Short Story, it's long which is ironic
15/08/12 20.11
The front of the cafe was a wall of solid glass, a cheap imitation of the class it wanted to have, so i sheilded myself and my newborn son as far into the doorway as I could. I wanted to be first to spot her, before she noticed me. My emotions were still too raw to be caught off guard. My tears had long since dried up but I couldnt let them flow again or they wouldnt stop. She would definitely spot me if i started crying. Who would miss a girl in a doorway, weeping with a tiny baby on her shoulder, gazing forlornly at what I can only describe as a derelict cafe? The baby began to stir and whimper. I picked him up immediately and he nuzzled intomy neck. I breathed in his new baby smell and patted his soft downy hair. All he'd wanted was a cuddle from his mummy.
MUMMY! God i loved that word. I couldn't wait for the day my son said it outloud. He started to cry and i quickly located his bottle for him. If we both started crying, everyone would stare and i couldnt take that right now. Not with the state of mind i was in. i didnt want her to notice us. I hadnt told her about him yet, and to be honest, i wasnt sure i was ever going to. After all, wasnt being a grandmother and a mother more about being there than what your blood type was?
When had she ever been there for anyone ? Where had she been for the last........? Oh i dont know, I couldnt think about that now. I had to keep it together, the thought of her made my blood boil.
The baby sensed my hostility and wriggled in my arms. I rocked him gently and hummed 'Caledonia' under my breath. My steely eyes stayed trained nervously on the greasy spoon opposite.
Trust her to pick a place like that to meet me for the first time. Any normal person would want to meet their birth children in a nice memorable place, not her. She chose a disgusting cafe full of clapped out orange plastic chairs and scratched vinyl tables covered in a tacky red check astern. The kind of place where the 'chef' wore a dirty vest, ooked fried eggs all day and smoked while he flips eggs around a dirty frying pan. I suddenly realised as I stood watching the doors swing open and shut, as the strangers went in search of cheap coffee, that i didnt want to go in there.
I thought back to her grainy voice on the end of the phone. I had tracked her down through her cousin and the social work dept. Her warehouse worker brother and alcoholic mother had both denied all knowledge of me and said no children had ever been adopted out of the family.I had sat, sarcastically agreeing with them on the other end of the phone, feigning my ignorance, but all the time knowing better. I had started the call pretending to be an old school friend, so how could i tell him that i knew different because i was that child. I had politely hung up, and found her cousin who confirmed everything i needed to know. I knewit was her. I just needed to pluck up the courage and call her, when i did, it rang out, i left a message and she called back.
All i heard when id answered the phone was her broad Glawegian accent, shouting "Hey hen, I headrd you're looking for your real maw but its no me!" THere was a pause. Inside i was screaming at her, this small invisible voice on the other end of the phone, denying me for a second time. But I stayed calm, said "no problem" and replaced the handset again, my hand shaking the whole time.
I sat on the sofa opposite, eyeing the phone with a crazed glare and burst into tears.
Life was pretty uneventful for a long time after that, until one day, I had a call from her brother. :"Margaret wants to see you,' his alcoholtinged voice rasped down the phone. "She's so sorry she said what she did but was shocked and didn't know what to say. WIll you meet her?"
My voice caught in my throat and I couldnt breathe. It felt like her hands were round my neck, strangling me with the words, 'It's no' me!""
I couldnt forget her denial. I agonised for days over what to do. I knew once i did,things would never go back to the way things were before. I would know what she looked like, she would know if she passed me, and worst of all, she would know my Jude, my baby and could stake a claim on him. I would be bringing her into all our lives. In the end, my curiousity overtook my reluctance and I phoned her brother to set up the meeting I had waited for my whole life.
Fast forward 2 weeks, and here i was, tears streaming down my face, trying to soothe my baby when I was petrified myself. Something caught my eye as i pulled Jude's fleecy duck blanket over him.
