Her Mother's Love

James

James

Charlotte pleads with her mother. “Why did you leave me? Why did you leave me there? At Blessingmoors. With him?”

Mitch thunders upright from her seat. Face reddening, her mouth twists. “I did not leave you. I would never have left you…”

“I thought you must have abandoned me…”

“No.” She swings on Charlotte, eyes glossy. “I left because…” Her voice hushes… ”Because you were dead.” Mitch presses fingers to her forehead. “You were dead. He told me that. How can you be alive? How?”

“Who told you?” I ask. “Klempner said that? He told you your baby had died?”

“No, not Larry.” Hands pressed to her cheeks, Mitch swings her face to one side then the other. “It was Frank. He said you were dead, that he'd seen Larry murder you.”

The bang of a door closing echoes through the room, then boots on linoleum coming closer.

Mitch whirls to the door. “He’ll tell us.”

“He?”

The door opens and a figure steps into the lounge. Not overly tall although perhaps once beefily built; muscle has run to fat, and the paunch is matched by the jowls. The face is red-threaded with veins, and the eyes are bloodshot.

As he steps inside, “Look who’s here,” Mitch announces. “Can you believe it?” Her smile is wide and white and bright. “It’s Jenny. Jenny’s alive.”

The man looks, gapes then scowls. I’ve seen the face before, albeit much younger then, on the photo Michael found in the files.

Frank Conners.

What the f**k?

Charlotte stares. Michael’s jaw drops and his eyes, widening, meet mine.

Conners stares too, his eyes fixed on Charlotte.

And he doesn’t look pleased…

Is shock the only appropriate reaction?

The long-lost daughter…

Finally, he speaks. “Jenny?” His face is slack but abruptly moves to a smile.

And I know a fake smile when I see one.

He holds out arms, palms open. “Jenny! Thank God. How on earth?” she steps forward into his embrace. Awkwardly he hugs her, patting her on the back, but quickly, she breaks away again, her eyes calculating.

Conners takes in air, the smile fading, eyes sliding. “How… Where have you come from?” The smile slips back into place, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He exhales with a smell of beer and whiskey.

The eyes shift again. So does his stance. Everything about him is...

... wrong

Is he really pleased to see her?

Michael stands, watching in silence, a forefinger raised to his lips.

He’s not happy…

And he’s a much better judge of people than I am…

Conners notices the opened bottle of bubbly. “Hey, champagne. Let’s celebrate!”

Silent still, eyes assessing, Michael pours a glass, passes it to him, pours the remains of the bottle for the rest of us. He raises the glass. “To Jenny!”

We raise our glasses too. “To Jenny.”

“And to finding you alive too,” finishes Michael. Conners flicks a rheumy gaze to him. “We’ve all been thinking you were long-dead. And now, here you are.”

Mitch breaks in. “You were meant to believe he was dead. It was the only way we could be sure that Larry wouldn’t keep searching for him.”

“He’s never stopped searching for you though,” says Charlotte.

Mitch pales. “Still?”

“Still.”

I take a seat, plant myself down. “So, why don’t you tell us what happened. How Frank here comes to be alive when we thought he was dead. And how you came to think Jenny here was dead too.”

*****