46. Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Six
May ran a hand across her damp forehead and stared at the mountain of bags of wood chip outside the cabin. ‘How many of these have we got to move?’
Jack stretched, hands on his lower back, clearly feeling the effect of shifting the bags Daniel had arranged to be delivered. ‘Probably best not to ask.’
‘Why don’t we wait for Daniel to be here to help?’ said May. ‘It seems crazy to do it on our own.’
‘He’s done so much, though,’ said Jack. ‘He wouldn’t let me pay for any of this, and it’s my path. I thought if we could make things easier for him, we should do it.’
‘Fine.’ said May. ‘In that case, you’re to be supervisor only. The last thing we need is you doing your back in days before the wedding.’
‘I’m not that ancient,’ grumbled Jack.
‘That’s debatable.’ May grinned.
‘Did I hear a rumour you could do with another worker?’
May spun around to see Maz walking along the driveway towards them. She put on a good front, smiling and giving them a cheerful wave. It was only the way her eyes darted around that betrayed her true feelings.
‘What’s she doing here?’ muttered Jack.
May straightened up the large bag at her feet. ‘We can’t hide from her forever, and remember what we said about healing rifts,’ she murmured, and walked forward to meet her mother. ‘Why are you here?’ She tried not to sound hostile.
‘Nice way to greet me.’ Maz’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘I thought it was time we had a talk – the three of us. Good to see you, Dad.’
Jack grunted and nodded brusquely.
‘And you, May,’ asked Maz. ‘How have you been? I’m sorry you’ve been kicked out of your room for my sake.’
May shrugged. ‘It’s hardly surprising.’
Maz sighed, her head dropping until her chin met her chest, like a small child who understands they’re in big trouble. A rush of sympathy washed over May. It must have taken courage for Maz to come up and speak to them.
‘Should I put the kettle on?’ asked Jack.
‘Actually,’ said Maz, ‘it looks like you two have got a lot of work to do here. Why don’t I help you, and we can talk as we go? I always find it easier to talk while you’re doing something.’
‘Are you sure you want to be hauling bags of bark with those fingernails?’ asked May, pointing to Maz’s bright pink manicure.
Maz smiled faintly. ‘These are falsies. I’ll just put another set on later. It’s fine.’
Jack issued his daughter with gruff instructions, and the three of them got to work. Under his supervision, May and her mother each grabbed a large bag of wood chips and hauled them from outside the cabin to the top of the path to the beach.
‘What’s all this for?’ asked Maz.
May glanced at Jack. Of course, Maz didn’t know about the secret plan to hold the wedding at the beach. And best she didn’t. She’d blurt it out at some stage, ruining the surprise.
‘Jack’s decided the path to the beach needs an upgrade before it’s completely unusable,’ May said lightly.
Maz frowned. ‘Really?’ Her scepticism shone through.
‘Yes.’ Jack’s abrupt tone signalled he didn’t intend to say more.
‘Daniel’s spent the past week pulling long hours to clear the path,’ May said, ‘and now this is the final stage.’
‘Could he not move these bags himself?’ snapped Maz.
‘He could, and he was intending to,’ said May, her tone firm. ‘We decided we’d give him a hand, as he’s given us a full week of work for free.’
‘Sorry,’ said Maz. ‘I guess he’s another person I need to speak to, isn’t he?’
‘That would be a good idea before the wedding,’ said May. ‘Anyway, what did you want to say to us?’
‘Let’s get another bag first.’
The three of them walked back to the cabin, picked up another load, and carried it in silence to the path.
‘I’m here to apologise,’ Maz blurted.
May raised her eyebrows. ‘We could be here all day then,’ she said.
To her surprise, Maz laughed. It was a bitter laugh, the laugh of a woman scarred by a life of mistakes and disappointments.
Jack scowled. ‘I don’t see what’s so funny.’
‘It’s not funny.’ Maz shook her head. ‘It’s true.
If I were to list all the mistakes I’ve made over my life, we’d be here far longer than it’d take to shift all that wood chip across your garden.
