was just too bad.

‘You know about my mum, that she, erm . . .’ It felt weird saying that she had died, the most definitive of human actions, when she was about to immediately disprove it.

‘Yes, dear, I do. A sad, sad business for you all. I know what happened and that you were very small, I believe.’

‘Well’ – Victoria made a clicking noise at the side of her mouth – ‘here’s the thing. My mum turned up at Prim’s funeral. She even came back here to Rosebank, but stayed in the garden, and then I met her briefly to talk before she had to leave again.’

Gerald held her eyeline, his mouth moving silently in confusion as he knitted his brows. ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean, your mum “turned up” at the funeral? Do you mean in spirit form?’ he asked quietly. ‘I personally am not a believer, but if it brings you comfort, dear, to think you met with your mother, then I think that is a fine thing.’