The Happy Family by Jackie Kabler (electric book reader txt) 📕

But I’m laughing now, remembering all the times I spotted him, this clearly rather inept detective.

Nothing to do with the past, with what I did. Nothing to do with that at all. The relief …

‘He was rubbish!’ I say. ‘I saw him dozens of times!’

She starts to laugh too.

‘Oh, Beth! I’m so sorry. It was just that, well, I didn’t really know where to start on my own. I’m not very techy, you know, internet and all that, and I’d saved up some money, so I thought it would just be easier, you know …’

She laughs again.

‘Trust me to pick ’em, eh?’

I roll my eyes and smile.

‘Don’t worry. At least I know now. That’s a huge weight off my mind, I can tell you.’

‘Well, I feel dreadful. He was one of the cheapest I could find, and I suppose you get what you pay for, but he did track you down so he wasn’t all bad. I’m not sure how he did it. To be honest, I didn’t ask. I just gave him all the details I had from the past – you and your dad’s names, your school, previous address, stuff like that, and somehow he tracked you down. Public records, I suppose. I don’t know. They have ways. Probably could have done it myself if I’d really tried, but you’d obviously changed your surname, so …’

She takes a breath and I stay quiet, listening, watching her face, still scarcely able to believe she’s really here. My mind is still racing.

My mother. Here in my living room. This is … this is insane.

‘… anyway, he said he was certain he’d found you, but I wanted to be absolutely positive, you know? So I asked him for photos. I knew I’d recognise you, even after all these years. You never forget your child’s face, do you? But he said you’re not on social media. Don’t blame you really …’

I’m not. I don’t want the kids to be either, although Eloise has been nagging for a while about an Instagram account, and I’ll probably have to give in at some point, but not yet. She’s only ten, after all.

‘… and there weren’t even any photos of you on your practice website or anything, nothing he could find online at all, so he said he’d have to take some himself, and that meant hanging around where you work and stuff. When I saw the pictures, well … I mean, I last saw you when you were a child, but I recognised you immediately, love. I did. Your eyes. Eyes never change, do they?’

Her voice breaks and she lets out a little sob. I instinctively rise from my chair, wanting to cross the room and comfort her, but she waves a hand and shakes her head.

‘I’m OK, just a bit emotional. I’m sorry …’

I nod and sit down again. I’m feeling a bit emotional myself.

I need to hear all this, and a lot more besides, but it can’t be easy for her …

I try to focus, realising she’s still talking.

‘The phone call last night just to check your maiden name … that was just belt and braces really,’ she’s saying. ‘You’re in the phone book, you see, and he found your address on the electoral roll so that last bit was easy. He told me about the kids, and your divorce – I was sorry to hear that, love – but anyway, I was so excited. I’d already packed my bag. As soon as he rang me to confirm that you really were formerly Beth Armstrong, I knew I just had to get on a train this morning and come up here.’

She pauses, dabbing at her eyes with the tissue again.

‘Train from where? Where do you live now? Did you … did you have any more children? Oh, gosh, sorry …’

I stop, feeling embarrassed at my eagerness, my neediness, and she smiles at the flurry of questions.

‘It’s OK. I get it. There’s so much to catch up on,’ she says. ‘So, what was the first question? Where do I live now? Cornwall. Been there for the past ten years or so. Little place not far from Bodmin. It’s so beautiful – the moor and everything. You been there?’

I shake my head. I’ve been to Cornwall a few times; Jacob and I used to take the kids for holidays. Padstow for the restaurants, Newquay for the beaches, but not to Bodmin or its famous moor.

‘Can we do the rest later?’ she says. ‘I want to tell you everything, I do. But I might need a little breather first. I’m kind of exhausted. It’s been a bit of a day. All this … and you …’

She waves a hand vaguely and leans back against the cushions with a little sigh.

‘Of course. I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed too,’ I say.

There’s silence for a moment. Outside, the earlier threat of rain has passed and the sun has come out. A few dandelions are already flashing yellow on the small patch of lawn outside the patio doors.

‘Will you stay? For a few days? Stay here, I mean?’ The words emerge in a rush, unplanned. I just know suddenly that I don’t want her to leave again; that now she’s back, finally here, sitting just feet away from me, that she can’t go, she can’t leave. I won’t let her. And then, just as suddenly, my chest tightens, my heartbeat speeds up, and a little voice whispers a warning from far, far away.

Why did you suggest that? She’ll say no, of course she will. She’ll leave you again … You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve something this good to happen, not after what you did …

But she’s nodding, smiling, replying instantly, delight in her voice.

‘Of … of course! Love, I didn’t expect … I was going to check into a hotel, but if you’re sure … I mean, that would be wonderful, amazing. We could catch up properly, get to know each