Eleanor discovered her father’s affair entirely by chance. That afternoon she’d skipped school to accompany her friend to a tattoo parlour, needing to change out of her uniform first. As she struggled into her jeans at home, a key turned in the front door. Freezing mid-balance on one leg, she initially feared burglars until she recognised her father’s voice, seemingly talking on the phone.
“Grabbing my kit bag now, heading straight out. Can’t claim I was at the gym if it’s under the bed.”
She was wrong. It wasn’t a call; he was recording a voice message. Minutes later, a woman’s voice echoed: “Darling, I’ve missed you terribly, can’t wait… Made your favourite Cornish pasties, so don’t dawdle or they’ll be stone cold! Kisses!”
The meaning dawned slowly. First, she recognised the voice: Auntie Catherine, Dad’s colleague and sister of Mum’s best friend, who often visited. Eleanor liked her; Auntie Catherine wasn’t like other adults – never pretended to have life figured out, loved fun, listened to modern pop, unlike her parents’ dreary classical records. Only then did Eleanor wonder *why* Auntie Catherine was messaging Dad, piecing together the words.
A key jingled again, silence fell. Eleanor sank onto her bed, replaying the message. No mistake. Her father was involved with another woman. What now? Tell Mum? How to act around Dad or Auntie Catherine?
Undecided, she dashed to meet her friend Emma, who’d sent five texts. They’d planned this for weeks, choosing designs, Emma perfecting her mum’s signature. But Eleanor’s mood had vanished.
“Ellie, what’s up?” Emma pestered. “You’re sulking! Want a tattoo too? Easy, I’ll forge your mum’s signature!”
How tempting to share this awful secret, share the burden. But she couldn’t, even with Emma. Eleanor pretended it was about the tattoo.
For two weeks, she couldn’t concentrate, avoiding friends, snapping at Mum, barely speaking to Dad. She didn’t know what to do. Once, she almost told Mum, but got scolded for a poor chemistry grade, sparking a massive row. Later, Mum brought her a beloved chocolate éclair: “Sorry, sweetheart, for shouting. Unpardonable. I just worry about your exams! I want everything to be perfect for you.”
“Mum, stop fussing – I’ll pass! Is this éclair mine?”
“All yours. Friends again? I hate it when we fight.”
Eleanor took the éclair, kissed Mum’s cheek, and vowed – she’d never cause her that pain. If a silly row upset Mum this much, what would the truth about Dad do? She *had* to ensure Mum never found out.
Involuntarily, Eleanor became Dad’s accomplice: covering his late ‘work’ nights, reminding him of family events and Mum’s requests, distracting Mum when certain calls came. Yet she ignored his requests, was consistently rude, barely restraining the urge to shout her disgust.
Then, things settled. Dad started coming home on time, Eleanor passed her GCSEs, entered Year Eleven, and the awful memory faded like a bad dream. She also met Oliver – two years older, a first-year law student who played guitar. Evenings were spent with friends, but increasingly they’d slip away together, chatting by the fountain. Tonight, time flew – she was terribly late. Hoping her parents hadn’t noticed, she crept in quietly.
*’Phew, made it,’* she thought.
“Eleanor?”
No luck. Mum peered in. “Bit late, aren’t you?”
Preparing for a scolding, Eleanor was surprised Mum didn’t seem too bothered. “Sorry, lost track with Emma. Mum, you alright?” Even in the dim light, Eleanor saw Mum’s red-rimmed eyes.
“Fine. Sweetheart… did you or Dad buy anything at the jewellers? Just wondering…”
Instinct warned Eleanor to tread carefully. “Jewellers?”
“Saw a bill for earrings… thought perhaps…”
“Oh! Sorry, forgot – asked Dad for money for Emma’s birthday gift. She just pierced her ears, wanted something special. Too pricey?” Lying felt vile. Mum’s face instantly brightened.
“Goodness, no, don’t worry! Just me being silly. You’re so thoughtful remembering dates – just like your father!”
The lie festered. The next day, Eleanor decided enough. Confronting Dad was unthinkable. But Auntie Catherine? That she might manage. She didn’t know what to say, but would improvise.
Dad and Auntie Catherine worked at the same editorial office – Dad a journalist, Auntie Catherine the editor-in-chief. When Eleanor was younger, Dad often took her to work; access wasn’t a problem.
She needed to find a time Dad was out. Opportunity arose a few days later when Dad mentioned visiting an industrial complex for an interview. Seizing her chance, Eleanor feigned illness after first period, asking Emma to cover, and took the bus.
Reception waved her through. She climbed to the second floor, knocking on the ‘Editor-in-Chief’ door.
“Come in,” answered Auntie Catherine’s voice. Eleanor entered.
“Eleanor?” Auntie Catherine looked startled. “What are you doing here? Looking for Dad? He’s interviewing…”
Trying to hide her shaking legs, Eleanor sat opposite the desk. The fiery speech rehearsed on the bus evaporated. She barely whispered: “Those earrings… Dad bought them for you, didn’t he?” Tiny hoops with sparkling crystals glinted in Auntie Catherine’s ears.
“What?”
