Two Fridays in April (33 page)

‘Una!’ More of a gasp than a word. ‘What? Slow down – where?’ And then, after just a few seconds, ‘We’re coming.’ In a new voice. ‘Hang on, we’re coming.’

‘Where is she?’ Isobel asks – but Daphne has already turned back.

‘At the bicycle shop,’ she says, rushing off through the darkness, heedless of the barking that follows her back down the lane.

S
he sits on the floor in the dark next to his bike, her back against the wall. Her legs are drawn up, arms wrapped tightly around them, head resting on her knees. Daphne is coming, she tells herself. Daphne is coming. It’s nearly over.

Her feet ache. When she breathes in, her chest hurts. Every bit of her is heavy with weariness but she dreads sleep for fear of what it might bring. And she’s cold: in the unheated shop she’s frozen, she’s shaking with it.

She’s wrapped Judy’s shawl around her feet, which are filthy and probably cut but she hasn’t investigated them properly. She
should have asked Daphne to bring socks and shoes, but she forgot.

Getting here took forever. Terrified all the time that he’d follow her, she zigzagged her way back into the city through unfamiliar streets, pressing herself into doorways or crouching behind rubbish bins when any car approached.

The few pedestrians she encountered, when she finally reached civilisation again, gave her funny looks. Of course they did – walking barefoot in this weather in the dark, her wrap knotted around her waist to keep her ripped jeans closed – but she ignored them. They could have helped her, but she was still too shocked to think clearly. All she could hold in her head, all that concerned her, was getting to the bicycle shop.

And when she finally got here, she nearly set off the alarm. For a few seconds her stupefied mind refused to supply the code. She stood, frozen with panic, as the insistent beeping continued – and at the last minute the numbers she needed flew into her head.

What will happen now? Will Daphne be angry? Of course she will. So much explaining to be done, so many new lies to be concocted. So many missed calls from Daphne and Mo when she finally checked the phone she had silenced hours ago. She must think, she must be ready when the questions come.

She’ll tell Daphne she came here this morning; she’ll say she spent the day here, she’ll admit that she made up the bit about having dinner in Ciara’s. She’ll make no mention of the Quirks, or of the wedding. She’ll say nothing about what happened afterwards.

But how can she explain the loss of her shoes and socks, and
the state of her feet? What can she possibly say that Daphne will believe?

And then she hears a car pulling up in the yard outside. She undoes the wrap around her feet and struggles to a standing position as hurrying steps approach the rear shop door that she’s left ajar.

‘Una?’ Daphne’s voice.

She says, ‘Here,’ but it comes out as a whisper. ‘Here,’ she repeats, ‘I’m here’ – and suddenly there’s a snap, and the shop is flooded with light. And there’s Daphne, hand still on the switch.

Their eyes meet. ‘I’m sorry—’ Una begins, but by the time the words are out Daphne has reached her, and she’s enveloped in Daphne’s arms – she nearly topples backwards with the surprise of it – and she almost can’t breathe, she’s being clasped so tightly.

‘Oh, my
God
,’ Daphne wails, ‘I was so
worried
, why did you just
disappear
like that? How could you
do
that to me? How could you just go off like that? I thought you were – I didn’t know
what
to think, I just, I was so
frightened
that you might have – I just thought something
awful
must have happened to you – and I understood, I really did, when you sent a text to say you weren’t coming home for dinner, but when I rang Ciara and she said you hadn’t been to school I got such a
shock
, I couldn’t understand it because I’d
driven
you there, it made no sense, and then for you to be gone for the
whole
day, where did you
go
, you shouldn’t have
worried
me like that, it wasn’t
fair
to do that today, and I
know
you’re upset, I under
stand
that, and I know it’s your birthday and it’s horrible too, and we’re
all
upset about it, but still, to just
disappear
like that – and why are you
not wearing
shoes
, what’s
that
all about, but I’m just so
relieved
to have you back safe, you must
never
do that to me again—’

And all the time she’s sobbing and her words are coming out in ragged jumps, and Una has to wriggle a bit to breathe, and Daphne is taking no notice whatsoever of her mother, who’s appeared in the doorway and looks like she doesn’t know where to put her eyes while Daphne is having hysterics. Where has
she
come from?

