Holly Read online

  We usually have a takeaway curry once a week, and Dad came in with this about six thirty. Mum had finished her nap by then and was up, warming the plates, chopping up cucumber and mixing it with yogurt to make raita.

  While we ate, I looked at Dad searchingly for evidence, for traits that I’d inherited from him. I looked for things to prove that he was my dad. My dad. I couldn’t possibly believe that he wasn’t. It would be like suddenly finding out that the world was flat or the sky was falling in.

  What I discovered was (a) his nose. His nostrils were wide at the bottom and so were mine. (b) His hair (what he had left) grew from a little peak at the front, so did mine. This bit of evidence was a bit woolly, though, because Mum’s hair grew like that as well. Widow’s peak, she called it. So that left (c) Dad loved really hot curry, so did I. Mum hated it, that was why she always made raita to cool it down.

  Not much to tie me to Dad, then – but apart from Mum and me both being tall and having quite slanty eyes, I didn’t think I was much like her, either.

  Maybe I didn’t belong to either of them. Maybe I was adopted, then.

  I thought of this with a forkful of chicken masala halfway to my mouth. No, I’d never believe that. Mum and I got on so well. We shared jokes and giggled at people we saw in the street and only had to look at each other to know what the other was thinking.

  But then Ella and I were like that, too, so perhaps that was something that just grew.

  ‘What’s up, love? Chew on a cardamom?’ Dad asked.

  I started eating again. It did no good thinking about things, no good at all. I had to either believe in my mum and dad or not. Put up or shut up.

  I thought I meant that, but even while I was still thinking it, another part of me was planning where I could go next, how I could find out what had gone on earlier in their marriage.

  ‘God, it’s awful round Ella’s house!’ I suddenly heard myself saying. ‘Every time I see Ella she tells me about some big argument or other.’

  Mum tutted. ‘I don’t know how people can live like that. It’s the kids I feel sorry for. What age are Ella’s brothers?’

  ‘Nine and thirteen – and they hate the pillock, too,’ I said. ‘They do nothing but argue with him. Ella thinks this house is like a peace camp by comparison.’ I reached for a poppadom, then asked casually, ‘Haven’t you ever rowed, you two?’

  Mum laughed. ‘Dad isn’t the rowing type,’ she said.

  ‘So you’ve always got on, have you?’ What I longed to ask was: You didn’t have a huge break-up about 1984?

  Mum gave me a funny look. I couldn’t work out what it meant.

  ‘No marriage is a bed of roses,’ Dad said after a moment.

  ‘Ooh, cliché, cliché!’ I said.

  ‘Well, you know what I mean. Every relationship has to be worked at,’ Dad said. ‘The more you put into one, the more you’ll get out.’

  That was quite profound, coming from him. A dad of few words, is my dad.

  Yes, he had to be my dad.

  And yet, and yet …

  I hardly slept that night, just kept rolling around twisting my sheets up, thinking things, wondering and worrying about it.

  But the next day I knew what I had to do. I phoned the madman’s mobile number from work and left another message. I was really angry; I said I didn’t believe a word of it and it was all a mistake, but I wanted to know why he’d done it. I said I’d be at the same meeting place on Friday evening at six o’clock, so that he could explain.

  Chapter Nine

  My anger lasted right up until Friday after work. Which was lucky, because if I’d really thought about what I was doing, I might not have had the nerve to do it. I just felt furious, though. Why had he done it? I couldn’t believe the nerve of the bloke. What did he hope to get out of it? Why pick on me?

  I would tell him what I thought of him and say I’d report him to the police if he told lies about my family or ever harassed me again. It was worse than stalking, I’d say, and there were laws against men like him.

  He was twenty minutes late arriving. When the palace clock struck a quarter past the hour I felt relieved and triumphant. Ha! Couldn’t go through with it, eh? Couldn’t face me. I stood there thinking smugly that I’d give him until six thirty and then go home, and after that I’d never give him another thought as long as I lived.

  He arrived at six twenty, though, rushing across from the direction of the station, dressed in a suit and carrying a navy canvas briefcase thing.

