Estranged

A silver shaft of pale moonlight pierced the thickly veiled darkness of the hospital room, a pure light in the oppressive, murky darkness. It ran across the length of the floor and up the wall, falling on the face of a sleeping woman as it did so. She didn’t know it yet, but it was the last time moonlight would touch her face.

It was enough to rouse her from a light and worried sleep. She opened her eyes and took a moment to remember where she was. For a blissful moment she had almost forgotten she was in a hospital, but one look about the room quickly reminded her. The hospital bed was firm and unyielding. It felt almost purposefully uninviting in the hope that its current occupant might leave all the sooner. Hospital beds are rarely comfortable, but she doubted her daughter in the chair next to her was feeling any cosier, though she looked to be sleeping peacefully.

She savoured the moment, studying the face of her sleeping daughter in her tranquil beauty. These past few months had seemed to age her. To look at her during the day, burdened with the stress of a terminally ill mother, one would think her daughter to be far older than her 18 years. But to see her now, with her face softly illuminated by the silvery light of the moon, she looked so young. So innocent. So fragile. She so desperately wanted to freeze this moment forever, to admire its beauty and float in the serenity she felt, but just as quickly as she had woken she began to feel exhausted. She had begun to sleep more and more recently, and now she slept almost all of the time.

The moonlight still rested on her face. What began as a pleasant, calming sensation was growing irritating. Too frail to adjust her position or even to move her head out of the moonlight, she closed her eyes tightly, trying to shut it out. She couldn’t tell exactly when, but eventually she drifted uneasily into a shallow and troubled sleep.

Morning dawned bright and promising, radiant sunlight chasing away all manner of dark things brought on by the night before. A nurse bustled in, humming softly to herself before going about the usual morning routine.

The daughter woke first, squinting against the light and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her neck was stiff.

“Sorry darling, did I wake you?” the nurse asked.

“No no, don’t worry,” she replied, yawning.

“It’s Lily, isn’t it?” the nurse asked, pressing on without waiting for a response. “I’ve a granddaughter just been born called Lily, of course I originally said she should have been called Avis after my own self…” but Lily wasn’t listening.

She reached over and squeezed her mother’s hand as she did every morning, just to check. It felt like she waited longer and longer each time, but this time the seconds that passed before her mother’s return squeeze seemed interminable. Eventually, the faintest of squeezes came in reply and Lily breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t wake though. She very rarely did anymore.

“Why don’t you pop outside for a bit love, get some fresh air,” the nurse suggested. “It’ll give your mum some privacy too.”

“Sure,” responded Lily. She picked up her jacket off the floor and kissed her mother on the forehead before leaving the room.

When Lily returned five minutes later, the nurse had left the room and her mother was sat up in bed, looking unexpectedly healthy. She even managed to turn her head and smile when Lily entered the room.

“There you are darling,” she said quietly, almost in a whisper. “I thought you might have actually gone into school today.”

“No chance,” Lily replied, taking up her usual seat next to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” her mother lied. “A lot better actually.”

When people are particularly close to the end of their lives, they develop an acute sense of when exactly it will happen and they tend to accept this with quiet resolve. Her mother was no exception, and she knew in her heart that today would be her last.

“Listen, Lily.” She said slowly, opening her hand so her daughter could lace her fingers between hers. “We need to talk about what’s going to happen next—”

“No, mum, don’t,” Lily interrupted, “don’t talk like that. This is the healthiest you’ve looked in weeks!” But there was a steely resolve in her mother’s eyes that Lily couldn’t ignore. It seemed to communicate everything that couldn’t be put into words. Lily felt tears start to well in her eyes.

“I’m worried, you see,” her mother continued. “When I’m gone you’re going to have to get used to being on your own.” Lily tried to interject but her mother pressed on, squeezing her daughter’s hand tighter, unintentionally letting slip her newfound determination. “Mostly everything has been organised, but the thought of you in that big house alone just breaks my heart.” She trailed off, suppressing a heaving sob. “I need to know, Lily, that you’ll be okay when I’m gone. I won’t be there to get you out of bed when you’re having a down day. I need to know someone will be there to help.”

They were both crying by now, the severity of the next week days, weeks and months was beginning to dawn on both of them. To truly dawn. Lily was at a loss for words, she looked at her mother with pleading eyes. Eventually she cleared her throat and managed to say, “but there is no one. You’re all I’ve got, mum.”

“No,” she cut in, “No there is someone else.”

“Not Dad,” Lily exclaimed, incredulous.

“No of course not. No… that really would be silly.” The two women laughed at this, savouring the shared joke. It was a drop of light in a sea of sadness.

“No…” her mother eventually said, slowly. She considered measuring her next words, but there was no easy way to break the news. “but you do have a brother.”

Lily really thought she was past being phased by things. No news of any sort made her feel particularly one way or another. Things no longer excited her, nor did they bring her misery. The last few years of her life had been a series of upending, shocking revelations that seemed less upending and shocking each time. They had beaten the spirit out of her. But this reveal was altogether different, and it sent Lily reeling. All her life, she had had a brother that she had known nothing about. A long time passed before either of them spoke. The silence that hung between was punctuated by doors opening and closing in the corridor, and occasional birdsong that tapped gently at the window.

“You’ve met him, when you were very young.”

“Why the hell am I only just hearing this now? How old is he?” Lily demanded, suddenly angry at her mother for keeping such a thing secret.

“He’s a year older than you. He’s not my son, either. He’s your father’s. I only found out he existed when the whole affair came to light. You had just been born by then.”

“You’re joking. This can’t be real?” asked Lily, incredulous.

“Darling this is real. Please. I have a lot to say and I don’t know how much energy I’ve got left to say it.” She reached to squeeze her daughter’s hand but Lily retracted it, her brain working furiously to piece all this information together.

“As you know, I tried to forgive your father, again, and we tried to make it work for a while. This other woman was out of the picture so Jake came to live with us for a time. I’m not proud of how I acted during those few months. God knows I was a terrible mother to that boy and I can only imagine how it made him feel but you must understand Lily… Every time I saw his face I saw her. The other woman, smiling back at me. I couldn’t form a bond with that poor child, he was poison to me. He was unfaithfulness, disloyalty, betrayal, my God he was just a baby.”

Lily took her mother’s hand again, squeezing it and encouraging her to continue.

“I understand, mum. I get it.”

“You do?” she replied, followed by a series of relieved sobs.

“So that’s when Dad left I assume?” Lily asked.

“Exactly. That baby spelt the end for your father and me, so we decided to go our seperate ways. It seemed only fair for him to take Jake, and I wasn’t going to give you up for anything. It still haunts me how quickly I handed Jake over to your father. I knew what a horrible man he could be and I still handed over this poor baby.”

“He wasn’t yours, mum. You did the right thing.”

“I hope to God you’re right, I really do. So that’s why you never found out, it was just easier. Your father didn’t want you to grow up knowing what he was really like, and Jake was the epitome of that side of him. You were too young to remember at the time although you cried for weeks after Jake had left. So much so that I almost got back in touch, but eventually you forgot he existed. Then it just became easier. Each day that went by you cried less, and my guilt lessened. I’d be lying if I said there weren’t times that I myself even forget he existed.”

“So why now?”

“Because, as I say, I need to know that someone will look out for you. And maybe it’s guilt. Maybe I need to clear my conscience before it’s too late. Maybe if you repair your relationship with him it might make up for my poor excuse for motherhood, I don’t know. Mainly, you’re going to need someone. And he’s the only person you’ve got.”