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“You’ll stay the night,” my mother says, not meeting my eye, giving me no opportunity to argue.
Richard finishes topping up the glass, and I lift it to my lips, acquiescing to my mother’s instruction because wine is exactly what I feel like having.
After dinner, Anna excuses herself to Skype her new boyfriend, kissing our mother on the cheek and Richard on the scalp.
“Goodnight, Dayna.”
“Sleep well, Anna.”
Richard makes a sharp exit next, saying he has business to check up on, despite the fact it’s Friday night.
“Let’s go to the lounge,” my mother says, already out of her chair and leading the way.
The log fire is roaring in the sitting room. Chantelle must have kept the logs topped up while we were having dinner. She appears from nowhere with another bottle of the same red wine and sets it on a coffee table. My mother sits in the corner of the sofa closest to the fire. She pats the cushion next to her, and as I sit beside her with my glass of wine, she pulls me into her side. I breathe her in — cooking, wine, her perfume — and rest my head on her shoulder.
“I love you, darling. You know that, don’t you?” She presses her lips to my hair and squeezes me tighter to her.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Are you going to tell me what’s got you like this?”
I will, but I take a few more seconds in the embrace I’ve rarely given myself up to. I reluctantly pull away and sit up, folding my legs beneath me. I take another sip of wine and put the glass down on the coffee table. Then I look at my mother’s face, a reflection of my own. Her brown eyes, her dark hair, her soft skin. “I’m sorry that I’ve been awful all these years.” Her brow creases questioningly. “Why didn’t you tell me he had an affair?”
Her lips part and she inhales sharply, her pupils dilating. “How do you know?”
“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is I do know, and I’d like to know why you didn’t tell me. I always thought you just left. I thought you didn’t want me. Then you had Richard and Anna and this perfect life, and I just didn’t fit.”
“Only through your choice, Dayna. You’ve always been welcome here.”
I shake my head and wipe my sore nose again. “You let me think you left us both, but he pushed you away, and you didn’t tell me. I thought you had an affair.”
She sighs and pulls one knee up to the sofa, twisting to face me. “He loved you, and you adored him. Your father and I ended, and you cried for him. You wanted to stay with him, and whenever you visited me, you seemed unhappy. I couldn’t hurt you more by shattering your illusion of your father. That would have been crueller than what he did. You were a child; you wouldn’t have understood.”
“But why not now? Why not when I got older?”
“Oh, honey, there’ve been times I’ve come close to telling you.”
“When I’ve been an arsehole.”
She laughs, a soft “pfft” of humour. “Watch that mouth. Sometimes, yes. But you worked together. Your father couldn’t do wrong in your eyes. Why would I break that? What you had with your father, that bond, it was special.”
“It was built on lies.”
“No. Not everything. He loved you, and he made a mistake.”
“How can you say it like that, like it’s nothing?”
“I couldn’t for a long time. I was bitter. But I’m happy with Richard, and we have Anna. We’re a family, and you’re part of this family.” She puts down her glass then takes me by surprise when she holds my face in her warm palms. It’s unfamiliar but welcome. I lean into her hand. “Look at you. We made you, so something good came of us.”
“I’m sorry for what he did. And I’m sorry for who I’ve been to you.”
“It was my decision not to tell you.”
“He should have told me. I just can’t put everything together, you know? I’ve had him on this pedestal. Then I find out he did that to you, and he could have told me. He knew how I…” I look up sheepishly. “How I felt about you leaving. He could have stopped it with the truth.”
“He was just afraid of losing you.”
I close my eyes and my mother pulls me into her chest, holding me to her. “I’ll make it up to you, Mum. I swear I will.”