  As soon as I saw him, I lost my nerve and began to feel sick. Why couldn’t he have chickened out? Why did I have to go through all this? He was a complete pig to make me suffer.

  I stared at him bleakly without saying anything. He was taller than I remembered, his haircut was very American, and he had fair skin with faint freckles across his forehead.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘The traffic was horrendous. Must have increased sixfold since I lived here.’

  I looked at him and just wanted to run. Now. Quickly. Before he could speak.

  ‘I know this is an ordeal for you, Holly,’ he said. ‘I feel the biggest bastard in the world for putting you through it.’

  Before he could say another word. If I went now, I wouldn’t hear anything I didn’t want to hear …

  ‘Look. Let’s just go and have a coffee somewhere, shall we? I won’t say anything about – about you know what. I just want to talk to you. Just maybe … get to know you a bit. That’s all.’

  He put out an arm to propel me along but I shied away, not wanting to be touched by him. ‘There’s a buffet thing open at the station,’ I said.

  ‘Fine. Or would you rather go somewhere else?’ he asked. ‘Out of town a bit?’

  I shook my head mutely. I wasn’t going to go anywhere with a madman. The buffet would have to do.

  ‘It’s OK there,’ I muttered.

  In silence we walked to the station, and in silence we went into the buffet and I sat down. While he went up to the counter, I looked round. There didn’t seem to be anyone I knew – just a few lingering tourists and people who worked at the palace waiting for the next train back into London.

  He brought back two coffees and put them down on the table. He stared at me hard for a while, until, embarrassed, I muttered, ‘For Christ’s sake!’ under my breath. Then he said, ‘Sorry,’ and hid his face in his hands.

  This was just as bad. Worse. I didn’t know what to do or say. I was terrified he’d start crying or something.

  ‘Do you come from round here?’ I asked quickly. Polite, superficial conversation, but it was all I could think of.

  ‘Used to,’ he said. He lowered his hands from his face ‘Way back.’

  ‘Where d’you live now?’

  ‘Monterey,’ he said. ‘California. D’you know it?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘It’s on the Pacific coast and it’s beautiful. It’s an old trading bay – it used to belong to the Mexicans and there are lots of their houses around. Have you heard of Cannery Row?’

  ‘The book?’ I asked.

  He nodded.

  ‘Yeah. We did Steinbeck in school last year.’

  ‘Cannery Row is in Monterey. It’s a bit touristy now, but it’s still pretty amazing.’

  ‘And you live right there?’

  He nodded. ‘My wife and I have got a beautiful Victorian house right on the front facing the ocean. We can sit in the front garden and watch the dolphins and sea lions messing about on the rocks.’

  I looked outside the buffet, at the station with its green, peeling paint and dead flower baskets. ‘You must hate it when you have to come here, then.’

  ‘This is my first trip back for seventeen years,’ he said. ‘I’m an American citizen now.’ He lifted the coffee cup to his lips and I didn’t look at him, but I could see that his hand was trembling.

  ‘Why have you done this?’ I suddenly blurted out. ‘Why did you want to come here and try to mess up my life?’
/>   He put the coffee cup down and paused, as if collecting his thoughts. ‘I’m over here for three months, right?’ he began. ‘Years ago – when I was a kid – I used to live about ten miles away, but I’d never done the tourist bit, been to the palace or anything. As weekends tend to be pretty lonely, I decided to get out and hit the tourist trail, the tourist bit was just my sort of thing. And then when I was here I thought I’d go in and have a sandwich at the tea shop. Ye Olde Tea Shoppe,’ he said, pronouncing the ‘e’ on the end of the words and smiling slightly.

  I didn’t respond, just sat staring out of the window.

  ‘I saw you. You … you look very much like your mom did, so I kind of recognised you immediately. It’s not so much looks and colouring – because your mom’s dark, isn’t she, and you’re fair – but you’ve got the same thick, straight hair and slanted cat’s eyes. You twist a strand of hair round and round your finger just the way she does, too, and you’ve got two big front teeth.’ He smiled to himself as if he was remembering a joke. Don’t you remember me staring at you?’

