‘What... What did he say
exactly... when you phoned?’
‘It was unexpected. He didn’t
really know what to say. He didn’t really have much to say. I think it’ll be
better in person, face to face,’ said Alice, rambling again.
‘What did he say, Alice?’
She avoided Stephanie’s eyes,
knowing that she would see straight through her; Stephanie always could tell
when she was lying.
‘Okay then; he said he didn’t
think it would be a good idea for us to meet.’ Alice shrugged.
‘I knew it. Didn’t I warn you?’
Stephanie closed her eyes briefly, then picked up her cup of coffee and took a
sip.
‘But I’m still going to see
him,’ said Alice resolutely.
‘You’ve always been stubborn,
Alice. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop you once you got it into your head you
wanted to see him. But, darling, I was always only thinking of you when I said
I didn’t think it was a good idea.’ She wiped her mouth with the napkin that
had been in her lap and looked Alice in the eye. ‘Your father has always been a
selfish man. It sounds to me as if he hasn’t changed. He left us, without a
thought of what would happen to us. Just disappeared. Do you know,’ she
narrowed her eyes, ‘it would serve him right if you did just turn up at his
door and shock his new family. He probably hasn’t told them about us... um...
about you, has he?’
‘No,’ admitted Alice.
Stephanie shook her head and
turned to look at the traffic along the busy high street.
‘So... you agree with me then?
You think I should go and see him?’
‘I didn’t say that. I’m just
saying that maybe it would teach him a thing or two about disregarding other
people’s feelings. But, darling, I don’t want you to get hurt. I know I’ve said
this before, but it will more than likely end in tears. He’ll disappoint you,
just like he did all those years ago when he deserted us. He has no feelings.’
Alice saw a bitter look on
Stephanie’s face that she had never seen before.
‘Alice, dear, you can’t really
expect him to want to know you now, after all this time, when he hasn’t even
bothered to contact you.’
Alice didn’t want to accept what
she was hearing. She wanted to believe that if her father saw her, he would
want to get to know her. She took a sip of coffee. ‘I’ve made up my mind, I am
going to see him.’ She did not look at Stephanie, but instead looked into the
distance trying to concentrate on something other than the nagging doubts in
her mind.
‘I hope I’m wrong, for your
sake. I hope he’s changed now that he has another family and children. Does he
have any other children?’
‘I only know about Jane.’
They walked back to the salon in
silence.
‘Alice,’ Stephanie called out,
as Alice turned around to leave. ‘Please just don’t expect too much. Don’t get
your hopes up.’
Alice smiled and waved good-bye.
***
Alice felt excited, but nervous, as she stepped off the
Tube train at Finchley Central Station. She stood at the station entrance for a
few minutes before walking in the direction of her father’s street.
She wondered whether she was
doing the right thing. Thinking back to the telephone conversation she’d had
with him, the persistent doubt crept in to her mind again. He hadn’t wanted to
meet her; had told her to stay away. When she reached Oakview Road—
his
road—something
made her stop at the corner, and for a short while, she felt rooted to the
spot, unable to move any further forward. She felt stupid.
What will I say?
She tensed, and creased her brow as she also worried what he would say to her.
Would he be as rude as he had been on the phone?
Does he really not want me
in his life?
The questions ran through her mind until she lost the courage
and confidence she’d had when she’d first set out on the journey.
Turning around, she looked back
in the direction of the underground station, and wondered whether the best
thing would be to just go back home. She could go home and think about it;
maybe come back another day and try again. That sounded like a better plan. She
looked at her watch. It was nearly 3 p.m.
He’s probably at work, anyway
,
she thought to herself. She began walking back towards the Tube station, but
when she reached the station entrance, she stopped walking and looked behind
her in the direction of her father’s street. She had really wanted to meet him
today, and that feeling was still there drawing her back towards the house. She
knew that she would regret getting back onto the train and going back home.
I’ve
come this far; what harm would it do to have a look at the house?
she
thought.
