The Daughter

by Michelle Frances

  He wrestled with the cafetière and then poured them both extremely strong coffees.

  ‘Sugar?’ he asked, and Becky shook her head. He then added some for himself.

  ‘Three spoons?!’ exclaimed Becky.

  He blushed. ‘It’s a prop. For, er . . . extreme situations,’ he said and then blushed some more.

  There was a self-conscious moment between them, and Becky found herself going a little red too.

  They took their drinks back into the living room and Becky felt herself sinking blissfully into the new sofa. She stretched her socked feet out towards the flames, enjoying the sensation of playing at grown-up houses.

  ‘Nice sofa,’ she said, stoking the soft cover.

  He was looking at her strangely, almost with a sense of unease.

  ‘What’s up? Have I taken your seat or something?’

  ‘No! It’s fine,’ said Adam quickly, sitting next to her. ‘It’s woven chenille.’

  Becky giggled. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, I like it. Your mum has good taste.’

  The coffee, on the other hand, was disgusting.

  ‘Actually, I’ve got something in the fridge,’ remembered Adam, once they’d both politely coughed after the caffeine-attack in their throats. ‘It was a house-warming from Trixie. I’ve never wanted to drink it alone . . . Shall we?’

  Becky knew she’d had enough already and that he should probably save it to drink with Trixie, but what the hell. The coffee abandoned, the cork was popped, and the bubbles overflowed. Adam went to a CD player on the teak bookshelf. ‘What’s your thing?’ he asked, holding up half a dozen CDs.

  ‘Extensive collection,’ teased Becky.

  He peered at them. ‘I hate to say this, but I think Mum may have bought these too. Fancy any?’

  ‘Lucky dip?’

  He slotted in a CD and the opening bars to Fun’s ‘We Are Young’ started up. ‘Oh my God,’ said Becky, sitting up. ‘Spring 2012. Revising for my mock A Levels. This got me through.’ She started to sing, softly at first, feeling self-conscious. ‘Tonight. We are young . . .’

  And then he joined in: ‘We can burn brighter than the suuuuunnnn.’

  They fell about laughing. ‘All I wanted in life back then was to be cool enough to live in a teen movie and this was the perfect soundtrack,’ said Adam. ‘Listening to it made me feel like I could speak to girls.’

  ‘You’re doing all right,’ said Becky and he smiled bashfully. She watched as he took a drink. He held the glass between his fingers as if it were something incredibly fragile and his spectacles seemed to get in the way of the rim as he tipped it towards his face. She felt a pang of fondness.

  ‘You’ve got a great place. How long have you been here?’

  ‘Last September. Moved in when I got the job.’

  ‘So, what are your plans in this fabulous new job?’

  ‘Oh, you know, the usual. Work hard, get promoted.’

  It was off pat, almost dismissive.

  ‘Are you going to invent a ground-breaking new pesticide?’

  ‘Maybe . . . How about you? Going to break some big story?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Well, good luck to you,’ said Adam and he joined her again on the sofa and chinked her glass.

  ‘And you,’ pressed Becky, but he was sitting upright, looking at his fizz. She turned sideways to face him, tucking her feet under her legs. ‘We’re the lucky ones. Employed graduates. In industries we love.’

  Adam didn’t answer at first, just looked straight ahead. Then he turned to her. ‘Ever wonder if you made a mistake?’

  She looked at him in surprise.

  ‘You have all these big ideas,’ he said, ‘these ambitions. But the reality isn’t quite the same.’

  ‘What is it? The company?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Leave?’

  ‘Bit difficult. This flat. It’s got a big mortgage.’

  Becky was wide-eyed. ‘You own it?’

  ‘Well, no, the bank does. But, yes, I bought. Lucky, eh? How many twenty-one-year-olds can afford their own home?’

  ‘Not many.’

  ‘Exactly . . . My parents advised me to get on the property ladder. They put down the deposit but now I’m paying twelve hundred a month. I can’t leave my job, I need the money. And I don’t want to let them down.’

  He looked so downhearted that she leaned over and put her arm around his shoulders.

