‘Because he’s a part of your past now,’ I said. ‘I didn’t want to upset you.’
Nina struggled to look me in the eye. ‘I read about what they said he did and I don’t think he did it. He wasn’t a violent man.’
‘Sometimes we don’t know the people we think we are closest to.’
‘But ... I knew Jon.’
‘And I thought I knew your father.’
‘Jon couldn’t have killed anyone.’
I pushed my cutlery to one side. ‘That’s not what the police or the jury decided. And from what I gather, he could wrap girls around his little finger. I don’t blame them because at your age I would’ve been over the moon to get attention from a pop star like him. But he had a girlfriend who he lived with so he was leading on anyone else who thought they were in a relationship with him.’
Nina opened her mouth as if there was more she wanted to say, then changed her mind. I knew this version of my daughter couldn’t be certain of anything any more. The last few months had left her scarred and unable to trust her own judgement. And that meant I had done my job properly.
I close the lid on the memory box and put it back under the bed; it’s enough for one night. I turn off the lights and stare blankly at the wall ahead of me. The streetlights cast moving shadows of trees in the wind; the storm is raging both outside and inside this house. I wish I knew what Nina is thinking. What can she remember about him? Which of her memories are as clear as day and which are a jumble of patchwork squares that she can’t sew together? I hope her talk of seeing a therapist to unlock ‘repressed memories’ was an empty threat. Because if she is serious, expert help might enable her to put two and two together. And I can’t have her realise the lengths to which I have gone to protect her.
I close my eyes tighter and Hunter’s face, once again, vanishes. But even though he’s dead, he’s going to come alive again in my dreams tonight, I know it. Because he and his girlfriend do that a lot.
CHAPTER 17
MAGGIE
TWENTY-FOUR YEARS EARLIER
Mother’s intuition warns me that Nina is hiding something. And while I can’t put my finger on what it is, I don’t think I’m going to like it.
It’s terrible timing because I’ve had to shift my focus away from my daughter and towards our financial situation. We’re a one-income family and our fixed-rate mortgage has been replaced by a variable one, hiking the monthly charge up. Hell will freeze over before I ever consider selling this house, so alongside working as a receptionist at the surgery, I’ve swallowed my pride and am now also working after-hours as its cleaner. But needs must and my colleagues who know my marital situation have been very supportive. And I’m going to apply for the deputy practice manager’s job when Lizzy retires next year.
As a result of my expanded hours, Nina and I have been passing like ships in the night. She’s been returning home from school each day to an empty house, and by the time I arrive, she has already eaten her tea and is upstairs behind closed doors doing her homework. I dislike living this way, but I have little choice.
Making my way towards the post office, I realise it’s been about a year since Nina miscarried and I still find myself treading on eggshells around her. Young people grow up much quicker than they did in my day, so I’m trying to move with the times and be a more modern parent. I’ve placed fewer restrictions on where she goes and I’ve given her generous curfews for when she goes out with her friends. I’ve asked her to limit her alcohol intake and made her promise that if she’s going to be intimate with a boy, then it’s not while she’s drunk and to make sure he wears protection. I don’t think she’s ready for this adult world but short of locking her in the attic, what else can I do? I only hope that if I offer her a long enough lead, she’ll always have the means to find her way home.
Maybe I’m placing too much emphasis on trying to be her friend and not enough effort into being her mum. But I want her to like me and to stop seeing me as the enemy who drove her dad away or told her she’d never have a family of her own. Of all my regrets, telling her that when she was at her most vulnerable is up there with the biggest of them.
I hope we are over the worst of Alistair’s aftermath, but I’m a realist. Perhaps I’m being hyper-vigilant but I’m constantly on the lookout for signs that she’s up to something I wouldn’t approve of or is lying to me.
Last night, she passed me in the corridor as she left the bathroom, clad in an oversized white dressing gown. She hadn’t worn it for months, but suddenly, it’s fallen back into favour. When she spotted me, she pulled her sleeves down and wrapped it up tight and for a second, it crossed my mind that she might be hiding her arms for signs of needle marks. Then I told myself she couldn’t be that stupid to be a drug abuser. It would explain her mood swings. But still, I can’t shake the feeling that something is happening under my own roof that I don’t know about.
Nina weighs so heavily on my mind that I don’t hear or see the car when I step out into the road until it blasts its horn at me. I step back and catch the driver giving me the finger. Motherhood will be the death of me.
‘Are you all right, Maggie love?’ a voice from behind me asks. I turn to see Saffron’s mum, Erica.
‘Oh hello.’ I smile.
‘That was a close call.’
‘I was away with the fairies.’ I note that she’s dressed in her Tesco’s uniform. ‘Are you finishing or about to start?’
‘Just finished,’ Erica replies and rolls her eyes. ‘I was there for seven a.m. so now I’m done for the day. How are you?’
I want to answer, ‘I’m broke, I can barely afford the mortgage, my daughter hates me and the life I loved has turned to crap.’ But I don’t. ‘Oh, you know,’ I reply vaguely.
‘How’s Nina?’
‘She’s staying over at yours tonight, isn’t she?’
‘Mine?’ She appears puzzled.
