by Ali Mercer
‘Ava, please,’ Mum said.
Ingrid came back in, carrying a tray which she set down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. ‘Please, don’t let me interrupt. What are you talking about?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ Mum said airily.
‘Then I look forward to joining the conversation,’ Ingrid said, and passed me my ginger-beer.
When I was a bit younger I’d read pretty much every Enid Blyton in the library, and ginger-beer was the kind of thing children in Enid Blyton liked, which was why I had opted to try it. It turned out to be strange and rather disappointing, and I decided I wouldn’t have it again. Ava didn’t have anything. She was good at saying no in circumstances under which it might have been polite to say yes. Mum had water (Ingrid frowned at her request for decaffeinated tea) and Ingrid had a very small sherry, which she sipped rather devoutly, as if all this was as strange and difficult for her as it was for us. Perhaps it was.
Ingrid had taken the most ladylike chair, all padded and pale blue velvet with little matching buttons, the sort of thing you’d expect to find in a boudoir. She was sitting very upright with her legs crossed at the ankles; she had pretty good legs, the kind you don’t expect an old lady to have, and she was wearing black patent high heels with buckles on them. Witch’s shoes, basically.
I tried to catch Ava’s eye – it would have been nice to exchange conspiratorial glances, as if to say, This is something else, isn’t it? But she ignored me. Instead she got her phone out of her pocket and said, ‘Have you got wi-fi?’
The look Ingrid gave her would have frozen a firestorm. She said, ‘Are you in the habit of using your device when visiting long-lost relations?’
Ava blushed – not something I could remember ever seeing before. Then she looked sullen. ‘I just wanted to check my emails,’ she muttered. ‘Anyway, you’re the only long-lost relation I have.’
Ingrid glanced at Mum. ‘But there’s an aunt somewhere, isn’t there? Mark told me you have a sister, Jenny.’
Mum was instantly on the defensive. She hated talking about my aunt Amanda. ‘We’re not in touch any more.’
‘No. I heard. Well, these things happen.’ Ingrid permitted her a small smile that was almost as unnerving as her scowl, and turned back to Ava. ‘Were you expecting an email from someone in particular?’
‘No,’ Ava growled, and put the phone back in her pocket.
‘Oh. There isn’t anyone special, then? You’re sixteen, aren’t you? And quite attractive. I wouldn’t have thought it would be too difficult for you to find yourself a boyfriend.’
Ava went an even brighter red than before. ‘I don’t need a boyfriend.’
‘Probably just as well you’re unattached, since you’re just about to move house. Young love so rarely survives physical distance. At that age, people seem to need constant reminding of just what it is they’re supposed to be so hot under the collar about. Anyway, Mark tells me you’re clever, and boys can be terribly distracting. All it takes is for one man who isn’t a complete toad to compliment you on your brain and not your looks, and then…’ She shrugged. ‘Infatuation is almost entirely incompatible with studying for examinations. Believe me, I know. I was thought to be quite clever myself, at one time. And then I met my late husband.’ She waved a hand rather dismissively in the direction of the picture of the bald man behind the pot plant. ‘There was a time when I was besotted with him. Every woman should know that kind of passion at least once in her life. Even if it doesn’t last. Anyway, I take it you’ve got all of that out of your system, Jenny, being at a quite different stage in life, and having been married once already?’
Now it was Mum’s turn to blush. ‘I’m very much in love with your son,’ she said.
‘Mm-hm,’ Ingrid said, as if Mum might be or might not be, but it really wasn’t for her to judge. She sipped a little more sherry and set her glass down on the occasional table next to her. ‘I’m sure you’re aware that Mark and I are very close. It’s inevitable, really, with a widowed mother and an only child. And he is a good son. You’ll find him an excellent husband. And father. He’s at a stage in life now where he really wants it and is very much ready for it. You’ll understand, I’m sure, Jenny, that I was rather concerned about him committing himself to another relationship so soon after a very painful divorce. You’ll be familiar with the strength of the protective instinct. I really would do anything for him. I would lay down my life for him.’
