CHAPTER THREE

September 22nd

‘You think it’s easy? Bringing up three girls doesn’t come cheap, you know.’

‘It’s only twenty quid, Dad. No one else’s parents make such a fuss about paying for things.’

‘Not everyone else is struggling on their own with one salary and three growing daughters, that’s why.’

‘Well, that’s not my fault, is it?’

As soon as she said it Mia wished she hadn’t. Dad’s face darkened. She saw the shadow wing across. Now he definitely wouldn’t come up with the money.

‘Tea, Dad?’ Laura called from the kitchen. Impeccable timing. She must have been listening all the while. Mia watched her sister carry the mug and a plate of ginger biscuits over to their father’s chair. Typical. The dutiful oldest daughter. But she didn’t have to live here all the time, did she? She’d already escaped.

Dad started up again.

‘It’s a waste of money, Mia. If it were for books or a theatre trip or something for school it might be different. But an amusement park?’ He spat the words out in disgust.

‘Theme Park. It’s a day out. Fun. Get it?’ Mia glowered. ‘But in our family it has to be education all the bloody time, doesn’t it! Bloody education!’ She slammed out of the room.

‘Come back here, Mia! I won’t have you swearing at me like that.’

She sat on the stairs, shaking. She could hear their voices – Dad’s deeper tones and Laura, gentler. She strained to hear the words. ‘It’s her age, Dad. Don’t be too hard on her.’

Mia seethed. Goody goody Laura. Talking about her as if she were a little kid when Laura was only five years older! Mia had forgotten how annoying she could be.

She swung the sitting-room door open again. Dad and Laura were sitting together on the sofa facing the open French windows. Mia stood in front of them, blocking out the light.

‘It’s not my age, thank you very much, Laura Zoe Kitson! It’s just that I’m normal, unlike the rest of you. Normal, and wanting to have a good time like everyone else in the world except this – this sad family!’ Her voice quivered slightly. ‘And Becky and Ali and Will and everybody will be going – it’s so unfair.’

Laura pushed past her into the garden. ‘Horrid cat. It’s caught something. Can’t you hear?’

A thin shrieking sound filled the garden. Mia watched Laura chase after, then pounce on the cat, pin him down with one hand, tug at his tail. The cat squealed. She watched, horrified, as it dropped the crumpled body on to the lawn. For a second, the bird writhed, a broken thing.

Her stomach clenched. Throat gagged. Oh no. Please. Not now. Not again.

She ran upstairs, one hand cupped over her mouth. She flushed the toilet as she retched over it again and again. No one must hear. It left her shivering, exhausted. She rinsed out her mouth, splashed cold water over her blotched face. Tucked her hair behind her ears. The sour taste of bile coated her mouth. Finally she was ready to go back down.

Dad watched her from the hallway.

‘You all right?’

Mia nodded.

He gave her his worn-down smile. ‘You can have the money, the twenty pounds. You’re right. You do need to have some fun. Look, we’ll make a deal. You get yourself into school every day next week, no more days off because you’re tired. I’ll give you twenty quid.’

‘Thanks, Dad.’ Mia stepped slowly downstairs and planted a grudging kiss on the top of his head. ‘See it as a bargain. I’m not going to be like Laura and Kate. I won’t want to go to college or anything. Or do A Levels. You can save money on me!’ One final barb.

She ran back upstairs and shut her bedroom door before he could answer back.

Mia lay on her bed. That smell. Dad’s hair. It reminded her of Will. Will’s hair smelled like that. Perhaps all men did. Comforting, but sort of dangerous. Weird to think Dad smelled like that as well as Will. She’d not noticed it before.

When Becky and Ali and Mia discussed the boys at school they sometimes asked her about her dad. They wondered why he didn’t have a girlfriend.

‘He’s still quite good looking,’ Ali said, one break-time just before they broke up for the summer. ‘Still got lots of dark hair, and the silvery bits are quite attractive.’ She smiled her secret faraway smile. ‘I rather like an older man. And your dad’s interesting when he talks about books and stuff. And kind.’

‘You should try living with him,’ Mia said. ‘You wouldn’t say that then.’

Ali savoured the possibility. ‘I wouldn’t mind. If he were just a bit younger. Pity he doesn’t teach at our school.’

Becky and Mia snorted.

‘Ali! Don’t be so sick! It’s Mia’s dad you’re talking about.’

‘He’s too tight with money for you,’ Mia said. ‘Mean, in fact.’

‘Well, I suppose it’s hard for him, without your mum there.’

‘That’s his fault too,’ Mia said quietly. She took her feet off the chair and went to get a drink from the machine in the hall.

Mia lay on her bed, arms behind her head. The window was open; from the tree a bird called out its warning cry. The cat must have been let back out into the garden. Apple Pie. Stupid name for a ginger cat. Mum’s idea. ‘He’s sweet! Sweet as apple pie!’ she’d cooed over the small kitten when Mia and Kate brought him home in a cardboard box. The name had just stuck. That was over ten years ago.

Mia looked at Mum, smiling down from the photograph propped up on her chest of drawers. They were all in it. Mia, the littlest, sat on Mum’s lap. She must’ve been about three. Kate and Laura stood behind, and then Dad at the back, one hand round each daughter, sort of holding them all together. It was taken in the garden. You could just make out the ash tree to one side. Smaller then.

‘Stupid!’ she said out loud. Mum still smiled.

Mia reached out and turned the photograph round. She didn’t want to look at Mum’s stupid face. Dad had found it for her, ages ago, and it had just stayed there, propped up against the jewellery box Kate had given her. They had other photos in albums downstairs, but in most of the pictures Mum was on the edge of things, looking as if she was thinking about something else. Mia supposed she was. Planning when and how to leave. Except when she finally did, it didn’t seem planned at all…

An argument. Loud, angry voices. Six-year-old Mia stood in the sitting-room doorway listening to the voices slipping over each other down the dark stairwell. Fragments: ‘How dare you!… everything of myself… nothing left… the children… you try it… really like…’ It was her mother’s voice she could mainly hear, shouting, sobbing. The lower tones of her dad were less easy to make out. ‘No… Can’t.’ Once he yelled ‘Alice.’ Mum’s name. What was he doing? Should she go and see? Say something? Should she find Laura and Kate? They were still asleep upstairs.

In the background was the jaunty music of children’s TV, which she’d switched on. She wasn’t supposed to do that in the morning. She was supposed to read quietly or get her breakfast. Guiltily she switched it off and went back to the doorway. Listening. Her heart was thudding. Her feet were freezing. She rubbed one foot against her leg under her thin cotton nightie. Twisted her fingers through her hair.

The bedroom door upstairs opened; her mother spun out, downstairs, a flurry of clothing and hair and bags. Just for a second she hesitated, seeing little Mia standing there and then the front door was open, she was through, it banged shut. The car engine started. From the window she watched her mother drive away.

Afterwards, Mia used to wonder if she’d made it up, the bit about her mother pausing, hesitating. In any case, it hadn’t been enough. Mia hadn’t stopped her going.

Why hadn’t she run after her? Banged on the window? Called her back? Maybe, if she had, everything would have been different. It was as if she had been frozen. Turned to ice.