A Girl Called London

by Clare Lydon

  She couldn’t put it off any longer. She clicked up the handle on her wheelie case, took two steps forwards and walked up the garden path.

  ***

  When her mum opened the door and saw Tanya, her mouth twitched, her features gritted with disappointment. Her fair hair was tinted golden, her skirt and top painted beige.

  “It’s you,” she said, stepping aside and leaning back into the door, as if physical contact with her daughter might make her a lesbian, too.

  “Mum,” Tanya replied as she stepped into the mustard-coloured hallway, breathing in the familiar smell of pine-scented air freshener mixed with overcooked meat. Her mum was a great believer in a meat-and-two-veg diet — Tanya’s brief flirtation with vegetarianism in her teenage years hadn’t gone down well.

  Her dad stepped out into the hallway then, saving her and her mum from an awkward scene. She hadn’t seen her dad in three years, either. His smile was stilted, sharp angles where there should have been curves.

  “Love,” he said, extending his hand and letting it rest briefly on Tanya’s arm. “Good to see you, despite the circumstances.”

  Tanya nodded, his words a comfort. “You too, Dad.”

  “Leave your bags at the bottom of the stairs and come through to the kitchen. I’ll put the kettle on,” he added, flicking his head to the left.

  Her dad looked old — properly old. His skin was wrinkled and sagging, and his hair was now completely grey. He’d always been the oldest dad of her crowd — he was 42 when Tanya was born. Now he was approaching 78, and it showed. Might she be back for his funeral soon, too? And if so, how would she feel?

  “How was the train?” he asked, shuffling from the kettle to the dark wooden cupboard, his breathing laboured.

  The shuffle was new, too.

  “It was fine. Thursday night so it was busy.” Tanya still had her coat on, and her mum hadn’t followed them through to the kitchen. The air in the kitchen felt lighter because of it. “How are you?”

  Three years of nothing and this was the conversation they were having? Tanya’s insides churned like a washing machine on fast spin, while her dad poured boiling water into mugs and pretended this scene was normal, everyday.

  “Fine, okay. Your gran’s passing has been hard on your mum of course, but it’s good you came back. Good for her, too, even though she might not say it.” He paused, looking Tanya in the eye. “I appreciate it, love. We both do.”

  If the word bristle hadn’t been invented, Tanya would have coined it on the spot. “I came back for Gran.”

  Her dad didn’t say anything in reply, he simply held her gaze and nodded, before getting the milk from the fridge.

  “I assume you still take milk? It hasn’t gone out of fashion in London, has it?” he said, in an effort to lighten the mood.

  Tanya gave him a weak smile. Tonight was going to be just as hard as she thought, perhaps even harder. “Just a touch, thanks.”

  He joined her at the table, and Tanya let out a sigh, glad to have something to hold in her hands, to fiddle with.

  “You’re looking well,” her dad said. “Job going okay?” He was holding onto his mug as if he were lost at sea and it was the only thing keeping him afloat.

  Tanya nodded. “It is. I’m not doing court anymore — I’m working for a city firm doing some legal stuff.”

  Her dad nodded. “Glad to hear you’re doing well. I always knew you would, you’ve got that determination.” He sighed, frowning at her. “Don’t be too hard on your mother, she’s having a rough time at the moment, what with losing her mum.”

  Tanya took a deep breath, swallowing down a landmine of emotions. “I know how she feels.”

  Her dad looked away.

  The awkwardness was broken by a yapping sound from the next room. Tanya furrowed her brow and glanced at her dad. “Is that Delilah?” Delilah was her gran’s beloved King Charles Spaniel.

  Her dad nodded. “She’s been living with us since your gran got sick and we’ve been taking her in for visits.” His face softened. “She’s a treat to have around, actually. Even your mum thought so till your gran died.” He stopped and looked up at the large black-and-white clock ticking on the wall beside the kitchen door.

