by Ruth Mancini
I shook my head. “He knows, Zara. He knows alright. He’s just playing mind games, that’s all. Coming right out and saying it, and confronting me about her, that would just be too straightforward for him. Sky’s told him about Helena – because he wanted to. He couldn’t resist telling him. What better way to get Martin back into his life? And, even if Sky did tell him not to come here tonight, he would have known that Martin would want to come and check her out.”
“I must admit, he didn’t actually seem very surprised to see us,” Zara said. “He said it was a coincidence, but he didn’t really look very shocked to find us here, after all this time.”
“He wasn’t surprised. Not in the slightest. Otherwise he’d have pressed us on why we were here, or asked where Catherine was. She’d be the only reason I’d come to a swim competition where her son was a coach. It would make no sense otherwise.” I shook my head again. “He knew I’d be here, because Sky told him I was coming.” I laughed ironically, remembering how surprised I’d been when Helena had insisted that I come, saying that Sky wanted me here. Maybe Sky had even set up the whole thing, got both me and Martin here to cause trouble.
But even if he hadn’t, he’d told Martin about Helena, knowing how much trouble it would cause, and I’d never forgive him for that.
“Whether Sky knew he was coming or not, Martin knows Helena is his daughter. He’ll get to her. It’s only a matter of time.”
Zara thought about this for a moment. “You’re going to have to tell her, then.”
“What?”
“Tell her the truth. Just come right out and tell Helena. That Martin was here, and that he knows about her. Then at least you can stop his game.”
I took a deep breath. “But what if I’m wrong? What if he doesn’t know, after all, if Sky didn’t tell him, and he just goes away and we never see him again?”
Zara frowned. “You just convinced me that he knows.”
“I know. And I’m pretty certain that I’m right.
“You said you were. 100 per cent,” Zara reminded me.
“Well, look at the way he watched her. He wasn’t looking at Sky. He was watching her, the whole time.”
Zara shrugged. “Maybe he was interested in her as a swimmer. Impressed with what Sky had achieved with her. After all, he wouldn’t gain much by watching Sky, would he? The coach doesn’t do anything but watch from the poolside. Not once they’re in a competition situation, in the water.”
“Alright. So, what about when he said he hadn’t seen me for ‘a little over eighteen years’. How did he arrive at that figure so quickly – Helena’s age plus a few months – unless he knew?”
“Maybe he knew it was eighteen years because that’s how old Sky is. And he knew he hadn’t seen you since shortly before Sky was born.”
The door to the changing rooms opened and Helena walked out, her head wrapped up in a towel turban.
“Where were you?” she complained. “Did you even see me swim?”
“I...”
“Mum! I won the race! I was in the lead the whole time! And you missed it!”
I breathed a sigh of relief. If she hadn’t seen me through the viewing window, then she hadn’t see Martin either.
“I’m sorry, love,” I said, then added, “Zara lost her purse.”
Zara looked at me, her eyes wide.
“Oh, no.” Helena looked equally shocked. “Where? How could she lose it here?”
“I must have dropped it outside,” said Zara.
“It was stolen,” I said, at the same time.
Helena looked from me to Zara and back again.
“We had to wait for... for a member of staff to... to report it,” I added.
“Did you have much money in it?” Helena asked Zara.
“Erm. Ten pounds?” Zara looked at me for approval. I gave her an inconspicuous shrug and an ‘over-to-you’ nod. “And a precious... a precious photo,” she added.
“Of what?” Helena asked.
“Of a... a horse.”
Helena and I both stared at her.
“A horse?” Helena wrinkled up her nose. “You don’t like horses. You’re frightened of them.”
“I mean, a man.”
“Oh. Right.” Helena looked at Zara for a moment and then looked at me. “Is she alright?” she mouthed to me, as Zara bent down to pick up her handbag.
“She’ll be fine,” I mouthed back, hoping desperately that Zara wasn’t going to do anything stupid, like open up her bag and take out her purse.
I cleared my throat. “Shall we go?”
