The Mother I Could Have Been (ARC) Read online

  The Mother I Could Have Been

  A gripping and heartbreaking page-turner

  Kerry Fisher

  Books by Kerry Fisher

  The Mother I Could Have Been

  The Woman I Was Before

  The Not So Perfect Mother

  The Secret Child

  The Silent Wife

  After the Lie

  The Island Escape

  Contents

  Part I

  2018

  July 2009

  2018

  September 2009

  2018

  Valentine’s Day February 2011

  December 2012

  December 2012

  2018

  June 2013

  Part II

  23 December 2016

  Christmas Day 2016

  New Year’s Eve 2016

  January 2017

  Jan 2018

  2018

  June 2018

  July 2018

  July 2018

  July 2018

  July 2018

  July 2018

  July 2018

  July 2018

  July 2018

  Summer 2018

  August 2018

  September 2018

  Autumn 2018

  November 2018

  Winter 2018

  June 2019

  June 2019

  June 2019

  June 2019

  July 2019

  July 2019

  July 2019

  July 2019

  Christmas 2019

  Christmas 2019

  The Silent Wife

  Hear More From Kerry

  Books by Kerry Fisher

  A Letter from Kerry

  The Secret Child

  After the Lie

  The Island Escape

  The Not So Perfect Mother

  The Woman I Was Before

  Acknowledgements

  Part One

  2018

  Patience. Patience. Patience. He kept saying that to me, as though I lacked understanding about how these things work. I did. I’d never needed to find someone who’d disappeared before. Naively, I’d assumed that if you did it for a living, it would be a few hours fiddling about on the internet before hitting the jackpot. But it appeared that there were a lot of Vicky Halls in the world and even a private detective who proclaimed himself ‘the expert at finding the haystack needle’ required more time than I’d expected. I bristled when he asked why I wanted to find her. I hadn’t told anyone the real purpose. When other members of the family asked, I just said I’d been thinking about building bridges for a long time. I wasn’t about to explain the exact reasons to anyone. I couldn’t risk letting her find out the truth. I played the emotional mother card, said we’d lost touch and I felt it was time to have her back with us, where she belonged. He looked sceptical. Kept saying that it was usually easier to get a better ‘outcome’ if he knew the whole story. But I couldn’t let him loose with that. He’d have a hard job persuading her to come back as it was, without frightening her with the facts. Like us, she’d be shocked at how much had changed since I saw her last.

  I smiled and brushed off his comment. ‘Do any of us recognise the whole story? Or do we just offer up the best version of ourselves?’

  Then I started to cry, telling him my heart was completely broken. Which was true, though not for the reasons he thought.

  I suggested doubling his money if he found her within a month.

  He put his head on one side. ‘Is there a reason you’re in such a hurry?’

  ‘I don’t want to waste any more time.’ It wasn’t just that I didn’t want to. I couldn’t afford to.

  July 2009

  Vicky

  The day after I graduated from university – the event my mother was ‘so looking forward to’ but failed to turn up at – I had brunch with my flatmate, Liv, at her parents’ posh hotel. Her mother, Fiona, was over-the-top jolly, as though her saying, ‘Celebration breakfast on us, Vicky. Buck’s Fizz?’ would make up for the fact that the previous day I’d been the odd one out again, the weirdo with no parents to see me receive my degree in English.

  Mum’s number had flashed up on my phone, twenty-five minutes before the ceremony.

  ‘Mum? Where are you?’

  And there it was, all in the sigh. The sudden and unwelcome knowledge that Mum wasn’t speaking to me from outside the university library, her head swivelling round trying to understand whether she should walk right or left to reach me. Her words weren’t coming to me from a few hundred metres away.

  ‘Darling, I’m so sorry. I’m ringing from the hospital.’

  I turned my back on the merry little group. ‘Why? Have you had an accident?’ Fright surged through me, making me press the phone harder into my ear, as though I’d be able to touch her.

  ‘It’s Emily. Just as I was leaving, she ran to say goodbye to me and fell down the stairs. She’s broken her wrist and had a nasty crack to the head.’

  I should ask if my stepsister was going to be okay. But the words that came out were, ‘So you’re not coming today then?’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Vicky. I tried to phone earlier but there was no signal in the hospital and Emily was crying and I couldn’t leave her. I’ve only just got out now. I feel so bad letting you down. I really, really wanted to be there.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  Mum’s voice took on a tinge of weariness, a hint of irritation that I wasn’t rushing to make it easy for her when Emily was hurt. ‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Take lots of photos for me. Get one of your friends to take a picture when you’re on stage.’

  My eyes filled. ‘What about getting all my stuff home?’

  ‘Can you bring some of it on the train? Ian’s going to need the car for work for the rest of this week.’

  I was pretty sure he’d find a way to manage without it for one day if Mum needed to take Joey or Emily somewhere.

  ‘But we have to give the keys back tomorrow night.’ Panic was making my voice sharper, snappier than I ever allowed myself to be.

