Chapters (28)
‘I suffered as much at the hand of that abuse as she did. The only thing that ever connected us was our mutual need not to be seen. That doesn’t offer much time for mother–daughter bonding.’
‘Why would a woman as beautiful as you not want to be seen?’
‘I … um … I …’ I can’t think of a thing to say back to that. Part of me wants to slap him in the face, accuse him of being a pervert. Push his compliment away like it’s a knife trying to stab me. The other part is so amazed that this man has the capacity to be kind after what he experienced that I feel like should accept his compliment and not make his day harder than it probably already is.
‘That’s very kind,’ I say, eventually. ‘I have a condition that affects my confidence. I’m a work-in-progress.’
‘A condition?’ he asks.
‘Yes, it’s mostly aesthetic. If you don’t mind I won’t go into the details of it.’
‘Of course. Look, if your condition affects your confidence then that’s one thing, but to turn that into your kid’s problem, that’s another. You’ve learned how damaging that can be. Everyone has something, but it isn’t our kids’ faults. Your mum failed you. That sucks.’
‘Yes, it does.’
‘I realised I was messing up my other daughter just in time. My ex-wife though, she’s yet to adjust.’
‘She isn’t kind?’
‘She isn’t kind, she isn’t supportive. She isn’t all sorts of things. Her grief is complicated. She never wanted kids. Sometimes I think I forced her into it. Then one of her kids dies. She resents the grief for a person she didn’t really want in the first place. She now obsesses over creating a world of perfection to mask her pain. That’s a lot of pressure on my daughter – forced into stifling her real feelings. Count yourself lucky, you and Bonnie have each other. You’re there for her, she’ll be there for you. You’re doing everything right.’
She’ll be there for me? I think about that all the time. When it comes to me and my mum, she feels like the child and me the adult. I always wonder now if I should be trying to help her more. I’ve thought about going to Cornwall, gathering her things, bringing her back to London and having her live in my spare room. But history reminds me what a terrible idea that would be.
‘Well, I better get going,’ the man says. ‘Have a good day.’
‘I’ll try,’ I say as he walks away.
He really is very handsome.