“Don’t you want to... I don’t know, check with the staff again? See if it’s been found?” Helena pointed towards the reception desk.
“No,” I said, quickly. “They’ve got her number. They’ll call us.”
“It was a man on a horse,” Zara said. “The picture. That’s what I meant.”
“Really?” Helena frowned. “Who was he then? I didn’t know any of your boyfriends could ride.”
“Erm. He wasn’t really a boyfriend,” said Zara.
“No?”
I looked at Zara and shook my head. She needed to quit while we were ahead.
“No.”
“So?” Helena persisted. “Who was he then? Who’s this jockey you’re keeping in your purse?”
“Erm. Lester Piggott,” said Zara.
“’No!’ I mouthed from behind Helena. I knew it was the only jockey that Zara could think of.
Helena burst out laughing. “Really, Zara? Lester Piggott! He’s in his seventies!”
“So?” said Zara defensively. “There’s plenty of life in him yet.”
“You know what she’s like,” I came to Zara’s aid. “She likes a challenge. And didn’t he just run off with a younger woman?”
“The bitch,” said Zara, making an astonished face, and looking at me again for approval.
I nodded. “She beat you to it. Too bad, hon. But, hey. Plenty more fish in the sea.”
Helena looked at Zara for a moment, then patted her arm. “Okay. Well, I’ll just go and say goodbye to Sky. I won’t be long.”
We watched through the viewing window nervously as Helena approached Sky, gave him a high five and chatted for a minute or two, but she came back out, still jubilant and smiling, and I could see that Sky hadn’t mentioned anything about our unexpected visitor, or about the heated exchange that had happened between us.
The drive home was uneventful. Helena chattered excitedly about her win for a while, and then lapsed into an exhausted silence. I figured that the nervous energy reserves she’d been drawing from in the last few hours were all but depleted, and it was taking all that she had left to concentrate on the drive home. I recalled that she was often like that after a competition. But she was happy, I could tell. I could tell that her mind was on the British Championships and the glory that lay ahead. I was delighted that, for her, life was so uncomplicated, so much fun.
Zara fell asleep in the back soon after we got back onto the A3, and I was left alone with my thoughts. I felt bad about lying to my daughter. So, maybe it was time to tell her the truth. It was the ideal time to do it, if I was going to, whilst we were on our own, with an entire car journey ahead of us and no interruptions. And, after all, didn’t she have a right to know? I rehearsed it over and over in my head: ‘Your father came to the pool tonight. He saw you race. He knows about you.’ It made sense to tell her, to get in there first and, as Zara said, put an end to his games. There was no way in the world that he would stay away now, not after having seen her swim tonight, not after the way he’d been watching her. Not if he knew that the beautiful, talented young woman he had been observing in the pool was his daughter.
But what if he didn’t? What then? I’d have dropped a grenade into her life, my life and all of our futures, for no good reason at all other than my temporary peace of mind. Because, temporary it would be, there was no doubt about that.
I recalled a time a couple of years back when I had suspected He
lena of smoking. She’d come home a few times, smelling strongly of cigarettes. When I’d challenged her about it, she’d consistently denied it and told me I was imagining things and that I ‘needed my nose tested’, and I’d accepted her answers in the end because I soon realised that if she was smoking – just a little – then she clearly didn’t want it to be acknowledged, to become ‘real’, nor did she want to be allowed to do it openly. It was true that sometimes, if you just ignored the metaphorical elephant in the room, it might just get up and leave.
For the millionth time, I examined my motives. Could I justify keeping quiet about this, and in doing so deny my daughter a chance to know that her long-lost father had seen her swim tonight, that he’d seen her spectacular win? It would be a big thing for her. But then I thought about how Martin had been tonight. He hadn’t changed. He was a ‘player’ still. It was there in his sarcastic tone and his mocking eyes, that continuing need for one-upmanship. If I told Helena that he knew about her she’d accept him into her life. She would have good reason for doing so; she’d feel sorry for him, she’d say. She’d be thinking of him. And I wasn’t blind; I knew, deep down, that a big part of her wanted to know him too – and that were it not for me and my feelings, she’d almost certainly pick up the phone and call him herself. She thought she was protecting me. But, in fact, it was the other way round. I was protecting her, even if she didn’t know or understand that. The end justified the means. If I’d had any doubt about my motives before this evening, I’d had them confirmed tonight. I believed now, more than ever, that Martin was a malign influence, and that he’d harm my daughter in some way with his games.