‘Of course,’ Mum murmured, looking distinctively unnerved.
‘But I must say, now that I’m familiar with all of the circumstances, I’m absolutely delighted that everything has worked out so well,’ Ingrid said, and treated us all to a magnanimous smile. ‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am to suddenly find myself a grandmother several times over. My neighbours here are going through quite the adjustment, given that they all had to go round feeling sorry for me not so long ago. And as for Mark’s unfortunate ex-wife…’
Unfortunate ex-wife sounded a little like my late husband, gone but very much not forgotten. Ingrid gave a small, expressive shrug. ‘Well. She really has got her just desserts.’
Ava said, ‘How come? You mean because she hasn’t got Mark any more?’
Ingrid frowned. ‘Really, Ava. Do you have to call him that? He’s your father. I know that he wasn’t able to dandle you on his knee and all of that, but given how things have turned out, is it really so impossible for you to call him Dad?’
Ava looked faintly sick. ‘I think I’m just a bit old for that,’ she muttered.
‘Nonsense. Your father is always your father and always will be, and now you actually know who he is, it’s the least you can do to acknowledge him.’ Ingrid turned back to Mum. ‘That really is a splendid engagement ring, by the way. I believe you were involved in choosing it?’
‘Yes, we chose it together.’
‘Lovely. How very modern. I did offer him mine, once I knew he had proposed, but he declined. I think he felt it might be a bit old-fashioned for you. But I’ll leave it to you in my will, anyway. Then you can have it reset or do with it as you will.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ Mum said stiffly.
‘Oh, you’re very welcome. It’s all been rather a rush, hasn’t it? But then, you’re wise not to hang about. You look well on it, I must say. Some women really do carry better than others, don’t they? How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking? Thirty-six? Thirty-seven? Mm. Well, yes. I can see why you might have felt it was time to get cracking. I presume you’ve heard about Paula’s trials and tribulations in that area.’ She mentioned Paula with a mix of satisfaction and wary disgust, as if Mark’s first wife was a criminal who was now safely locked up. ‘Given how things have turned out, that woman’s life is ruined. Deservedly so, in my view.’
Mum looked bemused. Ava said, ‘You mean, ruined because she’s not blessed with Dad’s presence any more?’
Ingrid raised her eyebrows. They were very well shaped; perhaps she had them professionally done, something Mum had experimented with once or twice but without great success, having come back either too bushy or too hairless to look like her normal self. Ingrid’s eyebrows made her look like a gracious lady. That was exactly what I wanted mine to look like when I was grown up.
‘It’s not a subject to be flippant about,’ she said.
‘Why not?’ Ava demanded. ‘What happened to her?’
Ingrid looked round at all three of us. There was an unexpectedly wicked glint in her eyes, as if Ava had just given her a dare and she was minded to surprise us all by rising to the challenge.
Was this going to be it? The thing I had been afraid of, the thing I was scared to face?
Suddenly Ingrid was hard to take in. It was too much – this strange place, the mood of it, as if there was disaster ahead and darkness behind, and this was a point at which you could glimpse it all, but not make sense of it—
And then I saw her, clear as day, as if she was standing there.
&nb
sp; Just a little girl, perhaps six or seven years old, with fine fair hair cut in a bob with a fringe that was in need of a trim, dressed in school uniform: polo shirt, skirt, little white socks, Velcro-fastening shoes. She was holding a pencil with a yellow teddy-bear eraser on one end, and as I watched she slowly rolled it to and fro between her hands, but she wasn’t watching what she was doing. She was looking at me.
She was studying me without either surprise or suspicion, as wide-eyed and innocent as a baby. Her mouth was slightly open and there was something completely otherworldly about her. I knew at once she wasn’t dangerous or malevolent. If anything, she gave off a kind of unselfconscious sweetness, as if it wouldn’t even occur to her to do harm, or that she could do anybody harm if she wanted to, or that anyone else might want to harm her.
