Into The Sunshine By Phoebe Morgan
A dark shadow hangs over Melissa’s daughter and she wonders if they’ll ever be free of it…
The olive trees cast shadowy dapples on the stone flags, the heat baking the ground. Melissa moves her chair, just slightly, so that the sun remains on the back of her neck, warming the already-browning skin. She has always loved the sun – usually, her daughter laughs at her, tells her she is like a cat on a hot tin roof.
At sixteen, Rosie is much more aware than Melissa ever was at her age – she is preoccupied with the damage the sun can inflict, choosing instead to slather herself in factor 30 sun-cream and sit in the shade, her dark head covered by the red splash of the large parasol that hangs over the table, like a web suspended above prey. She hasn’t laughed on this holiday, not once.
They have been abroad for almost a week already, and Melissa can feel herself relaxing more and more every day, allowing the stresses of her life back at home to lessen, recede a little. It’s not that she can forget what has happened, no, but she is giving herself permission to not think about it for every waking minute. What happened back in England is not her fault, after all – the doctors told her that again and again. An accident – could have happened to anyone. It’s not Rosie’s fault either, and everyone she spoke to had said that the best thing for them both would be for them to get away for a while – escape, as it were. It’s the summer holidays, after all, the schools are out for six weeks. They’re very lucky that Janine had offered them the house in France, free of charge. Melissa is more grateful for the offer than her neighbour will ever know.
It had been Rosie’s first babysitting job. Melissa had smiled at her daughter’s excitement over it – the chance to earn money was intoxicating at that age. Growing up, Melissa had asked her to do odd jobs around the house, but never paid her for it, choosing instead to reward her in other ways – an hour of
TV, a sleepover with a friend. As a single mother, Melissa counted every penny, and although she would never let Rosie know, the fact was that spare change wasn’t something she had lying around very often. All the money Melissa earned went straight into savings; she was careful, and it had served them well over the years.
The babysitting job had come through a friend of a friend – a Mum at the school gates had been desperate. Rosie had jumped at the chance, and Melissa hadn’t seen the harm – she was always so good with children, and interested in them, too. Melissa imagined her growing up to follow in her own footsteps, becoming a teacher or perhaps a nursery worker. She was caring, smart, resourceful. The sight of her with kids always made Melissa proud. Rosie would come to meet Melissa from work sometimes, and before term started she would help Melissa decorate her Year Three classroom, stapling brightly coloured pictures to the walls, laying out pencil pots on the desks with extra careful precision.
So what happened certainly wasn’t her daughter’s fault, and everyone was clear on that. The toddler she’d been looking after that night, a sweet little boy named Alfie, had crawled out of his cot, falling and banging his head. Rosie’s call to her mother had been hysterical, and Melissa had felt it – the gut-wrenching fear a mother feels at the sound of their own offspring crying.
Alfie’s mother had been phoned, of course. Despite the fact that a trip to the hospital had proven that Alfie was fine, his mother Louise had been vicious in her criticism of poor Rosie – so much so that Melissa had feared her daughter’s easy confidence around children would vanish forever.
“She’s just frightened,” Janine next door had soothed Melissa a few nights later. “She’s frightened that something like that could happen again. And Alfie’s mother’s just reacting in a primal way, that’s all. Louise is probably annoyed with herself, deep down. She must know that it wasn’t Rosie’s fault.”
Melissa has been waiting for a phone call from Louise and, even now, in France, she keeps checking her phone, though this afternoon she has promised herself to try not to. Rosie has apologised so many times, as has Melissa. They have sent flowers and cards and explained until they are blue in the face. But Louise’s attitude hasn’t changed.
The thought of her baby coming to harm has ignited something in her, despite the fact that the bump on Alfie’s head, minor in the first place, has long gone now.
Overhead, the sound of crickets is intense, like tiny violins rising to a crescendo and then falling, repetitive yet comforting. Melissa loves it here. The villa is beautiful – large pink flowers snake up the wrought-iron railings that surround the veranda, and at night the sky is so clear that she and Rosie can see stars. Back in London, the smoggy sky prevents this, and Melissa hopes somehow that the wide open space and the sunshine of the days will heal her daughter, release her from the guilt she so obviously still feels, even though Alfie is fine, even though the accident was not her fault.
It turned out the cot itself was faulty, a loose bar had allowed him to fall, and there was no way Rosie could ever have known. Louise had admitted this, but still somehow found a way to blame Melissa’s daughter – “It’s her own guilt, really,” Janine insists.