Walking along Oakview Road, she
thought of Jane and her father and how they must have walked along this street
thousands of times. As she walked, she kept an eye on the door numbers. Very
soon she was standing outside the house. Number twenty-seven. She took a deep
breath. Standing outside the house, she realised that it looked much the same
as the other houses in the street—grey bricks, wooden door. Somehow,
irrationally, she had expected the house to look different, to stand out in
some way. But, there was nothing special or distinctive about it at all.
Noticing the well-kept front
garden, with a neat hedge surrounding a display of various flowers, she began
to imagine her father must like gardening. Nervously, she looked at the iron
gate and the three steps leading up to the front door.
The image of her father as a
young man (from the photographs she had seen) came into her head. She wondered
what he looked like now.
She stared at the house for a
while longer, in an almost trancelike state, aware that her father and Jane
walked in and out of that door every day. The thought filled her with a sense
of loss. She had missed so much of their lives.
Just then, a woman called out to
a young boy, who was running along the street. The small boy ran past Alice.
The woman followed some feet behind, pushing a pram. Alice came back down to
earth as the woman approached her. The woman smiled at her as she hurried past,
trying to keep up with the small boy. ‘Alex! Stop running!’ the woman called
out, as she continued on down the street. Alice then began to feel conspicuous,
wondering how long she had been standing in the same spot, looking at the
house.
I should leave
, she thought; imagining neighbours looking through
their net curtains wondering who the strange girl was.
She was about to turn away, when
she saw the next-door neighbour’s door opening. An elderly woman stepped out,
and looked straight at her. She had a shopping trolley with her. Waving at
Alice, she cried out: ‘Hello, love!’
Alice felt embarrassed. ‘Hello,’
she replied, waving back at the woman. She then turned to walk away, hoping to
avoid any awkward questions, like ‘why have you been staring at this house for
so long?’. She felt paranoid, as she had no idea how long she had been staring
at the house, and imagined it may have been a long time, so mesmerised was she
by this place; the place where her father lived.
‘Wait, Jane, wait!’ called the
woman.
Alice felt nervous.
Jane’s
here?
She wished there was somewhere she could hide, but all the gardens in
this road were well maintained, with trimmed back hedges. She turned around
towards where the woman was standing, dreading having to talk to Jane again and
explain what she was doing here.
‘Jane,’ the old woman stood
right in front of her and smiled.
It was only then that Alice
realised:
She thinks I’m Jane!
‘Um... I’m in a bit of a hurry,’
said Alice. ‘I’ll see you later.’ She then turned around and started to walk
away quickly, not wanting to explain to the woman what she was doing there.
However, it soon became apparent that the woman was following her.
‘It won’t take a minute, love.’
The woman had somehow caught up with her and was now standing quite close
behind her.
Alice turned to face her. She
was amazed to find that the woman continued to talk to her as if she still
thought she was Jane.
‘Jane, dear,’ she said, seeming
a little out of breath after chasing Alice along the street. She pulled a brown
package out of her shopping trolley. ‘This came for your mum this morning.’ She
held it towards Alice. ‘The postman left it with me, because there was no
answer at your house when he knocked. Anyway, I don’t want to hold you up, but
it’s probably easier for me to give it to you because you can just take it
straight in. Well, I’m going shopping now. See you later.’
Alice reluctantly took the
parcel from the woman, fearing that if she didn’t she would have to explain
that she wasn’t Jane and that would lead to a whole conversation that she
wasn’t prepared to have.
She watched the woman walk away.
Staring at the parcel in her hands, she wasn’t sure what to do. Before the
neighbour had interrupted her thoughts, she had more or less decided that she
would go home and come back another day. But what could she do with the parcel?
It was too big to fit through the letter box, and she couldn’t just leave it
outside: the old woman would see it when she returned from the shops; or worse
still, someone would steal it.
In a panic, unable to think
straight, she thought about taking the parcel home with her and began walking
back to the Tube station. The only thing she could think of was that she had to
get away from the house. How many other neighbours had seen her standing
outside?
