A Wild Affair (11 page)

My head shot up in alarm. He'd gone to Helen's? So he knew I hadn't been home? Then I shook myself. It didn't matter. Where I went had nothing to do with him anymore.

“Jess? Jess, it's me. So I've spoken to Helen. I still don't know where you are, but I think I now at least know why you're not here. Oh, Jess. Listen, I know you took your stuff to Helen's, so I'm assuming that's where you'll be headed soon. It's not like you to be out so late. I hope you're okay. I'll never forgive myself if you're not. So look, someone's coming to see you. She'll be at Helen's very soon, I should think. Someone I should have introduced to you a while ago, but we weren't ready. She wasn't … Look, I wanted to tell you. But she didn't … She … Look, I'll go now. But I do love you, Jess. More than anything. Never forget that.”

I gulped. Tears were streaming down my face and I looked up frantically to see where we were, because if that Esther woman was at Helen's, then I was going to turn around and go in the opposite direction. Max loved me. More than anything. That's all I needed to know. I'd pretend she didn't exist, I'd push her into a deep pocket of my mind and never let her out. I didn't want to know the truth. But we were already on Helen's road and as I opened my mouth to tell the cabbie to stop, to go back, I saw a woman getting out of a car and walk toward us, and then the cab stopped and she was just feet away. And she was beautiful. Really beautiful. A bit older than I'd expected, but stunning and elegant and all the things I wasn't. Her hair was pinned back into the same loose chignon I'd seen the day before; she was wearing a black turtleneck and a soft, tan leather jacket. Her skin looked flawless and she had expensive-looking sunglasses on the top of her head.

“Jessica Wild?” she asked, opening my cab door. “Is that you?”

She didn't sound guilty didn't sound apologetic and ready to beg for my forgiveness. She sounded excited, like she'd finally seen her competition and realized there was nothing to worry about. I nodded, the blood draining from my face. Because she was right, there was nothing to worry about. If Max loved her then I would let him have her. If she was the one who would make Max happy, I would have to leave and never come back.

“That's me,” I said, my voice catching slightly. “I take it you're Esther?”

“I THINK WE SHOULD GO INSIDE,” I said, as haughtily as I could. Whatever this woman had to say to me, I wanted moral support. And alcohol nearby, just in case.

“We could go for a walk,” Esther suggested.

A walk? Was she mad? I wasn't going anywhere with her. Especially in the shoes I'd worn to go out the night before. They were Helen's actually, high pointy heels that didn't fit me particularly well. No one would walk anywhere in them, not if they were remotely sane. I glanced down at Esther's feet; her heels were even higher. Immediately I hated her even more. Who walked around in shoes like that during the day? Then my eyes narrowed. What if she hadn't gone home since last night either? What if she and Max … I shuddered and opened the cab door, refusing Esther when she tried to pay. Like I was some charity case. Like I was ever going to accept anything from her except a groveling apology; even then my frostiness wouldn't melt. “No,” I insisted. “Inside.”

My legs were shaking as I made my way painfully toward Helen's building, Esther following after me. She seemed to have gotten the hint that I didn't want to make small talk. I lifted my hand to buzz Helen's flat but the door opened before I could get there and Helen's face appeared, slightly white, her mouth open
apprehensively. Her eyes glanced past me to Esther and she affected a kind of smile.

“Hi!” she said, more brightly than was necessary. “Hi!”

“Can we come in? She … Esther … she wants to talk to me about something,” I said stiffly.

Helen nodded quickly. “Absolutely. Definitely. Yes. Come in.” She held the door open and we both trooped inside; the silence was deafening as we made our way up the flight of stairs, through Helen's front door, and into the sitting room. It was a mess; empty bottles from the night before were strewn over the floor and clothes were draped over the sofa and chairs. Helen gathered them up quickly and piled them all up in the corner.

“So, tea? Coffee? Something stronger?”

