Tilly, rather anticlimactically, just said, ‘Oh,’ and went back to rolling the diamond beads.
‘She’s never really had to think about who her father might be,’ I said, sounding contrite.
‘She’s never asked about me?’ I saw David’s mouth twist and the contrition doubled.
‘She’s two. We haven’t got much beyond chicks hatching out of eggs yet in the reproduction stakes, and most of her friends don’t have a father at home either, so, for all she knows, immaculate conception is a thing.’
Mum smiled at that and David gave a little acknowledging nod.
Over on the floor, Isobel pulled her notepad towards her and scribbled.
You should all go. You have a lot to talk about and there’s more bad weather on the way. I have to see to Rook.
‘Rook?’ I’d forgotten about the bird. It gave me another small shock when I realised that I’d been in this room with a bird, albeit an injured one, and not panicked, and that I’d actually driven my car with one in it. Maybe my brain could only take one high-stress event at a time?
Isobel nodded towards the sofa. The black bird had half-flapped its way clear of Ross’s jacket bundle and was digging its beak experimentally into what remained of the cushions. It tilted its head towards me for a second and let out a soft noise, more like a chirp than a caw. It did not make me warm towards it, but at least I wasn’t running.
‘Yes.’ Ross tugged gently at my fingers, reminding me of Tilly when she wanted to go home. ‘Let’s go and find somewhere where we can sit in the warm and feed Tilly biscuits while you talk. I think there might be some sorting out to do.’
David looked up at Ross now. There was a thoughtful and slightly calculating look on his face for a moment, then that softened and he looked back at Tilly again. ‘You’re right.’ He got up from the floor. ‘We do need to talk, all of us. Tilly, do you like ice cream?’
Tilly was up in a flash. ‘Ice cream!’
I gave David a stern look. ‘Don’t start trying to buy her.’
He shrugged. ‘First thing I thought of. Let’s go and find a café somewhere and thrash out a few details, shall we? Your mum only landed yesterday, once I was certain enough of where you were to call her, and she’s probably jet-lagged to hell.’
Another jolt hit my heart. Not shock this time but shame. I hadn’t eventhought. Mum had flown over from Australia. She’d come to find me. They must have been so worried, so scared – and I had caused it.
The duality flooded through me again. David had changed when Tilly was born. No, he hadn’t,Ihad. He’d stalked me, had me followed, tracked me, controlled me. Only he hadn’t. But I had thought he had. Did that make it real? It had felt real, to me. I had run away and blown up my entire family.
The memories lay there, real and solid-seeming. I could remember David’s face, creased with hatred and suspicion as he walked out of the house. I remembered him holding Tilly and telling her he would always look after her. Those memories were… real. And when I recalled them, they came with the stomach-griping fear that Tilly and I weren’t safe. That had been real too. He’d given me sleeping tablets – those tablets I’d felt so smug about not swallowing – he’d even admitted that. But while what I remembered was real, the intent I’d been ascribing to his actionswasn’t real.
My whole body was paralysed with the dichotomy. I knew what I had seen, I knew what I had felt, and the reasons why I had run, and yet… and yet it had all been in my head?
It was all my fault.
Then, into my ear, Ross said, ‘It wasn’t your fault, Libby. You were ill.’
‘But I’ve affected everyone. Tilly’s speech delay, everyone was worried, living in a car and now a hostel…’ I blurted the words, aware that they didn’t make much sense.
Mum’s hand fell away from her collar and she moved to give me an awkward half-hug, as Ross was standing too close for her to properly embrace me. ‘We’ve found you,’ she said. ‘Nothing else matters now. We’ve found you and you’re safe.’
But, as we left Isobel to tend to her injured bird and clear up the results of Tilly’s bead game, I knew that it wouldn’t be that simple.
22
That night as Tilly lay beside me breathing through her mouth in soft gasps and snores, the weather broke. Wind tested the window catches and rain squalled around the building flinging handfuls of grit at the glass and sticking leaves to the panes like sprawled starfish peeping Toms.
I sat with my arms around my knees and my cheek resting on my legs, and tried to remember. Mum and David had been so convincing. They’d gone over and over those confusing weeks after Tilly’s arrival until we could pinpoint the moment at which the psychosis had set in – one otherwise calm Wednesday when David, returning from an evening’s work, had walked into the house to find me clutching a bundled-up Tilly and muttering about strange people coming to the front door. I’d stayed awake all night to watch out in case those people came back, and his initial slight amusement at my overreaction to some proselytising Jehovah’s Witnesses turned to baffled confusion at my insistence that they were coming to take the baby.
I remembered none of this. All I remembered was my fear for Tilly and my certainty that David must be plotting with others to take her from me. We’d sat in the little café fuelled by cappuccinos and the sight of Tilly rolling around in the small soft play area. David could hardly take his eyes off her.
‘I kept putting the money in your account,’ he said, watching over the foam in his cup as Tilly slid down the tiny slide as though launching theQueen Mary. ‘It was what the Child Support people said I ought to pay. I thought one day you might contact me and ask me about it, so I made sure it was the right amount. And I kept paying for your phone.’
I felt my jaw tighten. What did he want, a medal? ‘The money helped,’ I said with my teeth only slightly clenched. ‘It bought our food. Nappies for Tils.’ I stopped. I didn’t want to point out that it hadn’t been enough to live on, not enough to find us a home. That hadn’t been the point, after all.
‘I never wanted this, you know.’ David fiddled with his cup. ‘You and me being enemies. Ross seems like a decent bloke.’
