In the tangled world of a restless dream, Lucy raged against the man who filled her house but not her heart. I hate him! He isnt my father! Let him go! she shrieked, the words echoing through the cramped flat on a rainy street in Manchester. I watched, bewildered, as the family feud unfolded like a badly tuned violinwhy could they not simply live together? I could not read the heat that simmered beneath their walls.
Lucys younger halfsister, Eve, was the product of her mothers marriage to the stepfather, John. From the outside it seemed John treated Eve and Lucy alike, but the truth lay in Lucys secret timings. After school she lingered, calculating the exact moment her hated stepfather would leave for work. Yet, fate often slipped a cog; John would linger, and Lucy would slip out of the house as if the walls themselves were breathing.
She whispered to me, Mia, stay in my room. Then, with a theatrical flourish, she locked herself in the bathroom, waiting for Johns footsteps to fade. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Lucy burst free, exhaling relief. Hes finally gone! Youre lucky, Mia, you have a real dad at home. Im stuck here. Its all so sad, she sighed, heavy with yearning. Come, lets have lunch in the kitchen.
Lucys mother, Mrs. Harper, ran the household like a clockwork chapel. Breakfast, tea, snack, suppereach measured in portions, calories, vitamins. Whenever I visited, a warm meal waited on the table, pots and pans draped in cloth as if awaiting hungry pilgrims.
Lucy never liked Eve, ten years her junior. She teased, taunted, foughtyet years later the two would become inseparable, like water flowing from the same spring. Lucy would marry, have a daughter, and eventually the whole family, except John, would settle permanently in Canada. Twelve years later Lucy would bear another daughter; Eve would remain an unmarried aunt, but would help raise the girls, their bond tightening across oceans. Lucy kept up a correspondence with her biological father until his death; he had another wife, and Lucy was his only child.
Growing up in what seemed a complete familyboth mother and father presentmy own friends were all fatherless. As children we knew nothing of stepparents, yet their lives were far from sweet. Ivys mother and stepfather were chronic drinkers. Ivy hid them, never inviting anyone over, fearing the stepfathers scold and the mothers heavyhanded slap. When she turned fifteen, Ivy learned to fight back, and the abusive pair left her alone.
Im inviting you to my birthday, Ivy announced brightly.
Your house? Im scared, Ivy. Wont my stepfather?
He can try, she laughed. His grip over me is over. My real dads address is in my pocket now; hell protect me. Moms prepping everything, Im sure.
The day of Ivys sixteenth birthday arrived. I brought a small present and knocked. Ivy opened the door, dressed in her finest, and ushered me in. Her mother and stepfather stood rigidly by the table, nodding in unison as I whispered a timid hello.
The table, covered with a faded oilcloth, bore a single bowl of rice pilaf, a slab of bread, and lemonade poured into faceted glasses, each topped with a crisp pastry. That was all, yet Ivy wore a proud smile as if shed prepared a feast for a king. I recalled my own birthday, when my mother spent the whole day at the stoveroasting, frying, baking pies, fish, cake, fruit punchevery household has its own chorus of clatter.
I ate the pilaf with a bite of bread, sipped lemonade, and set the delicate pastry aside, fearing it would crumble the oilcloth. Ivys mother and stepfather remained statuesque, watching us. In the corner, a bed held Ivys grandmother, who croaked, Zara, dont drink! Youll forget me and starve me. Ivy blushed, Grandma, dont worry, Mum doesnt drink. We only have lemonade. The old lady turned to the wall and muttered a muffled thanks for the modest spread. We rose and hurried away; youth held too many bright things to waste with elders.
Within a year Ivy would lose her mother, her stepfather, and her grandmother. At twentyfive she would stand alone, never marrying, childless, despite fleeting admirers. Among them would appear my exhusband, who would find a temporary home with her, only to discover that Ivys temperament was not suited for such arrangements.
I also befriended Tara when we were fourteen. Tara lived with her elder sister, Anne, who had just turned eighteen. Anne seemed distant, stern, sensiblean adult in a childs world. Their mother visited weekly, bringing groceries and cooking, while living with her first husband. Anne was born of that first marriage; Tara of the second. After a short stint with her second husband, the mother returned to her first, leaving Tara with almost complete freedom. I envied Taras independence; her mother seemed forever smoothing over guilt to the first husband, while Anne juggled a parade of suitors. Tara was left to fend for herself.
Tara would later marry, have a daughter, and see her husband incarcerated for a long stretch. She would drown her sorrow in drink, and at fortytwo her sister Anne would discover her lifeless body in the flat.
Nora entered our tenthform class fresh as a spring bud. We clicked instantlypretty, lithe, with a voice that could coax birds from trees. The boys swooned over her, yet her heart belonged to Kyle, who would arrive at the end of each school day in his old hatchback, whisking his goddess away to unknown places. Noras father died before she turned ten. She struggled academically but sang wonderfully. Together they formed a school band, performing at dances.
When Kyle was called up for National Service, Nora escorted him to the station, shedding a tear she never let dry. He never returned; she bore a child of uncertain paternity, living with her mother. Kyle eventually came back, seeking forgiveness, but Nora rebuffed him, Youll always blame me for being a son. Id rather walk alone. When her son grew, she would marry a farmer and move to a countryside cottage.
All these friendships existed simultaneously, yet the girls never mingled; they could not bear each others presence. Now, from time to time, I exchange letters with Lucy, my childhood confidante, who swears she will guard her family at any cost: I will not let my daughters endure what I suffered living under a stepfather. If conflicts arise, they must be with a real father, not a distant uncle. Blood ties will grind everything down. My stepdad remains a scar for life.
Sometimes Lucy and I laugh about our school mischiefs, while the traces of Ivy and Nora have faded into the mist of memory.
