Mrs. Austin appears at the end of the hallway, marching toward us, coming to collect me for the meeting.
“Good morning,” Mr. Richardson calls brightly. “Just having a word with Tess about some homework she was supposed to hand in this morning.”
“And failed to hand in, I’m guessing?”
“Unfortunately so.”
I fold in on myself, my fury bending double as I glower privately, quietly, words fluttering in my throat, noiseless and frantic as moths. My vocal cords are disintegrating, decaying to nothing, turning to powder like the dust on Gran’s mantelpiece, covering her ornaments. The animals. That porcelain lion.
You might not be a lion, Tess. That’s fine. Neither am I. But we’re still cats, aren’t we? Just because we don’t roar, doesn’t mean we have to be silent.
“He’s lying, Mrs. Austin. He’s a liar.”
My words are quiet but clear. Henry is wise and brilliant, but he was wrong about one thing.
This is a better form of protest.
The principal’s office is smaller than I remember, and redder. The rug is red and Mrs. Austin’s cheeks are red and Mum is crimson and Jack is ruddy, pulling at the tie around his neck. He plays with it, holding it out then letting it flop back down on his shirt. It looks like a tongue. It looks like my tongue, free to move for the first time in weeks. I thrash it about behind my teeth, checking the muscles still work.
Only Mr. Richardson is a normal color, a cool, calm beige. He smiles patiently at Mrs. Austin as if he can’t wait to clear up this little misunderstanding just as soon as the secretary has arrived with another chair for me.
She appears at last, pushing an old, creaky one into the office, the stiff wheels getting tangled in the rug.
“Sorry. Would you mind, Mr. Richardson?”
He gets up to help. “There you go, Tess.” He pats the back of the chair, daring me to sit down and take him on. “Make yourself comfortable.”
I move it to the right, closer to Mum. Mr. Richardson sits back down next to Jack. It’s strange seeing them together, just inches apart—blond versus ginger, tall versus small—no idea they share the same name, totally unaware of the duel they have fought in my mind.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” Mrs. Austin says, shuffling some papers on her desk. “We need to discuss the truancy on Friday, but I’m afraid there is another matter we should address first.” Mum and Jack exchange a worried glance. “This morning, Tess accused Mr. Richardson of being a liar.”
“Because of an issue with homework,” he says at once. “A silly thing, really.”
“Accused how?” Mum asks. “Did she write it down?”
Mrs. Austin purses her lips. “She said it to his face.”
“Really!” Jack’s delight jars with Mrs. Austin’s disapproval. “She spoke?”
“Out loud?” Mum says, clutching the Gucci bag. I don’t mind it being here. I’ve done something worthy of it for once. “Are you sure she spoke?”
“Of course.”
Jack laughs. “Fantastic! Not the words, obviously. I don’t mean that. But this is, well… Helen.”
“I know. It’s a big step, Mrs. Austin. We’re not condoning what she said, but you have to understand this is wonderful news for us.”
“She accused a member of the staff of lying, Mrs. Turner. That’s serious.”
“Because of an issue with homework,” Mr. Richardson says again, no doubt banking on the fact that what just happened in the hallway was a one-off, an anomaly, never to be repeated. He wants me to shut up, to be mute forevermore. Jack is the opposite, nodding encouragingly, eager to hear my voice, big enough to hear my truth, whatever it is.
“It has nothing to do with homework.” I don’t need to shout. The words are powerful enough.
“Don’t say something you’ll regret now, Tess.” Mr. Richardson looks insistently at Jack. “She was supposed to hand in a work sheet this morning, but for some reason she’s denying all knowledge of it.”
Jack stares him down, blue eyes overpowering brown. “I think we’ll let my daughter speak for herself, thank you.”
“But she can’t be trusted! She’s going to tell you a pack of lies!”
Mrs. Austin is startled by the outburst. “Perhaps it’s better if you step outside, Mr. Richardson.”
“That’s hardly fair!” His composure is falling apart in spectacular fashion. He’s on his feet, waving his arms. “Do I even get the chance to defend myself against her fibs?”
