The Daughter

by Michelle Frances

  Her insides started to quiver with humiliation, but she forced herself to confront him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you’re—’ He stopped abruptly, having been sharply nudged in the ribs by Audrey. ‘What I mean is, school was overtaken by something else, wa’n’t it?’ He laughed, pretending to make light of his comment. ‘And it’s not like you must get a lot of thinking time. Not now you have your hands full.’

  ‘I can still have an opinion.’

  He looked at her dismissively, then irritatedly, as if she’d completely failed to get his point.

  ‘I think it’s a bit different, don’t you?’ And he didn’t wait for an answer, but instead got up and challenged Steve with a hearty slap on the back to a game of pool at the table that was under the shade at the back of the seating area.

  ‘Well, if you’ll excuse us, we’re heading for the spa pool,’ said Audrey. She got up and Debbie followed suit. Kate had already seen the sign for the spa pool. It was for over-18s only. With a polite nod, they left and, despite disliking both women intensely and not wanting for a nanosecond to join them, Kate felt like the outsider yet again.

  Kate couldn’t afford to eat out much at all, but she’d promised Becky that she’d take her to a restaurant on their first night. They drove into the small town, parked up and wandered along the high street until they came to a gourmet burger restaurant. It looked hip, fun – both things that Kate craved on a regular basis – and the clientele she could see in the window were all young. It seemed like a haven, a place where she could get a taste of what she frequently missed out on.

  They walked in the door and were immediately seated by a cute-looking man of a similar age to Kate. He smiled at her as he held out her chair and she found herself blushing uncontrollably. She watched him as he walked away, wondering who he was and slipping into a fantasy of how, maybe, she might just meet the man of her dreams on this very holiday!

  Becky was looking around the room, beaming.

  ‘Do you like it here?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Mummy, please can I be a cafe slave when I grow up? Please?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A cafe slave.’

  Kate looked around, bemused. ‘Do you mean the waiters?’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘The people serving the food?’

  ‘Yes, the servants. Please, Mummy?’

  Kate laughed, despite the tightness in her chest. Disappointment. Panic. Please, God, she thought, don’t let her screw up her life like I have. She knew better than to burst Becky’s bubble. ‘If you really want to. But I think you’ll probably want to do something else really exciting instead.’

  ‘This is really exciting,’ said Becky, in awe, as a waitress approached their table.

  ‘So, what’s it to be?’ Kate said to Becky. ‘Fuzzy juice? Burger? Chips?’

  Becky nodded, unable to fully process the myriad of treats all at once. ‘I love you, Mummy,’ she declared earnestly, ‘and not just because of the chips.’

  They gave their order while Becky gazed reverently at the waitress taking it, then, just as their drinks arrived, Kate heard a voice say her name. She turned and recognized a face, at least it had hints of its past, but was now framed by a sophisticated, sleek white-blonde bob. Lara Tomlinson. Behind Lara was a very attractive man, full of self-importance, with a windswept boy-band hair style. He looked at Kate with a vague interest, which was extinguished when he saw Becky.

  ‘It is you,’ exclaimed Lara, surprised.

  ‘Hi,’ said Kate, self-consciously. She hadn’t seen Lara for years. Lara had gone on to the well-respected grammar school, and then, Kate had heard, to university.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked Lara.

  Kate shrugged. ‘Eating,’ she joked. Then, when it fell flat: ‘We’re here on holiday.’

  ‘Nice,’ said Lara. She stared across at the other side of the table, as if she were examining a strange creature in a zoo. ‘Is that Becky?’

  Kate felt a twinge of annoyance. ‘Yes.’

  ‘She’s grown.’

  ‘Babies do.’ She paused. ‘So, what about you?’

  Lara tilted her head quizzically as if she didn’t understand.

  Her question seemed perfectly simple to Kate and she resented Lara’s egotistical response, her fake lack of understanding just so she could be asked more about herself. ‘What are you doing here?’ Kate elaborated.