  ‘Hey, don’t listen to me,’ he said. ‘I’m just whinging. Like you say, I’m one of the lucky ones.’

  It would’ve been the moment to take her arm away, but it felt nice there, so she didn’t. ‘I know what you mean,’ she said, ‘about not letting them down. Mum brought me up alone. Went without so I could have stuff. This job I’m going for . . . I feel like I really need to get it. Show her it’s all been worthwhile.’

  ‘You will,’ said Adam firmly and he was looking at her with such intensity, such belief, that she leaned in and kissed him.

  He was so surprised, she began to think it had been a bad idea, but then he put both their glasses on the walnut side table cum magazine rack and kissed her back. Before long, they were pulling at each other’s clothes on the mocha rug and, for a brief moment, Becky worried it was still new (and not what his mother had intended) and was she really doing this, and wouldn’t it complicate things, but she didn’t stop.

  Afterwards they lay there in each other’s arms, the light from the fire flickering on their bodies, and she listened to his heart beating.

  ‘Adam?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Why do you want to leave?’

  He was quiet for so long she thought she’d annoyed him with her question.

  ‘I’m not so keen on their ethics.’

  She spoke softly. ‘In what way?’

  Another long pause. ‘I can’t say.’

  They were jolted apart by a loud buzzer sound. ‘Your taxi,’ said Adam and he went to the intercom and spoke to the driver. ‘She’ll be down in a minute.’

  Becky considered cancelling, continuing with the conversation, but the mood had been broken and she suddenly felt awkward in her nakedness. They both hastily pulled on clothes, and then it was time to say goodbye.

  ‘I had a great night,’ said Becky.

  ‘Me too.’

  They stood there, smiling self-consciously at each other, then the buzzer went again, making them jump.

  ‘Want to do it again?’ said Adam quickly.

  ‘That would be great.’

  He held her hand down the stairs and kissed her before she ran out into the sleet.

  She waved as the car began its journey through the icy black night. Then, as they turned the corner, she stared out of the window, not seeing anything, her mind full. One question burned away at her: what was Adam afraid of?

  THIRTY-THREE

  2018

  The heat from the day had lingered and the classroom was stuffy. Kate stifled a yawn as she took her seat. The long hours were taking their toll and more than once she’d lain on the sofa, reading through legal papers, only to have them slap her in the face as they jolted her awake. The more she read, the more she realized just how out of her depth she was but had got no further in figuring out how to keep her promises to Grace and the others.

  ‘Right,’ said Gloria, as she took her position at the head of the class. ‘A change to this evening’s lesson. We are not going to evaluate a range of contractual disputes, but instead I’ve managed to persuade Jill Pattinson to come and talk to you. Jill doesn’t normally do talks to students as she simply doesn’t have the time but let’s just say she owes me one, and I have, as a gift to you all, pulled a favour.’

  Kate appraised the new arrival. She was tall with cropped grey hair and as skinny as a beanpole. Her outfit was equally formidable: a tailored grey jacket and pencil skirt, and an incongruous pair of patent purple heels, which gave her a sense of fu
n – or attitude. Kate couldn’t quite decide which.

  ‘Jill is a solicitor who’s worked in civil litigation for over thirty years. She’s going to outline a couple of her more significant cases, notably those in the area of negligence. Please listen and take notes as there will be questions on them next week.’

  Kate sat up, her tiredness abating. These cases may well have aspects that were relevant to what she was trying to achieve. As she listened to Jill speak about what had happened to her clients and the passion with which she fought to win them compensation, she became inspired by her sense of natural justice, and her determination to fight until the end. As Jill brought her talk to a close, Kate suddenly got an idea. It was mad, presumptuous, but she didn’t stop to question it.

  As soon as class was over, Kate clutched her things in her arms and ran out into the corridor, but Jill had already left and was outside, walking back to her car.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Kate called, dropping her notepad, but Jill turned, so she didn’t stop and pick it up, just ran up to her. ‘My name’s Kate Ellis. I’m a student . . .’

