Mum had said she’d avoided wearing the gifts Mary bought her. And here was Pat writing that she brazened it out, even suggesting Mum wore them to annoy her. The truth, Katie thought, is a slippery thing.
Everything Mum did seemed to stir Pat to fury:
‘Caroline came in from school and I try to be kind, but she’s very frustrating. Suddenly allergic to everything she used to like. Cook your own meals from now on, I told her!’
‘A boy walked Caroline home and when I ask who he was, she ran up the stairs and slammed her door. None of my business, she thinks. Well, I put her right on that.’
‘I can see that Caroline is embarrassed by the level of conversation I’m able to provide, so I decide to keep silent.’
‘Caroline watched the demonstrations in Paris on the television. Off she trots upstairs when I switch it off. Even though I kept my mouth zipped, she said I have no tolerance. Who does that sound like?’
‘Caroline comes in with a pair of purple trousers from the market. I break my silence to tell her she looks ridiculous.’
On 22 June, Pat heard ‘from a spy’ that Mum had been kissing a boy in a shop doorway. She hauled Mum straight to the bathroom and ordered her to wash her makeup off. She then did a recce of her room and discovered (listed) hair curlers, Tampax (‘expressly for married ladies’), a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, a passport photo taken in a booth with ‘some boy pressing his face against hers’. Mum had secret makeup, secret earrings, secret money hidden in her underwear drawer. And as for the underwear, well, where had she acquired a scarlet knicker and bra set? And why did she need it?
Several items were confiscated, and when Mum refused to relinquish a lipstick, Pat grabbed it and mashed it to pulp beneath her heel. Later, she made Caroline clean the carpet (‘vinegar did the trick’). Katie’s heart ached with pity. Not only was it cruel beyond measure, but what if the lipstick had been the one Mary had given Mum to encourage bravery?
Later that night, Pat regretted what had happened but: ‘Caroline not interested in truce and spent the evening with Dad. Thick as thieves. “Come back,” I told her at bedtime. “I want my little girl back.”’
She’d be lucky. She must’ve totally alienated Mum by trashing her room, and even if depression was the cause – well, some things were unforgiveable.
Katie skim-read the next few pages, she only had forty seconds left on the timer and she had to get to the end.
‘Dad sent for Mary. Wants me back in that damned hospital. “You think Mary’s a better mother?” I ask him. He couldn’t answer, because he knows she’s not. Did Mary mop Caroline’s brow when she had tonsillitis, or nurse her through measles and mumps? No – she turns up for the easy bits. Mary Todd the hero, trampling over everyone to grab what she wants.’
More blank pages, more dark scrawls, words written and scribbled out that Katie can’t access now. ‘Everything is monotonous and dull,’ Pat wrote in October. ‘I am drawn to the beach. Such a beautiful expanse of nothingness. I have a desire to walk into it and never come back.’
Drawn to the beach? So, Pat didn’t drown because she couldn’t swim, she drowned because she walked into the sea on purpose! She killed herself!
Katie rested the diary on her knee briefly. The timer was about to go off, but she couldn’t read when her eyes were filling with tears. Why hadn’t Mum told her? How could she keep something this massive a secret? Why hadn’t she said, My mother suffered from years of depression and was actually pretty abusive and then she committed suicide, so, I’m sorry I come down hard on you sometimes, Katie, do you forgive me? Mum could write a misery memoir and make a fortune. Katie wiped her eyes, turned back to the book.
Pat had only weeks to live and was clearly plotting. Katie had sworn to dead Pat that she wouldn’t go beyond ten minutes, but as the timer went off, she knew she was going to keep reading. These last pages were vital. Sorry, Pat, she breathed. Just one more minute.
‘I cannot bear it, how different my life is, how dreary it all seems, how pointless. Soon, Caroline will leave me and Dad will die and what will I do then?’
‘Letter from Mary. “Send her,” she begs. “Reconsider, why don’t you?”’