“Tea,” I said. Esther nodded. Somehow she didn't look quite so self-assured now that we were inside. There was something fragile about her, something terribly needy. Was it the same quality that Max had found so attractive? I pulled my eyes away.

“Sounds lovely,” she said. “Thank you.”

We sat down and I took a deep breath. I felt ridiculous in last night's clothes, last night's makeup. I wanted to be in a suit, anything to make me feel strong. Instead I felt the opposite. I felt small and pathetic and I had no idea what, if anything, I should say.

“So,” I said eventually.

“So,” Esther repeated tentatively. She looked around the room nervously. She brought a finger to her mouth, then dropped it again and smiled awkwardly. “Mustn't bite,” she said. “Terrible habit.”

I looked down at my own chewed nails. “So,” I said again and forced myself to look up, to look at her properly, eye-to-eye. “Are you going to tell me how long this … affair has been going on?”

“Affair?” She looked at me hesitantly. “Well … um …”

“It shouldn't be a difficult question,” I said. I realized that so
long as I was on the attack, I was fine. It was the pauses I couldn't take, her wide eyes looking at me so worriedly. “How long have you been sleeping with him?”

She frowned, the lines on her forehead making her suddenly appear much older. “Have been? You mean how long was I sleeping with …” She looked at me in confusion. “I'm sorry, Jess, I don't really understand. What do you want to know exactly?”

“I want to know,” I said levelly “how long you have been having sex with Max. I want to know how you can sleep at night knowing that you're having an affair with a man who's engaged to me.”

“Having sex with him?” She stared at me in horror, then she clapped her hand to her mouth and began to tremble. It took me a few seconds to realize that she was actually laughing. The bitch! The total and utter bitch—she thought this was funny? How dare she?

“Yes,” I said, standing up because my courage was wavering, because I could feel myself on the brink of hurt, angry tears.

Esther, meanwhile, was shaking her head and trying to wipe the smile off her face, but she was finding it hard. And then she looked at me and her eyes looked a bit moist and her face just kind of crumpled and she stood up, too, and walked toward me. She tried to take my hands but I pulled away.

“Jess,” she said quietly, “Jess, I'm not having an affair with Max. God, you couldn't be further from the truth.”

“Then why was he having dinner with you? Why is he giving you money? Why did you call him and sound so shocked when I said I was his fiancée?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my. So that's why …” She sighed incredulously. “Oh, I should have known. Oh, I am truly a silly woman. Oh deary deary me.”

I didn't disagree; I just stared at her, waiting for an answer, waiting for her to explain. And then she reached out again and
touched my face, and this time I didn't move away although I wasn't sure why. It was something in her expression, something in her eyes, the way she was blinking away her tears. And then she looked right at me and I braced myself. I didn't know what she was going to say, but I was still scared because whoever she was, I didn't think it could be good.

“So who are you then?” I heard myself say, slightly defiantly, my voice catching as I spoke.

“Jess, I'm your mother.”

As she spoke, Helen came through the door balancing a tray with tea and biscuits—at Esther's words, she dropped all of it on the floor.

“You're her … her mother?” she asked incredulously.

I shook my head. Actually, I was shaking all over. “I don't have a mother,” I said, my voice barely audible. “She died. When I was little. I don't have a mother.”

“She didn't die,” Esther said, so quietly I could hardly hear her. “I didn't die, Jess. I'm alive. Oh Jess, can you ever forgive me?”

“No,” I said.

“No?” Esther looked at me uncertainly. “You can't forgive me?”

“No.” I shook my head. “No, this isn't happening. No, you aren't my mother. I can't listen to this.”

I turned and started to walk, pushing past Helen and inadvertently kicking a teacup into the wall. I could hear Esther calling me, but I wasn't listening—I refused to. She was a liar. She was a scheming, man-stealing, evil, nasty …

“It was your grandma's idea. The car crash, I mean. She said you'd be better off without me. She threatened to call Social Services.”

I spun around; Esther was right behind me. Her eyes were now swimming in tears and I felt a huge lump appear in my throat. I stared at her for a few seconds, not trusting myself to speak.

“She made up the car crash?”

Esther nodded. “We both did. I didn't mean to leave you … She said she'd look after you. And I wanted to come back, so many times, but …”

“But what?” My voice was barely audible.

“But I couldn't. It was too late.” She was crumpling in front of me, like the Wicked Witch in
The Wizard of Oz
when a bucket of water is thrown over her. Her makeup was running, her hair pulled out of place by her nervous hands. She was leaning against the wall in Helen's narrow corridor, looking at me with tears in her eyes, with a mixture of hope and despair on her face. I knew that expression. I'd seen it so many times, staring back at me from mirrors. And that's when I knew. That's when I realized it was her. That's when I met my mother.

It turned out that tea wasn't really going to cut it anyway and so Helen made two mugs of her special alcoholic tea (a blend of honey, whiskey, tea, and a few other things I decided I didn't need to know about) for herself and me; my mother, who looked sorely tempted by the concoction but said that she was “AA” and hadn't touched a drop for several years, requested mint tea instead. Then, drinks duly made, Helen made her excuses and wandered off to her bedroom, leaving my mother and me to make our way back to the sitting room where we sat, silently, on a chair and the sofa respectively, each of us waiting for the other to start. At least that's what I did. It's not that I didn't have a million questions—I had more than that, a lifetime of them. It's just that I wasn't sure which one to ask first. It wasn't every day you discovered your dead mother was alive and well and sporting a chignon. It wasn't every day you realized that your entire life was a lie.

“Why didn't you come back?” I blurted it out suddenly when I
realized she wasn't going to be the first to speak—it turned out I did know which question to ask first, after all.

My mother sniffed quietly and picked up her cup from the table. She opened her mouth to finally talk, but I didn't let her.

“Why did you go?” I asked, not able to stop myself. “Where have you been all this time? I thought you were dead. Did you know Grandma died? How can you be here? How can you exist and I didn't know? How could you let that happen?”

“Darling. Jess. I … I …” My mother looked taken aback, her lips were trembling; carefully, she put her mug down. “I know this is a shock to you. But it's been very hard for me, too.”

“Hard for you? You're the one who left.”

She nodded sadly. “I was so worried, so nervous about coming back after all this time. I thought … I thought you might not want to see me.”

“You did?” My lips were trembling now, too. “Well, maybe I don't. Maybe I'm okay without you.”

“I'm sure you are,” she said, standing up, her voice fragile. “Perhaps this was a bad idea. Perhaps …”

“Perhaps you should sit down,” Helen said, appearing at the door suddenly. My gratitude for her intervention was tempered only slightly by the realization that she'd been eavesdropping all along. “Jess doesn't really want you to go, do you, Jess?” She stared at me meaningfully. I sighed.

“No.” I relented. “No, I don't.”

“Good,” Helen said. “And you don't want to leave again, Esther. Right?”

She shook her head. “No, of course not. No …”

“So then.” Helen folded her arms and looked at me expectantly.

“I just don't know why you couldn't have come sooner,” I said.

My mother nodded. “I should have,” she said quietly. “I know that. It just seemed easier to … to …”

“To pretend I didn't exist?” I looked at her accusingly and she flinched.

“I never forgot you existed, Jessica.”

I digested this for a few seconds. “So why did you go? Why didn't you want me?” As I said the words, my tears began to fall. My mother got up, moved toward me, took my hands in hers.

“I didn't not want you,” she whispered. “It wasn't like that.”

I shook her off. “You used a double negative. Tell me the truth properly. Either you wanted me or you didn't.”

“I wanted … I did want you, Jessica. But not in a … It was difficult for me.”

I stared at her. I didn't want to be so angry but I couldn't help it; rage was coursing through my veins, rage and hurt and defiance and petulance. “Why? Why was it so difficult?”