Public Secrets

for you. Not because of some bloody public image, but because you were his.”
“And every time he looked at me, every time you looked, you must have seen her.”
“Not Brian. Never Brian.” She sighed, and putting an arm around Emma’s shoulders, lowered to the sofa. “Maybe I did at first. I was young. Christ, the same age you are now. We were wildly in love, planning to be married. I was pregnant with Darren. And then suddenly there you were—a part of Brian I’d had nothing to do with. I was terrified of you. Maybe I even resented you. The truth was, I didn’t want to feel anything for you. Oh maybe a little pity.” When Emma pulled away, Bev took her by the shoulders. “I didn’t want to love you, Emma. Then suddenly, I just did. I didn’t plan it, I didn’t stop one day and tell myself that you deserved a chance. I just fell in love with you.”
Emma broke down then, dropping her head onto Bev’s shoulder and weeping, weeping brokenly, shamelessly, as the fire crackled and Bev stroked her hair.
“I’m so sorry, luv. So sorry I haven’t been there for you. Now you’ve grown up, and I’ve missed my chance.”
“I thought you hated me—because of Darren.”
“No, oh no.”
“You blamed me—”
“No.” Bev drew back, stunned. “Good God, Emma. You were a child. I blamed Brian, and I was wrong. I blamed myself, and I pray I was wrong. But whatever unforgivable things I did, or thought, I never blamed you.”
“I heard him crying—”

“Ssh.” She gripped Emma’s hands, bringing them up to her cheek. She’d had no idea Emma had suffered this way. If she had … Bev closed her eyes for a moment. If she had, she hoped she would have been strong enough to have put her own pain aside for the child’s sake. “Listen to me. It was the most horrible thing that’s ever happened in my life, the most destructive, the most painful. I lashed out at the people I should have been holding close. The first few years after Darren’s death, I was … I hardly knew what or where I was. In and out of therapy, contemplating suicide, wishing I could find the courage to end it. There was something about him, Emma, something special, something almost magical. Sometimes I couldn’t believe he’d come from me. And when he was gone, like that, so quickly, so cruelly, so needlessly, it was as if someone had taken out my heart. There was nothing I could do. I had lost my child. And then, in my grief, I turned away from my other child. And I lost her.”
“I loved him, too. So much.”
“I know.” She smiled, gently. “Oh, I know.”
“And you. I’ve missed you.”
“I never thought I would see you again. Or that you’d be able to forgive me.”
It amazed her. Forgiveness? For years Emma had thought she was the one who would never be forgiven. Now, with a few words, the rawness she had carried with her all day eased, and she was able to smile.
“When I was little, I used to think you were the most beautiful woman in the world.” Emma leaned forward, rested her cheek against Bev’s. “I still do. Would you mind if I called you Mum again?”
Emma felt the shaky sigh as Bev gripped her tightly. “Wait here a minute. I have something for you.”
Alone, Emma groped in her bag for a tissue. Resting against the cushions, she dried her eyes. Her mother had always been, and would always be, Bev. Perhaps at last this was one quest she could put behind her.
“I’ve saved him for you,” Bev said as she came back into the room. “Or maybe I saved him for myself. He helped me through some very lonely nights.”
With a cry of pleasure, Emma sprang up. “Charlie!”

Chapter Twenty-Three

T WENTY-TWO ORCHESTRA PLAYERS , including violins, cellos, flutes, bassoons, and a harpist, crowded into the recording studio. A couple of assistants had taken considerable time and trouble to decorate. There were shiny red balls hanging from the ceiling, boughs of pine draped on the walls, and an aluminum tree, just tacky enough to be amusing, revolving on a stand in the corner.
Johnno had mixed together what he grandly termed a wassail. After he’d drunk two cups and survived, others were lured into sampling. No one was drunk, yet, but there was plenty of cheer being passed about.
They’d been working on a single song for over four hours, and Brian was nearly satisfied with the cut. Through his headphones, he listened to the last take. It still amazed him that a song, once only a vague melody in his mind, could take