Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

Daniel waited until he had everyone’s attention. ‘What do you say to a black man in a suit?’

‘Who’s your tailor?’ offered her father.

‘Will the defendant please rise.’

‘That’s really bad,’ her father said.

‘Daniel,’ her mother began in a weary tone. ‘Don’t you know any jokes that aren’t racist?’

Her brother scratched his head, mischief on his face. ‘Okay, how about this one. What are Belgium’s most famous inventions?’

Around the table, vacant looks.

‘Tell us, for God’s sake,’ she urged her brother.

‘Chocolate and paedophilia – and they only invented chocolate for the paedophiles.’

Her mother frowned. Karen plucked up her glass, her cheeks flushed.

‘Daniel,’ her father snapped, ‘I think we’ve had enough jokes for now.’ He looked straight at her. ‘Has anyone been watching that awful show on TV? What’s it called…?’

Laura pushed aside the remains of her food. She wanted to get away from this room, away from this house. It was a reminder of everything she wished she could forget. Around her, familiar objects – hanging on the wall, her childhood sketch of a vase of tulips, now confined by a conspicuous frame. In the display cabinet, above her father’s coin collection and gleaming swimming trophies, a row of school photographs of herself and her brother. The house was pulling her back, stripping away the years. She’d sat at this table ten years ago, on her twelfth birthday.

Mum is bringing in a huge cake studded with pink and yellow candles. Around the table, friends are cheering and clapping.

‘Blow them out!’

‘Go on, all in one go!’

One, two, three puffs. The last flame wavers and goes out.

Mum is smiling at her. ‘Make a wish, darling.’

Straight away, it comes – please, make him leave me alone.

After lunch, Laura helped her mother to clear up in the kitchen while the others sat in the living room. Every so often she could hear her father’s robust laugh from down the hall.

‘Jane heard from Neil yesterday,’ her mother said, feeding a plate to the dishwasher.

Jane ? Oh yes, Jane was a friend of her mother’s. Neil, Jane’s husband, had left her for a woman of twenty-eight he’d met in an Argentine tango class.

‘Is he still with that girl? What was her name?’

‘Yes, they’re living in a flat in Luxembourg. Neil rang Jane to wish them all a happy Christmas and she told him to get stuffed.’ Her mother’s voice got louder. ‘She’s not going to forgive him for running off like that. It’s been a huge struggle for her, working full-time and coping with the kids – and now Emma’s playing up.’

‘Playing up?’

‘Answering back, refusing to do anything round the house. Jane’s really worried about her.’ Her mother slammed the dishwasher door. ‘Did your father tell you he’s going to take Emma swimming?’

‘No – how come?’

‘Jane asked him if he’d mind taking Emma to the pool with him on Saturdays. To give her a break, partly – the kids are such a handful. But it’ll be good for Emma too. Jane says she’s always stuck in her room playing computer games and messing about on her iPhone.’

‘Dad doesn’t mind?’

‘No, he’s happy to help out. He likes the idea of teaching again, he misses working with kids. I think it’ll be good for him, a chance for him to feel valued outside the office.’

‘I suppose.’

It sounded sensible, on the surface. Her father had been a hotshot swimmer. He’d coached children at his swimming club in Canada, she remembered him saying – they all looked up to him because he’d won a big swimming competition, the state 100m freestyle title, or something. But a fuzzy sense of unease filled her.

‘Suzanne, are you two still in there?’ Her father’s head appeared around the door. ‘I thought we were going to have coffee?’

‘We’re just finishing, Paul. Give me a minute, will you?’

Her mother reached up into a cupboard then shrieked as a cup hurtled out and broke into small pieces that scattered across the floor.

‘Jesus.’ The veins bulged in her father’s forehead. ‘I’ve never in my life known anyone as clumsy as you!’

‘For God’s sake, Paul, I didn’t do it on purpose.’ Despite its attempted firmness, a tremor caught her mother’s voice. ‘Leave us alone, won’t you?’

His footsteps thumped away down the hall.

‘Are you okay, Mum?’

The colour had gone from her mother’s cheeks. As she stared down at the floor in dismay, she looked as if she might break too.

‘Sit down, let me clean up.’ She went to the cupboard and took out a dustpan and brush. I’ll make us more coffee.’

It had happened again, as it had so many times in her childhood. She had always been in a constant state of waiting for her father to let rip over some inconsequential thing. She or her brother hadn’t tidied their bedrooms properly, or her mother had burnt the toast – anything would set him off. His rages would end with her mother dosing herself with pills and retreating to a darkened bedroom.

Daniel and Karen appeared in the kitchen and announced they were leaving – they were worried about driving on dark roads.

‘Bye, sis.’ Daniel gave her a quick squeeze. ‘Look after Mum.’

‘See you, Dan. Give me a call if you’re ever in London.’ Even as she said this, she knew he wouldn’t. He was always busy with something. They got on well enough but their lives were mostly separate now.

Her mother put her hand on her arm.

‘You’ll stay on for a bit, won’t you, dear? I’m going upstairs to lie down for half an hour.’

Laura made the coffee as slowly as she could then took the two cups into the living room. The thought of being alone with her father made her skin prickle, as though she were a child again. But she told herself she ought to make an effort. She was an adult now – trying to avoid him the whole time was ridiculous. Anyway, she wasn’t going to let him get the better of her. Not anymore.

Her father was slumped in his armchair, his eyes shut and his legs, crossed at the ankles, stretched out in front of him. She put his cup quietly on the coffee table, which was temporarily unburdened of her mother’s Healthy Living magazines.

‘It’s all right, I’m not asleep.’ His tone was friendly. He pushed himself upright. ‘It’s good to see you again, Laura.’

She backed away. ‘I know I haven’t been over much lately. I’m sorry.’

He nodded, picking up his cup. ‘I expect you’re busy, these days.’

Reluctantly, she lowered herself onto the sofa. It would be rude to leave the room now. But what to say to him? A minefield lay between them, un-crossable. How could he talk like this, as if everything was perfectly alright? As if the past had never happened?

‘Mum says you’re going to take Emma to the pool with you.’

‘That’s the plan.’ Carefully, he replaced the cup in the saucer. ‘I’ll help her with her swimming.’

‘What about your own swimming? Won’t Emma get in the way?’

He smiled, a generous smile that showed off his perfectly crowned teeth. ‘I won’t mind. It’ll be fun.’

His tone was light, anodyne. But something was out of alignment. The door would not quite fit the jamb.

They talked some more – safe, impersonal topics. The recent severe weather, plans to give prisoners the vote, the farmer fatally gored by his own bull. Laura watched the coloured lights on the Christmas tree blink on and off. The standard lamp cast fuzzy shadows on the milk white carpet, which matched the antique white sofa and the hospital-white walls. The carpet had been chosen by her father, despite her mother’s protests. As predicted, it was now bearing signs of spillage, which the recently placed rug didn’t quite hide.