  ‘Yes, I saw,’ said Jill, a touch impatiently, thought Kate.

  She got to the point. ‘I hope you don’t mind me approaching you like this, but I was wondering if I could ask you for some advice.’

  Jill checked her watch. ‘I really do have to be somewhere . . .’

  ‘I’ll be quick. I’m trying to put together a case on behalf of a group of people, as their litigation friend, only, I think I may have bitten off more than I can chew, and I could, to put it simply, use some help. They could use some help.’

  The expression on Jill’s face was not a welcoming one.

  ‘It’s a big case. The fee . . . they couldn’t pay now but I think as claimants they could win a lot of money . . .’

  ‘And you are qualified to know this how?’

  Kate was taken aback. This was not the passionate, charming woman who’d just been speaking to them all in class.

  ‘If you had a moment – not now, I realize you’re busy,’ said Kate quickly, ‘but at some point, perhaps I could come and see you, explain more.’

  Jill was getting in her car, a low silver Mercedes. ‘I’m sorry, I really do have to go.’

  ‘But wait—’

  ‘Let me give you a piece of advice. They always tell you it’s a big case, a no-brainer, and that they’re entitled to thousands . . .’

  ‘No, they’re not saying—’

  ‘But very rarely is that the case.’

  ‘There’s a young boy, he’s seriously ill—’

  Jill shut the door and drove off. Kate stared as she accelerated out of the car park and then, in a couple of seconds, she’d gone.

  ‘Old bat,’ she said, under her breath.

  ‘Charming,’ came a voice from behind her.

  Kate spun around to see Gloria holding her dropped notebook. ‘Not you.’ She took the book. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I couldn’t help hearing a bit of that,’ said Gloria. ‘Firstly, as you know, the agreement we have in place is that no student is to collar any of our guests. No asking for jobs, ways in the back door, putting them in an awkward position—’

  ‘I wasn’t—’ started Kate.

  ‘So, did you find out who owns your farm?’ interrupted Gloria.

  She shook her head. ‘Not yet. Trail has gone as far as Cyprus.’

  Gloria nodded. ‘So, what are you going to do?’

  ‘Keep looking.’

  ‘And the evidence? Causal link?’

  ‘I’m still looking for that as well.’

  ‘You need something indisputable,’ said Gloria. ‘Lawyer-speak for smoking gun.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘One other thing. I can tell you care a lot about this compensation case of yours. Word of advice . . .’

  Another one, thought Kate.

  ‘Don’t let yourself get emotionally involved.’

  Kate finally saw red. She thought of Arnie, enduring painful and difficult treatment; his parents, having to watch their son go through it; and the others too. And there was Becky. This was her way of making amends. ‘Don’t get emotionally involved? Is that really how you lot operate?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Gloria, to Kate’s departing back. ‘That’s how you win.’

  Kate carried on walking. ‘I can’t be doing with this,’ she muttered under her breath.

  ‘Is that it then?’ called Gloria. ‘You’re quitting the course?’

  Kate could hear the smile in Gloria’s voice. ‘No,’ she yelled back. ‘I’m not going to self-sabotage my education. Not twice in one lifetime. And anyway, I bloody well paid for it!’

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Sunday, 12 February 2017 – twelve days before the accident

  Becky had woken in the night more than once, partly due to the excessive thirst from the alcohol. But after a glass of water, what had stopped her from dropping off again was the guilty, uncomfortable feeling. Adam had sent her a text – four, in fact, since she’d left his flat. She’d enjoyed his company and just a few hours ago had wanted to see him again but now she wasn’t sure. And the fact he was so keen made her feel even less sure. The first message had arrived when she was in the cab: ‘Had a really great night. Text me when you get home safe. X’

  It was a lovely sentiment so why did it make her heart fall a little? She felt a flicker of panic, of wanting to create distance. She’d waited to reply until she’d got in the door: ‘Me too. Home now. Pretty knackered so bed for me.’

