Second Chances (6 page)

‘Got to go,’ I said, hastily snatching back my credit card. ‘I’m collecting my daughter from school.’

The final bell had gone, and girls were pouring out to begin their summer holidays. Abandoning the twins in the car, I raced up to the fifth-form common room to find a Greek tragedy being re-enacted. Mascara streamed down stricken faces. Ties were loosened, hair crazed in distracted grief. They were all signing Sacha’s school shirt with indelible marker pens while munching on the giant cupcake she’d made for them.

Their lavishly coiffured class tutor, Belinda Rothman, caught my eye and wiggled her fingers. I went to this same school with Belinda. She used to be a total bitch, actually, but that’s another story. I don’t know what possessed the board when they made her deputy head. She minced over on ridiculous kitten heels.

‘Mass hysteria,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve had to stop one of them mutilating her arms with a compass.’

‘You’re joking . . . aren’t you?’

‘Tanya’s a bit of a drama queen. But we’re
all
devastated to be losing Sacha.’

‘Sorry.’

‘You’re public enemy number one in the staffroom.’

I murmured something lame, and the silly woman patted my arm. ‘I do hope this move won’t disadvantage her academically. She wants to do medicine, doesn’t she? And what about her flute lessons? Ooh!’—holding up a finger—‘I’ve got something for you to read!’ She skipped over to her French shopping basket, looking smug. Actually, Belinda Rothman’s been looking smug for twenty-five years, ever since she stole my part in the school play.

‘As it’s been an emotional day, I asked all the girls to express their feelings in a poem, essay or poster. Here’s Sacha’s. She doesn’t mind you seeing it.’ Belinda was holding out a piece of A4 refill, blackened with angry scrawl. ‘You’ve got a bumpy ride ahead of you!’

Sacha emerged from the wailing chorus with her best friend draped around her shoulders. Dopey little Lydia was off to Tenerife the following day, so this truly was goodbye.

‘I’ll phone,’ Lydia promised. She had chestnut boy-hair and never looked more than half awake. I’d known her all her life; her mother and I were in the maternity unit together. She’d eaten at my kitchen table a thousand times over the years, and swapped awful knock-knock jokes, and was rude about my cooking. ‘I’ll be on Facebook every single night.’

Sacha burst into tears. ‘Night’s morning over there,’ she sobbed. ‘It’s all upside down.’

‘Get her out,’ hissed Belinda from the corner of her mouth. ‘Before they become blood sisters. They’ve still got their compasses.’

Getting out of the building—past teachers, girls and the janitor—took twenty heartbreaking, horrible minutes. We needed a couple of those hunky bodyguards in black suits and mirrored shades. The car was a blessed sight.

Charlie and Finn hadn’t throttled one another, thank God, and no passing do-gooder had called the NSPCC to report neglected children. They were listening to a Mr Men story tape.

‘Hey, Sacha. Whadya call a Smartie in a combine harvester?’ asked Finn as we got in.

‘Shredded sweet!’ crowed Charlie, and both boys fell about.

‘Listen to your story,’ I warned them, ‘or I’ll put on Radio 4.’

Sacha and I travelled in a loaded silence as it began to rain. I didn’t ask how she felt; didn’t try to jolly her up. I was tired of her anger. I was tired of feeling guilty. I was tired, full stop. And all the while my mind was scurrying in exhausted circles, fizzing dyspeptically with lists—things to do, things to remember, things I’d just remembered I’d forgotten to do.

Oh, bugger. Muffin. She was going to Dad’s until we were settled, but there was a mile of red tape before she could join us in New Zealand. Must get her to the vet’s for a microchip. Oh my
God
, I hadn’t phoned the lawyer back about that wretched easement. Maybe Kit had done it? No, I’d said
I’d
do it because Kit had flown across to Ireland.

Oh bugger bugger
bugger—
the goldfish! Perhaps the nursery school would like them? The tank was so encrusted with slime that I hadn’t actually seen a fish in weeks. From time to time a flicker of piscine movement would stir, like Jaws, in the green gloom. I’d have to clean it.

‘If anyone cares, that was the worst day of my life,’ announced Sacha.

I braked for a lollipop lady, my mind on the fish. And the dog. Oh God, and the easement. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, doll.’
Bloody hell, what if the sale
falls through?
‘You’re feeling sad about leaving your friends.’

