My mother was strikingly beautiful, but that seemed to be her only merit, as my father liked to remind me. I, who adored him with a love that made my heart freeze, saw the world through his eyes.
Father taught political science at the university. He came from a respectable family that had never fully accepted my mother. I learned their story much later. In his student workcamp, Thomas was sent to a remote farm in the Pennines to build animal pens. Mother was only seventeen, a milkmaid at the dairy. She had just finished Year8 and, even after many years with Thomas, still struggled to read; she traced each syllable with her fingertip and whispered the sounds. Yet she was an extraordinary beautyfragile, with translucent skin, honeygold hair that fell to her waist, cornflowerblue eyes and a perfectly chiseled profile. In the wedding photograph she looks as though she stepped out of a glossy magazine. Thomas was tall, darkhaired, with a thick moustache and a rugged air. That summer she fell pregnant, and he felt obliged to marry her. Perhaps he had loved her once, but his parents pressed him, accusing her of having duped him. Around the university swirled a gaggle of young postgraduate womenless pretty but sharpwitted, ready to sustain any conversation. And every time Thomas tried to bring her to receptions, she ate messily, mishandled cutlery and laughed so loudly that he was mortified. He never hesitated to tell her this; she would simply shake her head with a rueful smile, never daring to argue.
I swore never to become my mother. I wanted Thomas to be proud of me. Before I even started school I memorised the alphabet and could read far better than she ever could. I spent whole days practising sums so that, when Thomas posed another problem, I could give the right answer and earn his praise. At the table I watched his every move and mimicked himeating with my mouth closed, not licking the plate, using fork and knife. Still, his attention was fleeting: a brief glance, a absentminded ruffle of my fluffy hair. When we managed a conversation, I treasured it, replaying his words in my mind.
When I was in secondgrade, Thomas walked out of our lives. Mother kept it secret for a while, but eventually I learned he had found another woman. The word divorce cracked through me like a cold wind, and all I could think was, If only he would take me with him Of course I stayed with Mother. We had to leave the council flat that had belonged to Grandfather Arthur and Grandmother Margaret, who were only glad to be rid of us. For a time they sent modest sums each monthThomass allowance, and a holiday bonus from Grandmother. But our family’s collapse coincided with the country’s downturn; Thomas lost his job, and the payments dried up. Mother took a string of lowpay cleaning gigs, scrubbing floors from dawn till dusk, her wages late and thin. We lived in penury, her onceradiant beauty fading, and I silently blamed her for Thomass abandonment.
Thomas, meanwhile, tried his hand at entrepreneurship. One bleak winter day he turned up at our doorstep with a new coat and a handful of notes. I had just trudged home from school, shivering in my threadbare overcoat, sleeves too short for my arms. He stood there while Mother was at work; no one opened the door, yet he waited. My heart leapthe hadnt forgotten me! I poured him tea with a spoonful of sugar and babbled on about my school triumphs, trying to prove I was clever. He sipped, halflistening, then set the coat on the table, placed the cash beside it and said,
Give this to Mother. Ill bring more later this month.
Will you come to my birthday? I asked timidly.
He stared, as if the date had slipped his mind, then answered, Of course! What would you like?
A doll, I blurted, cheeks flushing. I was already a teenager, but the word escaped me like a secret wish. Usually he bought me books.
Alright, he nodded, a doll it shall be.
When Mother returned, I bragged about Fathers visit and his promise.
On my birthday I sprinted home, heart thudding, terrified that he might not make it. I hoped to see him waiting at the entrance, but the hall was empty. Mother had baked a cake and given me a fashionable jumper Id dreamed of for weeks. I left the cake untouched, waiting for Father. He never appeared. That evening Mother came back from her shift; we ate the cake together, but the festive spark was gone, and by the nights end I was sobbing. Mother understood, but said nothing about Thomas.
The next morning she handed me a small parcel.
Here, she said, it was delayed at the post, shouldve arrived yesterday. From Father.
Inside was a brandnew doll, wrapped in pink tissue. I exclaimed, Why didnt he come himself?
Perhaps he was sent on a business trip, Mother replied, eyes dropping.
That doll became my most treasured possession. I tucked it into my school bag, unafraid of any teasing. Father never returned, and Grandmother never sent another penny. Gradually I accepted that only Mother was left in my world, yet each day I yearned for the man who had once promised me a doll, hoping he might one day see who I had become and feel pride.
After finishing my Alevels I gained a place at medical school. I was desperate to share the news with Thomas, so I resolved to find him. I remembered his old address and the flat where Id lived eight years, as well as Grandfather and Grandmothers house, which Id only visited on holidays. Without telling Mother, I set off.
At Thomass former flat a woman opened the door and told me no one lived there; shed been the tenant for seven years. I tried to coax details about former occupants, but she slammed the door.
Grandfather and Grandmothers place was silent. I turned to leave when a shriveled old lady in oversized spectacles appeared in the next hallway and asked, Who are you looking for?
Im here for the Serbys. Im their granddaughter, I stammered.
She peered at me, then said, If youre their granddaughter, you should know theyve been in the earth for years.
My cheeks flushed.
I didnt know My parents divorced and I
Ah, yes, divorced So youre Lily?
Yes.
Wanted to see Grandfather and Grandmother?
Yes. Andmy father, I whispered.
The old ladys gaze hardened, and she spoke as if unveiling a nightmare.
Theyre all dead. Killed for debts. In one day. All because of your father
The truth crashed over me like a tide, squeezing the breath from my lungs.
Dont kill yourself, she croaked. Youre young, lifes ahead of you. Mother still alive?
I nodded.
Here, she said, pulling a faded notebook from a drawer, addresses of their graves, the cemetery name. Talk to them; it might bring you peace.
I thanked her, drove to the overgrown graves, cleared weeds, and read the weathered stones. The dates showed they died two days after my last encounter with Thomas.
Shivering on the old city bus back home, a thought struck: Thomas could never have sent that doll on my birthday. Perhaps Mother had. A blush rose, a lump lodged in my throat. Shame flooded me. My father had been nothing more than a petty crook who wrecked his own parents. Thank goodness we never lived together; otherwise we would have been buried side by side with Mother.
I never told Mother about the trip. I lied that Id been out with friends. Later I hugged her, whispered that I loved her, and added another falsehood:
Thank you for everything.
Her eyes, still the faded blue of cornflowers, widened. I always knew you were the one who gave me that doll, she said softly. Thats why I cherished it.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. I felt no shame for my deceit, only a lingering embarrassment for all those years when I thought there was nothing good about her beyond a fleeting beauty.