‘Paula’s child is severely disabled,’ Ingrid told us. She sounded like a judge passing sentence in a TV movie, all fake seriousness and self-importance, as if what she was saying was some kind of necessary service to society. ‘Retarded. In my young day, they would have called her a moron.’
The little girl vanished as if she had never been. The room suddenly darkened and was as stifling as if all the air had been sucked out of it.
And then I was really frightened. Not by the little girl I’d just seen, and had glimpsed on several occasions before. No: what scared me was what I’d heard in Ingrid’s voice. That condemnation. Revulsion. Hatred, even. That was the abyss, and it was infinite and it was everywhere and all around me.
Then the pain started.
It was as if I’d been stabbed through the eyes. As if someone had positioned a spike by each one and hammered it through the thin bone of the sockets to my brain. But even as the pain took hold I was conscious that it was only an echo of what someone else had felt.
I thought I was going to be sick, right there on Ingrid’s expensive carpet. I managed to say something to excuse myself and stumbled out and somehow made my way to Ingrid’s bathroom.
The pain was now almost unbearable. It was like having had someone scrape around inside my brain, as if my skull was the shell of an egg someone had pierced and stirred with a straw. But it wasn’t just the pain that hurt. All the words I could have used to beg for help had been taken from me, and the power to remember them had been put out like a light.
Eighteen
Ava
Ingrid was totally loving this. She had a look on her face that was almost exactly like the expression I’d seen on Marsha Gale when she let off the fire extinguisher in the physics lab one dull day at school: the sort of glee that people feel when they’re being destructive.
Mum had gone very pale. She said, ‘Mark never said anything about Paula having a child.’
‘I know, dear. I’m sorry, I know it must come as a shock. I know he has wanted to tell you many times. It’s an extremely painful subject, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate.’
Mum said, ‘But… how old is this child?’
‘She would be six now, I believe,’ Ingrid said. ‘I haven’t seen her since she was a baby. But I hear about her from time to time. As you know, Paula’s still living in the house she shared with Mark. I know people who know people in the town. And the child is quite… conspicuous.’
‘Then Paula would have had her when she was still married to Mark,’ Mum said. ‘Are you telling me this is Mark’s child?’
‘Probably,’ Ingrid said calmly. ‘Not that we know for sure. She was unfaithful to him. Did you know that?’ She paused, took in Mum’s uncomfortable expression and went on. ‘It’s good that he told you. He didn’t say anything to me until after the marriage was over. And then she was the one who wanted him to leave. She has made it absolutely impossible for him to have any contact with the child. Of course he’s heartbroken about it. But it’s difficult enough to build a relationship with a child like that if you’re around them all the time. If you’re only permitted to see them occasionally, and the other parent is hostile…’ She pulled a face and drew her finger across her throat. ‘But in a way, from your point of view, it’s just as well, isn’t it? I don’t suppose being a stepmother is easy at the best of times, and I suspect you wouldn’t want a child with behavioural problems anywhere near your new baby.’
‘Does she… have behavioural problems?’ Mum had instinctively moved her hands to her tummy, as if to protect the baby there.
‘Oh, yes. Quite severe, I believe. Can I get you some more water, dear? Or I’ve some nice Bath biscuits, if you’d like something to nibble on? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’
‘I’m all right, thank you. I’m just… it’s a lot to take in. And I’m not sure now is the best time…’
‘The girls both needed to know,’ Ingrid said. ‘I don’t believe in beating around the bush. It’s hardly more shocking than the news they’ve already had to absorb, is it?’
Mum swallowed. ‘I have to speak to Mark about all this. Privately.’
‘Talk to him if you must, but tread carefully, won’t you? None of this need have any bearing on his life with you. It’s just a mistake he made. A big one. A detour.’ She looked at Mum, then at me. ‘You’re his fresh start. You’re the route he should have taken all along.’
‘But this is his child,’ Mum said. She looked as if she was about to cry. ‘How can he let her go like that?’
