It had been late one evening in summer, the three of them sitting in the backyard, crickets shrieking in the warm dark, when Aida finally admitted who her father was. My father is John Glasson, she’d said. The State Minister for Health. Thomas knew the name – he had read it in the paper, heard it on the wireless. He could imagine the scandal Minister Glasson had endeavoured to avoid by banishing and lying to Aida – how necessary her absence, her compliance. Her silence.
Now, Thomas was once again thinking of Aida’s father as he stood in front of Elsie, his case still in his hand after he’d run through the front door.
‘You’ve what?’ Elsie cried.
‘I made an offer yesterday,’ he exclaimed, barely able to contain his excitement. ‘Her father has accepted it already.’
‘But . . . can we afford it?’
Thomas grimaced. ‘If we’re careful.’
He watched his wife look out the window, over the fence towards Aida’s empty house. He could see her mind racing to make sense of it. Last week, the For sale sign had appeared in front of Aida’s house. The sight had doubled Elsie over with distress, right there on the footpath.
Thomas dropped his case on the floor. ‘Say something,’ he urged.
‘That’s Aida’s house,’ she said, turning back to him. He couldn’t read her expression. Dismay? Relief? At Elsie’s hip, Millie’s hands grabbed at the buttons of her blouse. Absently, Elsie took hold of her small hand, held it gently. Millie gurgled.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I was afraid someone else might . . .’ He went to his wife and placed a hand on her cheek, their daughter between them. ‘I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else living there. Could you?’
Elsie searched his face. ‘Of course I couldn’t. But, my love . . .’
‘What?’
‘Is she coming back?’
Thomas brought her closer. Millie squealed with delight between them. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.
*
She did. Aida came back to them.