Mothers & Daughters (30 page)

I squeezed Dad's fingers in mine. ‘I need to see this man who hurt Jaz,' I said.

Why
?

‘Because she might be with him. And because I need to understand her more. No wonder she was angry when she came home. I thought it was with me. But if I'd known. If only I'd known, Dad.'

I couldn't have told you what was bothering me the most: the loss of a baby who I could only conjure in the form of Matty; the idea of Jaz, hurt and lonely and going through such an ordeal on her own; guilt at the way I'd treated her when she dropped out; resentment that by keeping silent, she'd put me in that position. Fear that I knew my daughter so little.

The door opened suddenly and one of the care assistants came in holding a pair of hair clippers. ‘Oh!' she said. ‘It's so quiet in here I thought he was on his own. Sorry.'

I struggled to come out of my thoughts. Had I not been speaking aloud?

‘We're—' I started, but she'd already gone, closing the door softly.

Dad shivered. I kept hold of his hand.

I don't know how much longer we sat like that, talking to each other in silence.

Phil was, as usual, more pragmatic.

‘Plenty of girls have abortions. Thousands every year. It's a standard medical procedure, perfectly safe, perfectly legal. Don't get yourself in a state about it, Carol.'

He knelt by the pond, retractable tape measure in one hand, squared paper in the other, a pencil stuck behind his ear. Out of nowhere had come this baking hot day; even the pale grey paving slabs were dazzling.

‘But why didn't she tell me?'

Phil paused in his calculations and looked at me, his eyebrows raised.

‘Oh, don't start,' I said.

‘All I was going to say is, she doesn't like a fuss. She knew she'd messed up and didn't need you to ram it home.'

‘I would
never
have told her she'd “messed up”. How could you think I'd say such a thing?'

He sighed, took out his pencil and began to mark points on the sheet.

‘I know Jaz,' I went on, ‘and I know she couldn't have gone through an abortion without being emotionally scarred by it, never mind the physical side. And for her to have faced it on her own – that's what gets me, Phil. I was sitting at home in ignorance while she was going through hell.'

‘You were sorting your dad out, as I remember,' he said grimly. ‘And there was – Well, you had a few things on your mind that year.'

‘Eileen,' I said, to stop him mentioning the divorce.

‘Yes, Eileen.'

Insects skated across the surface of the pond inside sliding rings of light.

Phil said: ‘Do you not think Jaz might have been keeping schtum to protect you?'

‘I wouldn't have thought so. She doesn't operate like that. Oh, God, where did I go wrong, Phil? When she was little we got on really well. Even when she became a teenager it wasn't so bad—'

‘Only because you let her have her own way and a bag to put it in.'

‘I did not.'

He shrugged, pulled out a length of tape. ‘OK.'

‘But when she hit nineteen, twenty, I was the devil incarnate. You weren't there to see, but I tell you, I couldn't do a thing right. If I said “good morning” to her, she'd bristle like I'd sworn in her face.'

‘I wouldn't take it personally,' said Phil. ‘She always dismissed
me
as a fool.' And for a second he looked so forlorn I could almost have gone across and put my arms round him.

He sighed, scrambled stiffly to his feet and then stood looking at me.

‘Are you all right?' I said.

‘Trying to remember if I've any four-inch staples in the shed.'

I was still imagining what would have happened if I had walked up and touched him.

‘Six-inch would do it, but I don't want to go any bigger than that.'

‘Don't ask me,' I said. ‘No one but you knows their way round that place. One day I'll drag everything out and make a bonfire.'

‘I do hope you're joking, Carol.'

‘Or alternatively, you could get on and clear it like you've promised so many times.'

‘And then every time you needed a job doing, I'd have to bring all my tools round with me. Do you want me to fit this grid over your pond, or not?'

We weren't comfortable enough with each other for this kind of banter.
You moved out of this house, you should have taken all your stuff with you
, my head was going.
Sticking your foot in the door, that's what it amounts to. God knows why I've put up with it all these years
.