A small sad figure shuffled towards the door of the cafe and looked around anxiously. Her eyes are the same as mine - the same as the baby's. All these years I had been terrified by the very thought of her. When I was a child, I pictured her looking like the wicked with from the Wizard of Oz - green skin, warts and all. I had nightmares of her dragging me into cars and she used to haunt my dreams, but i hadnt realised the worst thing she could possibly do would be to deny me, but she had, and it hurt like hell. I tried to make myself believe that she had at least tried to rectify the situation by wanting to meet me but it only made me boil with rage. I used to imagine her walking down Sauchiehall street, and would be able to feel her evil from across the street, but watching her now, she was ordinary - dowdy even - the kind of woman you could walk past a million times without noticing her.
There was no doubt about it, she was poor - a poor alcoholic, middle aged woman and a wasted life. My identical eyes didnt hold any sympathy for her. If her face held any pain, then it was pain she had caused for herself and had nothing to do with me. She had straw like, mousy brown hair, scraped back in a messy bun, at least five stone overweight and wearing a hideous orange suit that must have cost at most, a tenner from the local market. Wow, was i really worth all this effort, my sarcasm kicked in.
She had probably already had three cans of Tennent's Special to steady her nerves before she'd even left the house. The lines of a hard life were etched deep. Cheap silver earrings danced from ears that had heard a thousand lies and she wore frosted pink lipstick on lips that had told a million made up stories. Her face held a slight sneer that made her look toughened. She was a nasty looking woman alright, but was it just an alcohol fuelled mask? Her eyes were like mine, her face a haggard ancient version of mine, but was i that bad? However, despite the physical similarities, she wasn't me. She had abandoned her child while i held my son in my arms.
*1*
I got there late as they baby had taken forever to get ready and the trains had taken the usual hour to get to Glasgow. I pushed my way through the crowded train station to find the cafe she had suggested we meet up in. Finding it wasnt difficult but summoning up the courage to enter the perspex door was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Putting my hand on the greasy door handle, I decided i couldn't. I snatched my fingers off as if it was made of hot coals and, gripping the pram handles until my knuckles turned white, I scurried away to the other side of the road to watch from a distant doorway.
The front of the cafe was a wall of solid glass, a cheap imitation of the class it wanted to have, so i sheilded myself and my newborn son as far into the doorway as I could. I wanted to be first to spot her, before she noticed me. My emotions were still too raw to be caught off guard. My tears had long since dried up but I couldnt let them flow again or they wouldnt stop. She would definitely spot me if i started crying. Who would miss a girl in a doorway, weeping with a tiny baby on her shoulder, gazing forlornly at what I can only describe as a derelict cafe? The baby began to stir and whimper. I picked him up immediately and he nuzzled intomy neck. I breathed in his new baby smell and patted his soft downy hair. All he'd wanted was a cuddle from his mummy.
MUMMY! God i loved that word. I couldn't wait for the day my son said it outloud. He started to cry and i quickly located his bottle for him. If we both started crying, everyone would stare and i couldnt take that right now. Not with the state of mind i was in. i didnt want her to notice us. I hadnt told her about him yet, and to be honest, i wasnt sure i was ever going to. After all, wasnt being a grandmother and a mother more about being there than what your blood type was?
When had she ever been there for anyone ? Where had she been for the last........? Oh i dont know, I couldnt think about that now. I had to keep it together, the thought of her made my blood boil.
The baby sensed my hostility and wriggled in my arms. I rocked him gently and hummed 'Caledonia' under my breath. My steely eyes stayed trained nervously on the greasy spoon opposite.
Trust her to pick a place like that to meet me for the first time. Any normal person would want to meet their birth children in a nice memorable place, not her. She chose a disgusting cafe full of clapped out orange plastic chairs and scratched vinyl tables covered in a tacky red check astern. The kind of place where the 'chef' wore a dirty vest, ooked fried eggs all day and smoked while he flips eggs around a dirty frying pan. I suddenly realised as I stood watching the doors swing open and shut, as the strangers went in search of cheap coffee, that i didnt want to go in there.
