‘Scott, please, don’t do this. You know you have to leave.’
Suddenly he is a Challey again, his face angry and scornful. ‘It’s
my house, if you’ve got a problem, then you go. Because I’m going nowhere.’
‘OK,’ I say. ‘OK. I’ll take the girls and we’ll go to London. We’ll stay with my parents.’ I start to formulate the plan for the next few weeks. I’d rather not, I know my parents won’t make it till the end of the first evening there without telling me ‘we told you so’ about my life choices, it’ll be hell, but at least the girls will be OK. At least I’ll have space to think.
‘You’re not taking my children anywhere,’ he spits.
‘Try and stop me,’ I reply.
Another change. ‘Tami,’ soft, reasonable, ‘it’s not as bad as you’re making out. I’ll get help. I’ve already broken it off with … with
her
. I’ll get help for my porn habit. I’ll get better. But I can’t do that without you and the girls. I can’t do it if I leave. I need to know that you’ll still be here for me at the end of it. What would be the point otherwise? I need you to be there for me.’
‘You’ll always be the girls’ father. They’ll always need you in their lives.’
‘What about you?’ he asks. ‘Will you always need me? Will I always be in your life?’
‘We’re always going to be parents,’ I say. ‘We still have to bring up the girls together.’
He shakes his head, the tears coming back. ‘Don’t talk like that’s all we’ll ever be to each other.’
I say nothing. I can’t tell him that we’ll ever be together again because right now, we can’t. I can’t see how I’m going to ever be with him again.
He crumples completely, his knees giving way, leaving him in a heap on the floor. ‘Don’t send me away. Please don’t do this to me. I love you. And I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Please don’t send me away because I didn’t think. I never meant to hurt you.’
Before all this started, before Scott and I became lovers, we used to sit in my bedsit, watching television or videos and eating crisps. And talking. We talked for hours about nothing, creating
a friendship from our words. I don’t know when it became possible for him to do all the things he’s done and I don’t know when it became possible for me to watch him cry and not reach out to soothe him. But that is what is happening. I wonder what the Tamia of then would say to the Tamia I am today if I told her where I was, where she would one day be.
‘I’m going,’ he says to me. Two bags packed, a suit bag draped over the top of the bag that is resting high on his shoulder. He used to carry his schoolbag like that, the memory almost makes me smile. ‘I, erm, I’m going to change,’ he says to my nod. ‘I’m going to be worthy of you again. I promise. I’m going to be a better father and I’m going to be the man I used to be. Do you understand? I’m going to win you back.’
‘Do it for yourself,’ I say quietly. ‘OK?’ I add, softening my voice because it sounds as if I don’t care. As if this is easy and I have removed myself from his orbit in one easy step. ‘Do it for yourself.’
Our eyes meet, and I feel the guillotine fall between us. Severed. Apart. I will never look at him in the same way again. He inhales to speak, and I raise my hand in a stop gesture and shake my head. I don’t want to hear those words again. A thousand ‘sorrys’ will not change this. A million ‘I never meant to hurt yous’ will not undo this place we are at. One ‘I love you’ will not alter the damage in our hearts.
‘I’ll see you, Scott,’ I say.
‘I’ll see you, TB.’
I lower my gaze as I nod, tears collecting on my eyelashes. We used to say that at the end of the holidays, when he was heading back to college. When I knew I’d miss him because he was one of those friends I didn’t really think about, didn’t hear from, and when he wasn’t there it was no big deal, but in the holidays we were inseparable.
I wonder what the Scott of then would say to me if I told him what had happened. I wonder if he’d fix me with his gaze, steady
and certain and strong? I wonder if his face would frown as he listened and then would curl up into a smile as he told me I was off my rocker? That he would never do those things, and I would never have allowed things to get so bad.
The front door closing is an explosion that happens deep in my chest.
I want to run after him and tell him to come back, that we’ll work it out, that everything will be all right. And that’s the reason why he has to go away.
‘Hi Fleur, it’s Tami Challey. I hope you’re doing OK, all things considered. I’m actually ringing to apologise to you. I didn’t tell you the entire truth about what happened with your mother and my husband. I thought they’d had an affair because the other story was just too awful to contemplate. Basically, my husband was arrested for assaulting your mother. That was very hard for me to accept so I threw myself into believing they had an affair. I didn’t tell you the whole truth and that was a terrible and cowardly thing to do because I was trying to protect myself. Which isn’t at all fair on you when you already have so much to deal with.
