Forget Her Name(14)

Yes, I wanted a cat as a child. A soft, fluffy kitten who would run after dangled wool and cuddle up to me at night.

But there was a very good reason they decided against getting a cat. Because of Rachel’s hatred for animals. Not least the day she tortured and killed that unfortunate stray in front of me. And further traumatised me by plucking out its eye, and . . .

The snow globe.

I close my eyes and push that memory away. It’s easier to do than I feared. But then, it was always quiet here at the top of the house. The windows are specially double-glazed to be soundproof, and the noise of traffic below is barely audible. That’s one reason I spent so long up here after Rachel’s death. I felt cocooned, a rook in a high nest, cut off from the rush and confusion of the city below. Like I was all alone in the world, and nothing could bother me. Not even the most troubling memories of my sister.

I let myself drift into sleep. I’ll mention Rachel’s snow globe at dinner. That’s why I’ve come to see them, after all.



We eat in the dining room, not the breakfast room, which surprises me. The dining room is long and very grand, and normally reserved for when my parents have company. And I hardly count as ‘company’. But the table was laid by Kasia before she left, Mum tells me. It has been covered with a cream damask tablecloth, and laid with wine and water glasses, and slender silver cutlery. There’s a floral centrepiece too, white roses with delicate green candles, and for each person a damask napkin enclosed in a silver-plated napkin ring.

There’s an empty seat opposite me. No place setting, but the seat is there.

I glance at it briefly, and then away.

‘How’s Dominic getting on at the hospital?’ my mother asks, and I smile, turning to her, only too happy to talk about someone other than myself.

While I describe Dominic’s recent issues at St Hilda’s, I’m aware of my dad watching me, his eyes intent. Such close scrutiny makes me uneasy, but I keep talking. I know what he’s thinking. That Dominic isn’t good enough for me. Such crap. None of the boys I’ve dated have ever been good enough for him. At first I was disheartened by his patent disapproval of Dominic – ‘A male nurse?’ Dad had repeated when I first mentioned his job, clearly horrified – but Dominic himself persuaded me to let it go.

‘Parents never like the guys their daughters date,’ he assured me, grinning. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

I did worry though, but secretly, and certainly didn’t allow Dad to influence my choice of boyfriend.

Dinner over, Mum disappears into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, again rejecting my offer of help.

I stay at the table, talking politics with Dad.

‘Are you happy with this man?’ he asks suddenly, reaching for my hand.

‘Of course I am.’

‘You’d tell me if you weren’t? You wouldn’t hide it from me?’

‘Don’t be silly, you know I would.’ Embarrassed, I pull my hand away, and feel his gaze narrow on my face. ‘Look, everything’s fine. You don’t need to worry.’

‘Your mum said you sounded unhappy on the phone. She thought there might be a problem.’

‘Not with Dominic.’

He nods slowly, his expression giving nothing away. ‘Okay.’

‘I love Dominic.’ I have to struggle not to raise my voice. Would he be this overprotective if I were his son? ‘How can you even think that? For God’s sake, I’m marrying him in a few weeks.’

‘People change their minds sometimes.’

‘I haven’t changed my mind.’

‘Okay,’ he repeats, but continues to watch me closely.

‘I wish you wouldn’t treat me like this.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like some stupid kid who doesn’t know her own mind.’ My mother comes back in, carrying a tray of coffee. ‘I told you before, everything’s going fine with our wedding plans. We know what we’re doing. So you don’t need to worry. Either of you.’

Mum looks worriedly from me to my father. ‘I only left you two alone for five minutes. Don’t tell me you’ve argued again?’

‘Not at all,’ my father says smoothly.

He reaches out again and pats my hand before I can stop him. A deeply patronising gesture, though I know Dad’s probably unaware of his own latent sexism. I suppress my little burst of temper and say nothing.

‘Typical dad–daughter stuff, that’s all,’ he says easily. ‘And it seems we’ve had a false alarm. No probs with the delectable Dom, after all.’ He sniffs the air appreciatively. ‘That smells amazing, Ellen. It’s been a long day. Endless bloody problems at work. I could murder a cup of coffee.’

Mum pours us all a cup of coffee, her movements precise and studied. Then she sits back in her place and smiles at me. It looks like she’s brushed her silvery-blonde hair while out of the room. There’s not a strand out of place.

The perfect society hostess.

‘So, darling,’ she says, ‘if the wedding’s still on, and you and Dominic are still madly in love, what on earth’s bothering you? I don’t want to come across as one of these irritating mother-hen types, but you did sound a little upset on the phone. And you hardly ever pop over to see us these days.’ She searches my face, then her smile fades. ‘Oh God, you’re not . . . you’re not expecting, are you?’