Our Father Who Are Out There...Somewhere

by AJ Taft

  Jo brushes cigarette ash from her leggings. “Fiona, try to see Lily’s point of view. Her mum’s dead. She grew up in this house,” she stresses the ‘this’ and gives Fiona a moment to fully take in the conditions before continuing, “and her dad won’t even do her the courtesy of meeting her one time. It’s a bit insulting really. And all we’re asking is that you give up one night of your privileged existence. It’s not exactly much to ask, is it?”

  Fiona loosens her tie and looks down at the photograph of her father on her lap. His arms circle his new bride’s waist, his head is tilted, their lips only millimetres apart as he bends to kiss his wife. . She lifts her head, meets Lily’s gaze. She doesn’t speak for a few moments, but when she does her voice is steady. “No, it’s not a lot to ask.”

  Lily closes her eyes.

  “And,” says Fiona, in a quiet voice as Lily reopens her eyes, “it might do us all good to have some time to think.”

  Chapter 18

  Time suspends for a moment, until Jo claps her hands together. “Ok,” she says “O – K.”

  No one else says anything. Lily is looking at the schoolgirl and for the first time thinking she looks older than fifteen.

  “What we need is food,” says Jo. “I don’t know about you guys but I’m starving. I’ll go to the chippy. What do you fancy?”

  Lily speaks directly to Fiona. “Are you sure?”

  Fiona nods, a ‘blink and you’d miss it’ nod. “May I have fish and chips please? And mushy peas? I haven’t had any lunch.” Fiona reaches across the mattress for her blazer. “Here,” she says, handing Jo a handful of coins, “take my dinner money.”

  Jo tots up the change in her hand. “You get three pound fifty dinner money?”

  “It’s for drinks as well,” Fiona says defensively.

  The phone rings. Lily jumps so much she spills her vodka down her jumper. She looks over to Jo.

  Jo nods at her to answer it.

  The phone is in the hallway, but the flex is long enough for Lily to bring it into the doorway of the front room. “’Lo?” Lily mumbles into the receiver.

  “Lily, is that you? Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

  “Aunt Edie?”

  “You were supposed to come for tea a fortnight since.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I’ve been a bit… busy.”

  “Well, so long as you’re alright,” Aunt Edie grumbles. “What about tomorrow? I could get us a nice bit of tongue from the market.”

  “I, I’ve got a friend staying from college. We’ve been, er exploring together.”

  “A friend?” Aunt Edie asks suspiciously. “A man friend?”

  “No, no, a girlfriend. I mean, a friend who’s a girl.”

  “Ah well, bring her with you,” Aunt Edie says. “I’d like to meet your friend. I bet you have a great time together.”

  Lily looks at Jo helplessly. “That’s kind but we can’t come tomorrow.” Her eyes plead with Jo for help. Fiona is engrossed in the wedding album. She’s pulling out the telegrams and messages of congratulations from an envelope fixed to the back cover and reading each one. Lily wonders whether she should grab the album off her. She hasn’t read them all herself yet. “We’re…”

  “Going away for a few days,” Jo mouths.

  “We’re going away for a few days,” Lily parrots into the receiver.

  “Are you now?” says Aunt Edie in a tone that suggests going away for a few days is akin to running naked through Morrisons. “Where?”

  “What?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Can I ring you back, Aunt Edie? I’ve got something in the oven. I think it might be burning.” Lily watches Fiona shaking her head at one telegram before stuffing it back inside the envelope.

  “Bit early for tea, isn’t it?” Aunt Edie asks suspiciously.

  “I’ll ring you when we get back.”

  “I’ve got some information for you, I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”

  “Information?”

  “About your dad. I’ve been asking about. Turns out he had a baby with his fancy woman.”

  Aunt Edie pauses, like she’s waiting for a reaction. A gasp or some kind of acknowledgement. Lily stares at Fiona. “A baby? No way.”

  “No wonder you mother went like she did. Nora Jenkins’; her daughter Flora, was in the same delivery ward when she had their Bernadette. You remember her, Bernadette Briggs they called her; with those funny things on her teeth? Made her look like that one from the James Bond film. Although Nora told me she’s found herself a husband, Lord alone knows how.”

