Page 74 of Somewhere Only We Know

I also knew one more thing; I wasn’t going to let Mum treat me like this anymore. And I didn’t want her to have the chance to treat her grandchild like this either. We were done.

Mum’s Gap Year

My darling girl,

I’ve never been able to look at you without thinking of your father. You had his beautiful smile, and his soft dark curls. What you wrote about living next to the ocean made me think of him straight away. The two opposite sides of you are essentially Jackson and me. I’ve always been about having a plan and sticking to it – I had life all mapped out. He, on the other hand, wanted to let life unfurl, go with the flow. He imagined spending his days diving and surfing, because that was what made him happy. You get your adventurous side from him! My plans changed with the arrival of you – absolutely no regrets, I hasten to add. But I do sometimes wonder whether his dreams worked out.

I’m sorry that you haven’t had a father figure. Jackson was a free spirit and would not have chosen fatherhood at that age, but he was a good man. He would have moved on quickly romantically no doubt – he was too good-looking not to have caught the eye of another girl. But I’m sure he would have loved to have known you.

I have a confession. Do you remember when you were about fifteen and got angry with me for not trying to find him when you were born? You told me that you could find anyone on the internet if you really tried.

But I didn’t tell you the whole truth. I did try to find him. I rang the volunteering agency that I’d used to book my turtle conservation project in Bali. But they told me that the project had closed down and that they were having to send volunteers to other places instead. So the trail quickly went cold. Maybe I could have tried harder, but I was a single mum, no one to help me. I was working and trying to be good at everything. Jackson didn’t even have a mobile phone. I didn’t know his last name, or whereabouts in America he was from. At the time, I knew I’d never forget him, but little did I know that I’d be blessed with a baby girl who’d remind me of him every second of every day.

Leaving you with a childminder so I could start working again was one of the scariest things I’d ever done. I’d really loved being at home with you in our tiny flat in those early months after you were born. It had been the first time in my life I hadn’t had exams or homework or deadlines. You were tiny and vulnerable and completely dependent on me. I was more determined than ever to do well at work. I wanted to be your role model, to show you that hard work paid off. So I started work in a sales office, feeling guilty for leaving you to be cared for by others. Then I began enjoying my job and felt guilty for that too.

At the back of my mind was the knowledge that I was providing for us, so that you’d always know you were safe and that you’d have a home. It wasn’t perfect, but I was proud that I was doing it on my own. We didn’t always have time to do the fun stuff in those early years. I saved my money for the important things like a deposit on a house for us both.

You’re right when you say I’m not happy if I don’t have something to worry about. Take, for example, when you told me about your gap-year plans and I reacted badly. I told myself – and you – it was because I didn’t want you to give up your dream job at Saatchi. I thought you’d regret it after working so hard to get through all the interviews. But now with the hindsight of the awful months that have passed since then, I can admit that my reaction was about me and not you.

I panicked at the thought of you being out of reach, thousands of miles away on the other side of the world where I couldn’t protect you. I know, I know – you were an adult and perfectly capable of looking after yourself. But I’d still been coming to terms with letting you go, with watching you taking your own path instead of following mine.

My trip to Bali changed the course of my life, and ultimately caused the breakdown in my relationship with your grandmother. I guess deep down a small, irrational part of me was worried that it might happen to us. I didn’t want to lose you. But fate had other ideas and I lost you anyway.

Saying goodbye to Jackson in Bali knowing I’d never see him again was the second-saddest thing I’ve ever done. The saddest was organising my girl’s funeral. The two people who’ve meant the most to me gone, but always in my heart.

Love, always and forever

Mum xx

Chapter 26

Australia

‘I thought we could make banana bread.’

It was seven in the morning, and I was in the main house with Daisy. I’d been awake since six and already had two strong cups of coffee. I’d had a quick look around the kitchen yesterday evening and there was a bunch of overripe bananas in a bowl looking desperate for attention.

She was dressed in shorts, a T-shirt and yawning sleepily. ‘Good choice. We’ve got yogurt and fruit to serve with it.’

‘Plus tea, coffee and juice, yeah?’

‘Better than Starbucks,’ said Daisy, twisting her hair up into a bun.

‘Thanks for helping out,’ I said, tying on an apron over my sundress. ‘Especially as we’re catering for twelve, including both of us and Jono. I’ve found this recipe.’ I showed her one I’d found online.

‘Hmm.’ She glanced at it. ‘I think Mum’s is better. More banana-y.’

‘Your mum’s it is. Do you have it written down somewhere?’

‘It’s up here,’ she replied, tapping the side of her head. ‘She taught me how to do it.’

In an instant I was back in my mum’s kitchen as a little girl, gathering the ingredients for something like her favourite raspberry buns while Mum recited the recipe. There were still some things I could make on autopilot, all because I’d learned them at my own mother’s knee. I’d forgotten about that. I’d forgotten the happy times when we’d cooked together. Somehow my brain had filtered them out and only recalled the occasions when she hadn’t been bothered to cook, and Kat and I had had to fend for ourselves.

We decided to make two loaves, and Daisy put the oven on and found tins while I peeled and chopped eight bananas.

‘Did you teach your daughter to cook?’ she asked.

‘I did. She loved baking. Although she was more into the eating than the cooking. Decorating everything with icing and sprinkles was her favourite part – she would spend ages making patterns on the top of cakes. Then always had a good excuse when it came to doing the dishes and clearing up.’