A daughter's love

Story 2! Enjoy ;)

My mother was doing that thing she did. That thing with the rag in the sink. It was a cause of whimsy at first, with how she would twirl it around her fingers as she washed one plate after the next, getting our modest little kitchen in order after what must have also been a long day at the hospital. Such a selfless soul was she, keeping us together despite how much was on her shoulders with work as well as myself, our flat as well as the aftermath of her split from my dad. I used to love seeing the grin on her face when she told the stories of her, a nurse at the city hospital, and her colleagues running around day by day doing the good thing for the people that were in their mutual care. How I was blind with my youthful naiveté to the cracks in her smile, the brave way she was keeping the realities of such work from me to not create any apparent damage to my fragile happiness as her only child. This was despite me asking often how her day had been, sincerely and often so that I could learn more about her life outside our haven and just so I could…hear her voice.

This was often met with a casual, offhand and yet warming kind of smile;

“Not much to tell my sweet. You may find out in later years but let’s not spoil this lovely evening shall we?”

To not be aware that the simple act of washing up dishes and chatting with her daughter that was an absolute god-send after a long day dealing with death and sadness hurts me still, but in a way makes me smile for this was a happiness for her. So on she would go, swiping and rubbing those items in the sink with its warming, soapy water caressing her aching hands as she heard about my day at school that must have been a joyful distraction. I never knew what selflessness meant in its purest form back then but I do now for my mother represents the epitome of it.

“Back then” was fifteen years ago when we lived in a first floor flat in a two story building situated in the middle of the city of Nottingham and at the eve of winter. We had only been at the place for six months since Mum and Dad split. It was a humble place but I loved it for it didn’t attract unwanted attention and was a decent little walk to get to from school. Mum though, had to catch the bus to work which wasn’t the best as it wasn’t always on time nor did she always have the fare so a thirty minute walk in the cold was in order sometimes. The flat itself served its purposes over many a year from then but especially so during turbulent times such as how fast we had to move in. It had all that we needed; a living room, a bedroom each (though I loved snuggling with her as often as I could), a kitchen, shower, toilet and the “living room of dreams”, as I called it. You’d be forgiven for thinking it as a den for we had blankets hanging from every corner of the room that made tunnels for us to crawl through as we collapsed in cushions and watched films together, if that is we could remain focused enough! Despite that winter chill that coursed through the walls and under the doors that could never be sealed right, Mum and I found warmth best when in those moments, especially in the kitchen, after having made lovely food together and just have a laugh. These were the really golden moments we shared; me around seven years young and Mum in her mid thirties. I was at that age starting to become aware of the sadness that was evident in Mum’s smile; a wistful one seen more and more clearly with the weary smile she gave upon coming home from some particularly arduous days and nights spent in the hospital. I couldn’t always tell what was on her mind, such a stoic woman she was during my childhood, but I had a feeling it wasn’t always work related for she missed my father, her long term friend who had broken her heart only an autumn and summer time ago and in the most hurtful way. When maturity forced its stern way into my world earlier than what might’ve been expected for someone so young I was becoming aware of how I represented the only bit of real joy in Mum’s life. The little signs that something was wrong were creeping in with each day that went on; the walks home in the cold, the shifts where patients she had gotten to know had breathed their last with her at their side, but the loneliness that was hurting her most was affecting her deepest. With a time as fast as a knee-jerk reaction she suddenly wasn’t laughing as much, her shoulders that used to carry me around on days of silliness were hanging low now, as if burdened by a weight several times heavier than me as a child ever could have done and I became frightened, for the first time ever, that I was beginning to lose her.

I’ll never forget the night I chose to try and open up to her, to be more than her little escape from life by taking a step into becoming her truly loving daughter. That I could also be her confident, her friend as well so that together we could get her back on her feet again and restore her to her former beautiful self. We were lying down in the living room of dreams with a spectacular array of cushions all around us and a soft rug underneath as we were in a near food coma from a meal of delicious meatballs and tomato sauce when I chose to ask;

“Mummy, you know you can tell me about your days now. I am old enough to know they aren’t always pleasant. Maybe it will help to tell me?”

