Chapter Two: Now

“So,” said Donald, reaching for his daughter’s hand. Alicia slid her hand in her pocket, then took it out again to pat his arm. He tried to be grateful for the pat, rather than hurt by the rejection. “Ready for the new term?”

“They’ll all be talking about Newquay. And how good the surf was. They stayed up all night and had a barbecue. And went swimming by moonlight.”

And went round the bars copping on like they’re all eighteen, and Mattie Barker got in a fight and spent the night down the nick and was lucky to get off with a stern word, thought Donald, who knew the owner of the Kula Shaka and had heard the stories the parents weren’t supposed to. If he said this out loud, she’d say he was spying. Was he? Possibly, but old habits died hard.

Alicia was looking at him sideways. “They’re going again at half-term. For Emma’s birthday.”

“No.”

“You don’t have to pay for it.”

“I know that, thank you.”

“I just meant I’ll do some shifts for you.”

“No.”

“I worked for Emma’s dad at the café all summer.”

“Yes, on the ice-cream stand, in the day. You’re not working in the pub in the evenings.”

She pounced on the opening. “I’ll do weekends then.”

“You work hard at school. Weekends are for having fun.”

When she was angry she looked so much like her mother it hurt his heart. “How much fun can I have when they all go off without me?”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he resorted to silence. Ellen had always hated that too.

“Anyway,” she said at last. “I’ve got my wages from the summer.”

“You’re not spending them on going to Newquay.”

“Why not?”

“Because!” He didn’t quite know where to start. “Because it’s full of stags and idiots and you’ll end up getting into trouble.”

“I won’t catch idiot off other people.”

“You’re fifteen.”

“Exactly! Fifteen!” And the line that punctuated their lives: “I’m not a little kid, you know.”

Oh, Lord, don’t I just know. Ellen, if you’re watching, I’m doing my best here, I swear. They’d made it together this far, just the two of them. He’d shown up for her, understudied for Ellen as best he could. He’d forced himself to learn tenderness as well as authority. He’d got them through the big milestones – first bra, first body-hair, first period – with stoic determination and grim humour. It wasn’t the biology but the psychology that baffled him; the discovery that he was, once more, living with a woman.

He looked sideways at his daughter, wanting to see her as a stranger might. Round innocent face, hazel eyes, long fair hair. Pretty the way all young creatures were pretty. Pretty despite that absurd hairstyle they all wore, like a cottage-loaf made out of hair. Long, athletic legs – her best feature. The way men looked at her this summer – even the fathers, for Christ’s sake – slow sly stares when their wives weren’t watching, not with the intention of doing anything, just one for the wank-bank later on, but then they weren’t horny teenage surfers or drunken stag-parties… no, he had to stop this, just thinking about it made him angry.