  “But now your gran’s gone, she wants to rehome her — says it was only a temporary move while Gran was recovering.” He pulled at the skin at the front of his neck — his nervous tick. It was something Tanya remembered him doing quite a bit throughout her childhood. “I tried to talk her round, but you know what she’s like,” he added in a whisper, glancing over his shoulder.

  That lit a fuse in Tanya. They were talking about Delilah, but they might as well have been talking about her life. She hadn’t fitted into her mum’s vision of family life, so her mum had discarded her, with her dad giving a shrug and passively accepting the decision. And now she was planning to do the same to Delilah?

  Her mum couldn’t even wait for her gran to be cold in the ground till she made the decision — a decision that took Tanya right back to ten years ago when she’d been cast aside in exactly the same way, apparently surplus to daughter requirements.

  “Where’s she planning to rehome her?” Tanya asked, her tone like granite, shaking her head. “I used to wonder if she had a heart — I spent my teenage years watching American TV shows, mesmerised by the mums — they smiled, they hugged their kids, they loved them.

  “Mum was never like that. She never hugged me, and then she disowned me. And now she’s doing the same to Delilah.” Rage shot up in her and she knew she had to leave, to get out before she said or did something she might regret. “I shouldn’t have said I would stay here, this was a mistake. Nothing’s changed.”

  And it hadn’t. Delilah was living proof.

  Tanya stood up, and her dad followed suit.

  “It’s not the same, love, and I am talking to her, trying to get her to come round where you’re concerned,” he said, reaching out his hand and gripping her arm. “We love you, Tanya, we always have.”

  Tanya stared at her dad’s hand on her. He’d never said that before, told her he loved her.

  How she wanted to believe him, she really did, but his words were hollow in the face of her mum’s actions — actions he’d supported.

  “I’m going to Alan’s for the night — he offered, and his place has always felt more like home to me.” She swallowed down the tears that were threatening to spill out.

  Her dad’s grip tightened, his eyes red, pleading. “Please, love,” he said. “Don’t go. I’d like you to stay. Will you stay, for me?” He paused. “I’ll have a word with her, see if she’ll talk to you.” He cast his gaze to the floor and then back up to look at her. “It’s not the way I want it. Please don’t go.”

  Tanya sighed, shaking her head. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, overwhelmed with childhood memories as his familiar scent hit her nose: Old Spice.

  “Will you stay?” he asked again, fixing her with his gaze. His eyes were still the same, still watery, uncertain.

  Her resolve crumbled. Tanya loved her dad, she always had — she just wished he’d stand up for himself every now and again. Her shoulders dropped and she nodded her head softly. “I’ll stay, for you. But I’m not sitting up playing happy families if she won’t even be in the same room as me.”

  Her dad squeezed her arm, a sad smile on his face. He took a deep breath before he replied, pulling on the skin in front of his neck again. “Have you eaten? Let me get you a sandwich and then maybe a glass of whisky? We can toast your gran before you go to bed. How’s that?”

  Tanya nodded her head. Her dad was trying, in his own small way. She shrugged off her coat and sat down as she heard Delilah bark in the lounge again. Poor Delilah, she had no idea what was coming to her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You sure I can’t tempt you to come with me on this job? Your schedule’s not booked yet, and I could use an extra pair of hands.” Her dad was finishing his tea in his bright kitche
n, sunshine splashing in through the skylight.

  Sophie smiled at him: he looked happy, which was great to see. “No thank you — I’ve come to walk Doris, give her a taste of how a professional does it. She’s very interested, aren’t you, Doris?”

  Doris barked in response, seeing Sophie pick up her lead.

  Her dad shook his head. “I dunno, you bring up your kids, and all you want is a little respect and the occasional helping hand. And what do I get? Luke buggers off to Brighton to do designing and whatnot, and you’ve got no interest in DIY, despite being a lesbian.” He rolled his eyes with mock disgust. “I thought that was a banker when you came out.”

  Sophie laughed. “I know, I’m a DIY disappointment, what can I say?” She paused. “I can give you an hour — the house you’re working on is near the park, right? Did you say you just need help getting stuff into the house?”

