‘Mum, please keep the mask on. You need the oxygen, like the nice man told you.’ She went to replace the plastic cover but Sylvia brushed her hand away.
‘No, I want to tell you something…’
‘Mum, not now please, save your energy. You can tell me tomorrow, okay. When they’ve made you better.’ And even though she wanted the words to be true, Carmen could see how frail her mum was and tomorrow seemed a long way away.
‘Mum, let Gran speak. Go on Gran, it’s okay. Just take your time.’ Rosina’s voice was gentle as she smiled at Carmen and held Sylvia’s hand.
Letting go of the mask Sylvia reached out for her daughter. ‘You’re a good girl and I love you very much. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Mum, of course I do and I love you too, we all do.’ As hard as she tried to hold them back, tears escaped and Carmen forbade her face to crumple.
‘And you mustn’t worry about anything. What’s done is done. Do you understand, Carmen?’
‘Yes, Mum–’
Sylvia interrupted, her voice a whisper yet urgent. ‘I want to tell you about your dad… before it’s too late… I did it for you. He loved you, he won’t have forgotten, you were his pearl, do you remember? He wanted you to know. I should have told you before… I’m sorry, Carmen. If you see him… tell him I forgive him.’
Carmen battled with despair and confusion. What did her mum mean about seeing her dad? And of course she remembered about the pearl. Then a more urgent thought: she had to let her mother know that she didn’t blame her for anything.
Sylvia was exhausted and when her eyes closed and her hand went limp, Carmen thought she was going to faint until Rosina replaced the mask and the reviving oxygen brought a flicker of an eyelid and renewed hope. A hush fell on the room as each of them, alone with their thoughts, watched the rise and fall of Sylvia’s chest. Reaching out to brush the wispy fronds of ice-white hair from her mum’s face, Carmen tracked the peach-soft skin of her liver-spotted face.
When Sylvia’s eyes slowly opened she focused on Carmen, who reassured her mum. ‘I know you did everything for me, Mum, so please don’t worry about all that. We were fine, just you and me. I love you so much, you have to know that. Mum, Mum, can you hear me?’ Her eyes opened, a look of love, the slightest hint of a nod and then she drifted into unconsciousness.
The room was completely still when a faint tap on the door preceded Bern’s voice as he popped his head inside the room. ‘The ambulance men are here. Can they come in?’
When they took Sylvia downstairs all three of her granddaughters were distraught and Carmen was barely holding it together. Though she was partly glad that her mum hadn’t witnessed everyone’s distress, the other half willed Sylvia to come round so they could have one more word before she went. The sight of the ambulance doors closing, that last glimpse of her mum would haunt Carmen forever. It had been much worse than the hours that followed, when they’d kept vigil in the kitchen, none of them sleeping, the clock on the mantel ticking like a heartbeat while Carmen prayed her mum’s was doing the same.
And then that early morning call and the kind voice on the end of the phone telling them the worst news ever, that Sylvia was gone. If the world hadn’t already been dark enough, it was as though someone had turned a switch and snuffed out the light.
It wasn’t until after the meagre funeral, while she sat and watched her own grandchildren play in the garden that she wondered what her mum had meant, about seeing her dad and forgiveness. They were still reeling from the shock and awe of losing the true rock of their family because as Carmen said when she raised a glass to Sylvia, ‘She showed me how to be, what hard work meant. Mum always put me first, us first, and our happiness was what she cared about most in this world.’
Was that what her mum was trying to say? That if she could forgive the man who had broken her heart, it was okay for Carmen to go and find him, see him again. Was that what she meant by telling her not to worry, and she understood? Or did she mean something else entirely?
She endured another awful Christmas and as the months passed, the notion that perhaps she should search for her dad became more frequent. So one year later, when she visited Sylvia’s grave on the first anniversary of her passing, Carmen told the headstone what she was going to do.
‘I think I worked out what you were trying to say, Mum, and I’ve decided I’m going to try and find Dad. I know if you were here it would have been hard for you, raking up the past and seeing him again and that wouldn’t have been fair. Like a slap in the face. I always felt I owed you that loyalty, for looking after me so well, for your selflessness.
‘My dad hurt you a lot, and you were hurting for me too and it’s the most terrible thing, seeing those you love sad. I do get it, more than you know. I did when Sebastian died; before too, because he let me down so much. I don’t think I can forgive him for the way he was. That’s why, once again, I’m in awe of you so if I do find my dad, I’ll tell him what you said, I promise.
‘I suppose we all do things we regret, or make decisions we can’t alter, or take matters into our own hands because we believe it’s for the greater good. You were such a stubborn bugger and set in your ways, the strongest woman I ever met and I was so proud to call you Mum. I always will be and I’ll tell him all about you, how I never wanted for anything.
‘But I’d like to see him again, find out what he did after he left and even if he was happy with Martha. Maybe they split up, they might have made a go of it. I could have siblings out there, who knows? One thing I do know is that I’ll only ever have one mum and she was the best in the world.’
Picking up her basket and gardening tools Carmen took one last look at the headstone and then set off home, knowing in her heart that her mum would understand.
Appleton Farm, Cheshire. Present day
The sound of the front door slamming and a familiar voice calling up the stairs took Carmen by surprise as did the tears that she wiped away quickly. Replacing the photo she called down that she would be there in a minute, then rushed to the bathroom to compose herself, at the same time curious and mildly concerned that Violetta had paid her a visit. If past experience was anything to go by an impromptu visit from her middle daughter would only mean one thing. Trouble.
16
Violetta
Appleton Farm, Cheshire
Present day
Pushing open the front door Violetta called out, ‘Mum, it’s me, where are you?’