I could sense her stiffen and tense as her mind churned around with what to tell me and how to say it. Before too long she sat up with a slow, paced movement and hugged her knees as she looked at me with such a tender gaze that I began to find my breath beginning to quicken.

“I knew this day would come when you, my smart sweet darling would ask this question. I can imagine you know the day to day of hospital world is not all that is upsetting Mummy, no?”

“No.” I said, shaking my head as I knew there had to be more.

“I raised no fool,” she said with a scrunched up smile and a pinch of my cheek that would’ve normally set me into a fit of giggles but in this moment I was only able to smile thinly, “I’ll cut to the chase Sara. Work is not my main woes, I have been in the game for many a year, no, my concerns are for your, ahem, cousin Eloise.”

The pause Mum had made on saying Eloise’s relationship to me as my cousin stood out very clear to me in that moment, I had no idea what was about to be revealed to me so I sat up as well and leaned against the sofa as Mum watched me with those ever soft eyes and waited for me to settle before continuing.

“You see your father appears to have been leading quite a double life for some time. One thing among many of my doubts about him was Eloise. She was involved in our lives for a while and I enjoyed seeing her grow up alongside you as you two always seemed to have such a laugh together. But something didn’t ring true, for a while in fact. How things drifted between you both from when you started talking, birthday’s weren’t happening together anymore, less interest was there for it to even be spoken about,” as I was looking at Mum’s eyes, even then in the soft glow of the candles we had dotted around the living room, I could see they were glistening now, her resolve was beginning to falter and this was only adding to my anxiety. Clutching my legs as well I listened on, “I was working late one night when Eloise came to the ward with her mother Rachael; Eloise had taken a nasty tumble playing in the living room and bashed her knee and had quite a harsh cut. Poor thing was crying a fair bit but we got her patched up quickly. What bothered me was how hasty Rachael seemed to be to want to get her and Eloise out of the hospital. I had a strong feeling it was because she didn’t expect to have to see me there but this didn’t explain her...edginess. I suddenly became worried for the safety of Eloise but before I could move to check that was when I heard it...Eloise called for her father...a man I had been told was never around, a man I was told who had left almost from the moment Eloise was born. Who could this father be I wondered? One look at Rachael as I heard her daughter say those words, “where is my Daddy?” said it all. She had a look of sadness in her face that I can only attribute to that of having made too many mistakes in her life. Guiding Eloise away I saw her crying softly, leaving me standing there wondering what on earth I was to do next. I was in shock sweetie, I’m sure you can imagine. It wasn’t until my superior came and stood in front of me that I even realised I had been oblivious to their last numerous calls of my name. I of course, had to go back to work, shaking Rachael’s reaction of Eloise’s words out of my head till I came home that night and asked your father about it. I had been building up the confidence the entire journey home in my car to see what he would say to it, why on earth his...his sister would react so out of character and why on earth Eloise would call for an apparently non-existent father. Our relationship was already on the rocks at this point but I didn’t care...I just wanted answers. So I marched right into the house we had at the time and found him in the living room watching TV and explained what I had seen there and then. I’ll never forget it; he just listened and took every word I was saying with a heavier nod of his head as I went through every detail of Eloise’s cut right to Rachael appearing so upset at the moment her daughter called for her father. At this he eventually dropped his head and just came out with it. One sentence that broke my heart and changed everything. Eloise is not your cousin, she is your half-sister...Rachael has been his other woman for god knows how long and both him and her have been lying to everyone about it ever since.”

My mother paused at this moment, looking at me with a mixture of sorrow and pain that had causing her such sadness this year and when I looked at her with my own sorrow at hearing these words she broke down and cried.

She cried hard, probably more than she had ever done before. As much as it hurt to see her so, I left her alone for just a moment, shock still rendering me numb as I thought about the words bouncing back in my head...