Ungrateful cow, he was thinking; I could see it in his face.

I waved a hand in a vague sort of ‘have it your own way' gesture, and he disappeared into the shed.

It was much cooler in the kitchen, but I still stood with the cold tap running over my wrists. Tomasz Ramzinski had been easy to track down via Friends Reunited, and then the phone book. But again, I wasn't going to risk calling first.

‘Are you sure you want to pursue this?' Phil had said when I first told him. ‘If she's not there, you'll have wasted your time, got all wound up for nothing. If she is, she'll be that pissed off with you.'

I hated him for being right, but I didn't seem able to help myself. ‘I'll talk her round,' I'd said. ‘She's not going to climb out of the back window and run off, is she? Maybe I could just see Matty for a little while. Get my fix.' Give Phil his due, he'd let that comment lie.

When he emerged from the shed, shielding his eyes against the sun, I went out with a glass of water.

‘Here,' I said. ‘You don't want to get a headache.'

‘Ta.' He took it from me, and nodded towards a clump of glyceria. ‘I'm going to need to drill some holes around the edge. That all right? It shouldn't affect your liner or anything.'

When I didn't reply, he knelt back down at the pond's edge
and started counting squares on his diagram. His lips moved in silent calculation.

I said: ‘I can't believe you're taking it all so calmly.'

‘Taking what?'

‘Jaz going off with Matty. What she said to me. Anyone would think you didn't care.'

Phil stopped dead and put down his drawing. ‘Never say that, Carol. Never say that again.'

He went back to marking his diagram.

‘I'm sorry,' I said lamely. ‘You just don't seem to get worked up the way I do.'

‘Look,' he said, tucking his pencil behind his ear again, ‘how about I go down to Bristol with you? You don't want to be messing about on trains; let me drive you. It'll be moral support. Someone to chat to.'

I thought of Sam's face, that tight half-smile as she realised the impact of what she was delivering. Watching me as I struggled to take everything in. It would have been good to have had someone with me that day. Even Phil.

‘Well,' I said.

‘I could tell you about Pen on the way,' he added carelessly.

You can take a running jump, I thought. I snatched up his almost empty glass and flung the dregs onto the dusty flagstones where they left a dark-blotched trail, like a nursery painting of a caterpillar. ‘You come,' I said, ‘on condition you don't say a word about her. I don't want to hear her name. I don't want to know.'

‘I thought you'd want—'

‘Your problem, nothing to do with me any more, Phil. That was me in another life.'

All those times I'd prayed she'd bugger off and leave us. At first so he'd stay, then that he'd come back to me, and finally that he'd show up just so I could tell him to get lost. Now, like
so many events you desperately wish for, the nothingness when it arrived was staggering.

‘You come with me because you're Jaz's dad, yes?'

He dropped his gaze. ‘She might still ring or text. You never know.'

‘She won't.'

‘I'll see you Saturday, then,' he said, and turned away again to study his figures, his bent back towards me.

I'd no intention of telling David, but it came out anyway.

‘I came to ask whether there was any news,' he said, walking into my hallway with a clipboard in one hand and calculator in the other. As if the last time I'd seen him I hadn't slammed a car door in his face.

‘What are those for?' I asked.

‘I thought I'd measure your pond so we could price up a grid. Might as well get something useful done.'

‘Oh,' I said, ‘Phil's seeing to it.'

‘He's getting professionals in?'

‘No, he's fitting something himself.'

David pressed his lips together disapprovingly.

I said, ‘He's checked the gauge, it's the proper stuff. If it doesn't look a hundred per cent safe in the finish, I'll take it up and start again.'

‘OK.' He pocketed the calculator, laid the clipboard on the windowsill, and sat down. ‘So, have you heard from Jasmine yet?'

The stand-by lines I'd rehearsed dissolved from my memory and I found myself mouthing like a fish.

‘That'll be a no, then.'

‘I did go – she wasn't where I thought she was. But probably—' I began. He interrupted me.

