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

to feel panicky and bewildered, my fingers gripping the edge of the duvet so hard they ached as I tried to make sense of it all.

Yes, it was incredible, incredible, that my mother had come back. But could I really let her in, just like that, after all these years? Into my heart, into my life, into my children’s lives? What if she disappeared again? I’d been so hurt, so angry, so damaged for so long. Somehow I’d finally managed to get past all that, to put it behind me and become the happy person I am today. Mostly happy, anyway. In many ways, what she did has made me more adaptable, more appreciative of the good people in my life, more empathetic, more protective of those I love. But her departure also left me with less welcome character traits … I can be needy, insecure, oversensitive. And now she was back, but for how long? And what would happen if she disappeared again?

I slept eventually, the deep dreamless sleep that often follows a day of high emotion. And with the light of the morning came the sound of cups clattering in the kitchen, and my mother tapping timidly on my door, proffering a steaming mug of tea and kissing me gently on the cheek. In an instant, the lingering fears began to dissipate.

She’s here. My mother is back. What does anything else matter?

After breakfast I rang Jacob, telling him briefly what had happened. I wanted to check what time he was planning to bring the kids back this evening and to ask him to break the news to them. He sounded, unsurprisingly, dumbfounded.

‘Your … your mother? What the hell? How? When? Are you serious? Good God, Beth, that’s MAD!’

I told him I’d fill him in on all the details when I saw him and warned him not to mention it to Dad if, as he often did, he popped into Holly Tree with Eloise and Finley after Sunday lunch. That conversation was definitely not one I could delegate.

I’d called Brenda and Barbara too, remembering we’d vaguely discussed going out for a pub lunch today. On hearing my reason for cancelling, Brenda had shrieked so loudly that I actually dropped the phone, laughing as I scrabbled under the table to retrieve it, still hearing the little whoops and screams emerging from the speaker. Barbara had reacted completely differently, shocked into silence for a long minute before she stammered:

‘I … I just can’t believe it, Beth. Your mother? That’s … that’s impossible!’

‘Apparently not,’ I said. ‘She’s upstairs right now. Pretty amazing, eh?’

Now, as Mum and I start to head slowly for home again, crossing a field that borders the racecourse which is empty and quiet today, I feel another little rush of joy.

My children are going to meet their grandmother.

They’ve asked so many questions over the years, of me and of Dad, awkward questions both of us found tricky to answer. And now …

‘Hang on … Mum? Look.’

I’ve stopped dead and I’m staring at a figure on the other side of the field. It’s a man, dressed in dark clothing, standing still next to the stile that gives access to the lane back into the village.

‘What am I looking at?’

I point, suddenly feeling that familiar agitation, anxiety pricking my skin.

‘There. Is that … is that your private detective again? Mike. It is, isn’t it? What’s he doing?’

She shrugs and starts fumbling in the small leather bag she’s wearing across her body.

‘Can’t see that far without my glasses. Hang on … but no, it can’t be, Beth. His job’s done. He’s back in Cornwall now as far as I know. Must be someone else.’

I’m still staring. OK, he’s a long way away, but he looks so like the figure I’ve seen so many times in recent months. As I watch, frowning, the man turns away from us, swiftly climbing over the stile and disappearing up the lane. Moments later he’s out of sight. I stare after him for a few moments, then realise Mum’s still rooting in her bag. I wave a hand at her.

‘Forget it, he’s gone. You’re right. I probably imagined it. Ignore me.’

She smiles.

‘You’re definitely imagining it, love. Sorry, that’s my fault for getting him to follow you in the first place. Worth it though, eh?’

She squeezes my arm and I smile back.

‘Absolutely.’

We start walking again and I take a deep breath, trying to quell the butterflies in my stomach and silently talking myself down.

Of course it wasn’t him. That’s all over now. Stop it, Beth. It was just a bloke out for a walk …

‘Beth? I was just wondering … do you need to go and see John later? Your dad? Because it’s fine, if you do. I can amuse myself. I don’t want you to change your routine just because I’ve turned up.’

The question comes unexpectedly. Her tone is casual and I’m so surprised I almost stop walking again. She didn’t ask me last night about where Dad lives and now I’m wondering how much she knows. I hesitate, but she’s still striding along, still talking.

‘I know he’s in a nursing home … care facility, or whatever they call them nowadays. Mike saw you there a few times. Well, we assumed it’s John you visit there?’

I glance sideways at her, eyebrows raised.

‘It is, yes. And he must have been on the ball for once when he followed me there. Probably one of the very few times I didn’t spot your defective detective.’

She laughs at that. She looks lovely today, I think. Her eyes are a dark green and I realise that’s something I don’t even remember, the colour of my mother’s eyes. But they’re smiley eyes, crinkled at the corners, and I do remember the warmth in them, the warmth I see now as she laughs at my silly joke. She’s wearing a cowl-necked cream jumper and a blue angora wrap with an oversized silver necklace. She has the small brown leather bag worn across her body