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“He did?” She looks surprised. “How, why? What happened?”
She listens while I run through the events of the day. Silent and unjudging. I start to cry and she gently takes my half-empty teacup and places it on the table.
“You've fallen for him,” she whispers.
I don't bother to correct her, because she's right. I've fallen for him, hook, line and sinker. The problem is, I think I've shattered on impact.
* * *
Alex arrives home a few minutes after eleven. Though his hair is dishevelled, a brief scan of his face reveals no bruises or cuts, no signs of an altercation.
“Baby.” My mum follows him in, and she seeks me out immediately. She runs across their small living room, scooping me up into a hug. “I'm so, so sorry.” Her voice breaks on her apology, and when I look at her I'm shocked to see a tear rolling down her cheek.
“Why are you sorry? It's not your fault some psycho's stalking me.” I'm almost flippant when I say it, though the fear remains.
“We should sit down,” she suggests. I notice Alex and Lara have made themselves scarce, closing their bedroom door softly behind them. It makes me feel nervous.
“What's going on?” I twist to look at her, but Mum refuses to meet my gaze. Though she's still holding my hand, it's as if she's building a barrier around herself.
“First of all, I want you to know I only ever wanted to protect you. If I'd have thought for one minute he'd show his face again, I never would have told you what I did.”
“Told me what?” My voice is clipped, mainly because I'm so sick of being kept in the dark.
“Told you about Digger.” She still isn't looking at me. “Told you...”
“For goodness sake, Mum, just spit it out.”
“Told you about your dad. There, are you happy now?”
“What about my dad?”
I think I know where this is going. All these secrets and lies, they've been festering for years and I've been wilfully ignoring them. In spite of all evidence to the contrary, I'm not an idiot. My lungs contract as I wait for her to answer.
“Your dad didn't die in Iraq. He isn't dead at all. But as far as I was concerned he was dead to us, and I never expected to see him again.”
“That guy... Digger. He's my dad?” I lean back from her, snatching my hand from hers. Nausea mixes with anger as I realise I'm the last person to know.
That my dad isn't dead.
“I didn't want you to find out like this,” she whispers. “I begged him to stay away. But he keeps insisting on seeing you, he reckons he's better, but I don't know.”
It's like reading a novel when half the pages are torn out. I'm getting the gist of the plot but the motivation remains a mystery. “Why did you tell me he's dead?” I bite my lip, remembering all those times I wished I had a dad. Seeing other kids at the park with their fathers, lingering in the card shop every June, staring at greetings I could never purchase.
All this time he's been alive? There's a man out there carrying half my DNA and I never even knew it.
“I ran away from him,” I whisper. “I ran away because you told me he's a bad man. I turned my back on my dad.”
Mum sits back, rubbing her face with the palms of her hands. Her week-old manicure is starting to chip, bright red lacquer peeling away to reveal yellowing nails. “He is a bad man. That's why I told you...” Her voice cracks. “You should stay away from him, Amy. We all should.”
The door to Alex and Lara's bedroom cracks open and Alex looks out, catching my eye. “You all right?” he silently mouths. I shake my head.
Is it all right to lie to your daughter for more than twenty years?
Is it okay to pretend her father's dead?
Alex leans on the doorjamb, face soft with concern. He always hates it when Mum and I row.
“Why is he bad?” I swing my eyes back to Mum. She still won't look back at me. She pulls her pink fluffy cardigan tightly across her chest, as if there's a chill in the room.
