The Stranger In My Home: I thought she was my daughter. I was wrong.

by Parks, Adele

  She looks gleeful. Being in a position of power over Dolly Bridge is something she’s long dreamed of. It suits her complexion. I’m pleased for her. She hasn’t answered my question. Has she now got a means of getting in touch with them all independently? I suppose she has, and I suppose she will. Facebook, Instagram, snap-chatting and what have you. Countless untraceable ways.

  I start to cut up my chicken into extraordinarily small pieces, smaller than you’d feed a weaning baby, and pile them on to the back of my fork; I can’t lift the food to my mouth, though. Eating seems an impossibility.

  ‘Amy wants me to go round again because she wants to show me the clothes she’s customised. She’s got this Swarovski crystal-styler thing and seems obsessed with adding bling to pretty much everything she owns. She’s really creative.’

  ‘Right.’ I suppose I must, on some level, have known there would be another time, and another after that, and one after that again, but I hadn’t altogether accepted it. I’m not able to think beyond the moment, and I suppose I’d held fast to the vain hope that Katherine’s interest would be satiated after one visit. Whilst they were all thinking it was the beginning of a relationship, I was praying it was the end of her curiosity.

  ‘Tom mentioned something about us all going for a country walk next weekend. I said yes.’ I disguise my shock. I suggest a country walk almost every weekend, Katherine agrees only about once every two months. I consider this completely normal for a teenager. Her weekends are busy, anyway; of course she isn’t always going to want to spend her precious few free hours with us, her parents.

  Although she’s happy enough to spend time with the Trubys, it seems.

  I try to be rational. I oughtn’t to read too much into the fact that she’s readily agreed to this walk just because the Trubys suggested it; she’s been brought up to be very polite. I take a deep breath and think about Tom’s discretion and understanding last night. I tell myself her mixing with them is not the end of the world, but I don’t quite believe it. I want to tell her that I understand. They seem nice enough people. But they are not her people. They’re not.

  ‘And Olivia?’

  Katherine drops her eyes to her food. I think talking about Olivia is a good idea. She’s the crux of it, after all, and she’s also the fly in the ointment. She did not go along to the rink and play happy families. Once Katherine admits as much, we can start to have an honest conversation about the difficulties of this complex situation we find ourselves in. We can admit that it’s going to be a bumpy ride, perhaps we can decide whether the ride is worth getting on at all. We can’t all live in La La Land, pretending life is seamless and straightforward.

  ‘Oh, yes, she seems nice, too.’ Katherine is still staring intently at her miso rice.

  ‘But last night.’

  ‘Well, she was quiet, really, didn’t say much.’ Katherine looks up from her food, puts a forkful in her mouth and starts chewing. She’s not blushing. She looks calm, resolute. Determined. It takes me a moment to understand what is going on. Katherine is lying to me.

  ‘But you think Olivia seems happy enough with everything? Not too traumatised?’ I ask this to give Katherine a chance to correct herself. To tell the truth.

  ‘Oh, yes. Fine.’

  For clarity. ‘So she was there last night?’

  ‘Mmmm.’ Nodding.

  ‘The entire time?’

  ‘Yes, why wouldn’t she be?’ I feel hairs stand up from my body, as though they want to desert me.

  ‘And you got on?’

  ‘Well enough.’ She is now hastily piling food into her mouth, manners forgotten. ‘We need to get a move on if we want to get our nails done.’ She spits out these words and a grain or two of her rice lands on my plate. I place my knife and fork side by side, my appetite well and truly lost. I raise my arm and signal for the waiter to bring us the bill.

  15

  On Monday, Tom calls to confirm that we’ll all go for a country walk at the weekend. He suggests Saturday but then calls back to say he can’t manage that, there is a problem, can we do Sunday? I want to ask him what the problem is, but I fight the instinct to offer to help, telling myself I shouldn’t get too involved. Simultaneously, I ask myself how I think that might be possible.

  ‘Do you have a route in mind?’ I ask.

  ‘I’ll think of something. Do you think it’s a bit late in the year for a picnic?’

