Things I Want My Daughters to Know_ A Novel - Elizabeth Noble [58]
If she’d known—about Amanda—she might have told Mum. And it might have helped.
Amanda
“How are you doing, kid?”
“I’m all right. How are you doing?”
Amanda had come to visit after work, on the train. Mark had picked her up at the station, when he’d finished at the office, and now they were driving home. It was a wet, cold hibernating sort of a night, and he felt a father’s relief and gratitude that two of his daughters would be under his roof tonight. Rain pelted against the car windows and on the soft top. It was good to see her.
Mark shrugged. “It does get easier. I knew it would. Time. Passes, doesn’t it?”
“I’m glad.”
“I am. Most of the time. Sometimes I resent it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sounds daft, I know. But it getting easier means she’s getting further away from me. Does that make sense?”
It did. Amanda held her stepfather’s hand for a moment, on the gear stick, and he squeezed her fingers.
“So, enough of the wallowing. Tell me about you? You’re still in England, for a start. Must be some sort of record. What’s that all about?!”
“Ah…”
“This bloke, I presume…”
Amanda raised her eyebrows at him.
“Sorry—hope you don’t mind. Hannah told me.”
“Big mouth! I don’t mind, no. It wasn’t a secret. God knows I went on about him, to the others, when we were all home, like an idiot. But, no. It isn’t a bloke. That’s over, I think.”
“I’m sorry—touchy subject?”
“Not really.” She tried to sound breezy. But it was, of course. “Just a bit of fun.” That wasn’t true. “Actually, I am thinking of going away again.” That, at least, was.
“That’s more like it. Where, when…Details, please. Let me have a little vicarious globetrot on this truly foul night.”
Amanda laughed. “You make it sound like you don’t have your own passport. Actually, when did you last have a holiday?” She looked at his face, lit by streetlights. “Now that I think of it, you haven’t been away for ages. Not since Mum…”
“This is true. Explains my pallor, at least.”
“And those baggy eyes.”
“Charming.”
“Hey—I don’t do soft soap. But why don’t you go away, the two of you?”
“I’ve got work. Hannah’s got school….”
“Pah. You get holidays, she gets holidays. You should get away.”
“You’re right. We should.” Mark realized he hadn’t thought about a holiday. Which was odd. They’d always had holidays, before Barbara was ill. She’d been leisure director, of course. Planned everything. Booked everything. Packed. Put the SPF 30 on everyone’s shoulders.
“I guess your mum just always took care of all that.”
“Well, you know what, she isn’t going to anymore. Does that mean you’re never going on a holiday again?”
“No, of course not. What’s this—tough love?!”
“If you like. So, that’s sorted. I’ll help you. At home. We’ll go online and find you a fortnight in Torremolinos….”
Mark laughed. “Okay, okay…you win. So long as you promise it won’t be Torremolinos. I’ll talk to your sister.”
Hannah was excited by the prospect. She insisted on hot weather, a white sandy beach, and turquoise sea.
“Can’t you come with us, Mand? Otherwise I’ll be stuck with Dad.”
“Oy! You make me sound like sunstroke.”
“Come on, Dad. Just the two of us?!” She grimaced at him, from the computer, where she was happily Googling luxury resorts in the Seychelles, but he knew she wasn’t serious. Not completely serious, at least, he hoped.
But Amanda was engrossed in