One More for Christmas(103)

Gayle took one look at the rigid set of her shoulders and closed the door behind her.

Whatever was about to be said, needed to be said in private.

Samantha had been upset when she’d left the room the night before. Unlike Ella, whose reactions had been open, honest and immediate, Samantha had revealed nothing.

My fault, Gayle thought as she watched her daughter struggle with how to frame a conversation she didn’t want to have. This is all my fault. I taught her to be guarded. To depend on no one. To protect herself.

And now she was protecting herself from her mother.

There was a wall between them. It was up to Gayle to dismantle it, brick by brick, and make sure, somehow, that their relationship wasn’t caught in the rubble.

“You don’t have to choose your words, Samantha. Just say whatever it is you want to say. I’m listening.” Too little, too late? She hoped not.

Samantha turned. Gone was the efficient businesswoman who had drawn up a comprehensive plan to turn Kinleven from a money draining liability to a viable commercial business. Instead there were nerves and vulnerability.

“I’m sorry I walked out like that last night. You must have thought—”

“I thought you needed time. You were the same as a child. You had to think things through carefully. It’s a quality.” Listen, just listen. Let her do the talking.

She couldn’t coach her way out of this one. She couldn’t open a book at a certain chapter and say read this.

Samantha stood, hands clasped in front of her as if she was about to give a presentation to a roomful of people.

“We haven’t talked about that last meeting.”

Did they have to go back that far? Now that she’d started moving forward, she wanted to carry on doing that.

“If that’s what you want, then of course, let’s start there.”

“I’m sorry for the things I said that day.” Samantha’s fingers were interlocked. Tense, twisted, like Gayle’s insides.

It was the apology she’d waited for, and yet now she found she didn’t want it.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I said—” Samantha swallowed. “I called you a terrible mother.”

As if she’d forgotten. Those words had ripped the fragile thread that held their relationship together. An impenetrable barrier had formed, and she’d allowed her own hurt feelings to get in the way of finding a way through.

“Maybe I was a terrible mother.” She thought about Mary and their conversation about the complexity of parenting. Perhaps you had to be a parent to understand it. “It’s no defence, but that wasn’t my intention. I had your best interests at heart from the moment you were born.”

“I can see that now. We didn’t have the full picture. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“No, you were right to say what you said. I was inflexible and judgmental. I upset Ella terribly, and instead of apologizing, I drove you both away. You were protecting your sister.”

“I thought so, but now I wonder if I was enabling her. I’ve thought about it a lot. I should have encouraged her to be honest with you about her life, and then supported her afterward.” Samantha was basically saying that her sister would have needed supporting after she’d told her mother the truth.

It wasn’t flattering.

“The blame was all mine. I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I should have seen what was happening.”

“I should have reached out afterward—” Samantha stumbled slightly over the words. “I would have reached out, but it became—complicated.”

“Because your sister had a baby. And a husband.” Gayle tried to lighten things a little. “Complicated is probably an understatement.”

“Not only that.” Samantha paused. “I’m not good at talking about my feelings. I find it—hard. I do have feelings. I feel plenty of things—” She gave a tentative smile that made Gayle wonder if that was a recent discovery.

“Of course you do. And I’m the reason you don’t find it easy to express them, so don’t blame yourself for that.”

Samantha shook her head. “I’m an adult. Whatever happened in the past, I’m responsible for the way I behave now. It’s a choice, isn’t it?”

Gayle smiled. “Maybe, although that makes it sound simple and we both know it isn’t.”

“I feel terrible, Mom.”

“Why would you feel terrible?”

Samantha ran her hand over the back of her neck. “Because it was so hard for you, and we had no idea and we just assumed you were this cold, working machine—that we couldn’t ever be what you wanted us to be. And also that all these years I’ve been imagining what my father might be like and it turns out he was nothing like that—” Samantha pressed her palms to her cheeks, breathing deeply. “We—didn’t understand. I wish you’d told us.”

“I could say ‘so do I,’ but I’m not sure it’s true. I’m not sure I would ever have been able to burden my children with my problems.”

“What you achieved—” Samantha’s eyes were swimming. “It’s incredible, Mom. I read your book.”

“Which one?”

“Both of them. I read them last night. You’re probably shocked that I hadn’t read them before.”