And the weirdest part of it all, the one thing that is clear to Una as she’s held so tightly, as Daphne cries real tears into her hair and keeps telling her how worried and frightened she was, and keeps demanding to know how Una could have
done
such a thing – all Una can really understand on this day, which has been filled with so much emotion, so much confusion, all she can marvel at is how totally and completely wrong she was about Daphne.

‘You can stay here,’ Daphne says, ‘until you find a place to live, I mean.’

She sees how the words change her mother’s face.

‘Don’t cry,’ she warns. There’s been more than enough crying today. ‘It’s no big deal. I’m just offering you a room while you get sorted.’

Isobel nods. ‘I’ll come tomorrow,’ she says. ‘If that’s all right.’

‘That’s fine. Any time after eleven.’

Are you ever going to forgive me?
The question had angered her, coming as it did in the middle of her desperate anxiety about Una. But now, with Una home, safe and well, all she wants to
do is give thanks – and this gesture, this reaching out, feels like the right way to go about it.

She’d never thought of it as punishment. Until tonight, until Isobel used the word, Daphne would have called it keeping her distance; she would have said they had a strained relationship because of their past. Was it punishment, though? Had she really been that bitter, that unforgiving, for nearly thirty years?

She can’t think about it tonight. All she can do is offer her mother a place to sleep, and take it from there. Tonight needs to be about Una.

They stand on the doorstep. Mo has already gone home with Jack, who was alerted on their way back from the bicycle shop. Daphne had sent him and Mo packing as soon as he’d shown up, well aware that Mo was none too pleased at being dispatched. It was clear she wanted to hang around to hear what Una had to say for herself, but Daphne was having none of it.
I’ll fill you in tomorrow
, she said, giving Mo no choice but to do as she was told.

Isobel stayed – somehow she’d earned the right, as the one who’d brought Daphne to the bicycle shop. She filled a basin with warm water for Una’s feet and waited around until the guards arrived, the same two who’d called before. She tidied the kitchen while Una and Daphne spoke with them in the sitting room and now, just after they’ve left, she’s leaving too.

‘See you tomorrow then,’ she says. Thankfully she doesn’t attempt to embrace her daughter. They have a long road to travel before that.

Daphne closes the front door and returns to the kitchen,
where Una sits wrapped in a quilt with her feet in a fresh basin of water and a cup of coffee before her on the table, next to a slice of the pink-iced cake.

‘Sure you don’t want a bath?’ Daphne asks, and again Una shakes her head, so Daphne pulls a chair up close and cradles one of Una’s hands in hers. No more hiding for them, no more avoiding what needs to be said. Tonight has been a night for speaking out, and it’s not over yet.

‘Now,’ she says gently, ‘I know you told the guards, but I want to ask you again. Did that man hurt you?’

‘No.’

‘You’re positive? Promise?’

A ghost of a smile passes over Una’s white face. ‘Promise.’

‘Is your coffee gone cold? Will I make more?’

‘No, it’s OK.’ But she makes no move to drink it.

So pale, still so pale. Daphne hangs on to her hand, presses it between her own. ‘So,’ she says, ‘we need to talk.’

Una says nothing, drops her gaze to the bundle their hands are making.

‘We need to sort a few things out,’ Daphne says. ‘Don’t we?’

‘I suppose …’ The smile has vanished, an expression of wariness on her face now.

Daphne pauses, hunting for the right words, trying to find a way through the barrier that still exists between them, in spite of all that’s happened tonight.

‘It’s just,’ Una says faintly, glancing up, ‘there are things … You might not want to hear them.’

