The Bad Mother (16 page)

‘I know it’s complicated,’ he said, ‘but remember this has been difficult for your parents too. Especially about not having children of their own, and never being able to reveal that or talk about how it felt. Hugo didn’t quite say it, but my guess is that it was hard.’

‘I don’t count, you mean?’

‘Now you’re being silly. Not being
able
to father a child – that’s tough for a man.’

This brought Tessa up short. Hugo and Pamela’s childlessness hadn’t yet occurred to her as part of the equation; like the rest of the world, she hadn’t seen them as childless because they had her. The idea of them not having a child of their own turned them into quite different people.

Sam got to his feet. ‘Anyway, I’d better get back.’

‘Wait and see the kids. They should be home in a minute.’

Sam shook his head. ‘Better not. Less confusing for them.’

Tessa felt the contents of her stomach curdle. But then Sam hung his head, lingering uncertainly, and she felt a stirring of hope. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I need a word about
Lauren. You must have noticed how she’s putting on weight?’

‘She’s fourteen. It’s when all girls fill out.’

‘Nula thinks she’s comfort-eating. That we should keep an eye on it.’

Betrayed, Tessa spoke with more exasperation than she intended. ‘You’re her father. What do
you
think?’

‘Maybe if we could agree some ground rules about what she eats between meals?’ Sam suggested evasively. ‘It’s difficult when we say no, but then she argues that you’re perfectly happy to let her have biscuits and crisps and stuff.’

Tessa was affronted that Nula should dare to criticise her parenting, an offence compounded by the uncomfortable realisation that Lauren
had
become extremely picky about her food and
was
putting on weight – though Tessa couldn’t believe it was anything serious. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll deal with it.’

As she expected, Sam failed to respond. ‘We ought to talk about Mitch too,’ she told him. ‘About his future.’

‘Sure.’

‘Once his exams are over, he has to decide which universities to apply for.’

‘I know,’ he said, as if unfairly accused. ‘I’ll be on it as soon as I’m a bit less busy. You’re coming to the opening, right?’

‘Yes, I expect so.’

‘Great. See you then.’ Relieved, Sam escaped to the stairs, leaving Tessa to follow him with the familiar sensation
of being left holding all his concerns as well as her own.

At the front door he turned. ‘So what are you going to do about this guy in prison?’ He kept his tone patient and neutral.

‘I don’t know,’ she said.

‘But you won’t involve Mitch and Lauren?’

The image of the prison walls rose up in front of her. She remembered how shaky she’d felt hitting the open road after her visit, how the claustrophobia she’d experienced following the officer back out through the bowels of the place had clutched at her, as if it were only by sheer luck that she had managed to escape. At that moment she’d wished never to return to such a malign, inhibiting space.

Sam waited for her answer.

‘No, I won’t tell the kids yet.’ She watched him accept her agreement. It left him free to leave, to slide away and go back to Nula. She raised her chin. ‘But if my father wants to see me, then I have every right to go.’

TWENTY-THREE

Roy’s letter arrived two days later.
Dear Tessa
, he wrote in his fine italic.
Thank you for coming to see me – it must have taken courage. Meeting you has left me in no doubt that you are indeed my daughter. You may not be aware
, he continued,
that all letters are liable to be read by prison staff, so I may not write as freely as I might wish. Such is my life. So I hope you will understand that my inability to describe adequately my unfamiliar sensations is not from lack of feeling
. He signed himself
Your real Dad
.

Tessa was taken by surprise at the sharpness of her sense of rebuff: this brief note, barely a single sheet, made no mention of a second visit, nor did it enclose a VO. Had she disappointed him? Was he politely indicating that he did not wish to see her again? After all, he had made a point of telling her how few visits he was allowed. Why should she assume that he’d want to waste them on her?

At several intervals during the rest of the day she took Roy’s letter out of the locked drawer and reread it, balancing the poignancy of
Your real Dad
against his apparent
indifference. In the end she arrived at the conclusion that his slightly stilted words in fact revealed consideration for her, his tact in placing no pressure on her, and perhaps, she thought with a pang, his own desire to avoid rejection. She, after all, had a full life to lead; he had nothing.