As she walked, she considered
just dumping the parcel somewhere, or putting it in someone’s dustbin; but she
knew it wouldn’t be that simple. The old woman would most probably mention to
Jane’s mother that she had handed it to Jane.
She looked down at the brown
package and started to read the name. The addressee was “Mrs. Miranda
Forester”.
What? It doesn’t make sense.
She stopped walking and shook
her head. Could it be possible that her real parents had married and were
living together in that house? No, it couldn’t be true. She didn’t want to
think about it. Her real mother and father, together. For how long? She felt
betrayed. They had abandoned her. She meant nothing to them. It wasn’t
possible.
This must be a different Miranda.
She walked back towards number
twenty-seven and opened the front gate. Her arms were shaking so much that she
was afraid she would drop the parcel, and hoped there was nothing breakable
inside. Before she reached the front door, it opened. Jane Forester stepped out
and looked at her suspiciously.
‘Hello,’ said Alice, blushing,
aware that Jane must have seen her through the window. She wondered how long
she had been looking at her.
‘Hello,’ said Jane, frowning,
‘what are you doing here?’
‘I... I...’ said Alice. Her mind
went blank.
‘Well?’ asked Jane.
Alice noticed that Jane still
had the plaster cast on her right arm. She shuffled her feet, trying to think
of an answer for Jane. She couldn’t tell her why she’d come. She remembered her
father’s harsh words on the telephone and how he did not want Jane to know
anything about her. ‘Um, I just...’ Alice shrugged her shoulders and started to
turn around.
‘Excuse me!’ Jane’s voice was
suddenly louder.
Startled, Alice turned back
around to face her and saw that her features were now twisted into a grimace.
‘It’s to do with what you said
at the party, isn’t it?’ asked Jane, her tone of voice seemed a little calmer
now, although her eyes were still boring a hole into Alice.
‘Y... y... yes,’ Alice
stuttered.
‘What you said about my dad
being married before... to your mum—it’s been bothering me. You must have had
some reason to suspect... Well, I mean, do you have any proof of what you’re
saying?’
Alice’s mouth fell open. Could
she tell her? ‘Only what my mum has told me,’ she said, cautiously. She could
almost hear her father screaming at her not to tell Jane, but then something
switched inside her.
Why should I protect him? I don’t owe him anything.
She remembered she had the photograph of her dad in her bag; she put it in
there that morning—she didn’t know why, except that when she’d seen it again,
and seen his smiling face, it made her wonder how he could have changed so
completely. She was bringing the photograph with her in case the opportunity
arose for her to show it to him; thinking that perhaps the image would help to
remind him that he had once loved her.
Reaching into her bag, she
fished it out. ‘I have this. That’s me with my dad,’ she said, holding out the
photograph towards Jane.
Jane took the photograph and her
eyes widened. ‘Um...’ she said, ‘th... that’s my dad.’ She handed the
photograph back to Alice, and then stared at her, open-mouthed.
Alice began to feel slightly
guilty, and looked down to avoid Jane’s eyes. It was only then that she
remembered she was still holding the package that the old woman had given her.
‘Oh,’ she said, holding it out towards Jane. ‘I met your neighbour, the old
woman. She thought I was you, so she gave me this for your mum.’
Jane took the parcel in her left
hand, and cradled it under her arm. ‘Oh, Mrs. Hutchins, she’s a bit
short-sighted!’ Jane giggled nervously. ‘Thank you,’ she said, looking at the
parcel. Then, she continued to stare at Alice.
‘Well, I’d better be off,’ said
Alice.
‘But... why did you come? You
must have wanted to see my dad,’ said Jane.
‘I don’t know. I don’t...’
‘He’s not in at the moment,’
said Jane. ‘You could come back this evening; he’s usually home at about seven
o’clock. Or he’s home at weekends. Tomorrow or Sunday.’ Although she appeared
slightly dazed and confused, Jane was being helpful, and Alice began to feel
more at ease.