The Lost Daughter (The Love and War Series) | eBook

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PART ONE

Chapter 1
September 2001

And so the moment is almost upon us – the moment I’ve been dreading for weeks, months, perhaps even the last twenty years. I look across the round table at my daughter, my baby, now all grown up and on the threshold of adulthood, talking excitedly about the halls of residence, about the other students she’s already met. ‘The halls have even got a cleaner who comes in twice a week,’ says Tessa, between mouthfuls of noodles.
It’s all a little odd, a bit surreal even. Sitting here in this huge restaurant in Leeds next to Barry, my ex-husband, in this chain restaurant that seems to serve nothing but noodles, every variation you can think of, trying to remain civil for the sake of our daughter. A television installed high on the wall in the corner of the restaurant is showing a football match. I can see Barry trying his best to ignore it while craning his neck when he thinks I’m not looking. I sip my wine, a large glass of red. I sensed Barry’s disapproval as I ordered it but boy, I need it.
‘So when do your lectures start?’ asks Barry. I must’ve told him this already half a dozen times but I hold my tongue. Tessa tells him in unnecessary detail the comings and goings of her first-year timetable. Barry cocks his head to one side listening, trying his best to show he’s interested.
Tessa tries to eat and talk at the same time, everything so quickly, as if she is fighting against a deadline, while I pick at my food. She’s a girl in a hurry, and why shouldn’t she be? Her future beckons. I notice her glance to her right at a table full of boys, good-looking young chaps, all of them, but even a beauty such as my daughter can’t divert them from their interest in the football. On our other side sit an elderly couple, silently hunched up over their bowls, concentrating. The elderly couple aside, I think Barry and I must be the oldest people here. This is a restaurant for youngsters; the place is teeming with them, talking loudly, laughing, enjoying the easy food, the loud music, the garish colours.
Tessa stabs at her noodles. ‘I don’t think I can eat all this.’
‘Don’t talk so much, then.’ Did that sound as curt as I fear?
‘She’s excited, Liz.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry.’ I flash her a smile. ‘Of course you are, darling.’
‘Oh, and the college bar do half-price cocktails all night on a Tuesday.’
‘Careful how you go, though, Tess,’ I say, immediately regretting it.
‘Please, Mum, spare me the last-minute lectures, hey?’ She reaches out for my hand.
‘I’m sorry.’ Her soft fingers rest on the back of my hand.
‘I wish I went to uni,’ says Barry.
‘You never went to university, did you, Mum?’
Why did she say that, I wonder; she knows full well I didn’t. Barry throws me a sideways glance; he knows the matter has always been a little chip on my shoulder. Did I see a trace of a smile on his face? I hope not.
‘My mother... she wasn’t keen,’ I say. ‘It was a different time then, especially where we lived.’
Barry laughs. ‘Oh, come on, Liz, it was hardly the Stone Age.’
We’ve had this conversation before; I will not rise to the bait.
A cheer erupts from the table of boys. They all take to their feet, standing on tiptoe, trying to see the television. They high-five each other and, one by one, return to their seats with smiles on their faces. I see the elderly couple shaking their heads. This is no way to behave in a restaurant. I realise I envy them. They don’t talk, but I can sense their ease with one another, an ease built on forty, fifty years of companionship, of togetherness. Perhaps they’ve just seen off a grandchild to university.
Barry, too, is grinning.
‘Who’s playing?’ asks Tessa.
‘England versus Germany,’ says Barry. ‘Amazingly, it’s two-one to us.’
England v Germany. A cold shiver trembles through me. Those hated words, the memory, oh, so long ago, but vivid still. I was only eleven years old, but no one ever had cheered England on as much as me – and I have no interest in football whatsoever; indeed, I hate it.
