Not My Daughter

by Suzy K Quinn

‘I don’t think anyone could ever make you shut up, Cat,’ said Michael.

  The woman – Cat – gave me a lopsided, red-lipstick smile. ‘What’s your name, honey?’

  I wanted to run. Cat didn’t mean to, but she was putting me into a trap. Whatever I said, Michael would be mad at me later. He didn’t like me talking to other people.

  ‘Lorna,’ I said, head down, glancing at Michael.

  ‘Well, what’d you know? A fellow American. Where are you from?’

  ‘New York.’

  ‘You’re not from New York originally. You’re too naive. You sound … I don’t know. California somewhere?’

  ‘I grew up in California.’

  ‘Uh huh?’ Cat eyed me expectantly, offering slow, encouraging blinks. ‘Where?’

  I glanced at Michael again. ‘Um. Well, my mother moved around a lot. So … uh … we lived all over. San Francisco. Las Vegas for a while. Los Angeles. All over. We sort of moved whenever the rent was due.’

  Cat laughed. ‘You know, my mother was a train wreck too. I don’t even call her Mom anymore. I call her Nancy.’

  I looked at her then, almost smiling. ‘You too?’

  ‘Uh huh. It’s hard, isn’t it? It hurts. When they don’t love you.’

  We shared a moment. A moment I knew I’d pay for later, when Michael flew into a jealous rage. He hated me connecting with anyone, even for a few seconds.

  ‘So you know what Michael wants, right?’ said Cat, leaning close enough for me to smell alcohol and pot. ‘Skinny little yes girls who do as they’re told. The younger and skinnier and more vulnerable the better. I’ve seen the pattern. Run, run as fast as you can. I can say it. No one else dares.’

  She tried to wink, but ended up blinking instead.

  I watched Michael, expecting to see his evil twin appear: the black-eyed, hunched-shouldered guy who flung me across rooms. But he just said: ‘Cat, I hear your daughter is getting friendly with one of the sound guys. Better check she’s not getting herself in any trouble, right?’

  Cat rolled her eyes. ‘Christ. That’s all I need. A teen pregnancy.’ She went back to the mic.

  ‘ANNALISE! COME HERE THIS INSTANT, YOUNG LADY!’

  From the back of the arena, a sandy-haired girl appeared wearing a flowery babydoll dress and DM boots. Her outfit was similar to Cat’s and she was pale like her mother, but her face was entirely her own: widely spaced blue eyes, messy brown brows and a square jaw.

  ‘What?’ the girl asked.

  Annalise was younger than me and skinnier. She had the frail, vulnerable kid thing going on and I felt wary. I knew Michael liked that dynamic. It made him feel big and strong.

  I hated Annalise on sight, with her bad goth eyeliner and plum-coloured lipstick. Who did she think she was, a teenage rock star?

  Cat shouted: ‘Are you back there flirting with the sound guys?’

  ‘I was doing my school work,’ said Annalise. Then she noticed Michael and her voice turned breathy. ‘Michael. How are you? Are you rehearsing?’ She tried flicking hair around in a sexy way, looking for all the world like a little girl tottering in her mother’s high heels.

  Michael turned on his deep rock-star voice. ‘Annalise. Are you being a good girl for your mother?’

  Annalise gave a half smile then, affecting a jolting, flirtatious walk towards the stage. ‘Have you met my mother? She doesn’t want me to be good. She doesn’t even want me to do my homework.’

  Michael chuckled, and the sound hit my stomach like a kilo weight. He was being sexy too.

  ‘You don’t strike me as a rebel, Annalise,’ he said. ‘A little English rose is what you are, with that cut-glass accent. You’re nothing like your mother after all that time in British boarding school. But you’ve got a bit of spark to you. For certain.’

  Annalise giggled like a kid at a sleepover. How old was she, anyway? Twelve?

  ‘What are we going to do with you, Annalise?’ Michael asked, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the stage. ‘I know you like performing. But you don’t fit in a rock and roll circus.’

  Annalise came right up to the stage then, hands gripping the rubber edge, looking up at Michael with glazed, lovesick eyes. ‘I fit with you.’ Then she noticed me watching and added, ‘Onstage, I mean.’

  ‘So we need to make that happen,’ said Michael. ‘It’s about time I listened to your songs. Right?’

