She now had an overwhelming
desire to see a photograph of her father. In the past, she had not given much
thought to him, perhaps because of the negative way he had been portrayed by
her mother; a man who had walked out on his family, deserting his only child
and never trying to contact her. Alice had grown up only knowing Stephanie and
not overly concerned about not having her father around. Of course there were
the times when she would visit her friends’ houses and watch them interacting
with their fathers; at those times she had wondered what it would be like to
have a father at home. When she had argued with Stephanie over one thing or
another, she had sometimes wished she could leave her and go and stay with her
father. At other times she had almost had a fantasy image of what he was like,
and dreamed that one day she would meet him; but her thoughts of him had
flittered in and out of her mind never really leaving any lasting impression.
She had never seriously wanted to see a photograph of him, until now.
Just as she was turning on the
dishwasher, her mother appeared in the kitchen. ‘Okay, I’m ready. Oh, Alice,
thank you, but you didn’t have to tidy up, dear, I would have done it later.’
‘That’s okay; I wanted to do
it.’ Then she decided to jump straight in, rather than think about it and risk
losing her nerve: ‘Mum? Do you have any photos of my dad?’
The colour appeared to wash out
of Stephanie’s face. She sat down, as if to prevent herself from fainting.
‘You’ve never asked to see photographs of your dad before,’ she said.
Alice felt uncomfortable. ‘Um...
I know. But, I just realised, when I saw those old pictures; well,’ Alice
pointed at the photographs displayed in the cabinet above the dishwasher, ‘I
realised that I haven’t seen any pictures of him... I don’t know what he looks
like.’ She paused.
Stephanie’s gaze fixed on the
photographs in the cabinet. The colour had returned to her face now, but she
was gradually turning redder and redder. Alice was not sure if she was
embarrassed or angry.
Alice coughed to try to get her
mother’s attention. Then she continued. ‘The other day, in the café, your
friend, Rita, she said I look like my dad.’
Stephanie sighed deeply and
stood up. ‘I don’t have any photos of him.’ There was an apologetic tone to her
voice, but then she looked directly at her daughter and said: ‘I didn’t really
want to look at any photos of him when he left us. Can you blame me?’ Her
cheeks were still very red.
Alice looked away. ‘I suppose
not,’ she muttered, disappointed. Unsure whether she should continue, she
decided to take the risk: ‘Do I look like him?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose so. Yes,
okay, you do,’ said her mother, begrudgingly.
Looking at her mother’s face,
she saw that her colour had returned to normal. Perhaps she would be okay to
talk some more about him. Alice was curious. Now that she had started to talk
about him she felt a need to find out as much as she could; it was like
unwrapping a gift in a “pass-the-parcel” game—each answer unwrapped a further
truth and brought her closer to the mysterious man who was her father. ‘Why did
you split up? I mean, your friend seemed really surprised that you were
divorced. Why was she so surprised?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Alice, do we
really have to talk about this now? It’s not important.’ Stephanie sighed
again. ‘Let’s go out.’
‘But, Mum, wait!’ She felt a
longing in her heart to find out more, but her chance was slipping away, out of
her grasp.
Stephanie turned to face her.
‘It’s important to me. I need to
know about my dad.’
There was a look of anxiety in
her mother’s eyes. ‘It must be hard for you,’ she said, looking past Alice at
nothing in particular. Then she shook her head as if to rid it of painful
memories. ‘Look, just forget about him,’ she said quickly, smiling to hide any
other feelings. ‘He’s not part of our lives. He’s the one who decided to stay
away. I never tried to stop him seeing you, he just never made the effort. He
left us. He’s not worth worrying about. You’re an adult now, darling. You don’t
need him. We’re happy, aren’t we?’
‘Yes, but...’
‘You don’t need him,’ repeated
Stephanie, as if trying to convince her.
‘Lots of children try to find
their parents... It’s something I want to try—’
‘I don’t think you should,’ said
Stephanie, bluntly.
