Wheres my daughter? Rebecca repeated, her teeth chatteringmaybe from fear, maybe from the cold.
Shed left Imogen at a birthday party, in the softplay room of The White Rose Shopping Centre. She only knew the birthday girls parents in passing, but this kind of drop-off was a routine thing: English mums did it every week. Only today shed been latethe bus hadnt come. The shopping centre loomed in a weird, lonely spot outside town, and everyone else drove, but Rebecca didnt own a car. So shed brought Imogen by bus, gone back home for her tutoring jobscouldnt cancel, not todayand then rushed back for her. Fifteen minutes late, sprinting across the icy car park with breath like dragon smoke. Now the birthday girls mumpetite, round-eyed, with cornflower blue eyesblinked at Rebecca in gentle confusion and echoed:
Her dad picked her up.
But Imogen had no dad. Well, technically she did, but hed never met her.
Rebecca remembered meeting Martin by chancestrolling the riverside with her uni friend, who hurt her ankle, and some lads had offered help. Like the beginning of a British rom-com, they lied they were Oxford students, that their fathers were generals and professors. Pointless bravadothey were silly, hopeful. But when Rebecca got pregnant, and Martin learned she was a trainee primary school teacher, her dad a bus driver, he thrust money for an abortion into her palm and vanished.
Rebecca didnt abort, and never regretted itImogen was her companion: wiser and braver than her years. They found joy together, even when Rebecca taught lessons, Imogen would play quietly with her dolls, then theyd stir up milky soup or soft-boiled eggs in the kitchen, drink tea with buttery biscuits. Money was tightmost went to rentbut neither complained.
How could you hand my child to a stranger? Rebeccas voice trembled, tears thick in her eyes.
But how a stranger? The blue-eyed woman bristled. Hes her father, isnt he?
Rebecca couldve explainedthat there was no father. No point. She had to find the security staff, demand CCTV…
When was this?
Just ten minutes ago…
She turned and ran. How many times had she warned Imogennever leave with strangers! Her legs refused orders, her vision blurred, she collided with people but didnt stop to apologise. By some instinct, she suddenly cried out:
Imogen! Imogeeeen!
The food court shimmered with noise; most people ignored her shouts but a few turned. Rebecca gasped for breath, heart pounding, mind racingmaybe Imogen was still here, maybe…
Mummy!
For a second she didnt believe ita vision. Her daughter, coat flapping open, cheeks smeared with vanilla, was bounding toward her. Rebecca clung to her, as if letting go would see her collapse to the flooror maybe it really would.
She locked eyes with the man. Respectable, bristly haircut, a ridiculous jumper sporting a snowman, with ice cream dribbling over his hand. He read her glare and stuttered:
Im so sorry! I shouldve waited right thereI just wanted to stick it to those little monsters. You understand, they teased her! Said she had no dad and hed never come, because she was ugly! So I popped over and said: Imogen, darling, before mum arrives, lets get ice cream. Forgive meI didnt imagine youd get so frightened…
Rebecca was shaking. No way shed trust this stranger. But were they really teasing Imogen? She searched her daughters eyesImogen understood the question instantly, sniffed and lifted her chin.
Well, I dont care! Ive got a dad now too!
The man raised his empty hands, Rebecca still couldnt speak.
Lets go, she finally whispered. Well miss our bus.
Wait! The man scrambled forward, hesitated, waved uncertainly. Could I give you a lift? It seems only fair. I swearIm not some weirdo! My names Oliver. I promise, ask my mumshes over there!
He nodded at a woman with purple curls reading a paperback at a table.
If you like, we can pop overshell vouch for me!
I’m sure she would, Rebecca said tightly, her knuckles itching to thwack this Oliver on the head. Thanks, but were fine.
Mum… Imogen tugged at her coat. Let him drive us. Let them see it was my dad!
The birthday crowd lingered in the playroom entrancethe birthday girl, her mother, another child. Imogens pleading eyes shone, and Rebecca knew the slippery walk with her trembling legs would be hard. So she gave in.
All right, she snapped.
Super! Just a second, let me tell my mum!
