the same old carpet they’ve always had, but standing on it are twenty or more dead family members, watching her inquisitively. There are twin sisters in long dresses of lace, young men in the different uniforms of different wars. An old woman who appears to be wrapped in a towel; I want to take a bath, she announces.
Severine hears her mother calling and glances around the room. Pads barefoot down the stairs.
Mama?
Just thought you might like some coffee.
It is a peace offering for an argument that was never voiced, and Severine is glad, and grateful, and would very much like some coffee.
Severine and her mama sit side by side at the table, each holding their coffee with their palms wrapped round their cups, warming their fingers. They have the same skin, the same shape to their heads, the same way of blowing over their cups to cool their drink.
How are you? Severine’s mother asks.
Ready to burst.
They both smile.
I remember when I had you.
I’ve seen the photo in the album.
Her mama looks tired, brushes her hair back from her face in a familiar gesture.
I’ll be there with you, she says. I wasn’t sure if you knew . . . I didn’t mean to seem angry about it. I just wanted you to . . .
Go to college, have a career. Get married?
I just wanted you to be free.
Severine lets go of her anger. She hadn’t realised it was still there until she felt it vanish.
Perhaps some things are better than freedom.
That’s what your granny would have said.
Only sometimes.
That’s true. She was a contradiction.
Just like us.
Even though her mama is crying now, there must be an unspoken memory of her own mother that makes her smile; makes her laugh despite her tears.
Severine wants to talk to her mama about the ghosts, but every time she tries something stops her. They would, surely, have appeared to her if she had wanted to see them.
But it’s more than that. She has seen too often how people looked at her granny, the concern, the pity, the embarrassment of watching a woman lose her mind. She doesn’t want that; she doesn’t want to be looked at like that. She will try to keep the ghosts to herself.
What have you been doing upstairs? her mama asks, as if she could hear her thoughts.
Just resting, Severine says.
Her mama’s eyes, red for two days, search her own. She reaches forward and tucks Severine’s hair behind her ear.
You’ll let me know if you need anything?
Severine nods.
All I need is to be here.
She looks up, to the window.
Or maybe outside for a minute?
They take the picnic chairs out to their back garden, even though the evening is drawing in and it is cold. Severine used to think that she could see all the stars there were to see in Bayeux, the sky was so full of them, until her granny told her that there were layers upon layers they couldn’t see. Would every black space have a star in it, if we could only see well enough?
They wrap a blanket each around their shoulders.
What’s in the old shed? Severine asks, as her eyes fall on it.
That was my grandpa’s shed, her mama says; he built it himself.
So it’s empty now?
Granny kept her gardening tools in there, and some other things she imagined she had to hide from me.
It seems funny, that a mother would need to hide things from a daughter, but perhaps all mothers are doing it and it’s only the rarest daughter that realises and understands enough to leave well alone.
Do you think I could have a look tomorrow?
If you like, her mama says. I think she was keeping it all there for you anyway.
It feels good, to be outside talking with her mother, feels like something they should have been doing for years but haven’t. She takes her hand and they sit in silence for a minute. Severine is glad that the ghosts have stayed upstairs.
Where’s my father?
It’s a question she hasn’t asked since she felt afraid to keep asking as a child, but it feels right to ask it now, at last.
He wanted to travel, she says. You were a baby,
Severine hears her mother calling and glances around the room. Pads barefoot down the stairs.
Mama?
Just thought you might like some coffee.
It is a peace offering for an argument that was never voiced, and Severine is glad, and grateful, and would very much like some coffee.
Severine and her mama sit side by side at the table, each holding their coffee with their palms wrapped round their cups, warming their fingers. They have the same skin, the same shape to their heads, the same way of blowing over their cups to cool their drink.
How are you? Severine’s mother asks.
Ready to burst.
They both smile.
I remember when I had you.
I’ve seen the photo in the album.
Her mama looks tired, brushes her hair back from her face in a familiar gesture.
I’ll be there with you, she says. I wasn’t sure if you knew . . . I didn’t mean to seem angry about it. I just wanted you to . . .
Go to college, have a career. Get married?
I just wanted you to be free.
Severine lets go of her anger. She hadn’t realised it was still there until she felt it vanish.
Perhaps some things are better than freedom.
That’s what your granny would have said.
Only sometimes.
That’s true. She was a contradiction.
Just like us.
Even though her mama is crying now, there must be an unspoken memory of her own mother that makes her smile; makes her laugh despite her tears.
Severine wants to talk to her mama about the ghosts, but every time she tries something stops her. They would, surely, have appeared to her if she had wanted to see them.
But it’s more than that. She has seen too often how people looked at her granny, the concern, the pity, the embarrassment of watching a woman lose her mind. She doesn’t want that; she doesn’t want to be looked at like that. She will try to keep the ghosts to herself.
What have you been doing upstairs? her mama asks, as if she could hear her thoughts.
Just resting, Severine says.
Her mama’s eyes, red for two days, search her own. She reaches forward and tucks Severine’s hair behind her ear.
You’ll let me know if you need anything?
Severine nods.
All I need is to be here.
She looks up, to the window.
Or maybe outside for a minute?
They take the picnic chairs out to their back garden, even though the evening is drawing in and it is cold. Severine used to think that she could see all the stars there were to see in Bayeux, the sky was so full of them, until her granny told her that there were layers upon layers they couldn’t see. Would every black space have a star in it, if we could only see well enough?
They wrap a blanket each around their shoulders.
What’s in the old shed? Severine asks, as her eyes fall on it.
That was my grandpa’s shed, her mama says; he built it himself.
So it’s empty now?
Granny kept her gardening tools in there, and some other things she imagined she had to hide from me.
It seems funny, that a mother would need to hide things from a daughter, but perhaps all mothers are doing it and it’s only the rarest daughter that realises and understands enough to leave well alone.
Do you think I could have a look tomorrow?
If you like, her mama says. I think she was keeping it all there for you anyway.
It feels good, to be outside talking with her mother, feels like something they should have been doing for years but haven’t. She takes her hand and they sit in silence for a minute. Severine is glad that the ghosts have stayed upstairs.
Where’s my father?
It’s a question she hasn’t asked since she felt afraid to keep asking as a child, but it feels right to ask it now, at last.
He wanted to travel, she says. You were a baby,
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