The Day Of Second Chances (35 page)

‘Have you seen Lydia?' Jo asked wildly. ‘Did she walk past you?'

‘I haven't,' said Honor. ‘Doesn't she have an exam this morning?'

‘I've just had a call from … from school to say she walked out. I need to find her and make sure she's OK.'

The door opened a second time and Lydia came in. Her hair swung loose from her elastic; her eyes were rimmed with red. ‘Lyddie,' said Jo, holding out her arms.

Lydia stepped around her as if she were a stone in her path, and headed for the staircase.

‘Lydia. What's wrong? Please tell me.'

‘Why do you care?'

‘I'm your mother. Of course I care.'

‘No,' said Lydia, without turning around. ‘No, you lost the right to have me tell you about my personal problems when you broke your promise to me.'

She began to climb the stairs. Jo followed her. ‘Lydia, it's not like that.'

‘What's it like then? Are you
in love
?' She sneered the words. ‘Did you want revenge on Richard, or was it just because shagging a younger man made you feel better about yourself?'

Jo fought not to argue or to crumple in shame. ‘I'm an adult. I can make my own choices. But let's talk about—'

‘
You promised me.
' Lydia stopped on the stairs, turning around so quickly that Jo put out her hands, certain her daughter was going to fall. But Lydia held on to the banister. Her knuckles were white.

‘Did you leave your exam because of this?' Jo asked.

‘It's not about the exams, so you can stop harping on about them. Don't you ever think that anything might be more important?'

‘Lydia, honey—'

‘You disgust me,' Lydia spat. ‘You make me sick. You talk about love and how wonderful it is, and then you do this, and it pollutes it. It's … everything is dirty and wrong.'

The last word was on a sob. Lydia ran up the stairs, one flight then another, her feet banging on the treads, and they heard her door crashing shut at the top of the house.

‘Oh God,' said Jo again, her hands over her mouth. She sat on the stairs, her mind racing. The promise she had made her daughter, and almost immediately broken. This was all her fault, because she hadn't been able to control herself. Lydia had somehow found out, and it had upset her so much that she was messing up her exams. Messing up her future.

And the contempt in her eyes …

‘Excuse me,' said Honor. Jo blinked and looked up; Honor was standing on the step beneath her. She must have heard everything. Jo swallowed down hot shame.

‘Do you mind letting me past?' Honor asked.

‘You can't climb—'

‘I've been climbing these stairs for practice for the past three weeks. I'd like to try to talk to my granddaughter, see if I can help.'

‘It's my fault,' said Jo. Her voice broke.

Honor put a hand on Jo's shoulder. ‘Don't I keep telling you that the world isn't your responsibility? You were right. You're a grown-up. I don't know what kind of foolish promise you made to Lydia, mind.'

‘She's disgusted with me. My little girl.'

‘You're not the only one in this family with secrets.' Honor put her foot on the step where Jo was sitting, and Jo moved over to let her past. Her mother-in-law climbed up steadily but slowly, grasping the handrail. Jo listened to each step and heard the brisk rap, finally, on her daughter's door.

She could hear Honor's voice, but not the words she said; she seemed to be talking for a long time. But she couldn't hear Lydia replying, and the door never opened. Eventually Honor descended. ‘She won't speak with me. She says she doesn't want to speak to anyone. She just wants to be left alone. Perhaps she'll feel better when she's calmed down.'

‘Maybe I should call Avril. She might be able to talk to her.'

‘Isn't she in her exam?'

Maybe Marcus would know what to say, Jo thought, and then knew she was being ridiculous.

Stephen would know. Stephen and Lydia had always been so close. Even as a toddler, he could talk her out of tantrums. Jo put her head between her knees, squeezing back tears.

Honor's hand on her shoulder again. ‘Let's have a nice cup of tea,' she said, apparently without irony.

THE MESSAGES JUST
keep on coming. One after another, relentless. I shouldn't look, I shouldn't turn on my phone, but I keep on hoping for something from Avril. Anything. Even more angry words would be better than silence.