Mummys boy, Rebecca muttered with some bitterness. The purple-haired woman waved warmly: Rebecca pretended not to see. What a mad situation!
On the way, Rebecca avoided looking at Oliver, but couldnt help noticing his gentle chatter with Imogen. Her daughter sparkled, singing and jabberingRebecca had never seen her so alive. Yet when they stopped outside their block, Imogen drooped.
Will I see you ever again? she asked, peeking at her mum.
Rebecca felt Olivers gaze: asking her permission. She wanted to sayno, its simply not proper, Imogenbut her daughters face pinched so sadly, she couldnt. She caught Olivers hopeful glance and nodded.
Well, if your mum agrees, Id love to take you to the cinema at the weekend. Have you ever been?
Really? Never! Mum, can I go to the pictures with my dad?
Rebecca burned with embarrassment, started babbling herself.
Imogen, you canon two conditions. First: you mustnt call a stranger dad, its rude. Its Uncle Oliver, understood? Second: Ill go to the movie too, because, what do I always say? Never go anywhere with strangers, even if they seem friendly!
I told her that too, Oliver chimed in. About not going off, I mean, he added.
So I can go?
I said yes, didnt I?
Yippee!
Rebecca knew she ought to end this nonsense, nip it in the budbut she didnt. There was only Imogen, no one else in her life. If she could ask anyone, maybe itd be her own mum. Rebecca only vaguely remembered herher mum died when Rebecca was five, the same age as Imogen now. A boy fell through the iceno one dared, but her mum did. Saved the boy, but fell ill herself and died within a weekshed had diabetes, was frail already. Imogen had diabetes too, which haunted Rebeccashed given her those genes, wretched legacy.
By the next weekend, Rebeccas worries proved unfoundedOliver had brought his mother to the cinema.
So you dont think Im dodgy, mums here to vouch! he joked.
You are dodgy, said his mum with such a sunny smile it was clear she adored him.
And while Oliver chased after Imogen and popcorn, his mother regaled Rebecca.
You see, darlingmay I call you darling? Oliver grew up without a dad, too. Ive been married four timesmy last was perfect, just perfect, Olivers the spit of him. But fates a tricksterhe died before he could hold his son. Heart attack. I gave birth early, dont know how I survived myself. Oh, my first husbands tried to help, you know… Why the face? Im on good terms with them allfirst still adores me, second prefers chaps, third was too keen on ladies, could never settle. They tried to be dads for Ollie, but real dads are irreplaceable. Olivers so taken with Imogenhe faced school teasing too. Poor lad, how many times did I harass his teachers! Pointless, really. He did the most idiotic things just to prove himself, nearly died once…
She was quite somethingslight, wiry, violet curls, a Chanel jacket and a Marian Keyes novel in hand. Rebecca found herself warming to her.
Dont worry, Olivers not up to anythinghis hearts just kind. And you, dear, caught his eye, I think!
Rebecca flushed. Just what she needed. She knew she shouldnt start anything, but she felt so sorry for Imogen…
After the film, Rebecca tried to hand Oliver money for the tickets. He waved it away.
When I ask girls to the pictures, I pay. Old-fashioned, I know!
Rebecca didnt like being paid forhad learned never to depend on anyone. As for catching his eyethat was nonsense. Life isnt a fairy tale.
As Oliver drove them home, Imogen asked:
Dad, where next?
Imogen! Rebecca scolded.
Her daughter giggled into her hands.
How about the Natural History Museum? Oliver breezed over the slip. Would you like that?
Brilliant! Mum, can we go?
You go without me, Rebecca replied curtly. Take Mrs Penelope, she loves butterflies.
She got out first, desperate to end the day. At the edge of her hearing, Oliver whispered to Imogen:
When mums not listening, you can call me dad.
So Imogen gained a Sunday Dad. Sometimes Rebecca joined their outings, sometimes let Imogen go, especially if Mrs Penelope came tooshe still saw Oliver as too much a stranger, despite Imogens giddy tales of his fun and kindness. Rebecca caught a little of that giddiness, but held it at bayno one drops into your life like a knight on horseback, not in England. And Olivers mum praised her son so much, Rebecca wondered what was wrongwould such a mother really match her son with a humble woman like her?
