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

It’s true. I really don’t know how I feel about Alison anymore. Yes, I’m appalled that she was able to fool me like that, to ruin my life so comprehensively. And yet, I understand completely. She needed to do it, and I made that possible. Now maybe we can both find a little peace. She’s taken her revenge, and I’ve been punished, and now it’s over. And, odd though this may sound, I liked her. I even have a tiny, sneaking suspicion that she liked me too sometimes, although I’m not a hundred per cent sure about that. But she was funny and glamorous and entertaining, and I liked her. I wanted her to be my mother; I was proud that she was my mother.

Except she wasn’t, was she? And now I have to find out who is.

‘So, what’s your next move, Beth?’ asks Crystal.

I hesitate for a few seconds, but I already know the answer.

‘Today I’m spending with Eloise and Finley,’ I say. ‘But tomorrow, I’m going to start asking some serious questions, guys.’

Jacob and Crystal look at each other, eyebrows raised. Then Jacob grins.

‘Fair enough. Good luck, Beth.’

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I’ll keep you posted.’

Chapter 41

It’s Monday morning, and after I’ve dropped the kids off at school, asked Jacob to collect them later to give me some more time, and rung the surgery to tell Gabby I’m coming in later today for a chat, my first job is to go and see Dad. I tell him about Alison Allen as succinctly as possible, and at first he’s shocked and disbelieving, then upset.

‘I’m a fool, Beth,’ he says. ‘I thought it was her too. That tattoo … I’m so sorry, love. The disappointment for you …’

To my horror, tears spring to his eyes and I grab his hand, rubbing it gently and telling him it’s fine, I’m fine, it will all be fine.

‘I knew it would catch up with me eventually, Dad,’ I say. ‘Lucy Allen, and everything that happened back then. Now that it’s finally happened, it’s almost a relief, you know? It’s not hanging over me anymore. I’m OK, honestly.’

And strangely, I really am. I feel freer somehow, even though I know what I’m about to do in the next day or so is, quite frankly, preposterous. As I drove to Holly Tree this morning, I remembered a book I used to read to Finley when he was a toddler, one of those big colourful hardbacks with lots of pictures and few words. It was by P.D. Eastman and was called Are You My Mother? It was the story of a baby bird who hatches while his mother is away from the nest and he goes off looking for her, asking first other creatures and then even a boat and a plane if they’re his mummy.

That’s me, isn’t it? I thought. A lost bird, asking everyone and anyone. What am I doing?

I don’t tell Dad anything about my real mum allegedly being the one who attacked Alison – it’s too weird and too complicated to explain. If I find her I’ll tell him all about it, obviously, but for now I’m on a mission and I need to focus. Sitting in the car outside the care home I text Brenda, knowing that Monday is one of her days off from the boutique. I tell her I need to see her, and Barbara too if possible, telling her something momentous has happened, something I have to talk to them about. I’m half expecting my text to be ignored, but within minutes there’s a ping from my phone.

OK. Hope you’re all right? We could both pop round in about half an hour, about 11.30?

To my surprise, I feel like crying. I’ve missed them so much, and now I desperately want to try to get back to where we were before. As I drive home though, I try to collect my thoughts, wondering how best to ask the questions I need to ask, which now seem even more ludicrous than they did yesterday.

‘But my mother is somebody I know,’ I keep telling myself. ‘Remember that. I’ve got to do this.’

It’s already eleven-fifteen by the time I open the front door. I turn the kettle on and assemble mugs, plates, and cake, grateful for the still-present party food. I bustle around feeling jittery and nervous while my stomach flutters, and when the doorbell rings I have to make myself stand still and take a few deep breaths before I answer it. They’re standing there, shoulder to shoulder, Brenda in a floaty floral tunic and Barbara in a green jumper and jeans. She looks rosy-cheeked and noticeably fresher-looking than the last few times I’ve seen her, I notice.

Are you my mother? You can’t be, surely? This is ridiculous …

‘Hello. Thank you so much for coming.’

They look as on edge as I feel, with tight smiles and muted greetings, but Brenda is carrying a little posy of flowers which she holds out to me.

‘Picked from the garden this morning,’ she says.

It’s lovely – pansies and freesias tied with red twine – and I feel my nerves easing a little. I make the drinks and we sit in the kitchen, and for a few moments there’s an awkward silence.

‘Well, here we go. Let me tell you a story,’ I say. And then I tell them the whole incredible tale of Alison Allen, watching their faces carefully as I do so – Barbara’s especially. They’re both looking similarly astounded though, and I carry on, with growing anxiety, explaining why Alison did what she did. Because of what I did, to Lucy.

Alison wanted to do this, didn’t she? I think. She wanted to out me to my friends, and now she’s forced me to do it myself. She’s won, but I don’t even care anymore. No more secrets.

And so I tell them everything, and their eyes grow wider and wider as they listen, little gasps coming from slack-jawed mouths, and