‘That’s ridiculous. Just because you have no faith in Gran. Just because you’ve never bothered –’ I stop. I’ve said too much.
Mum’s silent for a few seconds. Then, ‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing. Forget it.’
‘No. If you’ve got something to say to me, I suggest you say it.’
I turn to Mum. Her mouth is pressed into an angry line. We haven’t argued for years, not since I was a teenager and she’d shout at me for my messy bedroom.
‘Okay, then. I think you’ve been a bit … neglectful.’
‘Neglectful?’
‘Yes. You buggered off to Spain. Left a lonely old lady by herself. Hardly visited. How many times have you actually seen Gran in the last six years? Once or twice a year?’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘It’s true. And me? How many times have you seen me? And when you do come and visit you bring along one of your many hideous boyfriends. And don’t pretend you’re happy about this baby.’ I’m on a roll now and I can’t stop even though I know I’m being a bitch. ‘I could see by your face how disappointed you were when I told you! Just because you regretted having me so young it doesn’t mean that I’m the same. Just because you couldn’t wait to get rid of me every summer so you could go out and act like a teenager, leaving Dad and going off with other men. And you wonder why I’m closer to Gran!’
There’s a shocked silence. I can’t quite believe I’ve said it. I dare not look at Mum. I’m not a confrontational person. It must be my pregnancy hormones. Even so, I know that’s how I really feel and have felt for years. It’s actually a relief to get it out.
We continue driving in a tense, uncomfortable silence. My legs are trembling. From the corner of my eye I see Mum wipe a tear from her cheek and I’m consumed by guilt.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t mean all that.’
‘Yes, you did,’ says Mum quietly.
‘It’s my hormones. I just feel so, so … angry!’
‘I know.’ She flashes me a watery-eyed smile. ‘And I agree I haven’t always been the best mother. I’ve made mistakes –’
‘Mum, don’t!’
‘It’s true, and you will too. Whatever you think now. But I never regretted having you. Not for one second. I’d hate you to think that.’
I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat.
By now we’ve reached Elm Brook and I pull into the car park.
As I push the gearstick into neutral Mum covers my hand with hers. ‘Are we okay?’
‘Of course,’ I say. If I feel trepidation at the thought of having a baby at twenty-four I can only imagine how scary it must have been for my sixteen-year-old mother. I should never have said those awful things.
Joy greets us at the door with her usual harassed air. She looks more stressed than normal, but I can appreciate why. She’s probably never had to contend with police coming over to interview one of her residents before.
Mum is sombre as we gather in the lobby. The ugly swirly carpet is making me feel sick.
‘Are the police here?’ Mum asks Joy.
‘In there.’ Joy indicates the room we were in last time. ‘I’ll go and get Rose. She’s still in her bedroom at the moment. She didn’t have a very good night. I’ll bring some tea.’
Anxiety pools in my stomach. ‘In what way didn’t she have a good night?’ I ask.
‘She kept waking up, crying out. It happens sometimes. They forget where they are. Anyway, if you don’t mind going in there,’ she pushes the door open and stands against it so we can go past her, ‘I’ll get Rose now.’