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t, standing in front of it and searching her reflection, as though she could find it in some evidence of the horror she could feel, some evidence of the warped and bitter personality traits she was suddenly revealing.
How could she be feeling like this, she who had always encouraged Jessica to make her own friends, to have her own life, who had refused to try to tie her daughter to her with any kind of emotional blackmail, who had genuinely rejoiced in her daughter’s independence of spirit?
How often had she heard her friends praising her for refusing to fall into the trap confronting so many single parents: allowing Jessica to become too dependent on her?
And yet here she was, sick with the very worst kind of jealousy, sick with suspicion and bitterness, and all because Jessica was with Lewis.
Lewis. There was a knife-twist of pain somewhere deep inside her, an awareness of great sorrow, an acknowledgement that, no matter how much it might hurt her, father and daughter would be curious about one another…would want to meet…to talk.
Although Lacey had never tried to hide from Jessica how much her divorce had hurt her, neither had she tried to blacken Lewis’s name to Jessica.
People did fall out of love, she had explained gently when Jessica had been too young to understand the complexity of adult emotions and had asked why she had no daddy.
All the time she had been growing up, Jessica had insisted that she wanted nothing of her father. Had she lied…lied to protect her, her mother…?
In her heart of hearts, didn’t Lacey acknowledge that it was only natural that Jessica should be curious about Lewis? Perhaps out of love, out of loyalty, she had suppressed that curiosity. But now, confronted by the necessity almost of discovering as much as she could about her own medical history, hadn’t she had the ideal excuse…the ideal reason for allowing herself to get to know more about her father?
She tried to put herself in Jessica’s shoes and had to acknowledge that, had her father turned up on her doorstep without warning, she too would not have been able to resist the temptation to talk with him.
No; the fault, the blame, lay not with Jessica but with Lewis.
He had no desire to come between her and their daughter, he had said. When had he changed his mind, or had he simply lied to her all along? And she, gullible fool that she was—that she had always been—had believed him.
Where were they…what had he said to Jessica? If he had said anything to hurt her…to make her afraid…if he had tried to persuade her to follow his own example and deny herself the joy of ever having a child…
She was, she discovered, almost wringing her hands as her mind fed on her fears, acting like a forcing house on them so that there was no room for anything else.
The phone rang. She snatched up the receiver, her hand trembling, but it was only Ian, telephoning to confirm that he had made arrangements for Jessica to have the necessary tests during her half-term break.
‘She might not even have inherited the rogue gene,’ he reminded Lacey gently. ‘But of course it is best to be sure.’
She had of course had to explain the whole situation to him. Previously he had known nothing of her past, other than the fact that she was divorced. She had always had a horror of revealing the truth to others, of encouraging their pity.
‘I was wondering if you were free this evening,’ Ian continued uncertainly. ‘There’s a new restaurant, just opened—’
‘I’m sorry, Ian, but I’m expecting a call from Jessica this evening,’ Lacey interrupted him.
‘Well, perhaps another time, then.’
As she replaced the receiver, Lacey told herself guiltily that she was being unfair to him and perhaps to herself. He was a kind, gentle man; the type of man many, many women would have been delighted to have as a potential husband; so why was she so unable to feel anything for him other than friendship and liking?
Sexually he did nothing for her at all. No one did.
No one. Again she felt that knife-like pain slice through her. She was lying to herself and she knew it. She had only had to see Lewis to reactivate all her old physical awareness of him…her physical longing for him.
It had shocked her how strong that longing had been, how sharp-edged and bitingly, searingly keen. Stronger than logic or reality; stronger than reason and self-respect.
As she waited for Jessica to ring, she promised herself that when she did she would say nothing about Lewis…that she would not react with jealousy and bitterness, with accusations. She must try to see things from Jessica’s point of view, to remind herself that Lewis was Jessica’s father and that the discovery…
What was she so afraid of, after all? That their shared medical history would give them a bond from which she was excluded? That Jessica would turn away from her and to her father, sharing with him her inevitable fears and doubts about the future?
At eight o’clock the phone rang again and this time it was Jessica.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t ring earlier, Ma.’
Was her voice different…guarded almost…or was Lacey looking for problems which did not exist? Was she being over-sensitive, Lacey wondered as she tried to sound as normal and natural as possible.
‘I’ve been out…’ Jessica’s voice faded a little as though she had turned away from the phone. ‘I…I’ve been with Lewis…my father.’
