Diane looked pleasantly surprised by this. ‘Really? That’s nice.’
As Mark took a big swig from his glass of water, it struck him as weird their chatting about Mia like this, as if she was simply his niece. There was one heck of an elephant in the room and he had a strong feeling Diane wasn’t going to be the one to mention it.
He coughed nervously before leaning forward on the table, balling his hands together and resting them under his chin. ‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘How are you getting on with, um, sorting things out?’
‘So you’re here to check up on me, are you?’ she snapped. ‘Makes sense. Hannah’s idea, was it?’
‘Mine actually. There’s no need to have a go at Hannah. She’s the one currently looking after your daughter, remember.’ He left a long pause before adding the next bit, which took some courage. ‘Or should I say our daughter?’
So there it was. He’d said it. Now he stared across the kitchen table at Diane and waited.
Her eyes darted all around the room, looking everywhere apart from at him, like cornered prey desperately seeking an escape route.
He waited.
Diane continued to squirm.
Then finally she spoke. ‘I don’t know what to say to you, Mark.’ Still refusing to meet his eye, she stared down at the table, rolling around a stray peppercorn with one finger. ‘That’s why I wrote you the letter rather than speaking directly to you in Manchester. It’s … I don’t know. Where the hell do I even begin?’
Mark fought to keep his voice steady, his temper under control. ‘What about explaining why you chose to lie to me for all these years? Why would anyone deliberately keep a father and his child apart, unaware of each other? It’s beyond me, Diane. I get furious just thinking about it.
‘I keep casting my mind back to that time after your mum died, in 2008, when I specifically asked you if I was Mia’s father and you lied to my face. Well, I assume you did. Unless you’re actually lying now? How the hell am I supposed to know if what you’re telling me today is the truth? Do you have any proof? You told me previously that another man was definitely the father.’
Mark was surprised to see tears rolling down either side of his sister-in-law’s face. He’d seen her cry before: at her mum’s funeral and even the other day in Manchester, when she’d begged for his and Hannah’s help. But it certainly wasn’t something he’d seen her do often. The Diane he knew of old was too hard, too cold to cry.
Seeing her so emotional in their apartment had shocked him; he’d wondered how sincere it was and how much to elicit their sympathy. But witnessing it again now, when it was just the two of them and he was staring right at her, centimetres away, it didn’t feel fake. Either she was a damn good actress – something he couldn’t entirely rule out, based on past experience – or she felt genuine remorse, as she’d suggested in that bloody letter.
Much to his frustration, Mark felt his resolve to take her to task weaken. It was too much like watching Hannah get upset. But was that exactly what Diane intended? Was she manipulating him as she’d done so successfully years earlier? God, how on earth was he supposed to know the answer to that?
He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, which was hanging over the back of the empty chair next to him, and pulled out a pack of travel tissues. ‘Here,’ he said, handing it to her. He wanted to leave it at that; not to appear to weaken. But before he knew it, he found himself asking if she was all right. He did at least manage to stop himself apologising for anything, which would have been ridiculous.
How the hell could he be feeling sympathy towards someone who’d caused him so much pain and misery? There had been a time when he’d violently hated Diane for what she’d done; what she’d made him do. Even after years had passed and he’d learned to live with it, Mark had always viewed her as an adversary not to be trusted.
‘Look me in the eye and tell me one thing,’ he said, once Diane’s tears began to abate. ‘Do you promise me, hand on heart, that Mia is my daughter?’
She nodded and, meeting his gaze, replied: ‘Mia is your daughter, Mark. I’ve lied to you in the past. I’ve made such a mess of things. I hold my hands up to that. I apologise for it – and I totally understand why you’d doubt what I’m saying now because of it. But she’s yours, one hundred per cent.’
‘Can you be absolutely sure?’ Mark asked. ‘I mean … what about that old boss of yours? You told me he’d taken a paternity test.’
‘That wasn’t true,’ she replied in little more than a whisper.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It was a fib. I panicked and made the whole thing up.’ She looked down at the floor, abashed; avoiding his gaze. ‘It was a kneejerk response to you guessing the truth. There was no one else at that time. It could only ever have been you after our night together.’
Mark felt a stab of fury in his stomach at Diane’s use of the word fib, which she made sound so casual and unimportant. Then there was the way she referred to that night: like it was something normal that had happened between the two of them. Like it was just one of those things. The truth was much darker – far more messed up and warped. But he couldn’t afford to go there, so he suppressed his anger, crushing it down before it exploded up into his chest and out via a string of expletives. And yet, from the shadow that fell across Diane’s face, Mark suspected he hadn’t totally managed to conceal the fire burning within.
‘Would you like another drink?’ she asked, gnawing on one of her stubby fingernails.
Mark looked over at his glass and was surprised to see it empty. ‘Um, okay, yes. Another glass of water, please.’
As Diane fetched this, Mark felt a wave of tiredness crash over him. It had been a long day, what with all the travelling and the work, and now his head was starting to hurt. The heat didn’t help. Nor did the fact that he’d not had anything to eat since a late lunch around 2.30 p.m. and his stomach was starting to grumble. Plus this hard chair he was perched on was crying out for a cushion.