  I shook my head. ‘We’re usually pretty rushed in there. I don’t remember you at all.’

  ‘I came in again, just to make sure. You didn’t serve me – I think you were looking after a kid’s birthday party.’

  There was a pause and I knew he was waiting for me to ask what it was he’d wanted to make sure about, but I didn’t.

  ‘When I came in the first time,’ he said, ‘after I’d got over the shock of recognising your mom in you, I noticed your eye. Same as mine, right?’

  ‘So?’ I said.

  ‘And then your colouring. You’re not like your mom, are you?’

  ‘So?’ I said again, more aggressively.

  ‘I thought that you … you had my colouring. And then I thought about your name. You were born at Christmas, weren’t you, with a name like that? Well, I told you I used to live here, but then in March 1984 I went off to live in the States. Before I went, me and Allie – your mom – had a weekend away – ’

  ‘No!’ My eyes suddenly filled with tears. ‘Don’t say things like that! I’ll go if you start!’

  He stopped speaking immediately and passed me a handkerchief out of his suit pocket. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m really sorry. This is a real bum thing to do to you.’

  I buried my face in the hanky, which smelled of soap and aftershave.

  ‘All along the way I’ve been ringing my wife Jennie about it, asking for advice. She said it would eat me up if I didn’t say anything to you. She didn’t tell me how to go about it, though. There’s no etiquette for this kind of thing, is there?’

  I didn’t reply. I felt like I might be dreaming.

  ‘You see,’ he went on gently, ‘we have a great life and we’ve got everything a couple could want – except kids. Jennie can’t have any children. We thought about adoption and everything but time went on and I’m forty-six now and there are so many rules and regulations that the whole thing got just impossible.’

  Outside the window, life went on as usual. Inside, my life was slowly cracking up. But only if I believed him.

  ‘We thought about a Third World adoption and we even started negotiating through an agency in China to get a baby, but that came to nothing. We got older and we’d more or less resigned ourselves to not having kids. And then I came here and saw you and suddenly everything changed. My life was turned on its head. I’d found the one thing that had been missing from it. Can you imagine how I felt?’

  I could. But only if I believed him.

  I stood up. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m just not taking this. I don’t believe you. It’s all a pack of lies. I don’t know why you’ve done it but I don’t intend to play along. I’m not going to be part of it.’

  ‘Holly, I – ’

  ‘Don’t talk to me. Don’t ever get in touch again. I hate you! Even if you were my father, I’d hate you!’

  ‘I know you’re terribly upset and – ’

  I didn’t wait to hear any more, just ran out of the door, across the station and towards home. When I got halfway there I found I was clutching his handkerchief, and I just let it drop into the gutter.

  ‘Blimey!’ Alex said when I’d finished telling him. ‘A right nutter, eh?’

  ‘Absolutely barking,’ I said. ‘People like that should be locked up.’

  I’d run nearly all the way home, but when I’d come in sight of my house I’d realised I couldn’t face seeing them. I’d gone round to Alex’s house and we’d come out for a walk by the river.

  ‘But … I mean, how weird is it that he knows your mum’s name and everything?’ He looked at me sideways. ‘And it’s bit of a coincidence about your eye and all.’

  ‘That’s all it is – a coincidence,’ I said. ‘There must be millions of people with eyes like mine!’

  I said that – but I’d never met anyone. I stopped by the steps where the pleasure boats pulled in during the day, and stared at the river. I didn’t have to believe it. I could just pull a curtain over the whole thing. He – the nutter – would be going back to America soon so he’d be out of the way. I could forget he’d ever spoken to me.

  But I wasn’t the sort of person who could do that. I knew I had to find out the truth. Had to: if I didn’t I would be lying to myself. It would be like knowing that the evidence existed to save Richard III, but pretending it didn’t.

  I sat down on the stone steps and Alex sat down next to me, slinging a casual arm round my shoulders. Since the last time, he knew better than to come on heavy.

