Beneath the Skin(11)

Irony one: the morning nap has made Sophie tired. She yawns and looks at the calendar before opening the fridge. ‘Coffee with Christine’ is pencilled in for today, but it doesn’t ring any bells. Irony two: the handwriting is hers, so she can blame no one but herself. The forgetfulness can be worrying, but only if she lets it, and anyway, she never forgets anything important.

She bends to pull out the carton of milk from the fridge and then changes her mind. It would be a shame to forego a glass of Chablis when it’s so beautifully chilled, and besides, she bought a replacement bottle yesterday, just in case. She makes a mental note of the level of the wine before she pours. She’s sure that Sami has too. Perhaps he’s sketched a diagram and slipped it in his briefcase along with his work plans. She laughs as she closes the fridge. The big question for her is whether she’ll remember.

Mike barely notices the door of his office close as Judith walks away. ‘Mum got over it quite quickly.’ It’s his daughter’s voice in his head, an echo of his own unspoken, festering words.

He picks up a letter and tries to focus on work and on today. But last night is still fresh, the memory raw in his mind.

He ate dinner alone in the high-ceilinged kitchen, knowing he should talk to Olivia, to clear the air somehow after her outburst. He wanted to be honest with her, but was afraid he would be too brutal. He took her a tea, then left her alone in their bedroom, her rigid back turned away from him.

But with Rachel it was different; he needed to make peace with her straight away. He was stunned at the way she’d behaved. She was bright and funny like her mum, but usually more mature than her twelve years. She was his little companion, always nearby, even when he watched the football on television.

‘Grandma, Dad’s buying me a season ticket next year,’ she announced at the weekend.

‘Girls don’t go to the football!’ his mother responded in horror.

‘Of course they do, Grandma,’ she replied. ‘This is the age of equality. Anything a boy can do, a girl can do better,’ she said boldly, making them all laugh.

‘Can I come in?’ Mike asked, tapping gently on her pine bedroom door. She was curled up on the bed, his little girl, with her face puffy and red from so much crying. ‘Come here for a hug,’ he said, the sight of her making him want to cry too. But he held it in; if he started he might never stop.

The story came out in a rush: ‘Mum was livid. I’ve never seen her so cross. As soon as I put my key in the door she was there, shouting at me. She accused me of bunking off school but I promise you I wasn’t. I felt ill so I came home. I didn’t think she’d mind. I thought she’d understand. I thought she’d stick up for me and clear it with the teacher. I know I shouldn’t have called her a cow, Dad, but she was one, really. Her face looked horrible and she said, “You don’t look ill to me. What’s in the bag? Have you been to the shops?”’

Mike studied Rachel’s face. Her dark blue eyes looked sincere and hurt. She’d always been a daddy’s girl, but Olivia adored her. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I bet Mum overreacted because we’ve heard so many bad things, not only about your school but all schools. You know, drugs, truanting, bullying and all the other things parents worry about. You’re such a lovely girl that we’d hate you to get into any trouble.’

‘Mum doesn’t trust me. That makes it even worse.’

He nodded. He wasn’t sure what the procedure was with illness and school, but he doubted that kids were allowed to wander off without consulting a parent. ‘Well, of course we trust you …’ he began.

Rachel hid her face in her hands. ‘I called Mum’s mobile loads of times, but it was off, so I had to go to the chemist all by myself and it was so embarrassing. Mum should have been there or bought them for me, but she didn’t even care enough to ask what was wrong.’

He frowned; he’d lost the thread of the conversation.

‘Dad, what are you like?’ Rachel said, her angry eyes catching his for a moment before turning away. ‘I had to go to the chemist to buy pads. I wasn’t about to go to the school office and ask them. It’s just so embarrassing.’

Mike raked his hands through his hair. He had no idea what to say. Thank God I’m not a single parent. Thank God I have Olivia, he thought. His sister Siobhan had been in and out of hospital when he was a boy. If she had started her periods at some point in his childhood, no one had told him about it. He knew nothing about a girl’s puberty or menstruation, or any of that malarkey. He was rapidly discovering that he knew nothing about women at all.

‘It’s all right, Dad, I don’t want to talk about it either,’ Rachel said eventually with a small smile. She slipped her hand into his. ‘By the way, I heard Mum shouting earlier. I’m not her number one fan at the moment, but it’s true what she said. I mean, I don’t want to upset you or anything, but sometimes you don’t seem to hear what we say. You’re not funny any more. You turn on the telly and just stare.’

She looked up into his face. ‘Is it because of the baby? Is that why you’re sad? Are you thinking about him?’

He took a breath and a moment to reply. Of course that was when the black dog returned, creeping in on its belly, almost unseen, before following him everywhere. ‘How come you’re so bright?’ he asked, wondering how a twelve-year-old child could be so perceptive.