I glanced across at her, sitting in the driver’s seat next to me. She was an amazing young woman. I was so very proud of her. Her life was just beginning; she had her whole future ahead of her, with nothing to hold her back. She was remarkably stable, ‘together’, confident, well-adjusted. She was something that Zara and I – with our individual childhood legacies – could only dream of; she was every young woman I’d looked at and envied when I was her age. She could be whatever she wanted to be and I’d be there, cheering her on, for the rest of my life. So why would I assist in bringing that manipulative, emotionally crippled, self-centred rapist into hers?
I took a deep breath. I’d made up my mind. There was no way I was going to tell her about him. Not now. Not yet. Not if I wasn’t 100 per cent certain that the time had come for me to do so.
Helena saw me watching her and heard me sigh. “Whassup?” she smiled back.
“Nothing,” I said. “I love you. That’s all.” I started to cry.
“I love you too, Mummy.” Helena looked baffled. “You know that. Why are you crying?”
I smiled. “I don’t know,” I lied.
“You big softy,” she said. “I know what it is. You’re missing Christian. That’s all it will be.”
I nodded. “I expect so.”
“So, why don’t you phone him?” she suggested. “When you get home? When was the last time you spoke to him?”
“The day before yesterday,” I said.
“Well, give him a call,” she said. “He’ll be glad to hear from you.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll do that.”
Helena reached across and patted my hand. “Make sure you do.”
12
It was the hottest weekend of the year so far and I was feeling uncomfortably tired and sticky by the time we’d walked the mile and a bit from Clerkenwell to Shoreditch. The outdoor seating in the pubs and restaurants surrounding the High Street was full to bursting, and there were people spread across every square inch of the pavements. If they couldn’t sit, they were standing, smoking and chatting loudly, whilst smartly dressed waiters in white aprons mingled amongst them and served cold bottles of Bud or tall glasses of Pimms and ice.
“Don’t you just love the names of these pubs?” I asked Zara as we veered off up towards Boundary Gardens and Hoxton. “The ‘Owl and the Pussycat’ and ‘The Drunken Monkey’. You couldn’t not want to spend an evening there.”
Tim’s house was a lovely red-brick Victorian semi, with pretty bay windows and an oval shaped door-arch, which was partly obscured by the beautiful rose bushes that were spread across the front garden and growing up the walls. He’d bought it back in the late nineties, before the area had become popular and prices had shot up. Although he was still a fairly poorly paid nurse, his wife, Annalise, was a lawyer, and they’d made a good investment, I could tell.
Annalise opened the door. She was tall, dark and slim, with curly black hair, and I couldn’t help thinking how much she looked like Tim – not that I’d seen him in a good fifteen years or more since he’d married and become a parent. I wasn’t in the least offended that he hadn’t come to visit in all that time; I knew only too well how all-encompassing the business of raising a young family and keeping a half-decent roof over your head could be. If your friends didn’t live in the same street, you could go years without seeing them. But the point was, you always knew they were there.
Annalise gave us a tired smile and waved us in.
“It’s really nice to meet you, Lizzie,” she said. “Tim’s really looking forward to seeing you. He’s in the garden, with the girls.”
She followed us down the narrow hallway to the kitchen, at the back of the house. A delicious smell of roast lamb greeted us. Shelley was sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of wine, peeling carrots. She immediately leaped up when she saw me and ran round the table towards us.
“Shelley!” I hugged her. “It’s so good to see you again!”
