The Happy Family by Jackie Kabler (electric book reader txt) 📕

Oh. Well, that’s good. They’re on the same page with that one, at least.

‘No, that’s not what I was going to say, don’t worry,’ I say. ‘I understand that. It was something else.’

I wasn’t going to mention this to him; it’s not something we talk about at all – haven’t done for years. But now he seems happy to chat about Mum and suddenly I need to know, need to pick his brains, need to see what he thinks before I broach it with my mother. He’s looking at me expectantly, still holding the water cup, and I take it from him gently, gathering my thoughts as I put it back on the table.

‘Dad, do you think Mum might know? About Lucy? About what happened?’

His eyes have widened again, surprise and a little shock in them this time.

‘I mean, she hasn’t said anything, But I’ve been feeling really anxious, wondering if she knows, and I just wondered if you thought … Oh, I don’t know, sorry Dad.’

He’s still looking at me with that surprised expression. He makes a little sound in his throat, opens his mouth, closes it again, and then finally says, ‘I don’t know, love. Unlikely, I think. How would she? Who would have told her?’

I nod, thinking. Putting Mike and his recent research aside – because that still worries me a lot – is there really a chance she could have found out about it from anyone else? Other than Dad and me, who else even knows about what happened? Lucy’s parents, obviously, and the teachers, and at least some of the other pupils at Fairbridge High. Although efforts were definitely made to hush it up at the time, it was a school and things always get out, rumours go around. But who else? Some of Mr and Mrs Allen’s friends, undoubtedly, some of the other parents I saw at the school gates. But, after the initial investigation, after those terrible early days when I felt like my whole life had fallen apart, it all just … faded away. Nothing in the papers, no more visits by the police. Dad never breathed a word about it to anyone, not to friends, not to colleagues, not to family. He promised me he never would, and I had no reason to believe he’d ever break his word. Both of my parents were only children, so there were no aunts, uncles, or cousins who might have found out, and even if my grandparents had discovered the truth, they’re all long dead now. Even – and to this day I wonder if this was the right decision, but it’s far too late now – Jacob doesn’t know what happened. My husband, left in the dark about such a big part of my life. Was that, I sometimes wonder, one of the reasons we grew apart, because I never fully trusted him? Certainly not enough to tell him and expect him to stay with me once he knew.

And as for Mum, well she had left years before I’d started at Fairbridge and didn’t, as far as I knew, know any of the kids there, or their parents. Dad had wanted me to have a fresh start at secondary school, wanted me to go somewhere where nobody saw me as the poor little girl whose mother had abandoned her, and so he’d chosen a school on the other side of the city, one where none of my primary school friends were being sent. At first I’d been horrified, but when he told me I could make up my own backstory, tell the other children my mum had died, if I wanted to, I realised he was right. It would be easier, so much easier, not having to explain, not to be asked constantly if there was any news, if we’d heard from my mother, if she was coming home soon. And so that’s what I’d done, and it had simply been accepted that I didn’t have a mum. So, I think now, what were the chances of Mum knowing what had happened at Fairbridge, really? There was a tiny chance that someone she knew in Bristol might have got to hear about it, but she hadn’t kept in touch with anyone, not as far as we knew.

Dad’s right. It is unlikely Mum knows, because who would have told her?

I leave the hospital shortly after that, chatting to a nurse on the way out who says, to my great joy, that she thinks Dad will be well enough to be discharged and move back to Holly Tree in the next day or two. I’m equally relieved when I get home to see that Robin has fed the kids and is just finishing clearing up too, the big spaghetti bolognese pan washed and drying next to the sink, the dirty plates and cutlery neatly stacked in the dishwasher. Mum’s eaten with the children and is in the lounge watching EastEnders. Once I’ve seen Eloise and Finley off to bed and wolfed down the portion Robin’s kindly left for me in the oven, I take a deep breath and go and join Mum on the sofa.

‘Has Robin gone?’ she says immediately.

‘Erm … yes, a while ago. Why?’ I ask.

She picks up the remote and hits the mute button, then turns to me, her face serious. I feel a little flutter of nerves.

Now what?

‘Well, there was just something … something I thought you should know. I mean, it might be nothing, but …’

She shrugs, looking worried. She’s wearing a soft beige sweater, a simple gold bangle on her right wrist.

‘Go on, tell me.’

More bad news? I’m not sure I can take this, I think, but I don’t say it.

‘OK, well … this afternoon, when I got back from town, I went straight upstairs to change and I heard some noise coming from your bedroom. It gave me a fright, silly me! So I sort of crept to the door and peeped in, and it was Robin of