The following morning, after the guests – all keen walkers anxious not to waste the best of the day – had paid their bills and departed and Carol was busy with the laundry downstairs, Tessa sat down to draft her response. She had not yet fully decided if she was ready to go back to the prison, but it would be discourteous not to reply. She wasn’t sure what to say. She tried to imagine how she would feel if she had first encountered her biological father in different surroundings. Yet it was his very ordinariness – quietly spoken, polite, confident – that made it so hard to comprehend that he had violently taken a woman’s life or to glean insight into how he lived with such terrible knowledge of himself. She would be a fool to ignore the reality of his crime, and at some point he would have to account properly to her for what he had done, but she should avoid judging him too hastily: she must be patient and take time to get to know him.

She could not remember when she had last written such a personal letter and realised she had forgotten what it was like to compose and direct her thoughts in this way. To begin with her sentences were stiff and self-conscious, but gradually she started almost to write to herself, to enjoy the one-sided conversation in her head.
Reaching for a third sheet of paper, she paused to ask herself how wise it was to open herself to him in this way, then reprimanded herself: if she wasn’t prepared to go to her father with a clear and loving heart, then she might as well not go at all.

Roy’s reply came on a day when Declan was booked in for his next monthly trip to the county, and Tessa awaited his arrival with jittery anticipation, glad of someone to whom she could speak freely. Roy’s letter, although brief, was warm and encouraging. He told her how wonderful it had been to receive hers, that he had indeed feared she would not want to continue their relationship, explained that his daily routine did not lend itself to eloquence but that he would attempt to describe his own emotions:
The only way I can say it
, he wrote,
is to ask whether you believe in love at first sight? It’s that moment of recognition, isn’t it? Something beyond the rational. Makes me rather shy!
Yet he still made no mention of a second visit.

‘So you’ve met him already?’ asked Declan in astonishment, as they settled in the guests’ sitting room after dinner. ‘You sure as hell don’t hang about!’

‘You’re the only person I’ve told.’

Declan had brought his customary bottle of red wine, and now raised his glass to her. ‘I’m honoured.’

‘I don’t want the kids to know.’

‘I understand. So what’s he like?’

Knowing the question was bound to arise, Tessa had given some previous thought to her answer. ‘Normal. Pleasant. A bit cagey, but that must be a reaction to what
he’s done. I mean, something so extreme, it must change him, mustn’t it? Though obviously I don’t understand enough to tell in what way.’

‘So what happened? What exactly did he do?’

‘He’s not told me yet.’

‘There’ll be other ways to find out more. Geoff – the Head of Security at work – could probably get hold of the original court records or whatever if you wanted them.’

Tessa shook her head. ‘I’ll wait to hear Roy’s side of the story first.’

‘You won’t want any unpleasant surprises.’ Declan gave her a straight look. ‘If he starts telling you she tripped and fell on the carving knife, or her head just snapped off in his hand, m’lud, you want to ask yourself why he’s still locked up.’

Tessa felt rather offended by his levity. ‘He didn’t mention when he’d be released.’

‘No.’ Declan appraised her over the rim of his glass. ‘A life sentence for an average bog-standard murderer is usually about thirteen years. How long has he been in?’

‘Twelve. This is my father, Declan. Whatever he is, may also be me.’

‘Did you like him?’

‘We had a much stronger sense of connection than I expected. Really uncanny how we just looked at one another and knew we were related.’

He nodded. ‘I’ve a second cousin who looks like he ought to be my twin. We don’t have much else in common though,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Do you trust him?’

‘He’s watchful. Careful of his dignity. To be honest, I was just relieved he wasn’t some scary monster!’

‘It’s been a lot to take in, I imagine.’

‘Yes. Does it make you feel different about me?’ Tessa asked boldly.

She could see he was taken aback. ‘In what way?’

‘Now you know I’m the daughter of a murderer.’

‘It’s hardly a Cromwell Road scenario, now is it? Even if he were as evil as Fred West, he had zero influence on you growing up.’

‘Do you believe in evil?’ She was curious to hear his answer.

‘Original sin? No. No way. Why? Do you?’

‘I certainly don’t think Roy is evil. In fact, given the situation, he’s far more vulnerable than me.’

