Plan a holiday
“Mum, I’ve got some news.”
Annie’s mother was fidgeting, her hands restless on her lap. “What is it? Are you the dentist, dear?”
“No, I’m not the… Are your teeth sore, Mum?”
She peered over Annie’s right shoulder, at nothing. “It was the toffees did the damage. Sally always did like them, but they pulled her teeth right out!”
“Right, okay, Mum, but try to listen, okay? I’m going away for a few days, but I promise I’ll be back soon. It’s only Scotland.”
“Oh, you can say hello to Andrew, then.”
Annie frowned. “Andrew? Mum, what do you mean?” Why was she suddenly mentioning him all the time? When Annie was growing up her father had been almost a taboo subject, brought up only as an answer for why Annie couldn’t go to university or on the school ski trip. We aren’t made of money. Don’t wish for the moon. “Mum? Did you understand what I said?”
“Of course,” she said crossly. “You’re going on holiday.”
Her mother used to always come over when Annie and Mike went on holiday, to water the plants, collect the post and doubtless have a good snoop in the cupboards. They’d usually come back to find every piece of china taken out and washed in baking soda. It had been annoying—Mike had always rolled his eyes—but at least there was someone looking out for her. Now she wasn’t even sure her mother would notice she was gone. “That’s right. You see, I’ve been fired from my job. Well, I quit.”
“Your job?” Her eyes passed over Annie, watery blue.
“I’m sorry, Mum. I promise we’ll be okay. I just couldn’t stay there for another second.”
“Quite right, too, dear. Why should you be working, a young girl like you? You should be at home looking after your kiddies.”
Annie watched the hands. “Mum, are you all right? You seem restless.”
“Oh, I just wish I’d brought my knitting. The queue is so long in this dentist’s. I feel like I’ve been here for weeks!”
She hadn’t knitted since her diagnosis, but before that she’d been an expert, capable of intricate patterns—socks, hats, jumpers, the works. “I can get some wool, Mum. If the doctors say you can have knitting needles.”
She saw Dr. Quarani approach. “Hello, Doctor. I’m just trying to explain I’m going away.”
“So I hear.” He made a mark on the chart. “Dr. Fraser, too. It’s his first holiday in five years. Try not to worry, Ms. Hebden. I’ll take care of your mother. She won’t be distressed if you don’t come for a few days.”
No, because she still had no idea who Annie was. Sometimes she didn’t even remember she had a daughter at all. Sometimes she thought she was five, or eighteen. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
She wondered when he’d last had a holiday himself. He was always so controlled, so distant. It was hard to imagine him having a life at all.