‘This is exactly why he didn’t tell you. He was afraid you wouldn’t understand. He tells me you’re a good mother. The best he can imagine. It’s bound to be difficult for you to understand how vengeful and selfish someone like Paula can be.’ Ingrid sighed. ‘If there’s anything that all my years on this planet have taught me, it’s that sometimes you have to accept that things can’t be fixed. Mark has a child he can’t be a father to. I have a grandchild I can’t be a grandmother to. But it will be different with your children.’
‘I’m sure it’s convenient to cut your losses,’ I muttered.
‘Ava! That is a dreadful thing to say. You’d better apologise,’ Mum told me.
‘No need,’ Ingrid said smoothly. ‘I realise it’s a shock. You have to understand that Mark has done his very best to ensure this child is financially provided for. He gave Paula the house, just like that. And he pays child support. He gets absolutely nothing in return. By all accounts, Paula does her best by the child – you see, I do like to stay informed, and I have my methods. But she was not a good wife. And she was a very possessive and manipulative daughter-in-law. She did her best to cut me out of Mark’s life. Which I’m sure you would never do.’
‘Of course not,’ Mum said faintly.
‘I must say I’m very glad to have had this opportunity to clear the air. I was beginning to wonder when it was going to be possible. In practice all of this is neither here nor there. They’re in Kettlebridge, a good ten miles away, and there’s really no reason why your paths should ever cross. But it’s as well to be aware, isn’t it? I thought it would be much better for you to know, to help you to avoid any awkwardness.’
‘This little girl,’ Mum said. ‘What’s she called?’
‘Daisy,’ Ingrid said, wrinkling her nose slightly. ‘Paula’s choice, naturally. They have both kept Mark’s surname, which was another reason why I felt you should know. Walsh is not that common a name. And Paula can be rather attention-seeking. I saw a picture of them in the local newspaper just the other day, at some fundraising event at school. Why she would want to put a child like that in the spotlight I have no idea, but there we are. It’s a perverse kind of vanity, maybe. She must want people to feel sympathetic towards her. And maybe they do, if they don’t know the whole story.’
I got to my feet. ‘I’m going to check on Ellie,’ I said. ‘She’s been gone forever.’
Neither of them said anything as I went out. Mum looked faintly guilty, as if it had just occurred to her that she ought to have checked on Ellie herself. I could see life as a mother of three was going to be a challenge for her.
It was a relief to be away from
the two of them, and to get out into the little entrance hall. Not half as much a relief as it would be to get out of there entirely, though, and to have the visit to Mark’s mother’s house out of the way and to be in the car going back home.
And then I’d be free to think of Jake and no one else.
Jake! Jake… I’d tell Jake about all of this, over dinner maybe, or in bed together, in that special after-sex time when it suddenly became possible to say anything. And he’d listen and stroke my hair and hold me close, and say that I shouldn’t worry, they were just an assortment of random people I shared genetic material with, but I didn’t need to feel tied to them, or defined by them, or as if I owed them anything at all. And then he’d tell me I was much too beautiful to worry about anything, and then he’d kiss me and then…
I knocked on the bathroom door and said, ‘You all right?’
‘Yeah. I’ll be out in a sec,’ Ellie said.
‘You OK? It was all pretty heavy in there, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Look, try not to worry too much. It’s really nothing to do with us. I think Ingrid just thought we ought to know. But we’re never actually going to meet these people. They’ve got their lives and we’ve got ours. We can pretty much forget about them, to be honest.’
‘I guess.’
‘Ready to go back in?’
‘I suppose so.’
She opened the bathroom door. She looked paler than I’d ever seen her. Her eyes were huge, as if she’d been witnessing things that were too awful to share.
‘Are you OK? You look terrible.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Ellie said, without conviction. ‘I had a headache. I thought I was going to be sick.’ She put her hand to her head as if not quite sure what she was going to find there. ‘It’s beginning to go now.’
‘Do you want to tell Mum we should leave?’ I said, half hopefully.
‘No. We should stay. Maybe it doesn’t matter that it’s too late to help. Someone has to remember what happened here.’