  I marched up to Michael, putting my hands on his shoulders, and glared at Annalise.

  Michael turned his head to me, irritated, pushing my hands away. ‘What do you want, Lorna?’

  ‘Just showing you I love you.’ I kissed his cheek.

  Michael ignored me. ‘So how about it,’ he asked Annalise. ‘You want to play me some of your songs after the show tonight?’

  Annalise’s smile widened and her square jaw looked even more pronounced. She sort of squealed, then tried to look cool. ‘Hey, that’s great.’

  I almost cringed for her.

  ‘What kind of music do you like, my little English rose?’ Michael asked.

  A sound escaped my throat. Something like a ‘Ha!’ but it bit my vocal cords. I glared at Annalise, trying to send killer laser beams from my eyes.

  Back off.

  ‘Well, not my mom’s stuff,’ said Annalise. ‘I like kind of Alanis Morrisette. And Shampoo.’

  I really did cringe then. ‘Shampoo?’ I said, voice mocking. ‘Two blonde teenyboppers singing about trouble. How cool.’

  Annalise took my hit with an irritated blink, then pulled some cooler music tastes out of the bag. ‘And I like the Vaselines too. And the New York Dolls.’

  ‘Get out of here,’ said Michael. ‘Lorna loves the New York Dolls.’

  ‘I’m a real fan,’ I said. ‘Do you know their first album, Annalise? The second track … do you know that one?’ I knew she wouldn’t. I was hitting out at her. Making her feel some of the pain I was feeling.

  ‘I’m not into CDs,’ said Annalise airily. ‘Most of the time, I see bands live. It’s better listening to music that way.’ She smiled at Michael, and I felt my face turn boiling hot.

  ‘Indeed it is,’ said Michael, holding Annalise’s gaze. ‘Live is always better. And live is how I want to hear you, Annalise. So you’ll sing for me after the show?’

  ‘Of course, Michael,’ said Annalise, big, wide eyes all over him. It was sickening, and my hands found Michael’s shoulders again.

  ‘I’ll listen to your stuff right after your mother and I sing to 90,000 people tonight,’ said Michael, pushing my hands away again. Then he shouted out: ‘Right, Cat?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Cat. ‘Wait. What’s happening?’

  ‘Annalise is going to sing me some of her songs,’ said Michael, dropping the sexy rock-star baritone. ‘That’s all. Okay?’

  ‘Don’t get too friendly with my daughter, Michael Reyji Ray,’ said Cat. ‘She’s fifteen and you’re an old pervert. So don’t even think about it.’

  ‘I’m a happily married man.’

  ‘Like hell you are.’

  Cat stumbled down from the stage then and attempted to link Annalise’s arm. Annalise shook her off but still followed her backstage.

  I turned on Michael.

  ‘You’re a happily married man? So what am I?’

  Michael slapped me cleanly around the face. There were staff all around. People setting up equipment. Doing sound checks. They must have noticed, but no one said a word.

  ‘I just asked you to move in with me,’ Michael snarled. ‘Count your blessings. I don’t need a hard time today, Lorna. I have a show to do.’

  The message was clear. Don’t get above yourself. Cat Cannon is famous. She has value, so she can talk to me however she likes. You can’t.

  Liberty

  Hey. I’m Liberty. I’m your daughter.

  Seeing Michael Reyji Ray up close, this famous musician with my face … it’s strange and scary and exciting all at once. Michael looks like me. I was prepared for that. But the ener
gy around him – that, I wasn’t excepting. He’s sort of like a planet. He has a gravitational pull. I wonder if I have that energy.

  You’ll like him when you meet him, Liberty. And then he’ll turn you against me …

  For some reason, my legs don’t want to move.

  Michael stands on a partially constructed stage, strutting back and forth over a boardwalk of platforms with little nests of silver struts piled around.

  ‘Great, guys,’ Michael says, his voice smooth and clear. ‘It’s coming along great.’ His silk dressing gown is wrapped tight around him, and Ray-Bans cover his eyes. Up close, his bleached-blond hair has salt and pepper roots.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Diane asks me.

  ‘Um …’

  ‘A little bit daunted, are you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Just remember he’s a normal man with a heart and skin and bones like the rest of them,’ says Diane. ‘I knew him when he was a schoolboy in short trousers. He’s not Jesus. The rest of the world would do well to remember that at times, I can tell you.’