  ‘Staying over at Barney’s parents’ place. They’ve got a house right on the estuary. Awesome view from the bedroom.’ She turned and glanced at Barney and they shared a smug, private smile. Kate had to wait for them to stop, for Lara to revert her attention back to her. While she was waiting, she saw the guy who’d seated them, the potential ‘love of her life’, flirt with two suntanned girls in short skirts. They looked carefree. Childless.

  ‘They’re not there at the moment so we’re taking a long weekend. Bit of a celebration.’ Lara paused for effect. ‘I’m moving out to New York next week. Got a new job with the bank. Don’t know if you heard? I went into banking after graduation.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Anyways,’ continued Lara, ‘they’ve given me a position in their New York office.’

  A stab of envy. Lara had the sort of freedom she couldn’t begin to imagine.

  ‘It’s in the World Trade Centre,’ continued Lara, ‘you know, the twin tow—’

  ‘I know what it is,’ interrupted Kate, two red spots appearing at the tops of her cheeks. I’m not stupid.

  ‘Course,’ said Lara. ‘So, how about you? Still at the garden centre?’

  ‘No.’ She was, in fact, working in a supermarket, but had no intention of saying this to Lara.

  ‘Oh, right. Did you end up going back to school then?’

  Kate’s face burned. She could see Becky looking at her, troubled that her mother was clearly upset. Kate forced a smile. ‘Didn’t find the time.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Lara. ‘Shame.’

  Kate willed her to go away, couldn’t stand the sight of her a moment longer. There was an awkward silence. Lara looked around for inspiration, and her eyes settled on her boyfriend. ‘Barney’s heading to New York, too. We met at work,’ she explained. ‘He’s joining me in October.’ She turned to him and said teasingly: ‘We’ll be the British version of Carrie Bradshaw and Mr Big.’

  ‘Are you a cafe slave?’ asked Becky, hopefully.

  Lara turned, surprised, as if she’d forgotten Becky was there. ‘What?’ But her perplexed frown froze Becky into silence. Lara looked at Kate, suddenly keen to go. ‘Right, well, have a great holiday.’

  Kate spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Thanks. Good luck with the job.’

  Lara nodded and then she and Barney turned away.

  ‘Who’s that lady?’ asked Becky, as Lara led her boyfriend to the bar area, not the section by the restaurant tables, but around the back, out of sight. In twenty minutes’ time Kate would see her slip past again, out the door, without even looking back at her old friend.

  ‘Someone I used to know,’ said Kate, suddenly feeling a sense of loss for a life she’d never had.

  ‘Oh.’

  Becky was watching her carefully, a look of consternation on her face, and Kate forced a smile. ‘Come on, shall we eat our chips?’

  As Kate drove Becky back to the campsite, the dreaded new-car smell began to inveigle its way into Becky’s system again.

  ‘I feel sickie, Mummy,’ she said.

  Kate glanced anxiously backwards. ‘It’s only two minutes, Becky. Can you hold on?’

  Becky nodded bravely, and Kate continued driving but, just as she turned off the main road into the campsite, she heard the sound of retching. Quickly, she pulled over to the side of the road. She leapt out of the car and went to Becky’s door, opening it to help her daughter, dreading the mess in the hire car she was responsible for. To her amazement, the car was clean, and Becky was looking at her wide-eyed, her mouth open and chin pushed forward. Ka
te quickly unbuckled her and led her out of the car to the verge, whereby Becky tipped her mouth forward and the vomit fell onto the grass at the side of the path.

  ‘Well done!’ said Kate, rubbing her back. ‘You’re so good. I can’t believe it didn’t go in the car!’

  Becky looked proud. ‘I made a cup, Mummy, like this,’ she said and demonstrated the way she’d pushed her jaw forward. ‘And now,’ she said delightedly, looking at the sick she’d tipped onto the ground, ‘it’s a teapot!’

  Kate felt a rush of love for her and she burst out laughing, until tears were streaming down her face.

  ‘You’re the best, Becky.’ She enveloped her in a hug, burying her face in her hair and smelling its summer scent. ‘So clever.’

  ‘You’re clever too, Mummy,’ said Becky, nodding earnestly, scouring Kate’s eyes to make sure her mum understood the reassurance she was pressing on her. ‘I didn’t like that lady in the cafe.’