I thought back to her grainy voice on the end of the phone. I had tracked her down through her cousin and the social work dept. Her warehouse worker brother and alcoholic mother had both denied all knowledge of me and said no children had ever been adopted out of the family.I had sat, sarcastically agreeing with them on the other end of the phone, feigning my ignorance, but all the time knowing better. I had started the call pretending to be an old school friend, so how could i tell him that i knew different because i was that child. I had politely hung up, and found her cousin who confirmed everything i needed to know. I knewit was her. I just needed to pluck up the courage and call her, when i did, it rang out, i left a message and she called back.
All i heard when id answered the phone was her broad Glawegian accent, shouting "Hey hen, I headrd you're looking for your real maw but its no me!" THere was a pause. Inside i was screaming at her, this small invisible voice on the other end of the phone, denying me for a second time. But I stayed calm, said "no problem" and replaced the handset again, my hand shaking the whole time.
I sat on the sofa opposite, eyeing the phone with a crazed glare and burst into tears.
Life was pretty uneventful for a long time after that, until one day, I had a call from her brother. :"Margaret wants to see you,' his alcoholtinged voice rasped down the phone. "She's so sorry she said what she did but was shocked and didn't know what to say. WIll you meet her?"
My voice caught in my throat and I couldnt breathe. It felt like her hands were round my neck, strangling me with the words, 'It's no' me!""
I couldnt forget her denial. I agonised for days over what to do. I knew once i did,things would never go back to the way things were before. I would know what she looked like, she would know if she passed me, and worst of all, she would know my Jude, my baby and could stake a claim on him. I would be bringing her into all our lives. In the end, my curiousity overtook my reluctance and I phoned her brother to set up the meeting I had waited for my whole life.
Fast forward 2 weeks, and here i was, tears streaming down my face, trying to soothe my baby when I was petrified myself. Something caught my eye as i pulled Jude's fleecy duck blanket over him.
A small sad figure shuffled towards the door of the cafe and looked around anxiously. Her eyes are the same as mine - the same as the baby's. All these years I had been terrified by the very thought of her. When I was a child, I pictured her looking like the wicked with from the Wizard of Oz - green skin, warts and all. I had nightmares of her dragging me into cars and she used to haunt my dreams, but i hadnt realised the worst thing she could possibly do would be to deny me, but she had, and it hurt like hell. I tried to make myself believe that she had at least tried to rectify the situation by wanting to meet me but it only made me boil with rage. I used to imagine her walking down Sauchiehall street, and would be able to feel her evil from across the street, but watching her now, she was ordinary - dowdy even - the kind of woman you could walk past a million times without noticing her.
There was no doubt about it, she was poor - a poor alcoholic, middle aged woman and a wasted life. My identical eyes didnt hold any sympathy for her. If her face held any pain, then it was pain she had caused for herself and had nothing to do with me. She had straw like, mousy brown hair, scraped back in a messy bun, at least five stone overweight and wearing a hideous orange suit that must have cost at most, a tenner from the local market. Wow, was i really worth all this effort, my sarcasm kicked in.
She had probably already had three cans of Tennent's Special to steady her nerves before she'd even left the house. The lines of a hard life were etched deep. Cheap silver earrings danced from ears that had heard a thousand lies and she wore frosted pink lipstick on lips that had told a million made up stories. Her face held a slight sneer that made her look toughened. She was a nasty looking woman alright, but was it just an alcohol fuelled mask? Her eyes were like mine, her face a haggard ancient version of mine, but was i that bad? However, despite the physical similarities, she wasn't me. She had abandoned her child while i held my son in my arms.
*2*
I watched her carefully, nursing the same cup of coffee she'd had since she arrived, hands shaking, looking up hopefully and hoisting herself to her feet every time a strange girl came in she thought might be me. Each time it wasn't, her sad pathetic eyes collapsed again and she slumped back down.
I didnt want to be here, and , looking at her, she, Margaret, was forlorn with her cheap coffee for comfort. I could see the despair in her eyes,the beads of sweat forming on her brow. I had to approach her before my nerve went.
