My heart misses a beat.
Nemmie nods. ‘That’s where she goes when she’s too upset to stay in the kitchen.’ Her voice rises. ‘How do you not know this, Mum?’
I’m asking myself the same question as I grunt an excuse. ‘The waves are often calmest in the eye of a storm.’
Nemmie frowns. ‘Waves? What waves?’
I roll my eyes. ‘They’re not real ones. I’m trying to explain how I missed that this was coming.’
Nemmie coughs. ‘The eye of a storm is calm, but the bit right next to it is the most dangerous part. That’s the eyewall.’ She gives me a look. ‘That actually might be where we are now.’
I nod at her. ‘Metaphorically speaking.’ I marvel at how she’s crammed her brain with so much knowledge, and with very little help from me, on the meteorological stuff. She’s always been glued to the weather forecast, but even so I don’t expect a nine-year-old to show this level of understanding about isobars. I mean, Mum and I mostly spend the weather forecast critiquing the outfits and marvelling at the height of the weather girls’ heels.
Nemmie wrinkles her forehead. ‘Please tell me my dad doesn’t do bad things like Salvador.’
This comes from nowhere and hits me like a kick in the guts.
I’m agonising as I reel, because before we get to her father, I need to sort out her opinion of Salvador.
‘Whatever difficulties Salvador is in now, he began from a good place. Things just didn’t work out as he’d hoped.’ I’m watching Nemmie’s face, pale and drawn. ‘Salvador’s always been very driven to make money, and the people who’ve worked with him have profited from that. It’s global events that have caused his business to fail, not his own personal mistakes.’
I’m not making excuses for Salvador, but there’s no harm in Nemmie hearing another view. I take a deep breath and move on to the next part.
‘Whenever we’ve talked about your dad, I’ve always explained that he was the type of person who wanted to save the world.’
As Nemmie grew up, it felt important to let her dad have a shape even if he didn’t have a presence.
Nemmie nods. ‘The kind who’d abseil down and rescue baby puffins stranded on cliff edges?’
‘That’s exactly right. Getting money wasn’t really his thing. He was more interested in helping animals and fighting for justice for mankind.’ Which is why it’s been quietly understood that he’s never had the time to come to find us.
I mean, over the years Nemmie seemed to wonder less than I did why he hadn’t come. I know with her arriving early the dates didn’t exactly match up, but I always thought if– or when– Lando found out about her existence, that he might drop by for a casual chat just to see for himself.
I’m aware that with the rate Nemmie’s intellect is developing at, she’s bound to be challenging the backstory more than when she was two, but it probably has a lot to do with us living in a house where there are more absent or unknown fathers than known ones. Mine and Salvador’s dad lasted two months after Mum’s thirteen-week scan when she was pregnant with me, and then he scarpered. A lot of the foster children who come here are moving on to new parents, so it’s always been more about the carers who are there to give you love, than the absent dads who– let’s face it– often don’t.
To stand in Lando’s place, I’ve tried to create a cut-out version of a good guy to hang the ‘dad’ label on: the kind of nameless adventurer with integrity who I could have met at the Wildlife Society. Over the years we’ve talked about Nemmie’s dad in a positive way at every comfortable opening. We’ve imagined him doing every job from counting polar bears’ calorie intake on ice shelfs, to helping baby giraffes, to snail collecting in the rainforest. And I’ve very meticulously avoided any reference to Australia or to the fact he had no need to be interested in money because his family already had shedloads of the stuff.
Nemmie’s voice rings out stark and clear across the kitchen. ‘If my dad ever did what Salvador’s done, I’d definitely want to see him. That’s all.’
My stomach hits the floor.
She nods. ‘I’d have to tell him off for hurting people.’ Her frown lines deepen. ‘If Salvador had a child my age, they wouldn’t let him take money he shouldn’t have and go round not paying people.’
Panic over. ‘I think you’re right, Nemmie. Uncle Salvador would definitely benefit from daughterly advice. But let me pass that on to him, rather than you doing it yourself.’
Nemmie’s gaze hits the garden again. ‘Nan and Flo are coming back now.’
As I glance through the window and see my mum, we’re straight on to the next thing. ‘Okay, guys, no more gossip, back right off and give her space.’
I cross the room and open the French window as she reaches it. ‘Mum!’ She walks into my arms, rests her cheek on my shoulder and I wrap her in the tightest hug I can manage, given she’s got a sleeping foster baby strapped to her front. Then I murmur in her ear, ‘Whatever the mess, we’ll sort it. Let’s talk more once the kids are in bed.’
She rubs her nose with her fist. ‘Thanks, Maevey, that sounds like a plan.’
Then Nemmie and Dale and Zara run across with their own– mostly football-based– support, and throw their arms around her too. As Angel, not wanting to miss out on anything this wild, leaps to his paws and hurls himself at us too, we sink onto the sofa.
The kids eventually roll off, and Mum readjusts herself and Flo, and squeezes the hands she’s still holding. ‘A big hug was just what I needed.’
Nemmie looks at her. ‘How about we make you a cup of that special tea for stressed people?’ She’s already back at the island, reading from the label. ‘It’s your favourite passionflower and lemon.’