  Almost immediately he’d sent the next text: ‘I’m going to hit the sack too. Wishing you some sweet dreams ’

  To which she’d responded: ‘Night. X’. The addition of the kiss had been something of a dilemma. Without had seemed too abrupt, but its inclusion was undeniably borne out of a sense of guilt.

  He’d then added: ‘Night to you too. Don’t let the bed bugs bite! XX’

  At which, she had to admit, she’d cringed. He must have done the same, as another came pinging in: ‘Sorry! Bit naff.’

  Her heart sank again, and she thought that she could safely let him assume she’d fallen asleep, hence justifying her lack of response. His texts betrayed just how much he liked her. She liked him too, just wasn’t sure her feelings for him were as strong, and whether her desire to see him was based on her journalistic hunger to find out what he knew. He was a nice guy and she didn’t want to lead him on.

  Now it was the morning after, and Becky lay in bed, her head throbbing, pinned to the mattress by a nausea that intensified if she moved too fast or too upright. She could tell it was morning by the laser beam of sunlight doing its best to slice her head in two as it pierced its way through the crack in the curtains. Need more sleep, her body intoned, and she slowly turned over, pulling the duvet up higher to block out the light and wishing she hadn’t drunk Trixie’s champagne.

  She fumbled for her phone on the bedside table, tentatively curious to see if the cold light of day had adjusted Adam’s enthusiasm. There was an unopened text from him. She eyed it warily and was about to read it when her bedroom door opened a crack. Becky quickly pulled the phone under the covers and shut her eyes. It was barely ten, far too early to get up on a Sunday.

  ‘So, you’re awake,’ said her mother, coming into the room with confidence now.

  ‘No, definitely asleep,’ mumbled Becky, thinking, how did she know?

  ‘I could always tell when you were pretending,’ said Kate brightly. ‘Your eyelids flicker. Same as when I had to get you up for school when you hated Miss Hanbury.’

  ‘She was a witch,’ said Becky. ‘Expected me to know my twelve times table and I was only nine.’

  ‘You can’t stay in bed all day, it’s gone ten! And I have a surprise for you!’

  ‘Can it wait?’

  ‘Most definitely not!’ Kate flung the curtains open triumphantly on ‘not’.

  Becky cried out and buried her head deeper under the duvet. ‘Mum, that is not funny.’


  ‘Don’t you want to see your surprise?’

  ‘It’s outside?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Therefore, it requires me to leave the bed.’

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t want it in here. Come on,’ Kate urged. ‘I take it that’s a hangover,’ she said, disapprovingly. ‘This, I promise, will cure it.’

  Knowing she’d get no peace unless she did as she was bid, Becky slowly sat up and put both feet on the carpet. Then, holding onto the side table, she hoisted herself up as if she were an invalid, and shuffled over to the window.

  The once-grey world had turned into blinding white and vibrant blue, and she half expected a celestial chorus to cascade down from the heavens. At some point in the night the sleet had turned to snow and the street was covered with a very commendable layer of the stuff. This wasn’t a vague flurry that was already melting, this was a deep, ‘I mean business’ chunk.

  ‘We’re making a snowman!’ said Kate. ‘And a snowdog!’

  ‘I don’t have any gloves,’ said Becky hastily, heading back to bed. She wasn’t quick enough. Kate had darted in front of her.

  ‘We’re not wasting this day. I have a spare pair. Spring sale 2007 from the garden centre, remember?’

  Becky looked at her mum’s earnest, excited face and couldn’t help smiling. Maybe some breakfast would help.

  The miracle of porridge didn’t fail and forty-five minutes later, Becky was at the front of the house following her exuberant mother’s new footprints in the snow.

  ‘Snow angel?’ said Kate.

  ‘Come on, that’s just some cheesy thing they do in the movies. The reality is cold, wet stuff seeping up the back of your jacket and a freezing arse.’

  ‘Someone’s a bit grumpy this morning.’

  ‘Not at all. I am enraptured by this Dickensian vision of perfection.’ A snowball landed on the side of her head. ‘Oi!’ Becky pounded together a handful of snow and threw it back at her mother, who squealed. It missed.