Seven o’clock.
CHAPTER # twelve
‘Oh no,’ I murmured.
It all came flooding back to me. The phone call. The dinner plans. My promise to call Dad if there were any problems.
‘What’s up?’ Peter said.
‘N-nothing,’ I stammered. Michelle’s mum was pulling over, rolling to a standstill behind the yellow car. I was tempted to ask if she could please keep going. I didn’t want to face Dad. I didn’t want to enter the house.
But I had to.
‘Bye, Allie.’
‘Bye, Allie!’
‘Bye.’ Slowly I climbed out of my seat and trudged to the front gate. The living-room light was on, but I couldn’t see anyone peering through the downstairs window. The gate creaked as I pushed it. The front door swung open.
It was Ray, thank goodness.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Hello.’
‘Your father’s here.’
I stared up at him, speechless, and he looked gravely down at me. He didn’t seem angry, just a bit concerned.
‘It’s all right, Allie.’
‘I forgot!’ I squeaked.
‘I know. We all forget things sometimes.’
‘What we have to do, however,’ Dad suddenly cut in, from behind Ray, ‘is channel our efforts into remembering the important things, rather than allowing more trivial matters to overwhelm us.’
Dad was waiting in the hall. His hands were plunged deep in his pockets, jingling change and car keys.
‘Sorry, Dad,’ I muttered.
‘It doesn’t matter to me, Alethea,’ Dad replied. He was obviously upset about something, though. ‘It’s you I’m worried about. I’m worried that you’re going to regret missed opportunities as you grow older.’
‘I’m really sorry.’
‘So am I. I’m sorry we missed this chance to get acquainted.’ He sighed, his fingers still churning around in his pockets. ‘Perhaps if I’d been allowed to know you better, I’d understand why you believed that this appointment of yours was so much more important than your time with me.’
All at once, I felt Ray’s hand on my shoulder.
‘I don’t think that’s the case, Jim,’ Ray said quietly. ‘Allie forgot, that’s all. Kids forget, sometimes.’
‘But my point is that our dinner date was forgettable. Far more so than whatever event kept Alethea out tonight.’ Dad was frowning. ‘I want to find out why that is. Why I’m clearly relegated to the background, here.’
I opened my mouth to explain that he was very important. Ray, however, jumped in before me.
‘I don’t think this is useful, Jim,’ he warned. I knew that tone of voice, though I didn’t hear it very often.
‘Perhaps not for you,’ Dad replied dismissively. ‘For Alethea I think it’s vital. And for me. We have a relationship to explore, and it’s crucial that we explore it.’ Dad bent down, propping his hands on his knees, so that his face was pretty much level with mine. ‘The mind is a very complex entity, Alethea. It’s actually quite rare that we “forget” things for no reason. Often what we “forget” can tell us something about our innermost feelings. We repress things we don’t want to know or think about.’
I swallowed. Ray’s hand tightened on my shoulder.
‘Okay, that’s enough,’ he said. ‘This isn’t the time or the place. This is something we’ll sort out when Judy gets home.’
Dad straightened. The two of them began to address each other way above my head.
‘Ray, the last thing I want to do is get confrontational –’
‘Good.’
‘But this is my daughter –’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ A pause. ‘What are you implying?’
‘Well,’ Ray said calmly, ‘I just think it’s odd that you should talk about being relegated to the background, when it seems to have been your active choice for so many years.’
‘I’ve already indicated that I’m now trying to correct that decision.’
‘Well, good. Fine. But let’s take it a little more slowly, shall we?’
‘Ray, Alethea’s already twelve –’
‘So she’s got plenty of time to sort things out for herself.’
‘Not if she continues to deny or suppress any feelings of anger or rejection.’
‘Jim,’ Ray snapped, ‘why don’t you put a sock in it?’
By this time I was getting frightened.
‘Ray,’ I quavered. ‘Dad. Don’t. I’m sorry.’
‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for, love,’ Ray retorted, and Dad cocked his head reprovingly.
‘Oh, come now,’ he said, with a little laugh, ‘let’s not deny her responsibility for all her actions. She did stand me up, Ray – not that I regard that as a terrible sin –’
‘Allie, go upstairs, please.’
