February 2018
Lawrence knocked on the door at eight on Monday morning, just as I was clearing away the cereal bowls, and I confess I was glad I’d dyed my hair, and splashed on a bit of make-up. I didn’t want him to fall into my arms or anything, but I needed him to think I was doing OK, even if I wasn’t.
It was the first time he’d been inside the house since he’d collected his stuff in December, despite still having a key. Normally we would do our Grace-handover on the doorstep, to avoid him coming in, but today was different. She was going away for six days, and I needed a long goodbye.
Lawrence looked casual in jeans and a black three-quarter-length jacket I’d bought him a couple of Christmases ago. I’d picked it out with such care, knowing it would suit his tall frame.
I wondered if he noticed the ornament he’d bought me for Valentine’s Day a few years back – a man and woman hugging – had gone from the mantelpiece. I’d lost my temper and smashed it against the wall the night he walked out, along with a wine glass, and a silver-framed photo of us oh so happy in Majorca. I don’t know what else I would have broken if Grace hadn’t woken and cried out.
But the truth was, Lawrence barely looked around the room, his eyes fixed on his phone as though whatever he was looking at on the screen was more interesting than me.
‘Chipmunk,’ he said, looking up as Grace came through from the dining room, dragging her Minions case over the flagstones behind her. He crouched down and hugged her for a few moments, saying, ‘Ready for Disneyland?’
‘Yep,’ she said, nodding three times, before padding towards the door. She tugged at her coat on the rack, and it fell onto her head. We both laughed, for her sake.
‘I’ll drop her back here about five on Saturday,’ he said, as I handed him her passport, his eyes falling on my case in the corner. ‘You off somewhere too?’
‘I am, yes.’
A heavy pause filled the air, as though he was trying to glean my destination. We were both flying from Heathrow, but thankfully our flights were hours apart. The thought of sitting in departures with him wasn’t an option.
‘Are you going to tell me where you’re going?’ His eyes were wide with curiosity.
I held on to my words for a few moments longer before saying, ‘Ireland. Sligo. Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘Alone?’
‘Again. None of your business.’
‘No. You’re right.’ Another pause as he locked me in a stare. ‘Well, I suppose when you start to look a bit like your passport photo, it’s time for a break.’
I glared.
‘Joke, Rach – what’s happened to your sense of humour?’
‘It left with you.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Well, have fun in Ireland.’
‘I will. You can bank on it.’
Grace was shuffling into her coat, and he bent to help her with her toggles. ‘Bye, Mummy,’ she said, once they were done up.
‘Bye, sweetheart,’ I said, kissing her cheek. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you more.’ She reached up and grabbed Lawrence’s hand, and I felt a pang of sadness that we had to share her this way, and I knew she felt it too. He opened the front door, and they hurried down the path, Grace pulling her case over the last of the frozen snow.
‘Lawrence,’ I called after him, and he glanced back over his shoulder. ‘It is just you and Grace going, isn’t it?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘And we’re going to have an amazing time.’
I gave Grace a little wave as she climbed into the back seat. ‘FaceTime me on Daddy’s phone, won’t you?’
‘Yes, Mummy,’ she said.
Once they’d pulled away, I closed the door, my eyes burning with tears, but I stopped myself from crying. This was my life now. I had to accept it.
***
Five hours later, I was through customs and almost on my way to Ireland. I grabbed a pack of sandwiches and some coffee, and found a seat in departures. I didn’t mind flying, and had travelled a lot with Lawrence, but now the thought of my flight to Dublin was making me uneasy, to the point where I half-wished I’d taken up Zoe’s offer to come with me.
‘You’re far too busy at your salon,’ I’d said when she’d suggested again we could make a girlie holiday of it, even spend time in Dublin trawling the bars – maybe buy a hat with ‘I love Guinness’ on it.
‘It’s not why I’m going,’ I’d said. Any thought of a real holiday had died with everything that had happened. And, truth was, I didn’t like Guinness. ‘I need to find out about my past. It would be a complete bore for you.’
She’d finally agreed to give it a miss.
You will be fine, I told myself now as I bit into my cheese and pickle sandwich. I knew exactly where I was heading. Everything would be OK.
The call for my flight broke into my thoughts, and I rose and made my way to my gate. It felt like miles, as I hurried along a travelator, and passed several queues of people waiting to show their boarding passes. And then my tummy tipped as I spotted Lawrence and Grace showing a flight steward their boarding passes at gate twenty-three. Their flight must have been delayed.
I picked up speed, wanting to wave one more time to my precious daughter, wanting her to see me, but they were through the glass doors by the time I got there. I stopped and stared as they walked towards their plane. And that’s when I saw Lawrence place an affectionate arm on the back of a woman. I couldn’t see her face, but I could see my daughter looking up at her with a wide smile.
As they disappeared from view, I fumbled in my pocket for my phone and typed a text with shaking fingers:
Anger bubbled like lather. My head throbbed and I wanted to go home. I needed a drink. I’ll fucking kill him.
Someone bumped into me. ‘Sorry,’ she said, steering her carry-on case around me. ‘But you have stopped in a stupid place.’
I opened my mouth to call after her. This woman was about to get hit with all my anger, when someone else bumped into me. I glanced over my shoulder to see a swarm of people, some pulling cases, all heading my way. I jolted into action, hurrying towards my gate, deciding going to Ireland – running away – was the best thing I could do.
***
From Dublin, I took a train from Connolly Station, and it was late by the time I picked up a hire car in Sligo Town. I’d booked a bed and breakfast just outside Sligo and was almost calm by the time I pulled up outside, too tired to hold on to my anger. Plus, I’d almost convinced myself I must have been mistaken – that the woman was a stranger, and Lawrence hadn’t lied to me, that my daughter wasn’t in Paris with him and his girlfriend. That it was just a father and daughter sharing precious moments.
After all, he’d replied to my text an hour ago:
I pulled on the car handbrake, and switched off my headlights. I needed a good night’s sleep, and tomorrow I would make for Evermore Farmhouse.
It was in the early hours that I felt sure something had woken me – it was as though someone had been staring at me as I slept. I bolted upright, cold, tingly, and disorientated, but there was nobody in the darkness, just murky shadows of my past.
I switched on the lamp, and pulled myself to a sitting position, grabbing my phone to check the time. There was another notification from Facebook. I checked into my account, and my heart picked up speed. Another friend request:
The profile picture was a nurse’s uniform, hanging on a cupboard door; the cover picture a field of daffodils.
As before, there was one status update: