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‘You never talk about my birth dad,’ Belle says, knocking the wind from me. My fingers curl around her white duvet cover, picking at the little embroidered flowers. ‘Did you even know him?’
I close my eyes and picture him. I want to tell her that yes, I knew him – that he’s handsome and kind and loving and wanted nothing more than to be in Belle’s life, though circumstances didn’t allow it at the time. But I can’t – because that would be the biggest lie of all.
I shake my head. ‘I was in a bad place,’ I say, my rationale changing very little over the years on the few occasions she’s asked. I’ve been careful to use age-appropriate answers whenever she’s probed.
‘So, like, basically, I was a mistake, then?’ It’s the first time she’s ever voiced this.
‘Nooo, oh my God, no, darling. Nothing could be further from the truth.’
Belle doesn’t seem convinced, judging by her deep frown. But I realise this suits her mindset right now. If she believes she was unwanted, the product of a careless error, then that will make it easier for her to pull away from me; less of a wrench to be withhim.
‘I remember the first time I ever held you. I loved you from the moment I saw you. Knowing we had the same blood flowing through our veins – it somehow gave me purpose. From the moment I looked into your eyes, dark and searching as you stared up at me, I knew I had to do everything possible to take care of you.’
The agony of her birth has never left me; the screams and pain accompanying Belle’s entrance into the world still haunt my sleep, with Disney’sBeauty and the Beastbeing the soundtrack throughout labour – the only DVD we had in our dingy quarters playing on repeat. Over the years, the trauma has lessened as I built new lives for us here. But now that danger is staring me in the face again, it feels as though it was only yesterday that I bundled her up in a blanket and fled.
‘Do you ever think you want to contact him?’ Belle asks. ‘My real father?’
I can’t help wondering if this has come from Jack…Darren.
‘The past is the past,’ I say. How do I tell her that her father could be one of hundreds, if not thousands, of men who visited us? That he might be dead now, or have a family of his own, or be living on the streets, or in prison, or want nothing to do with her? One thing is for sure: he doesn’t know what happened to us. ‘Anyway, Rob’s your dad. You know how much he loves you.’
Belle manages a smile. ‘Jack thinks I should track him down,’ she says, though she might as well have slapped my face. ‘Invite him to our wedding.’
‘I see,’ I say, faltering. ‘I mean, if that’s what you want, though I don’t know where you’d start.’
‘Jack says he knows people who could help,’ Belle replies, her face lighting up at the mention of him. ‘He’s really well connected.’
‘I’m sure he is,’ I say, reciprocating the smile, though she doesn’t know how much I mean that – he’s just connected to the wrong people. I reach out for her hand. ‘Natalia’s cooking spag bol for you.’
She gives a little nod.
‘Has…has he ever asked you to do anything you’re not comfortable with…Jack?’
‘Like what?’ Belle whips her hand away, resting it on top of her phone.
‘You know. Like sex things, perhaps?’
‘Sex things?’ Belle pulls a face and leaps up off her bed. ‘We arenothaving this conversation, Mum. Not ever.’ She sits down at her dressing table, her back to me, though our eyes lock briefly in the mirror. Her cheeks have pinked up and she’s gnawing on her bottom lip – a habit she used to have when she was little. She’d bite her skin until it bled, but only when she was upset or worried about something.
I’m about to take a chance and push further, desperate to ask about the photographs that I’m soon going to have to explain to Rob, but the sound of Belle’s phone ringing on her bed puts a stop to that. Perhaps for the best, I think, as I watch her leap up and lunge for it. The thing is, I know exactly why the pictures were taken.
‘Jack,hi,’ Belle says cheerfully as she licks the bead of blood from her lip.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
HANNAH – NOW
It’s true that I’m keeping the conversation going with Natalia longer than I usually would, simply so she hangs around in the kitchen. After she’d finished her dinner, Belle made her excuses and went back up to her room, dragging the weight of how much she was missing Jack behind her. On the phone, he’d still insisted that it wasn’t necessary for her to join him in London.
Amber is sitting at the table near the big glass doors overlooking the garden, her earphones in as she watches something on her tablet. There’s an empty yoghurt pot in front of her. If Natalia leaves the room, then it’ll be down to me to engage Amber in chit-chat to keep her around. I load more plates into the dishwasher, wondering how I’m going to avoid being on my own with Rob for the rest of our lives.
‘I must have myself ready for the pub,’ Natalia says as she wipes down the surfaces. She says pub like ‘poob’. ‘We go play…how you say?’ She leans forward on the worktop, closing one eye and stretching out her left hand, while her right arm draws back.
‘Oh, you mean pool?’
‘No, no, we not go to the pool. I swim tomorrow. What is game with little balls on green table?’
From the knot of anxiety lurking within me, a laugh manages to escape. ‘Yeah, the game is called pool,’ I tell her. ‘I used to play myself once. I was pretty good.’
