Girl Unknown (13 page)

11. Caroline

‘I think it went well. Don’t you?’

It was almost midnight. Hours had passed since he had dropped Zoë back to her flat, and still David’s voice retained its buoyancy, the same optimism that had imbued the whole afternoon.

‘Yes. I suppose.’

I was in bed already, reading my book, while he moved about the room, changing into his pyjamas, getting out his clothes for the morning. There was an energy about him, as if the day had bolstered his spirit, whereas I felt drained. I tried to concentrate on the words in front of me, but his jittery presence was a distraction. Putting down my book, I watched him fumbling at the back of his wardrobe for something he couldn’t find.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked, a note of irritation in my voice.

‘Looking for my climbing gear. Have you seen it?’

‘David, you haven’t climbed in years.’

‘I know. But I thought I’d go down to the sports centre tomorrow, give the climbing wall a go.’

‘Why?’

‘Why not?’ he replied cheerfully, with no indication that he had picked up on my annoyance. ‘It’s probably in the attic.’ He disappeared on to the landing.

For a few minutes I sat there, fiddling with the page of
my open book, listening to him overhead. Where had the sudden urge come from to revisit a sport he had long forgotten about? Zoë, of course. I thought again of the two of them disappearing down the driveway into the evening. Ever since his return he had been upbeat, happy in a way I hadn’t seen for a long time.

‘Find your gear?’ I asked, when he came back into the room.

‘Yep. It’s a bit dusty, but not beyond use.’ He set about restoring order to his wardrobe.

‘What was it like?’ I asked. ‘Zoë’s flat.’

‘Oh. I don’t know. I didn’t go up.’

‘I thought you might have. You were gone a while.’

‘Was I? There was traffic.’

‘What’s it like from the outside?’

‘It’s a quiet enough street – a terrace of brown-bricks in Rathmines, behind the swimming pool.’

‘The rent can’t be cheap.’

‘A poky room in a freezing attic, Caroline. I don’t think she can afford much else.’

‘I imagine it’s all incense sticks and posters of Morrissey,’ I said, picking at the corner of my book.

‘Her taste is a bit retro. What was it she told Robbie she likes? The Cure and Massive Attack. I mean, those were from way back in our day.’

‘You make it sound like the Dark Ages!’ I said, the ice inside me beginning to thaw. The way he’d said it –
back in our day
– reminded me of our shared history, and all the joy that lay within those memories, a joy she couldn’t touch. Putting aside my book, I pulled back the covers and moved across the mattress to where he was sitting,
looped my arms around his neck, bringing my cheek alongside his. He reached up, grasped my wrist, and I could feel his face against mine, smiling.

‘I still remember you dancing around a bedsit to the Smiths,’ I murmured.

He laughed. ‘Me too.’

It was nice, the warmth between us – the sudden intimacy. After the day that had passed, it felt fortifying to have him in my arms, his body against mine, as if I were reclaiming him.

‘I must dig out some of my old CDs,’ he said. ‘See if Zoë wants them.’

One mention of her name and the mood between us evaporated. Where I was bathing in the warmth of an old memory, he was focusing on a future neither of us had bargained for. There was a frisson of excitement in his voice. Subtle enough, but I caught it. I could tell how pleased he was with this daughter, taking pride in her originality, her desire to separate herself from the crowd. With the mention of her name it was as if, somehow, she had crept into our room.

‘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 Zoë 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 Zoë 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 Zoë. Did you notice?’

‘Holly seemed quiet.’

‘Did you talk to her after Zoë 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.

He let go just long enough to turn out the lights and was back with me again, the two of us sliding under the covers. For a few moments everything else dissolved around us, the world narrowing to this room, this bed, this breath, this touch.

Afterwards, he fell asleep with his arms around me. A short while later, I gently moved away, and he settled into a deeper sleep.

I stayed awake, listening to the noises of the house around me – the creaking of wind in the gables, the ticking of pipes deep in the recesses of the house, and the soft breathing of my husband next to me. I thought about Zoë, her weak handshake, her behaviour towards me. With the others, she was all warmth and charm and interest, but I got cold politeness. She hardly even looked at me, her eyes always sliding away from mine. I thought about it now, and realized the subtlety and slyness of it.