‘Look, Carol, I'm here to fight Ian's corner. My son needs to
see his child. There's no argument about that. But I'm also on your side, the side that wants Jasmine and Ian talking again, even if it's only to engineer an amicable and fair break-up plan with minimum damage to all parties. So you have to be straight with me. It's really important that you are.'

The open concern on his face made me feel shabby. ‘I didn't set out to deceive you.'

He waved his hand. ‘Let's just re-cap. You don't know where Matty is right at this moment. That's the state of play, isn't it?'

‘Yes, but there's a man . . .'

David raised his eyebrows.

‘. . . an old friend, lives in Bristol. It's possible she might be staying with him. I'm going down tomorrow.'

‘And you think Jasmine will be there?'

‘I don't know. I can't get her to answer my calls. There's a good chance.'

He gave me a searching look. ‘You're going tomorrow?'

‘First thing.'

‘Ring me when you get down there.'

‘Soon as I know anything. I promise.'

He stood up. ‘Well. I'll report back to Ian. What can I say, except I hope for everyone's sake she's there.'

Before he stepped through the front door, I slid my keys off the hall table, snapped Jaz's spare key off the fob and, without explanation, fumbled it into his hand. He pocketed it without comment or fuss; I can't tell you how grateful I was for that.

The evening was another warm one, so I went round opening upstairs windows to let some air through. In the back bedroom that had once been Jaz's, I unhooked the latch and leaned out over the garden. The light was fading and fine textures were more or less gone, but I could still make out distinct colours
and shapes. House martins gabbled under the eaves somewhere near, and traffic passed distantly. Then, overlaying these sounds, came a strange, light, repetitive thumping from the direction of Laverne's. It was one of those noises you don't notice at first, like a tap dripping – and then when you do, you can't hear anything else.
Thunk, du-dum. Thunk, du-dum
.

I craned to see what it was. Funny she wasn't out herself, because it must be driving her mad, what with her artistic nature.
Thunk, du-dum
. After thirty seconds there was a lull, and a football rolled into view across their lawn. Josh appeared, slouching after it, bending and scooping. As he turned he raised his face in my direction, but he didn't acknowledge me. He walked back out of sight with the ball under his arm, and then the noise started again. Kick, hit-bounce. Kick, hit-bounce. A troubled boy booting a football against brick in the gathering dark, his mother inside, registering each sulky resonance.
Fuck you all, fuck you all
.

I closed the window against the sound, and went downstairs to turn on the TV.

CHAPTER 24

Photograph 122, Album Two

Location: woodland, Alnwick, 1976

Taken by: Carol

Subject: Phil, wearing a maroon velvet jacket, sitting astride a tree trunk and pretending he's on a horse
.

Earlier that afternoon, he made the mistake of asking why she looked so down when they're supposed to be on holiday and enjoying themselves
.

Out it all pours, how she's thought over and over she was pregnant then found she wasn't, how she might never have children, how she's failed as a wife. ‘If I don't have children, I think I'll die,' she says melodramatically
.

‘Rubbish,' he says, ruffling her hair. ‘We've not been married five minutes
.'

Over a year, thinks Carol. Long enough
.

But Phil doesn't seem the slightest bit concerned that he might be hitched to a barren woman. Instead he starts talking about his so-called super-sperm, demonic white tadpoles that wear little cloaks and have magical powers. ‘They're waiting,' he says, ‘for that special egg. An everyday egg won't do. It's got to be a top-grade one. Nothing but the best.' He mimes the
sperm's wiggly journey, acts their expressions as they search and reject, and search again. He gives them the voice of David Niven in
A Matter of Life and Death.

Then he takes her in his arms and puts his lips to hers. The clouds scud over their heads and the grass quivers around them
.

This is what he's good at: when she leans on him, when she lets him be the man
.

I put on old clothes for travelling, then swapped them for something smarter, then changed back into old again. Bristol was a long way. I was standing in front of the mirror, wondering how I wanted to look when I met the man who'd wrecked my daughter's head, when the doorbell rang.