Broken Places

by Wendy Perriam

  ‘What I want for you, darling – not now, of course, but when you’re older – is for you to meet a guy who really loves and values you. And why you have to be so careful at this stage of your life is that most teenage boys just aren’t grown-up enough to treat you as you deserve. I know what guys are like, Carmella. Often, they’re not thinking of the girl at all, only what they want. I mean, did Larry really care about your interests?’

  She shook her head. ‘At first, it felt really cool, being out with a college student and driving round in his snazzy car and everything. He’s so different from the boys my age who are still, like, into skateboarding. And he could have had any girl he wanted, yet it was me he picked, and that made me feel sort of special. But … but when he … kissed me, it was nothing like I’d imagined. I mean, it seemed quite … violent, yet was all slobbery, as well, and—’ She broke off, blushing so furiously, he felt himself flush in sympathy.

  ‘So maybe thirteen year olds are still a bit too young to kiss?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘And are you brave enough to tell Brooke that?’

  She shrugged. ‘Dunno.’

  ‘But at least you’ll promise faithfully to be super-careful in future?’

  She nodded. ‘Actually’ – she gave a nervous laugh – ‘I feel quite scared of … all that stuff now.’

  ‘Well, sex is scary in a way. I mean, if you rush in before you’re ready, you can end up in dead trouble – way out of your depth, or even pregnant, God forbid! That’s why I’d like you to wait, darling, until you find the right person, and not settle for a sordid grope with some testosterone-fuelled jerk who’s out to take advantage of you.’

  ‘Yeah, but if all the others have boyfriends …’

  ‘I just don’t believe they all do. And, anyway, it’s terribly important to try to make your own decisions, rather than simply copying what your friends do. One of the hardest things about growing up is trying to work out who you are and what you want, and being able to resist the pressures – all those people out there desperate to convince you that you must be thin and sexy and glamorous and follow the latest trends. It’s just a commercial racket, half the time. They want you to buy this or that, or splurge cash on beauty treatments or whatever, so they keep pumping out the message that if you get the perfect body and perfect teeth and hair and clothes, that’s the way to perfect happiness. But it isn’t true, Carmella, and you don’t have to go along with it. In fact, if you do, you’ll always feel dissatisfied because perfection’s an impossible ideal.’

  ‘Yes, but my friends are always buying stuff and keeping up with fashion. So if I don’t do the same, I’ll feel even more of an outsider.’

  ‘Only in the best sense – being wiser than they are and thinking things out for yourself.’ Was he wasting his breath? Most teens were desperate to conform, simply to be ‘normal’ and accepted, and just didn’t have the maturity to stand against the crowd. He tried a different tack. ‘You’re pretty as you are, Carmella, and—’

  ‘I’m not. Compared with Brooke, I’m rubbish.’

  ‘Well, don’t compare yourself! Everyone has good points, but also things they dislike about themselves – even Brooke, I bet. But if we can just accept those things, we’re more likely to be happy.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say.’

  ‘No, it isn’t, actually. If I could choose, I’d love to be much taller and have good teeth and hair that wasn’t a joke. But I’m damned if I’m going to ruin my life wishing I was someone else.’

  She looked at him, in silence – an uncomfortable sensation: being found wanting by one’s teenage daughter. Should he revert to the subject of Larry; emphasize the perils of being alone with virtual strangers? No, lectures at this time of night were probably self-defeating.

  She suddenly drained her tea, tepid as it was, in three successive gulps. ‘D’you know, I sometimes wish I was back at my old school. When there’s only girls around, it doesn’t seem to matter so much how you look, or whether you have a boyfriend or not. And we weren’t allowed to wear make-up or nail-varnish or jewellery and stuff, and that actually made things easier.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, choosing his words with care, ‘it’s not totally out of the question for you to come back to England. I mean, Mum and I would need to discuss it, of course, but if you’re so unhappy over here, you could live with me, instead, and return to Tolworth Girls’.’

