Tess Evans - Book of Lost Threads

That’ll put paid to all her schemes , she reflected with spiteful satisfaction.

Privy to only some of her daughter’s thoughts, Amy, while not encouraging her, did nothing to intervene. She did point out wryly that Moss was sounding just like Linsey, but her daughter failed to see the irony. She had carried out her plan and now, two years later, here she was, drinking tea with the man Linsey had chosen to be her father.

And he seemed totally unaware of the magnitude, the abiding significance, of this moment.

THOUGH FINN CONTINUED TO STARE at Moss in silence, he was far from indifferent. Words assembled in his head and, just as they began to make sense, rearranged themselves in a new configuration. It was like some sort of folk dance where the dancers’ positions kept changing in a flurry of colour and ribbons, leaving the onlooker puzzled and a little queasy. He continued to lift the mug to his lips, unaware it was empty. Moss looked back at him, expectation in the dark blue eyes that were so like his own. So like his mother’s. And his grandfather’s too, he recalled.

Moss was not used to silence. ‘I’d like to stay for a few days,’ she said tentatively. ‘We could maybe… get to know each other a bit?’

Finn felt a sort of panic and tried to slow his breathing. ‘Your mothers and I had an agreement. My name was to be kept out of-of things .’ He saw her flinch and looked down, shame burning two red patches across his cheekbones. ‘I’m sorry, Moss,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s just that I’m used to being alone and this has come out of the blue. I…’

Finn paused. What did he want? He looked at the girl’s face. His daughter . He turned the word over in his mouth. Absorbed its unfamiliar taste and texture. What did he owe her? Did he owe her anything at all? She was his in only the most technical sense. He tested himself for some emotional connection and found only bewilderment. Bewilderment-overlaid with his natural reticence. It suited him to be alone. He liked it-relished it, in fact. Was that all? Was that all there was to him? He probed deeper and found curiosity. Just a little, but it was there. Who was she? How had she turned out?

He cleared his throat. ‘I-it’s like this.’ He stopped again. If he was curious about her, she must be curious about him. What sort of man did she think she was dealing with? What sort of father did she deserve? Not one like me , he thought miserably. I’m sure she’s done nothing to deserve a father like me. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to find him, though. His thoughts completed the circle. If he owed her anything, it was the truth. He started again.

‘It’s like this. I’ll tell you a few things about myself. If you still want to stay, you can. Just for a few days.’ He blew out his cheeks unhappily. ‘You won’t find me great company, and after you know my story…’

They moved closer to the fire and Moss tucked her feet up, hugging her knees. She remembered this was exactly how she used to sit when she was waiting for Amy or Linsey to read her a bedtime story.

‘I guess you know how Amy became pregnant,’ he began and looked relieved when she nodded. ‘Well, after the phone call to say we were successful, I felt a bit sad that I’d never see the baby, but to be honest-and we have to be honest with each other, Moss-the feeling passed and I more or less forgot. No, I didn’t forget, it was just a-a fragment of my life with no special significance.’ His smile was tentative, placating.

Moss was hurt, but her face remained impassive. She had often wondered about her father, but only lately dared to ask. For one thing, she didn’t want to hurt her mothers, but on a deeper level, she feared rejection. When Finn referred to her as a fragment of his life, she began to taste that fear and clenched her teeth in misery.

Disconcerted by her rigid expression, Finn played for time. ‘They seemed like good women. They treated you well?’

‘Very well,’ she snapped. ‘They were my parents, remember.’

‘Yes. Yes. Of course they were,’ he mused. ‘I was just a-a tool . No pun intended.’ He interrupted himself hastily as he saw her faint grin. He grinned back. ‘It was a strange situation, Moss… I hope I haven’t…’

‘No. It’s okay. Go on.’

As he continued, his hesitancy gradually dissipated. This was, after all, a story he had told himself and Father Jerome many, many times.

‘I left uni with a PhD in maths and then went on to do some research on probability.’ She nodded impatiently. ‘Not exactly riveting for your average punter, but I found it fascinating. After a few years, I was offered a research fellowship at Oxford. I was there for five years and then came back to Melbourne.’

Moss nodded again. She’d gleaned this much from the 55 publications.

‘I came back because of a woman I was seeing. She was one of my post-grad students, another Australian. Her student visa expired and she decided to move back home. I sounded out a few Aussie universities and landed a job at Melbourne-my old stamping ground. Different from Oxford, you know. Not as well funded, but it’s got some top academics.

‘To cut a long story short, this woman met someone else. I was furious. Well, you can imagine… I’d given up my post at Oxford because I thought we had some sort of future together, and within six months she was off to South Africa with a structural engineer.’ For the first time since Moss had met him, he raised his voice. ‘Have you ever met a structural engineer? No? You don’t know how lucky you are. They’re the most boring people. And think they’re God’s gift. What would they do without maths? That’s what I’d like to know. The mathematicians do all the groundwork and the engineers take all the credit with their flashy bridges and-and stuff .’

Moss was a bit taken aback. It had never occurred to her that structural engineers could be so venal. There was a whole world out there where such declarations might be considered odd, but here, in Finn’s kitchen, she found herself cheering for the mathematicians.

‘Go on,’ she encouraged. ‘What happened then?’

‘Well, life became a bit complicated . For some reason, I never had much trouble finding a woman. You’d be surprised how many women are interested in maths,’ he added quite guilelessly.

Not so very surprised , Moss thought as she looked at his dark blue eyes and hollow, high-boned cheeks. Despite his bad haircut and daggy green jumper, her father had a sort of wistful charm and vestiges of a physical beauty long since disregarded.

Finn continued. ‘Annetta-that was this woman’s name- she was special, I really thought she was the one. Should’ve known better. Anyway, I’d always been a drinker. Especially during my student days.’ He grinned despite himself. ‘I remember Linsey insisting I give up the booze while I was ah… employed by her. Kept my word, too. Even though she’d never have known.’ Finn looked at Moss expectantly.

She was beginning to read him. ‘I’m glad, Finn,’ she responded. ‘I’d hate to have been born an alcoholic.’ She wasn’t sure that this was an issue, but was eager to please.

‘Yeah. I smoked a bit of pot, too. Just a joint with friends every now and then.’ He patted his pockets. ‘I need a bit of Dutch courage for this next bit. Do you mind if I smoke? Tobacco, I mean. I’ve given up pot. And alcohol too, for that matter. Another one of Linsey’s prohibitions,’ he added, indicating the cigarette that he rolled with practised fingers.

‘One night, I’d smoked a couple of joints with some friends and was feeling, you know, pretty happy. Then, just after they left, I get this phone call from Annetta. She couldn’t even tell me face to face. I’m leaving , she says. I’m sorry , she says. I’m going to South Africa with Pieter Langeveldt. I’ll get my things tomorrow when you’re at work.