Callie looked at her horrified. ‘You thought you were the result of a rape? Oh, Frida, why didn’t you talk to me about all of this?’
Frida glanced up, her mouth working. ‘You were always so busy at work and stressed,’ she said emotionally. ‘I didn’t want to land you with all of my stuff when you had enough on your plate. I thought I could sort it on my own.’
‘Oh, darling girl. Come here.’ Callie slammed her mug down and opened her arms. Frida shot over the short distance. Mother and daughter held one another, tears running freely. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,’ Callie sobbed. ‘I’m so sorry, Frida. I promise to never let work or money get between us again.’
She stroked her daughter’s silky hair. ‘Just promise me in return that you’ll never keep secrets like this again. We should always be able to talk to one another. We always have in the past – or I thought we could.’ The words were pouring out, the tears streaming. ‘Iknewthere was something wrong before you went off to Ibiza. I should have sat you down and talked to you then. Oh, darling, I’ve just been so knackered with work this year, it’s been grim. I didn’t have any energy left over and that was so wrong. But I can assure you, even though it didn’t work out between Sunil and me, and even though we were very young, we loved each other very much at the time and you’re the result of that love. Don’t ever,everthink otherwise.’
Frida snuggled into her mother, tears subsiding into hiccoughs. There was silence for a while. ‘Don’t beat yourself up. It’s cool. I poured all my conspiracies out in my creative writing classes. Including the theory my dad was a multi-millionaire sheik who couldn’t own up to fathering a daughter as he’d be stripped of his status as a prince.’
Callie reared back and looked down at her daughter. ‘Whathaveyou been reading?’
A giggle erupted. ‘The tutor wasn’t impressed either. Said he thought it was self-indulgent introspective twaddle.’ She let out an undignified snort.
‘Who is this man?’ Callie demanded, instantly on the defence.
Frida sat up, wiped her face with the sleeve of her cotton smock and laughed. ‘It doesn’t matter. Told me I was better at the fact-finding, non-fiction stuff, so he did me a favour really.That’s when I began thinking about what sort of writing I could do as a career. Can’t make money writing fiction unless you’re Sarah J. Maas,’ she added stoutly.
‘There’s my girl,’ Callie said, not having a clue who Sarah J. Maas was.
‘And, Mum,’ Frida concentrated very hard on pleating the hem of her shirt. ‘I’m so sorry about all those things I said. You know, about you prioritising money and squashing my dreams. I couldn’t have had a better mum, and I know all you did, all the hours you worked, were for me. I know that. Of course I know that.’
She shoved at her fringe, irritably. ‘It was just that I’d had loads of emails from Sunil by then. Told me he was in Dorset on holiday, told me he thought I might be his daughter and wanted to finally meet. I was panicking big time. Decided to cut short the Ibiza trip and come here. Meet him. Everything was coming at me all at once and I was freaking majorly.
‘Then you had a go at me about uni and journalism. Suppose I wasn’t angry at you, just at me for not getting my shit together as usual.’ She looked down, biting her lip. ‘I meant to come clean about everything but there never seemed the right moment and then we had that awful row and everything got on top of me I suppose. I was angry and, God, was I confused so I took it all out on you.’
Callie took her daughter’s hands, tears spilling again. ‘I can’t believe you’ve had all this to deal with on your own.’
‘Well, Leah is a good listener. I know you’re not that much of a fan and she can be a right flake if there’s even a hint of a man on the scene, but she was really good at talking me through stuff. And, even though the holiday in Ibiza,’ Frida hesitated, ‘wasn’tbrilliant,I was glad I did it. I tried something. It didn’t work out and I probably won’t ever do that kind of thing again, it’s just not me, at least I had the courage to try it.’ She took a deep breath.‘I never seemed to have any confidence, and I could never work out why. Always felt there was something missing. I mean, I did okay at school–’
‘You did great at school!’ Callie interrupted.
‘I did okay,’ Frida corrected, shrugging. ‘I’ve got a load of friends, a nice home.’ She smiled. ‘And the best mum in the world. But I always stopped myself doing stuff. Never felt I could actually succeed, you know?’
Callie had never heard Frida talk so much. Perhaps she’d never allowed her daughter the time? ‘Is that why you dropped out of your degree?’
‘Suppose.’ Frida pulled a face. ‘There were other things going on. I was all right at school as long as I worked hard, they thought I was doing okay. Learning stuff, passing exams and all that crap never came easy though, I had to really sweat it. I got to uni and there I was in amongst hundreds of others. They were all so clever, all better at passing exams. It was a bit of a sorry slap in the face. I sort of lost myself for a bit.’
‘Oh, Frida,’ Callie said, horrified again and shaking her daughter’s hands gently. She’d been wrong thinking she and Frida talked about everything. They’d discussed nothing. Or at least she hadn’t listened. ‘Why didn’t you say something? It’s a well-known adjustment going on to university and suddenly finding yourself amongst equals and superiors.’
‘I had loads of discussions with my well-being tutor, she was really good.’ Frida pulled a face. ‘But think it was the course that finally did it. I just wasn’t enjoying it. Thought, if I got out into the world and earned some dosh it would help things at home. Maybe you could drop a few hours.’ She grimaced. ‘I just didn’t realise how difficult it would be to find a job that would take me without any life skills and pay me what I thought I was worth. I’ve had a few jobs, haven’t I?’ She laughed again. ‘But I’ve done a lot of growing up since I started at Price’s.’
Callie regarded her daughter with a mixture of sadness and pride. ‘You’ve grown up so much and I haven’t noticed. We always used to be able to discuss anything, didn’t we? How did that change?’
‘I dunno, Mum.’ Frida eyed her mother covertly. ‘I suspect you haven’t been totally honest with me about some stuff too.’
Ouch.
‘Maybe. But that’s for a discussion. Another time. Tell me, how did Sunil find you?’
Twenty-Nine
Poornima Dayal
Contemporary Indian painter best known for her colourful abstracts. Examine art in India, its cultural heritage.
(Taken from Calliope Thorne’s teaching notes.)
Frida snuggled into her mother again. ‘I was so scared you’d be mad. But Sunil was desperate to know if I really was his daughter.’
