The Daughter

by Michelle Frances

  ‘OK, truce!’ shouted Kate, arms in the air. So, Becky started on a snowman, rolling a ball of snow around on the ground so it grew bigger and bigger.

  ‘How was your night?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Great. Good food. Weather atrocious and no cabs so we had to wait at his place for a bit. He’s got a really nice flat in Clapham. Right opposite the Picturehouse. Lots of fancy furniture. He’s even got bamboo flooring.’

  ‘His own place, is it?’

  ‘Yes. All grown up.’

  ‘You know . . . if you ever get the urge to do the same . . .’

  ‘Get some bamboo flooring?’

  ‘You know what I mean. Move out of home. Get your own space. I wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Are you kicking me out?’

  ‘Saw right through me.’

  Becky glanced over at her mum, to see if this was a subtle hint. Despite the fact Kate was deliberately keeping her face low as she moulded the snowdog, Becky could tell she didn’t want her to leave at all. She smiled; she had no intention of going anywhere.

  ‘I’m quite happy here,’ she said, ‘otherwise, who else is there to drag me out of bed at an unsociable hour to make snowmen? There, that’s the head,’ and she plonked a large ball of snow on top of her earlier, larger ball. Next to it, Kate’s snowdog had acquired an impressively upright tail. ‘Anyway, maybe it’s me cramping your style,’ Becky continued, ‘now you’ve got this hot new man, Tim. Only, I notice you haven’t invited him over yet . . . is that because of me? Because I’m here taking up the other half of the sofa?’

  ‘You weren’t here last night. After midnight I heard you come in.’

  ‘I didn’t wake you?’ said Becky, concerned.

  ‘Not at all. Trust me, once you have children of your own, you’ll know it’s one of the perils of being a parent. You can never settle until they’re home safe. Doesn’t matter how old they are.’

  ‘Really? What about when I’m thirty?’

  ‘Probably still be awake.’

  Becky imagined herself at thirty. ‘Maybe you’ll have grandchildren by then. They’ll be keeping you awake at night.’

  ‘You’ll still be living here when you have kids? Not with your other half?’

  ‘We’ll drop them off with you – while we go out on the town.’

  Kate laughed. ‘I see.’ But there was something about the idea of looking after Becky’s children that filled her with warmth.

  ‘You can stay,’ she said graciously. ‘In fact, it might make it easier.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Dinner Friday week.’ Kate paused. ‘I’d like you to meet Tim.’

  Becky stood up straight. ‘Wow.’

  ‘I know we’ve only been on a few dates, but I’d like to introduce him to you.’

  ‘He’s serious.’

  ‘I don’t know, like I say we’ve only been on a few dates—’

  ‘But introducing him to the family!’

  ‘Well, there’s only me and you . . .’

  Becky and Mum, Mum and Becky. It had always been the two of them. She smiled. ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘You’re free?’

  ‘I’ll make sure I am,’ said Becky and her mum looked pleased.

  ‘So, what about you? Are you going to see this Adam again?’

  There it was again. The fidgety feeling. She’d checked the text he’d sent that morning and he’d asked her out. Wanted to know if she was free on Tuesday after work to go to an evening event at the Science Museum.

  ‘He wants to. Tuesday.’

  ‘But you don’t?’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that.’

  Kate waited for Becky to continue, knowing she would.

  ‘He could be a source,’ she said, cautiously.

  ‘So, he’s helping you with a story?’

  ‘Except he doesn’t know it.’

  ‘Ooh. So you’re infiltrating his mind . . .’ Kate suddenly realized something. ‘Does this have anything to do with your big story? The secret one?’

  Becky refused to meet her eye. ‘Might do,’ she mumbled. She sighed. ‘Am I using him?’

  ‘I don’t know, are you?’ said Kate carefully. She watched her daughter wrestle with her conscience from the corner of her eye, while she added the face on the snowman. ‘Ta da!’ she said, as she stuck in stones for eyes. She stood back and admired him. ‘He’s very handsome. Go on, take a pic. Send it to Adam.’

