‘Miriam?’ Her mother’s voice was tight. ‘I have to ask. This not feeling too good. You aren’t coming to tell me you’re seriously ill, are you?’

Oh, dear, Miriam thought ruefully. ‘No, no. I promise.’

‘Cross your heart and hope to die?’

Sometimes Miriam wondered who was the parent and who was the child. ‘Absolutely. I’ll see you at eleven.’

The small bungalow her mother and George had bought when they had got married was situated on the northern outskirts of London. Miriam took the tube as far as she could and then finished the journey by taxi. The salting lorries had been out the night before and most of the main roads were relatively clear of snow, but the quieter residential areas were a foot deep in places. Her mother’s street was no exception but clearly the neighbours had all banded together and the taxi could get almost to her mother’s door.

Her mother opened the door before she knocked. Obviously she’d been looking out for her. They hugged and her mother took her coat and scarf and drew Miriam into the warmth of the kitchen, where the coffee pot was gurgling. Once they were sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of steaming coffee and a piece of fruit cake in front of them, her mother said, ‘Well?’

Miriam eyed her mother over the rim of her mug. ‘What?’

‘Something’s the matter.’

‘Why should anything be the matter?’

Anne Brown fixed her daughter with a maternal glare. ‘This is your mother you’re talking to; you can’t pull the wool over my eyes. Is it something to do with Jay? You’ve started the divorce?’

‘Not yet.’

‘What, then?’ And before Miriam could answer: ‘Have you seen Jay? You have, haven’t you?’

Miriam ran a weary hand through her hair. It would be far easier to come clean in view of what she needed to ask her. ‘Mum, I need to talk to you, and just listen for a while, will you? Without interrupting or asking any questions?’

‘Darling, I’m a wonderful listener. All my friends say so.’

It took Miriam ten minutes to say what she wanted to say and, much to her amazement, her mother didn’t say a word, not even when she related the conversation with Jay word for word, or as closely as she could remember it.

A silence fell as she finished speaking and it stretched for some time before Anne said softly, ‘I never dreamt you thought I felt like that about your father.’

Miriam stared at her mother, seeing the too bright eyes with a rush of remorse. ‘Oh, don’t cry. Mum, don’t cry. I didn’t want to upset you. If it’s still too painful to talk about him, I understand.’

‘That’s just it. You clearly don’t and it’s all my fault. Sweetheart, even before you were born I was beginning to think I’d made a terrible mistake in marrying your father, and as for loving him in the years after he’d left us…I hated him. I hated him so much at first I suppose I was frightened of putting my feelings onto you, and after all he was your father. I’d seen friends who had been in a similar situation and transferred their bitterness to the children and it did untold damage. I didn’t want that for you. So I was careful about what I said and you didn’t ask any questions; in fact, you seemed to adjust overnight to him going.’

Miriam blinked, feeling disoriented. ‘But you never showed an interest in anyone else; you never dated.’

‘I was holding down a full-time job and raising you—that was more than enough in the early years and I didn’t want a third party coming in and spoiling our closeness. With such an excuse for a father I felt you deserved every bit of me for a few years, and we had some good times, didn’t we?’

‘You know we did.’ Money might have been tight but her mother had always made sure they did lots together that didn’t cost much; picnics, walks in the park, curling up on a winter’s evening and playing board games. They’d saved tokens for free visits to museums and art galleries, and had days window shopping when they’d finish their excursion with a milkshake and a burger. She could still remember the thrill she’d got on those outings.

‘I was so angry he never tried to find out how you were, never even sent you a birthday card, things like that.’ Anne paused. ‘But you didn’t mention him and so it seemed a good idea to let sleeping dogs lie. I really wasn’t bothered about another relationship; I had all I wanted in you. And then George came along at just the right time, when you were growing independent, and it seemed right.’

Miriam was feeling strange; she couldn’t believe her version of the past was so at odds with what her mother was saying. She had been angry most of her life that her mother had wasted years loving a man who wasn’t worthy of her and it turned out she hadn’t loved him at all. Moreover, her mother had chosen not to date and remain single because of her. ‘There must have been times you resented being left with a child when you were so young.’

‘I resented your father absolving himself of all responsibility and disappearing into the blue yonder, but never, for a second, did I regret having you,’ her mother said very softly. ‘Actually it was the fact he had given me you, the most precious thing in the world, that enabled me to see eventually I didn’t hate him after all. How could I? If I hadn’t met him I wouldn’t have you. But as for loving him…Oh, Miriam. Not in a million years. I fell madly in love with a charming, handsome young man who swept me off my feet and my head was full of visions of orange blossom and a white dress. We married six weeks after we met and within six months I knew him for the shallow, selfish, vain individual he was. But by then I was pregnant and from the second I knew you were on the way I loved you with a consuming love. It didn’t seem too much of a hardship to stay with him if it meant my child grew up with two parents.’

‘We—we should have talked about this before.’ Miriam’s voice was faint but she felt heady. She knew she had to get a grasp on this complete turnaround but as yet it wasn’t registering.

‘Yes, darling, we should, and it’s my fault we haven’t. I suppose I thought you were so together, so well-adjusted, there was no need.’

‘And I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to rake up the past and hurt you.’ Miriam took several big gulps of her coffee—she needed the caffeine. ‘But it was only after he died that you married George.’

‘Yes, I suppose it was but, like I said, I met your stepfather at just the right time. Probably if I had met him earlier I might have been tempted, though, because—and I know this might sound odd coming from your mother with me being the age I am—he’s the love of my life, Miriam. And every day I’ve known him it gets better and better.’

Miriam stared at her mother. Anne’s face showed the natural wrinkles and lines of age but it radiated happiness. It had done ever since the day she had met George. Why hadn’t she noticed this before? Her stepfather wasn’t second-best, not for a minute. ‘Jay said you’ve got a lot of backbone and courage,’ she said abruptly.

‘Did he?’ Anne smiled. ‘Bless him. He loves you, you know. Always has, always will. Like George loves me. Jay’s as far removed from your father as chalk is from cheese. I don’t believe for a minute he did anything with that awful woman and I never will. I know you don’t like me to say it but I can’t help it, not when so much is at stake.’

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