My Mother's Secret

by Julia Roberts

Genres: Family Life; Literary Fiction; Small Town & Rural; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

"They told me he died, but I never believed them. I’d have known," she says, her voice little more than a whisper and her eyes searching mine. "A mother would know if her child died, wouldn’t she?" The phone call comes in the middle of the night, rousing Danni from her safe, warm bed. The police have found her mother Diana wandering along the main road, miles from her house, confused and lost. Danni races to her mother’s side, but when she arrives, as always, her mother doesn’t seem to care. "Go away, Danni," she says. "I don’t want you." When she was a child, Danni would lie awake at night wondering what she had done to make her mother so cold. Now, she is determined to put the past behind them and make Diana as happy as she can in the time they have left. But as some of Diana’s memories are slipping away, others are forcing their way to the surface. One night Diana breaks down in tears and reveals her heartbreaking secret. Years before Danni was born, there was another baby who never got to see the world. Now there is one last thing Danni can do for her mother. She will find her brother’s resting place, and bring Diana some peace. But good intentions can have unexpected consequences, and soon Danni’s life will be changed forever. Are some secrets best left buried? A completely heartbreaking and compelling story of families, secrets, and the fierce love between mothers and children. Fans of Amanda Prowse, Ali Mercer, and Jodi Picoult will smile through their tears.

Release date: January 27, 2021

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

Taking one last look up at my mum’s bedroom window, I pull the garden gate closed and lock it behind me. It feels cruel leaving her on her own, particularly as it’s the last night she will spend in the house where she has lived her entire life, but I’m bone-achingly tired and I need some rest if I’m to cope with what lies ahead. I know I would be unable to sleep with Mum in the next room and I’m desperate for the comforting arms of my husband, Ben, after what can only be described as the worst day of my life.

I pull my quilted coat closer around my body in an attempt to combat the icy chill permeating my bones as I unlock my car, climb in and turn the key in the ignition. Driving along the deserted street, I’m grateful that we only live a short drive from Mum’s. What is it the motorway signs say? DON’T DRIVE TIRED. Tired doesn’t come close to the way I’m feeling; exhausted and emotionally drained would be more accurate.

Never has the red block paving of our driveway been more welcoming than when I pull in ten minutes later. Unlike most of the other houses on the street, ours spills light from the hallway through the glazed panels in our front door and a soft glow emanates from behind our bedroom curtains. Ben will be waiting up for me. He’ll hold me and tell me everything will be alright just as he has a thousand times before, but this time I’m not so sure. I kick off my shoes and leave my handbag on the bench beneath the hooks where I’ve just hung my coat. Climbing the stairs quietly so as not to disturb our daughters, Amber and Jade, I push our bedroom door open. Ben is already out of bed, the book he had been reading face down on the covers.

‘How are you doing?’ he asks, wrapping his arms around me. ‘I wish I could have been there with you.’

‘You couldn’t leave the girls alone,’ I say, allowing myself to relax into his embrace. The familiar smell of his cologne fills my nostrils as I bury my face into the soft cotton of his pyjama T-shirt.

‘Have you eaten today?’

‘Not since breakfast. I couldn’t face anything.’

‘Danni,’ he reprimands gently, taking my face in his hands. ‘You ought to have something. There is going to be a lot to deal with tomorrow. Look, you get ready for bed and I’ll bring you up some tea and toast.’

I haven’t got the energy to argue. He disappears downstairs while I head to the bathroom. I barely recognise the reflection staring back at me from the mirrored cabinet. The paleness of my skin is accentuated by red-rimmed eyes, underlined with huge dark circles. I look as though I’ve aged ten years in the past eleven months, and it isn’t over yet.