But she hasn't got in touch. Instead I've had the Facebook posts, the texts, the emails. I've read every one. I shouldn't. But I can't look away. There's the name-calling and the filth, some of it from people I have never even heard of, trolls and weirdos, but there are also some messages of support. Whitney, who has never spoken to me in her life, seems determined to defend me to all and sundry and educate everyone about What It's Like To Be Gay.

Somehow, the messages of support are even worse than the filthy stuff. It's like I've become an issue, a cause, rather than a person. As if I've done something or am someone that has to be defended. It all underlines that from now on, I will be the girl who came out by snogging the least popular girl in the school, the girl who That happened to. I'll be a label, a focus, a stereotype, someone people will whisper about when I've passed in the corridor. My name will be shorthand for a bullied lesbian. Nothing else I've ever done or felt or thought about will matter.

All these people looking at me.

I'm also the girl who freaked out in her exam. Who ran out, didn't take it, will fail English because of it, totally fucking up my chance to go to Cambridge, which was one of the only two things I've ever really wanted.

The other thing is Avril.

I haven't rung her. She doesn't want me to. She wants nothing to do with me. I saw the revulsion in her face, not because of who I am but because I lied to her.
I lied to her.
Every day, every minute, from the first time we met. I lied to her because I am a fucking coward and because I didn't trust her heart to be big enough to keep on being friends with me even if she couldn't love me, too. I chose a hopeless dream instead of a real relationship. I betrayed her and everything I feel about her, and I'll never get her back. Never.

That's why I look at every single message online: as penance. Because I deserve it.

Mum and Granny H keep on knocking at my door. Mum left a tray outside with lunch, and then, when I didn't eat that, she left another outside with dinner. I could smell the food through the door and it made me feel sick. Mum has started pleading with me to come out, to talk. She's said over and over and over again how sorry she is for shagging my teacher. She thinks that's what this is all about, and I'll admit it felt good to be angry at her for it, but now I think it's so small, so desperate, so sad. Like the kiss I gave to Bailey, when I wanted to be kissing Avril.

Granny H came up too. Forty-five years, she's been lonely. Is this what I have to look forward to? Being needy like Mum, or being alone like Granny H?

Mostly, I've been sitting on my bed looking out through the skylight. Watching the clouds gather and the rain begin to fall. It hits the glass in burst circles. It's a cliché to say it looks like tears.

I've been thinking a lot about Dad. How everything changed for him in a moment, too. Everything gone for ever.

OscanIrie went to bed, and after some more pleading and knocking, Mum went to bed, too. I thought she'd camp outside my room to be honest, but eventually I heard her go downstairs, heard the water running faintly. And then everything was quiet, and it was dark outside, and my phone was silent for minutes at a time. It had stopped raining. I opened my bathroom window wide and I gathered up all of my paper cranes. They weighed hardly anything. I put them in the bathtub and then, with a cigarette lighter, I burned them, one by one. The smoke lifted out of the window and away.

I didn't understand why Granny H burned that letter she got from my grandfather, all those years ago, without opening it. But I understand now.

I know what I have to do to make this stop.

THE HOUSE CAME
to life, as it did every morning, with high-pitched voices and the scamper of little feet. Honor was sitting on her bed, fully dressed. She had been up since four, when she'd given up on sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw what Jo had spoken to her about, in the car, on the way home from Adam Akerele's flat. She'd seen it every night since then: Stephen running away from his black holes. Running and running in those worn trainers, the shorts with the unravelling hem. All that sadness he had carried inside his tall body, and she had never seen it.

An imperious banging on the door, and it opened. ‘Morning, Ganny H!' cried Oscar and she felt him taking her hand. ‘Breakfast time! Mummy says I can put the toast in myself.'

She squeezed his small damp hand and let him lead her to the table, although she could do it now with her eyes closed. ‘Morning, Honor,' said Jo, among the clatter of plates and the crinkle of the bread wrapper. ‘Tea will be ready in a tick.'

‘You sound tired.'

‘I didn't sleep much,' Jo admitted. ‘I was too worried.'

‘She hasn't emerged, then?' Honor asked, although she would have heard it if she had.

