The Daughter's Choice

by S. D. Robertson

  ‘Ew, seriously?’

  ‘You didn’t notice?’

  ‘No, I guess I assumed, because he’s so old, he wouldn’t, um—’

  ‘Never assume that, Rose. Not when it comes to men. They’re not all like your father, you know – far from it.’

  Oops. Cassie fears she may have said too much. She stops talking, waiting to see how Rose reacts. Fortunately, she doesn’t appear to have noticed the slip. She seems to have taken the comment to refer to fathers and daughters in general – or perhaps to be based on what Rose has already said about her dad. Phew, a lucky escape.

  ‘What a horrible thought,’ Rose says of being ogled. She pulls a face like she’s just eaten something unpleasant.

  ‘I know.’ Cassie winces.

  ‘How are you enjoying my story?’ Rose asks. ‘I’m not boring you, I hope. I wish I’d led a more remarkable life, but it is what it is. Sorry, I know that’s a vacuous expression. Cara and I tend to say it to each other ironically, because of how often it’s said on reality TV. I don’t want you to think of me that way – like I’m brainless.’

  ‘I could never think that about you,’ Cassie says automatically, quickly adding: ‘You’re obviously a very intelligent young woman. That’s already crystal clear from the short time we’ve been acquainted.’

  As a diversionary tactic, Cassie asks Rose what treatments she has lined up for later. However, she already knows the answer: a hot-stone back massage followed by a marine mineral purifying facial. Cassie is nothing if not thorough. She’s done her homework.

  ‘What about you?’ Rose asks.

  ‘Just a facial for me.’ She winks and lowers her voice. ‘The age protecting kind. But don’t tell.’

  Rose laughs. ‘Doesn’t look like you need it to me. You look great.’

  ‘That’s kind of you. But you’re never too young to start looking after nature’s gifts. It’s easier to preserve than repair.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

  When the pair return to the main pool area, thankfully there’s no sign of their annoying male acquaintance. The pool is the emptiest Cassie has seen it so far; there’s a free spot with a raised underwater shelf next to some massage jets, so she suggests they give it a try.

  ‘It should be easy for us to keep on talking there without interruptions and, if that guy or anyone else unsavoury appears, we’ll be able to see them coming without getting boxed in.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Rose replies with a broad smile.

  Cassie feels a stab of pain every time she sees her like this – radiating happiness. It’s exactly what you’d expect of a bride-to-be a week before her wedding. And yet soon she’ll have to burst that bubble.

  Once Cassie’s told her own story, everything will change for Rose.

  Cassie finds herself thinking of Hans Christian Andersen’s ‘The Little Mermaid’. She read this fairy tale as a girl and it had a profound effect on her. One aspect of the story that leapt off the page then, and which she recalls now, was how when the little mermaid got her wish of having legs, it was agony for her, like walking on knives. Spending time with Rose now, enjoying her company while knowing what’s to come and how things will change, Cassie has a sense of that pain.

  Not that she has any right to feel sorry for herself or expect the sympathy of others. Her pain is incidental and irrelevant. The one to be pitied is Rose. Her entire world is about to come crashing down around her, through no fault of her own, and she doesn’t have a clue.

  ‘So where was I?’ Rose says after they’ve settled into their latest spot on the tranquillity tour, Cassie continuing to mask her inner turmoil behind a friendly smile.

  Rose’s face darkens as she adds: ‘Oh, yes. The reason for Ryan and my father falling out.’

  CHAPTER 13

  ROSE

  My father and Ryan got along fine for a good number of years – right through our time at secondary school, really. It took Ryan a little while to believe this, following his first encounter with Rude Dave, but he got there eventually.

  There were a few hiccups along the way, such as when Dad learned we’d started sleeping together and told me he wanted to ‘throttle that lad’. This wasn’t until we were both in sixth form. Ryan would have been happy to do it earlier, of course: he was a lustful teenage boy. But he was great about respecting my desire to wait until I was seventeen. I’m not sure exactly why I picked that age as the turning point, but it felt right.