He thought back to how Diane moving a young Mia down here and cutting off communications with Hannah had secretly been a relief to him, even though he’d hated what the split had done to his wife. Prior to that, every time he’d seen his sister-in-law, he’d had to fend off memories of that damn night: the booze-fuelled, steamy passion and then the shocking reality of what had just happened, like an ice spike hammered into his skull.
While Diane had been out of their lives, he had at least been freed from the constant fear that she might tell her sister what had happened at any moment. The fact she hadn’t said anything so far was her one saving grace in his eyes, although he realised Hannah would view this differently.
Now that fear of discovery – and the destruction it could cause to his marriage – was back with a vengeance.
‘I can’t stay much longer,’ Mark said. ‘Otherwise I’ll miss the train and won’t be able to get back to Southampton tonight.’
‘But there’s so much still to talk about. Why don’t you stay the night and get the train back in the morning? That would give us more time. Have you eaten? We could order a takeaway if you like.’
‘Stay the night?’ Mark repeated.
‘There’s a spare room. The bed’s already made up. I could drive you to the train station in the morning.’
‘Um, I’m not sure that’s—’
‘Listen, now you’re here, Mark, there’s a lot more I need to speak to you about.’ She lurched forward so she was half leaning over the table, staring him straight in the eye and wearing a look of intensity and desperation. ‘This could be the last chance I get.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’ Mark asked, sliding a few centimetres back into his chair in an attempt to regain some personal space.
She was crowding him. He could feel the heat of her breath on his face and it wasn’t pleasant, like she could really do with brushing her teeth.
But all of that faded to insignificance when Diane uttered her next sentence
.
‘It means I’m dying, Mark.’
CHAPTER 13
‘Hello! You’re back. How was the trip?’
‘Mia, how are you? I didn’t expect a welcoming committee, but it’s nice to have one.’
She flashed her uncle a sheepish grin. ‘Oh, I wasn’t waiting here for you. I was just, er, nipping to the bathroom.’
She stood there in the hallway while Mark, who looked worn out and dishevelled, dropped his overnight bag on the floor before removing his jacket and placing it on a hanger on the coat rack.
There was an awkward moment when he looked up and, seeing his niece there, watching him, interpreted this as her waiting for a proper greeting. So he leaned forward and planted an unexpected kiss on her cheek.
‘Hello,’ she found herself repeating. ‘Um, Hannah said you did manage to catch up with Mum yesterday evening.’
‘That’s right.’
‘How was she? Did she, er, say when she’d be coming back for me?’
Her uncle smiled, although his eyes didn’t join in with his mouth. ‘Is it okay if I freshen up first, Mia? Then we can all sit down together and I’ll bring you and Hannah up to speed. I’ve been dreaming of a shower all the way home. I feel so hot and sticky, although it’s definitely not as warm now as it was in Bournemouth yesterday. It was roasting.’
‘Sure,’ Mia replied. ‘Hannah’s in the kitchen, by the way. I’ll, um …’ She pointed in the direction of the bathroom.
‘Please. You carry on, love.’
She hadn’t actually been on the way to the bathroom when Mark had walked through the front door. She’d been listening out for him for the past hour or so, splitting her time between the lounge and her bedroom, trying to read but struggling to concentrate. Hannah must have noticed she was on tenterhooks, but she’d been good enough not to say anything.
As soon as Mia had heard the key, she’d darted towards the entrance of the apartment, desperate to know what her uncle had discovered. She hoped for some explanation about what her mum was up to and a date when she could return home: preferably soon, while there was some of the school holidays left to enjoy with her friends. Hearing Mark say how warm it had been down there was enough to make her feel homesick. She longed to sunbathe or play ball games on the beach; to enjoy a refreshing dip in the sea.
It was for this reason that she’d not been messaging as much with her friends back home in recent days. It only made her envious and sad she wasn’t with them. Meanwhile, not wanting to look like a total loser, she’d told them a few porky-pies about what she’d been up to in Manchester.
For a start, Mia had claimed to have befriended a group of local kids, who she was supposedly hanging out with most days. She’d taken some surreptitious pictures on her phone of teenagers skating and hanging out in Cathedral Gardens, an open space near Victoria railway station, then used these to bring her fictional friends to life.
Unbeknown to Todd, she’d also woven him into this fantasy as a guy she had a crush on – older not younger – who she was gradually getting close to in the hope that something might happen between them. She’d not used a photo of the real Todd, as it would be obvious he was younger than her, but rather one of a particularly hot skater she’d managed to snap from a distance and zoom in on.
She and Todd had spent most of today out and about together. Todd had called round for her after breakfast and she hadn’t returned to the apartment until gone 5 p.m. They’d both agreed to try to swipe some alcohol from their relatives. It had been Mia’s idea, mooted while they were messaging each other the previous night. It was out of character for her to do such a thing, never mind suggest it, but she’d been emboldened by hearing her friends going on about various parties and nights out she was missing. She’d felt a yearning for some real excitement and adventure of her own, hoping this might shake things up a little and help the day pass more quickly as she anxiously awaited her uncle’s return.