Eloise was my half-sister, but everyone thought she was my cousin! How could my father do this to my mum? How dare he cause such damage from his own selfish desires? How could Rachael?!

Before the questions threatened to burst in my head and cause a migraine, reality gave me a rush of blood to the head and made me focus on my poor mother before me who had finally come to terms with what had happened to her. Wasting not a second longer I edged towards her and hugged as tight as I bloody well could and held her close till every sob and wrack of her whole body subsided and no more tears could flow. No words were needed; nothing more than the clear sign of how much I was there for her, that I always would be was enough.

Once I felt she had finished and could speak again, I held her head in-front of mine and looked right in her sore and bloodshot eyes and said “never again will he be allowed to hurt us like this, right?”

A smile through the tears was damn near enough to set me off but my resolve born from the inspiration she gave me staved off the tears to make me smile back.

“Agreed.”

With more smiles from me I went for a laugh “we have enough problems with the cold of this place, let’s get some tissues to stop adding a leak to them too!”

This time her laugh came from her stomach and set her off on one that made me feel on top of the world as I crawled through the tunnels of blankets to the bathroom, her words following me: “what did I do to deserve such an understanding daughter?”

“Would it be cocky to say you deserve me seeing as you raised me?”

“Hmmm not sure but I’ll go with it!”

We spent the rest of that night just talking over everything. How her doubts had led to more doubts and how she had thought to act on them but then didn’t and how that see-saw had made things go on and on.

I won't lie that while that night ended well we both were using our laughter as a shield against the reality of how everything was going to change from that night on. No more times with Dad were ever going to be happy again. No more family dinners that were the start of my love of food were to take place again, all those smells and aromas that family times had brought; this was especially painful. I think Mum saw this too during the weeks that followed from there. She must heard my nights crying to sleep as I found myself sorely missing the sides to him that I cherished with his affection, his gentle hands that cuddled me with every time I injured myself, or caught the sides of hot things in the kitchen when not being careful.

I was telling myself as well as Mum to “never again” allow for this kind of pain into our lives again. I’ll never forget the day her mother slapped her face as a way of making sure sense was knocked into her when we went to visit her shortly after that night in the living room of dreams. Nan lived an hour’s journey on the train towards Birmingham and had a certain way with giving advice from her upbringing with seven other siblings.

“I never got that good of a feeling for the man if I am honest with you pet, you have always known this,” she said once we had told her what had happened, Mum with a firm control of her emotions as she told the story for the second time out loud, “now let me give you some tough loud as I know how to give.”

Mum looked at me sternly at this point and said “this I promise is not normal but has worked for our family so pay notice.” With her mother standing in front of her she raised one flat hand to the right side of her face and made the motion as if ready to slap her. I almost didn’t believe what I was seeing before it happened anyway and with some shock as well as Mum received a sharp strike to the side of her cheek, just the one, not too hard, and just enough to make her blink and chew aside the pain before she regained her composure. When both my Mum and Nan could see my shocked face they instantly made it clear that with this one time only act of pain we could make a connection to never let this kind of thing happen again.

Upon leaving Nan’s that day I was still unsure as to whether I agreed with what I saw and asked Mum: “are you ok?”

“I am fine, and don’t worry, that isn’t a family tradition, it’s just Mum’s way of giving advice. When you grew up with seven other siblings, 5 of them brothers you tend to grow up with a thick skin!”

So from this time on we made sure we had a special daily chat in the kitchen, Mum washing up and twirling that rag in the sink the way she did and with me helping with the drying as I became more and more happy with each new smile on her face.

How I remember those times so well; they were so formative, so intense in their own way but most importantly my capacity to understand what love really means was achieved back then. This was for who I was becoming, how I was beginning to love cooking in that small kitchen with Mum on every night we could, but most of all I became aware of how much I loved my Mum, with every single way I could I did, and I still do, and I always will.