‘Ray, she’s not a child –’
‘Of course she’s a bloody child!’
‘Ray, please.’ Dad lifted his hands. ‘What I mean is, she’s entering puberty, she’s growing up –’
‘Allie, will you go upstairs? You really don’t want to hear this.’
‘You know Ray, if we’re going to throw our weight about, may I just point out that I am Alethea’s father –’
‘Since when?’
‘Oh, don’t!’ I cried. ‘Please!’ I was terrified. Ray seemed to sense that, because his grip suddenly relaxed, and he placed his other hand on my hair.
‘Sorry, love,’ he said, in a slightly shaky voice. ‘Sorry. Shouldn’t carry on like this, eh?’
‘Yes, there’s nothing to be gained by raised voices or personal accusations,’ Dad agreed. ‘What we have to do is discuss this calmly, rationally, with goodwill, so that we can get to the bottom of our difficulties –’
‘Not tonight,’ Ray interrupted. ‘Allie, you haven’t had your shower. Why don’t you go up and have it now? Before Mum gets back?’
I hesitated.
‘Ray, if she doesn’t want to –’
‘I do! I do! Just …’ I didn’t know how to say it. ‘Just don’t – don’t get mad, okay?’
‘We won’t get mad,’ Ray assured me. ‘It’s all right.’
‘Alethea, I’ve always held the view that anger is the toxic waste of our natural emotional balance, and should be regarded as purposeless.’
So I went upstairs. I went slowly, dragging my feet, listening hard for any raised voices down below. But there were no shouts or banging doors, there was only a low rumble of conversation. By the time I reached my bedroom, I couldn’t even hear that.
Bethan was in his own little cave, which he’s managed to trash since we moved in. After we got rid of Eglantine, it was clean and airy; now the white walls are plastered with football and skateboarding posters, the polished floor is invisible beneath piles of toys and clothes, and dirty old sneakers are oozing out from under the bed in an unstoppable tide.
‘What’s going on?’ Bethan inquired, when he saw me. ‘Were you supposed to go out with Dad, or something?’
I nodded.
‘That’s what he said.’ Bethan nodded, satisfied. ‘Did you forget?’
‘Yes.’
Bethan wrinkled up his nose. He was lying on the bed, taking apart one of his plastic monster constructions, which was half dinosaur, half bulldozer.
‘He wants me to go out, next time,’ Bethan complained. ‘I don’t want to go to one of those yukky places with the fried slugs.’
‘What fried slugs?’
‘You know. That okra stuff.’
‘Oh.’
‘Why won’t he take us to Australia’s Wonderland, or something? I don’t want to go with him and eat burny food in that smelly house.’
Bethan sees things so simply. It’s all so straightforward, for him.
‘But don’t you think we ought to?’ I asked – really wanting to know. I was standing in the doorway, my ears still cocked for sounds of an argument downstairs. ‘I mean, he’s
our dad. We should want to go with him.’
‘I do want to go with him. When he goes somewhere that’s fun.’ Bethan tightened a screw. ‘Stupid thing,’ he said, but he was talking to the toy monster.
I left him there, retreating into my bedroom. Already the tears were pricking at my eyes; I wanted to be safe behind my locked bedroom door before I let the first sobs escape. It was awful. I felt so guilty. Not because I had forgotten the dinner – though I was ashamed of myself for being so disorganised – but because Dad was right. There was a reason why his invitation had slipped my mind; why it had taken a backseat to my arrangements with Delora. It was because I really didn’t want to be with Dad. I hated going out with him. I hated having him around. I wanted him to leave and never come back. That was the reason why I didn’t want to live with him. Ever.
I hadn’t wanted to admit it, even to myself, but I couldn’t pretend any more.
I was bawling my eyes out when the phone rang. I could hear it because there’s an extension upstairs, in the main bedroom. But I was crying too hard to answer it – and Bethan never answers phones.
There were four rings, then silence. After a while, footsteps sounded on the stairs.
‘Allie?’ Ray called. ‘Phone for you!’
