She shakes her head. ‘No. Not at all. I’d have facedrejection a thousand times if I’d felt that I deserved a place in your lives.But the fact was, I didn’t. I figured you were getting on with your liveswithout me, and I was terrified that if I came back, I’d fail you all over again.After what I’d done, I felt as if I didn’tdeserveto be your mum and I cameto the conclusion that the very kindest thing I could do for you was to giveyou the chance of becoming part of a loving family, with a mother and a fatherwho could give you the stability and the nurturing that I’d been unable to.’
I laugh bitterly. ‘You really thought that would happen, didyou?’
‘I hoped you’d be fostered or even adopted. I hoped that withall my heart.’
‘Well, it didn’t happen. No one wants to adopt teenagers.Everyone wantsbabies. So I’m afraid your little plan failed miserably.We were in care until the age of eighteen, looked down on by society as if we’ddone something wrong and were bad people, and then we were tossed out into thecruel world and expected to cope on our own. Ateighteen! Still just kids.I was okay. I had a few good friends. But Dylan...’ My voicebreaks and I shake my head, unable to go on.
‘I’m so sorry, Lottie. I hate myself and that will neverchange. I’ve been to counsellors but they were no use. You have to know that ifI could turn back time, I’d never,everleave you. And if you would justgive me another chance to be a proper mother again...’
Tears are running unchecked down her face now, and in spiteof all my resolutions, I can feel my bitter, hardened heart beginning tosoften. Just a little. Every word she’s saying sounds like the truth to me.It’s painfully clear to see that she hates herself for what she did.
But forgiveness? After all this time?
Is that ever going to be possible?
She burrows in her handbag for a hanky and my eye lands onsomething familiar. The purple cloth purse I made for her when I was abouttwelve, decorating it with red and yellow felt tulips.
She sees me looking and smiles through her tears. ‘It neverleaves me. I’ve replaced the zip twice and fixed on one of the tulips before itfell off, but I’d never part with it.’ She strokes it fondly. ‘I left it behindin a café once and I was distraught, but luckily, when I ran back, some kind soulhad handed it in. It’s a bit of you, Lottie, and it keeps me from losing faithin a happy ending.’ She gives a hollow laugh. ‘If you don’t have hope, you havenothing.’
We sit in silence for a while after that, deep in our ownthoughts, staring out at the rain dripping from the trees.
At last, my emotions under control again, I murmur, ‘So whyget in touch now? After all this time?’
She draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. ‘I metsomeone. A man. I’d been on my own for years, working in a library, justgetting through the days, really. And then last year, I started talking to Roy.He’d come into the library most weeks and we’d chat about the books we enjoyed.He’s a little older than me but we gelled.’ She smiles. ‘We understand eachother. So I told him all about my... situation. And hepersuaded me that I’d always regret it if I didn’t at least try to get incontact with you and Dylan. He said what did I have to lose?’ She shrugs. ‘AndI realised he was right. I’d always thought you would hate me forever. But Roysaid that blood was thicker than water and forgiveness was always possible,especially with the passage of time, and that maybe you and Dylan might even welcomethe chance to have me back in your life. So I started thinking differently abouteverything. I screwed up my courage and with Roy’s support, I wrote the firstletters to you both, and I sent them to Sycamore House, hoping and praying theywould get to you, even if you were no longer living there.’
‘Right. Good old Roy.’ I glance across at her with a flickerof dry humour.
‘Yes.’ She echoes my faint smile. ‘Good old Roy.’
We lapse into silence again. Then I turn. ‘You’re probablywondering why Dylan isn’t here.’
Nodding, she looks across at me, a flash of fear in hereyes. ‘Is he... is Dylan all right?’
I give a bitter laugh. ‘You know what? I really don’t know.’
‘You’re not in touch?’ She looks bewildered. ‘But you werealways so close, the two of you. I told myself you’d be fine, as long as youhad each other.’
‘You’re right. We were close. And we relied on each other somuch more after we lost you and Dad. But Dylan went off the rails after youleft us.’ I look down miserably.
‘What happened?’ she whispers.
I force myself to look her in the eye. ‘He turned to alcoholto cope, of course. Just like Dad did.’
‘No,’ she murmurs, horrified, her hands flying to her mouth.
‘I’ve helped him get sober on several occasions over thepast decade but once you’re an alcoholic, you always will be, right?’
‘So where is he now?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. He walked out of the flat we sharedafter a big row over his drinking. He left a note saying he was goingtravelling. That was a year and a half ago and I haven’t seen him since.’
‘Did you look for him?’
‘Yes, of course I did. But... nothing.’
‘No trace of him at all?’
I hesitate, thinking of the diary in his room at SycamoreHouse. But I’m not about to start explaining to her about that when it mightnot even mean anything, so I shake my head. ‘None at all. He’s disappeared. Andit’s only just occurred to me how ironic the whole thing is.’
