‘He’s not here,’ I ventured.
‘Well, I can see that.’ Lola glanced round, looking for Dean’s things – his golf clubs, his gym bags, his leather jacket, his blue-striped pint mug and hisDaily Mail– before turning back to me. ‘Well?’ she asked, her voice accusing. ‘What have you done with him this time?’
‘Excuse me, do you mind not speaking to me in that tone of voice.’ Lola’s anger, directed at me for being the cause of her father’s eviction, on top of everything else, was just too much for me to take.
‘What have you done to make him leave again? He was happy to be back. He even brought us a dog to make up for me never having had a brother or sister. We were going to be a happy family again. Like other people are all part of one big happy family.’ Lola gave me such a look, part of me wanted to laugh. Only a tiny part of me. The rest of me wanted to howl with the unfairness of it all. Wanted to tell this daughter of mine the truth behind her father’s philandering, his other women, his selfishness and arrogance.
‘Now, you’re being dramatic, Lola,’ I started to say, but Lola was standing, pushing back her chair.
‘I don’t blame him for going,’ Lola said, brushing angry tears away. ‘You’re always so miserable, always flipping cooking or baking…’
‘What’s wrong with cooking and baking?’ I asked in surprise.
‘…and theneatingall those puddings you make. Thencomplainingwhen you feel fat. You never want to go out anywhere. When was the last time you bought a new dress?’
‘Dresses are expensive,’ I said, trying to remain calm. I didn’t feel a bit like laughing now.
‘And they’re for mums who come to watch their children’s class assembly when they’ve got the main part in it.’
‘I’ll get dolled up when I come to watch your assembly next week,’ I soothed. ‘Honest.’
‘It was yesterday,’ Lola hissed.
I stared at Lola. ‘Yesterday? But you didn’t remind me, Lola. Yesterday morning, at breakfast time, you didn’t say, “See you later, Mum, at my assembly – don’t forget.”’
‘You didn’t eat breakfast with Dad and me yesterday. You were in a world of your own, probably thinking how you could get rid of Dad again, and then you disappeared upstairs for a bath, although why anyone has a bath in the morning when there’s a perfectly good shower. And Dad came with me, walked down the lane with me to school and stayed for class assembly.’
I’ll bet he did, I thought bitterly. Point scoring after months, years even, of being in the red where familial ticks were concerned.
‘And why should I have to remind you?’ Lola went on. ‘Everybody else’s mums and dads and little brothers and sisters were there to watch.’
‘Come on, Lola, how often have I missed anything at your school?’
‘Loads,’ Lola said tartly. ‘When you’ve been on shifts at Hudson House and sent Granny instead.’
‘Well, at least I sent her,’ I said, going in for a hug.
Lola batted me off.
‘Look, Lola,’ I finally said. ‘Something really awful happened last night.’
‘Worse than throwing Dad out?’ Lola folded her arms.
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t see what can possibly be worse. I’m the offspring of adysfunctional family.’
Where’d my eleven-year-old picked up that little turn of phrase?
‘Do you remember Blane? Blane Higson?’ I asked gently. ‘He stayed here for a couple of nights when his mum was very poorly and Aunty Robyn found him sleeping in the girls’ toilets at St Mede’s?’
‘Oh, you were always fosteringsomeone. There wasalwayssome other strange kid in the spare room.’
I stared. ‘You sound as if you resented it, Lola.’
‘Well, Dad did. He told me so the other day.’
‘Your dad did?’ I snorted unbecomingly. ‘Your dad was hardly ever at home when I was on call to take children in on an emergency basis.’