‘Why not? Is there something you
haven’t told me about him? Was he violent?’
Stephanie laughed. ‘No, nothing
like that.’
‘Well... I’m not being
disrespectful or anything, but just because you two didn’t get on, that’s no
reason for me not to know him... He’s my dad. He might want to know me, too.’
‘If he wanted to know you, he’d
have contacted you before now. He knows where we live. Please, darling, I just
don’t want you to disappoint yourself. He wanted a divorce so he could remarry;
he didn’t want us anymore. See how selfish he was? He’s stayed away for so
long.’
Alice began to think that her
mother might be right. The sad truth was that her father had never once even
thought of sending her a Christmas present or birthday card. He didn’t care.
She felt upset and disheartened. ‘Sorry, Mum, I shouldn’t have asked you about
him. Let’s go out and forget about this.’
Stephanie put a hand on Alice’s
shoulder. ‘I’m not trying to stop you, dear. You know that if I thought it was
a good idea for you to contact your father, I’d help you, really. I just don’t
think it is.’ She smiled and turned towards the door. Alice could not tell what
thoughts were going around her head, but she seemed positively relieved that
Alice had changed her mind.
They spent the day in Regent’s
Park and then had a meal in a restaurant beside the Thames. Despite the fine weather,
there was tension in the air between mother and daughter. Alice could tell that
her mother was feeling insecure about the fact that she was showing an interest
in finding her father. The afternoon had only reinforced Alice’s suspicion that
there was something she had not told her about him. This served to stir her
curiosity further. At the same time, she knew that any mention of her father
seemed to upset her mother, and that was something she did not want to do. She
felt trapped in an in-between place; wanting to know more about him, but not
wanting to destroy the relationship she had with her mother. As she made her
way to the doctor’s surgery for her appointment that afternoon, she felt
tearful.
***
Alice returned home at 4.30 p.m., after her visit to the
doctor. Dr. Small said he was unsure about what could be causing the pain in
her arm. He said he would refer her to the local hospital for some tests; she
would receive a date for the appointment in due course.
Sitting on the sofa in the
living room, her feet on the coffee table in front of her, Alice noticed
yesterday’s newspaper lying on the table. Her thoughts went back over the
events of the day. Feelings of guilt rose to the surface when she remembered
how her mother had seemed to be on the verge of tears for most of the day. If
she was going to look for her father, she knew she would have to do it on her
own.
Her heart felt heavy as she
recalled how her mother had inferred that she would probably end up
disappointed if she did look for him; he might not want to know her. But Alice
knew that was a risk she would have to take. She didn’t want to live her life
wondering “what if?”. All the coincidences surrounding the plane crash had
kick-started her curiosity. Was Jane Forester somehow related to her? Was she a
half-sister she had never met? Her father could have a whole other family.
Somehow, Alice had started to feel incomplete as soon as she had decided to try
to find him; it felt as if part of her background had been blotted out and it
was up to her to fill in the gaps. Her father was a part of her; if he hadn’t
existed she would never have been born. Part of her imagination that had rested
dormant for years had now begun to stir; she knew she would have to continue in
her journey to the end, no matter what the consequences.
***
That evening, Stephanie sat alone in her kitchen, eating
a bowl of spaghetti bolognese. Spread out in front of her on the table were the
last few photographs she had of Roger Forester. They were old, black and white,
and slightly faded. She stared at the photographs, scrutinising Roger’s smiling
face as he held Alice in his arms. Would others be able to see what she saw
behind the smile on his face? Was that why she did not want to show the
photographs to anyone else... even Alice? Stephanie could see that he was
faking the smile; but was that just something her mind had conjured up because
of everything that had passed between them? Was her imagination reflecting back
to her what she thought she knew when she looked at the photograph? Would
someone else just be able to see a smiling man, happy to be holding his tiny
daughter in his arms?
She felt insecure when she
thought about Alice’s new found interest in her father. She was twenty-one
years old, and up until now she had never really asked any questions about him.