“You too!” She pushed me away and held me by the arms and took a long look at me. “Zara said you’d been living in France and I kept promising myself every New Year that this would be the year I’d get in touch with you and come for a visit. But somehow time’s just slipped by.”
“It does that,” I said. “I’m really sorry, too, to have lost touch.”
“You look amazing.”
“I look old,” I laughed. “You look amazing.”
“‘Cause you’re amazing’,” Zara started to sing. “‘Just the way you are’.
“Seriously, Lizzie. There’s not a wrinkle on you.”
“It’s cosmetic,” said Zara.
“Really?” Both Shelley’s and Annalise’s eyes widened.
“No, it’s not,” I laughed.
“It is. She’s been botoxed.”
Shelley took a step back and cocked her head to one side. Annalise pushed the oven door shut and walked over to take a closer look at me.
“I haven’t!” I protested. “She’s just making it up!”
“She has, she has,” persisted Zara.
“I’ll botox you in a minute,” I laughed, and pretended to box her ears.
“I want to try that,” Annalise said. “But I’m too scared of getting that surprised look. You know, that some people get.”
The back door opened and Tim stepped in. He saw me and stopped in his tracks.
“You mean, that one?” Zara pointed at my face. Everyone looked at me and then at Tim.
I was indeed surprised. Tim was no longer tall, dark, and slim. He was now tall, dark, and considerably overweight. He must have gained at least six or seven stone. I realised I was staring, and closed my mouth.
“What have I done now?” Tim pretended to look offended.
“Nothing, darling.” Annalise walked over and kissed him.
“Sorry, Tim,” I apologised. “I didn’t mean to look so shocked. It’s just that you used to be really skinny. Too skinny, even.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tim laughed. “You think I don’t own a mirror?” He patted his belly. “At least it’s all muscle.”
Annalise gave him a look and Shelley laughed.
“You must be very contented,” I said, and looked at Annalise, who smiled.
Tim walked over and gave me a hug. It was strange to feel so much of him in my arms. “Good to see you,
Lizzie. How the devil are you?”
“I’m good,” I said, as he hugged me. I gave Zara what Helena called an ‘over-the-shoulder-look’, the look that people give to the camera in soap operas when they’ve just told someone that everything’s fine, when really it’s not.
Tim released me and looked into my face. “Really? Are you? Only Zara mentioned that a certain psychopath was on the loose.”
I glanced at Zara, and at Annalise – whom I didn’t know, but who had an honest, caring face (which definitely did not need botox) and who I knew I was going to like very much – and I thought to myself, ‘These are my friends’. So I said, “To tell you the honest truth, Tim, I’ve been better.”
Shelley’s face fell. “Why? What’s wrong, Lizzie?” She looked at Tim. “What psychopath?”
“I’ve just had a stressful few weeks. Well, months, really,” I said.
Shelley pulled out a chair. “Sit down,” she ordered, so I did. “What’s happened?” she asked again.
I looked at Annalise and smiled. “Sorry,” I said. “I’ve only just met you. I don’t want to...”
“Is it about your daughter’s father?” Annalise asked, and sat down too.
I nodded.
Tim unscrewed the cap of a bottle of red wine and poured me and Zara a large glass. He topped up Shelley’s and Annalise’s glasses too.
“Aren’t you drinking?” I asked.
Tim shook his head. “I’m on tablets. You can’t really drink with them.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “Nothing serious, I hope?”
Tim and Annalise glanced at each other and I started to worry.
“It’s just an excuse,” said Zara. “He doesn’t want you to know that he’s pregnant.”
I turned to face her. “Zara!” I reprimanded her, but then saw that Annalise and Tim and Shelley were all laughing.
“He’s trying to lose weight,” said Annalise. “He’s just trying to cut out...”
“Everything that gives me any pleasure in life,” sighed Tim. “Except you, my darling,” he added and quickly ducked his head, pretending that Annalise was about to hit him, which she clearly wasn’t.
“Come on, Lizzie,” Shelley persisted. “What’s been going on?”