Girl Unknown(44)

It was a few moments before I could get out of the car. Then I locked it, straightened myself and followed him slowly into the house.





14. David


It happened that around this time I was invited to speak at a conference hosted by my old stomping ground, Queens University, Belfast. On the morning I was due to leave, I got up early, before Caroline’s alarm went off, and wandered downstairs. It was one of those surprising February mornings when the frost sparkles beneath the hard sunlight, crocuses spearing up through the frozen earth, and you sense the real possibility that spring has arrived. I took my coffee and the notes for my talk and went to sit in the garden on the wooden bench by the back wall.

I read over my notes, but the words kept blurring on the page, my attention pulled elsewhere. It had been years since I had been to Belfast, and while it was nice to receive the invitation, the thought of going back to Queens only served to stir up buried memories, and awaken old ghosts.

Earlier in the week, I had taken it upon myself to track down the contact details for Zo?’s stepfather, Gary. Of course I could have asked Zo? for his number, but she was so closed and defensive – almost frightened – any time he was mentioned that I chose not to. Instead I went through the university registrar. In the end, it was all straightforward enough. A brief phone call suggesting we meet, which he accepted without question, although I noted the surprise in his tone. I told myself that I just wanted to outline for him my plans to become actively involved as Zo?’s parent, paying her tuition fees as well as taking her into my home. I didn’t know whether or not to tell him about her suicide attempt, weighing up his need to know versus her desire for privacy. It was still unclear to me what responsibilities towards her Gary felt still existed in the wake of Linda’s death. I suppose that was why I set up the meeting rather than discussing it over the phone.

Another question on my mind was whether I ought to tell Zo? about my planned visit. I didn’t like going behind her back. Part of my intention to see Gary – a big part – was the hope that he might help me get to the bottom of the question that had dogged me since Zo?’s arrival: why hadn’t Linda told me? Any time I had tried tackling Zo? on it, she’d become evasive and withdrawn. I had the impression she didn’t know.

I was so lost in these thoughts, my notes put to one side, that I didn’t notice Robbie until he was almost upon me.

‘Mum says you’ll miss your train,’ he remarked, his hands in the pockets of his school trousers. I noticed a new eruption of spots across his chin. He looked particularly gloomy that morning.

I glanced at my watch. ‘There’s time. Here, sit down for a minute, will you?’

There was room enough for two or three people on the bench, but rather than taking the seat next to me, he chose to perch at a distance on the armrest – an awkward solution, but one that drove home to me the distance he had been putting between himself and the rest of us since his school suspension the previous week.

‘How’s school?’ I asked, and he shrugged, not answering.

‘Everything all right?’ I probed.

‘Yeah. Why?’

‘You seem tense.’

‘No, I’m not.’

I suppose I might have put his defensiveness down to hormones. But ever since Caroline had sheepishly admitted the reason behind Robbie’s violent outburst at school, I had worried his withdrawal had deeper roots than teenage disaffection. It upset me that my son had been aware of his mother’s wayward behaviour, that he had carried the burden of this knowledge in secret for more than a year. I had tried talking to him about it, hoping to squirrel out some information over what repercussions he had had to deal with – bullying at school? Teasing? A change in any teacher’s behaviour towards him? But every time I tried to draw him on the subject, he clammed up. At home, the mood was fraught. He barely spoke to either of us, and even though this incident had served to fire up my anger towards Caroline over what she had done, I felt a duty, nonetheless, as a co-parent to rein in Robbie’s attitude towards his mother, which was verging on disdain.

‘Listen, go easy on your mother while I’m away, will you?’

‘Sure,’ he said, with marked disinterest.

‘I know you’re angry with her but, Robbie, she’s your mother. She loves you. She only wants what’s best for you.’

He got to his feet and began moving towards the house.

‘Robbie.’

He turned to me with a withering stare. ‘How can you stand it?’ he demanded. ‘After what she did?’

‘Marriage is complicated,’ I said, but already he was stalking back towards the house, uninterested in my reply.

So that was how he saw me: a cuckold, a worm, spineless and ineffectual.

Back in the house, I put my coffee cup on the draining-board, my notes in my bag. Without saying a word to anyone, I took my things and left.

The conference was well attended and lively, a buzz about the university as the lectures attracted students and those outside academic life who had an interest in the history of the world wars. By coincidence, an old pal of mine from my Queens days – Giancarlo – was also attending. He had become something of a star in academic circles in his native Italy, but to me he was the same mischievous, irreverent student I had known twenty years before. On the first night of the conference, we headed out together to revisit some old haunts around Belfast and it was late when I got back to my hotel room, a little the worse for wear. There was a missed call from Caroline, but I chose not to return it. I was still peeved over my conversation with Robbie in the garden that morning, and I guess I blamed Caroline, tracing the roots of his grievance back to her fling.