Her Mother's Daughter

Alice Fitzgerald

• Publisher: Allen & Unwin
• Year: 2018
• Print ISBN:
  9781760630652
• eBook ISBN:
  9781760638245
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Women in Fiction
• Index: Literature

1980: Josephine flees her home in Ireland, hoping never to return. She starts a new, exciting life in London, but as much as she tries, she can't quite leave the trauma of her childhood behind. Seventeen years and two children later, Josephine gets a call from her sister to tell her that their mother is dying and wants to see her - a summons she can't refuse. 1997: Ten-year-old Clare is counting down to the summer holidays, when she is going to meet her grandparents in Ireland for the first time. She hopes this trip will put an end to her mum's dark moods - and drinking. But family secrets can't stay buried forever and following revelations in Ireland, everything starts to unravel. Have Josephine and her daughter passed the point of no return?

CLARE

29TH JULY 1997

Someone getting into bed wakes me up. I open my eyes, but it’s black-black-black and I can’t see anything. I freeze and think of screaming, but then I would scare Thomas. I think of calling out but everyone would hear, including Granny, and she isn’t feeling well so I can’t wake her up. I squeeze my eyes tight shut. Tears fall down the side of my face, and even though I hate when tears tickle on their way down and always wipe them away, I don’t move because I don’t want to wake Thomas and I don’t want whoever it is to know I’m awake. I lie as still as I can and hope that whoever it is will go away. I squeeze my eyes and legs together, and wish I was still cuddling Thomas like I promised I would.

Something lifts up and then there’s an arm over me, and I squeeze my eyes even tighter because that will make it all go away. This is why Mummy told me to cuddle Thomas all night long. I knew she was saying something that she wasn’t really saying. I think of Father Feathers and Mass, and I say the ‘Holy Mary’ in my head as fast as I can. The arm around me pulls me close, and then there are kisses on my face and I can smell the strong scent of Mummy’s perfume and the sweetness of her hair, mixed with cigarette smoke.

‘Mummy,’ I whisper, ‘is that you?’

‘Shush, go back to sleep, my darling,’ she says.

‘Mummy! You scared me!’ I wipe my face and hug her tight and nuzzle my face into her neck, where I fit perfectly.

‘It’s okay now, honey. Off to sleep you go.’ Her words are soft around the edges because she has been drinking. Her skin is warm. I close my eyes and let out a deep breath.

When I wake up I am as snug as a bug in a rug. Mummy is on one side and Thomas is on the other and it’s so hot I’m sticky and sweaty, but in a good way. I love being snuggly under the thick blankets they have in Ireland that mean you can’t really move. At home we just have one duvet, and it’s light and fluffy and boring. Thomas kicks me.

‘Ow!’ I say, even though it didn’t hurt, but I still don’t want him kicking me or he’ll just do it all the time. ‘Cheeky monkey,’ I say.

‘Sorry, Clare!’ he sings. Then he comes and hugs me round my neck really tight. I tickle him until he lets go.

‘Shhh,’ Mummy says.

Thomas lifts his head up to look over me. Then he cups his two hands round my ear and whispers, ‘What’s Mummy doing here?’

I cup my hands round his ear. ‘She came to sleep with us last night,’ I whisper back.

He does the same again. ‘Why?’

I do it again, too. ‘To keep us safe.’

‘From what?’ He leans back and scrunches up his nose so that he looks like a tiger when it gets angry and wants to fight another tiger.

I don’t really know, and what I do know is too hard to explain, but if I say that he’ll make me tell him every detail. I shrug my shoulders.

‘What?’ he whines. He hates it when he doesn’t know something, even though I say I’m older and that’s the way it is. I’ve even explained that adults don’t know everything, they just know more than us. It’s God that knows and sees everything.

‘Shhh!’ I say, pointing at Mummy who still has her eyes closed. That works a treat. He lifts the blankets up and puts his head underneath and then pokes his head out and his hair is electric and wiry.

Mummy moans.

‘How’s the head?’ I ask, the way Uncle John asked when he came down to the kitchen when we were at his house.

She bursts out laughing. ‘Where did you hear that?’ she asks.

‘At Uncle John and Aunty Joan’s,’ I say.

‘You cheeky monkey.’ She puts her arm round me and kisses me on the cheek. Thomas whines, so Mummy reaches her hand out and Thomas comes in and we have a three-way hug, which is when all three of us hug at the same time. Mummy squeezes us tight. ‘I love you both so much,’ she says.

‘I love you, too, Mummy,’ I say.

‘And I love you, Mummy,’ Thomas says.

She squeezes us tight and flattens our hair and then kisses us on the head. I smile a big smile because I’m so happy.

‘Come on, it’s time to get up,’ she says, and she pushes back the blankets. Me and Thomas get up and go into the bathroom to shower and get dressed. Then Mummy showers while we brush our teeth, and we go into the other room where Daddy is still in bed. We jump on top of him and he lifts us in the air like we’re aeroplanes, one at a time. His face is all puffy and his breath stinks, so we moan and fan the air in front of our noses and he laughs and calls us monsters.

‘Come on, let’s go and have breakfast and leave your father to get dressed,’ Mummy says. That’s another time she has called him father. I hope it’s not Sooty’s fault.

She makes us scrambled eggs on toast, and Granddad comes in just as she’s sitting down at the table to eat.