On the way back to our room, I push open the door to first Jade’s room and then Amber’s. I have a sudden overwhelming desire to hold my girls, to draw strength from the softness of their skin and the clean smell of their hair, but both are sleeping peacefully and it would be wrong to disturb them. When I break the news to them, I’ll need to choose my words carefully and tonight I’m incapable of that. Reluctantly, I tear my eyes away from Amber, something I was unable to do on the night she was born. I lay awake all night in awe of the perfect tiny miracle who lay sleeping in the clear hospital cot at my bedside. Until the moment Amber took her first breath, I didn’t understand what was meant when people spoke about a mother’s love, but from that instant my life changed. My love for her, and for Jade when she arrived three and a half years later, has continued to grow. The way I felt, clutching my babies to my chest after the pain of bringing them into the world, is imprinted on my heart forever. I am so thankful for the precious gift I was given. Ben and the girls are the most important things in my world, and we’ll face what lies ahead together.

I’m climbing into bed when Ben reappears with the tray that he uses to bring me the occasional Sunday morning breakfast in bed. The toast smells appetising but my throat feels too tight to attempt it, so I pick up my mug for a sip of tea instead. It has the words ‘World’s Best Mum’ emblazoned on the side in gold lettering. My hand starts to shake violently and the tears I have been holding back cascade down my cheeks like a waterfall.

Ben removes the mug from my hand and sets the tray down so he can hold me while I sob uncontrollably into his chest.

‘You could never describe Diana as the world’s best mum,’ he says, stroking my hair back off my face.

‘I know,’ I manage through my tears, ‘but for all her faults, she’s still my mum and I love her. She didn’t deserve this; no one does.’

It’s been unseasonably warm for most of the school holidays, despite Easter falling early this year. The girls and I have taken full advantage of the sunny weather and my time off from Woldington Library, where I work as an assistant three days a week. Today is a bank holiday, so Ben also has the day off and we’ve brought a picnic lunch to the seaside. I wouldn’t exactly describe it as bikini weather, but once we’ve positioned our two brightly coloured windbreaks in a semi-circle in the dunes at the top of the beach, it’s sheltered enough to enjoy our sandwiches in relative comfort with a view of the sea in the distance.

After lunch, we laze around reading for a while, something we all enjoy, before joining forces with another family for an energetic game of cricket. Chasing the ball on the wide, flat, sandy beach, a feature of this part of the Lincolnshire coast when the tide is out, is pretty exhausting and I’m ready to head back to my towel for a few more pages of escapism. Ben, however, has other ideas.

‘Last one to the sea buys the ice-cream,’ he says, setting off at speed towards the distant shoreline. I hesitate for a moment. Gone are the days when I would have to hang back to give the girls a head start and slow down as I approached the brownish water of the North Sea to let them beat me. Both our girls can now show me a clean pair of heels and are giving Ben a run for his money. I set off after them at a jog knowing any attempt at racing is futile and accepting that, as per usual, the ice-creams will be on me.

We’ve been bringing Amber and Jade on day trips to Mablethorpe, our nearest seaside town, since they were both toddlers, in spite of the less than happy childhood memories the place holds for me. My grandparents retired to a bungalow by the sea when I was a newborn, allowing my mum and dad to buy their house in Woldington. I have vague memories of visiting them for a few hours at a time when I was very young, but it wasn’t until my brother Adam was born that I was allowed to stay over. What should have been a fun time away from home was anything but. My grandparents weren’t the most warm or loving people and didn’t seem particularly keen on having me to stay, but Mum was struggling to cope on her own with a twelve-year-old and a needy baby after my dad walked out on us. They tolerated me, often leaving me to my own devices in my bedroom or out in the garden if the weather was fine. I don’t remember them ever taking me to the beach, which is probably why I don’t have any hang-ups about bringing the girls here. At least I had my books for company, losing myself within the pages for hours on end and allowing myself to imagine that I lived a very different life from the one I was actually enduring. In a way, I suppose I should be grateful to my grandparents. Those hours alone contributed to my lifelong love of reading which eventually led to my job at the library, despite my lack of formal qualifications.

I can hear Amber and Jade squealing about how cold the sea is as they splash around in the shallow water along with a few other brave souls and several dogs who appear to be enjoying the experience much more than their humans.

As soon as she’s sure I’m within earshot, Jade calls out, ‘Can we get a dog, Mum, please?’