  My father.

  This man is my actual father.

  I’m half him.

  Michael turns as we approach.

  ‘Diane?’ He glances at Skywalker. ‘You didn’t go and get a rescue dog without telling me, did you? We said we’d go together.’

  Up close, Michael’s tanned face looks friendly. There are smile lines. His voice is kind.

  ‘We’re not getting a dog,’ says Diane. ‘Forget the dog. Look who’s with the dog.’

  Michael smiles, nods at me, but barely looks up. ‘Oh. Right. You’re here for the internship, are you? Welcome to Michael Towers. Don’t let Diane boss you around too much. She can nag for England, this woman.’

  I clear my throat. ‘Um … my name is Liberty. I’m your daughter.’

  When I rehearsed the words in my head, they sounded profound. Now they just sound like a weird thing to say to someone I’ve just met.

  Michael looks up then. He looks up so sharply that his neck clicks. ‘You’re … What did you say?’

  ‘I’m your daughter.’

  A pause.

  ‘My … what?’ Michael’s eyebrows lift above his sunglasses.

  ‘On today of all days, right?’ says Diane. ‘You said she’d find her way home eventually, and here she is.’

  ‘Oh holy Jesus.’ Michael lets out another blurt of laughter. ‘Oh Jesus. You’re … Oh, wow.’ He clambers down from the stage, mouth twitching into something like a smile. ‘I can’t believe it. I didn’t know … I mean I never imagined you’d just show up here …’ He turns to Diane for clarification.

  ‘She was right outside,’ says Diane. ‘I found her by the gates.’

  ‘You look like me. Doesn’t she, Diane? She looks just bloody like me.’

  ‘There’s certainly a resemblance.’

  ‘So … what did you say your name was? Liberty?’

  ‘Liberty.’

  ‘I called you Reign. Reign Janis Ray. God.’ Michael looks up at the sky and throws his hands together. Tears glisten on his cheeks. ‘Thank you. Thank you. You were born right here on these grounds. Did you know that?’

  ‘I … No.’

  Michael nods, voice fading to a whisper. ‘The best and worst day of my life. To be given something so precious. And then have it taken away. Listen, I know you’ll have been told all sorts of stories. But the woman you grew up with isn’t what she seems, Liberty. She isn’t what she seems.’

  ‘That’s … uh, sort of why I came here,’ I say. ‘To hear your side. But Diane said today is your wedding anniversary. Maybe it’s not the best day for all this.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ says Diane, eyes soft and warm. ‘Our wedding anniversary is day one. That’s what we always call it. A fresh start. We let go of everything on this day. That’s how we survived your mother. So what better day for you to come? A new beginning.’

  ‘Diane is an incredible woman,’ says Michael, eyes clouding. ‘My better half, as they say. I’ve put her through a lot. But she’s always stuck by me.’

  ‘For better or for worse, Michael Ray.’

  ‘Wowsers.’ Michael places chubby hands on my shoulders. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. This is a dream come true. Listen, are you tired? Hungry? Have you … did you fly from somewhere to get here?’

  ‘I didn’t fly from anywhere,’ I say. ‘I took the bus.’

  ‘From where?’

  ‘Taunton Wood.’

  Michael turns to Diane, hands falling from my shoulders. ‘Jesus Christ. She didn’t …’

  ‘It’s so near to us. Practically down the road.’

  ‘Do you live on a lot of land there, by any chance?’ Michael asks. ‘A big patch to yourselves? I can’t imagine Lorna wanting to live cheek by jowl with other people. Not with everything she’s trying to hide.’

  ‘Yeah, we have some land. I mean, nothing like what you have. But yes.’

  ‘Funny to think of Lorna living in the British countryside,’ says Michael. ‘What has she got? One of those old-fashioned houses with the quirky English names. Back O’ Beyond or Forty Winks. Who’d have thought that would be her scene?’

  ‘We live on an old farm. It’s called Iron Bridge.’

  ‘I bet it’s like Fort Knox.’

  ‘You can say that again. Mum has more security than you do.’

  ‘That woman,’ says Diane. ‘Just when you think she won’t stoop any lower—’ She notices me then and her pink lips snap shut.