  ‘Could you find somewhere to store everything and we can drive back at the weekend? Sorry, Vicky, I’ve got to go, the nurse is calling me back in. Have a lovely day. Look forward to hearing all about it.’ The last sentence was muffled, fading, as though she’d already taken the phone away from her ear, ready to shove it back into her handbag and be a good mother elsewhere.

  I’d stood to one side, anger boiling around my body, desperate to find an outlet. I’d watched the mums pointing out their offspring to each other, dads doing those complicit smiles as they dodged past other parents balancing three glasses of champagne in a precarious fashion, the common ground of children to be proud of uniting them. And my fellow students, their faces reflected all around in older, wrinkled versions of themselves. The protruding teeth they inherited from their mothers. Those dark, thick eyebrows from their father. And the thing that made me most envious of all, those familial gestures, a vivaciousness perhaps, maybe a way of flinging out a hand to emphasise a point. All the signals that defined them as being from the same pack, the people they’d find their way back to wherever they were in the world. Where they would recognise themselves and where they would fit without having to change their shape to suit the slot.

  But me, I had to borrow a tribe. Which was why I was here now, not picking over the details of the previous day’s ceremony with my own mother but with Liv and her parents who not only had managed to turn up on the right day but had stayed on to help her pack.

  Liv paused with a piece of bacon halfway to her mouth when her mother announced that I’d be joining th
em for ‘a week or two’ in Corfu over the summer. I pushed back the flutter of fear: I’d understood the night before that Fiona had invited me for however long it took me to get a job. Instead I said thank you and that I hoped that was okay with Liv, that I wouldn’t get in the way or live in her pocket. Liv did one of those shrugs that always left me wondering whether I’d imagined the evenings when we’d tottered back from town in the early hours, the music still pulsating in my ears, my feet hot with the beat of the dance floor, with her weaving about, saying, ‘I always have such a laugh with you.’ The nights she’d wept in my arms when Pete the pianist – ‘Oh my God, Vicky, you should hear him play’ – turned out to be Pete the prick. ‘He didn’t even look my way. Just carried on kissing her as though we’d never even slept together.’ The times I’d missed lectures to help her with her essays. ‘Thanks, Vick, you’re a star. I don’t why I let myself get so behind.’

  But despite Liv’s lukewarm response, I wasn’t going home. I’d stay away until they were sorry. Until they understood what it was like to be me. I wondered whether Mum had even given any further thought to what would happen to my stuff. She’d assume, just as she always did, that I’d work it out, come up with a plan that didn’t involve her. I couldn’t wait to hear the catch in her voice, the intake of breath when I told her I’d given everything to a homeless charity, including the ancient TV Ian had reluctantly allowed me to take, terrified that Emily and Joey might somehow miss out on something because, for once, I had benefitted. The defiance was both liberating and terrifying. I didn’t know I had it in me to be brave.

  Less than a week later, I found myself at Gatwick Airport with one suitcase and a rucksack I just managed to cram into the easyJet holder to the disappointment of the check-in desk employee.

  I didn’t want to trigger a whole missing person enquiry, so I just messaged Mum with, Change of plan, going travelling this summer, will be in touch.

  I took a perverse pleasure in not responding to her panicky texts. Where are you going, Vicky? Ring me. Every time I pressed the ‘reject call’ button, I had the competing sensation of power and a desire to hear her reassure me that Emily and Joey needed her more because they were still so little, but she didn’t love me less.

  And when I got to Corfu, to the villa with its flagstone floor, whitewashed walls and circular veranda overlooking a beach straight out of the Greek cliché of bobbing fishing boats on sparkling sea, I didn’t think about it much.

  Liv seemed happy for me to be there, though her excitement about her upcoming job on a graduate accountancy programme wounded me. ‘The company flat’s got a balcony with a view of the river!’ The last two years of sharing a flat with me was already passé, as inconsequential as some of the boys who’d resided briefly in Liv’s bed, throwing up in our bathroom and leaving a pong in our loo.

  I wanted to say, ‘What about me? Will you forget all about me now?’ Because I knew I wouldn’t forget her. I loved her confidence, the way she sat cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the common room at university if there weren’t any seats, making people step around her, never once looking up to see if she was in the way, not feeling the need to tuck her bags under her knees, to make herself small. To me, she was family. But Liv was scornful, almost hurtful, in her desire to move onto the next stage of her life, as though complete security at home resulted in an obscene haste to rush forwards, away from what she had into adventures that were clearly more thrilling beyond.

