Chapter Sixty-Three
‘Vernon?’I said.No answer.‘Hello?Are you there?’
There was a pregnant pause.
‘Oh, er, yes. I’m here,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately,’ he muttered. ‘Hello, Maggie. How are you?’
His wary tone conveyed that he knew of his wife’s displeasure with me. Fully up to speed, thank you very much. Also, that he wanted no part of it. He was a yes man. A guy who trotted after Freya like a loyal hound.
After three shitty husbands, Vernon suited Freya. I wasn’t so sure Freya always suited Vernon. However, my sister was a decade younger than him. She was also an excellent cook. Perhaps he was happy to indulge her moods in exchange for a youthful wife and decent grub.
‘I’m not so good, Vernon,’ I said honestly. ‘I’ve had a number of unpleasant texts from Freya. Can I speak to her, please?’
In the background I heard Freya reply.
‘Tell Maggie I’ve gone out.’
‘Um, er, she’s says she’s gone out,’ said Vernon nervously. ‘I-I mean–’
Evidently Vernon was getting himself in a pickle. Breaking out in a muck sweat at being caught between his furious wife and irked sister-in-law. I could imagine him now. Glasses steamed up and sliding down his nose. One damp hand raking his hair so that it stood up on end, like Ken Dodd.
‘Tell Freya I can hear her,’ I said calmly.
‘Er, right. Y-Yes. Um, Freya, dear. Maggie says she can hear you.’
‘Improvise, Vernon,’ Freya ordered. ‘Tell her she’s mistaken. It’s the radio. Or the television. Or I’m otherwise engaged with the bible bashers.’
In the background, a doorbell rang.
‘Um, one moment, Maggie,’ said Vernon nervously.
Suddenly it sounded as if all hell was breaking out.
‘I frigging knew it!’ I heard Freya crow. ‘Don’t you lot have anything better to do on a Sunday? Oh, you’re saving me, are you? From what? Ah, myself! And why would I need saving from myself? No, I’m not mad. Well, I wasn’t before you rang my doorbell. But now I’m steaming. So, take your haloes and saintly smiles and–’
Chuntering was now filtering down the line. That and a few expletives. Oooh, I say. That word wasn’t in the bible.
‘Do I look like a woman possessed?’ I heard Freya roar. I had a feeling she was doing an excellent impression of one. ‘Well at least I don’t wear socks with my sandals. Now clear off!’
There was the sound of a door slamming.
‘Um, darling,’ Vernon quavered. ‘I think Maggie now knows you’re at home.’
‘Tell her…’ – snarled Freya – ‘oh, bollocks. I’ll tell her myself.’
There was the sound of the phone being snatched from Vernon. Suddenly my sister was addressing me.
‘Maggie.’
‘Freya,’ I said coolly.
‘I was out. But now I’m in.’
‘Right.’ I pursed my mouth. ‘I’ve read your texts.’
Silence.
‘Freya, can we talk about this civilly, please?
More silence.
And then the sound of sobbing.
‘Freya,’ I said gently. ‘Please, tell me what’s wrong.’
When my sister next spoke, she sounded broken.
‘I’m s-sorry,’ she hiccupped.
‘It’s okay,’ I placated.
‘No, no, it’s not okay,’ she gulped, attempting to recover herself. ‘I’ve behaved badly. For that I’m sorry.’
‘But…’ I didn’t understand what was going on here. Why had my sister reacted so badly after reading a photocopy of our parents’ Wills? ‘Listen, if you’re not happy about my children being remembered, can we at least discuss it calmly? There’s no need to make threats about contesting Mum and Dad’s wishes. Good grief, our parents haven’t even departed this planet yet!’
‘I won’t be contesting,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I was just… surprised to see that Tim, Ruby and Ella had been given a mention.’
‘Why?’ I said gently. ‘They’re Mum and Dad’s grandchildren, Freya. If I have grandkids one day, I’ll do the same thing.’
There was more gulping at the other end of the line.
‘It’s not that,’ she said. I sensed her shaking her head. ‘I don’t begrudge my nephew and nieces. Of course I don’t.’
‘Then why–?’
‘Don’t you see, Maggie? I was triggered.’
‘Triggered?’ I repeated in bewilderment. I stared at the kitchen wall, lost for words. My sister had been triggered. By what?
‘I don’t expect you to understand,’ she said.