‘She hasn't made a peep. I even rang her mobile, but she didn't pick up. I don't know what to do. She's got an exam at nine thirty this morning, but I've got to take Oscar and Iris to nursery. I could let them stay at home, but Iris has only just started, and the routine …'

‘I'll be here,' said Honor. ‘I'll try to talk with her again.'

‘I'll be back by quarter past.' Jo sighed, and her spoon made a musical sound against the side of the mug. ‘Thank you. With any luck, she'll …'

‘I'm making toast, Ganny H! I'm spreading them with jam myself!'

‘Iris, try to get the porridge in your mouth, please, instead of on your top.' Jo put tea in front of Honor and perched on Oscar's chair. ‘Listen,' she said quietly. ‘You know what Lydia was talking about yesterday, about me and—'

‘I know about it,' said Honor. ‘It's fine.'

‘You do? It is?'

‘Here you are! Toast!'

It smelled distinctly burned. Honor picked up a slice and bit into it. ‘Delicious.'

‘The other piece is for me,' said Oscar happily and climbed up into his chair at Honor's right side.

‘You don't …' Jo was nearly whispering. ‘You don't think it's a betrayal of Stephen?'

‘Stephen is dead, and you're alive. I don't know who it is, of course, though I fully approve of the younger man part.'

Then Iris started flinging her porridge, and Jo was too busy to talk. Honor ate up her toast, every blackened dry bit of it, whilst Jo bustled around getting the children fed and ready to go. ‘I'll only be quarter of an hour,' she said, and then: ‘Iris! Please don't take your shoes off again! Ring me if she comes out, will you, Honor?'

The door shut behind them. Minutes later, Honor heard Lydia's footsteps on the stairs.

‘Have you been waiting until the coast is clear?' called Honor. The footsteps hesitated, and then came down the rest of the staircase and approached. ‘You've been worrying your mother silly.'

‘I know,' said Lydia. She stood behind Honor, her hands on the back of Honor's chair. Honor could hear her breathing, soft and steady. She twisted her neck but she couldn't see her face, just her blue school jumper.

‘Are you off?'

‘Yes.' Suddenly she wrapped her arms around Honor. She hugged her, fiercely and hard enough to squeeze the breath from Honor's chest, her hair like silk on the side of Honor's face, surrounding her with the familiar little-girl smell of strawberries and something scorched, like the toast.

‘I'm sorry,' she whispered, her words warm on Honor's skin. Honor raised her hands to hold Lydia's arms, feeling her youth, her slender strength. Thinking of all those years when she'd been afraid to hold her granddaughter, afraid of loving her too much, and now the girl was almost grown.

‘I'm sorry, too,' said Honor.

Lydia kissed Honor's cheek. And then she was gone.

MARCUS HAD RUNG
twice last night, and once this morning before breakfast. Jo hadn't answered. It was the first time she hadn't listened to his messages right away in a fever of anticipation; instead, his name on the screen only brought a wave of guilt. Honor had been nice to say that she was fine with Jo having an affair, with a younger man especially, but Jo knew she had broken a promise to Lydia. She knew that the silence and the recriminations were her punishment. If Lydia ruined her future by mucking up her exams, Jo would never forgive herself.

The ladies at the nursery were lovely as always, welcoming her children with smiles and open arms, but Jo was jumpy as a cat. Her phone rang just as she was leaving and she snatched it up. ‘She's left just now,' Honor told her, and Jo breathed a sigh of relief.

She drove to Waitrose. Lydia mocked her for thinking that food could solve everything, but they had a lot to talk about today, and in her experience, talking went much better with chocolate cake. Half an hour later, while she was juggling a cake box, a plastic bag full of milk and bread, and her car keys, her phone rang again. She leaned the cake box on her hip to answer.

‘Mrs Merrifield? This is Tina Hutchinson at Woodley Grove School. I'm ringing about Lydia's attendance at examinations.'

Mrs Hutchinson, the head teacher. She was a terrifying woman, though Jo had never had any cause to be terrified of her until now. She put the cake box on the bonnet of her car. ‘Yes, Mrs Hutchinson, thanks for calling. We're so sorry about what happened yesterday. Lydia and I have to sit down and have a proper chat about it, and I hope that we can work it out. Can I make an appointment to come in to talk about resitting the exam she missed?'