“Yeah, or X or whatever it’s called now.” She taps her phone and mine chimes. I open WhatsApp to find the name of the user who started this whole ridiculous thing.
“I’ve got it,” I say.
“Maybe he can tell you more about what you were doing that day,” she says, sheepishly.
“Penny—” Before I can say anything she launches in.
“Mum, don’t. Don’t say it.” She sighs. “It’s you in that photo, Mum. You just don’t know it’s you.” I watch tears form in her eyes. “Do you expect me not to worry? Do you think it’s something I can turn off?”
“No,” I admit, wiping away my own tears. I open my mouth to tell her I just want some benefit of the doubt. That part of me longs to hear her tell me she believes me and that she still sees me as the mother capable of picking her up when she falls down. But I can’t pull my swirling thoughts together to tell her.
Penny breaks out into a sob. “What if something really bad had happened to you? What if you’d got lost and didn’t find your way home?”
“That hasn’t happened, Pen.”
“But it could.” She uses the heels of her hands to dry her face. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve been really worried, Mum. I know you’re not going to like this idea, but there’s this app where we can keep track of each other.”
I don’t reply. I remember the doctor suggesting something similar at a recent appointment, but I didn’t think it was time to consider it. Not yet.
“We just need to download it and add each other, then I can see where you are, and you can see where I am too.”
I stay silent. She’s trying to phrase it like it’s mutually beneficial, but what she really wants is to be able to see where I am. Goosebumps erupt along my arms, and a heavy sensation builds in my stomach. This is a small thing to make my daughter feel better. It doesn’t matter if she knows where I am, I know this; I’m not a spy or someone living a double life. I would never hide anything from Penny. But something about the lack of privacy does makes me feel… sad. And afraid.
Whether or not it is me lost and alone in that photo, the day when I do become disorientated and distressed and can’t find my way back to myself may not be too far away.
The doctor recommended this app, and my daughter is requesting it. Am I really so pig-headed as to ignore what’s happening and shun everyone’s advice?
Finally, I say, “If it will make you feel better.”
“Really?” She pulls me into an immediate hug. “Thank you. I know you like your privacy so this means a lot. I promise I won’t spy on you.” She releases me and grins. “You can do what you want with lover boy wherever you want. I won’t judge.”
I can’t help but share her grin. Then I add, “There’s one condition though.”
“What’s that?”
“You start cutting me a bit of slack.”
“Deal.” She grins.
We set about downloading the app and once it’s on our phones, Penny explains how to work it.
“That way you know where I am if you need me.”
“And you don’t mind that?” I raise an eyebrow. I still remember the sign on Penny’s door warning us to keep out. The announcements of “I’m going out. See you later,” followed by a door slam, and “I’m sixteen. I can do what I want.”
“I’m not irresponsible anymore,” she protests. “I’m not about to jet off to Ibiza without telling you.”
I touch her cheek. “But you can live your life, Pen. You can travel and you don’t have to tell me where you are every second.”
She takes my hand. “It’s fine. Honestly.”
We try to ease into another conversation, but it never really gets off the ground. After the gravity of what’s just passed, it’s hard to lighten the mood. We make small talk until we’ve finished our tea.
“Okay, well, I’d best get going.”
We make our way to the front door.
“Thanks for coming, and for finding that guy on Twitter,” I say.