  “Well, thanks for letting me know. I’ve got to go Aunt Edie. But I’ll come and see you next week.” Lily puts the phone down and wipes her forehead with the back of hand. Her forehead is moist.

  “Right,” says Jo, pulling on her man sized donkey jacket. “Will you two be ok without me?”

  Lily leans against the wall. The adrenalin seems to be gaining the upper hand.

  “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” says Fiona. She puts the wedding album down on the bed and pulls at her school tie until it forms a loop big enough to go over her head. She throws it down on the bed next to her wedding album. “We are sisters after all.”

  She says the words calmly, almost as an aside, but they hit Lily’s ears like they’d been blazed through a megaphone. The hairs on her arms rise and her throat is so dry she panics she won’t be able to breathe. Sisters. It never occurred to her. Several thoughts erupt in her mind at the same time, each obscuring the other. A sudden flash of memory, of pretending; an imaginary sister called Emily.

  Fiona stands in front of Lily “I always wanted a sister. I hate being an only child.”

  Lily wants to shout, “Me too!” but she can’t speak. What little colour her skin contains drains from her face and she feels like she might faint. Fiona seems to sense what’s happening and puts her arms around Lily’s shoulders like she’s the big sister, keeping Lily safe. Lily’s ears pound and she feels like there’s too much blood inside her. Her veins are throbbing, like they do just before she cuts herself. It’s never about pain; only release.

  Jo watches for a moment and then slips out the front door.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Lily keeps saying over and over, into Fiona’s ribcage. “God, what am I like? I’ve kidnapped my own sister.”

  Fiona does her best to stroke Lily’s dreadlocks. “You haven’t kidnapped me.”

  “I did, I did. If you hadn’t have got out of the car I would have dragged you in here by your hair.”

  “I don’t want to go home. That’s the truth. I want to stay here with you.”

  “I was so angry with him. It’s like, I didn’t get that you’re my sister. My sister.” Lily breaks away from Fiona and gulps some air. She lets out a long yell. It rings out for what feels like minutes. Once it’s over she feels a little calmer, a little steadier. She reaches for her glass. “I need another drink. Please, have a drink.”

  “Ok,” says Fiona. “But don’t make it too strong.”

  Fiona follows Lily into the kitchen. Lily’s hands are shaking as she opens the vodka bottle. She looks around for a glass for Fiona but then remembers she’s smashed them all. They will have to buy another cup. Then a thought occurs to her and she rushes upstairs to the bathroom. In the cupboard is an old mug, which used to house toothbrushes. She returns to the kitchen with a look of triumph, holding the mug aloft, before washing it in the sink.

  Lily hands Fiona a vodka and orange and the girls chink mugs. “To sisters,” says Lily, her hands shaking.

  “And truth and justice,” adds Fiona, as she raises the mug to her lips.

  They drink in silence, Fiona recoiling slightly from the heat of the vodka. Lily leans back against the kitchen worktop and stares at her feet.

  “Shall we go into the front room?” says Fiona. “I want to see the photos again.”

  “So, who is everyone? Will you tell me?” asks Lily, as they sit sid
e by side on the mattress settee.

  “That’s Uncle Norman.” Fiona points to one of the groomsmen, the one holding the umbrella above Lily’s mother’s head, as she runs in through the rain. “He’s Dad’s brother. Our dad’s brother. ‘Our dad.’ Doesn’t that sound weird?” Fiona practices the words, feeling their unfamiliar shape on her tongue. “Our dad. Uncle Norman lives in Hebden Bridge. Dad calls him the black sheep of the family because he lives with Aunt Becky and they’re not married.” She lowers her voice, “And they’ve got children two, Nat and Ellie.”

  “How old are they?”

  “Nat’s seventeen and Ellie’s the same age as me. And that’s Auntie Sue, Daddy’s sister.” She points to a slim woman with a beehive haircut, wearing a bridesmaid dress. “She’s married to Uncle Freddie, they live in Edinburgh. They’ve got three children. That’s who you remind me of,” she exclaims, clicking her fingers. “You look like Hannah, their daughter.”