Melissa looks now at her daughter, at her bent head, the way her limbs seem to fold in on one another in the deckchair. She is ostensibly reading a book, but how Melissa wishes she could make her laugh, bring her back to life. Perhaps tonight she will try harder – she has
She hopes the open spaces and sunshine will heal her daughter, release her from the guilt she feels
bought some seabass from the little market at the bottom of the hill, cheaper out here than back in London. She will cook it for them both, open a bottle of wine perhaps, let Rosie have a small glass. Her daughter deserves to relax.
Melissa takes a drink of water from the bottle at her side, enjoying the cool sensation in her throat. It is so hot here, as though the sun could burn away their worries. She can but wish.
“Mum,” her daughter calls out to her from where she is sat reading, “The phone. The phone’s ringing.”
Distracted by the heat and the crickets, Melissa hasn’t noticed but Rosie is right – her mobile is vibrating where she has left it beside the sparkling blue swimming pool, laying beside her discarded, wide-brimmed hat. She gets to her feet, the stones boiling under her tread, and presses the phone to her ear. “Melissa?”
The voice is unfamiliar, at first, and then in a rush she realises – it’s Louise. Alfie’s mother. She has been hoping so much to hear from her for all these weeks now, that her voice on the end of the line feels odd, surprising, as though Melissa has conjured it up. A genie, with only one wish.
“It’s Louise,” the other woman says, “I’m just ringing to…”
Her voice tails off. Melissa can feel her daughter’s eyes on her. She will be feeling anxious, wondering who is on the phone, who it is that has called them on holiday.
“I wanted to apologise.” Louise’s words come out in a hot rush, and Melissa feels a floating sensation, as if she has risen up above the olive trees and is looking down on herself, hovering by the pool, the phone clutched to her ear. The plastic is hot against her head, she realises, and her hands are slippery with sweat. “I’ve been unfair to you, to Rosie,” Louise says, “I’m sorry, Mel. I was so… so shocked by Alfie being hurt, I couldn’t… I suppose I needed someone to blame.”
“Alfie’s not hurt,” Melissa says, very quietly, almost under her breath, but Louise seems to hear her.
“No,” she says, softly, “No. He’s not, and I was wrong to blame your daughter. I’m so sorry, Melissa. Really, I am. And I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to admit it.”
There is a small silence. Melissa can feel the thrum of her heart in her ears. Rosie is gesturing to her, palms spread wide, wanting to know what is being said. Melissa finally finds her voice.
“Thank you, Louise,” she says gently, “Thank you for ringing.”
She hangs up, places the phone down on her sun lounger. The light through the olive trees spills over it. She could turn it off, now. They have got what they wanted – they can relax, untroubled by the outside world, in this beautiful setting – a proper holiday, like they haven’t had for years. They haven’t been able to afford one, and so Janine’s generosity is appreciated more than words can say. Melissa will find a way to thank her, when they return home in a few days’ time. She is determined to.
“That was Louise,” she tells Rosie, hesitantly, unsure of how her daughter will react. “She says she’s sorry. She was wrong to blame you.”
It is as though someone has turned on a switch – the relief that washes over her daughter’s face is like a drug to Melissa, a happy, warm buzz spreads through her limbs as she watches Rosie relax – she can almost see the moment her lovely girl decides to forgive herself. She wants to laugh with joy.
“It’s OK now,’ she tells Rosie.
Her daughter is smiling, a wide, open smile, showing all her teeth. She is so beautiful when she smiles – well, to Melissa, she is always gorgeous, but since the incident she has been permanently cast in shadow, her face marked by stress, by misplaced guilt.
It’s wonderful to see that disappear.
“Oh,” she says, thickly, her sunglasses down over her eyes, little mirrors that reflect Melissa back at herself. “Oh. That’s good. I’m glad.”
“Come here,” Melissa says, and she opens out her arms to her daughter, feels the lithe, slim limbs of her teenager wrap around her own. They stand together, illuminated in the sunshine, united in relief.
That evening, Rosie tells her mother that she will apply for a childcare qualification next year. She has wanted to for months, she says, but of late has thought that she should not, that somehow she doesn’t deserve to.
“But that’s wonderful,” Melissa tells her. “Of course you should. You’ll be brilliant at it.”
“Thanks, Mum,” Rosie says softly, and Melissa smiles at her, raises her wine glass aloft into the darkening blue sky. The evening air around them is still velvety and warm.
In the morning, the sun will rise again, and together, they will sit in it. There will be no more shade.