“You’ll have the opportunity to put forward your case but for now I must ask you to leave the room.” Mrs. Austin marches around her desk on adamant legs that stop at the door. She turns the handle with a firm twist of her wrist. “Step outside, Mr. Richardson.” He flares up, eyes bulging, nostrils wide. “The waiting area, if you please.”
The door clicks behind him and the office is quiet.
“Right,” Mrs. Austin says, and she’s back to shuffling papers on her desk, but it’s different now. She’s uncertain, searching for a blank sheet and a pen. “In your own time, Tess. There’s no rush.”
A computer screen. Running away. The HFEA. A Methodist church in Didsbury. Mr. Richardson’s brown eyes. A driver’s license. The kitchen window. Henry. Miss Gilbert. A wedding ring. And a kiss in a classroom.
Slipping my hand in my pocket, my fingers close around Mr. Goldfish, squeezing him tightly as I turn him on.
“You can do it, Tess.”
I’m not so sure. Mum and Jack are waiting. Mrs. Austin’s fountain pen is poised.
“Say it, Tess,” Jack urges. “It’s okay. You can explain. Nothing’s off-limits here.” He rubs his face. I know what’s coming, but it takes him a while to ask the question. “You saw it, didn’t you?” I nod, just once. His whole body seems to sag. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
“Saw what?” Mum asks. “Saw what, Jack?”
“It’s okay. Tell her.”
And so I do. I talk. I explain everything, my words captured on paper by Mrs. Austin’s glistening ink. She traps the truth. Makes it real. Undeniable. Impossible to ignore.
It takes ages and it’s exhausting, but somehow I get to the end, finally repeating the words Mr. Richardson used when he blackmailed me in the hallway.
When it’s over, no one speaks. Mrs. Austin glances back over her notes. Mum cries quietly into the yellow handkerchief. Jack puts his arm around my shoulder. He pulls me to him, and I resist, and I resist, and then I don’t.
“Can I take my daughter home?” he asks.
“Absolutely,” Mrs. Austin replies. “And rest assured that Mr. Richardson will be suspended, effective immediately, pending investigation.”
“If he comes near Tess again, I swear to God I’ll knock his block off.”
“That won’t happen, Mr. Turner. I know tensions are running extremely high, but please trust me to handle this.”
Jack goes to argue, but Mum stops him by fetching his coat. “Take this. Come on. Let’s go home. Have a cup of tea.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Mrs. Austin says, and I agree.
49
A scurry of paws announces Jedi’s arrival as he tears down the stairs to greet all three of us, not quite a trio but more than a bunch of individuals. I kick off my boots on the doormat. Welcome it says. Welcome back. Falling to my knees, I bury my face in Jedi’s fur.
“Hello, boy.” He wags madly at the sound of my voice, jumping up to lick my mouth before collapsing on his back, paws stuck out in all directions. A giggle bubbles out of me. It feels good, sort of tickly. “You are a silly dog.”
“I’ve always thought that,” Mr. Goldfish mutters, moving ever so slightly in my pocket. “Silly and smelly.”
Mum pauses midway through removing her shoes. “Your laugh, Tess. I never thought I’d hear it again. It’s a nice noise.”
“A great noise,” Jack says.
I’m embarrassed by the compliment so I give Jedi a stroke. Mum stumbles toward me, pulling off he
r other shoe and tossing it to one side. Jedi darts after it.
“No, boy! No! Damn it,” she says as he shoots into the kitchen with his trophy. “Listen to me, Tess. You have to understand that your dad and I wanted you, whatever it said in that blog.” She glares at Jack. “We fought for you for years and that’s why we used a, well, a thingy.” She takes a deep breath. “A sperm donor.”
Jack’s reaction is identical to mine. We both flinch and look for an escape route, but decide to stay put.
“It’s because we were so desperate to have a child of our own that we ended up in this situation. We’d tried everything, hadn’t we, Jack? Herbal remedies. Pills. IVF.”
He clears his throat. “Yes.”
“Is that all you’ve got to say?”
He clears his throat again because there’s a blockage, something stopping him from saying these words. He’s kept them hidden far longer than I have. “It isn’t easy, Hels.”
