Alice rests her hand on top of Mum’s. ‘There’s nothing to forgive. You’re my mother.’
I watch as Mum holds Alice tightly and I’m relieved Alice has been so compassionate. The burden of guilt may never lift from Mum, but at least now she has Alice’s forgiveness, the load will be lighter.
I top up our glasses with more wine. I think we all need it, Mum especially. She’s more composed now and while she remains on the sofa with Alice, I sit back in the chair.
‘You’re very understanding. Thank you, my darling,’ says Mum.
‘I’ve been waiting for this my whole life,’ says Alice. ‘I don’t know what really happened, Daddy never said. He didn’t want to talk about it.’
‘That first letter you wrote, when you told me the things you remembered, meant so much to me,’ says Mum. ‘Knowing you had still retained little snippets of your time here was like music to my ears. You hadn’t totally forgotten us. It gave me such comfort.’
Alice glances over at me and I detect a fleeting sense of unease. Perhaps it’s getting a bit too much for her, but she turns to Mum and smiles warmly. ‘And they meant so much to me too.’
Whether Alice is telling her the truth or not, I don’t know and, to be honest, I don’t really care. All I care about is the sense of relief it is bringing Mum. I know how she has tortured herself over the years about Alice.
‘Your stepmother, what was she like?’ asks Mum, her voice gentle.
Alice gives a shrug. ‘Roma? She was okay, I guess.’ Alice looks down at her hands and I sense another shift in her body language.
‘Only okay?’ asks Mum. Alice shrugs again. ‘You can tell us, Alice. Please don’t feel you can’t. We want to know, don’t we, Clare?’
‘Well, yeah. If Alice feels she can.’ I throw Mum a do you think this is a good idea? look. One that Mum either fails to interpret or ignores.
‘Tell us, Alice. Please.’
‘Okay … Roma was with my father just for the money. I knew that from a very young age. She would be all nice to me in front of him, but when we were alone, she was horrid. We had our meals before Daddy got home from work. She would serve her son, Nathaniel, a huge, massive portion and, yet, me, I’d get a tiny amount, just enough to feed a sparrow. I didn’t get dessert either. Nathaniel did.’
Mum’s hand flies to her mouth, a look of horror on her face. ‘Oh, Alice, I had no idea.’
‘When Daddy wasn’t around, she used to beat me with the sole of her sneaker and lock me in my room for hours on end.’
‘Didn’t you tell your dad?’ I ask, aware that I don’t acknowledge his paternal relationship to me.
‘I did once, but never again,’ says Alice. ‘He asked Roma and, of course, she denied it. Then the next day, when he went to work, I got the biggest beating I’d ever received.’
‘Oh, my God,’ cries Mum. ‘Oh, Alice.’
‘Didn’t your dad see the bruises?’ I ask, shocked at this awful revelation.
‘She was clever,’ says Alice, her face contorts into a sneer. ‘She never beat me so bad that I had big bruises or anywhere that couldn’t be hidden by clothing.’
‘Jesus,’ is all I manage to say. We all take a simultaneous moment to let this disclosure sink in. I take a gulp of wine and replace my glass on the table. ‘How long did all this go on for?’
‘Right up until I was sixteen.’ Alice once again hangs her head, her hands are clasped together in her lap and she nervously twiddles her fingers.
Maybe it’s the solicitor in me, but I have to ask. ‘What happened at sixteen to make it stop?’
Alice doesn’t answer straight away. ‘I … sorry, I don’t know if I can say.’
‘It’s okay, Alice, you can tell us. We’re family,’ says Mum. ‘I’m your mother, you can tell me anything.’
Alice takes a deep breath and raises her head. Her eyes look over at the sideboard and graze the photographs. She nods to herself and then seems to summon up some inner strength as she takes another breath and sits upright.
I can’t help thinking her actions are rather staged and have an air of Hollywood about them.
‘Nathaniel was two years older than me. One night he had been to a party and came home drunk. Daddy and Roma were out having dinner, so it was just me alone at home.’ She looks from Mum to me. I already know I’m not going to like where I think this story is heading, but I brace myself in the way I do with clients, when they tell me about truly terrible events that have happened to them. ‘Without going into detail, he basically … well, you know … took advantage of me. He was bigger and stronger. I couldn’t fight him off. He was so drunk, I didn’t stand a chance.’
I move to perch on the edge of the coffee table in front of Alice. I take her hands in mine. ‘He raped you?’ I ask softly. ‘Your stepbrother raped you?’ I hear a sharp intake of air from Mum, but I keep my eyes locked on Alice. I want her to know that it’s okay, that she can tell us the truth. That we won’t judge her. She doesn’t break eye contact, but nods.
‘A bit. He was too drunk.’