Pushing open the door, i manouevered the pram between the tables, traipsing just behind a blond girl. Margaret got her feet and i heard her broad, coarse voice speak, "Scarlet?" she asked the blonde girl, gripping her arm with a desperation i imagined she saved only for the staff in her local pub. The girl looked blankly at her, and shoook her head, walking away, looking back at the old woman over her shoulder. How pathetic, I thought. She doesn't even know I have dark hair.I stood in front of her, took a deep breath and said "Im Scarlet."
She jerked her head sharply, and gasped, "you look like me."
"I sincerely hope not, " I snorted at her, making no attempt to disguise my disgust. I sat down opposite her, drawing the pram towards me.
She got up and rushed towards it, 'Im a grandma?" I yanked it back from her grey skeletal hands.
"No you're not, my mother is."
Her face visibly dropped and she sat back down, crestfallen.
"Whats his name? He's beautiful."
"Jude, he's 3 weeks old." I was losing my patience with her, she was changing the subject and I was having none of it. "We're not here because of Jude, I dont want you looking at him too much. Dont you have anything to say to me.? After all this time, youre going on about my baby? What about me? Wasnt I your baby? Dont you care about me?"
I was raising my voice now but i didnt care. All i cared about was trying to hold it together enough so the tears wouldn't fall.It was too much. She sighed, reached for her bag, her hands shaking the whole time. Margaret lit up a cigarette and took out an envelope pushing it towards me."You're my daughter and this envelope is all I have of you. What can i say to you, im too ashamed.'
She hung her head and i could see she was looking for some reassurance. I could offer none. I blamed her down to the core of the earth. I hated her. I stared at the envelope, deciding whether to pick it up. She could see what I was thinking and gingerly picked it up herself, slowly taking out the contents.
*3*
There was a picture of a baby, a birth certificate, which i assumed was mine and a card, "happy second birthday."
"I never stopped thinking about you," she said, somehow looking immensely proud of herself that she had managed to keep a whole envelope of my life.
It wasnt even an A4 one, it was one of those little brown ones you get bank statements in, not even enough to fill a large envelope.
She could sense my bemusement and began to stammer "I know its not much...."
"Damn right, its not much, ' I erupted. "This is all you kept of my life??"
She started crying, tears staining her wrinkled face, with cheap mascara. "What else could I do? THere was nothing else I could keep."
I sniggered at her cheek. My nostrils flared and I could feel my rage rising. "NOTHING ELSE?? NOTHING ELSE!!!!! YOU STUPID WOMAN> If it was my Jude, i would be writing him a birthday card, every damn year, keeping locks of hair,paintings of footprints, anything.....in fact come to think of it, i wouldnt give up my child in the first place!!"
I was screaming the place down now, but i didnt care. Everyone was staring at me, but i wasnt bothered that i looked like a mad woman. i wanted to get as far away from her as possible. Margaret gawped at me, eyes wide with shock. Jude started crying in his pram, and i picked him up, and soothed him, patting his little bottom.
My tears of fury matched the babys and i couldnt breathe. I thought of my bedroom drawers at home, stuffed full of birthday cards from my parents, all addressed 'to a dear daughter' and looked back at the single pathetic one on the vinyl table. it didnt even say daughter on it.
"Scarlet, im so sorry.I just couldnt look afer you." She was sobbing now, her head in her hands, trying to control her tears as they flowed freely. I tried but i couldnt feel any sympathy for her. I had waited my whole life for some sort of explanation and all i got now was that she couldnt look after me.
"Lucky for me, i found someone that could look after me, then huh?" I sat down opposite her with my son in my arms, and she hunched over the table to be nearer to us. She smelled of Semi Chem perfume and desperation. "Can I hold him?" she almost whispered. "He's my grandson after all."
I snapped my head up and glared at her.
"He's my mothers grandson, he's nothing to do with you.!!" She visibly winced as if i had slapped her and i was shocked by how pleased that made me feel. MArgaret slumped on the table and I knew I had defeated her then, she didnt have any more fight. I had broken her but there was no elation like i expected.
