Tears ran down my father’s face and his voice was strange when he spoke. ‘

‘Delores, I’ve brought the children.’

We crowded around the bed. My father held up my brother David, who was ten months old. He was brought to the hospital by Aunty Joyce.

That made us four children. Me, the eldest, my father’s daughter, but Mama Delores’s stepdaughter. I was eight. Then came my half-brothers – Joseph, four, still attached to his security blanket. Sam, three, proud, he was fully potty trained and David, ten months, taking his first steps. All my brothers were the children of both my father and Mama Delores.

‘Open your eyes Delores. Please try. All the children are here. Eloise as well.’

Gran adjusted Mama Delores’s pillows. ‘We travelled from the country to see you Delores’.

‘Look. She’s foaming at her mouth,’ Kay whispered hoarsely.

Doctor Paris, the family doctor came into the room.

‘She’s tired. Let her rest.’

‘She’s slipping away, isn’t she Paris? ‘

‘She needs rest and quiet.’

‘I would like the children to kiss her goodbye.’

‘Take her hand. That’s the most I will allow. Let them kiss her hand.’

‘She’s almost gone. Do as Dr. Paris says,’ this was Aunty Joyce. She always had the last word.

I looked around with apprehension. The room was all white. And the bed was in the middle of it. There was a basket of fruit sitting on a chest. The smell made me hungry; I had not eaten lunch. The temptation to reach out and grab the ripe mango on the top of the basket was painful.

There was a vase of red carnations, Mama Delores’s favourite flowers. My father must’ve brought them the day before. I guess he loved Mama Delores.

We queued up and kissed Mama Delores ‘s hand, lying frail and almost bloodless against the white sheet. When it was my turn, I felt like crying, but no tears came. I did not love Mama Delores. This was the guilty secret I carried with me, and now she was dying. I wanted to confess. I wanted to say sorry. For what, I did not know exactly. But I wanted to say ‘sorry’ anyway. I wanted to pour my heart out.

‘Eloise is such an understanding child,’ everyone said. Gran who didn’t usually waste words, remarked that I was understanding for my age. I did not want to be understanding, I resented everyone for saying that I was. Especially Gran. I felt she was the chief one who persuaded the family to make the decision that I leave the country, and live with my farther and Mama Delores in the city. The only way I could cope, was to try to be understanding to everyone around me.

I wanted to scream and yell and flounce. I wanted to be noticed. My cousin Kay was here. She travelled with Gran from the country. She wasn’t understanding. She didn’t do as she was told. She answered right back. And screamed and yelled and flounced. And she got just what she wanted, all the time. Life wasn’t fair, I thought. Nothing was fair where I was concerned.

My mother, Ivy, was just sixteen years old when I was born, and both my grandmothers thought she was too young to bring me up.

Fan-Fan, my grandmother on my mother’s side was a domestic servant in Gran’s household and, my father was Gran’s son, and already married to Mama Delores.

Fan-Fan pointed out my mother’s position. ‘It’s not going to be easy for Ivy to find a good husband, now that she has a child at such a young age. She has not even finished school.’

Gran agreed. ‘Delores has not had a child after four years of marriage. Maybe the best solution is for Baz and Delores to bring up Eloise and Ivy can finish her schooling through correspondence courses.’

Mama Delores tried to hurt my father and me with silence. I had no idea how her voice sounded, I never heard her speak. My father started drinking and he had lots of affairs. But they stayed together. They did not want another scandal.

It was two days on from our visit to the hospital. Mama Delores was lying in her coffin in the drawing room, surrounded by relatives and friends. The drawing room smelled strongly of flowers and mahogany polish.

‘ Delores died of a broken heart,’ Aunty Joyce said. ‘To have Eloise as a constant reminder of Baz’s infidelity was too much for her.’

‘It’s not Eloise’s fault,’ Kay said.

Kay was taking up for me. It wasn’t often anyone dared, for fear of making trouble.

‘Come Eloise,’ my father said ‘never mind Aunty Joyce, say goodbye to your mother and thank her for bringing you up.’

I tried to speak but no words came from my parched throat. I looked at Mama Delores. I’d tried to think of her as my mother, but she’d never allowed it. Never answered when I spoke. Now the words would not come.

‘I always knew she’d be ungrateful,’ Aunty Joyce said.

‘And you shouldn’t speak to people the way you do,’ said Kay.

Kay came over and stood by my side. I raised my head with newfound confidence to talk back to Aunty Joyce, but, I noticed my father instead. He looked at me anxiously. I bit my lower lip. Took a deep breath and spoke.

‘I love you Mama Delores,’ I said. ‘And I’ll miss you.’

‘You and your brothers are coming to live with Gran and me in the country until Uncle Baz gets on his feet,’ Kay said. ‘Aunty Joyce can’t get at you there.’

I nodded. Suddenly, I felt no guilt towards Mama Delores, no anger towards Aunty Joyce or Gran. I was looking forward to a new life in the country with my brothers and Kay, who’d take up for me. Tears came to my eyes and I cried.