It’s not the first time one or other of our girls have asked this question. I’ve tried explaining that it wouldn’t be fair to leave a dog on its own in the house all day on the days I’m working, but they can always cite at least half a dozen friends with dogs whose parents are both at work full-time. The truth is, money’s a bit tight so we can’t really afford a dog. We’d be able to feed it, but vets bills don’t come cheap and it wouldn’t be fair to take on an animal and then be unable to care for it properly. Ben and I have discussed it several times and he’s all for telling them straight that we can’t afford it. I have a different reaction: they already do without a lot of things that their friends have, so I’m usually non-committal.

‘Don’t just say “We’ll see”, Mum,’ Jade persists. ‘That’s what you always say.’

‘How about we discuss it with Dad in the car on the way home?’ I say, looking over their heads towards Ben. He’s shaking his head, a mildly exasperated expression on his face.

‘Can we, Dad?’ Jade asks hopefully.

‘Discuss it, yes, although I think you know what conclusion we’ll reach.’

Jade pouts. She’s normally a very mild-mannered ten-year-old, but she stubbornly refuses to give up on us getting a dog.

Anxious to avoid spoiling what has been such a fun family day out, I say, ‘We should probably be making a move soon. It’s pretty nippy now that the sun’s going down.’ I catch Amber’s eye and continue. ‘Who fancies hot chocolate instead of ice-cream?’

‘Good call, Mum,’ Amber says.

I smile my gratitude to her. Although only three and a half years older than her sister, she is more aware of the struggle we face to make ends meet and has already volunteered to get a Saturday job when she’s old enough. I slip my arm through hers and we head back in the direction of our stripey windbreaks. Ben and Jade continue to splash around in the water before finally conceding that it’s too cold and go racing up the beach to arrive ahead of us. They collapse in a heap laughing, the petulance of a few minutes earlier seemingly forgotten.

‘We should go to the beach more often,’ I say, reaching to turn off the lamp on my bedside table later that night.

‘Yes,’ Ben agrees, ‘although I could have done without the dog interrogation all the way home. You’re too soft with them, Danni.’ He reaches his arms around me and pulls me closer. ‘Amber and Jade need to learn that people have to live within their means, or they’ll get into all sorts of financial trouble when they leave home.’

I’m about to say we won’t need to worry about that for years when the realisation dawns on me that Amber could be leaving in as little as four years if she decides to go to university. It’s hard to visualise our home without our two girls and it brings an unexpected lump to my throat. There’s a lot more to parenting than I’d imagined when I first discovered I was pregnant at age nineteen. I’d thought the sleepless nights with a newborn would be the most difficult months until the tantrums of the terrible twos came along, followed by the next stage in guiding our girls towards adulthood. I know Ben’s right about setting a good example, but you only have one childhood and then you’re a grown-up for a very long time. I want our girls to remember their childhood with more fondness than the memories I have of mine.

‘What did you think of my suggestion?’ I ask.

‘I think you already do enough for this family,’ he says, gently massaging my shoulders. ‘An extra day at the library would leave you with even less free time, and that’s always assuming Maxine would be able to offer it to you.’

I’m pretty confident my boss would wangle it somehow as she and I have an amazing relationship, but I appreciate what he means about having even less time for myself, particularly with having to walk a dog morning and evening.

‘It’ll be easier when Jade starts at senior school in September and I only have one lot of school drop-offs and collections to do. And the girls did promise they would help around the house more.’

‘And you believe that?’

He has a point. We always start the new year off with lists of chores for them to help with at the weekend, and they are invariably abandoned with one excuse or another before we hit the end of January.

‘If you want my honest opinion,’ he continues, ‘I think it would only work if you draw up a contract with the girls for chores they get paid for, and the money they earn would go straight into a dogfood collection box. Maybe set a three-month trial period and if they haven’t stuck to it, they would only have themselves to blame.’

After months of refusing to even to discuss the possibility of getting a dog, this is a definite softening of attitude from Ben. I feel sorry for him sometimes; sharing a house with three women can’t be easy, particularly when we all gang up on him. What I really want to do is punch the air. Instead, I make every effort not to sound triumphant when I say, ‘Well, we could try your suggestion, I suppose.’