Now came more blank pages. Here, in what was now November, a list of essentials. Sheets and towels were required apparently, ‘to dampen and stuff under doorways’.
Definitely planning on harming herself. Didn’t Sylvia Plath stick her head in a gas oven when her kids were upstairs sleeping? Didn’t Virginia Woolf walk into a river with stones in her coat pocket? Maybe Pat had heard of them? Maybe, in her depression, she thought such things romantic and hadn’t considered the irreparable damage she might do to Mum.
Mary is coming to ‘give her a rest’ and Pat ‘can’t bear it’. Mum gets blamed, accused of making secret phone calls, of conspiring and scheming, despite her protestations that she doesn’t want Mary to come. ‘Caroline swears she didn’t invite her,’ Pat writes, ‘but I see the lying look in her eyes.’
‘I’ve made up my mind what to do,’ she writes on 5 November. Katie imagined fireworks exploding outside and perhaps Mum out with her friends (stay out, Mum – never go home!). Because here was Pat, mired in depression, writing, ‘I refuse to watch Mary steal all that I love. I must take action before she gets here. Not pills. Not gas oven. Not Dad’s car. The sea. I want all that water to wash me clean away …
‘Spent the afternoon washing and sorting shells. The ones Mary gathered from the beach all those years ago. Listened to the water’s roar by placing the largest of them next to my ear and yes, I have decided … All that is left is to say goodbye.’
And now, the saddest thing of all, the saddest saddest thing, was a series of one-liners. Scrawled sentences crossed out, as if Pat was determined to get the wording right.
‘It won’t hurt they say, it’s painless.’
‘Don’t cry for me.’
‘Look after your grandfather. That’s all I ask of you.’
‘I know what you see in her – all that wild energy and light. Well, fine – do what you must. But I can’t any longer.’
On and on. Page after page through that week in November. Blank pages, torn pages, little dark blots, stains and smears as if the ink was running away from her.
Thirty-two
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Shit!’
Mum stood in the doorway, her face ashen. ‘Why is my box out of the wardrobe?’
‘I was … I was just looking for something.’
‘Is that my mother’s diary?’
They both looked at it in Katie’s hands. There was no denying it.
‘That’s private.’ Mum marched over and snatched it back. ‘Were you reading this?’
Katie hunched lower on the carpet. She had no words.
Mum glared furiously down at her. ‘I asked you a question.’
Katie nodded, tried to make herself smaller. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘How much of it?’
‘All of it.’
Mum lunged at her. She grabbed a handful of jumper and pulled Katie up from the floor. ‘Why would you do that? What gives you the right?’
‘Mum, you’re hurting.’
‘They’re my private things.’ She gripped Katie tighter, her fingers feeling like stubby claws. ‘How dare you go through them.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.’
‘You don’t accidentally read someone’s diary!’ She pushed Katie roughly towards the bed. ‘Sit down. Go on. Sit there and explain yourself.’
Katie felt her chest heave, her brain swirl. No! She didn’t want her mother looming over the bed with that awful, disappointed look on her face.
‘You said you were looking for something. Was it the diary you were looking for?’
‘I didn’t even know it existed.’
‘What then?’
Katie’s throat hurt. She swallowed hard. ‘Something to help Mary.’
‘Help her with what?’
‘She was upset at Dad’s house.’ Katie found herself fiddling with a corner of the duvet, twisting it round and round her fingers. ‘I wanted to know why, but when I asked, you wouldn’t tell me.’
‘So you trawled through my things?’
‘She keeps crying at night. You know she does.’
‘You break my trust and completely disrespect my privacy because she cries?’ Mum sounded wounded as well as furious now. Like the fact that Katie wanted to help Mary was the most shocking and unbelievable part.
‘I thought you were hiding something.’
‘I can’t believe this. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.’
‘And you were hiding something,’ Katie whispered. ‘Pat drowned on purpose. She committed suicide. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because it’s none of your business.’ Mum’s eyes were gleaming and Katie didn’t know if it was with rage or tears. ‘I’ve had enough of this. I’m not putting up with it any more.’
