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“So who then?” I persist.
Her brow furrows. She has a big mouthful of her gin, then another.
“Mum…”
“It was your father,” she says tiredly.
I stare at her. I feel as if she’s told me that the sun rises in the west.
“What?” I say dumbly.
“He’d been having an affair with Sherry for six months when I found out. It’s why I slept with Tom at first, as retaliation.”
I was twelve years old, and we were living in Wellington. Gaby was fifteen. Alex was eighteen, in his last year of secondary school. The atmosphere at home had been bad for a while. Mum’s acting career was flourishing, and she was away a lot, filming. I know she was struggling with depression, and when she was home, I can remember some days where she couldn’t even get out of bed. I guess Dad resented having to bring up three kids practically on his own, as he didn’t like having a nanny in the house. My main memory of that horrible year was of the two of them screaming at each other, throwing insults like hand grenades. Alex or Gaby always took me out of the room when they started, though, so I didn’t get to hear everything they said. I remember him saying she was selfish, that all she thought of was her career, and that her kids should come first.
And then one day, I got up in the morning to discover that Mum had left during the night, and Dad told me tersely that she’d moved in with her ‘lover’, Tom. All these years, I’ve believed she had an affair first, and that Dad met Sherry after she’d left.
“Why have you always let me blame you?” I whisper.
“I’ve never been an easy person to live with,” she admits. “I’d been severely depressed, and I’ve always suffered with self-image issues, which of course are made worse by working in Hollywood. Your dad and I hadn’t slept together for over a year. Sorry, love, TMI, I’m sure, but you’re old enough now to know the truth. I drove him into Sherry’s arms. I can’t blame him for what he did. It still hurts, of course. Tom had already made a pass at me a few months before. I turned him down because I was married. I’m not saying that to sound superior—it’s the truth. I loved your father. But when I found out about Sherry, I went straight to Tom, and we slept together that night. It was good, for a while. I fell in love with him. I was going to marry him. I thought everything was going to be all right. And then…” Her eyes fill with tears. Neither of us wants to talk about that.
“Why didn’t you tell me everything?” I say, my own eyes prickling. “After Tom, why did you just leave?”
“Because your father asked me to.”
My jaw drops as it all becomes clear. “He blamed you.”
“Of course he did, and he was right to.”
“Mum,” I say, horrified, “it wasn’t your fault.”
“Don’t forgive me,” she says, starting to cry. “I couldn’t bear it.”
I go over and sit next to her. I’m trembling, overwhelmed with emotion. “I wish you’d told me.”
“Oh baby,” she whispers, “I’m so sorry.”
Tears pour down my face. I’m still a long way from true forgiveness. But for the first time in my life, I don’t blame her, and I don’t hate her.
I put my head on her lap like a child, and we sit there like that for ages, our faces wet, while she strokes my hair like a real mother.
*
Eventually, I fall asleep, worn out from all the emotion.
When I wake, I’m stretched out on the sofa, covered in a blanket, alone. I sit up, retrieve my clutch from the floor, and pull out my phone. I tap the screen—it’s nearly eleven. I get up quietly and walk through to the bedroom. She’s in bed, curled up facing away from me, asleep.
I go into the bathroom, close the door, then turn the light on and examine my face in the mirror. I clean up the smudged makeup as best as I can, and use a little of her face powder to cover any red blotches.
Then I sit on the toilet seat and look at my phone. I scroll through the messages—a couple from Gaby, saying she hopes everything’s okay, and she’s gone home to Dad’s house with Aroha for the night. One from Alex telling me to call if I need anything.
Nothing from Damon.
He saw me leave with Mum, so I guess he must assume I’m up here. He’s probably gone to bed now. I could go down to his room and knock on the door. He might hear me, and come and let me in. I long to feel his arms around me, to have him hold me tightly. But I’m a mess, and it’s not fair to dump all this on him.
After turning off the light, I go out and into the living room. I slip on my shoes, collect my clutch, and let myself out of her room quietly. My feet practically silent on the carpet, I walk to the elevator, and descend to the ground floor.
The lobby is quiet. I can see that the restaurant is empty. I should catch an Uber, head home, and get a good night’s sleep before the wedding tomorrow. It’s not as if I’m a regular guest who can skulk in the shadows—I’m a bridesmaid, and I’m going to have plenty of eyes on me. I don’t want to ruin it for Gaby.