I felt dejected too and a little pity for what i had turned her into. Was she really full of regret like she claimed?I got up, walked round and put my hand on her sobbing shoulder. She looked up at me and I put my son in her arms. "Just remember thats the only time you will get to hold him.You won't see us again."
Can one person ever be grateful and heartbroken at the same time?
She held my son close to her and whispered "You look just like your mummy!" I dont think i was supposed to hear that. I was actuallly surprised she could remember what i looked like as a baby through her alcoholic haze. Maybe there's some things the mind never erases no matter how many miseries you go through.
Jude stretched and yawned, and gripped Margarets finger with his tiny fist. She burst into huge gut wrenching sobs and I cried along with her. I didnt know what to say now, there was nothing left to say. She had said she was sorry, I didnt forgive her and we were going to leave it at that.
I know i was never going to see her again,. I had seen what she looked like and that was enough to satisfy my curiousity.
*4*
She was exactly as I imagined. But her eyes had shocked me. Would I look like her in thirty years, with decades of misery and disppointments haunting my eyes? Would lines of regret be reflected in my soul and would i be nursing a broken heart like the sorry woman in front of me? Of course not. I had my son and I had love. She could have had that but foolishness and alcohol had lost her child.
There had been no children to help her decorate her Christmas Tree. She had no little ones clambering on her bed on a Sunday morning to give her the paper. No one had ever called her mum and no one would call her Grandma. I knew she had made her choice when she chose drink over me, and she was living with it.
But this woman sitting in front of me, had nothing to look forward to except a saturday night in her local with the same faces who didnt care what happened to her after closing time. I couldnt deny her this moment that made her smile. She actually looked as though her face might crack when the first smile came. it must have been years since there had last been one there. I almost smiled with her but looked at my son instead. I suddenly felt very cold and aware of my loneliness. I wanted to be back somewhere I was loved. I stood over and lifted my son out of her arms.
"Scarlet, will you meet me again?" she pleaded.
I shook my head slowly. I didnt even have to think about it. I had seen what i came to see and didnt need to see it again.
"Youre nothing to me, sorry but you're not. I want to go home to my parents now. Do you have anyone to go home to?"
She shook her head sadly. "I only had you Scarlet, I lost you."
"Your own fault" I chided.
"I know, but i wanted to put it right, Im so ashamed of myself. I should never have been a mother but i want to make it up to you. Please let me."
My tears fell finally and i couldnt hold them back anymore. "I dont want anything from you, i only wanted to see what you looked like and what you had to say to me. You've said nothing. I dont want to see you again. I can't. I really just want to leave it at that now."
I swear i saw her heart break at that very moment. I felt terrible but it was the truth. I took my son and put him back in his pram, i didnt want to see her face or hear her coarse voice speak my name anymore.
*5*
I didnt look back as i walked out the door. Having the same eyes as me and waiting for a couple of hours in a draughty old cafe didnt qualify her as my mother. It wasnt her who watched me grow, soothed my tears and had chosen to adopt me out of thousands to become her baby.
Suddenly I wanted to be with the woman who had.
I regretted every fight i ever had with her, every teenage tantrum, every childhood hissy fit.
for every time i lashed out and told the poor thing she wasn't my real mum, i was so sorry.
She was the only mother i had ever known and i cried freely every minute on the train home, not caring who watched me.
I pushed my baby quickly along the seafront to my parents house, and their genuine delight to see us was apparent when they opened the door. They didnt know where I'd been and i wasnt going to tell them. My dad ruffled my hair and called my by his baby pet name as he asked if i wanted a cup of coffee.
"Ill make it, here you hold your grandson." I told my mother as I had Jude to her. I kissed her warm cheek and breathed her in as i passed. She was so different and so much better than the pathetic woman i had left behind shivering in the cold cafe in the city centre.
My mother smiled at me and sat on the sofa, cradling my son. I watched the three of them through the crack in the door and, for the last time, thanked them silently for choosing me.
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