Guilty

by Jane Bidder

  ‘Why?’ He turned round and looked at her as though he hadn’t seen her before. ‘Joanna is still dead isn’t she?’

  There was a silence during which she realised, too late, she’d punctured the jolly atmosphere she’d come in on when her son and husband were actually working together instead of against each other. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Simon turned his back again on her to continue his chopping. ‘I didn’t know you’d got another book deal.’

  ‘What?’

  The question, hard on the heels of the meat issue, threw her.

  ‘Another book deal,’ he repeated. ‘It’s in the post. I wouldn’t have opened it but you asked me to.’

  Not my post, she wanted to say. Only joint post.

  ‘Yes,’ she began hesitantly. ‘It was my idea but I had to find someone to do the text so Mrs Johnson’s brother did it. The writer. You know, the one Ben and I stayed with in London.’

  He nodded, still keeping his back to her. ‘Interesting title on the contract.’

  Blast. She should have told him before but had been waiting for the right time. Instinctively, she knew this wasn’t it.

  ‘WHEN DAD GOES TO PRISON’ He turned round again, carefully putting the knife down. ‘What’s it about?’

  Claire stuck her chin out defiantly. ‘It’s aimed at children whose fathers or stepfathers go to prison, actually.’

  Ben cut in. ‘That’s really cool, Mum. But won’t people think it’s ʼcos of Simon?’

  Her husband’s eyes were still coolly fixed on hers, waiting for a reply.

  The words, pent-up for so long, flew out of her mouth. ‘I got the idea because of what you put us through, Simon, and if you don’t like it, frankly I don’t care. You didn’t have to worry about where the next pennies were coming for the next meal or how you’d have to pay the electricity bill. Look at this!’

  She waved the gas bill that had also arrived in the post. ‘Thanks to the advance I’m getting on the book, we can pay this now. What’s more, the publishers think this could have hit a gap in the market and might do something. So if you don’t like it, get yourself a job instead of slouching around here all day. And forget about your bean casserole because I’m not hungry.’

  Slamming the door, she ran up the stairs and locked herself in the tiny bathroom. Her face and throat were hot and red but instead of crying, she was angry. It felt good.

  ‘Mum.’

  Ben was hammering on the door.

  ‘Please, Mum. Simon wants to talk to you.’

  ‘Well I don’t.’

  ‘Please.’ Ben’s voice was begging.

  Why was Ben on Simon’s side, instead of hers? Heavier footsteps were coming up now. She opened the door slightly. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘May I come in?’

  Simon perched on the edge of the bath next to her. ‘I’m sorry. You were right. It’s just that I don’t want the whole world to know about what happened and it will probably come out in the publicity for the book.’

  Naively she realised she hadn’t thought about that. ‘Then again,’ he added, ‘if it does, maybe that’s part of my penance.’

  Claire put a hand on his knee. He didn’t take it off.

  ‘There’s something else I want to tell you. Two things actually.’

  ‘Are they good things or do I need to prepare myself?’

  He took her hand. ‘Good, I think. The first is that I’ve got a job.’

  ‘Really!’

  ‘It’s not much. It’s in a charity shop again and they’re not paying me but it will build up my experience. My probation officer found it for me.’

  ‘It was impossible to find anything else,’ he said quietly, noticing her expression. ‘You’ve no idea how hard it is to get employment when you have a record.’

  She bit back her dismay. ‘What’s the second thing?’

  He took a letter out of his pocket. ‘I’d like you to read this.’

  She made for the door. ‘Simon, I’ve had enough surprises for one day. Just tell me who it’s from and whether I should laugh or cry.’

  His eyes were steady on her. ‘It’s from my daughter. Her name is Lydia – remember me telling you that was my mother’s name? – and she’s in her second year at uni in London. She wrote to me in prison because she’d seen something in the paper about the accident and, before you ask, I didn’t know she even existed. Nor have I met her. I want us both to do that. Together. What do you think?’

