Suzy K Quinn - Not My Daughter

Nick, to his credit, manages an amiable laugh.

Darcy says nothing. She is still concentrating.

Then we get the signal – a full, beautiful smile like the sun coming out. Darcy picks up her fork and carefully loads food.

‘One,’ she counts.

We all relax.

‘Okay.’ I pour drinks: Coke for me, Diet Coke for Nick, San Pellegrino sparkling water for Liberty (in a sophisticated stem glass, of course) and Sunny Delight for Darcy.

‘So, Liberty, good day?’ Nick asks. ‘How about those mock-exam results? How’d you do?’

Liberty cuts a mushroom into neat pieces. ‘I failed.’

I laugh.

‘I’m not joking,’ says Liberty, taking a delicate bite of food.

The room goes very still.

I decide to play along. ‘You failed drama? The girl who’s picked as the lead in every play?’

‘Failed it. Maths. English. Science. Fail, fail, fail. U grades. Unclassified.’

‘Very funny, Libs.’ I cut up food. ‘You’re the most intellectual teenager I’ve ever met. You can do a Suduko puzzle while the kettle boils. You’re an unbeaten chess champion. You read Dickens and Shakespeare for fun.’

‘It’s easy to fail when you don’t turn up to the exams,’ says Liberty.

‘You … what?’

‘I didn’t sit any exams,’ says Liberty, sipping sparkling water. ‘Except for Music. They predicted me an A-star for that.’

Silence.

Some parents worry about their children getting tattoos or leaving home to join a motorcycle gang. I worry my daughter will be a musician.

Nick looks between Liberty and me, brown eyes startled and unsure. Then he clears his throat. ‘Um … at my school sometimes the clever kids pretended to be thick so they wouldn’t get picked on. Maybe Libs doesn’t want to look too clever.’

‘Liberty,’ I say. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I’m protesting.’

I swallow. ‘Against … against what?’

‘I’m not taking my any more exams. Not until you let me meet him.’

I stiffen.

Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.

‘I want to meet my real father.’ Liberty looks me dead in the eye.

There they are. Laid right out on the bamboo table top, making a nasty stain. The words I’ve been dreading since Liberty could talk.

Under the table, Skywalker makes a sort of snorting, whinny noise. It’s like he knows the gates of hell have been opened and Liberty is walking towards them.

‘I’m not taking any exams until you let me meet my real father,’ says Liberty.

‘Why would you want to meet him?’ I demand. ‘He’s a monster. That’s not a road we’re going down.’

‘Well, it’s a road I’m going down,’ says Liberty.

‘No, Liberty. Absolutely not.’

We glare at each other.

‘Liberty, your mother has her reasons, okay?’ says Nick.

Liberty stands and jabs her fork at Nick and me in turn.

‘See?’ she shouts. ‘I get totally ganged up on. I’m sixteen years old. It’s time I met my real dad. You should let me decide for myself what he’s like. Just because he was bad to you doesn’t mean he’ll be bad to me.’

Darcy doesn’t pay any attention, continuing to count her forkfuls.

‘You’re young and naive, just like I was,’ I say. ‘You just have to trust me.’

Suddenly, Darcy stops counting, frowning at a melted piece of cheese stuck on her place.

Liberty goes to helps Darcy cut it free. ‘I want to meet him, Mum.’

‘You can’t meet your father,’ I say, voice rising. ‘No way. Never. Do you understand me. You can NEVER meet him. Your real father will ruin everything.’

I want to meet my father.

For a good few minutes after the ‘F’ bomb, only Darcy speaks.

‘Fork. Food. Eighteen. Fork. Food. Nineteen. Whoops! Start again. Fork. Food. One.’

Liberty is still behind her, helping her free stuck cheese from the plate when necessary.

Skywalker slinks into the kitchen and sits in his basket.

I stare at my plate, not wanting to eat.

When I look up, Nick has worried eyes and Liberty is glaring.

‘Okay, listen,’ I say. ‘The word “father”. It has a kind of status, doesn’t it? An authority? Like a king. Wise, kind. Fathers are kind men, right? But Liberty, your dad isn’t like that. How many times do I have to tell you? We all need to stay away. I’ve told you over and over again, he is not a good guy.’

‘Aunty Dee told me to take your stories with a pinch of salt.’

‘Aunty Dee thinks she’s protecting you,’ I say. ‘She used to do that when I was growing up too – tone things down, make them sound nicer. Always the mother figure. She was a great big sister. The best. But sometimes people need to know the truth.’

Liberty snorts. ‘And what would you know about the truth?’

‘Listen.’ My voice hardens. ‘Dee was there. She knows all about your dad. She knows full well.’ I push my plate of food away.

‘Tell me more about him at least,’ says Liberty, taking a seat. ‘He’s half of who I am.’

‘I … no,’ I say. ‘That’s not a good idea.’

‘If it makes you feel any better, Libs,’ says Nick, ‘I don’t know anything about your dad either. Your mother keeps me in the dark too.’

‘He’s just a bad guy who I left a long time ago,’ I say. ‘Can we leave it at that? And I don’t want you meeting him, Liberty, because I don’t want you getting hurt like I did.’

‘Maybe I’m not as weak and pathetic as you were.’ Liberty watches me, her eyes flat. ‘And I’m sick of listening to all the “Dad is a bad person” stuff without a shred of proof. If you won’t let me meet him, I won’t retake my exams.’

I cross my arms. ‘Fine. If that’s what it takes.’

Liberty glares at me. ‘I’ll ruin my future. You won’t let me do that.’

‘What kind of future will you have if your father gets a hold of you?’

For the rest of dinner, Liberty is sullen and silent, throwing me the occasional angry glance.

I try to strike up some small talk: ‘Do you think robot vacuum cleaners actually work ?’

Liberty replies, ‘They probably don’t really clear up the mess at all. Just move it around. Hide it under the carpet.’ And eyes me meaningfully.

When we’ve all finished eating, we all clear and tidy, moving dinner things to the kitchen and loading the dishwasher.

After Darcy meticulously scrapes her plate and loads it, Liberty takes her hand, leads her into the lounge and finds her a YouTube video about a jelly bean factory. She sits with Darcy for a while, explaining the factory mechanisms and jelly bean flavouring process. Then she announces she’s heading up to her room.

‘I’m going to write a song about controlling parents,’ she says.

I sigh. ‘Listen, Libs. With your father … some problems can’t be solved. Right?’

‘Don’t be frigging ridiculous,’ says Liberty. ‘Every problem can be solved. It’s just whether you make it a priority or not.’

Frigging is an Americanism she got from me. I have no one else to blame. Ditto when she says crap and Jesus H Christ. And ditto.

‘Even kids Darcy’s age know hiding from problems isn’t healthy,’ Liberty adds.

‘Okay,’ I admit. ‘Fine. Usually we face our problems. But when it comes to your father it doesn’t work like that. He turns it all around, spins it, makes you look like the crazy one. So can we just drop it?’

‘Hey Libs,’ says Nick, holding out a chessboard with an eager look on his face. ‘Why don’t we take our mind off things with a game of chess. Fancy a quick match?’

Liberty offers an eyebrow raise. ‘No offence, Nick, but I’ll beat you in three minutes.’