want to remember the alienation sheâd felt throughout the rest of her schooldays until she could reinvent herself at art college.
She shifted to one side as her scampi and chips was put in front of her and watched as her father tucked into his pie, his relief at having a distraction plain. She played with her food, waiting for him to continue. However, he ate as if his life depended on it, not pausing to talk. As soon as he had cleared his plate, he asked for and paid the bill, then stood up. âFinished? Letâs go home. Weâll talk there. Not here.â
Back at the house, he led her into the living room, a faded memory of what it once had been. The musty unaired smell gave away how infrequently the room was used. While her father lit the ancient sputtering gas fire, Ali drew the curtains against the increasingly wild night outside before sitting on the spring-bound sofa. Her father took the chair opposite, perching on its edge, his body stiff and angular: knees bent, elbows on them, hands clasped, staring at the floor.
âPerhaps I should have spoken to you but I thought youâd come to terms with the loss of your mother in your ownway.â He raised his eyes to her, then looked away as he smoothed his hair with one hand. âI didnât want to open old wounds and make it worse for you.â
Aliâs frustration got the better of her. âFor Godâs sake, Dad!â How, after so many years, could he not understand her better than that? âShe was my mother. You owed it to me to tell me what you knew. You still owe me.â
He got up and crossed to the bureau at the back of the room, pulling open a desktop drawer to remove an envelope before closing it again. âItâs complicated, Al. Too complicated for me.â His voice was so low that she had to lean forward to catch what he was saying. âMoira had such a miserable upbringing herself, constantly undermined by her father and older brother. She wanted to do everything she could to make yours the perfect childhood. But, because of that upbringing, she grew up with no faith in herself. In the end, she left because she thought she was doing the best by us. There. Now you know.â
âBut how could she possibly have believed that?â This went against everything she remembered about her mother. âWhy couldnât you make her see she was wrong?â Her agonised plea came from the young girl sheâd once been. Her eyes stung with tears.
Her father was looking ill at ease. He wouldnât look at Ali, wouldnât comfort her. So much so that Ali had the distinct impression that there was something he wasnât telling her. This was as hard for her as it was for him. Now theyâd finally come this far, she had to know â if only to put the subject to rest at last.
âI tried, believe me. But she left with no warning. All Ihad from her was this.â He passed across the envelope that contained something solid. âI never wanted to tell you this, because I thought it would hurt you as much as it did me. You didnât deserve that. But maybe I was wrong.â
From the envelope, she took out a piece of lined paper. Two rings fell out: a plain wedding band and a ring with a simple solitaire diamond. Ali turned them in her hand, then opened the paper, recognising the handwriting immediately.
Eric. Donât come after me this time. You wonât find me. Iâm giving you back my rings. Alison will have a better life without me. I love her so much but Iâm not the mother I wanted to be to her, nor am I the wife I wanted to be to you. Itâs better this way. Iâm sorry.
Moira
ââThis timeâ? Sheâd done this before?â The assumptions that had supported Ali throughout the adult part of her life had been whipped away without warning. She felt as if she was in free fall.
He nodded his head, unable to speak.
âBut didnât you look for
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