I couldn’t reply. My voice would have wobbled.
‘Allie?’ More footsteps, approaching my bedroom. The door handle turned, but the door was locked. ‘Allie, are you all right?’
I got up, and went to unlock the door. I had to. When Ray saw my face, his own face twisted up.
‘Oh, baby,’ he said. ‘It’s all right. He’s gone now.’
‘He’s angry with me!’ I wailed.
‘No, he’s not. Come here.’ Ray hugged me tight. ‘Allie, it’s not the end of the world. I told you – everyone forgets things. Jim used to forget your birthday, sometimes, don’t you remember?’ A pause. ‘It didn’t mean he doesn’t love you.’
‘It does!’ I croaked. ‘It does!’
‘No –’
‘Yes. Because – because –’
‘Hang on.’ Ray pulled me inside my room, shutting the door behind him. He took me to sit on the bed. ‘Now, what’s wrong? Eh? Tell me.’
‘I – I –’
‘Take it slowly.’
‘I don’t even like him!’ The truth was out. ‘I don’t even like my own dad!’
There was a long silence. At last Ray said, ‘Well, I’m not surprised. He’s not very likeable.’
‘You shouldn’t say that!’ I sobbed.
‘No. You’re right. I shouldn’t.’ Ray put his arm around me again, squeezing my shoulders. ‘Allie,’ he sighed, into my hair, ‘your father’s paid you almost no attention since you were four years old. Now, suddenly he turns up, expecting you to want to be with him, and to do what he says. It’s unreasonable, Allie. He’s being unreasonable, not you. You’re doing the best you can.’
‘But I – but so is he. Now. I feel so bad. I get so cross.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’
I wiped my eyes, pulling away from him. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘But what am I going to say?’ I sniffed. ‘When he asks why I forgot? When he asks what it is that I’m not admitting?’
‘Oh, he won’t,’ Ray interrupted, speaking very firmly and dryly. His calm, dark gaze flickered for an instant. ‘Believe me, your father won’t say another word on the subject.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because your mum and I will make sure he doesn’t.’
‘How?’
‘Never you mind.’
Troubled, I studied his expression, which was hard to read. Then he smiled, and tucked some hair behind my left ear.
‘Don’t look so worried, Allie. It’ll be all right. You should be civil – of course you should – but don’t worry about how your father feels, or what he wants. That’s his business, not yours. You don’t owe him anything – not until he earns a place in this family. Your job is to give him the chance. That’s all.’
I absorbed this, turning it over in my head. At last I admitted: ‘I don’t feel like he’s my father, Ray. You’re more like my father than he is.’
‘Well … that’s how I feel, too,’ Ray replied, very softly.
‘So what am I supposed to do?’
‘Nothing.’ He kissed my forehead. ‘It’s your dad’s job to work out what he wants to be. He can’t come back here expecting to revive something that’s been dead for years, Allie. He has to create something new.’
‘And – and I won’t have to live with him?’ I faltered.
‘Live with him?’ Ray stared. ‘Who said anything about living with him?’
‘It happens, doesn’t it? Kids have to go from one house to the other, all the time? When their parents get divorced?’
Ray’s mouth twisted. ‘You’re talking about custody,’ he said. ‘Shared custody.’
‘I guess …’
Ray took a deep breath. He rubbed his nose, and scratched his head. ‘Allie,’ he sighed at last, ‘I won’t try to kid you. Your father might ask for shared custody. If he does, we’ll have to talk about it. He won’t take it to court, that’s for sure.’ Ray’s voice was flat. ‘If he does, he’ll have to explain the last eight years. I don’t think he’ll be able to.’
‘But I don’t want to live with him, Ray!’
‘Of course you don’t. Why should you? Maybe one day you will, if he makes an effort.’ Ray squeezed me again. ‘Just tell him how you feel, Allie. If he asks you to move in, just tell him how you feel, and he’ll have to deal with it. That’s all you can do. That’s all you should have to do. Remember – your mum and I don’t want you to be unhappy, and neither does your dad. We’ll all make sure that you’re happy.’