  Lily is adding up in her head; five cousins, an aunt and two uncles, grandparents and a sister. A sister with pigtails, for crying out loud. Lily sits back on the bed. “Why did no one stay in touch? On my 18th birthday I spent the whole day waiting for the postman. I thought a load of cards would pour through the letterbox,” her voice breaks.

  “I can’t believe no one told me,” says Fiona. “I wonder if my cousins know.” She glances at her older sister, “If they do…” The sentence hangs uncompleted in the air.

  “Tell me about the people I don’t know,” says Fiona, changing the subject. “Who’s that?”

  “That’s my granny, my mum’s mum,” Lily touches the picture with her finger. “She died when I was little. And that’s her husband, Granddad. He died when I was five. Apparently he was lost without her.” Lily tries to remember something about him; to a five year old child he just seemed tall and rigid. “That’s my Aunt Edie. She’s still alive, although she was dead for a while.”

  Fiona’s pretty face wrinkles in a frown. “What?”

  “I thought she was dead, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you another time. And that’s the only people I know,” she says staring at the group photo. “I didn’t even recognise my mum at first.” Lily lays the photo album down and lights a cigarette. “I can hardly remember seeing her stood up for one thing.”

  “Where did you get this?” Fiona rubs her palm across the cover of the wedding album.

  “Aunt Edie gave it to me, after my mum’s funeral. My granddad gave it to her to give to me, but she didn’t dare while my mum was still alive. I’d never seen a photo of my dad. That was the weird thing; I was expecting to be shocked to see a picture of him, but actually I was more shocked to see my mum. It’s like I never really met her either. Do you know what I mean?” Lily takes another slurp of vodka. “I hadn’t seen her for three months before she died. I feel bad about that, but it was horrible coming home. It was just easier not to.”

  Lily turns to face Fiona. The similarities between them are impossible to ignore. How could she not have realised this girl was her sister? Looking at her face is like looking into a mirror; a rose tinted mirror. The same dark eyes, the same dimple on their left cheek. Fiona’s skin is clearer, the whites of her eyes brighter, her teeth straighter, but essentially they are the same stock.

  Fiona lies back on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s not fair, I can’t believe Dad did this.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Dad?” Fiona sighs heavily. “You know if you’d have asked me that six months ago I’d have said he was the best dad ever. Mum works all the time, she’s never there, so it’s always been Dad and me. He didn’t work at all when I was little but now he’s a teacher. Oh but you knew that already.” Fiona watches Lily’s hands tremble as she tries to stick three Rizla papers together to make a spliff. “What’s he like?” She thinks for a moment. “He makes the best jacket potatoes stuffed with cheese and onion and butter, he’s great at helping with my homework, except for physics, which he’s rubbish at. He’s always got time to talk. He read me a bedtime story every night until I was about fourteen and I had to tell him to stop.”

  “Sounds...” Lily’s voice trails off as she fails to come up with a suitable adjective. She gives up on the spliff, crumples the papers into a little ball and flicks it across the front room. “Sounds like a fairy tale.”

  “That’s the thing. But lately-”

  The front door opens and Jo bursts into the room with two carrier bags. The smell of warm newspaper fills the air. “Food.”

  Lily is relieved to see her, to breathe the late afternoon air that comes in with her. “So,” says Jo. “How are you two getting on?”

  Fiona glances across at Lily and smiles, a tentative ghost of a smile. “Good.” Silence falls over the three of them, while they devour their fish and chips. Lily eats hardly anything, before folding up the papers and lighting a cigarette. “What are we going to do?”

  “Do you know what I think?” asks Fiona, her cheeks flushed by the vodka. “I think you should tell him I’ve been kidnapped and get him to pay.”

  “I meant, what shall we do tonight?” says Lily in alarm.

  “Pay?” asks Jo, licking curry sauce off her fingers.

  “A ransom, that’s usually the point of kidnapping. I know it won’t make up for what’s happened, but look at this place.” Fiona stares at the peeling wallpaper and the nicotine stained net curtains. “We have so much more than you, so much more. You should be compensated. What’s it called? Child Support, backdated nineteen years.”

