Scarlett - Cathy Cassidy [21]
Today, though, it’s back to normal. Dad is pacing up and down the kitchen, seriously stressy. Clare sits at the table, stitching at some patchwork and trying to keep the peace.
‘OK, Scarlett,’ says Dad. ‘Talk. Let’s hear it – how the last, last chance fizzled out before you even gave it a proper try. Do you know how hard it’s going to be to get that school to take you back?’
‘I’m not going back,’ I tell him.
‘Oh yes, Scarlett, you are. Don’t you see how much you scared us last night? What happened to the mobile you were carrying?’
‘It fell into Lough Choill,’ I mutter.
‘Your shoes?’
‘Can’t remember.’ I chew my fingernails absently, chipping off a flake of shiny black lacquer.
‘Scarlett?’ Dad says. ‘You have to talk about this, surely you realize that? You can’t just expect us to ignore things the way your mother does!’
‘She doesn’t ignore it, does she?’ I fling back at him. ‘I wouldn’t be here if she did.’
Dad slumps against the kitchen sink. ‘Your mum is at the end of her tether, Scarlett,’ he says. ‘Things were difficult for her after the divorce, and I expect she let you get your own way too much. You started behaving badly and now it’s a habit, a habit that’s going to ruin your life. Doesn’t that mean anything?’
‘My life is already ruined,’ I tell him. ‘You saw to that.’
Dad takes a deep breath in, face creased with guilt. ‘Scarlett, your mum and I got divorced. People do,’ he says tiredly. ‘In the long run it was for the best. We weren’t happy, either of us –’
‘I was happy,’ I interrupt, my voice a little shaky ‘Divorce wasn’t “for the best” for me. It was the worst, OK? And it’s all your fault. So don’t start telling me how to behave and don’t start telling me what I can and can’t do. You don’t have the right, Dad, OK? You gave up on all that stuff when you walked out on us!’
‘Scarlett, enough!’ Dad sighs. ‘I know you’re angry and I know you blame me, but you have to see that you can’t go on behaving like this. You need firm boundaries, rules. And as soon as that ankle is better, you’re going back to school.’
Yeah, right.
It’s lunchtime, and I’m sitting in a cafe with Clare, eating mozzarella wraps and sipping tall glasses of milk. We are in Castlebar, almost an hour’s drive from the cottage, because in this crazy, middle-of-nowhere place that’s how far you have to go to get to a proper hospital.
I’ve had my ankle X-rayed, been told there’s nothing broken and that I’m a very lucky girl because wedge heels with ribbon ties are the deadliest form of footwear ever invented. Maybe. The new, flat Velcro-strap sandals Clare just bought me in a hiking shop down the street have got to be the ugliest, that’s for sure. Sadly, there wasn’t a whole lot of choice – I needed something that would fit over my hospital bandage, end of story.
‘Good food,’ Clare says, polishing off her wrap and hoovering up what’s left of the salad and crisps. ‘Shall we have pudding? Your dad won’t be expecting us back for ages…’ The waitress wanders over and Clare orders strawberries and cream while I opt for chocolate cake.
‘I’m mad about strawberries, with this pregnancy,’ Clare says. ‘It’s a real craving…’
I roll my eyes and start fiddling with the menu because I really don’t want to hear about Clare’s pregnancy It’s the final betrayal – proof that Dad has moved on. He’s got everything he wants now – a country cottage, a stay-at-home wife, a cute little girl with her hair in bunches and a new baby on the way.
Then, guess what, I turn up on the doorstep like a redirected parcel and everything goes sour.
Clare takes the menu out of my hands. ‘This must be hard for you,’ she says. ‘I can see that you might be feeling angry, lost. Please give us a chance, though – we really want this to work.’
And I really don’t.
‘What actually happened at school, Scarlett? What made you lose the plot?’
I blink. It’s such a simple question really, but one that Dad never thought of asking. I take a bite of chocolate cake, but it’s too dry, too rich. It sticks in my throat, along with Clare’s question.
‘Dad enrolled