At last, when the riot of emotions within me dies down andI’m feeling calmer, I pick up my phone and the letter, and I call the numbershe’s given me...
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I’ve imagined the way this morning will play out at leasta hundred times since I spoke to her on the phone last night.
Her shock when she picked up, not recognising the number,and I said, ‘It’s Lottie’ was very clear, and I felt glad. I’d got her on theback foot, which was only what she deserved.
At first, I thought we’d lost the connection because therewas silence at the other end. But then she started speaking all in a rush, herwords tumbling over each other so that I struggled to make sense of them. Iguessed she was nervous at talking to me again after all this time. Well, youwouldbe, wouldn’t you? The astonishing thing to me is how she’s still managing tolive, under that huge weight of guilt. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t – but then, Iwould never walk out on my kids underanycircumstances. Justnever.We could be homeless and hungry and desperate but I’d fight tooth and nail tomake sure we stayed together for always.
Maybe she’s justified it somehow, though. Perhaps shedoesn’t even feel guilty for what she did.
She suggested meeting in a café but I cut her off and toldher straight that it was my decision. I had the right to pick the venue and itwas going to be the wildlife hide. She sounded a little flustered for a secondbecause she wasn’t quite sure where it was, but then she said, ‘Absolutely. Thewildlife hide. That’s good. We’ll have the place to ourselves so we’ll be ableto talk, uninterrupted.’
My response was brief. ‘That’s the plan. So, eleveno’clock?’ My insides were rolling around like a cement mixer and I just wantedto end the conversation.
‘Eleven? Tomorrow morning?’ She sounded strangelybreathless, not at all like the calm, smiling, reassuring presence Iremembered. ‘Yes. I’ll be there, Lottie. I’ll find it. If I remember rightly,your dad used to park in that lay-by next to the woods and –’
But I cut her off at the mention of Dad.
I could feel emotion surging up inside me and I didnotwanther to know that the prospect of seeing her again was making me feel a bundleof nerves and sick with apprehension. As I tossed and turned in bed last night,I kept changing my mind. I’d phone her first thing and tell her the meeting wasoff. Then she might feel just a fraction of the soul-destroying rejection thatDylan and I faced when she walked out on us.
But by morning, I knew it had to happen. Because if I didn’tmeet her, the deep sorrow and bitterness lodged inside would eat away at meforever. To move on with my life, I needed somehow to make peace with what hadhappened. And confronting the source of the pain was surely the only way I wasever going to do that...
*****
As I’m driving to the lay-by near the wildlife hide, thesky darkens and fat raindrops start to splatter down onto the windscreen.
My heart is in my mouth as I get nearer but when I arrive,she’s not there yet. I’m a little early, and as I pull in and switch off theengine, it occurs to me that maybe she’s had second thoughts. If so, Ishouldn’t be surprised.
It wouldn’t be the first time she’s let me down.
I reach into the back seat for my waterproof and pull it on,deciding to make my way to the hide rather than wait for her here. There’ssomething about the hide in the woods that calms my spirit. And I need to feelcalm when I see her.
It’s easy enough for her to find, I think, as I walk throughthe gap in the hedge and then follow the woodland path into the trees for ahundred yards to the hide. Slipping in out of the rain, I sit on the narrowbench and push my hood back, trying to calm my racing heart and wondering ifshe’ll see a big change in my appearance – the transition from me being ateenager to a young adult. What willshelook like now? Grey hair,maybe? A few more lines and wrinkles?
Suddenly, I have an urge to run away... toescape the meeting altogether. What good can really come of it? I can’t imagineever being able to properly forgive her – especially for the disastrous effecther disappearance had on my lovely big brother – so what’s the point?
But as I rise to my feet, I see movement in the trees.
It’s her.
I freeze, watching as she pauses at the fork in the path,pulling the hood of her yellow waterproof around her to keep out the drivingrain. Then she spots the hide and hurries towards it.
‘Hi! Gosh, I’m soaked. You must be, too.’ She appears at theentrance, smiling nervously and quickly pushing off her hood so that raindropsfly into my face. ‘Oh, sorry about that.’
‘It’s okay.’ I arrange my mouth into a smile that isn’treally a smile and shuffle along the bench. ‘Sit down.’
She nods and with a little sigh, lowers herself onto the endof the seat. Sitting rigidly upright, hands clasped in her lap, she staresahead at the rain-drenched woodland, and I’m able to look at her properly forthe first time. She looks the same but different, maybe because her fringeisn’t bouncy the way I remembered it, but plastered to her head because of thewet day, and also because she’s wearing glasses. She takes them off and driesthem on the bottom of her shirt and I notice the worry lines on her foreheadand the dark patches etched beneath her eyes, like bruises.
Popping her glasses back on, she turns towards me and I seethe sheen of tears in her hazel eyes. ‘Thank you for this, Lottie. I know Idon’t deserve it and I haven’t come here today expecting forgiveness. I’dneverexpect that.’ She’s speaking softly but quickly, and I wonder how many timesshe’s rehearsed in her head what she’d say to me.
When I remain silent, she takes a breath and ploughs on. ‘Ihate myself for what I did, Lottie, and I’m not going to make excuses, althoughI really want to explain. If you’re ready to listen. I’m just so grateful toyou for agreeing to see me.’ She reaches for my hand but I snatch it away andshe nods, closing her eyes for a second, as if she was expecting that reaction.
‘You really don’tdeservemy forgiveness. OrDylan’s,’ I say coldly, glaring at her, wanting to see her cry properly...to break down and beg for my forgiveness. But she’s trying so hard to bestrong. The only giveaway sign that this is affecting her as much as it’saffecting me is the slight tremble of her lower lip.
‘I know,’ she says simply. ‘But I had to try. I’ve missedyou every single day. Both of you. And I’ve regretted leaving every single daysince. I went to an old friend in Scotland and basically had a breakdown andended up in a psychiatric hospital for almost a year. And when I got better andstarted to see things more clearly, I was desperate to come back to you. But Iwas so afraid.’
‘Afraid we’d reject you like you rejected us?’ I sneer,determined not to be moved by her tears.