  I do, but the alternative is a pub lunch. I’m not sure I want to sit around a table with the Trubys again, not just yet – or ever – but Katherine clearly wants them in her life. Whether or not I want it or think it’s the right thing has to be set aside for now. If I try to block their relationship she’ll turn sneaky, that much is clear. I know Jeff thinks I’m struggling with this situation because I’m losing control and that I’m an obsessive control freak, but that’s not the case. Well, I am an obsessive control freak, but all I’ve done for Katherine – all the choices, the guidance, the advice, the vigilance – it’s never been about trying to control her. Jeff is wrong about that. It’s always been about being in her corner, supporting her and showing her as much. I want her to grow up with an unequivocal feeling of unconditional love. That above anything, no matter what. I guess I just never anticipated being tested to this extent and in this way.

  ‘Picnics are always fun,’ I say, with more enthusiasm than I feel.

  ‘Plus, we won’t have that awful moment where we all struggle with the seating plan,’ laughs Tom. As if reading my mind. ‘Shall I text you or Katherine the arrangements?’

  I’m thrown. One moment I’m languishing in a sense of shared understanding, the next I feel wrong-footed. But why? Tom hasn’t done or said anything wrong. I’d guessed he must have Katherine’s telephone number now, and he’s simply asked who he should contact; he’s trying to keep me involved, not the opposite. But his question feels like a leap and I’m only ready for baby steps. Am I being unreasonable? ‘Me,’ I say firmly.

  ‘Will do.’ He sounds totally sanguine about my response, he doesn’t seem to catch the fear or caution. I am being daft.

  In an impulsive effort to try to appear as reasonable as he is – to be as reasonable as he is – I say, ‘Perhaps you could give me Olivia’s mobile number.’

  Tom hesitates. I hear the discomfort down the telephone line. ‘Why would you want that?’ he asks.

  I can hardly say, Because you have my daughter’s number. ‘Well, to send the occasional text. That’s how teens like to communicate, isn’t it? It’s an easy way to break the ice.’

  ‘Right.’ He laughs nervously. I get the sense he’s buying time.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Alison, this is really awkward, but Olivia has expressly asked me not to give you her number.’

  I’m pierced by embarrassment and hurt.

  ‘Oh. OK. I see. Well, forget I asked.’

  ‘I’m really sorry. I think it would be a good idea, but I have to respect her wishes. You understand, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’ Yes, I understand. How stupid of me to imagine that Olivia might be interested in any sort of a relationship with me.

  ‘I’ll ask her again, if you like.’ He sounds doubtful.

  ‘No, no, don’t do that.’ I rush to put him out of his misery. The poor man is mortified. Almost as mortified as I am.

  I can’t decide whether to pray for a bright autumnal morning or torrential rain on Sunday. I don’t think Tom is the sort to cancel if the weather is inclement, he’ll just come up with an alternative activity, so I might as well hope it’s dry. In the end, it’s a flat day, the sort where the sky is totally devoid of colour and the air is damp. Still, Tom texts me some ordnance-survey coordinates and we meet at a small National Trust car park. Tom, Olivia and Amy clamber out of their car. It’s impossible to ignore Olivia’s reluctance; she looks as though she’s wading through quicksand. She slowly pulls on a hoodie, allowing me time enough to read the slogan on her T-shirt: BASIC BI
TCH. I’m not sure if it’s a description or an accusation. She unnerves me. Judges me. Blames me?

  ‘Where’s Callum?’ asks Katherine.

  ‘Oh, he’s seeing his girlfriend today,’ replies Tom breezily. If Katherine is disappointed, she doesn’t show it; in fact, it’s Olivia who flashes her father a disturbed look. I suppose she’d rather be seeing her boyfriend than be out with us; I can imagine the row that’s gone on to get her here. Tom doesn’t notice her glare, perhaps he’s become oblivious to them. ‘But we have brought a surprise that I think will just about compensate.’

  Laughing, Tom opens the boot of the hatchback and a chocolate Labrador leaps out. He starts bounding around the car park, ignoring Tom and Amy’s calls and attempts to put him on a lead. Katherine joins in excitedly, chasing the dog, her ponytail swishing back and forth. For a moment she’s a little girl again, and my heart heaves. I’m not sure if it’s with delight or sadness. I sometimes think I need to get to know myself better.

  ‘He’s rather nice. I didn’t realise you had a dog,’ I comment.

  ‘This is Mozart,’ laughs Amy. She’s giddy, exhilarated. ‘He’s new.’