‘My husband was also questioned in connection with your mother’s death but he has an alibi. I’m going to be questioned, too, but I don’t know what they’re going to ask or even why they want to talk to me when they know Scott is innocent. Unless they think I’m somehow involved in her death … God, I’m just rambling now.
‘The point is, I’m sorry. I got the impression that your life has been lived with people not telling you the truth about everything and I shouldn’t have done that to you. Fear makes you do stupid things. I really hope you’re doing OK. Let me know if you need anything or even if you just want to chat. Bye.’
That’s the thing about Mrs C, she makes it hard to hate her. Really hard. I didn’t really hate her, I did feel betrayed, though. I couldn’t understand why she didn’t tell me everything until now.
I listen to the message again.
If we were in a film, it’d turn out that she did it all along. Seeing as we’re not in a film but in, like, real life, I don’t think it’s going
to pan out like that. Or maybe it will, who knows. The point is, she’s apologised and ’fessed up in the end. And she seemed to know that I’d been hearing half-truths all my life and wanted the truth.
I like her. She’s the person who’s come closest to the idea of what a mum should be. But, still, she stayed with a man who attacked my real mother. I don’t think it’d be wise to trust her completely, or at all.
I’m still here in Brighton. So is Noah. He works from wherever he has his computer because he’s a consultant and travels a lot so can be based anywhere. We’ve moved out of my B&B to a slightly nicer boutique hotel because we wanted more space and much better Wi-Fi for Noah.
He’s sitting by the window at the table where we had breakfast, concentrating on his laptop, papers spread around him on the table and the floor so it looks likes large, rectangular snowflakes have fallen on him. It’s all organised, apparently, and the way he scratches his head, frowns and then searches for a good few minutes for something is just all part of the way he works. It’s
nothing
to do with not having organised himself properly.
I smile and go back to painting the toenails of my left foot in rainbow colours. The little toe is red, the next one is orange, the next one is going to be yellow, the next one will be green, my big toe will be blue. Why? Why not? I’m thinking of getting a tattoo done, too – something that starts on my foot and goes up my ankle. Why? Why not?
The sense of peace I feel not having to go back to London just yet is so comforting. Dad’s been calling quite a lot and I’ve only answered half his calls. I’m not being nasty, it’s hearing the desperation in his voice, every time it churns it all up again and the guilt starts and I feel like the worst daughter in the world.
Eight years ago
‘Are you sure, Fleur, you want to do this?’ Dad said to me.
‘Yes, Daddy, it’ll be fun.’
‘I’m not sure it’s safe,’ he said.
We were the last ones at the coach pick-up point, of course. He’d been saying this all morning as I finished packing for the four-day trip to Spurton Hall in Wales. I would be away for four whole days. Four days. I couldn’t imagine it properly. I’d be away from Dad and he couldn’t tell me what to do.
‘Daddy, it’ll be fine.’ After a struggle, I managed to get the case out of his hand. ‘I’ll call you every night and I’ll make sure I go to bed really early.’
Dad had only said yes to this because my form tutor, Miss Devendis, and the headmaster, Mr Ratchford, had told him that I wasn’t mixing well with the other kids. ‘Fleur’s work is excellent, but she isn’t developing social skills as well as the other pupils because she doesn’t seem to participate as much with the other children.’ After that meeting I’d been allowed to join the after-school gymnastics club, and now I was allowed to go on this trip.
I hadn’t really thought it would happen. Dad said we couldn’t afford it first of all, then he changed his mind and said it might be OK. And now we were here. I knew he could change his mind any second and I wouldn’t be able to go, but we were here at least, that was something.
‘Fleur, I’m so looking forward to you being on this trip,’ Miss Devendis said, coming over and taking my bag off me. That was it, I had to go because now Miss Devendis had the bag, Dad would never be so ‘rude’ as to take it back.
I beamed at her, she knew what my dad was like, I think. I wondered if her dad had been the same.
‘Fleur, you be a good girl, now, and do everything your teachers tell you,’ Dad said, putting his hand on each of my shoulders.
‘I will, Dad, don’t you worry.’ I threw my arms around him and suddenly didn’t want to let go. I didn’t want to be away from my dad, actually, what if I came back and he wasn’t there? What if he left like she had left and I didn’t get to see him for ages and ages? What would happen to me then?