If she hadn’t overheard that message, Eleanor might have believed the genuine confusion.
“I know everything,” Eleanor declared flatly. “Mum found the jeweller’s bill. Aren’t you ashamed?” Another flicker crossed Auntie Catherine’s face – anger?
“You’re saying your dad bought jewellery?”
“Mum specifically mentioned earrings. Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”
Auntie Catherine was silent, then said coldly: “Go home, love. This isn’t your business.”
Something in her tone unsettled Eleanor, but it was clear this was bigger than she knew. Heading home, she realised Auntie Catherine would tell Dad, demanding explanations. How to hide *that* from Mum?
That night, pleading a headache, she went to bed early – Dad was late again, likely explaining things to Auntie Catherine. She heard him return, but neither then nor the next morning did he mention it, acting strangely normal towards her, though preoccupied and giving Mum odd answers to questions.
A week later, he packed his suitcase and moved in with Lucy, an intern. Turns out the earrings were for *her*. Auntie Catherine had promptly fired her rival. Eleanor learned this later, eavesdropping as Mum confided in her friend. The friend reassured:
“Don’t blame Catherine, she did right! Soon as she learned your husband was messing with that floozy, she sacked her! Who knew *that* would make him run off to her? Guilt complex, likely
Alice discovered her father’s affair purely by chance the day she skipped school to accompany her friend to a tattoo parlour. Needing to avoid public attention in her uniform, she dashed home to change. As she struggled into her jeans, the key turned in the lock. Frozen mid-motion with one leg trapped in denim, her first panicked thought was burglars—until she recognized her father’s voice. He seemed to be on a call: “Grabbing my kit now, can’t say I was at training with my gym bag still under the bed.” She soon realized he’d been recording a voice note when a woman’s voice replied through his phone moments later: “Darling, I’ve missed you terribly—do hurry! I’ve baked your favourite pasties, and they’re growing cold.” The voice registered before the meaning did: Aunt Catherine, her mother’s dear friend and her father’s colleague—funny, modern Aunt Catherine who blasted pop music instead of her parents’ dreary old tunes. Only then did the implications strike home.
The lock turned again as her father left, leaving the flat silent. Alice sank onto the bed, replaying those words. No mistake—her father was unfaithful. What next? Tell Mum? Confront Dad? Or Aunt Catherine?
Still unsettled, she rushed to meet her friend Sophie, who’d sent five frantic texts. Both had anticipated this day for weeks—choosing designs while Sophie mastered forging her own mother’s signature. But now, Alice couldn’t summon any enthusiasm. “What’s wrong?” Sophie pressed. “Fancy a tattoo? I’ll forge your mum’s signature in a heartbeat!” Alice almost confided but swallowed the secret. Instead, she blamed the tattoo idea for her mood.
The following fortnight was a blur: she skipped revision, avoided friends, snapped at her father, and dodged her mother. Once, she almost confessed, but Mum scolded her over a chemistry failure—a row erupted. That evening, Mum offered a peace offering: Alice’s beloved chocolate eclair. “Sorry, darling,” Mum murmured. “I just fret about your exams…” Alice kissed her cheek, accepting the treat. Seeing Mum upset over a petty argument, she vowed then: Mum would never know about Dad. She’d shield her mother, whatever it cost.
So Alice became her father’s reluctant accomplice: covering his late “work nights,” reminding him of birthdays or Mum’s requests, distracting Mum during his suspicious calls. All while ignoring his questions, answering curtly, and barely restraining her disgust.
Then, abruptly, normalcy returned. Dad arrived home punctually, Alice passed her GCSEs and started Year 10, the affair fading like a bad dream. She even met Tom—an older university lad studying law, who played guitar. They’s stroll together after group outings, talking for hours. One such evening, lingering by the city fountain, Alice crept home well past curfew.
“Phew,” she sighed, slipping into her room—until Mum’s voice cut through the dark. “You’re late.” Mum’s face appeared, weary but calm. “Sorry,” Alice mumbled. “Lost track of time with Sophie and the girls.” Mum’s eyes looked suspiciously red. “All right. Just one thing—did you or Dad buy anything from the jeweller’s recently?” Alice hesitated, then spun a lie: “Oh! I forgot—I asked Dad for cash to buy Sophie’s birthday earrings. Too extravagant?” Mum’s tension dissolved. “Of course not, sweetheart. You’re thoughtful, just like your dad.”
Lying left Alice so wretched she resolved to end the deception. Confronting Dad felt impossible, but Aunt Catherine—that she could manage. Though unsure what to say, she’d improvise. Dad and Aunt Catherine worked at the newspaper—Dad a writer, Aunt Catherine the editor. Years ago, he’d sometimes brought Alice there; getting in was easy. Timing it for his absence proved simple too. Days later, overhearing Dad mention an interview at the factory, Alice skipped her next class, begging Sophie to cover. She boarded a bus and arrived at the office within the hour.
Reception waved her through, and she marched to the door labelled “Editor-in-Chief.” At Aunt Catherine’s “Come in,” Alice entered. “Alice?” Aunt Catherine looked up, startled. “Your father’s at the factory.” Struggling not to wobble, Alice sat