  He nodded, his smile perked up. “I did.”

  “Okay — one hour, tops.”

  He walked over and planted a kiss on her cheek. “You’re an angel.”

  “And you’re a manipulator,” she replied.

  Half an hour later and Sophie was sweating: this was why she also didn’t fancy being in the building trade — she wasn’t built for lumping stuff around. She walked around to the back of her dad’s dusty van and picked up another plank of wood, taking care with the edges. She already had a splinter in her finger and even though she was single, a splintered finger was never a good look.

  At that thought, an image of a black-clad Tanya formed in her mind, and her stomach sank. How was she getting on at home, at her gran’s funeral? She hoped it wasn’t too dreadful.

  She’d looked so broken in the lift yesterday, so bereft and worn down by life, and Sophie’s heart had ached for her.

  If her dad died, she wouldn’t know what to do.

  Her dad appeared at the back of the van, breaking her thoughts. Small beads of sweat glistened on his brow as he grinned at her. “You see, this is why you wouldn’t make it in the building trade — too much daydreaming. Maybe dog-walking is more your thing, you’re getting paid to daydream then, aren’t you?”

  Her dad wiped his brow and fixed her with a look. “Were you daydreaming about anything? Anyone?” He narrowed his gaze. “Remember, the bad thing about being around your dad is that I’ve known you since you were born.” He tapped her forehead with his index finger. “I know how you think, how you tick. And that look you just had? That was the look that said you’re thinking about a girl.” He paused. “Am I right?”

  Sophie felt her cheeks blossom into redness as she shook her head.

  Yes, she had been thinking about a girl. And if she was being honest, Tanya had been on her mind non-stop since their meeting in the lift yesterday, since she’d got to know her that little bit more.

  Sophie wished she’d taken her number so she could text her and see how she was, but that might have seemed odd. They were meeting when she was back, and that would have to do. But when they did meet up again, Sophie wanted to ask more questions, get more answers, listen to more words drop from Tanya’s lips.

  And most of all, she wanted to touch her caramel skin, to run her fingers down her cheek, to soothe her aching heart.

  Whoa. She hadn’t thought any of that before, and to think it in front of her dad made Sophie blush an even deeper shade of puce.

  “I might have met someone new, but it’s early days, hardly anything to tell.” But even as she said it, she could feel her blood rushing round her body, betraying her calm exterior. Sophie turned away from her dad, the plank of wood covering her blushes. She didn’t want to say too much as there wasn’t much to tell just yet. For now, she wanted to keep Tanya close to her chest. She smiled at that thought as her mind painted an exquisite image in her brain.

  “I’m on a romance sabbatical after Helen, and it’s quite nice. I don’t have to be on the lookout for love all the time, which was pretty exhausting. Now, I just am.” And that part, at least, was true. She turned back to him. “And you know what? I feel quite content.”

  And as she walked into the house, taking the wood through to the back garden where her dad was going to sand it before turning it into bespoke wardrobes for his client, she knew her words were true. Taking some time for herself had been the right call, as had starting her own business.

  In the few weeks since she’d walked out of Helen’s life, Sophie had cleansed her from all of her social media, thrown out any keepsakes and dumped all her playlists from Spotify. And now her business was beginning to gain traction, too, with the word getting out.

  Her dad followed her through, dumping his wood beside hers. They walked back through the length of the terraced house together to get the final two planks.

  “If that’s true, that’s terrific — I never thought I’d hear you say you were content.” His face clouded over. “You haven’t been content since your mum left, you haven’t stopped moving since.” He smiled at her, pushing a hair away from her face. “Maybe now with this business, you can build a life you want, and finally settle into who you want to be. On your own or not.” He paused. “Although the way you just spoke about that new woman, your voice had an edge to it. You’re excited about her. And that never happened with the last girl.”

  He gave her a long stare, before grabbing his plank of wood.

  For a man, and for a builder, her dad had always surprised her with his powers of perception.