  ‘He doesn’t look like a puppy.’ Although he doesn’t look fully grown either. His paws are still large and he bounds about.

  ‘No, he’s eighteen months old. He belonged to a friend of mine who has got a new job overseas. They’ll be living in an apartment. No good for a dog this size. I said we’d take him in,’ explains Tom. The dog slobbers around Olivia’s legs. She doesn’t pat him, she studiously ignores him; a little like she ignores me.

  ‘Eighteen months, eh? How old is that in dog years?’ asks Jeff.

  ‘Fifteen and a half,’ replies Tom affably.

  ‘That’s very precise.’

  ‘I looked it up on some website.’

  ‘It’s like Dad is obsessed with filling his house with teenagers,’ mumbles Olivia. I actually think this is quite witty but she glares at me, so my smile freezes into a cold smirk.

  ‘Don’t you like dogs?’ I ask.

  ‘Not really. We already have two cats.’ I hadn’t realised, I can’t remember having seen them when we visited, but then we rushed in and out of the house as quickly as possible. It strikes me that Olivia, with her protective older brother and her fun younger sister, her big, friendly, brown dog and her two lazy cats, has the exact life I used to covet when I was a child. Something in my chest soars. It feels peaceful; I’m glad for her. My biological daughter has all that I longed for: I feel relieved. Then I remember her mother is dead and I want to be sick. I can’t give her what she most needs. I’m an awful person; this whole situation is just highlighting the fact. I also fight a fleeting flash of horror that perhaps Katherine will see that the brother, the sister, the cats and the dog make up the ideal family. Maybe she’ll feel cheated that she isn’t living that life; after all, it should have been hers. All she’s inherited is the possibility of a mutated gene. It doesn’t seem fair. Nothing about this is fair.

  Olivia continues: ‘I think he’ll be a bit of a nuisance. Dad will be tied. All the feeding and walking.’

  It’s clear Olivia doesn’t see the dog as her responsibility. She has a point. I should say so but instead I find myself saying, ‘I’ve never come across a child who doesn’t want a dog. Katherine is always nagging me for one.’ Olivia shakes her head and turns away from me. I feel I’ve just missed something. An opportunity, perhaps. Just a small one to – I don’t know – sympathise? Relate? Luckily, Tom moves things on.

  ‘I know, like Amy. She told me she thinks a walk without a dog seems stupid, purposeless.’

  I’m not sure if he means that Amy said this, or Katherine. Katherine has used that exact argument to me but she couldn’t have said it to Tom, could she? She wouldn’t be so rude. And if she has said as much, that isn’t the reason he got the dog, is it? I mean, that would almost be like a bribe? That can’t be. Tom just stepped in to help a friend. Nothing to do with Katherine, surely. Mozart is clearly keen to get going and is barking loud enough to wake the dead so I shake the daft thought away.

  We set off along a bridleway and soon we’re cutting through a forest. Hefty splats of rainwater from last night’s downpour slip from the drooping vegetation and fall on us. Mozart charges ahead, causing the long, wet grass to shudder and fold behind him. From time to time, he runs back, slobbering, muddy. I watch Olivia try to avoid his enthusiastic pawing, whereas Katherine seems not to care about his paw prints on her new jeans or his fat tail whipping her calves. She just laughs. It’s good to see her enjoying the walk, taking an interest in the leaves turning from green to golden. It reminds me of when she was very young and would walk between Jeff and me, sometimes insisting we swing her, other times happy just to be pointing out the gruesome deformed toadstools or the pretty country flowers. Jeff must be thinking the same thing.

  ‘Nice to have a bit of company. Recently, more often than not, Alison and I are left alone to stumble through the countryside, along the paths, sometimes clogged with mud, other times gleaming in thrilling bursts of sunshine. Katherine never seems that keen to join us nowadays.’ His tone is jovial enough, but I shrink inside a fraction. Why must he always be the writer? ‘Gleaming in thrilling bursts of sunshine’ – who talks like that? Jeff grins conspiratorially, expecting Tom to do the usual thing of bemoaning teenagers. He doesn’t. He looks delighted. Delighted that he can get Katherine to do something we can’t?

  ‘Really?’

