rolled and sieved, making dinners and packed lunches and snacks. They’d blown out countless birthday candles here.
When she was eight, her parents had sat her down at this very table and told her about the reality of her birth and reassured her that she was loved more than enough, more than any child could be loved, even though she was adopted. Emphasising, unconvincingly, that she’d been chosen, rather than given away.
The next evening they’d all sat here again and Charlotte had watched them recoil in horror as she recounted that, at school, Michael Maloney had said, if she’d been adopted, then her parents could also give her back any time too. That they should have, because she looked stupid with her crazy frizzy hair and too-pale freckly skin, and no wonder her real mother hadn’t wanted her. That if she was chosen, she could be un-chosen too.
She’d discovered that day that she had to be very careful what she told her parents. Because she didn’t want to make her father so angry, and her mother cry so hard, ever again. She didn’t want them threatening to phone the school to bring that boy down a peg or two. She didn’t want to upset them or rock the boat.
Because, what if Michael Maloney had been right? What if they did decide to un-choose her? What would happen to her then? Would the woman who’d given birth to her still not want her? Who would?
She ran her hands over the old knotted pine, feeling the indentations in the wood, like tiny chinks in her heart, of memories, moments this table had borne witness to over two decades of family life.
Eileen sighed. ‘You know, the older I get, the more I find it hard to deal with change. I didn’t think I’d be like that. I always thought I’d be more bring it on. But I like my life, Charlotte. I love having you round the corner. I love my routine, my yoga classes and my embroidery. I have enough, you know? I don’t feel like I’m missing out, not much. I do get a bit lonely at times, but that passes when I think about washing a man’s socks and having to compromise. It’s not what Melissa would call exciting, but I’ve had enough of that, thank you very much.’
Finding her husband stone-cold dead on the kitchen floor and suddenly being a single parent with an eleven-year-old child had been hard on her. ‘I think she just wants you to have fun, that’s all, Mum.’
‘I know. And I do. Watching you grow up has been all the fun I need. And… you never know, there may be grandchildren soon to help me fill my time. I mean… you and Ben are thinking of it, aren’t you?’ The tired eyes looked lovingly at her. ‘I know I shouldn’t ask. All the magazines are full of women complaining that family ask them when they’re going to have babies and say it puts more pressure on. So I’m sorry if it’s rude, but you don’t want to be getting to your forties and having a newborn to look after like I did. That’s… well, you weren’t difficult, not at all. But it was a challenge.’
A challenge. Charlotte’s heart pinged. Would it have been a challenge if she’d been Eileen’s natural-born daughter? Or did unconditional, blood-ties love mean the difficulties of child rearing were laughed off as just little bumps in the parenting road? Charlotte had no doubt her mother loved her, but sometimes she wondered how it could be possible to love an adopted child as much as one you shared DNA with.
And having babies? Charlotte couldn’t have this conversation. After Tuesday, perhaps, but right now she was having a hard time imagining fitting into her wedding dress without boobs, never mind babies. ‘We’re building the business and all our money is going on the wedding. Besides, I’m way too young to be thinking about babies, Mum.’
‘I know. I just don’t want you to miss out on one of the most rewarding things in life. We left it too late and when we tried it just didn’t happen. We were lucky to get you. A lot of people said forty-two was too old for us to get a baby, and they wanted us to have a four-year-old or something. Which would have been fine, of course, but then you came along and it was… well, it was a miracle.’ There was an uncharacteristic sniffle and then a smile. ‘The challenge was me being so set in my ways by the time you arrived, if I’m honest. Look, grab that plate and let’s go through and find out what they’re doing. If we’re not careful we’ll be on some naked cruise to Mykonos.’
‘I don’t think there are naked cruises to Mykonos. At least, I hope not.’
‘Well, I certainly wouldn’t find a man with a body like this bared to all and sundry.’ Eileen straightened her cream blouse and ran her hands over her straight navy trousers. With her neat silver bob and thin frame she put a lot of other women her age to shame. She had long legs and a slim build she didn’t have to work hard for, unlike Charlotte, who had always found maintaining a dancer’s build hard work.
When she was younger she used to wish that, just by living with this tall, slender woman, she’d somehow absorb some of those genes. She didn’t want her own genetic pale-blue eyes and that stupid frizzy, mousy hair; she wanted her adoptive mother’s deep-chocolate eyes and the rich, dark, straight mane. But no amount of wishing got her her dream. Just straighteners, a lot of hair dye and a heck of a lot of exercise.
‘Don’t be daft – you’re gorgeous, Mum. And maybe a romance is just what you need. Oh…’ There was a vibration in Charlotte’s back pocket. She pulled out her phone. ‘Hang on, it’s Ben. Probably wondering what’s for dinner or which room to attack with the paintbrush next. Now, there’s romance for you.’
‘Oh… something’s fallen out of your pocket. Don’t worry, I’ll get it.’ Eileen waved at her to carry on the phone conversation, and bent to pick up the paper, completely missing the sudden panic Charlotte knew was in her eyes. Not hearing the rush of breath or the thump in her daughter’s tight chest. ‘What’s this? Dr Montford? What’s… oh? A doctor? Charlotte, are you okay?’
For a brief second Charlotte saw fear in her mum’s eyes. She took a breath, the habitual alarm rising in her chest as her mind scrambled to find ways to appease her. Usually, playing down the severity of a situation tended to work. ‘I’ve got to go, Ben. Sorry. Later. Mum… it’s…’
Laughter floated to them from the open door. Something about a male stripper and matching T-shirts, and Charlotte suddenly wished they’d all go home. Which felt unbearably selfish considering they were all here to make her transition from single to married a memorable one. And she loved each of them dearly. Just… the timing really wasn’t working.
Charlotte sat back down at the table and motioned for her mum to sit again too. She took the paper from her trembling, liver-spotted hands and folded it. ‘I was going to tell you… honestly, Mum. Just not today. Not with all this going on. I wanted us to have some time to talk it all through. I’ve… well, I’ve found a lump in my breast and I need to get it checked out.’
More raucous laughter, and now music. Charlotte imagined the girls dancing and singing with no idea about the fallout in the kitchen.
‘A lump. I see.’ Again, Eileen ran her palms down her thighs, choosing her words. Measuring her emotions. Always, she was the invested, interested parent using difficult situations as learning opportunities, protecting her child from heartache – it worked both ways, it seemed. Tiptoeing around each other, taking care not to offend or upset or hurt. But this time, Charlotte knew, her mum was out of her depth. Eileen slid her hand over Charlotte’s, unease turning to fierce protection. ‘I’ll come with you to the doctor’s. If… that’s what you want? Or is Ben going to go with you?’
‘He has to work.’
‘Or Lissa? I’m sure you’d prefer her…?’ There was a break in her mum’s voice and Charlotte felt it resonate deep in her heart. Because yes, given a choice, she would usually have chosen her best friend over her mother. It was easier that way.
Ben had said he’d phone in sick and they’d argued and she’d told him she was a grown-up and could manage by herself. She hadn’t told Lissa yet and there was the issue of the classes to cover and, while she could go on her own, Charlotte suddenly felt the need for her mum’s support. ‘I’d like you to come, if that’s okay? Please.’
Eileen