Initially Todd hadn’t been too enthusiastic. But in the event, he’d been the one to come up with the goods.
‘So, what have you got?’ Mia asked him once they were alone in the lift that morning, heading down.
‘Sorry, nothing,’ Todd said, looking at the floor.
‘So what’s with the backpack?’ she asked, nudging him in the side, having noticed a flash of a grin escape from the corner of his mouth.
‘Okay, okay.’ He turned to face her with his hands aloft. ‘Busted. I’m winding you up. I got two bottles of wine.’
Mia was impressed. ‘Serious? Isn’t that too much? Won’t she notice?’
He shook his head as the lift arrived with a thud at the ground floor and spat them out. ‘No way.’ Once they were safely outside in the warm, breezy air, he added: ‘You should see how many bottles she has in the pantry. I think she’s in a wine club or something. I picked two at random.’
‘Red or white?’
‘White. Have you ever tried red? It’s disgusting. My dad’s always drinking it. Plus it stains your teeth, which would be a dead giveaway.’
‘Isn’t white supposed to be served cold?’
Todd shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me. I just got some alcohol, like you asked. How did you get on?’
‘Yeah, about that—’
Todd started to laugh. ‘Oh, come on. You didn’t get anything, did you? There can’t be much in that little handbag.’
Looking around first to ensure no one was watching, Mia unzipped her bag and pulled out a small glass bottle of clear liquid, which she flashed at Todd before tucking it away again.
‘What’s that?’ he asked. ‘Vodka? Gin?’
‘It’s kirsch.’
‘You what? I’ve never even heard of that? Where did you find it?’
‘It was tucked away at the back of the cupboard under the kitchen sink, like it had been forgotten.’
‘What is it, though?’
‘Well, I looked it up online and, apparently, it’s a kind of fruit brandy made from cherries. It’s strong too – forty per cent alcohol – although it does smell a bit odd.’
Mia had wanted to bring something better than this, but she’d bottled out, fearing anything bigger would get noticed.
When she’d suggested the idea of getting their hands on some alcohol yesterday, she’d made out to Todd like it was something she did all the time. This was far from the truth. Other than sneaking the odd sip from her mum’s glass at home, she’d only tried it a couple of times: once at a house party thrown by an older girl from school and another time at a beach party about a week before she’d come to Manchester. It had been alcopops she’d drunk the first time and cider the second; on both occasions, she’d stopped before getting too wasted, unlike some of her friends, who’d embarrassed themselves and/or been violently sick.
So why now?
Everyone had to rebel from time to time. And wouldn’t it be great to have something juicy – not made up for once – that she could tell her friends she’d done in Manchester?
After wandering in the direction of the city centre for a few minutes, Mia grabbed Todd’s arm and jerked him to a halt. ‘Hang on,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t a park be better: somewhere quiet where no one will notice what we’re up to? We don’t want to get arrested.’
‘Good point,’ Todd replied. ‘Um, have you been to any parks here before?’
‘What about the Whitworth?’
Todd had no idea where she was talking about, so she explained it was an art gallery she’d visited with her aunt.
‘An art gallery? How’s that a good place to get drunk?’
She explained it was located in a big park and, ten minutes later, they were on a bus heading down Oxford Road towards Manchester University. At this point, Mia started to feel anxious. Todd was chatting away about how he’d got further than ever before on one of his PlayStation games; she nodded occasionally, pretending to listen.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked her when they left the bus.
‘Yeah, why?’
Mia had been thinking about her mum. Hannah had told her over breakfast that Mark had met up with her at the house last night, but he hadn’t told her anything so far. Mia had a bad feeling about the situation, which she couldn’t shake. She’d nearly messaged her mum loads of times this morning, but something had stopped her. She didn’t want to tell any of this to Todd, though. She preferred him to think of her as this chilled, older, worldly-wise girl who took everything in her stride. Admitting she was homesick and worried about what the hell was going on with her mum didn’t exactly fit in with that.
But as they crossed the road, which was really busy despite none of the uni students being around due to the holidays, the whole getting drunk thing seemed like less and less of a good idea. Nonetheless, she continued in the direction of the park with Todd at her side.
‘So what shall we start on first?’ he asked after they’d found a quiet spot, tucked away behind a bush.
‘I’m not sure. You pick.’
‘Can I have a smell of your weird stuff?’
‘Sure.’ She opened her handbag and pulled the small bottle out, handing it to Todd, who was sitting cross-legged on the grass next to her.
As Mia shuffled around, trying to get comfortable without giving anyone – especially Todd – a view up her skirt, she wished she’d thought to wear trousers or leggings. Even shorts would have been better.
A young family playing catch with a bouncing Yorkshire terrier in the distance grabbed her attention. Then Todd let out a high-pitched scream and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned to see he’d leapt to his feet and, in the process, dropped the bottle of kirsch on the floor.
‘What the hell?’ she cried out, stretching over to grab the bottle, only to find it was already drained.
Todd had darted a few feet away from her and was staring anxiously at the bush, gesticulating that Mia should follow him.
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