Stephanie had always known that the day might come when Alice may want to know
more, but as the years had rolled by she had become more hopeful that perhaps
it would never happen. It had come as more of a shock to her than it should
have when Alice asked about Roger; after all, she did have the right to know
the truth about her father—but at what cost?
Her meal continued to grow cold
in the bowl in front of her as she contemplated the photographs and thoughts
about Roger swirled around her mind; thoughts that had been packed away in a
box, hidden in the depths of her memories, sealed tightly. As Alice grew up,
Stephanie became too complacent, she realised, imagining that she would never
have to think about the secrets locked away, buried deep where no one could
find them; but now she sensed that the box was like a ticking time bomb,
gathering dust, but nevertheless ticking away, and one day the time would come
for all to be revealed.
Standing up, she lifted her bowl
with the half-eaten pasta and placed it absent-mindedly in the sink. Her mind
wandered to a time long ago when Alice had asked about her father. She had only
been five years old at the time.
‘Mummy, all the other children at school have a daddy.
Why don’t I have one?’
Stephanie felt a lump in her
throat as she continued to get Alice dressed for school. Looking into her
daughter’s innocent eyes, she didn’t know what to say. She began tying the
child’s shoelaces, looking fixedly at the laces as if directing the reply to
them. ‘Well, darling, a daddy is just the same as a mummy really. It is just a
name for someone who looks after you.’ Stephanie smiled, and hoped that Alice
would not ask any further questions. ‘Come on, let’s go and have breakfast.’
She lifted Alice off the bed.
‘But, Mummy, why does
everyone else have a mummy and a daddy? Karen said I should have a daddy too.
She said maybe he died. Natalie’s daddy died. What does that mean, Mummy? Did
my daddy died?’ Alice’s forehead creased into a frown, her brown eyes waiting
for a reply.
‘No, your daddy... You don’t
have a daddy. You only have a mummy. Not everyone has a mummy and daddy. When
you’re older you’ll understand.’
Alice then saw her cat run up
the stairs to greet her and she began to play happily with the creature,
forgetting her questions, and leaving Stephanie to worry whether she had said
the right thing and what she should say the next time.
When Stephanie thought Alice was old enough to
understand, she explained that Roger had left them, telling her that their
relationship had broken down, they had grown apart and could no longer live
together. In a way, Stephanie preferred it that Roger had cut himself off from
them completely; it made things less complicated.
***
Stephanie emerged from Alice’s bedroom. It had taken
longer than usual to settle her to sleep, as Alice was teething and didn’t want
to be left alone. Eventually, after Stephanie read her a story, the child had
fallen asleep. As she stepped out of the bedroom, her head throbbing, she
wondered how long it would be before Alice started crying again; she prayed
that she would somehow sleep through the night tonight. For three nights now,
Alice had woken her up throughout the night and she had hardly been able to get
any rest.
Stephanie walked into her own
bedroom, ready to collapse onto the bed. Roger was packing a suitcase. ‘Roger?
What are you doing?’ In her groggy state of mind, she wondered if she was
dreaming. For the past couple of days it had been hard to tell if she was
asleep or awake half the time.
‘I’m leaving you,’ he said,
throwing the final items of clothing into the suitcase and slamming it shut.
She stood at the doorway, now
holding on to the door handle to steady herself. ‘What do you mean?’ she heard
herself say, but it was more of a mumble, and she could not be sure if she had
said it or thought it. He didn’t appear to have heard her.
‘Excuse me,’ he said gruffly,
as he approached the door. He then indicated with a gesture that he wanted her
to move away from the door so that he could leave.
‘Wait, what’s happened?’ she
asked, unable to believe that he was just leaving, without warning. Things had
not been going well between them; there had been a lot of rows over trivial
things, but she hadn’t expected this... Tears filled her eyes, threatening to
spill.
He stood up straight and
looked her in the eyes, his gaze was cold, unemotional. ‘Don’t pretend you
didn’t know this was coming. This marriage isn’t working. We both know that. We
hardly speak to each other—’