Katie stared in horror as Mum turned to the wardrobe and hauled a suitcase from the top shelf. It had jumpers and winter clothing in it and she tipped them on the floor.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Packing Mary’s things. She’s got to go.’
‘This isn’t her fault!’
‘That woman’s wrecking our lives.’ Mum turned in the doorway. ‘You’ve changed, you know that? I don’t even know who you are any more.’ She marched across the landing with the suitcase and slammed into Mary’s room. Katie raced after her.
‘You can’t just send her away.’
‘Watch me.’
‘Where will she go?’
‘Back to the hospital.’ Mum yanked open one of the bedside drawers. ‘I’ll leave her in reception and I won’t give a damn.’
‘You can’t dump her!’
‘Oh, yes I can.’ Mum pulled knickers and socks and tights from Mary’s drawer and threw them in the case. ‘Why not? You do whatever you like with no regard for anyone else, so why shouldn’t I?’ She glared at Katie triumphantly. ‘You lie about where you are and who you’re with. You get drunk at parties. You go on dates with boys I’ve never heard of and now this – you go through my private things as if rules don’t apply to you.’
‘I’m sorry. I said I’m sorry.’
‘That doesn’t make it better. Nothing does. You’ve changed because she changed you. You’re not mine any more.’
‘I wasn’t yours in the first place. What does that even mean? I don’t belong to you.’
Mum opened the next drawer down and dragged out Mary’s cardigans. She ripped her nightie from under the pillow. There was no going back from this. If Mary walked upstairs now, she’d be traumatized. Katie stood with her back against the door.
‘Mum, this is so unfair.’
‘Don’t talk to me about what’s fair. You were the one reading my mother’s diary when I walked in the room.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I found out about Pat. But please don’t punish Mary.’
‘You invaded my privacy!’
‘I know, but don’t invade hers. She had nothing to do with it.’
Mum didn’t answer, didn’t seem to hear. She opened the wardrobe and pulled dresses and skirts from their hangers and chucked them in the case. ‘My mother died of a broken heart, you know that? Mary broke it. And then she broke mine.’
‘Please, Mum, just stop.’
Mum ignored her, kicked Wolf Mountain out of the way, grabbed the framed photo of Jack from the bedside table and threw it on top of the clothes. She swept Mary’s makeup bag and cleansers from the shelf. ‘All her life she’s only cared about herself. You think she’s so brave having an illegitimate child and leaving home? It’d be more radical to bring the baby up herself or go off to university and get an education. But no, she buggers off to London to follow her dreams.’
She looked so ugly saying such mean things. Her mouth was a thin line and her eyes were all narrow.
‘And so what if she pops back to gawp at her child through some damn café window every now and then? What good does that do anyone, eh? She should have left us alone. We’d have been fine without her.’
Katie stared at her mother, at the way her mouth moved. She curled her hands into fists and her mother’s mouth kept moving.
‘For weeks I’ve watched you trot after her like some kind of disciple. And yes, I asked you to look after her, and yes, I needed to go back to work and yes, I was grateful. But I didn’t expect it to drive us apart. I didn’t expect you to get all secretive or start raking through the past like it belongs to you.’
It was all spilling. All the resentment, all the unsaid things. Mum tugged Mary’s clothes from the washing basket and rammed them in the case with the clean stuff and she just kept talking.
‘All I ask of you is that you work hard at school and you stay out of trouble. You think I ask that for my own benefit? For my health? Or maybe you think I’m just trying to limit or annoy you? I ask you to do that stuff because I care about you – and see how you repay me? See what you do?’
Katie felt a churning in her stomach like that time she’d got food poisoning – a cramping, a hot ache, where the only way to feel better was to throw up. She took a step forward. And maybe Mum sensed a shift, because she turned round.
‘Get out, Katie.’