I thought about what Ray had said, as he rocked me back and forth. I’d been worrying about Dad for such a long time; it felt wonderful to have aired all my worries, at last. Once I’d admitted the truth to myself, I’d finally been able to talk. What a relief!
‘Now,’ said Ray, and his arm dropped from my shoulders. ‘Are you up to a conversation with Peter, or shall I say that you’ll call him back?’
‘Oh!’ Once again, my memory had let me down. I’d forgotten all about the phone call. ‘Oh, no, I’ll talk to him!’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, yes!’ I grabbed a tissue from my bedside cabinet, and rubbed it over my face. Ray got up.
‘You can take the call in our bedroom, if you like,’ he offered. ‘More privacy.’
He didn’t say this in the annoying way that Tony Karavias might have said it, so I didn’t know if he was trying to hint at something or not. Nevertheless, I was anxious that he not get the wrong idea. After all, Peter wasn’t my boyfriend.
‘I don’t need privacy, Ray.’
‘Oh, I think you do,’ Ray responded, in quite a serious tone. ‘Everyone needs a bit of privacy. At least, that’s what I told your father.’ He opened the door for me. ‘There you go.’
Poor Peter had been waiting for such a long time that the first thing he said, after I greeted him, was: ‘Where were you, in the toilet?’
‘No, I – no.’
‘What’s wrong?’ He must have heard me sniffling and snuffling. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m okay. My dad – there’s some stuff with my dad. He was going to take me out to dinner.’
‘Your dad?’ Peter exclaimed. ‘But I thought your dad was in Thailand!’
Before I knew it, I had told him everything – it all spilled out in a great gush of words. Peter listened. He grunted sympathetically now and then, but didn’t comment until I had finished. Then he said: ‘Well, Ray is right.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Course he is! It’s like Astra, isn’t it? She was trying to revive something that had been dead for years –’
‘Someone, you mean.’
‘Whatever. The point is, you can’t. You just can’t.’
/>
‘But –’
‘And don’t say “what about Eloise?”, because she’s a perfect example of how bad it can get, when dead things are still cluttering up your life.’ Peter took a deep breath, which I could hear even over the phone. ‘Speaking of which,’ he added, ‘my mum just came home from her evening shift, and guess what?’
‘What?’
‘It’s unbelievable.’
‘What, Peter?’
‘Well, she decided to ask her manager about Terri Amirault, today,’ Peter began, ‘just to see if she was allowed to give out any information, and when she raised the subject, her manager went white – like, totally freaked – and couldn’t believe the coincidence –’
‘What coincidence? Peter!’
‘I’m telling you. Calm down.’ He was enjoying the build-up, though; I could sense it. He wanted to drag it out. ‘Apparently, yesterday afternoon, the manager got a phone call from this person he knows – a police officer, or something, I’m not sure – to say that Terri Amirault, who’d been living in a halfway house, I think, a kind of group home in Malabar somewhere –’
‘Where, Peter? Did you get the address?’
‘No, I didn’t, and it doesn’t matter, because guess what?’ A dramatic pause. ‘She’s dead.’
‘What?’
‘She died yesterday. Of a drug overdose.’
I gasped. ‘Oh, my God.’
‘Yesterday, Allie. Think about it.’
I was thinking about it. I was thinking about how horrible life could be, with people dying all over the place. Babies. Cousins. Poor drug addicts who were obviously very, very unhappy.
It made me realise how small my own problems were, in comparison.
‘Think about it, Allie,’ Peter said again. ‘This happened the very day that Eloise disappeared. It makes sense, doesn’t it? She got what she wanted. She got her mother.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Oh, come on!’ Peter was becoming excited. ‘It has to be that! Terri’s joined her in … well, wherever she is. The afterlife. Don’t you think?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘I know so,’ Peter declared firmly. ‘You were right. It wasn’t the formula. You’ve got a real instinct for these things, haven’t you? Allie? What’s wrong?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ I was a bit wrung out, and tired of messing around with ghosts. For the first time, I could see myself through other people’s eyes. It really was weird to be chasing ghosts for a hobby – weird and not very healthy, either. It meant you were always dealing with death and dead people. Horrible things.