The spilled-wine incident had chilled me. I remembered again her laughing refusal when I offered to lend her one of my T-shirts, the way she warmly shrugged off any apologies, making light of the matter. ‘It’s not a problem,’ she had said, of the splash across her T-shirt, like evidence of some act of violence, while she smiled and laughed, and then excused herself to use the bathroom. David mopped up the wine while I cleared away the dishes. Together we set the room to rights. Zoë was in the bathroom for at least ten minutes and we both assumed she was rinsing the wine from her top.

‘I’ll go and see if she needs help,’ I told him.

The cloakroom off the hall was empty, and as I climbed the stairs, I heard the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. I knocked on the door and said her name.

‘Come in,’ was the reply and I pushed the door open to find her leaning against the sink, attempting to wash out the stain from the T-shirt she was still wearing. It seemed an awkward task, and she didn’t look up from it, her mouth set in a thin line of determination. As she wrung water from the hem, the T-shirt rose a little higher from her waist and I could see a band of pale flesh at her midriff, so thin she was almost concave.

‘I just came to see if you needed help,’ I said. ‘Did you manage to get it out?’

‘No.’

‘Perhaps some salt would help?’

She let go of her clothing and turned to me, her face a small pinched mask. ‘It’s fucking ruined,’ she said.

The words seemed to bounce off the cold surfaces of the room.

‘Zoë, I –’

‘Don’t bother,’ she snapped, pushing past me, taking the stairs two at a time.

I remained in the bathroom, trying to make sense of what had just passed between us. The ferocity of her words had taken me aback, the speed at which she had swung from warmth to hostility leaving me reeling.

There were voices in the hall, and as I came down the stairs, I saw David helping her on with her coat.

‘I can walk home,’ she was saying, laughter slipping easily between her words. ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’

‘No worries,’ he answered, and she beamed back at him.

Then, seeing me on the stairs, she directed her smile at me, as if nothing had passed between us. As if the ugliness of our encounter in the bathroom had never happened.

‘Thank you so much for a lovely lunch, Caroline,’ she said warmly. ‘I really enjoyed it.’

I must have mumbled some kind of goodbye but, for the life of me, I can’t remember what. It was breathtaking, the way she turned on the charm in front of David, reserving her cool hostility for the occasions she and I were alone together.

I could have said something to David – but what? That she had snapped at me? Told me her T-shirt was ruined? He would say I was reading too much into it, that I had misinterpreted her tone. To his mind, the whole time she was with us she had been polite, friendly – charming, even. He would think I was being unfair. Still, I regretted having let it pass with no mention at all.

I lay in bed listening to the patter of rain on the roof, the wind strengthening. Soon enough it was howling around the eaves, lashing against the windows. David stirred in his sleep but didn’t wake. I lay there in the darkness, staring at the ceiling long after the storm was spent.

My unease after that first visit faded as the days passed. There was work, a dental check-up, the usual household obligations. Before I knew it, Sunday blew in and she was among us again – Zoë. I hadn’t thought she would return so soon, but when David put it to her that she was welcome to join us, she apparently accepted eagerly.

Just like that, it became a pattern – a set-piece that
bookended the week. November passed, the weeks studded with these curious occasions. Curious because, although they became more relaxed as we got to know her, I still felt there was something stagey about them.

Each week now tilted towards Sunday, as if all the other days were just treading water to make time pass. That day, those visits were taking on a significance that made me feel uncomfortable. I could see it in the behaviour of the others. Come Sunday morning, a bounce and vigour would enter Robbie’s step, and at the same time I could see a tightening in Holly’s face. As for David, it used to be his Sunday treat to take himself off alone to our local for a quiet pint and to read the papers for an hour or two in the afternoon. Since Zoë’s arrival, that had stopped. Instead he would drive to Rathmines to collect her, and after lunch, he’d drop her back again, like some kind of shared custody arrangement after a marital separation. Only Zoë was not a child. And if David was in any way put out by this, he didn’t show it. In fact, he appeared happy.