  ‘Have you thought … I mean, what about asking your mum? You get on well with her, don’t you? Couldn’t you just drop some hints?’

  ‘How can I? What would I say? Oh, by the way, Mum, some bloke’s told me he’s my real dad. Did you have an illicit affair and betray my dad seventeen years ago and forget about it?’

  Alex snorted. ‘Maybe not quite like that. What about asking one of your mum’s friends? Or hasn’t she got a sister or someone?

  ‘She’s an only child,’ I said. ‘Like me. And she hasn’t got any really close women friends. Not ones that I think she’d tell something like that to.’

  ‘You can have a test, can’t you? To prove if he’s the father. I heard about a guy at college who had one when his girlfriend tried to prove he was the father of her baby.’

  I sighed. ‘It all sounds a bit drastic. I … I’ll look round and see what I can find around the house. I’ll ask them things, make enquiries. But if I find out it’s true I’m going to run away!’ I burst out. ‘I’ll never want to see my mum again.’

  Alex squeezed my shoulder. ‘I don’t suppose it’ll come to that,’ he said. ‘It’ll be all right. It’s too – too radical to be true.’

  ‘Course it is,’ I said, and I sighed again.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning I stayed in bed until ten thirty, until Mum called up that there was a bacon sandwich waiting and did I fancy going shopping with her because she wanted to go to the craft centre.

  I put on my dressing gown and went down. Dad was outside fiddling with the car and Mum was having a coffee and, I noticed, a cigarette – which she’d given up about five years ago.

  ‘You’ve started smoking again,’ I said. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Oh, I haven’t really started,’ she said. ‘I’m only having five a day. I know it’s a disgusting habit but – well, sometimes you just feel in need of a little something extra, don’t you?’

  ‘Do you?’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t like it if I said that.’ I looked at the ashtray. ‘Only five a day? You’ve already had three of them this morning.’

  She shrugged, stubbed out the one she was smoking and swept the contents of the ashtray into the bin. ‘I’ll stop again soon,’ she said. ‘I know your dad hates it.’

  I looked at her sharply when she said that, as if she might have given herself away on the words your dad; as if a jagged fork of lightning might have come from heaven and stru
ck her dead.

  She didn’t even blush, though. I ate my bacon sandwich in silence, thinking deeply.

  ‘Coming to the craft place, then?’ Mum said. ‘We can have a bit of lunch there.’

  The craft store was in an out-of-town shopping centre and they also had shops selling pictures and mirrors and candles and stuff. We nearly always bought something for my bedroom when we were there and had a nice lunch out, usually something prawny.

  ‘I don’t think I will,’ I said.

  Mum looked at me in surprise. ‘Oh. Have you arranged to see Ella, then? She can come with us if she likes.’

  I shook my head. ‘I just don’t fancy going.’

  She looked at me again, more searchingly. I didn’t look up, but pretended to be pulling a bit of fat off my bacon.

  ‘Ella hasn’t heard anything,’ I said.

  ‘What – about her dad?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ Mum began stacking the dishwasher. ‘When families break up, people tend to make new lives for themselves. It’s sad, but there it is.’

  ‘You’d think someone’s dad, though, would keep in touch. I mean, if you and Dad split up, he’d want to keep in touch with me, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Of course he would. That’s different, though. You’re practically grown-up. You’d keep in touch with him yourself.’

  ‘You wouldn’t ever split up, though, would you?’

  ‘Of course not!’ She turned round from the dishwasher in surprise. ‘Is that why you’ve been a bit funny lately? You’ve seen Ella’s mum with that new man and you’re worried about me and Dad?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Darling!’ Mum hitched up her skirt so it was a mini, and stuck her bust out. ‘I’m not like Ella’s mum, am I?’

  I gave a sickly grin.

  ‘Dad and I are absolutely fine! We’re like Darby and Joan now.’

  ‘Who are Darby and Joan?’

  Mum pulled a bemused face. ‘I’m not exactly sure. You say that when you’re talking about a couple who’ve been together for years and years and have sort of moulded into each other.’