There’d been a hint of things to come with the terrible twos—a brief, hellish period of daily tantrums while they were still living with her parents—followed by the continuous questions of the frighteningly bright five-year-old Emma and the pleasure of helping her discover the world of books.
Jude thought she knew her daughter, but the mercurial change in her when she hit her teens was a revelation. Emma blossomed and grew thorns in what felt like a matter of weeks. All at the worst time, with Jude’s affair with Will in its infancy.
He’d been great about it when there was that awful business with Darrell Moore. That had knocked Jude sideways. Em was still thirteen, just a child.
She’d wanted to tell the police about Darrell. “He’s practically a pedophile,” she’d told Will, but he had counseled against it, claiming it would be too much for Emma. Always thinking of Emma.
And she knew there would be too many questions. And once questions started . . .
Anyway, she’d found out about it before Emma could ruin her life with that sleazebag.
Will was a godsend that summer of 1984, Jude thought. Those were the good times. Brief, but good. Emma really came out of her shell.
She remembered the care Will had taken of her and Emma, always there for them, making them laugh, making things right. Jude had allowed herself to believe once more that Will was the one, their future, but it had all gone wrong, somehow. Not somehow. Because of Emma.
The switch back to glowering insolence had come practically overnight with her daughter’s moods swinging like a wrecking ball in the house.
Emma had retreated to her room, posting “Keep Out” on the door and barely speaking unless forced to. She lost interest in everything—except food. She took all her meals in her room, piling her plate high and stuffing herself, Jude remembered. She put on so much weight. Puppy fat, Jude had called it. But it was like it was deliberate. Sabotaging herself.
Her withdrawal had become almost total. It was a bit like Barbara. She’d gone all quiet and wouldn’t say what was wrong. Will had said it was creepy and had encouraged Jude to push Barbara to find another place.
But they couldn’t do that to a fourteen-year-old. They’d had to wait nearly two years, until she was sixteen. And in that time, Jude had moved from being scared at the change in her daughter to being angry, seeing her behavior as selfish and cynical. “I don’t deserve to be treated like this,” she told Will. “I have every right to be happy.”
And Will agreed, telling her there was no need to take it too seriously.
“It’s just part of growing up, Jude,” he’d said. “She’s testing you. It’s what adolescents do. Emma will grow out of it. We need to give her space.”
So they spent less and less time in the house, going out to the theater and dinner and leaving the problem at home. The months passed and Jude remembered to feel guilty occasionally—when she heard Emma crying at night—but her prickly child would not allow herself to be comforted or loved. She’d stopped the binge eating, at least, but she continued to shove Jude away with her blank indifference, gradually blunting her affection.
And Will was always there as a shoulder to cry on. “She’s just being a cow today. Probably got her period. Ignore it, Jude,” he’d say and pull her into bed. Jude had been happy to pour all her energies into the good part of her life: Will.
Anyone would have done the same, wouldn’t they?
But things had got much worse after they decided to get married. Well, she’d decided and Will had agreed in a moment of grand passion. “Time I settled down,” he’d said as they shared a postcoital cigarette. Hardly the romantic declaration she’d hoped for, but it would do.
She’d been very nervous about telling Emma. She remembered the silence in the room when she broke the news. “He makes me very happy,” she’d said. Not like you, said the hum in her head.
The news had ignited something in her daughter and the ugly silences had been replaced by slamming doors and histrionic explosions. The insolence had become vocal and challenging. Emma had started being openly rude to Will, accusing him of treating women like objects, of being a male chauvinist pig, making obscene grunting noises when he walked into the room.
Will had laughed off the insults and accusations at first, but Jude could see this new Emma made him very uneasy. As if he was dealing with an unexploded bomb.
Everything was souring. She and Will were at each other’s throats, hissing arguments in the living room so Emma couldn’t hear them, and Will had started going absent for days at a time and then turning up as though nothing had happened. When he presented her with the choice “Me or Emma,” she’d been appalled, but he explained everything so well. “It would be best for Emma. Removing her from the situation she finds so challenging will give her a chance to mature,” he said. And it made sense when he said it. Of course it had been Jude who’d had to deliver the message to her daughter.
“We think you ought to go and live with Granny and Grandpa for a bit, Emma,” she’d said. “We all need a break from this situation. You do see, don’t you? We can’t go on like this.”
“But this is my home,” Emma had said. “Why are you throwing me out? Is this his idea?”
“No. Well, I agree with him,” Jude had said. And when her daughter smiled that knowing smile, she’d lost her temper. “You’ve forced us to do this,” Jude had shouted. “You’re driving Will away. He won’t stay if he has to deal with you anymore.
“I can’t let you ruin my life. You were a terrible mistake from the start.”
She could still see Emma’s face. White with shock.
FIFTY-TWO
Emma
SATURDAY, APRIL 14, 2012
Harry said to meet at the usual place. She knew straightaway that something was up when I rang but didn’t ask any questions. She’s good like that. Instead, she said: “Come on, Em, we’ll go and sit in the park and you can tell me your news.”
I should see her more, but we are both busy. Well, that’s what I tell myself, but I know I keep away because she is part of the past and I have to work to keep that separate from my present. She’s met Paul a couple of times, but I made sure they were never on their own. Because she knows things and I don’t want her talking out of turn.
Poor Harry, it’s not her fault and I think she feels hurt when I don’t respond to her texts sometimes. Maybe it would be kinder to just cut her off completely. But I can’t. On days like today, she is the only one I want to see. Paul wanted me to talk to Jude. But I can’t. Not after what she said. I can feel her closing the door on me again.
? ? ?
I get off the tube and walk to the little café Harry likes in Hyde Park, near the lake. She can walk there from home and it’s a treat for me to sit outside and feel the sun on my face.
Paul thinks I am at the doctor’s. He’s going to ring my mobile in about thirty minutes and I’ll have to lie about what Dr. Gorgeous thinks. It’s okay. I know what I’m going to say. I’ve practiced on the tube.
I’m early so I read Kate Waters’s story in the paper again. The story is long now; it’s growing details and there are more people involved, talking and guessing about what happened. But at the center is little Alice Irving. There’s only one picture ever used of her, and it is so blurry and old it is hard to make out. But there is a photo of Angela Irving, the mother, standing in our garden in Howard Street.
I feel the truth fluttering so close. They must see it. Surely.
I’m about to ring Kate Waters again to see what she suspects, but I see Harry coming through the park. I’ll do it later.
She hugs me tightly, then pushes me back so she can have a good look at me.
“God, Harry,” I say. “I’m fine.”
But we both know she knows I’m not. Harry crashes down into a seat, swinging a vast handbag onto the chair next to her. “Yeah, yeah,” she says. “You look lovely, by the way.”
“I look like hell. I’m supposed to be at the doctor’s,” I say, and she raises her eyebrows.
“Why aren’t you?” she says.