  * * *

  Ben, Poppy, and Ben’s dad were sitting together on the sofa watching a stupid quiz programme on television. Ben kept trying to hold Poppy’s hand quietly but she just gave it a quick squeeze and then moved it away.

  He knew what she was thinking. ‘Wait until he goes out.’

  But Dad didn’t show any signs of going. Instead, he kept asking him questions which had nothing to do with the programme and everything to do with Mum. It had started when he’d let slip this stuff about Simon and this daughter of his.

  ‘So how did this girl Lydia know that Simon was her father?’

  Ben reached for Poppy’s hand again. No luck. ‘I told you, Dad. Her mum’s a singer and Simon was her lawyer ages ago when he was just qualified. He had to help her with royalties or something and they kind of had a …’

  He stopped. It was disgusting to think of adults having sex. Poppy giggled. ‘They had an affair and the singer had a daughter ’cept she didn’t want to tell Simon ʼcos then she thought he’d have to marry her and by then they’d split up.’

  Charlie nodded. ‘But she must have told the daughter otherwise she wouldn’t have recognised him from the piece in the paper.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Why didn’t she contact him earlier?’

  ‘Said she needed to think about it, Simon said.’

  ‘What does your mum think of it all?’

  Ben hated it when each of his parents pumped each other for information.

  ‘She’s cool. They’re going to meet her next week.’

  Only the second part of that sentence was really true but he wasn’t going to tell Dad about the funny look Mum had had on her face since the night of the baked bean casserole.

  ‘Are you going out tonight, Dad?’

  Poppy made a funny noise as though she was trying to hide a laugh.

  ‘No. Why? Do you kids want some time alone?’ Charlie got up. ‘I’ve got some stuff to do in my study anyway.’

  Ben and Poppy waited until he shut the door. ‘We can’t do anything,’ said Poppy warningly. ‘Not with him next door.’

  He groaned, thinking of the packet that was left in his pocket from last time. ‘OK.’

  ‘Tell you what!’ Poppy leaped up, heading towards Charlie’s extensive CD collection. ‘Let’s take a look at these.’

  Ben hesitated. Dad was very careful about his stuff and didn’t like it touched; a bit like Simon really.

  ‘Take a look at this!’

  Poppy was waving a CD at him and he glanced at the name – who was Ella Fitzgerald? – and the writing underneath. ‘Jazz is for old people.’

  Poppy turned it over. ‘Certainly looks like your dad’s kind of music, though. And someone else’s apparently. Look.’

  She handed it to him. To my darling Charlie with all my love.

  The date was ancient. Five years after he was born. But it wasn’t that which struck him. It was the name that came afterwards.

  From your Rosemarie.

  Chapter Fifty

  Lydia had wanted to meet them in Covent Garden but he’d had to explain that he wasn’t allowed out of the area. He hadn’t mentioned the Peckham Rolex although he had a feeling that she might have found that vaguely amusing. Something told him from the tone of her letter that his daughter had a sense of humour.

  ‘Think you know her already?’ scoffed Joanna. ‘ Trust me, we never know our kids. Much as I love my stepdaughter, she’s highly unpredictable.’

  Simon tuned Joanna’s voice out of h
is head while he and Claire waited in the John Lewis café for Lydia to arrive. ‘How do you know she is yours?’ asked Claire, fidgeting nervously. This wasn’t the first time she had asked this question; clearly his explanation before had failed to persuade her.

  ‘I told you.’ He craned his neck as a tall, confident young woman breezed in, looked around and then headed for an older woman sitting at another table. ‘Her letter told me all about her mother. The date made sense and she also sent me a photograph of Francoise and me.’

  Claire winced. ‘How do you know she wasn’t sleeping with someone else at the same time?’

  Simon thought back briefly to the pretty young girl who had come to him all those years ago in such distress because someone had copied one of her lyrics. He’d managed to settle out of court before suggesting dinner. They’d had fun, he remembered There had been a photographer there who had taken silly pictures of the diners for a fee. And afterwards, it seemed quite natural for him to go back to her place. Just the once, they agreed. Neither had wanted commitment.

  ‘It’s possible,’ he admitted. ‘But she did call our … the baby by my mother’s name.’

