Public Secrets

There had been no seasonal snow in California, but the house had offered the warmth and cheer that meant Christmas. Then again, Emma thought, she wasn’t coming home for Christmas. She wasn’t coming home at all.

Taking a deep breath, Emma pushed through the gate and waded through the snow to the front door. There was a knocker against the ornately carved wood. She stared at it, half expecting the brass lion’s head to dissolve and re-form into the battered countenance of Jacob Marley. Perhaps it was the season, or the ghosts of her childhood that made her fanciful.
With hands icy inside her fur-lined gloves, she lifted it, just an old brass lion’s head, and let it fall against the wood.
When there was no response, she knocked again, hoping there was no one to hear. If no one answered, could she tell herself she’d done her best to erase Jane and the need to see her from her mind and her heart? She desperately wanted to run away, from the house that pretended to be something it wasn’t, from the brass lion’s head, from the woman who never seemed to be completely out of her life. As she stood, ready to turn away in relief, the door swung open.
She couldn’t speak, could only stare at the woman in the red silk robe that dipped carelessly over one shoulder, strained over hips that had spread beyond lush. Her hair was a blond tangle around a wide, doughy face. A stranger’s face. It was the eyes Emma recognized and remembered. The narrowed, angry eyes, reddened now from drink or drugs or lack of sleep.
“Well?” In deference to the cold air, Jane hitched the robe up. There was the glitter of diamonds on her fingers, and to Emma’s horror, the stink of stale gin. “Look, lovey, I got better things to do on a Saturday afternoon than stand in the doorway.”
“Who the hell is it?” The annoyed male roar came from the second floor. Jane cast a bored glance over her shoulder.
“Hang on, will you?” she shouted back. “Well?” She turned back to Emma. “You can see I’m busy.”
Go, she thought frantically. Just turn around and walk away. “I’d like to speak with you.” Emma heard her own voice, but it sounded like a stranger’s. “I’m Emma.”
Jane didn’t move, but her eyes changed, narrowing further, struggling to focus. She saw a young woman, tall, slender, with a pale, delicate face and flowing blond hair. She saw Brian—then her daughter. For an instant she felt something almost like regret. Then her lips curved.
“Well, well, well. Little Emma come home to her mam. Want to talk to me?” She gave a quick, high laugh that caused Emma to jolt and brace for a slap. But Jane merely stepped back from the doorway. “Come right on in, dear. We’ll have ourselves a chat.”

Jane was already calculating as she led the way down the hall into a cluttered parlor made dim by the thick curtains. There was a scent there—old liquor, stale smoke that wasn’t tobacco. It seemed they hadn’t come so far from the old flat after all.
Her annual check from Brian would soon stop, and no amount of threatening or wheedling would pry another pence from him. But there was the girl. Her own little Emma. A woman had to think ahead, Jane decided. When she had expensive tastes, and an expensive habit.
“How about a drink? To celebrate our reunion.”
“No, thank you.”
With a shrug, Jane poured a glass for herself. When she turned back, the red silk shifted over her plump hips. “To family ties?” she offered, raising her glass. Then she laughed when Emma looked down at her hands. “Imagine finding you at my door after all these years.” She drank deeply, then topped off the glass before sitting on a sofa of purple velvet. “Sit down, Emma luv, and tell me all about yourself.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Stiffly, Emma sat on the edge of a chair. “I’m only in London for the holidays.”
“Holidays? Ah, Christmas.” She grinned, tapping a chipped nail against the glass. “Did you bring your mam a present?”
Emma shook her head. She felt like a child again. Terrified and lonely.
“The least you could have done after all these years was bring your mother a little gift.” With a wave of her hand, Jane settled back. “Never mind. You never were a considerate child. All grown-up now, aren’t you?” She eyed the quiet diamond studs in Emma’s ears. “And done well for yourself, too. Fancy schools, fancy clothes.”
“I’m in college now,” Emma said helplessly. “I have a