‘What I do think,’ said Declan, ‘is that when people are bad, they generally stay that way.’

‘He said prison had given him time to think.’

‘So he’s seen the error of his ways?’ Declan’s tone was mocking.

‘People change.’

He smiled, relaxing further back into his armchair. ‘You are different,’ he observed. ‘This has brought you out of yourself. I approve.’

He raised his glass to her again, and she responded gratefully, rather enjoying the novelty of being of such legitimate and intriguing interest to someone else.

‘It’s like I’ve embarked on a journey,’ she admitted, recalling the thought she’d had sitting in the car outside
HMP Whitemoor, that there was a glamour attached to life at the edge – that by entering a prison, she had survived a test.

‘It’s been fascinating,’ she went on. ‘In one way prison is just a tedious box-ticking exercise, but it’s also the banality of life there that holds the lid on. I mean, if you think of what all those men have done, all the violence, jealousy, greed, revenge, somehow it makes all this …’ Tessa waved a hand around her cherished blue walls, seagrass flooring and linen covers, at Averil’s doll’s house standing like a reliquary in its corner, ‘it makes all this just a desperate attempt to cower away from that reality.’

‘But this is what’s healthy, surely? Who wants a reality of murder and mayhem? I’m Irish, remember. My people have had plenty, and there’s nothing alluring about it, I can tell you. This …’ he waved his hand in turn at the peaceful room. ‘This is normality and security. Even your toy house there,’ he added, following her gaze. ‘It’s good. This is what people fight for.’

Tessa smiled, feeling an unaccustomed wisdom. ‘But the very reason you appreciate this is because you realise how precarious it all is. I’ve lived by the sea all my life. The most terrible storms can blow up out of nowhere.’

Declan leaned forward for the bottle and refilled her glass, smiling up at her cheekily. ‘You never used to talk like this.’

‘No.’ She took a drink of her wine, holding his gaze, enjoying the effects of her newfound confidence, that fleeting sense of power she’d experienced several times
since Erin had first dropped her bombshell. ‘I’m losing my fear of secrets, I think. What’s the point of life if we don’t share the stuff that’s real, that matters?’

‘Agreed.’ Declan raised himself from his chair and came to sit beside her on the couch, leaning back against the arm, a decent space still between them. This was not what Tessa had intended by her confession, but she lulled her nerves. It was a long time since her body had made its own independent response to a man; too long since any man had looked to her for such a response. But she was determined to remain open and relaxed, to stay on the edge.

‘So what did the two of you chat about, you and your daddy?’ Declan asked, with facetious emphasis.

‘We didn’t have a lot of time. I hadn’t realised how long it would take to get past all the security. I guess we were just sizing one another up.’

‘Will you go again?’

‘We’re writing to each other. Maybe that’s enough for now.’

He nodded. ‘And if he weren’t in prison?’

She smiled. ‘That’s what I keep asking myself. I don’t know. What do you think?’

‘In a funny kind of way, maybe it’s easier for you this way. If he were out and about, he’d not be much more than someone you’d meet for a drink. Someone who sooner or later you’d be introducing to the other folk in your life. Just an ordinary guy.’ He looked at her astutely. ‘Not this mythical beast locked away from everyone.’

Despite his smile, Tessa felt exposed, even a little humiliated.

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ he went on. ‘This is a huge thing for you. I get that. But in the end it’s about you, not about him.’

Tessa was reassured by his irresistible sincerity. ‘Thanks, Declan. If not for you, I’d never even have found him.’

‘No. Well, don’t make me live to regret that! Finish the bottle?’ He held it up.

‘No,’ Tessa decided. ‘Not tonight, thanks.’

He reached out to stroke her bare arm with one finger. She could sense him willing her to meet his gaze. ‘Not tonight?’ he echoed teasingly. She moved her arm away, but he caught her hand and carried it to his lips.

‘Mitch and Lauren are asleep upstairs,’ she protested.

‘Can’t tempt you? We could be very quiet.’ His eyes danced. ‘No strings.’ When she did not recoil, he leaned a little closer. ‘Final answer?’

‘Final answer!’ She attempted a shaky laugh, the sharpness of her body’s disappointment taking her breath away. He got to his feet and pulled her up by her hand.