Part 5 (1/2)

I'll be leaving Ivan, and he makes me feel safe. He's kind and gentle and he truly cares about me.

I will never, ever again have friends that I have known since we were tiny little kids.

I will never again have friends who laugh at the same things as me.

I will never have friends that I can truly trust.

All the things I know are being torn out of my hands. I'm trying to hold on but I'm losing everything. It feels as though there's an earthquake in my life.

I am so scared.

I walked into Sacha's room uninvited. She was making an alb.u.m of photographs, hampered by tears and a running nose. Pictures of friends and family lay scattered on the desk. m.u.f.fin sprawled across her mistress's feet.

I sat down on the bed. 'Need any help?'

'No thanks.'

'I read your essay.'

'Huh.'

'This feels like the end of the world, doesn't it? But it's not.'

'Yes, it is.'

'Hey, maybe you could have your own horse. You've always wanted a horse! It's going to be an adventure.'

'I don't need an adventure.'

'We'll all be together, that's the main thing. The five of us. Actually, six-even m.u.f.fin's coming.' At the sound of her name, the soppy animal sighed blissfully.

Sacha was trying to cut out a photo of Ivan but seemed unusually clumsy. Mermaids frolicked all around us in the calm water of Kit's sea. When Sacha was small I often found her lying half-asleep, gazing at the scene as though her bed was adrift on the silvery blue. When she got older, Kit offered to paint it out and give her something more adult, but she refused point-blank.

'Ivan loves me,' she said now. 'He's special. How can you do this?'

'Listen,' I urged. 'Your friends will always be your friends. It's easy to stay in touch nowadays on the internet. And it needn't be forever-you could even come back to university here.'

'Oh yes, great!' Sacha dropped the scissors with a clatter. 'You'll make me choose between my family and my country. That's the thing, you see? You're splitting me in half.'

I sagged. 'Yes. Yes, I see that.'

'Grandpa,' she cried, dissolving. 'How will we ever manage without Grandpa?'

'He'll come and visit. Look,' I added in desperation, 'please will you just give it a couple of years? If it isn't working, I promise we'll come home.'

'We won't have our home! This is my home.'

'Doll, please. I'm actually begging you. The thing is . . .'

'Yeah. I know, I know. We've got money troubles, gotta sell the house and live in a cardboard box. You want a better life for us children, and Kit needs to indulge his midlife crisis.'

I looked down at my hands. I didn't want her to despise Kit, but surely she had a right to know more. 'Remember that last trip to London? Well . . . I had to fetch him from the police station that night.'

'What?'

'He was in a cell. He was . . . well, they'd sc.r.a.ped him off the High Street. They said they'd charge him next time. It was awful. I've been really worried about him, Sacha. I know you have too. You said as much in that essay.'

She chewed her lip, thinking about it.

'We've made a deal,' I said. 'He is not to binge ever again. We're going to give it two years-he feels that's a fair crack of the whip, and without a mortgage we can sc.r.a.pe by on my income. Then, if the painting isn't going anywhere, or if we hate it out there, we'll think again.'

'So you slave away while he's a kept man? Marvellous.'

'That's really unfair. This house was bought with Kit's money, much of it made before I ever met him. For the past nine years we've been bankrolled by his income. He's been a father to you in every way, school fees and all, never quibbled. Maybe it's my turn to be the main breadwinner. Marriage is a partners.h.i.+p: you take, and you give.'

She was silent, blinking tearfully up at her mermaids.

'I've had enough,' I whispered. 'I want my man back. You and I both know he's worth this risk. A filthy old lag in a police cell, laughed at by a bunch of coppers-that isn't our Kit, is it? Our Kit's beautiful. He's got an artistic temperament, okay, but he's brilliant and kind and fun. He's . . . well, he's Kit. I love him, and I want him back.'

'Me, too.' She dropped her forehead onto the desk. 'Okay. I'll come quietly, but I hope you know what you're doing, because I've never been so scared in my whole life.'

I hope you know what you're doing, too, needled Mum. But I doubt it.

I was on my way out of the room when Sacha held up the photo alb.u.m. 'This is just about finished.'

'Well done.'

'I've left a blank page at the end. I'm saving that for photos of someone, but I've still got to take them. Someone special.'

Caught off-guard, I waltzed straight into the trap. 'A special someone! Who's that, then?'

'My dad. My actual, factual, biological father. Because sooner or later I'm going to find out who he is.'

Mum laughed. b.i.t.c.h.

Late in July we said a sad farewell to our home, closed the front door for the last time, and went to stay at Dad's.

m.u.f.fin came too. We spent those last few days stroking the old dog's gentle face and wondering if we'd ever see her again. m.u.f.fin had been a fixture since Sacha was four, when I stopped our car for a quivering fluff ball abandoned beside the A5. One floppy ear was dark grey, the other white. The little creature immediately clambered onto the back seat, whining and licking bleeding paws. Girl and dog grew up together.

On our final morning our friend was anxious, troubled, shambling round and round Dad's kitchen table. She leaned her head against each of our knees in turn, graphite tail miserably sweeping the floor.

'Don't worry, m.u.f.fin. You're coming soon,' said Charlie, kneeling with his arms around her neck. The other children joined him, showering her with kisses. Kit and I exchanged glances. m.u.f.fin was twelve years old and s.h.a.ggy as a polar bear; her eyesight was dodgy, her joints arthritic. Secretly, we thought it might be best if she ended her days peacefully with Dad.

Suddenly, time ran out. Kit looked at his watch, then at me. I stared around the kitchen, my chest constricting, longing to stay for just one more hour, one more cup of tea. Dad had given us lots of homeopathic pills for jetlag and a home-brewed recipe for stress, but he couldn't give us a homeopathic version of himself, which was what we really needed.