  In the pause that followed, he allowed himself to hope, despite the raft of problems, including Christine and the lawyers. If he could somehow make his ex see sense, he and Erica could be an almost-family; he a hands-on dad again; she removed from the pressures of being sexualized so young. And, since his job was far less punishing than Christine’s, he’d have more time and energy to devote to being a parent than his busy, stressed-out ex would ever manage, with her new husband and her demanding social round. Of course, he would need to move to a nicer flat, with a decent bedroom for her and—

  ‘No, I wouldn’t fit in there either – not any more. I’m not one thing or the other; neither English nor American.’

  ‘You seem very English to me. You’ve still kept your accent and—’

  ‘Yeah, and the other girls tease me for that, as well, especially when I use the wrong word. The other day, I said “rubber” for “eraser” and they all went completely hysterical.’

  He let his hand reach across the table, until it was almost touching hers. ‘Darling, I do understand how difficult it is. Which is why maybe you should consider a change, or at least not rule it out entirely.’

  ‘But the Kingston house is sold now and that was home for me. So it just wouldn’t be the same.’

  His dream was already foundering. He could tell from her face that she had no intention of returning. And could he really blame her? Why should she wish to swap this ritzy mansion for a poky London flat, or her five-star lifestyle for a poorer, more restricted one?

  ‘I like it here in some ways,’ she said, as if picking up on his thoughts. ‘There’s much more to do than there ever was in England – skiing, riding, sailing, all that sort of stuff. So I don’t think it would work if I came back. And school’s not that bad,’ she admitted, with a shrug. ‘I probably made it out worse than it is. The only thing that bugs me is I still don’t quite fit in.’

  ‘You’re bound to need time to adjust.’

  ‘I’ve had time. I’ve been here ages.’

  ‘Only fifteen months. That’s nothing. And you’re doing wonderfully well.’ However keen his disappointment, he could see it would be wrong to try to lure her away from a life she was just beginning to enjoy, quite apart from the little matter of Christine’s opposition. ‘It’s always tough moving anywhere new. Everything feels strange, at first, and you don’t know a soul and you think you’ll never be accepted or find your way around.’ He should know, for God’s sake, after all the uprootings and dislocations in his childhood. ‘But gradually it all settles down and things slot into place. And, don’t forget you’ve always had real courage, so you’ve got what it takes to overcome the problems, unlike your cowardly Dad.’

  ‘You’re not a coward, Dad – you’re very brave. I only realized that tonight. I mean, the way you stood up to Larry, when he’s captain of the football team and super-fit and everything. He trains almost every day, you know, and works out in the gym for hours, and the football coach thinks he could well become a pro. Yet you tackled him head-on and didn’t even think about your safety. Just look at your swollen lip and all those bruises! I feel quite proud when I think you took those risks for me.’

  He fingered the lump on his forehead, aware that it was throbbing, yet almost glad of his battle-scars, if they raised him in his daughter’s estimation. ‘I’d have murdered the guy, if he’d hurt you.’

  ‘Yeah, I saw that.’ She glanced down at the table; traced a careful pattern with one finger. ‘Actually, I didn’t know you cared so much.’

  ‘Of course I care. For me, you’re th
e most important person in the world.’

  ‘Really?’ Only now did she meet his gaze; her own eyes wary, as if subjecting his to a lie-detector.

  ‘Yes, really. Oh, I know I should have visited before this, but I let my fears get in the way – and that’s unforgivable. But I promise you I’m—’

  ‘Dad,’ she interrupted.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I … I want to say I’m … sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK. I understand. I can quite see Larry’s attractions. He’s tall, good-looking and athletic, so it’s only natural you should jump at the chance of going out with him.’