  Damn him.

  Because Sophie was excited about Tanya, even though she hadn’t truly given herself permission to be.

  She rolled her eyes, shifting the focus from her as she did. “Stop being such a softie — you’re giving the building trade a bad name.”

  Her dad laughed as they walked back into the house carrying the final two planks. “You should hear some of the conversations down at the timber yard or on projects I’ve worked on,” he said, smiling. “Don’t believe builders are hardnuts — we crumble under the slightest pressure.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” Sophie said, putting down the last plank in the garden. “And if you’re so interested in my love life — how about your own? I think you’re projecting onto me.”

  Now it was her dad’s turn to look bashful. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You’re playing golf — there must be tons of women down there looking for an eligible man.”

  He gave her a more throaty laugh this time. “There are tons of women alright, but most of them bat for your team. None of them would look twice at me.”

  Sophie grinned. “At least you’re getting out there, and my people are a friendly people.”

  “They are,” he said, lining up a plank on his board, sander in hand. “And we’ve been comparing notes in the 19th hole. There’s one woman, Dawn, she’s lovely — and it turns out, we have the same taste in women. We’ve both got a thing for Sarah Lancashire.” He shook his head. “She’s such a laugh. Me and Mike are playing golf with her and her partner on Thursday — she’s also a golf demon.”

  This was all news to Sophie, who stood in the garden, hand on hip, mouth ajar. “Let me get this straight. My father, who needs to meet a woman asap, is spending his time at the golf club hanging out with lesbians?”

  He nodded again. “What can I say? Lesbians love me.” He tapped her arm. “Dawn told me I’m a dyke hag.”

  Sophie shook her head. A dyke hag? Jesus, what was the world coming to when even her dad was talking in these terms. Frankly, she wasn’t sure she was ready for such a world. “I’m going to walk Doris now and pretend that never came out of your mouth.”

  “You’re such a prude, you know that?” her dad shouted at her retreating back.

  “Bye, Dad,” she responded, giving him a wave.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The funeral lasted 30 minutes, but it had felt like 30 hours to Tanya. She had trouble reconciling the fact her gran was inside that wooden box just in front of them, that she’d never see her ag
ain.

  All around her, people had sung, prayed and cried — but not Tanya. She’d sat in silence, wishing Alice was there, or Meg, or someone who knew what her gran meant to her. Someone she loved, and who loved her back with no catch. Or even someone like Sophie, who’d come into her life recently and had shown her kindness when Tanya had barely deserved it.

  Just someone who knew how much she was going to miss her gran every single day for the rest of her life. Not someone like her mother, who was sitting just down the pew, a veil drawn over her face. Was she crying? What was she thinking? Tanya had no idea.

  Tanya took a deep breath, staring down at her black boots, at the scuffed wooden floor of the church. Her gran hadn’t even been that religious, hadn’t been a regular church-goer, but her parents had insisted this was how she was to be seen out. Tanya was pretty sure her gran would have preferred a 70s disco in her honour.

  That thought made her smile, but also made her heart crack that little bit more.

  A tear spilled down Tanya’s cheek as her gran’s face swam into her vision, blurred and smudged with tears.

  ***

  Later that day, when most of the guests had gone home and Tanya had helped her dad clear up, her mum retiring to her room with one of her infamous migraines (code for “I can’t deal with this emotional situation”), Tanya gave her dad a hug and slipped next door.

  Alan welcomed her, putting his arm around her as they walked to the kitchen.

  “What can I get you?” he asked. “Cup of tea? Something stronger? Whisky? Gin?”

  “A gin would be perfect.”

  Tanya followed him through to his lounge, all warm and cosy, in stark contrast to her parents’ house. And there, lying in front of the fire, was Delilah. She lifted her head when they came into the room, but didn’t move — she was far too comfortable for that.

  Tanya knelt down and petted her anyway, and the dog smiled up at her as she rubbed her furry brown tummy. “Hey there Delilah, how are you girl? Coping without your mum?”