But Olivers kindness melted Rebeccas hearthed leave chocolate on her shelf, always ask her before inviting Imogen somewhere, tried to catch her eye as he drove. And Mrs Penelope became her favourite companyif only Oliver werent her son, shed ask her advice on everything.
One day Oliver phonedsomething about the movies. Imogen piped up immediately:
Is it Oliver?
She climbed onto Rebeccas lap, eyes shining.
Yes, Imogen will be delighted, Rebecca answered automatically.
Hang on… Im not inviting Imogen, I meant you. Just us. Together.
Mrs Penelopes voice rang in the background.
At last!
Mum, please! Sorry, Rebecca… She always listens in.
Imogen whispered, Did he ask you to the cinema?
Rebecca laughed.
I have ears too. Look, Oliver…
Say yes, please! Just one chanceIll be the perfect gentleman, I swear!
Tell her about her eyes, Olliethe eyes like her mothers, Mrs Penelope called out.
A cold wave ran through Rebecca. Her mother?
Oliver squabbled with his mum, then said:
Rebecca, Ill come over and explain everything. May I?
Explanations would be good… Rebecca paced till Oliver arrived. Imogen sat quietly drawing.
I should have admitted everything, Oliver began. I meant to, but I liked you so much… I was afraid youd think it was for your mums sake. And I was scared youd hate me. Its my fault she died, you see
He fumbled, switching subjects, pleading with his eyes. Rebecca trembled the way she had when shed thought Imogen lost.
Will you forgive me?
Rebecca couldnt speak, managed at last:
I need to think.
Mum, forgive dad… Imogen implored.
Oliver looked wide-eyed, as if reminding Imogen about their pact. He turned hopefully to Rebecca. She said again:
I need time. Do you understand?
She wanted to ask a hundred things, but couldnt utter a word. But when Mrs Penelope rang, it was differentshe told Rebecca everything.
He never knew about her deathI protected him. Later, I let it slip, and Ollie decided to find you. That day he meant to meet you and offer help, butwell, then came Imogen, then you… He fell for you instantly! He worried what youd think. It was all to prove himself to the ladsto show hes a real man, even without a dad. No one else would step onto the ice, but he did…
Mrs Penelope didnt push, but always vouched for her son. Imogen, however, kept at it:
Mum, hes lovely! He loves you, he told me! He can be my real dad, see?
Rebecca understood. Butit didnt feel quite right.
Nearly a month passed, and she couldnt bring herself to talk to Oliver. She dodged his calls, ignored his messages. The longer she waited, the more she longed to ring him. But it was harder every day.
One night, Imogen woke her upcrying, clutching her tummy. Shed complained last evening, but Rebecca blamed off milk. Now Imogen was burningno thermometer needed.
Rebeccas shaking fingers dialled 999, and thenfor some reasonOliver.
He arrived with the ambulance. Hair mussed, pyjamas on. He came to the hospital, soothed Rebecca, promised all would be well. His voice trembled too.
Appendicitis isnt so bad,” he kept mumbling. “Shell be fine, I swear!
Rebecca clung to his handmaybe to steady him, maybe herself. The waiting room was chilly, and they sat close for warmth, barely inches apart.
He pounced on the surgeon first, desperate for updates. Rebecca just sat motionless. If anything happened to Imogen, she wouldnt survive.
But Imogen pulled through. The doctors did beautifully, and Imogen fought for her lifecritical but victorious, said the surgeon.
An angel mustve watched over her, he murmured. Rebecca whispered, Thank you, mum.
Oliver thanked the surgeon for ages, who told them to go homevisitors not allowed in intensive care just yet, and parents needed sleep.
He drove Rebecca home and, for once, didnt ask to come in. So she said:
Dawns breaking. Would you like some coffee?
And realised she meant it. She wanted him to come in. She wanted him to stay. Always.
Imogen recovered at miraculous speedeveryone remarked on it.
Its because I have a mum and a dad, shed say.
And nobodynot even Rebecca or Oliverknew why the little girl was so joyful about that…