  Kate felt her heart pinch. It was amazing what children picked up on. She held Becky tighter and for a split second all she could think about was what a failure she was, how her daughter deserved better. She pushed the thoughts away and looked Becky in the eye. ‘I’m having the best holiday ever.’

  ‘Me too, Mum!’

  A week after they returned, Kate got back from work to find a letter lying on the doormat. With a mix of terror and excitement she recognized the handwriting on the envelope as her mother’s. Her heart beat furiously in a moment of terrible optimism. With trembling hands, she opened it. Inside was a pamphlet. Frowning, she couldn’t work out what it was at first and then, in horror, she dropped it. It fell onto the floor with a soft pap.

  Her mother had sent her a funeral service. And on the front was her father’s name.

  Kate was trying to breathe but the pain in her chest was constricting her lungs.

  She was completely on her own now. She’d always secretly hoped she’d see her dad again. That one day, there might be a family reconciliation, her mother would mellow as she, Kate, became an adult. She realized all that had been a fantasy.

  Later, when she’d picked Becky up from Iris’s and was putting her in the bath, she looked at her daughter’s soft hands, the baby fat almost disappeared, as she poured water from an old plastic cup over her head to ‘make a waterfall’ and knew she’d never ever desert her, no matter what she did. She didn’t need her parents, nor a useless boyfriend – all she needed was Becky.

  SEVENTEEN

  2018

  Tim met her at Victoria station and they walked hand in hand towards Belgravia.

  ‘I got to both the other houses on the list,’ said Kate. ‘Met with Sunita and Ben Jones, who have two small children. She’s had breast cancer but is clear now. Then at the last address I met another lady – Beryl Hart.’

  ‘She OK?’ asked Tim.

  ‘Perfectly fine.’

  ‘Thank God!’

  ‘But her husband died last year. Yes,’ she said, before he could ask, ‘from cancer.’

  ‘Flipping heck! All those people in one village? Seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?’

  ‘I know. I looked up the population. It’s only just a thousand.’

  ‘So, what . . . is the water poisoned or something?’

  Kate shook her head, flummoxed. ‘Can’t be.’

  ‘And do they all know? About each other?’

  ‘I don’t think so, not the full picture, anyway. Some are aware of one or two ill people but seem to think it’s a coincidence. They’re just caught up in their own lives, trying to get well. Trying to keep things juggling. More than one have had to give up jobs because of illness, or because they need to look after their sick children. I just have this feeling . . . I don’t think Becky was doing an article on what it was like to move from the big smoke to the country. Or at least, not the idyllic version of rural life as we were led to believe.’ She looked up. ‘We’re here.’

  They’d made it to the restaurant Greg had picked out. It was quietly expensive: waves of smooth taupe linen, soft lighting, exquisite wooden picture carvings of rice paddies on the walls.

  ‘Oh, God, you didn’t tell me it was oriental,’ said Tim quietly as they followed the maître d’ to the table.

  ‘Is that a problem?’ whispered Kate. ‘Do you not like the food?’

  ‘It’s not the food, it’s the chopsticks. I can’t use them.’

  ‘So? Ask for a fork.’

  ‘I’ll look like a right wally.’

  ‘No one will mind.’

  ‘I’m not showing you up.’

  ‘Kate!’ exclaimed Greg, getting up from his chair as they approached. He clasped her hand warmly and then turned to Tim. Kate introduced them.

  ‘Delighted to meet you,’ said Greg, shaking Tim’s hand.

  As they sat down, Greg tapped the wine menu. ‘Do both of you like champagne? I thought it would be nice to have a toast, a moment to mark what Kate has achieved.’

  Kate had never actually tried champagne, not the real stuff, and she suspected this restaurant only did the real stuff. She thought it probably wasn’t something Tim would drink often either but they both nodded, and Greg leaned back and raised a finger towards the bartender, who seemed to automatically know exactly what he wanted as, very soon afterwards, a silver ice bucket on a stand was brought over and a cork was popped.

  ‘To Kate,’ said Greg simply, and they all three touched glasses.

  Next was the business of food, and Kate opened the menu and blinked at the prices. She could sense Tim doing the same. Her lifelong thrifty guilt kicked in and she found herself ordering the cheapest thing listed.