My husband knows me too well. ‘You haven’t won yet, Danni. I give the girls two weeks tops before they start finding excuses not to help out.’

I think he may have misjudged his daughters; they’re desperate for a dog and I’m pretty sure we’ll be visiting the local RSPCA at the start of the summer holidays. But I keep this thought to myself.

We can’t have been asleep for very long when the shrill ring tone of our house phone shatters the night-time silence. I’m instantly alert, working out within a heartbeat what the noise is, and immediately panicking. Phone calls in the dead of night are rarely good news. I’m already halfway down the stairs before Ben has stirred. I can’t think who it could be, unless my brother has got the time difference between the UK and New Zealand wrong. But Adam doesn’t usually ring at all.

‘Hello?’ I say tentatively, trying to keep my voice low in the faint hope that the ringing hasn’t disturbed Amber and Jade.

A female voice says, ‘Is that Mrs Harper – Mrs Danielle Harper?’

The voice sounds official and very serious.

‘Y-yes,’ I stammer in response.

‘This is the police. Your mother Diana gave us your phone number after we picked her up on the dual carriageway. Would you be able to come to her house please?’

My knees turn to jelly and I sink down onto the bottom step. What the hell has my mother been up to?

Ben’s face appears over the bannister.

‘Who is it?’ he asks sleepily.

I place my hand over the receiver.

‘It’s the police,’ I whisper. ‘They’re at my mum’s and they want me to meet them there.’

‘What?’ he asks, clearly still struggling with his sleep-fuddled brain. ‘When?’

‘I think they mean now.’

I can hear the female police officer saying, ‘Are you still there, Mrs Harper?’

I remove my hand from the mouthpiece and say, ‘Yes.’

‘We can send a car for you if that would help?’

‘No… no, it’s alright. It’ll be quicker if I drive. What’s happened?’

‘I’d rather explain when you get here, if that’s alright with you?’ the police officer says.

‘I’m on my way,’ I reply, ending the call.

‘What’s going on, Danni?’ Ben asks, sounding much more alert as I brush past him at the top of the stairs, heading into our bedroom to throw on a sweater and jeans.

‘I’m not sure; they’re going to explain everything when I get to Mum’s.’

‘I’m coming with you.’

‘We can’t leave the girls on their own,’ I say, reaching for my trainers.

‘I could ask Rachel to sit in with them.’

I’m pretty sure that our next-door neighbour would not be best pleased to be dragged from her bed in the middle of the night.

‘There’s no time, Ben, this sounds urgent. Turn your mobile on; I’ll message you as soon as I find out what’s happening,’ I say, taking the stairs at a run, with him following.

‘Are you sure you’ll be alright?’ he asks as I reach for my keys and unlock the front door.

I’m not sure of anything. I have no idea what I’m going to find at Mum’s house and it’s quite terrifying.

‘Of course,’ I say, pecking him on the cheek. ‘Just stay by your phone.’

My mind is racing on the drive over to my mum’s, although my speed is a very sedate twenty-nine miles per hour. The policewoman said they’d picked Mum up on the dual carriageway. Maybe she was speeding and they pulled her over – which is why I’m making a conscious effort to keep below the limit, even though it makes the journey feel much longer than usual.

I say usual, but it’s not a journey I do that often – once a month at the most. I’ve made an effort to have more contact with Mum since my brother packed his bags and headed off to New Zealand after he finished university almost two years ago. I thought it would be a good opportunity for her to get to know her granddaughters who she’d shown no interest in when Adam was around. The trouble is, our visits almost always end with her picking fault with something I’ve done and me getting upset, which confuses the girls. So those visits are less frequent than they could be. We’re her only family, apart from her sister, my Aunt Susie, but she doesn’t really count as the two of them haven’t spoken since they were teenagers for some reason, and she’s never bothered with friends, lavishing all her attention on Adam. I’m pretty sure Mum would have hated having to give the police my phone number, so the situation must be serious.