  ‘You men are so naive sometimes!’ Claire reached for the teapot. ‘Maybe she was trying to frame you.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he began. And then froze. A girl, close behind an elderly couple was looking around the café and now heading uncertainly towards them. ‘Look,’ he said quietly.

  Lydia – it just had to be – was the spitting image of himself, but in a more feminine way. She had his light coffee-coloured skin. The same dark hair; although hers was curlier, and almost identical bright blue dancing eyes. Like him, she was very tall and skinny. When she opened her mouth to speak, he noticed that she shared the family dimple on her right cheek.

  Wow.

  ‘Simon?’

  She held out her hand before turning to Claire. ‘I’m so glad you’re here too. It must be really awkward for you.’

  Simon held his breath. ‘Not at all,’ said his wife. ‘We’re so glad to meet you. Aren’t we, darling?’

  They talked about everything. Simon wanted to know all about her childhood and Lydia described how her grandparents had played a large part in bringing her up in Buckinghamshire so her mother could continue her career.

  At one point, Simon couldn’t help butting in. ‘I would have done my bit if I had known.’ Claire had nodded as though in supportive agreement but Lydia had just shrugged. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Simon, but Mum wasn’t sure about you.’ She flushed. ‘She was happy to have me but I think she felt rather embarrassed about sleeping with her lawyer.’

  He had winced at that but then Claire asked another question (something about where she went to school) as though to divert the conversation onto safer territory while he waited on the edge of the chair to ask the really important bits.

  ‘Are you musical too?’

  She shook her head. ‘Wish I was. I’m more science based. In fact I’m reading psychology at London University. I want to be a counsellor.’

  So his daughter had her career plan all mapped out. Simon couldn’t help shooting Claire a slightly smug look. ‘Your mother must be very proud of you.’

  Lydia’s face stopped smiling. ‘That’s the thing, Simon. I didn’t like to tell you in my letter but Mum died last May.’ She looked away. ‘It was cancer. Ovarian cancer.’

  She was dead? Francoise – her joyous laugh and zest for living – was dead? Claire’s face looked as shocked as he felt. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’ Simon’s mind was reeling. ‘So how did you know it was me when you read about me in the paper? I thought your mother had showed you the article.’

  Lydia shook her head. ‘It was Gran. Mum had given her the photograph but she also told me about you from a really young age. When Mum was alive, I didn’t want to trace you in case it upset her. Then after she went …’ Her voice tailed away.

  ‘The woman who died when I was driving,’ he said slowly. ‘She had a stepdaughter who’s a bit younger than you are.’

  Lydia nodded. ‘I know. It said in the paper.’

  ‘So don’t you think badly of me?’

  Lydia shrugged. ‘We all make mistakes. Mum was always saying that. The important thing is to learn from them.’

  Had he been a mistake in her mother’s life? Clearly. Yet, if so, why had his daughter been so keen to find him?

  ‘I was wondering,’ he began, ‘I mean we were wondering if you were just curious to meet or whether you’d like to carry on seeing us every now and then.’

  ‘Every now and then?’ Lydia’s eyebrows arched right up into her fringe. ‘I was hoping we could see each other as much as possible. I know you said you hadn’t got any kids yourself but you’ve got a stepson, haven’t you? Can I meet him one day?’

  Claire glanced at him encouragingly. ‘Of course. You must come over to dinner sometime as well.’

  Lydia’s eyes glowed. ‘That would be fantastic; although I’m really busy with uni work.’

  How responsible! Just as he was about to say so, a waitress bustled up and explained politely that she was sorry but they were about to close the café. Only then did they realise they were the last ones there.

  ‘My curfew!’ Simon gazed in horror at Claire.

  ‘Your what?’

  He cringed as Claire explained. ‘Simon has to be back home by a certain time every night. It’s part of the conditions of his release, otherwise he gets into trouble. If we go now, we might just make it.’

  She made him sound like a child but Lydia was giggling. Her own mother had done quite a lot of that, he now recalled. ‘Sorry but that’s quite funny really, isn’t it? A bit like Cinderella.’