  It also felt right to tell my father after the event. I wanted to be adult about it. I was hoping that, given time to wrap his head around the idea, Dad might allow Ryan to stay over in my bedroom once in a while. Plus I was considering going on the pill and I knew this would be easier with Dad’s knowledge.

  ‘Do you want to throttle me too?’ was my response to Dad’s overreaction.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Well, I was a willing party in what happened and Ryan was the perfect gentleman. Would you rather I hadn’t told you about it and we’d carried on in secret? I thought we’d agreed to be honest with each about such things.’

  ‘Yes, well, wanting to throttle Ryan is my honest reaction to this news,’ Dad said. ‘It’s a really big step at your age. I still think you’re both too young and that you’ll regret not waiting. Where did you even … do it?’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t want to know the gory details, Dad, and it’s too late for regrets. Ryan and I love each other. We’ve been together forever and it felt like the right time.’

  ‘I wish you’d discussed it with me first.’

  ‘I’m glad I didn’t, based on how well this chat is going.’

  Dad stared into the distance. ‘Please tell me you were safe. You used a condom, right?’

  ‘Of course. You’ve warned me often enough about that, Dad. I’d have to be stupid for that particular message not to have sunk in by now.’

  Dad was still for ages, blinking repeatedly, before he replied: ‘That’s something, I suppose. You haven’t told your nana, have you? I doubt she’d approve. She doesn’t believe in sex before marriage, never mind while you’re still at school. It goes against her religious beliefs.’

  ‘I’m not sure your mother is quite the prude you think she is, Dad. I hoped you’d be cool with this. You’re reminding me now of what you were like that first time Ryan came over to the house, when you told him off for talking with his mouth full.’

  ‘That was a good life lesson I gave him.’ He wagged his finger. ‘He’s never done it since, at least in front of me, so he learned something valuable.’

  ‘Seriously, Dad?’

  He did get used to the idea eventually, although he flat refused to let Ryan stay the night in my bedroom until we’d finished secondary school. He said he had no issue with me going on the pill, on the proviso I promised to continue using condoms as well. ‘You can’t be too careful, and it’s not only pregnancy you need protection against, Rose. You need to think about STIs too.’

  ‘You make it sound like I’m sleeping around, Dad. Ryan and I are committed to each other. We were both virgins before this.’

  ‘You can’t be too careful,’ he repeated. ‘Even with the best of intentions, things can change quickly at your age. I need to know you’re not taking any risks at all.’

  ‘You don’t trust Ryan, do you? That’s what this is about.’

  ‘I didn’t say that, Rose. The simple fact is that the pair of you are only seventeen. Everyone’s prone to making mistakes at that age. It’s part of growing up. I want you to be safe. Is that so awful? It’s not like I’m banning you from seeing your boyfriend. Quite the opposite.’

  ‘Fine.’ I let it drop and accepted his terms. We’ll show him how dedicated we are to each other, I thought; we’ll prove his assumptions wrong.

  And we did for a while. Ryan and I stayed together right through sixth form without any major issues. We loved each other and spent most of our free time together. That final long summer, after A levels and before un
iversity, when Dad and Ryan’s parents finally let us stay over together at each other’s houses, we were more or less inseparable. We even went on holiday to Gran Canaria together. Well, us and a group of ten schoolfriends. There was the odd minor argument, of course, but nothing significant. Secretly, I’d already started to think that one day we might get married. I knew we were young, with so much still ahead of us. But I was happy. We were happy. I didn’t want or need anyone else; I was certain Ryan felt the same.

  We didn’t even have to worry about what might happen next, because we’d got that covered. We were heading over the border to Yorkshire together: me to study English and philosophy at the University of Sheffield, and Ryan to study economics at Sheffield Hallam University.

  That was the plan. We’d both been offered conditional places, which our teachers expected us to achieve, so naively it felt like a done deal.

  Unfortunately, that didn’t factor-in Ryan making major blunders in two of his A-level subjects, which saw him crash spectacularly out of the race for uni places.