My sister’s voice was suddenly brisk. I could imagine her standing in her hallway as she spoke to me. Straightening her spine. Squaring her shoulders. She was revving up to tell me something. Something I’d never been privy to.
‘When I saw your children mentioned in our parents’ Wills, it triggered me over’ – she inhaled sharply – ‘the children I never had. The children that I should have had. Who, had they been born, would also have been included in our parents’ wishes.’
I turned away from the kitchen wall. Stared at the oven instead. What the hell was my sister talking about? Children she’d never had. Should have had. Freya had always been adamant that she couldn’t stand kids. Snot one end. Poo the other. Sleepless nights. Tantrums. A disruption to one’s life. A burden to the planet.
‘Hang on,’ I said. One of the oven’s knobs had some grease upon it. I picked up the tea towel. Wiped it off. ‘You once told me you didn’t want children. Ever. Are you telling me–?’
I broke off. My brain was whirring. I was trying to make sense of what Freya was saying. I didn’t have long to find out.
‘It was a coping mechanism, Maggie,’ she said quietly. ‘A way of dealing with my miscarriages.’
‘Miscarriages?’ I gasped. ‘You never told me–’
‘No,’ she interrupted. Gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I never told you. Never told anyone. Not even our parents.’
‘But… why? Why didn’t you tell me?’ I ran a hand through my hair. I’d soon be looking like Ken Dodd too.
‘How could I?’ she retorted. ‘There you were. Carrying Tim. Six months pregnant. Glowing with good health. Excitedly talking about the crib you’d bought. I couldn’t rain on your parade. Couldn’t tell you that I’d just come out of hospital.’
My mind flipped back in time. There had been moments in my sister’s life where she’d stayed in hospital. Albeit briefly. Memory flooded back.
‘W-Wait,’ I stuttered. ‘You told everyone that you’d had a cyst removed from your ovary.’
‘No,’ she said softly. ‘The foetus had died. Despite bleeding heavily, it didn’t come away. I had to have it surgically removed.’
I swung round, appalled.
‘Freya,’ I breathed. ‘You should have told us.’
‘Well, I didn’t,’ she said sadly. ‘And it happened on two other occasions. Both times you were pregnant again. With Ruby, then Ella.’
‘Oh dear God,’ I said softly.
‘I had to keep my gob shut. I couldn’t share my devastating news. Not when my sister was pregnant for a second and third time. I struggled to deal with my losses. I couldn’t understand why I lost my pregnancies when you cruised through yours. Why they ended at ten weeks, eleven, twelve, when my sister had textbook deliveries.’ Her tone changed. Became bitter. ‘I told myself that being a mother wasn’t for me. That children were brats,’ she added defiantly.
I swallowed. Gripped the phone. Right. So that explained why Freya had been so vocal about how I’d raised my kids. Criticised my parenting. Endlessly told me where I’d been going wrong with breast feeding. Bottle feeding. Colic. Teething. Why she’d put me down. Made me feel like a failure when my kids had picked up nits at school. Scraped their knees in the playground. Why she’d poured scorn on what they were fed. How they were clothed. Even the way they were disciplined. Oh yes. My sister had always been there. In my ear. At times, I’d hated her for it.
‘At times, I’d hated you for it,’ she said, startling me. ‘You see, I was jealous. And that’s why I never sought to have a close relationship with your children, Maggie. Don’t get me wrong, I loved them. Still do, obviously. But I couldn’t be a pro-active aunty. Couldn’t say, “Hey, Mags! Greg! Let me take the kids off your hands today. I want to take them to the zoo.” I couldn’t do it. You see, it should have been my kids going to the zoo with me. Do you understand?’ she implored.
I closed my eyes. Gripped the phone harder.
‘Yes,’ I said quietly. ‘Yes, I understand. Everything makes sense now. I just wish you’d shared this years ago, Freya.’
‘I couldn’t,’ she said sadly. ‘But, hey.’ She tried to lighten the mood. ‘Better late than never, eh.’
‘So,’ I said hesitantly. ‘Your texts. Can we draw a line under them?’
‘Yes. I’d like that,’ she said meekly.
‘And Freya’ – I sat back down, suddenly emotionally drained – ‘you’re my sister. I love you.’
There was a pause at the other end of the line. When Freya next spoke, she sounded choked.
‘I love you, too, Maggie.’