  I glare at Jeff, and when I find myself trailing him, along a winding, single-file path, I hiss-whisper that he shouldn’t have shared so much.

  ‘Why not?’ he whispers back, but not as quietly as I’d like. I’m pretty sure Tom, who is only five metres away, can hear him.

  ‘Because I don’t want Tom thinking Katherine is ever unhappy with us.’

  ‘He won’t think that. That’s silly. Not unhappy, just normal.’

  No doubt Jeff is right: Tom is unlikely to think the worse of us because our teenager isn’t gagging to accompany us on Sunday walks. He just looked pleased because he wants Katherine to be happy and included.

  Throughout the six-mile tramp, Katherine is up front, setting the pace, with Amy, mostly. They charge through puddles, happy. Olivia does not follow suit. She trails behind, sullen, dark, her earphones in; clinging to her own soundtrack of her life, blocking everything else out: the birdsong, the whip of the grass against boots and calves, the dog’s panting. Us. The message is loud and clear: Olivia is not happier when we are around. Jeff initially gallops ahead with Katherine and Amy but then drops back and tries to engage Olivia; she rolls her eyes but does pull out the white threads from her ears. Tom and I seem to plod along in the middle, often finding ourselves side by side.

  At first, him matching my stride causes me to feel irrationally concerned. I feel self-conscious and somewhat panicky. He throws countless questions my way, insisting he is keen to get to know me. I’m not used to being in the spotlight so my answers start slowly, carefully, but the more we chat, the less cagey I feel; he’s very charming and easy to talk to. I can’t help but be flattered that he seems to think I’m the interesting one to chat with. Usually when we meet new people, I am the least appealing member of the family. Clearly, Jeff is fascinating, with all his stories about being an author, the people he’s met, the places he’s been, and Katherine is simply refreshing, a teenager who is willing to converse.

  Tom surprises me by asking the classic question, usually the preserve of women: ‘How did you meet Jeff?’

  ‘Oh, the usual, he was a friend of a friend. I was shopping with the mutual friend and we bumped into him.’

  ‘They say supermarkets are a hotbed for hook-ups. Maybe I should try it.’ Obviously, he’s joking, but I find it strange to think that one day he might be out there again, looking for a new partner. I wonder how that will impact on Olivia, how it will impact on all of them, including Katherine.

  ‘It wasn’t a supermarket, I was
shopping for a hat, actually.’

  ‘For a wedding or something?’

  ‘No, funky-fashion-hat shopping.’ I smile shyly, feeling a little awkward about using the word ‘funky’. Tom looks taken aback. I guess, looking at me now, dressed head to toe in clothes that have been picked because they are comfortable rather than fashionable or even pretty, it seems unlikely that I ever shopped for accessories such as hats, just for the fun of it.

  I don’t want to go into detail. It’s ours, mine and Jeff’s. Besides, Tom would probably be bored; surely he only asked out of courtesy rather than genuine curiosity. I wonder whether I should ask him how he met Annabel, or would it be too painful? Or too private? I remember him asking me not to talk about her at our pizza dinner. I hope he will talk to me about her when he’s ready. Instead, I keep the mood carefree by commenting, ‘Funny to think there was once a time when I used to spend every Saturday looking for a new outfit, often just to wear out that night.’

  ‘Did you really?’

  ‘Yes. Are you surprised?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Because you can’t imagine me caring about how I look?’

  Tom throws out a good-natured grimace, reproaching my self-deprecation. ‘Because I imagined you as the sort of girl who had endless hobbies and better things to do with your Saturday afternoon than mooch around the shops.’

  ‘Around market stalls, actually. I didn’t have enough money for shops.’ He looks a little startled. I giggle; I find I like surprising him. Even shocking him. ‘You thought I was like Katherine?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘No. The middle-class enthusiasm to fill every spare hour of the day doing something useful came to me fairly late on. I wasn’t born to it.’

  ‘I see.’

  I’m not sure why I said so much. Such a confession has to be worse than Jeff admitting that Katherine is reluctant to do country walks with us. I thought I wanted to seal myself off from this man, but I find I can’t. Part of me accepts that he has to know me. Illogically, I think he might already. It’s hazy. Being around him is like diving into a cold pool with a hangover. Disorientating, but not unpleasant. ‘Anyway, looking good is useful.’ My defence causes him to grin.