  Maybe Greg could sense her unsettled mood as, straight after they’d ordered, he picked up a black file that was on the seat next to him and extracted some papers. ‘There’s something I want you to see.’

  He laid an artist’s impression of the inside of a lorry carefully on the table in front of her.

  ‘This is the passenger door of a lorry as standard, and this –’ he placed another drawing over the top – ‘is the passenger door with a vision panel fitted to the lower section. You can see the cyclist. Each of our lorries is going to be refitted. The first few will be done next month.’

  Kate looked at the drawings. The extra window lower down on the passenger door was so simple and yet so effective. It gave a complete view of anything alongside the lorry. If only it had been done just over a year ago. ‘Thank you, Greg. I didn’t expect it to be so quick . . . I expected a battle.’

  He smiled. ‘No battle. There was one other thing I wanted to ask you.’ He paused nervously. ‘I was thinking about whether you would like us to set up a bursary. In Becky’s name. We’d like to support one aspiring journalist every year, perhaps to help them through university or other training or even just give someone the means to live in London as they get their foot on the ladder. I know a lot of internships these days barely pay anything; in fact, sometimes, I think you have to pay the newspaper! I was wondering if you would like to help run it. Decide who the recipient should be every year.’

  Kate kept silent.

  ‘If I’ve overstepped the mark—’

  ‘No, it’s not that. I think it’s a great idea. I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.’ Overwhelmed, Kate turned to Tim who squeezed her hand under the table.

  ‘She – we – always struggled for her to stay on her university course. Money was tight. It would mean a lot to Becky that someone else was getting a chance.’ Kate smiled. ‘She would have written it up: an underdog story.’

  ‘Was that the kind of journalism she was interested in?’ asked Greg, as their food arrived.

  ‘Yes. Investigative, really. She hated any kind of unfairness. Injustice.’

  ‘Investigative. That’s good. So, did she work on local stories? National? I hope you don’t mind talking about this,’ he added quickly.

  ‘No, it’s fine. She did both, really. Well, I think she did. She was working on something big�
��’

  Kate was interrupted by a loud exclamation from Tim, who had a pile of noodles in his lap and his chopsticks attacking his fingers.

  ‘I’m a bit of a novice.’ He shrugged, embarrassed, picking his dinner off his crotch.

  Greg nodded at the waitress and a fork was subtly delivered in seconds. Tim looked at it for a moment and then picked it up. ‘Never seen the point of the twigs, as you can’t stab –’ he speared a piece of beef – ‘your food.’

  He looked at Kate, who had deftly manoeuvred up a mouthful of rice. She shrugged. ‘I used to work in a Thai restaurant.’

  ‘So, what do you do, Tim?’ asked Greg.

  ‘I’m a bus driver.’

  ‘I’ve always wondered about you bus drivers. Whether you’re secret petrol heads. What do you drive?’

  ‘A bus,’ said Tim, flatly.

  Greg’s friendly smile faltered.

  Tim got a pang of guilt and added: ‘How about you? What do you drive?’

  ‘Black Jaguar XJ saloon.’

  ‘Ever take the bus?’

  ‘Afraid not.’

  ‘Didn’t think so.’

  Tim was smiling but Kate could sense his irritation. She nudged his foot under the table.

  ‘Bet you get a lot of driver training for a job like that,’ said Greg.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If you ever want a change, I could do with people like you on our crew.’

  A minuscule silence.

  ‘I’m fine as I am, thanks,’ said Tim.

  ‘Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind. Here, let me give you this.’ Greg fished in his jacket pocket and put a business card on the table. Kate noticed that Tim took it about three seconds later than would be polite.

  ‘OK,’ said Greg, picking up the menu. ‘Anyone for dessert?’

  ‘He was just being nice. Friendly,’ said Kate as they lay in bed that night. She frowned – the lamplight seemed so bright – and closed her eyes to block it out.

  ‘He was being patronizing. “I could do with people like you,”’ Tim mimicked. ‘He doesn’t even know me. I could be a kamikaze racing driver for all he knows. Turning my wheel with a pair of chopsticks.’