  Becky smiled at her mum, propping her arm around the snowman’s neck as Kate got on the other side.

  ‘Say snowball,’ said Becky as she held out her phone to take a selfie.

  ‘Snowball!’ they both chorused, grinning, and Becky took the picture. She sent it off and a reply pinged back almost instantly, which she read aloud.

  ‘“Is that your mum? She looks like your sister!”’ Becky groaned.

  ‘He’s got a way with words. I like him,’ said Kate. ‘Go on, go out with him.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Yes. Otherwise you’ll only be moping at home on your own.’

  Becky looked up, surprised. ‘Why? Where will you be?’

  Kate said it as casually as she could. ‘I’ll probably stay over at Tim’s. We’re going to the movies and it finishes quite late and I don’t want to be paying for a cab.’

  Becky’s first thought, for which she was later ashamed, was a sensation of being abandoned; her mum not being the constant, at home every night regardless of what she, Becky, was up to.

  ‘Only, I can come back if—’ started Kate.

  Becky was mortified at her earlier selfishness. ‘No, you go. I’ve decided to go out with Adam, anyway.’

  ‘Not just because . . .’

  Becky was quick to reassure her. ‘No.’ The truth was, she could hardly just ignore him. They’d had sex together. If things weren’t to get awkward, they needed to meet up again. Something lighthearted and friendly. What could be the harm in one more meeting?

  ‘Great! So, we both have hot dates.’

  Her mother’s face was so illuminated with happiness that Becky was once again reminded of how important this man, Tim, must be to her. She smiled, and her thoughts turned to Adam. It was a good idea to see him. Maybe he would even talk more about his company.

  Becky’s massive oversight was highlighted early on Tuesday morning. The doorbell rang at 7.30 a.m. and Becky got there first, with Kate hot on her heels. Standing on the step was a woman dressed in a fleece and comfortable shoes, brandishing a large bouquet of red roses.

  ‘Nice snowman,’ said the woman, nodding back over her shoulder. ‘Are you Miss Ellis?’

  Becky, baffled by the bunch of flowers, was about to confirm she was when—

  ‘I think they might be for me,’ said Kate and, sure enough, the card was for a Miss K. Ellis and they were from Tim.

  ‘“From your bus driver”,’ Kate read aloud. ‘“I hope this is the beginning of a very long journey for us. XX”’

  ‘Wow, what prompted that, then?’ said Becky. ‘He taking you out on the 196 tonight?’

  Kate cocked her head. ‘It’s Valentine’s Day.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Then it sunk in. ‘Oh, right!’ She’d only gone and agreed to a date with Adam on the corniest day of the year. A day that was full of unspoken expectations, and where the capacity for embarrassment was limitless. She groaned inwardly before reminding herself it was all just meaningless commercial rubbish and she would ignore it. Maybe he hadn’t noticed it either.

  ‘Happy Valentine’s Day!’ said Adam, as she walked up to him in the foyer of the Science Museum. He leaned over to kiss her softly on the cheek.

  ‘You too,’ she said, a fraudulent smile on her face.

  The airy, pristine-white foyer was populated with numerous couples and a few people on their own, trying not to look too desperately at the front doors.

  ‘You look nice,’ he said as she shrugged off her coat and handed it in at the cloakroom.

  ‘So do you.’ And it w
as true, he did. His deep-turquoise flowered shirt picked out the sunset tones of his hair.

  They had tickets for that night’s special event – Robots Through the Ages – and made their way to Room 25, which held about thirty people. Towering above them, right in the middle of the room, was a huge dull-silver robot, with a neon-green grill mouth, cone-shaped green ears and a single green antenna sticking out of his head. His large silver-framed eyes took up half of his head and suddenly they lit up and he began to march/slide across the floor. To Becky, it seemed as if he was coming straight for her, and she couldn’t help but be intimidated by his eight-foot lumbering frame and those eyes that were looking right at her and she instinctively grabbed Adam’s arm, laughing nervously.

  ‘Say hello to Cygan,’ said a woman cheerfully, her head mike amplifying her voice, and Cygan lifted his arm in greeting to the crowd’s tentative giggles and nervously raised fingers.