I pull up outside Mum’s house and I haven’t even turned the engine off before a police officer, who must have been on the lookout for me, approaches.

‘Thanks for coming so quickly,’ she says as I get out of my car. ‘I’m PC Hammond. I’m sorry to have disturbed you in the middle of the night, but we didn’t think your mother should be left on her own.’

‘What’s she done?’ I ask.

I can’t completely read PC Hammond’s expression in the dimly lit street, but it appears to be a mix of surprise and concern.

‘Why do you assume she’s done something?’ she asks, placing heavy emphasis on the word.

‘Well, you said you picked her up on the dual carriageway. I thought she must have been speeding for you to pull her over. I can’t imagine where she’d be going at this time of night.’

‘She wasn’t in her car.’

It’s my turn to look surprised.

‘We found her walking down the middle of the dual carriageway wearing nothing but her nightdress and slippers, after we received a call from a passing motorist.’

‘What?’ I say, my surprise turning to confusion.

‘It’s lucky that her nightdress was white, making her clearly visible and giving people enough time to avoid her. That said, it’s nothing short of a miracle that she wasn’t hit by a car on that stretch of road.’

I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. What on earth was Mum doing wandering down the dual carriageway in her night clothes, nearly two miles away from her home?

‘I don’t understand. What was she doing there?’

‘I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on that for us. Was she on her way to your house?’

‘No,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘We live in the opposite direction. Didn’t you ask her where she was going?’

We’ve been walking up the path towards Mum’s front door while we’ve been talking. The light is spilling out from her hallway, enabling me to see PC Hammond’s puzzled expression as she turns to face me.

‘When did you last see your mother, Mrs Harper?’

‘Four or five weeks ago,’ I reply. ‘What does that have to do with what’s happened tonight?’

She ignores my question and asks another, ‘And you didn’t notice anything strange about her behaviour?’

‘No. Look, what’s going on?’ I demand.

‘Once we had your mother safely in our car, she was able to give us her name and address, but when we asked her what she was doing on the dual carriageway and where she was going, she said she had no idea. I couldn’t smell alcohol on her breath, and she didn’t display any other outward signs of drunkenness, so her inability to explain why she was wandering the streets must be down to something else.’ She pauses briefly. ‘Has your mother ever been tested for any form of dementia?’

I can feel goose bumps forming on my arms. In my head, I think back to my visits, searching for anything I’ve missed over the past couple of years. Mum often got annoyed when she couldn’t find her handbag or glasses and usually accused me of moving them; was that actually a sign of something more serious than ageing?

‘I’d like to see her now,’ I say.

PC Hammond steps to one side and I go through to Mum’s lounge. She’s sitting in her favourite chair, sipping a hot drink and chatting perfectly normally to another police officer as though she’s invited him around for afternoon tea. She looks up as I enter the room.

‘Danni? What are you doing here?’ she asks.

I drop to my knees in front of her and take her free hand in mine before I ask, ‘What were you doing on the dual carriageway, Mum?’

She snatches her hand away, as though she’s been scalded by boiling water, and says defensively, ‘I must have been sleepwalking.’

I exchange a glance with PC Hammond who is standing in the doorway. She shakes her head slightly. She clearly holds the opinion that someone walking in their sleep would not have strayed so far and in my heart, I fear she may be right.

‘That’s quite a long way from home,’ I persist gently. ‘How did you get there?’

‘I don’t know. I told you I must have been sleepwalking. Why is she here?’ she demands of the male police officer she was talking to before my arrival.

‘You gave us your daughter’s number to call. We need to be going,’ he says, putting his mug on the coffee table and getting to his feet. ‘And we didn’t think it was safe to leave you on your own.’

My mother makes a ‘pah’ sound. ‘I’m always on my own. She couldn’t care less about me. She’ll be out of the door the moment you’ve gone.’

Her words are cruel, but what’s even more hurtful is the thought that she might actually believe them.

‘Mrs Harper?’ PC Hammond says, forcing me to make eye contact. ‘Will you be able to stay with her at least until the morning? Otherwise we’ll have to take her back to the. . .