  ‘No, I don’t mean about Larry. Well, I am sorry about him and causing all that crap, but I really meant I’m sorry about the awful things I said – you know, your being weak and a loser. You’re not a loser, Dad – no way. I think I said it just to hurt you, though I don’t actually know why. Sometimes, I get so mixed up, I can’t even explain what I feel. And I suppose I was angry and—’

  ‘You’ve every right to be. It’s totally my fault that I haven’t seen you for so long. Which means now we’re a bit out of touch and need to get to know each other again. That may take a little while, but we could make a start right now – maybe have some supper together; talk some more and—’ He was being irresponsible in keeping her up so late; putting his own desire for closeness before her need for sleep. Yet the sheer relief of being able to communicate seemed to override all else. ‘I know it’s ridiculously late and we ought to be in bed, but we can always sleep tomorrow. What do you think?’

  ‘I’m not fussed. Whatever you want.’

  ‘The pizza will be inedible by now, but I could make some scrambled eggs.’

  ‘Yeah. Great.’

  Never had he scrambled eggs so quickly, fearing she might change her mind before he had set their plates on the table. But she seemed hungry, all at once; grabbing a piece of toast from the toaster and eating it, unbuttered, standing up.

  ‘Do you think I’m – you know, spoilt, Dad?’ she asked, once they were sitting over supper, side by side. ‘I mean, living in this house and having so much stuff? When you were, like, my age, you had almost nothing.’

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t too bad,’ he said, touched that she should have thought about his life.

  ‘It must have been terribly hard, though, not having parents, or a proper home, and being moved from place to place so often. We’ve never really talked about it, have we?’

  ‘Mum preferred us not to.’ It still irked him that Christine and her family should have found the subject so distasteful. ‘And, of course, Grandma always hated any mention of my past.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But I’ve often wondered about my other grandma and why she left you in the first place? It seems so … sort of cruel. People wouldn’t do that now – just dump their babies and run.’

  ‘Well, it’s much easier these days, of course, to be an unmarried mother. It used to be regarded as a shameful sin and everyone would shun you and call you a fallen woman. All the same, a few babies are still abandoned, although it’s extremely rare, thank goodness. Only about fifty a year in England.’

  ‘Fifty’s a lot.’

  ‘Well, in countries like Russia and China, the numbers are much higher. And even here in America, there’s quite a—’

  ‘Hey, Dad,’ she cut in, suddenly, ‘I wasn’t found, was I? Or adopted or…? I mean, am I truly yours and Mum’s?’

  He laughed. ‘You’re absolutely mine and Mum’s. And that’s as important for me as it probably is for you. You’re the only blood relation I have in the whole world, or the only one I know about. We even share a name – or used to, anyway. I wasn’t present at your actual birth, but I saw you minutes afterwards and when they put you into my arms, I was just – well, over the moon. I sat there, quite besotted, smiling and smiling and smiling, until I felt my face must be stretched all out of shape. In fact, if there’s a league table for smiles, that one would have definitely made the championship!’

  ‘Oh, Dad …’ She gripped his hand.

  What he wouldn’t tell her was that, despite his joy in fatherhood, when he finally got home, he had sunk down on the bed and wept, because seeing Christine with the baby at her breast brought home, with painful force, his own lack of any mother, and of cradling, loving arms.

  Erica dolloped ketchup onto her eggs. ‘So if parents feel so strongly about their babies, why ever would they ditch them and piss off?’

  ‘Well, as I said, it’s very rare, and it’s usually lone mothers. Often, they don’t mean to be cruel, so it isn’t fair to blame them indiscriminately. They may be really desperate – young and frightened and acting on an impulse. I’m sure that was true of my mother. Perhaps she had no one to turn to, or came from such a strict family they’d have killed her if they discovered she was pregnant.’

  Erica stopped eating and looked him full in the face. ‘You are brave, Dad – and that’s a fact. I mean, the way you, like forgive her, instead of being resentful or kicking up an awful fuss, like I bet most people would. I know I’d be seriously furious if someone had dumped me in a park!’

  The same sentiments as Mandy’s, when, on New Year’s Day, he had come clean about his origins. But then neither she nor Erica – nor anybody not a foundling – could understand that rage was pretty pointless; only added harm to harm. It was essential to love your birth-mother, if only for your own peace of mind; not hate her and resent her.