  The woman, Sally, then introduced herself as the museum’s robotics expert, and after a short background on the Italian-designed Cygan, an example of the most advanced technology in the world back in the 1950s, she invited groups to take a closer look, as the rest wandered around the other exhibits.

  ‘It’s quite terrifying really,’ said Becky, looking back over her shoulder in wonder.

  ‘He’s over fifty years old,’ said Adam. ‘They’re much more sophisticated now.’

  ‘That’s even more terrifying,’ said Becky. ‘Did you ever think of getting into robotics?’

  ‘Chemistry was always my thing. Matter, reactions, forming new substances.’

  ‘And how are those new substances going?’

  He was studying a display showing one of the earliest robots from the sixteenth century. ‘You mean work? It’s OK.’

  ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘Not much to say.’

  ‘You don’t talk about it much.’

  ‘Just a bit boring, that’s all.’

  ‘Trust me, I’m interested.’

  He stopped looking at the sixteenth-century mechanical monk and turned to her. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m interested in what you’re interested in.’

  He smiled, pleased. ‘It’s going well. It’s good. We’re testing a new product.’

  ‘What does it do?’

  ‘Kills the cereal aphid in barley.’

  ‘Sounds impressive. Is it dangerous?’

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t want to put it on your cornflakes,’ he joked. ‘But no, of course it’s not dangerous.’

  ‘But isn’t that exactly what you’re expecting farmers to do? Spray it on our cornflakes?’

  He frowned. ‘Well, not like that, no.’

  ‘You’re right. Ignore me, I’m being silly.’

  He smiled at her, unsure.

  ‘Ethics improved?’ asked Becky, gently.

  A flicker across his face. ‘You should forget about that. I was talking rubbish.’

  ‘You sure? Only, it didn’t sound like it at the time. It sounded like you were being put in a very difficult position.’

  ‘No, honestly . . .’

  ‘Are they asking you to do something you don’t agree with?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it—’

  ‘Something to do with one of their products? Something that isn’t strictly safe?’

  ‘I said, I don’t want to talk about it,’ he snapped, voice raised.

  A silence. The people around them looked up, nudged each other – a tiff on Valentine’s Day! – then gradually lost interest and picked up their own conversations again.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude,’ said Adam. ‘Hey, look!’

  Becky turned to see another robot come into the room. This one was modern, eerily lifelike, white supple ‘skin’ covering its body from head to toe and, as Sally explained, eyes that moved in response to sounds, to people entering its peripheral vision as it rotated its head. It doesn’t have vision, thought Becky, it’s a robot, but it certainly looked as if it did when its head stopped at her and the dull grey-black of its pupils seemed to bore right into her. Then it turned away and walked up to another woman.

  ‘Do you want to dance?’ it said charmingly, its voice smooth and digitally pure.

  The woman looked taken aback but was blushing – actually blushing, thought Becky.

  ‘Why don’t you say yes?’ said Sally. ‘Don’t hurt Charlie’s feelings!’

  ‘OK, yes!’ said the woman and Charlie held up his arms and she tentatively touched his hands and they started to move across the floor.

  ‘I like you,’ said Charlie. ‘Will you be my Valentine?’

  Laughs from the crowd. The woman gazed up at Charlie as if it were a real person, flattered by the attention. ‘Um . . .’

  ‘She’s spoken for!’ called out a man. He moved closer, pretending to raise his fist in jealousy.

  More laughs. It was mesmerizing, and Becky was struck by how humans could be moved by a sophisticated piece of robotics and yet be inured to the plight of real people. Half of us probably walked straight past at least one homeless person on the way in, she thought. It was easy to ignore the unfortunate if you weren’t directly affected. It was easy to forget, to walk on by. Her job was to redirect the public’s attention, tell the story, expose the story. I need to pursue this.

  ‘Adam, I think there’s something I should say.’

  ‘Sounds serious,’ he said, smiling.

  She took his hand and led him to the edge of the room, away from the crowd.

  ‘You’re really a robot?’ he joked, and she smiled weakly.

