Right, okay so listen to this – I was at home that day because I’d skipped school to go with my mate Olivia to this tattoo place. Didn’t fancy going to the shopping centre in my uniform, yeah? So I popped home quick to change. Mid-pulling my jeans up, the key turned in the lock. Totally froze, wobbling on one leg, the other stuck. Honestly thought it was burglars! Then heard Dad’s voice – seemed like he was on the phone.
“Just grabbing my kit, be right out. Can’t exactly say I’ve been at squash if my bag’s under the bed, can I?”
Ah, hang on – turned out he wasn’t on a call, he was recording a voice note. ‘Cause a minute later, this woman’s voice came through:
“Sweetheart, I’ve missed you so much! Hurry up, yeah? Made your favourite mince pies too, they’ll go cold. Lots of love, lots of love!”
Took a sec for it to sink in. First, I recognised the voice – Auntie Kathryn, Dad’s colleague at the paper, and Mum’s best mate Sarah’s sister. Always round ours. I *liked* Auntie Kathryn. She wasn’t like other grown-ups, y’know? Didn’t pretend she knew everything, loved a proper night out, listened to decent tunes instead of Mum and Dad’s dreary old stuff. Then it hit me – why’s Auntie Kathryn sending *Dad* voice notes like that? That’s when the penny dropped about what she’d actually said.
The key turned again, then silence. I slumped onto the bed, replaying it. No doubt. Dad was having an affair. Proper gutted. What now? Tell Mum? How do I even look at him? Or Auntie Kathryn?
Couldn’t decide, so I bolted to meet Olivia. She’d texted like five times. We’d spent ages deciding what tattoo to get, she’d got forging her mum’s signature down to an art. But I felt awful.
“Liz, what’s up with you?” Olivia kept on. “Why the long face? Fancy ink now too? No sweat, I’ll forge your mum’s sig!”
God, I wanted to tell her, share the shock, but how could I? So I just mumbled, yeah, maybe it was the tattoo thing. Couldn’t concentrate on school for weeks after that. Dodged friends, avoided Mum, snapped at Dad. No clue what to do. Nearly told Mum once, but she went off on one about my Chemistry GCSE mark. Massive row. That evening she brought me this huge chocolate eclair – my absolute fave – and said:
“Sorry, love, for shouting. Not the way to do it, is it? Just so worried about your exams! Want things to go well for you.”
“Muuuuum, stop fussing! I’ll pass! Is that eclair for me?”
“Course it is. Friends? Hate it when we fight.”
I took it, kissed her cheek, swore to myself – I’d never hurt her like Dad was. If a silly row upset her this much, imagine what the affair would do? Had to stop her finding out. *At all costs*.
So suddenly, I was Dad’s alibi. Covering when he was ‘late at work’, reminding him about birthdays or Mum’s requests, distracting Mum if his phone rang. Meanwhile? I blanked him, was rude as hell, barely held back what I really thought.
Things kinda calmed down later. Dad started coming home on time, I passed my GCSEs, moved into Year 10. Whole thing felt like a bad dream. Plus, I met Ethan – two years older, first year law student at uni, played guitar. We’d hang with mates evenings, but more often than not, we’d peel off, just us. Like that night we walked down to the canal, lost track of time. Way past curfew. Hoped parents hadn’t noticed, sneaked in on tiptoes.
*Phew, got away with it,* I thought.
“Liz?” Spoke too soon.
Mum stuck her head round my door. “Bit late, love.”
Thought she’d go ballistic. Didn’t. Didn’t even seem to expect an answer really.
“Sorry, lost track with the girls. Mum… you okay?” Her eyes looked red in the lamplight. Like she’d been crying.
“Fine. You and Dad been to the jewellers lately? Just… wondered.”
Some instinct told me to be careful. “The jewellers?”
“Found a receipt for some earrings and thought…”
“Oh! *Right* – sorry, forgot! Asked Dad for cash for Olivia’s birthday pressie. Wanted something special, she just got her ears pierced. Too much, yeah? Sorry, Mum.” Her face totally changed.
“Oh sweetheart, no! Don’t worry! Just me being silly. You’re so thoughtful remembering dates, just like your dad!” Lying to her felt horrible. Next day I decided – enough. Could talk to Dad? But the idea terrified me. Face Auntie Kathryn? That I could maybe do. Though what to say? No clue. Just wing it, I guessed.
Dad and Auntie Kathryn worked at this local paper – Dad wrote features, she was the editor. Dad used to take me in when I was younger, so getting in was easy.
Waited for Dad to be away – not hard. He mentioned over breakfast he was off to interview some factory manager. Quick thinking: skipped afternoon classes after break, got Olivia to cover, bus into town. Receptionist waved me through. Straight upstairs, knocked on ‘Editor’.
“Come in!” Auntie Kathryn’s voice. I opened it.
“Liz? What are you doing here? Dad’s out interviewing…”
Legs shaking, I walked over and sat down opposite her desk. On the bus I’d planned this epic speech. Now? Blank.
“Did… did Dad buy you those earrings?” Little hoops with sparkly crystals, twinkling in her ears.
“What?” She looked genuinely confused. If I hadn’t heard that voice note…
“I know. Everything.” Voice flat. “Mum found the jeweller’s receipt. Aren’t you ashamed?” Something flickered, hard to read, but she looked angry.
“You’re saying Dad bought jewellery?” Mum said earrings.
“Not ‘jewellery’. *Earrings*. Don’t pretend!” Auntie Kathryn said nothing for ages. Then:
“Go home, sweetheart. Stay out of this.” Her tone worried me. Left. Worse than I thought. On the bus back, realised – she’d tell Dad, he’d confront me! How hide *that* from Mum?
That night, pretended a headache, went to bed early – Dad was late back. Must be explaining. Heard him come in, but next morning? Acted normal with *me*, though was proper moody, distracted, grunted at Mum’s questions.
Week later, he packed a bag and moved in with Lucy, this intern. Turned out the earrings were for *her*, and Auntie Kathryn had fired her! Heard it all later, eavesdropping on Mum talking to Sarah. Sarah said:
“Don’t blame Kathryn, she’s a saint! Soon as she found out your bloke was messing about with that little floozy, she sacked her! Who’d have thought he’d actually *leave* for her? Guilty conscience! He’ll regret it.”
“Oh no, it’s
The sting of the needle felt strangely cathartic as she stared at the fresh script on her arm, a permanent reminder that trusting someone with your heart was the biggest risk of all, and for now, she just needed the harsh, sharp pain to drown out the messy ache inside. Sitting on the bus home, the damp chill of the tattoo parlour clinging to her skin, Liza knew shutting everyone out felt safer for now, even if a tiny, traitorous part wondered if her parents ever felt this raw before choosing to forgive.
The Freedom to Err
