“Well, maybe that’s because . . . because your bloody work keeps you so far away from me! Look, let me buy you another ice cream.”
“Dad’s favorite antidepressant, results guaranteed,” I said with a smile, running my finger along the rim of the bowl and savoring every last drop. “But this stuff has got to be a thousand calories per spoonful, so it might be just a little over-the-top.”
“What’s wrong with a little over-the-top once in a while? You’ve got to live sometimes, take a risk or two. Start with the banana split. It’s over-the-top in all the right ways!”
Dad came back carting two immense glass bowls, overflowing with perfect banana slices held captive in a prison of absurdly rich ice cream, covered in steaming hot caramel. Delicious as it looked, I was busy tapping away on my smartphone in a frenzy.
“Is that the magazine?” he asked.
“No. I’m digging around for articles by Mum, but I can’t find any. It doesn’t make any sense. All the big papers have put their archives online, and the Independent only puts out a digital edition these days, anyway, so you’d think there’d be something.”
My father cleared his throat. “You won’t find a thing written by your mother in there.”
“What, she didn’t use her real name for the byline?”
“No, she did . . . but you’ve got the wrong Independent. The one I mean is from way back when.”
“I don’t understand. There was another Independent?”
“It was a weekly paper. Very short run. See, I might’ve left out . . . The fact is, your mother actually started the paper herself, along with a motley crew of her pals, all mad as hatters, just like her.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Mum . . . started her own newspaper?” I repeated, my voice rising. “And you two never thought to mention it? Not even when your own daughter became a journalist?”
“No, it never really occurred to us,” my father said. “What’s so awful about that? You don’t have to make a fuss about it.”
“Don’t have to make a fuss? Typical. Of course. Never make a fuss in our family. I break my leg. Don’t make a fuss. I could have fallen to my death from that roof, and you’d have stood over my dead body saying, ‘Don’t make a fuss, Elby! You’ll be right as rain soon!’”
“Oh, good lord! You were six years old! What was I supposed to do, give you a look of sheer terror and tell you we’d have to amputate?”
“Great. There it is. You found a way to make everything all cheeky and fun again. This is serious. Tell me why you kept it from me.”
“Because I didn’t want you getting any ideas. Remember our daft saying from before, about apples falling . . . ? The one that’s not so daft in your case? I knew you’d stop at nothing to impress your mother. If we had told you she had founded a weekly paper, I can’t imagine what you’d have done. Run around covering war zones? Or, even worse, try to top your mother, create your very own paper?”
“You make that sound like such a terrible thing!”
“It would have been! That shitty little rag of a newspaper ruined your mother! Financially and emotionally. Quite a price to pay, even for one’s dream. Now, for goodness’ sake, let’s move on before you make me order a third ice cream and I end up in the back of an ambulance.”
“Unbelievable,” I scoffed. “For once, you’re the melodramatic one. This is a historic moment.”
“I’m not being melodramatic. Fact is, I’m a bit diabetic.”
“What? Since when are you a diabetic?”
“I said ‘a bit’ diabetic. How long has it been now?” Dad feigned counting on his fingers, breaking into a snide little smile. “Twenty years, give or take a few.”
I buried my face in my hands, furious. “You have got to be kidding me. It’s like the bloody house of secrets!”
“Come now, Elby. Don’t blow things out of proportion. Did you expect me to pin my medical chart to the kitchen wall? Why did you think your mother always gave me such hell every time I tried to get my hands on a packet of biscuits?”
With that, I confiscated my father’s ice cream and asked him to drop me off at the station, using the excuse that I had to rush back to London for work.
I hate lying, especially to him. The moment I boarded the train, I took out my phone and called an archivist from the magazine. I had a huge favor to ask.
14
ELEANOR-RIGBY
October 2016, London
Back at my studio, I sat cross-legged on the couch watching Absolutely Fabulous, about to start my third bag of crisps.