  ‘No . . .’

  ‘You’re the one dating Charlie and I should go over and punch him.’

  ‘No . . .’ she said again, ignoring the uncomfortable realization that Adam seemed to think that she and him were dating and he had reason to be jealous. ‘I’m researching something for work. It’s about herbicides.’

  His joviality stalled, and a wary look crossed his face. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’ve been talking to a number of families who live near a farm. Each of these families has someone ill in their household. With serious diseases. Cancers, ME, Parkinson’s. I firmly believe it’s because of their proximity to the chemicals sprayed on the fields. And these products . . . they’re made by Senerix.’

  A flicker of horror, then confusion, hurt. ‘Hang on . . . Is this why . . .?’

  She shifted her eyes from him, knowing what was coming, unable to hide the guilt.

  ‘Is this why we’re here tonight? Why you agreed to come out?’

  ‘No . . .’ she began lamely.

  His eyes opened wide. ‘Is this why . . . Saturday night happened?’

  She blushed. ‘It’s not exactly like that . . .’

  He was shaking his head now, incredulous. ‘You slept with me to get information about the company where I work?’

  Becky bristled. ‘No!’ But her brain was scrabbling around, checking this denial was true. Had she?

  ‘I thought this had all come a bit out of the blue. Contacting me like that. It surprised me – I always had the impression I irritated you at uni.’

  Becky twisted her face away and looked at the floor.

  ‘It’s OK. I get it,’ said Adam.

  ‘Anyone else want to have a romantic dance with Charlie?’ called Sally. Sally caught Becky’s eye and proffered the robot invitingly. Becky turned her back.

  ‘Shall we go and get a drink? Talk this over?’ she said to Adam.

  He was silent for a moment and she saw he was conflicted. She smiled hopefully, expecting him to say ‘yes’.

  ‘I’ll be honest, I think I should be getting back.’

  Her heart sank.

  ‘See you around, eh?’ He shifted from one foot to the other, not sure what the protocol was for abandoning a date mid-way through, then started to walk off.

  ‘Please don’t go,’ called out Charlie, sensing someone leaving the room.

  ‘Wait . . .’ said Becky and
Adam stopped. She knew she’d called him back then because she saw her story disappearing. And when he looked back, he knew it too.

  ‘I liked you,’ said Becky. ‘I still like you. The reason I’m coming clean is because I don’t want to deceive you.’

  ‘I know,’ he said and then he turned and left.

  It had been an emotional reaction. Granted, his ego had been pricked and it had been hurtful to know why she was interested in his work but that wasn’t all that was going on here, Becky thought as she travelled home. She’d caught Adam’s look of horror when she’d told him about the herbicides and what they were doing to people. It hadn’t been one of surprise, it had been a look of recognition, of understanding. He had known she was right.

  And that meant only one thing. He hadn’t just left because his feelings were hurt. There was another reason, too. He was scared.

  As Becky walked up the front path to the dark, empty house, she felt a pang of regret. She hadn’t lied when she’d told Adam she liked him. She’d enjoyed his company more than she thought she would. As she got out her keys, she noticed the slumped, half-formed, grey boulder that was the remains of the snowman. Sighing, she let herself in and closed the door.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  2018

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ asked Greg.

  Kate nodded. She followed him around the back of the Fresh Foods depot to where half a dozen identical lorries were parked up. Her first thought was one of panicked terror – what if the truck was here – but a quick glance at the registration plates reassured her.

  ‘You OK?’ Greg asked gently. ‘Because we can stop any time you want to.’

  ‘No, it’s fine.’

  He led her to the first truck, the one nearest to them, and they approached it on the driver’s side. He took out the keys and clicked the button. A beep and a flash of lights. He opened the door for her and indicated the steps so that she could climb in.

  She swung herself up and into the cab. It was high and, at first, she only looked directly ahead. Then she made herself look to the left. It was extraordinary – practically the entire passenger door had been converted into a window. She could see the wheels on the truck parked next to her. And if she could see its wheels . . . she thought about the height of a cyclist.