Girl Unknown(32)

‘She’s very beautiful,’ I said tentatively.

It was true. She had the cool beauty of a glassy lake on a cold day – you wanted to stare at it, to take it all in, but you wouldn’t want to touch it. A coldness that seemed biting. I said it to test him, I suppose. A childish need to hear him dismiss it, or make some comparison. Not as beautiful as Holly. Not as beautiful as you.

‘She’s like her mother.’ His tone was matter-of-fact but still I felt a pang.

‘You like her. Don’t you?’ I said. ‘I mean, as a person.’

He turned in my embrace so that he could face me, and I let my arms drop. He held on to my wrist, his thumb idly stroking the inside. ‘There’s something about her,’ he began cautiously. ‘I think it was brave of her, coming here today, meeting all of us. It must have been daunting.’

‘Daunting?’

‘To her mind, we must seem this fully formed machine, this tight unit,’ he explained. ‘I’m sure she must have felt nervous.’

I thought back to the moment just after Zo? had arrived and the introductions had been made. The way she had held out her hand to shake mine, giving me a shy smile, and said: I hope we can become good friends, Caroline.

It was not what I had expected.

The smile was bright, but the handshake weak. It was like trying to grip water. I couldn’t dispel the sense that the words used had been carefully selected, well rehearsed. I hope we can become good friends. David looking on with a hopeful expression. The words said to me, but for his benefit. There was something very adult in the phrasing, a hint of archness in her tone. Quite unlike that of any eighteen-year-old I had met. In advance of her visit, I had wondered if anything would be said about our conversation that day at the university, whether I should broach the subject with her, maybe even apologize. As soon as she said those words, I understood that it was her way of opening and closing the subject. It was, I felt, the most subtle of put-downs.

‘I feel sorry for her,’ he said, rousing me from my private thoughts.

‘Do you?’

‘Listening to what she was saying about Linda dying. How lonely she must have been. And as for the stepfather … He sounds like a piece of work.’

‘We’re only hearing her side of the story, you know,’ I said, thinking of the way she had bowed her head and looked up at David with those big eyes. The coyness of it – the faux-shyness, the manufactured vulnerability. How readily he accepted it. With Robbie and Holly, he was impenetrable to their appeals for sympathy, often demanding proof to back up their complaints.

‘What are you saying? We shouldn’t take her word for it?’

‘She’s a teenager. They bend the truth to make it match their own view of the world.’

‘That’s a little harsh, Caroline.’

‘Haven’t you said as much about Robbie in the past?’

‘That’s different,’ he said, letting go of my hand.

‘How is it different?’

‘Because Robbie hasn’t lost a parent.’

I kept my anger in check. ‘Okay. She’s obviously grieving for Linda, but I’m sure Gary is too. People don’t always communicate well when they’re trying to cope with loss.’

He took off his watch and put it on the nightstand. Turning to get into bed, he said, not unkindly, ‘Shove up,’ and I scooched over to my side of the bed, while he settled back against his pillow. ‘The kids seemed to handle it well, don’t you think?’

‘Yes,’ I said carefully. I thought of Robbie’s shy enthusiasm, the way Zo? seemed to draw him out with talk of music and film, shared cultural references. Holly had said little throughout the meal, and from the thinness of her mouth, the way her eyes caught mine, I could tell she was bothered by the other girl – a little threatened, perhaps.

‘Robbie was great,’ David continued. ‘They seemed to hit it off – him and Zo?. Did you notice?’

‘Holly seemed quiet.’

‘Did you talk to her after Zo? left?’

‘I tried to, but she was being cagey. You know Holly. She likes to process these things first.’

‘I suppose it’s natural for her to feel put out. Until now she’s been the only daughter.’

She’s still my only daughter, I thought, a surge of anger rising out of nowhere. ‘You should tread carefully with her,’ I told him, a gentle warning. ‘She might be feeling displaced.’

‘I will. Thanks for today, love,’ he told me. ‘I know it hasn’t been easy for you – all of this. It’s early days, but I think it’ll be okay. When she first walked into my office and dropped that bombshell, I was sure our lives were about to be turned upside-down. But after today I feel heartened. Optimistic.’

Now was the time to tell him, the opening I needed to voice my doubt, to express how unsure I was of the girl, wary. There was something about the way the situation was unfolding that was not right. I should have said it – I would have, but for the look in his eye when he turned to me.

‘I think we could get through anything,’ he said, ‘you and me.’

A quiet conviction in those words, which instantly summoned up the difficult work involved in mending the split between us. I felt the pressure of his grip and squeezed his hand in return.