  ‘You’re not shocked?’

  ‘No, Dad. You don’t mind if I call you that, do you? Just tell me when we can meet up again.’ Her eyes grew misty. ‘I can’t tell you how important your letters were to me. You’re the only family I’ve got now apart from Gran and she’s gone back to Barbados.’ She looked at him uncertainly. ‘Family is so important, don’t you think?’

  A flash of his father’s coffin went through his head, alongside his mother, eyeing him accusingly. ‘Yes, it is.’

  Somehow they got back with four minutes to spare. Even if they hadn’t, Simon knew it would have been worth it, despite Claire’s hostility.

  ‘If you ask me, she sounds too good to be true.’

  ‘You’re just jealous because she knows where she’s going. Unlike Ben.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’ She pulled up outside the house with a screech of the handbrake. ‘You know what, Simon? I’m beginning to wonder if I know you at all. It’s not just this.’ She waved her hand at the plastic circlet round his ankle. ‘It’s all the other stuff. The obsession with making everything clean and tidy. Your crazy belief that you’re some kind of hidden artist. Your constant talk about weirdos called Coin Man or Plait Man. The way you call out Joanna’s name in your sleep as well as some other woman called Caroline-Jane. And now this.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘Don’t start thinking that just because you’ve suddenly got an instant-made daughter, you know all about parenthood. Because you don’t. Being a real parent is being there from the start. And you weren’t.’

  Simon undid his eighth black plastic bag of the day. He worked slowly and methodically, the charity shop woman said approvingly. The previous volunteer had been too hasty and missed stuff.

  Her praise made Simon suspicious. Was she trying to boost his confidence or did she mean it? He was tempted to say that his thoroughness was due to OCD, according to his wife, but that would have been petty. Part of him felt she had been right when she had slung all those accusations at him the previous week; in fact, he could forgive her for most of that stuff apart from the last one.

  It wasn’t his fault he hadn’t been there at the beginning for Lydia. How could he have raised a daughter if he hadn’t known s
he was there?

  ‘I think we might have something here,’ chirped Joanna suddenly as he pulled out a small brightly coloured vase. ‘ A piece of Limoges, I do believe.’

  ‘Limoges, I do believe,’ he said, echoing Joanna’s words while handing over the vase.

  The charity woman’s cheeks grew pink. ‘Goodness me, how clever of you.’

  He shrugged. ‘I know someone who used to collect it. Mind if I go early for my lunch hour by the way?’

  Simon liked to have his lunch hours early if possible. It was the best time for Lydia to speak and it wasn’t as though he could talk to her at home. Already, since their meeting, they’d fallen into a pattern. He’d call her when she got up after lectures, depending on what her day was like. They’d talk about everything from what was on the news or whether the other had read a certain book. Their similarities were incredible.

  Quickly, he strode up to an empty bench and hoped no one else would sit next to him. His fingers moved unfamiliarly over the new mobile which Claire had helped him buy after his horrible experience at the first shop.. It still seemed strange not to queue up inside and enter his pin number. ‘Lydia?’

  ‘Dad!’

  The sound of her voice filled him with light. ‘Dad!’ he wanted to yell out at the young girl who was pushing her child past. ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘Are you OK, Dad?’

  ‘Great. Great.’ He stood up and began striding along the street. ‘I’m just on a lunch break. What are you doing?’

  ‘About to go into the library. Listen, may I call you tonight? Only I’ve got this essay to finish.’

  ‘Of course. Of course.’ He was so happy that it made him repeat everything twice. His daughter couldn’t talk to him because she was going to finish an essay in the library. Ben could take a leaf out of her book.

  ‘Talk then! Bye.’

  Wow! He felt on a high; as though he was climbing that frame in the playground he was walking past right now. Just look at that kid. Entranced, Simon stood and watched a little pink-track-suited girl scramble up the blue plastic steps of a slide. He could imagine Lydia doing that as a child. Suddenly, the force of what he had missed out on, hit him like a concrete wall.