Things I Want My Daughters to Know_ A Novel - Elizabeth Noble [138]
Mark walked Jennifer to her car.
“Daughters. Who’d have ’em?” she joked. “First me, now Lisa.”
“Don’t forget Hannah. She’ll be waiting to bite my head off when I get home. And then there’s Amanda.” He smiled ruefully. “I sometimes feel like the bloke in that cartoon, who plugs the hole in the dam, and then another one springs, and he has to stick a finger in that one, and then another, and so on, until he’s got all his fingers and toes in holes, trying to hold it all back. And I’m only the bloody stepfather.”
“Left all on your own to take care of us.”
“Exactly. It’s like you all held yourselves together for your Mum, and the minute she was gone, you all fell bloody apart….”
“I think some of us had been falling apart before that. We just couldn’t let it show.”
“I know. I don’t mean it. It’s just that sometimes, I feel…tired.”
“Hey. I’m not surprised. I’m sorry I was part of the problem. I’m sorry I was such a colossal bitch. I’m better—I promise. Take me off the critical list.”
“Thank God. I’m really pleased, Jen. Really.”
“That means a lot to me. Now”—she kissed his cheek—“go home and talk some sense into my little sis, will you?”
THEY’D GIVEN HIM CONFLICTING ADVICE ABOUT HANNAH—HIS two elder stepdaughters—over lunch. Lisa advocated a soft approach, Jennifer was for coming down on her like a ton of bricks. Lisa thought he should be her friend, Jennifer that he needed to assert himself as the father.
If Barbara had been alive…if she’d been well…he knew how they would have played it. Tough cop, soft cop. With Barbara being the tough one. He was happy with soft cop. He could handle soft cop. That’s what he was used to. That was how it had been with Amanda, when she was growing up (how could he have been anything else—the new, young stepfather?) and with Hannah, when she was younger and the issues seemed more manageable. He’d never sided with either one of them against their mother—not outright. But he’d provided the shoulder to cry on. The occasional £10 note. When she was about fifteen, Amanda borrowed a pair of Barbara’s dangly, sparkling earrings, without asking, to wear to a party. She’d lost one, walking home. Creeping upstairs, she’d come around to his side of the bed, tugging gently on his T-shirt until he woke up, motioning him to come out so she could talk to him. Instantly alert and alarmed, he’d done it. And then spent the next forty-five minutes, at two o’clock in the morning, in his dressing gown, retracing her steps outside with a flashlight, looking for the bloody earring. He was that dad.
He didn’t know what to do with Hannah. He remembered Barbara’s mantra. Keep them close. Keep the lines of communication open. Then you won’t lose her.
The trouble was, that mantra didn’t apply. He blamed himself for this new display of independence and rebellion in his daughter. He’d told Lisa and Jennifer he thought it was his fault. “I’ve relied on her too much,” he said. “I’ve made her my confidante, my companion. My emotional crutch, even. No wonder she’s desperate to get away.”
“Nonsense.” This was Jennifer. “She’s just being a teenager. That’s all. It’s got nothing to do with what’s happened. She’d be like this whatever. Your guilt is her biggest ally.”
“Hang on,” Lisa had retorted. “You can’t just sweep the last couple of years under the carpet. Hannah’s had a hellish time.”
“I’m not saying she hasn’t. I’m just saying that it being an explanation doesn’t make it an excuse. Anyway, it isn’t relevant why she’s being like this, is it? It’s what Mark does about it now. He has to stay in charge.”
“I’m running a home, not a detention center for young offenders.” Jennifer was sounding a little draconian for Mark’s tastes. Not for the first time…
“And you’re making it sound like she’s sleeping around and shooting up. Honestly, Jen. It’s not that bad. A bit of attitude, a bit of backchat. She’s hardly a candidate for rehab.