  As I settled into the drumbeat of a different household, I noticed her family seemed to thrive on benign neglect underpinned by unconditional love. Her parents, as far as I could see, were much more interested in making sure the fridge was stocked with rosé than bothering about where we were and what time we came in. Liv and I would often be walking along the coastal path when it was already light, back from clubbing under the stars in Kassiopi. I never heard her phone ping once with her mother fussing about where she was, yet Liv was so certain of her place in the world. If I ever stayed out later than midnight, Mum would be messaging, asking me where I was, but the subtext was always ‘Don’t wake us up when you come in.’ I thought Mum would be glad that I wasn’t at home this summer disturbing them all, but she kept pestering me, ‘Mum’ flashing up on my phone on a regular basis. In the end, I told her I was with Liv’s family in Corfu, just to stop the embarrassment of her name coming up when we were chatting to boys in bars.

  About two weeks after I’d arrived in Corfu, Liv mentioned they were all going out for a ‘family meal’. I couldn’t tell from her tone whether that included me or not, so I played it safe. ‘Great, no worries, I’ll just hang out here or go for a walk.’

  Liv frowned. ‘God, don’t play the victim over one night. My family have given you a free holiday for two weeks, I don’t think it’s that much to expect that we can all go out without you now and again.’

  I sat up, fastening my bikini top, that lurch of feeling that I didn’t belong, that I’d mistakenly thought people were happy to have me around. ‘I wasn’t complaining. Your family has been really generous. I can amuse myself. I don’t need looking after.’

  Liv did a bad-tempered sigh and jumped into the pool with a huge splash, drops landing on my sizzling skin. She clambered onto the inflatable armchair floating around the pool and lay there, her face tilted to the sun. I nearly asked her if she wanted me to leave, but I was scared to hear the answer. Her mother was always waving airily towards the fridge, ‘Help yourself to anything you want to eat, Vicky, try some of that yoghurt – food of the gods!’ but, in reality, was she whispering to Liv’s dad about how she didn’t realise I’d be here all summer? Liv flicked her hand in the water, like a cat signalling its intention to pounce. Despite the heat, I felt the chill of being the person that everyone tolerated, felt sorry for – maybe – but no one really liked.

  That evening, Liv’s mother seemed puzzled I wasn’t going out with them. I smiled. ‘I’m fine, honestly, I could do with a night in. I don’t want to intrude on your family time.’

  She shrugged. ‘You’d be very welcome.’

  But I wasn’t.

  As soon as they’d gone, I sat by the pool, spraying myself in mozzy repellent and trying to read a psychological thriller Liv’s mum had lent me. That panic from earlier, the sense that I’d overstayed my welcome, that I was a drag on the Simmonds, spoiling their summer, churned inside me. It was so long since I’d taken for granted my right to be anywhere, since before Mum married Ian in fact.

  The music of the bars drifted up the coastline, luring me from my sunlounger. I got dressed in a white shirt with a deep neckline and more make-up than usual, then strode down the hill to the crescent of bars, shoulders back, feeling daring and rebellious, somehow more confident without Liv’s shadow beside me. I waved to a couple of the waiters we’d got to know, feeling their eyes on me long after I’d walked past. I made my way to Freddie’s Bar down by the harbour. The drinks were cheap and there was always a TV, so I’d have somewhere to focus my gaze. I’d often seen people come in on their own and sit chatting to the staff, who were young and friendly, mainly English or Irish.

  I took a seat at the bar. Freddie, the owner, appeared opposite me immediately.

  ‘What can I get you?’ I ordered a beer. ‘On your own tonight? Where’s that friend of yours? Liv, is it?’

  My heart dropped. The story of my life. Seeing me just reminded everyone of the person they’d rather be talking to. ‘She’s gone out with her mum and dad.’

  ‘Not your thing?’ Freddie said, passing me a beer.

  ‘No, I don’t really do family… I’m not that welcome at home.’ My voice trailed off, the half-truth dangling in front of me like a fork in the road.

  The statement that seemed such an extreme take on something that was more of a lie than a truth didn’t ruffle Freddie at all. He shrugged. ‘Hardly see mine either. They’re not big on travelling and I’ve not got much interest in going back to Blighty. There’s such a good expat comm
unity out here anyway. You staying long?’

  I aimed for ‘I’ll see where the music takes me’ nonchalance. ‘Not sure what my plans are. Might get the ferry over to Italy at some point. See how the money goes.’ The money I’d earned waitressing in my final year at uni would keep me going for a few more weeks if I could stay at Liv’s, but she was going back to the UK in a fortnight to start her accountancy job.

  Freddie indicated the bar with a nod of his head. ‘You want a job here? There’s a room up the top. It’s only a box room, nothing fancy. I could do with an extra pair of hands.’

  He went on to explain the hours to me, what I’d have to do, the money. But I wasn’t listening. Without even trying, I didn’t have to be that daughter that was somehow in the way, the friend who was all right to go out with but a bit of pain on a permanent basis. With a surge of excitement, I realised that I, Vicky Hall, could be that sun-kissed girl, behind the bar, pulling pints with an air of authority, dancing a little shimmy as I moved between the optics, with everyone wishing they had the guts to swap their hard-fought-for two weeks in the sun for a carefree life out here.