‘Morning, kids,’ he says, smiling a big smile.

‘Morning, Granddad!’ we say together.

Mummy doesn’t say anything. There’s just the sound of my fork and Thomas’s against our plates. I look from her to him, waiting for her to say, Good morning, but she doesn’t.

Granddad goes over to the kitchen and sees the scrambled eggs in the frying pan. He dishes them onto a plate, but Mummy says, ‘Er, they’re for Michael.’

Granddad laughs. ‘Are they, now?’

I feel bad. ‘You can have my scrambled eggs, Granddad,’ I say.

‘And how am I going to take your scrambled eggs off you, young lady? Sure you’re a growing girl.’ He laughs. ‘I like them nice and hot anyway. I’ll make some fresh in no time.’

We have one day left. Mummy and Daddy have to see someone about something and they say we have to stay at home. I’m glad. It means we can play with Sooty and run around and make as much noise as we want and talk to Granddad, and he can make us more bacon and sausages. Granddad is lovely. I feel bad because Mummy seems angry at him, but I don’t know why. I don’t think she should be angry at him. He’s made us lots of food and is always laughing and happy, even though Granny is ill.

Mummy tells us they will be as quick as they can, and to be good and stay out of trouble and Granny and Granddad’s way. She says Sooty is By No Means Allowed inside the house, so we should put our coats on and stay outside and play with him. We put our coats on and I hold Sooty while we wave them away and watch the car disappear out of the drive. We go out the front to the pavestones. I find a stone and draw squares for Hopscotch and we play that for a while, but Sooty keeps trying to eat the stone. Then we go around the back and find some rope, so I do some skipping. Thomas doesn’t know how to skip, so he sits on the ground and holds Sooty, otherwise he’ll come and try and eat the rope.

There’s a sound of knocking on a window. Me and Thomas look around, but don’t see anything. Then there’s the knocking again. I look up at all the windows and see that the one over by the corner has the curtain pulled up a bit. I walk over. Granny is holding the edge of the curtain. She’s waving her hand.

‘I think Granny wants us to go in,’ says Thomas, who has snuck up beside me with Sooty in his arms. Sooty is scrambling to get down.

‘Put him down, Thomas,’ I say, in my adult I’m-telling-youoff voice. He is always holding him, and sometimes I want to hold him, too, but Sooty needs to get to run around like a normal puppy.

Granny waves.

‘Do you want us to come in, Granny?’ I say loud, calling up to the window. It’s high up, and we’re still little.

She nods.

‘Can we bring Sooty?’

She nods.

‘Come on, Thomas,’ I say, turning and taking Sooty. He is mine, after all. Thomas is always taking him off me. I’m grumpy. Mummy said to stay clear of Granny and Granddad, and now Granny is calling us in to her dark and smelly room with tubes and machines and things from scary films.

We wipe our shoes on the mat at the back door like we do at home, apart from when we’re running and just can’t stop. We go into the kitchen. Granddad isn’t there. We walk through the door to the hallway; it’s quiet and spooky and I’m glad we have Sooty to protect us. We walk along the hallway, me first and then Thomas. I always have to go first because I’m the Big Sister and it’s my job to look after him because he’s still small.

‘I need to go to the toilet,’ Thomas says.

‘Can’t you wait?’ I say, because that’s what Mummy always says when we say we need to go to the toilet.

‘No!’ he says.

I turn left at the bathroom door and lock it after Thomas is inside. I put Sooty in the bath and he’s so funny because he tries to climb up the side, but it’s too slippery for him, so he keeps sliding up and down, up and down. Me and Thomas giggle while we watch him. Thomas does his wee and I decide I might as well do a wee, too, now that we’re here, so I do one and then flush the toilet. After I flush it I jump away quickly because I hate getting wee-spray on my legs. Thomas always forgets and then complains when he gets splashed, and I laugh while he wipes it away with toilet roll.

We wash our hands with soap and water and then dry them with the towel on the back of the door. I pick Sooty up from the bath and he licks me all over my face because he’s so happy to be out. He doesn’t like baths, like me and ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Prologue-Josephine: 18th october 1997
• Clare: 7th July 1997
• Josephine: 18th June 1980
• Clare: 7th July 1997
• Josephine: 19th June 1980
• Clare: 8th July 1997
• Josephine: 19th June 1980
• Clare: 12th July 1997
• Josephine: 10th July 1980
• Josephine: 9th August 1980
• Clare: 12th JULY 1997
• Josephine: 22nd October 1980
• Clare: 18th JULY 1997
• Josephine: 10th May 1983
• Josephine: 15th September 1983
• Clare: 21st July 1997
• Josephine: 1st August 1986
• Josephine: 9th June 1987
• Josephine: 5th August 1987
• Clare: 23rd July 1997
• Josephine: 3rd June, 1997
• Clare: 26th July 1997
• Josephine: 26th July 1997
• Clare: 26th July 1997
• Clare: 26th July 1997
• Clare: 29th July 1997
• Josephine: 29th July 1997
• Clare: 15th September 1997
• Clare: 20th September 1997
• Clare: 10th October 1997
• Clare: 10th October 1997
• Clare: 10th October 1997
• Josephine: 15th October 1997
• Clare: 15th October 1997
• Clare: 15th October 1997
• Josephine: 18th October 1997
• Clare: 18th October 1997
• Acknowledgements