  I still remember his face on results day like it was yesterday. We’d gone into school together but got separated in the rush. I was absolutely over the moon to get all As. It was what I’d been predicted, but I’d convinced myself it wouldn’t happen.

  I’ll be honest, on seeing my results, a tiny part of me wondered if I ought to have applied to Oxbridge after all, as some of my teachers had suggested. I hadn’t done so, despite or maybe partly because of Dad being an Oxford English graduate himself. The official line had always been that I wanted to stay in the north, where there were plenty of excellent universities, but of course the truth was more about Ryan than I cared to acknowledge. That and the fact I genuinely didn’t believe I was good enough.

  ‘Just because you went to Oxford, doesn’t mean I have to, Dad,’ I remember shouting at him during one particular hissy fit. ‘Next you’ll be telling me to write a bestselling novel before I graduate. But I’m not you, Dad, and I don’t want to be. I need to tread my own path in life.’

  My anger was rooted in the fact that Dad had, rightly, queried whether my decision was being influenced by my relationship with Ryan. There was no way I was going to admit that to him. I barely even admitted it to myself.

  Anyway, there I was on results day, feeling totally chuffed at what I’d achieved, while entertaining the notion that I could perhaps have held my own at Oxford or Cambridge. Then I saw Ryan’s dazed, devastated face coming towards me from further down the corridor and everything else was forgotten. My self-centred what-ifs vanished. I knew before I spoke a word to him that Ryan’s dreams had been shattered. He looked punch-drunk, his usually sparkling eyes unfocused, clouded over; shock and ruin were etched into every pore of his sheet-white skin.

  So, yeah, there weren’t many celebrations that day. Ryan and his parents urged me to go out and enjoy myself with our friends in the pub, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I went back to his house and stayed at his side, comforting him as best I could. Trying desperately to help him formulate a new plan and understand that, however bad he felt, his adult life absolutely wasn’t over before it had begun.

  I wish I could travel back in time to that moment, when Ryan was so incredibly low, and tell him that it all turns out fine in the end. He’s a qualified electrician these days, having completed an apprenticeship with flying colours, gaining all the key certifications he needed to set up his own fledgling business. Now he’s in the process of building it up and things are going swimmingly. He’s never short of work or money coming in, which is more than can be said for me with my degree.

  It took him a little while to work out what he wanted to do after the disappointment of his A-level results. He had to look at things from outside the box that had been presented to us by our very traditional-minded school. But eventually he discovered the path that was right for him, away from academia. Seeing how happy he is now with his job, I know that studying economics at Sheffield would have been a bad fit for him. If only Ryan had been able to see that back then, as well as to know that we’d eventually be getting married. Things would likely have gone smoother for him – and for me.

  Instead, as I went off to Sheffield and he stayed at home, it didn’t take long until problems arose. We’d had loads of conversations about how we would make our relationship work in spite of the distance between us. We both knew it would be hard and that most school relationships didn’t survive university. However, we convinced ourselves that, by going into it with our eyes open, we could be the exception to the rule.

  We agreed to chat regularly – every day where possible – and to take it in turns visiting each other at weekends several times per term. We had a plan, which we intended to stick to, and that included a pledge to be completely faithful. But since we were keeping our eyes open, we recognised there could be minor slip-ups along the way; we promised total honesty with the aim of nipping any such problems in the bud.

  Dad didn’t get involved, saying it was none of his business, which was probably the wisest move. Nana, on the other hand, had plenty to say from Spain whenever I spoke to her around that time.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ I recall her telling me in one video call, ‘Ryan’s a lovely boy, but do you really think this is the best idea?’

  I fought to keep calm. ‘Of course I do, Nana. We love each other and we want to stay together.’

  ‘You do now,’ she said. ‘But you’re both so young. Think of all the other people you’ve yet to meet in life. How can you be so sure he’s your perfect partner with so many other possibilities out there? Going off to university will give you a great opportunity to explore new people and situations; to discover who you really are, on your own, away from the ties of the past. Maybe even to reinvent yourself, if that’s what you want. Why go into that experience with one arm tied behind your back? If Ryan is perfect for you, you could always get together again later, after university.’