  ‘Lorna never could let go,’ says Michael. ‘It makes sense, when you think about it. We should have guessed.’

  Diane shivers, despite the warm day. ‘For her to be so near, she must have been watching us this whole time. It gives me the creeps.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ says Michael. ‘It’s all going to be okay. We’re starting again, right? Liberty and I have the rest of our lives from this moment on.’

  ‘Lorna told Liberty you’re some kind of monster, Michael,’ says Diane, shaking her head. ‘Tried to poison her mind, like she did with everyone else. Liberty – don’t you listen to a word of it. I’ve been with this man for twenty years. He’s got the biggest heart of anyone I know. Too big sometimes. He lets people take advantage. Don’t get me wrong, he’s far from perfect. I’ve had cause to hit him with my handbag on more than one occasion. But the shit that woman says about him … and Lorna is still at the Nazi propaganda, Michael. All these years later.’

  ‘I don’t believe everything I hear,’ I insist. ‘Not even from my mother. I can make up my own mind.’

  Michael claps me on the shoulder. ‘Still, must have felt like you were walking into the lion’s den, coming here today. Am I right? A big scary monster ready to eat you up.’

  ‘Something had to change. Life is unbearable at home.’

  Michael takes off his sunglasses, and I see his face is soaked with tears. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. God. I’m so glad you came, Liberty. I can’t tell you how happy. I’ve been waiting sixteen years. Hey, listen. Come into the house. I’ve got something to show you.’

  ‘Show me what?’

  ‘Well, that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?’ Michael bites his lips. ‘You’ve been so close this whole time? This whole time?’

  I nod.

  ‘And you didn’t know I lived in the same county?’

  ‘I didn’t even know who you were until a few weeks ago.’

  ‘That must have been quite the surprise.’

  ‘A big one.’

  ‘Your mother is good at keeping secrets.’ Michael puts an arm around my shoulder, steering me through the trees. ‘And she certainly knows how to the twist the knife too, keeping you so close by. I turned San Francisco upside down. LA. New York. London too. But you were right here. Hiding in plain sight.’ He takes in a deep breath. ‘But hey. You’re here now and that’s all that matters. Listen. Are you ready to see something special?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I
t’s inside the house. Come on, I’ll show you. You’re gonna love this. Just you wait and see.’

  Lorna

  ‘MICHAEL, GIVE ME BACK MY DAUGHTER!’

  Can throats bleed? If they can, I should be swallowing blood right now. Rivers of it.

  My eyes scan the awful, frightening woods – trees I ran through with a baby in my arms.

  Where is she? Inside Michael’s castle? In one of the turrets? MY turret? Or … my stomach drops … the little cottage in the woods?

  Bad memories tumble with blind fury as I rattle the gates, black metal paint flakes scratching my palms.

  The fir trees … the smell of earth … those golden twisty turret towers.

  There was a girl here once. A skinny, weak, pathetic girl. A girl who cried and pleaded and never fought back. Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I kill Michael when I had the chance?

  I remember my sister coming to these gates. Begging me to come home. Pain and fear pulling at her soft, plump face.

  I’ll never leave you, Lorna. I’ll always be there for you. No matter what …

  Dee never did leave me. She was the only thing in my life that was real back then. My mother, my friend and my hero. A real hero, not just the image of one.

  More memories come, thick and fast.

  Me at the window of that turret room, waiting, waiting for my prince to come home. Michael, chasing me through the woods. And Annalise … no, don’t go there. Don’t even think about her right now.

  Coming here is like a lid coming off a bubbling pan. That crazy person – the maniac who ran from this house with a baby in her arms. She’s waking up again. I want to stuff her down, but I’m not sure I can.

  Tears fall.

  ‘MICHAEL,’ I scream. ‘PLEASE. Give me back my—’

  My words fall away as I see Diane through the trees. She’s walking carefully, lips pulled tight. Her eyes are fixed on the ground, but I know she’s seen me.

  My hands freeze on the cold metal.

  Diane is dressed in punk rock leopard-print boots and black jeans, skinny as a broomstick, stuck in a time when Michael loved me best. Her brown hair is cut into neat ends and tucked behind her ears, just like mine used to be. Is she trying to look the way I used to? Or is she just doing what I did – moulding myself into something Michael likes?