Tessa’s phone lights up on the table. ‘Oo,’ she says. ‘That’s Gabbie.’ She reads the text, her fork loaded with noodles poised mid-air. ‘She’s waiting for me. I’d better be going.’ She places her fork on her plate. She pulls on her blouse. ‘How do I look?’
‘Beautiful,’ says Barry with a smile.
He’s right, of course; she does look beautiful, her long eyelashes framing her almond eyes, her Cupid lips, the little upturned nose, the fresh complexion. Too much makeup for my liking but that’s a battle I lost long ago. Still, she is beautiful. She is my daughter, and she is leaving me.
She checks the contents of her handbag, checks her phone again. ‘Well,’ she says with a satisfied sigh, ‘I guess this is it.’
We all rise. Barry offers to walk her back up to the halls.
‘No,’ she says, firmly. ‘You stay finish your lunch. I’ll be fine.’
I smile away my disappointment. ‘If you’re sure, love.’ My eyes are pricking but I mustn’t cry, must not; it’d be unfair on her.
Tessa smiles but there is a flicker of hesitation. This really is it. My baby is leaving. ‘Thanks for driving, Dad.’
The two embrace. ‘Anytime, sweetheart.’
She plants a kiss on his cheek. ‘You need to trim your moustache, Dad,’ she whispers into his ear.
‘Mum.’ She holds her arms out for me. I hug her, my only child, now taller than me, now a woman in her own right. Her arms wrap around me, and I breathe in that familiar smell, lavender and coconut, but more than that, I breathe in her very essence, my only child, my girl.
‘Give me a call tonight, yes?’ I ask.
‘Sure.’
‘Promise?’
She kisses me. ‘Promise.’
‘Good luck, love,’ says Barry with a wink.
Tessa winks back at him. ‘Thanks, Dad.’ She looks at us both, her estranged parents, reunited for the day for her benefit. ‘Thanks for the lunch. Bye bye.’
‘Bye, love,’ says Barry.
‘Goodbye, my darling.’
And with that, Tessa swings around and jauntily walks through the restaurant, checking her phone, and out. I fight the urge to take Barry’s hand. We watch her from inside as she waits at the pedestrian crossing, then crosses the high street bathed in late afternoon sun, and walk briskly up the hill, hugging the shops on her right. We watch as she disappears into the crowds, getting smaller and smaller, but we can still see her, just about. I will her to stop, turn around and come back to me. Don’t leave me, Tessa, don’t go. And then she turns a corner, and she is gone and something inside of me dies.
Barry and I sit back down. I feel so heavy. I finish my wine and immediately want to order another but I can’t face Barry’s sanctimonious telling off. I so hoped she’d find a university within East Anglia, closer to home, so that she could carry on living at home. But no, she was set on this course in this city.
Barry sighs. ‘Twenty years. Gone.’ He clicks his fingers. ‘Just like that.’
The elderly couple at our neighbouring table have paid their bill and are now standing up and gathering their coats and bags. As they make their leave, the woman winks at me, an acknowledgement of some sort.
The boys at the next table cheer and shout again, thumping the air. Barry jumps up, craning his neck. ‘Oh my God, we’ve scored again. It’s three-one! Three-one, Liz – against Germany. Bloody unbelievable.’
‘Yes, Barry. Unbelievable.’
Barry remains on his feet, unable to take his eyes off the screen, while the memory returns to me… Then, as if to reinforce the unwelcome intrusion into my mind, one of the boys, facing the television, throws out his arm and shouts Sieg Heil. My heart runs cold. Barry throws me a worried glance.
‘It’s OK, Liz, ignore it.’
‘It’s not OK, how dare–’
‘No, Liz, not now, not here. Leave it.’
He’s right. I sit on my anger, breathing deeply, trying to calm myself. The boy can be no more than seventeen, a respectable-looking boy, totally unaware of the effect he’s had on me. I must hold myself together. Don’t let it overwhelm you, Liz, I say to myself. I poke my fork at the now cold noodles. ‘I need to go.’
‘What? Now?’ says Barry, who is now standing, watching the football. ‘It’s almost finished. Ten minutes plus injury time. This is the best match–’
‘Please, Barry, I need to get home.’
His eyes flit from me to the television screen and back again. With an exaggerated sigh, he sits back down. ‘OK, perhaps it’s for the best. I’ll get the bill.’