Mum softens at once, pulling him onto the armchair. He sinks into it, exhausted. Mum perches on his knee and rubs the base of his neck. “That time in our lives was really hard, Tess. Getting our hopes up every month only to have them dashed. Trying week after week. It was tiring.”
“That’s maybe too much information,” Mr. Goldfish whispers.
“It was a struggle, devastating at times.”
“And it was my fault,” Jack says in a low voice, “as you’ve probably guessed. I was the one with the problem.”
“That’s definitely too much information,” Mr. Goldfish hisses.
“I couldn’t give your mum the thing she wanted more than anything. We didn’t tell anyone, not a soul, because I was too proud. Your mum had no one to talk to. No one to confide in.”
“Neither did you.”
They hold hands. “It was a daft decision to try to keep it to ourselves but there you go.”
Jack shifts on the armchair, rubbing his nose, adjusting his trousers, uncomfortable with the conversation we’ve had so far, or maybe where it’s heading. He’s upset, shaken like a snow globe, all these dormant words agitated and restless for the first time in years. He pulls on his tie, freeing his throat.
“Even when it came to using a donor, I wanted it to be a secret so no one would ever dispute that you were mine. I was determined to be a good dad because I’d failed as a husband.”
“You didn’t fail, Jack. Don’t be silly.”
“That’s how it felt.”
“So, Gran and Aunt Susan and Uncle Paul?” I ask slowly.
“They don’t know. Nobody knows.” Something eases in my chest as I nod. “The day we found out we were expecting you, I made a vow, cheesy as it sounds. Looked in the mirror and said it out loud. I would love you like my own. I’d be there for you in the way my own dad wasn’t for me. Support you. Encourage you to do well at school and outside it. But then you were born and—”
“What?” Mum says. “This is what I don’t understand. We were over the moon, weren’t we?”
“I wasn’t. I’m sorry, Hels, but if we’re being honest then I have to say it as it is.”
“You didn’t love her?”
“Not right away. I couldn’t.”
I wait for the hurt and the terror and the anguish, but I’m strangely calm, almost at peace, which makes no sense at all. I’ve dreaded this for weeks, built it up in my mind, run from it at every opportunity, but now that it’s actually happening, I’m relieved. For a glorious instant, Mr. Goldfish appears before me, resplendent, puffing out his orange chest. “The only way to conquer your fears is to face them. True courage—”
“Is what?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he admits sheepishly. “I had no idea where that was going first time around, either.”
“She didn’t feel like mine,” Jack says. “You and Tess, you were a twosome, right from the start. You were brilliant, Hels. Got the hang of it straightaway. A total natural. Breastfeeding. Burping. Nappies, all that stuff. You were the one who could soothe her if she was crying. Send her off to sleep. She’d settle on your skin because it was her skin, wasn’t it? That’s how it seemed. You smelled the same. You were made of the same stuff. And I was on the outside.” It’s a flurry of words. I can almost see the blizzard. “I felt useless, to be honest.”
“You should have told me, Jack.”
“How could I? This is what we’d wanted for years. What we’d tried so hard to get. I was ashamed, wasn’t I? I couldn’t be a proper dad, and when it came to manning up and taking on Tess as my own, I couldn’t do that either.”
Tears shine in Mum’s eyes. “I had no idea. No idea!”
“That’s why I wrote the blog. Partly to get it off my chest and partly to help other men who might feel the same. There was something on TV a few weeks ago about dads who struggled to bond with their babies and it brought it all back. I wanted to reassure people that, just because things start off badly, doesn’t mean they always end up that way, but I didn’t end up posting it in the end. It seemed wrong when Tess didn’t know the truth. Can I show it to you? To both of you?”
“I’d like that,” I reply, surprising myself again.
We follow him into the study, the curtains closed and the radiator switched off so the room is dark and cold, almost as if it’s no longer in use. The skull is nowhere to be seen and the frame that contained the Robert Frost poem is empty. It makes me sad to see it, but hopeful, too.