‘I do want to hear them,’ Daphne assures her. ‘Whatever they are, I really do want to hear them.’ And even as she speaks,
she’s aware that she’s bracing herself for what may come, for what
must
come now.

The seconds tick by. Una eases her hand from Daphne’s, finally sips coffee. ‘OK,’ she says, continuing to cradle the cup. ‘I’ll tell you.’

And there, in the silent kitchen, she begins to talk.

First, she tells Daphne about the bike shop. ‘I go there after school every day. I do my homework in the little room at the back, where I used to do it. I found his keys a few weeks after he died, I got copies made for the back door … I’m not sure why I go, because I hate to see it all empty and dark and dusty, that makes me really sad, and it’s cold all the time, so I have to leave my jacket on, but I think I go because it’s where I remember him best, where I can picture him clearly.’

And that’s only the start of it.

‘I’ve met him, the man who was driving the bin lorry. His name is Kevin Quirk – but you know that. His son went to the comp, he was two years ahead of me. He … asked if I’d meet his dad, a few weeks after it happened. He told me how sorry he was about the accident. I didn’t want to meet him – I hated the thought of it, I said no – but … then I thought Dad would want me to, so I changed my mind. I met him in the park near the station – his son was there too – and he … wasn’t a bit like I’d thought he’d be, the father I mean, and I went back to the house with them, it wasn’t far, and I met his wife. They gave me scones, they were really friendly, they kept thanking me for going to see them, and asked me to come back, and I said yes, I’m not sure why … I visit them a lot. They’re the ones I have dinner with, not Ciara or the others. I didn’t tell you because
I thought you might be angry, because of who they are and everything.’

And there’s more, oh yes.

‘I was with them today. I went to their daughter’s wedding. I wasn’t in the shop all day like I told the guards. I did call in there first, I left my school things there, but then I left. I went to a florist shop and bought flowers for Dad – with the tenner you gave me this morning – and I brought them to the cemetery, and after that I went to their house, the Quirks. I got a green dress for the wedding in a charity shop – it was silk, it was lovely – and shoes. And the wedding was good—’

She breaks off abruptly, and Daphne sees a flush drifting up her face. ‘Well, anyway …’ she says. ‘And then I took a taxi from the hotel where the wedding was, and … well, you’ve heard the rest.’

Daphne picks a bit of icing from the cake on the table. Lying to the guards: that’ll need to be sorted – hopefully Louise will be on duty tomorrow. But for now Daphne will deal with the more pressing issue of why Una felt she had to lie, or not reveal the truth, about anything. For now,
that
is what needs to be sorted out.

‘You know,’ she says lightly, ‘you could have told me about wanting to find your birth father. I wouldn’t have minded – I
don’t
mind. It’s perfectly natural that you’d be curious about him.’

Una doesn’t meet her eye. ‘I just thought,’ she says, ‘it might be better if you didn’t have to worry about me all the time, if I wasn’t your responsibility. I thought if I could find my birth father he might want to … adopt me, or something.’

She thought she wasn’t wanted. She thought Daphne didn’t want her. Daphne’s fault, entirely her fault, for not making it clear that Finn’s daughter, birth or otherwise, is precious to her. Observing the girl’s stricken face, Daphne is deeply ashamed. ‘Una,’ she begins, ‘you mustn’t think—’

But Una hasn’t finished. ‘I feel so guilty all the time, about Dad’s death I mean. I feel it was my fault – that it wouldn’t have happened if he’d been cycling his own bike home that day. I know it wasn’t all to do with that, but his own bike might have made a difference. It
might
have.’

And when she sits back, finally out of words, neither of them says anything for what feels like an awfully long time. The clock above the fridge gives a little whirr. Somewhere outside, an animal – a cat? – emits a long, plaintive yowl.

And then Daphne shifts in her chair. ‘Right,’ she says. Praying that what she has to say, what must be said, will come out the way she wants it to.