She wasn’t so formidable when William sent me back to her. I recall him referring to my grandmother on a few occasions during my reckless spell, but I was too blinkered by my determination back then to delve into the details of their acquaintance. ‘You knew her?’ Now I’m curious again, and I damn well hate being curious.
He laughs, and it’s a pleasant sound, all smooth and light. ‘I’ll never forget her. I was her first call each time Gracie performed one of her disappearing acts.’
The mention of my mother’s name stirs the bile in my stomach, but hearing about my grandmother makes me smile on the inside. She’s fearless, not intimidated in the least bit by anyone, and I know William wouldn’t have been an exception. His amused tone while talking of Nan is proof. ‘She’s well,’ I answer.
‘Still spunky?’ he asks with a slight smile on his lips.
‘More than ever,’ I answer, ‘but she wasn’t too good when you took me home that night seven years ago.’
‘I know.’ He nods in understanding. ‘She needed you.’
Regret cripples me, and I crumble within, wishing I could change how I reacted to the discovery of my mother’s journal and to my grandmother’s grief. ‘We got through it. She’s still spunky.’
He smiles. It’s a fond smile. ‘No one ever made me quake in my boots, Olivia. Only your grandmother.’ The idea of William quaking in his boots is ludicrous. ‘But she knew deep down that I could no less control Gracie than she or your grandfather could.’
William relaxes back in his chair and orders two risottos when the waiter presents himself.
‘Why?’ I ask once the waiter has scurried away again. This is a question I should have asked all those years ago. There are so many things I should have asked back then.
‘Why what?’
‘Why was my mother like that? Why couldn’t she be controlled?’
William visibly shifts in his seat, clearly made uncomfortable by my question, and his grey eyes are avoiding mine. ‘I tried, Olivia.’
I frown across the table at him, finding it strange seeing such a prolific male looking so awkward. ‘What?’
He sighs and rests his elbows on the table. ‘I should have sent her away sooner. Like I did you when I discovered who you were.’
‘Why would you send her away?’
‘Because she was in love with me.’ He watches for my reaction across the table, but he won’t find much because I’ve been stunned into blankness. My mum was in love with her pimp? Then why the hell did she put it about town? Why . . . Realisation descends quickly and halts my silent questions.
‘You didn’t love her,’ I whisper.
‘I loved your mother madly, Olivia.’
‘Then why—’ I sit back in my chair. ‘She was punishing you.’
‘Daily,’ he sighs. ‘Every f**king day.’
This isn’t what I expected. I’m totally confused. ‘If you loved each other, then why weren’t you together?’
‘She wanted me to do things that I simply couldn’t.’
‘Or wouldn’t.’
‘No, couldn’t. I had a responsibility. I couldn’t walk away from my girls and let them fall into the hands of some immoral bastard.’
‘So you walked away from my mum.’
‘And let her fall into the hands of an immoral bastard.’
I gasp, my eyes darting around the dimly lit restaurant, trying to comprehend what I’m being told. ‘You knew. I was looking for answers and you knew all along?’
His lips straighten and his nostrils flare. ‘You didn’t need to know the sordid details. You were a young girl.’
‘How could you let her go like that?’
‘I kept her close for years, Olivia. Letting her loose in my world was disastrous. I stood back and watched her drown men in her beauty and spirit, watched them fall for her. It tore my heart out every f**king day, and she knew it. I couldn’t take it any more.’
‘So you banished her.’
‘And I wish to every god that I hadn’t.’
I gulp back the lump forming in my throat. Everything William has told me might fill a massive hole in my history, but it doesn’t fill the hole in my heart. Despite his tale of tortured love though, she still abandoned her daughter. There’s nothing he could tell me to make that right. I glimpse across the table at the mature, handsome man whom my mother was in love with and, crazily, I can appreciate it. And even crazier was that I went to find my mother, tried to fathom her mentality. I took her journal and tracked down those men she wrote about, desperate to figure out what she found so appealing. But instead I found comfort in her pimp. My short time with William when I was seventeen showed me a compassionate, caring man, a man who I fast became fond of, a man who cared for me. There was no desire, nor was there any physical attraction, despite his good looks, but I can’t deny that I felt a certain sense of love for him.