“I’ll just get the computer going,” Jack says, and there’s a bizarre five minutes of practicality where a wire is untangled and a plug is inserted in a socket and an On button is pressed. We huddle in the gloom, waiting for the laptop to wake up. When it finally does, the screen is as bright as sunrise.
Jack finds the file and opens it up for us to read. Six hundred and seventeen words—only there are more of them now, three thousand and seventy-one in fact. The start of the blog hasn’t changed, and it isn’t easy to be faced with Jack’s experience of me as a newborn, his struggle to bond with another man’s daughter, his disappointment—in himself most of all, for not being able to give his wife a child, and for being incapable of loving the one she had when it arrived.
Mum backs away from the computer. “I can’t believe you felt like that.”
“Read on,” he urges. “Just read.”
And so we do, and the blog transforms the instant he writes about the first time he saw me smile, just this ordinary Saturday morning. Mum was sleeping in and he sat in the kitchen and ate a bowl of porridge, cradling me in one arm, looking down to see me grin. That was the second he felt like my dad.
“That was the point I was trying to make, Tess. When you read it, it wasn’t finished. I’m so sorry you saw it, love, that you found out like this and that I didn’t ask you sooner if you’d seen it. I wasn’t absolutely sure that you had. You already seemed so upset. I was scared of telling you something you didn’t know and making everything worse. What if you hadn’t read the blog? What then? I’m sorry. We should have been honest with you from the start.”
“It was difficult. I get that,” I say. I didn’t at first, but now I do.
“There was never a good time,” he goes on, reassured by my response. “You were too young. And then you were too old. You’d been my daughter for years. I didn’t want to tell you otherwise. Put ideas in your head so you’d run off, trying to find some other bloke who didn’t know you like I do. Love you.”
An image of Mr. Richardson floats into my mind, and just as quickly, disappears again.
“I’m not the best dad, Tess. I know that. But I am your dad.”
The words are quiet and simple—my sort of words, drifting out of his mouth to settle on my skin like snowflakes in first dawn, melting into me as I accept them as truth.
We drink tea, a lot of tea, my hands snug around the pig mug. I tell my parents about Isabel, who agrees to come over this evening when I call her after school.
“You can talk,” she says.
“I can talk.”
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you, Isabel.”
“More than Mr. Holdsworth?”
I snort. “Don’t push your luck.”
Henry comes by later, upset and ashen-faced, insisting he doesn’t blame me.
“Well, that’s generous of him,” Mr. Goldfish says, his voice quieter now, not even a whisper, more of a breath with words swirling around in it. “You have sort of destroyed his parents’ marriage.”
I’m pleased Henry doesn’t agree. “This is his fault, Tess. Do you hear me? Totally his fault. He came home and admitted everything. Didn’t have a choice, did he? There’s going to be an investigation. The union is involved. Everyone’s going to know about it. I’ve already had messages from Anna and Tara, making a joke out of it. What a total bastard,” Henry snarls, pacing up and down the kitchen, his lethargy gone, his air of world-weariness replaced by genuine anger.
There’s a flash of ginger as Jack peeps around the door. I catch him and he grins guiltily then bows out, excusing himself with a wave of his hand. It’s nothing like my hand, but that’s okay. Some things are more important than biology.
“He promised it would never happen again. Oh yeah,” Henry goes on, as I look at him in shock, “he did it at his last school too. Mum forgave him, and the time before that. She’s had enough now though. Thrown him out. He’s staying at a Holiday Inn in Moss Side.”
Mr. Goldfish laughs, or tries to, because it turns into a cough. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”
“Let me find a battery,” I say as Henry leaves, promising to be in touch when things have quieted down. I can’t wait to introduce him to Isabel, maybe even Patrick. We could all be friends—a strange four but a great four, pretty much the world’s most fabulous bunch of misfits. I dash into my bedroom to take the battery out of my clock. The ticks are loud and fast, like time really is running out. “Here. This will do.”
“That’s major surgery, Tess. An organ transplant,” Mr. Goldfish jokes as he lies on my bed, his tail twitching every now and again. “No offense, but I don’t think you’re qualified.”
“It will only take two seconds.”