The heat climbed. Katie could feel it pulsing. ‘It’s my room. I lent it to Mary, but it’s actually mine – remember?’
‘I don’t care. Just get out of my sight. This is nothing to do with you.’
And hearing those words, Katie felt the heat turn to fury. ‘It is to do with me. Pat was my ancestor. Why keep what happened to her a secret? What’s so shameful about it? You never talk to me about anything that matters. Why not? You’re not an island. Look at you getting rid of Mary. This is just like when you chucked Dad’s stuff out.’
‘I’m serious – you need to leave.’
‘Are you going to hire a skip for Mary? Are you going to ban us from seeing her?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Get out, go on. You’re giving me a headache.’
‘You always do this. You always make out you’re the victim when you don’t want to listen. Don’t I have a right to talk?’
‘You don’t get any rights.’
‘So I can’t even know about my own family? I can’t ask any questions about it?’
‘The person invading the other person’s privacy gets no rights at all.’ Mum turned to the wall and started pulling photos off. All the tender effort Katie had put in and Mum was just yanking at them. She looked like she was enjoying it. She looked like she could just keep doing this – going through room after room and destroying everything.
Katie took another step forward. ‘Do I get any rights about where I’m buried?’
Mum stalled for a moment and Katie was glad. Got you, she thought.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about the fact you bought a hole in the ground with all our names on it.’
Mum turned round and stared at her in disbelief. ‘You read that paperwork as well? You actually went through everything?’
Katie nodded.
‘You shouldn’t have done that.’
‘And you shouldn’t arrange a plot in the cemetery without asking.’
‘It’s not for you, it’s for me.’
‘It’s for three people!’ They’d both raised their voices now and Katie didn’t care. ‘Don’t you see how creepy that is?’
‘You have to state the size of the plot when you buy it. You can’t add to it later.’
‘Why buy it at all?’
‘Because when you’re the only adult running a household you have to think about things like that. You have to think about wills and funeral arrangements and what happens to your children in the event of your death. You also have to consider terrible possibilities, such as your children dying with you. Who would organize a funeral then, eh?’
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‘Dad would.’
‘Would he? He’d probably just dig a hole in his garden and chuck us all in.’
‘So what? So what if he did?’
Chris and Mary might be listening downstairs. The window was open and maybe people outside could hear too. Mum would usually care about things like that, but she didn’t and Katie didn’t either. They faced up to each other and it was exhilarating. It was like all the cosmic plates had shifted and in this room right now was the exact place to spill your soul.
‘Me and Chris want to see him.’
‘Go ahead. You’re not banned from seeing your father.’
‘We pretty much are. Whenever we try to talk about him, you clam up.’
‘That’s not true. You can talk about him whenever you want.’
‘What, like we can talk about Pat? Or Dad’s girlfriend? Or our new half-sister? No, you’d like to think we’re all best mates, but we’re not. You make us rotas and timetables and charts and you tell yourself you’re the best parent on earth, but other kids’ parents don’t do any of that.’
‘I’m not interested in what other parents do. My only concern is you two.’
‘And that’s the point! This family’s so small and so lonely. It’s like we’re breaking off person by person and you just don’t care. All this secrecy about Pat. All this fury at Mary. I could’ve known her for years and you made sure that didn’t happen. She’s my grandmother.’
For a second Katie saw something in her mother’s eyes she’d never seen before. Was it fear? It made Katie feel bigger than herself, bigger and more powerful and more right than her mother.
‘You don’t know how lucky you are, Mum. I never do anything wrong. I’m not a junkie or pregnant. I’m doing well at school. I help out all the time – I cook and shop when you ask, I’ve looked after Mary for weeks and you’re pretty much planning I look after Chris for the rest of my life, and still nothing’s right for you, is it?’
Katie could see her own face in the wardrobe mirror and it was strange, like when she’d been a kid and watched herself cry. It made her self-aware, so she banged the door shut with her foot. Mum flinched.