  ‘Don’t you see,’ he told his daughter, ‘I was lucky to be found and taken in. Sadly, some kids fail to make it. They’re shoved in a skip or a dustbin and simply left to die.’

  ‘Horrible!’ she shuddered.

  ‘And it was infinitely worse in the old days. Every year, thousands of babies were abandoned in the street or left outside the workhouse. And, even when they set up foundling hospitals, the demand was so great, most of the babies died. And those who did survive might land up in some dreadful institution, with incredibly strict rules. I read of one poor kid who’d broken the no-talking rule, and had to sit in the corner and hold his tongue – literally, between his finger and thumb, and stay like that for ages. When I was in care, things had improved so greatly, there’s just no comparison.’

  ‘It must have been ghastly, all the same.’

  He stared out at the murky darkness pressing against the window-panes; still struck by the utter silence here; no brawling neighbours, screaming tyres, no sirens shrieking through the night. ‘It’s strange, you know, Carmella, but sometimes growing up the hard way can actually be an advantage. There’s this famous book, A Farewell to Arms and, towards the end, there’s a sentence I’ve never forgotten: “The world breaks everyone and afterward many become strong at the broken places”.’

  She forked in a mouthful of egg; sat chewing while she pondered. ‘I’m not sure what that means.’

  He paused, aware of a need to shape his words. The rest of the passage was bleak in the extreme; foreshadowing the end of the book. Yet that particular sentence could stand on its own; had power and substance, in and for itself.

  ‘Dad…?’

  ‘Sorry. I was thinking.’ He reached for another Kleenex; held it to his lip. ‘I reckon it’s saying we all suffer, but if we try to make sense of the bad things and don’t become bitter or vindictive, we can move on in our lives and become stronger people because of what we’ve been through.’ Was he being an arch-hypocrite in taking such a line, when someone with his weight of fear could hardly be classed as ‘stronger’? And, anyway, sanitizing Hemingway was surely somewhat remiss. ‘Listen, it’s far too late for all this philosophical stuff, so why don’t—?’

  ‘No, wait – I’m interested. It applies to me, as well. I was bitter about the divorce, you see, and did resent you and Mum. But I suppose I could, like, change my view; accept what happened as just part of life and not the end of the world. Hell, half the kids at school have parents who’re divorced.’

  ‘Well, that would certainly be better than k
icking against it for ever – better for you, I mean.’

  ‘D’you realize, Dad, even Barack Obama’s parents separated when he was two, and he hardly saw his father after that. And he had to keep moving to different homes and stuff. And he even took loads of drugs when he wasn’t much older than me. But look at him now! So I suppose he’s another example of that “broken places” thing. Maybe he only said, “Yes, we can!” because of all the bad stuff he’s had to overcome.’

  ‘You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.’ All at once, he recalled the pastor’s words last Sunday, about everyone in the church being there for a specific purpose. Had some kind of grace descended on his daughter as a result of his own presence at the service? Hardly! There was no proof of any deity; let alone a God who would so conveniently intervene in his personal family problems. Yet he had to admit the change in Erica did seem pretty miraculous – the former hostile brat now mature, reflective and willing to engage with him.

  ‘It’s so hard, though, isn’t it?’ She gave a monstrous sigh; jabbed her fork against the plate. ‘Actually, the worst thing for me is the baby. I know I haven’t mentioned it before, but it’s been bugging me ever since I heard. It’s bad enough having to share Mum with Dwight, but now with, like, another kid as well.’

  He felt a pang of guilt, remembering how casually he’d dismissed any fears she might have had about ‘his’ and Mandy’s baby. Perhaps the loss, however devastating, did have some advantage, in that it spared her the painful prospect of having to come to terms with two babies.

  He pushed his plate away. His swollen lip made it difficult to eat and everything he swallowed seemed tainted with the taste of blood. Besides, he needed all his concentration to ensure that he was saying the right thing.