  Considering Nana never went to university, I suspect she based most of this advice on her experiences since moving abroad, which she’d clearly found liberating after years of being married to a workaholic, who cast a long shadow even after his death. I’ve said before that she worshipped my grandad, but I don’t think she always found it easy sharing him with his business interests. He remained occupied right to the end, by all accounts, refocusing on his investments after selling his frozen foods firm, but never really slowing down. She dealt with this by managing his personal life and running their busy social calendar like a well-oiled machine. After his death, I think she felt incredibly lost. Helping me and Dad filled the gap for a while, but as I got older and increasingly self-sufficient, she needed more – a life all of her own – and she found that in Spain.

  Not that I thought any of this qualified her to advise me on my relationship with Ryan as I headed off to uni at eighteen. But the last thing I wanted to do was fall out with the one really close family member I had other than Dad, especially when she was already so far away. I let her say her piece and then ignored it.

  One particular snippet of guidance she offered did come back to haunt me, though. ‘If you agree to stay together when you go off to university, he’ll be the one who’ll struggle with it, mark my words.’

  ‘Why do you say that, Nana? I thought you liked Ryan.’

  ‘I do, but he’s a boy, Rose. Okay, a man now, I suppose, technically, but that doesn’t change my point. Men might be physically stronger than women, much of the time, but mentally – particularly when it comes to love and lust – it’s often a very different story. I think he’ll struggle being the one left at home while you’re off doing new things. He’ll imagine all sorts: fear and jealousy will run wild in his mind. And that’s when he’ll end up doing something stupid, breaking your heart in the process.’

  ‘I appreciate your concern, Nana,’ I said. ‘Respectfully, though, I think you’re wrong. Ryan’s not like that. You’ll see.’

  Unfortunately, I was the one who wa
s wrong.

  CHAPTER 14

  It must be pretty clear by now that Ryan cheated on me. I still find it tough to say that about the man I’m due to marry, but it’s part of our past I can’t deny. Forgiven but not forgotten. And yes, you’ve probably guessed that this is also the reason things turned sour between Ryan and my dad.

  In my father’s case, what Ryan did is neither forgiven nor forgotten. It’s merely acknowledged and, for my sake, tolerated.

  So what exactly happened and when?

  It was right at the end of my first term in Sheffield, during the start of Christmas party season at the beginning of December. I didn’t find out about it until New Year’s Eve, though, which made that a particularly memorable occasion for all the wrong reasons.

  So much for Ryan’s pledge to be totally honest about any slip-ups. Mind you, it was more than a little mistake. It was a drunken one-night stand with a thirty-something stranger he met on a pub crawl in Preston. There, I’ve said it. Never gets any easier to repeat.

  It took me a long time to get over; to accept his apologies. Initially, having ended the relationship, I didn’t think I ever would. I hated Ryan for what he’d done and how utterly betrayed, devastated and humiliated it left me feeling. I couldn’t even look at him. For ages, I refused to see him in person or communicate with him in any way whatsoever.

  I cried myself to sleep night after night at the start. For a good while after that, I was numb, protecting myself from further hurt by shutting down any other such feelings.

  I became a bit of an ice queen at uni with boys I was attracted to. I had flings with some of them, mainly to help me move on, but I kept these brief and free of emotion. However, it did, undeniably, feel good to be desired by others. And such boosts to my self-esteem were welcome after the sucker punch Ryan had dealt me.

  As for why he did what he did, it was almost exactly what Nana had predicted. The night when he cheated was only a few days after he’d come to visit me in Sheffield for the weekend. He’d been quiet when we’d gone out together with a large group of my friends on the Saturday. Then on the Sunday morning, hungover, we’d rowed. He’d accused me of flirting with some of the boys we’d been out with, making him ‘look like a mug’.