’ She dropped the bag she was carrying and brushed hair from her face.
‘It’s why it’s taken me so long to come up here.
Part of me wondered if there’s even any point.
’ She snuck a look at Jack, who fixed her with a stare.
Maz smiled, a mixture of defiance and sadness.
‘I’ve always been a mess, pretty much from the moment I was born.
A disappointment, unreliable, a terrible mother, no financial sense, awful taste in men.
Too free-spirited for my own good, always looking for happiness in all the wrong places. ’
May held up her hand, the realisation her mother was echoing her own thoughts about herself shocking. ‘Stop. Stop, Mum.’
The smile dropped off Maz’s face. She gazed at May with tears in her eyes. ‘You called me Mum.’
May shrugged. ‘You are my mum.’
‘I don’t deserve to be.’
Jack sliced the air with his hand. ‘Enough of this nonsense,’ he said. ‘Let’s go back to the cabin. I’ll put the kettle on.’
Walking back, May cast furtive glances toward her mother.
All the bravado seemed to have left her.
She looked younger, more vulnerable than May could remember ever having seen her.
And the description of herself, so close to how May was feeling right now …
May’s heart cracked with a little more sympathy.
Inside, Jack busied himself with the kettle. Maz sat heavily on a chair, staring at her hands. She lifted her head and forced a smile, looking around the room. ‘This is a bit different from Saffron Manor.’
May sat in an armchair and noticed her mother’s smile slip.
‘Everything I said is true,’ she said quietly.
‘I was a terrible mother. I should have done better by you, May.’ She glanced up through her hair.
‘It’s no excuse, but this might help you understand.
You see, I never really had an example to follow.
My mother, your grandmother, couldn’t cope.
Six months at an institute after Hatty was born.
Her absence damaged me more than I, or anyone else, realised.
’ She sighed. ‘Not that it’s an excuse, like I said.
I’m an adult, and there are plenty of people who make a go of their lives after far worse childhoods.
’ She gave May a hopeful smile. ‘I’ve been in therapy for a few months now, and my therapist says open communication is the start of healing, so I wanted to share that with you. ’
‘It’s alright.’ Although sceptical about the idea of Maz in therapy, May had the good grace to acknowledge when her mother was trying. ‘Grandpa showed me and Alice photos from your childhood and filled us in on some of the things you went through.’ She shook her head. ‘It explains a lot.’
‘As I say, it’s not an excuse, but Mummy being sent away was a very hard thing to deal with. And, Dad …’ She flicked her eyes to Jack, who had reappeared with mugs of tea. ‘You weren’t really there either, were you, Dad?’
Jack set the mugs on the low table, his hands trembling.
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘I wasn’t. I buried myself in work.
It was easier than facing what was happening at home.
’ He straightened, squinted at Maz. ‘Your mum was unwell, Tilly. Properly unwell. And instead of standing by either of you, I kept my head down and hoped it would all sort itself out. I’m ashamed of that. You needed me, and I wasn’t there.’
Maz blinked hard, fighting tears. ‘I thought it was my fault, that if I’d been easier, quieter, better somehow, maybe she wouldn’t have left me.
Maybe you wouldn’t have been so absent if I’d been a better daughter.
’ She brushed at her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘I grew up believing I was bad, and once I’d labelled myself as that, it was easier to live up to my self-imposed reputation. ’
‘It wasn’t your fault.’ Jack had remained standing. His voice was thick. ‘You were a child.’
May’s own throat tightened. For the first time, she saw her mother not as a whirlwind of chaos, but as a woman shaped by wounds she hadn’t deserved. And maybe, just maybe, Maz wasn’t the only one who’d grown up carrying the weight of someone else’s mistakes.
Silence filled the living room, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the mantel. May leaned forward, reached out her hand, and rested it lightly on her mother’s.
‘The woodchip is because we plan to hold Kitty and Alice’s wedding on Jack’s beach,’ she confessed. ‘And if you give away the surprise, you’ll really never be forgiven.’