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‘Yes.’ She took a deep breath. ‘When I was eleven, my mother had a baby. My half-sister. There was no father ever in the picture.’ Another breath to keep herself going. ‘Her name was Annelise.’
‘Was?’ Leo said softly, his fingers tightening on hers. ‘What happened to her?’
‘She...she died.’
She closed her eyes against the memories, but they came anyway. Annelise cuddled up to her in her bed, one chubby hand resting on her chest. Annelise toddling towards her with a big toothy grin, hands outstretched as she called Margo ‘Go-Go’. Annelise with her arms wrapped around her neck, her cheek pressed to Go-Go’s.
‘I’m so sorry, Margo.’
‘My mother was lucky not to have Annelise taken away from her right at the beginning,’ she said, the words just barely squeezed out. ‘With her history. But we’d flown under the radar for a couple of years by then. I was managing to get myself to school, and my mother seemed like she could control her addiction.’
She held up a hand to stop Leo saying anything, although he hadn’t even opened his mouth.
‘Which is ridiculous, I know, because of course an addiction can’t be controlled. But she...she functioned, at least, and then when she found out she was pregnant she cleaned herself up for a while—enough for Annelise to be born and brought home.’
‘And then?’
‘As soon as Annelise was home she lost interest. I didn’t mind, because I took care of her. I loved taking care of her.’
‘But you had school—’
‘I stopped going to school. I had to, for Annelise’s sake. I told them we were moving, and nobody bothered to check. It was easy. Honestly, if you don’t want to be noticed by the authorities it can be remarkably easy.’
‘And so you stayed home and took care of Annelise?’ Leo was silent for a moment. ‘What did you do for money?’
‘We got a little bit from the government. And my mother would sometimes...’ She hesitated, not wanting to admit just what her mother had done to score her drugs, but Leo must have guessed because his mouth tightened.
‘She found a way to get money?’ he surmised.
She nodded. ‘Yes.’ And then, because now that she’d started the truth-telling she felt she needed to say it all, she blurted, ‘She sold herself. To men. For money.’
Leo nodded, his jaw tense, and Margo wondered what he thought of her now. In and out of foster homes, her mother a prostitute... She hated him knowing it.
‘So what happened to you and Annelise?’
‘I was her mother,’ she whispered. ‘I did everything for her. Everything.’ She blinked rapidly and managed, ‘She called me Go-Go.’
She stared down at her lap, at their entwined hands. And she thought of Annelise—her soft baby’s hair, her gurgle of laughter.
How, after seventeen years, could it still hurt so much?
‘How did she die?’ Leo asked quietly.
‘The flu. The flu.’ Her voice choked and a tear slipped down her cheek. ‘She just had a fever at first. I was taking care of her. I gave her some medicine and had her sleep in my bed, but...’ She drew in a gasping breath. ‘The fever spiked, and I was so scared, but I knew if I took her to hospital the authorities would get involved and they might take her away. I couldn’t bear that, so I just bathed her in cool water and gave her more medicine.’
‘And then...?’ Leo asked softly.
‘And then she started having convulsions. I begged my mother to take her to hospital then, but she...she wasn’t herself.’ She’d been high on drugs, barely aware of her children. ‘So I took her myself. I carried her to the hospital in my arms. When I got there a nurse took her from me. She...she was already dead.’
She bowed her head, the memory and the pain and the guilt rushing through her.
‘It was my fault, Leo. My fault she died.’
She’d never said those words aloud—never even admitted her guilt to herself. And saying it now made her feel both empty and unbearably full at the same time. She bowed her head and tried to will back the tears.
‘Oh, Margo.’ Leo’s arms came around her and he pulled her towards him, her cheek against his chest. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
He didn’t speak for a moment and she simply rested there, listening to the steady thud of his heart, letting the grief subside.
‘It wasn’t your fault, you know. You were twelve. You never should have had to bear that kind of responsibility.’
‘I wasn’t a child. And it was my fault. If I’d gone to the hospital earlier they could have given her antibiotics. Brought her fever down. Maybe she’d have been taken away, but she’d still be alive.’ She spoke flatly, dully, knowing it was the truth and that nothing Leo could say would change it.
