Page 76 of Road Trip to the Riviera
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SARAH
Having heard Mum disappear to the garden I decide it’s safe to grab myself a cup of tea. But I’m just washing my face to try to rid it of some of the evidence that I’ve been crying when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.
‘Yes?’ I say, towelling my face in the en suite.
It opens and from my position in the bathroom, I see Mum enter, looking strangely contrite. Her hands are clasped in front of her, and her shoulders are stiff as if she’s really uncomfortable. I really hope she hasn’t come in for round two, but I get the impression that’s not it.
‘Hang on a sec!’ I say, putting the towel back on the rail and running my hands over my hair to smooth it a little. Then, ‘Everything all right?’ I ask.
‘Well,’ she says carefully, ‘I think it might be a good idea if we had a little chat.’
Her manner reminds me of the excruciating talk about periods she gave me when I was twelve. I want to tell her that it’s fine. I’m a dab hand at managing my ‘monthlies’ as she calls them. But I dutifully sit down, my heart somehow full of dread at what might be to come.
‘Hal thinks we should talk,’ she tells me.
I look at her, a thousand questions shooting through my mind. First of all, when was it that she started taking advice from Hal? And what exactly does he think we should talk about? But remembering our earlier argument, I decide to proceed with caution. ‘He does?’
‘Yes.’ She nods her head and then, just as I’m expecting her to launch into something, falls silent.
I wait until I’m absolutely sure she’s not going to say anything, then, ‘So what would you like to talk about?’
She sighs, wrings her hands. Then starts: ‘Listen, I know you were a bit… hurt when I moved out here.’
‘It’s OK, Mum. I get it.’
‘Do you though?’ Her eyes meet mine and I look away. ‘Because I would understand, with hindsight, if you hadn’t. Back then I was… well, grief does funny things to a person. I thought I was seizing the day, doing something adventurous. But when I think about how I felt then… well, I suppose I was just running away.’
I take her hand, squeeze it. ‘I get it, Mum. Yes, I would have liked you to be around. But I might have done the same in your position. Losing Dad when you’d been together so long.’
‘Yes, but you lost him too.’
I try to keep a straight face, but know I’m not doing a very good job. ‘Well, yes.’ I think of Dad. If he were here now, he’d say something to lighten the mood. And somehow it would work.
‘Your father—’ Mum continues. ‘You’re with a person so long – fifty years almost – and you don’t realise how much you rely on each other. Not just silly things like putting the bins out or sorting out the bank accounts, but parts of your… well, personality, really.’
I look at her, wait for her to continue.
‘I wasn’t a natural mother,’ she says. ‘Wasn’t maternal, I suppose.’
‘But you were always there for me,’ I tell her. ‘Even… I know you weren’t thrilled when I got pregnant so young. But you supported me. Helped.’
She shakes her head. ‘Perhaps. Financially. And you must know how much I care about you. True, you had all the essential things. But I’ve watched you with Louis over the years, and I see how close you two are, how natural everything is between you. We’ve never really been like that, have we?’
‘But that’s not just your fault.’
‘Perhaps. Perhaps we’re just very different in some ways. But still I think I probably relied too much on Dad to be the go-between, when you and I couldn’t find a way to open up. And when he went… When he went, I realised how woefully inadequate I was. How I was unable to communicate with my own daughter.’
‘It’s OK, Mum,’ I squeeze her hand again. ‘I mean, I’m a grown-up. It takes two to communicate!’
‘I think if I’d really known how you felt, I would have thought twice about moving to France.’
‘But that’s not just your fault. That’s my fault. I didn’t say anything.’
She smiles, thinly. ‘True enough. In fact, I think I remember you telling me togo for it. You sounded so enthusiastic that I allowed myself to believe that you didn’t need me around at all. Perhaps didn’t even want me.’
‘Oh, Mum. Don’t be daft. But you’re right – looking back, those words do seem a bit… heartless. I think I was just in shock. I thought that if you wanted to go, leave me, without a second thought, then you must not care. So I suppose I decided to sound… breezy.’