  Jo scrunches up her chip papers and laughs. “I agree, I think we should work this out. Let’s see, what do you think is reasonable for one child? I mean babies don’t come cheap – there’s cots, prams, all that kind of stuff. But we could average it out? Forty quid a week? That’s what a grant cheque boils down to, and it’s not exactly the high life.”

  “A hundred,” Fiona suggests.

  “Don’t be crazy,” says Lily.

  “I get twenty pounds a week pocket money. That’s on top of my dinner money.”

  “Really?” Lily and Jo both ask at the same time.

  “I have to pay for my clothes and everything out of it, and my horse riding lessons.”

  “Let’s split the difference, seventy-five quid,” Jo mediates. “So, give me that pen… seventy-five quid, times fifty-two weeks, times nineteen years equals…” Jo starts scribbling across the back of an envelope. She crosses out several times before finally underlining a final figure. “£74,100. Call it a nice, round seventy-five grand. Like Fiona says, it doesn’t redress the balance, but it’s a start. And you’ve got to start somewhere.”

  “I can’t blackmail my own father.”

  “You don’t have a father, Lily. That’s the point.” Jo underlines the figure of £75,000 a second time. “I don’t think you’ve got anything to lose.”

  Lily looks at Fiona, who shrugs her shoulders. “They can easily afford it. We’re loaded. You should see our house. And the money would give you a start. I don’t mean to be rude, but did your mum leave you much?”

  Lily buries her face in her hands. It’s starting to feel like the longest day of her life.

  “Ok, what’s the alternative?” Jo sits back and lights a cigarette. “Fiona goes home and we pretend nothing’s happened? You let him off the hook, like every other downtrodden woman in history? Fiona’s right, you’re owed, Lily. This might be your only chance of getting ahead of the game. You can’t back out now. Otherwise you’re an orphan with an overdraft.”

  “We could make a ransom note,” says Fiona, her eyes resting on the pile of newspapers Lily never got round to taking to the tip. “Cut the letters out like they do on the telly.” She giggles.

  Jo leans over, picks up the top few copies, and throws them into the centre of the room; a gauntlet at Lily’s feet. Lily picks up the top copy. The headline reads ‘Teenagers getting Pregnant to get Free Council Houses’. Alongside it is a sneak preview of Sarah, the page
3 girl, covering both nipples with her fingertips.

  “Come on, Lil. Just for the laugh.”

  “Alright,” says Lily, “but don’t blame me if we all end up in prison.”

  Jo runs down to the SPAR for a Pritt Stick and the three of them huddle around the gas fire, while the wind blows a gale around the house. Jo keeps them laughing by cutting out words like ‘helicopter’ and ‘luxury holiday in Mauritius’ to add to their demands. Finally they settle on:

  We have your daughter

  Do not contact the police.

  £85,000

  Be ready

  “I thought we said seventy five?” Lily says as she reads the final version.

  “I couldn’t find a big seven. Thank God for 0800 numbers.”

  “Oh.”

  “How shall I end it? Yours sincerely, the kidnappers? With best wishes? A drop of Fiona’s blood?” Jo turns to Fiona, “Joke.”

  “Leave it blank,” says Fiona.

  Jo picks up the car keys. “I’ll drive it round for a bit so it can’t be traced here.”

  Jo is halfway out of the door when Fiona calls, “Wait.”

  As Jo turns back round to her, Fiona picks up the big paper scissors, and holds one of her pigtails out at a right angle. Lily realises what she’s about to do and shouts “no,” but it’s too late. Fiona lops off the long brown plaited pigtail in one smooth cut. “Put that in the envelope. That should shake him up a bit.”

  Jo gingerly accepts the pigtail, the bobble still intact, and stuffs it into the envelope. “I hope he hasn’t seen Fatal Attraction. This’ll scare the shit out of him. You haven’t got a bunny rabbit have you?”

  “No but we do have Treacle the guinea pig.” Fiona can hardly speak for laughing.

  “I’ll try and find a sorting office, so that he’ll get it in the morning. See you in a bit.”

  “I can’t believe you just did that,” says Lily.

  “I’ve wanted to get my hair cut short for ages but Dad wouldn’t let me. It serves him right.”