‘Come on now, Fleur, you should be going,’ Dad said, untangling me from him. He was embarrassed in front of Miss Devendis.
I waved and waved and waved at him from the window of the bus and had to hide my face so others couldn’t see that I was crying. Everyone else seemed so happy to be away from their parents and I had been, too. But I don’t think anyone else’s mother had gone, which meant their dad could do exactly the same thing and you’d never know the reason why.
‘Papa Don’t Preach’ starts on my mobile phone. It’s Dad’s ringtone and this is the fifteenth time it’s sounded off this morning – and it’s not even lunchtime. Noah looks at my mobile and then at me and then goes back to his work. He knows things are complicated with Dad right now – he wants me to come home, which is why most of his calls go to voicemail – but Noah would never comment. Unless I asked him to, in which case I’m sure he’d give me his opinion. Which is maybe why I haven’t asked for it. Don’t ask, don’t tell.
Eight years ago
‘Quick, run!’
I didn’t stand a chance. I was so not used to doing things like this. Earlier on a few of the boys had snuck into our dorm, and Raymond Rheine had sat on my bed. I really liked Raymond Rheine and he used to stare at me a lot so I think he liked me. He asked me what football team I supported and I’d said, ‘Arsenal, of course.’ And he said, ‘I support Liverpool.’
And I shrugged and said, ‘Never mind,’ and he had laughed and said, ‘That’s what my older brother says. He supports Manchester United.’ Then, I swear, I had no idea he was going to do it, he kissed me on the mouth. I sat really still and frowned at him because it’d been so quick I didn’t really get a chance to see if I liked it or not. So I did it to him, just as quickly, and it was nice, it was strange
but nice. I wanted to do it again but then his friends were saying they’d found a way outside and we should all go out and have a cigarette.
‘Are you coming, Fleur?’ he asked me.
I didn’t really want to go because I knew we could all get in trouble. But I did want to kiss Raymond again so I said yes and we climbed out of the back window of the dorm and went around to the back of the house. And people started smoking and passing cigarettes around until it got to me. That’s when the trouble started and someone heard a teacher, and someone hissed, ‘Quick, run!’ but I was too late, too shocked. Suddenly the Deputy Head and Miss Devendis were standing in front of me and I was holding a cigarette I had only just put in my mouth.
‘Please don’t call my dad,’ I sobbed as we were standing in the middle of the office. ‘Please, please.’
‘We have no choice, Fleur,’ Miss Devendis said. ‘You are the last person we expected this of, I’m so disappointed in you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I sobbed.
‘Who else was there?’ Mr Marmaduke, the deputy head, said. ‘If you tell us that, we won’t be so hard on you.’
There was no way I was grassing on anyone. My life wouldn’t be worth living for one. And it wasn’t cool to tell on your mates.
‘Please don’t tell my dad.’
‘We have to. We have to inform your parents of these sort of things so they can punish you as they see fit.’
Parents. They had to inform my parents.
‘Can you ring my mum then?’ I said. ‘They’re divorced, but it’ll be better if Dad finds out from her.’
‘Do you want to have dinner in town tonight?’ Noah asks me. He looks up from his screen at me.
It’s a bit weird thinking about the first boy I ever kissed when the last boy I’ve kissed is sitting there across the room.
I nod at him. He’s so different to Raymond. But that feeling in your stomach doesn’t go away when you like someone, does it? It might over time, but it’s that same feeling now as it was then. Sort of like you feel sick and you can’t settle but in a good way.
‘That’s great. So you have to choose where we’re going since I decided we’re going out.’
I narrow my eyes at him, talk about your rookie mistake.
‘What?’ he says innocently, shrugging his shoulders. ‘You know the rules, babe, one person decides what we’re doing for dinner, the other picks.’
‘I get all the best jobs,’ I say with my eyes still narrowed.
Eight years ago
They called her that night and at six o’clock the next morning she was there. She went in and spoke to them for ages without me in the room, and then she sat next to me and listened as they told me it wasn’t going to go on my record, but they were disappointed in me and they were sending me home with my mother. I don’t know what she said to them, but it wasn’t going to be a permanent problem so Dad wouldn’t be able to bring it up all the time. He was never going to let me out of his sight again anyway, there was nothing I could do about that.