‘Do me a favour,’ snarled Sacha. ‘Listen to yourself.’

‘Sorry?’ I drummed my fingers on the wheel, wondering if I should just drop in at the solicitor on the way past.

‘Turn off the professional busybody language, Mum.’

My mobile rang as we were pulling away again. With one eye on the road, I checked the number.

‘It’s the removal people,’ I moaned. ‘Oh God, what’s gone wrong now?’

Sacha’s hand whipped out. She snatched the phone out of my fingers and held it to her ear. ‘Yes? . . . Oh, hello. Yes, speaking.’ She sounded calm, mature and utterly charming. ‘Yes. No. Actually, you can cancel the whole thing because we’re not going after all. Yes, I’m afraid you
did
hear right. Cancelled. Sorry for the short notice, but it can’t be helped. Change of plan. Thank you. Goodbye.’ She switched off the phone and tossed it over her shoulder.

‘Ouch!’ yelped Finn. ‘That bloody phone bashed me in the ear.’

‘Sacha Basher, Sacha Basher!’ sang Charlie.

I pulled into a bus stop. We sat side by side, staring at the windscreen wipers.

Swipe, swipe.

‘Pick it up,’ I hissed. ‘
Now.
’

Sacha began to fiddle with her own phone, texting.

‘That wasn’t a request,’ I said. ‘It was an order. Just phone them back, Sacha. Tell them you were joking.’

‘But I wasn’t joking. You’re acting in breach of my fundamental human rights. I’ve asked a lawyer. We’re going to apply for an injunction.’

She pressed
send
as a snorting bus loomed in my rear window. Harassed, I pulled into the road only to be hooted at by a harridan in an Audi. The whole world hates me, I thought. The world, including my own daughter.

‘The lawyer is
also
going to find my father,’ said Sacha. ‘She says I have a right to a genetic and cultural heritage.’

‘For God’s sake!’ I slapped a hand to my brow. ‘How many more times?’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. You shagged a bloke after a party, and you didn’t even ask his surname?’

‘Yes, actually! I didn’t ask for a name or address or phone number because I thought there was time for that. Your father was the love of my life for about five hours, until he staggered off to the shower and never came back. I’m sure he was a decent boy, and I’ve forgiven him. He left me the most precious gift in the world.’

‘Did he also leave a glass slipper?’

I screeched in frustration, but she wasn’t moved.

‘Some married man, I’ll bet. MP? Doctor? Vicar? You’ve stolen
my
identity to protect
his
.’

‘Have you really seen a lawyer?’ I asked, but she’d begun typing another text. These were her friends, these people who flashed upon her screen with their indolent spelling and acronyms.

‘Have you seen who?’ chirped Finn, from the back. ‘Who, Sacha? Who, who, who?’

‘Look at that sporty car with no woof,’ cried Charlie. ‘They’re getting wet!’

Sacha twisted in her seat. ‘One day, you two little loonies will have a sporty car with no woof. You’ll share it. The boy with the hottest chick gets to use the wheels.’

‘We’ll take you for rides,’ Finn promised kindly, while his brother made a variety of sporty car noises.

Sacha hadn’t been to a lawyer. I knew she was winding me up, once I’d thought about it calmly. I turned in at our gate, thinking uneasy thoughts about Sacha’s father. I wished he knew he had such a daughter. I wished she knew she had such a father. They both had much to gain, and much to lose.

I really didn’t want to read the bit of paper that Rothman tart had given me.

In the good old days at primary school, Sacha’s class used to waste their Monday mornings, week after week, writing
What I Did at the Weekend.
It’s an inane exercise. When I am dictator, it will be banned in all schools.

But I still kept those little exercise books. Sometimes, when clearing out the attic or packing to emigrate, I flicked through them. They recalled those halcyon days through a soft-focus lens. It was like living in a chocolate box.

At the weekend my Mum and me went to a caffay. I had hot choclat with
white and pink mashmalos. We sat at a tabel by the fire. It raned outside but
we were cosy. It was luvly.

At the weekend my Mum took me rideing. My pony was calld Wendy.
Mum showed me how to feed Wendy appels. She sed Wendy likes me.

At the weekend I got stung by a be. My Mum cuddled me and put speshal
creem on from her hambag. It made me beta.

At the weekend my Mum got marryd. I was the brides made. I had a
yelow silk dress, white shoes and gorjus flowers in my hair. Mum lookd like
Cinderella at the ball and everywon wanted to kiss her. She said she still loves
me most in the wurld. I said I love her more.

Compare and contrast:

You know what? My mother has no humility. She thinks she’s perfect.
People don’t realise this simple fact about her.

When you’re small, your mother’s a goddess. But when you grow up you
realise she’s anything but. My friends reckon she is cool. Some of the guys
even think she’s hot, which is just plain sick. People think she’s so HUMAN.
She laughs about her legs and her double chin. Well, she’s safe to go on
about those things, isn’t she? Because there’s nothing wrong with her legs,
or her chin. Nothing at all. What she doesn’t giggle about are things that
really are MORTAL SINS. Like sacrificing your daughter to the great god
Emigration!!

She is ruining my life. Everyone says this about their parents, but in my
case it is actually true. My mother IS ruining my life. My feelings don’t seem
to come into it any more. She’s selling my happiness to buy a dream. I’m just
a commodity.

She’s always trying to hint that I’m jealous of Kit and the boys. But this
isn’t one of those wicked step-parent things. Yes, Kit’s got his faults and he can
be scary when he’s drinking. But we get on brilliantly. It’s great the way he says
things that are really funny, really crack me up, but he doesn’t laugh. And he
stands up to Mum when she’s being ridiculous. He doesn’t let her perform. It
was terrible when the agency went bust. It hit him really hard. It must have
felt as though he was no use to anyone. He looked bent over, as though he’d
been kicked in the guts. I never said this to anyone, but I was afraid I’d come
home from school and find him swinging from the banisters.

And how could I be jealous of the twins? They’re my little brothers! I’d kill
anyone who hurt them. I truly would. I wish I was four years old too. You’ve
no worries at that age. They think they can pop back for tea with Grandpa
every Sunday, like they do now.

So NO, this isn’t about Kit and the twins taking Mum away from me. This
is about Mum putting them first, which is a completely different thing.

This is about me losing everything.

I’ll be leaving Ivan, and he makes me feel safe. He’s kind and gentle and he
truly cares about me.

I will never, ever again have friends that I have known since we were tiny
little kids.

I will never again have friends who laugh at the same things as me.

I will never have friends that I can truly trust.

All the things I know are being torn out of my hands. I’m trying to hold on
but I’m losing everything. It feels as though there’s an earthquake in my life.

I am so scared.

*

I walked into Sacha’s room uninvited. She was making an album of photographs, hampered by tears and a running nose. Pictures of friends and family lay scattered on the desk. Muffin sprawled across her mistress’s feet.

I sat down on the bed. ‘Need any help?’

‘No thanks.’

‘I read your essay.’

‘Huh.’

‘This feels like the end of the world, doesn’t it? But it’s not.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Hey, maybe you could have your own horse. You’ve always wanted a horse! It’s going to be an adventure.’

‘I don’t need an adventure.’

‘We’ll all be together, that’s the main thing. The five of us. Actually, six—even Muffin’s coming.’ At the sound of her name, the soppy animal sighed blissfully.

Sacha was trying to cut out a photo of Ivan but seemed unusually clumsy. Mermaids frolicked all around us in the calm water of Kit’s sea. When Sacha was small I often found her lying half-asleep, gazing at the scene as though her bed was adrift on the silvery blue. When she got older, Kit offered to paint it out and give her something more adult, but she refused point-blank.

‘Ivan loves me,’ she said now. ‘He’s special. How can you do this?’

‘Listen,’ I urged. ‘Your friends will always be your friends. It’s easy to stay in touch nowadays on the internet. And it needn’t be forever—you could even come back to university here.’

‘Oh yes, great!’ Sacha dropped the scissors with a clatter. ‘You’ll make me choose between my family and my country. That’s the thing, you see? You’re splitting me in half.’

I sagged. ‘Yes. Yes, I see that.’

‘Grandpa,’ she cried, dissolving. ‘How will we ever manage without Grandpa?’

‘He’ll come and visit. Look,’ I added in desperation, ‘please will you just give it a couple of years? If it isn’t working, I promise we’ll come home.’

‘We won’t have our home!
This
is my home.’

‘Doll, please. I’m actually begging you. The thing is . . .’