Diary entry
Four years have passed since I married David, and everyone said it was the sort of marriage thats a safe harbour. After enduring a humiliating, sleepless existence with my first husband, Stephenalways out at the pub, always bringing home more trouble than comfortI thought Id finally climbed out of the swamp and set foot on solid ground.
David is a solid, reliable man. Thoughtful and sparing with his words. Hes a manager at work, and I suppose he expects things at home to be just so. Nothing out of place, nothing that disrupts the order of the day.
When we first got together, I told David about my daughter, Alice, who was twelve at the time. It just turned out Alice remained living with her father and his new wife. The subject was always there, hovering somewhere in the background, but never at the heart of things. David knew I had a child, but because Alice didnt need money from us, didnt queue for the bathroom every morning or join us at the supper table at night, he simply filed it away as another fact about my life.
Things moved along in their steady, English way: we bought a flat on a mortgagea small lounge, bedroom, and kitchen-dinerand were proud to call it our nest. I was working as a receptionist at a dental clinic, while David shouldered the biggest share of the mortgage, but I paid my half every month as well and that made me feel we were equals of a sort. Wed even started discussing a child together, imagining a life with our own little one to bind us completely.
But how plans fall apart. That ordinary evening, the one that uprooted everything, began, as so many do, with a message. My phone buzzeda text from Stephen. We only ever exchanged the briefest, driest messages about maintenance, school, insurance. This was different: long, agitated. Angela, you need to take Alice. Weve had a baby, Sarah is really struggling, and Alice well, shes a teenager, she needs attention, and we simply cant cope. I dont want to do this, but you are her mother. Shell be better off with you. I cant do this anymore.
I read that message five times, numb and cold. Then I walked into the kitchen, where David was cleaning a mackerel at the sink, and handed him my phone.
David, weve got a situation, I said. Stephen wants me to take Alice. They cant manage since the baby arrived.
David set his knife on the counter, staring at me with a frown. What do you mean, take her? Have her live here?
Yes, I replied. Shes my daughtershes sixteen, for goodness sake. Where else should she go?
Angela, he started, rising from the table so that our kitchen felt suddenly as cramped as a ships cabin, listen to me carefully. I knew about your daughter, yes, but I didnt sign up to have someone elses grown child living in my home. Shes not mine. I dont want a stranger eating my bread, using my shower, hanging about making everything complicated.
She isnt a stranger! My voice shook but I pressed on. Shes my child. I told you about her when we married
I married you, not your daughter, he interrupted coolly. I married a woman whose child lives with her dad, and that suited everyone. Now her fathers decided shes too much hassle, I have to clean up that mess? Im sorry, but no. I have a life too.
What life? I was losing patience. We share this mortgage! I pay as much as you do. Its not your flatits ours, and I
Rights? he sneered, quieter than a shout but it cut deeper. Your right was to live here with me. If you wanted your daughter, you shouldnt have divorced Stephen.
I felt his words landing, sharp and with no mercy. Id always known David could be steadfast, but this was something elsea man speaking to a subordinate, an underling whod dared challenge his order.
What do you suggest? My voice faded to a whisper I could barely manage. Where is she supposed to go? Andrews sending her away, you wont take her. What do I do? Push her out onto the street?
Its not my problem, Angela, David replied, resuming his work with the knife as if our conversation was over. Youre her mumyour choice. But let me say now, if she moves in, I move out. You can pay the mortgage on your own and refund what Ive put in. Im not supporting anyone elses offspring.
He said it so matter-of-factly, like he was discussing which sausages to buy at Sainsburys, that it left me unable to breathe. I stood there, staring at his back, the muscles working steadily under his shirt as he gutted the fish, and finally left, feeling the ground slip away.
There was no way forward. I rang Stephen, begged for a months grace, but he was immovable: We cant do it. Sarah is sobbing all night, the baby wont settle. Alice slams doors, blasts music. Its too much. Youre her mum, take her. Ive done what I can, now I want peace. No talk of financial help, though I knew his construction business was bringing in plenty. It was as if hed deliberately struck Alice from his life, moving on to his shiny new family. Delay wasnt possibleAlice had a week left before hed simply drop her on my doorstep.
I tried again and again with Davidpick your moments, Angela, I told myselfhoping calm and supper and reason would shift him. He never budged, a stone wall.
One night, after dinner as we lay in bed, I pleaded gently, I know this is hard for you. But shes a grown girl, Year Eleven already. Shell help around the house and keep out of your way. She can sleep on the sofa until we figure something better out. Its no hardship, David.
He rolled towards me, eyes shining in the dimness. Do you know what its like, living with someone elses teenage child? This isnt just house chores. I work all dayI come home for some peace, not a girl skulking about my kitchen, glued to her phone, clogging the bath plug. I want tranquility, not a house-share.
But thats not what this is! Tears pricked my eyes. David, Im her mum. Do you understand? If I turn her away, what will she think of me? What sort of mother am I?
He cut in, Shes almost an adultshe could understand she shouldnt mess up your new life. But no, kids these days think everything must revolve around them.
I muffled my sobbing with the duvet so as not to provoke him further, but he felt the shakes and turned his back, muttering, No need to make such a scene.
He thought of a practical solution after that. Two days later, I came home shattered from work and found him in the hallway, clutching a neatly printed leaflet.
Theres an option, he announced. A boarding school for girls near the edge of town. She can board during the week, come here for weekends. Shes cared for, you get your peace of mind, Im not in the way.
I hung my coat slowly, as if underwater.
A boarding school? My voice betrayed how lost I felt. You want me to send my own daughter away? Like shes an orphan?
He scowled, Nothing to do with orphans. This is a proper schoolkids go there if their parents cant manage, or work around the clock. Roof over her head, meals, lessons. Everyone wins. Im not saying abandon herjust be civilised.
Civilised I repeated, staring at him as anger built. You want me to put her away so you can eat your haddock and watch telly undisturbedso a few stray hairs in the bathroom dont irritate you.
Thats not fair, he snapped, tossing the leaflet onto the sideboard. Its practical. Got a better idea? We cant afford to rent her a flatthats two-thirds your salary, youd never keep up with the mortgage. Im not made of money. Stephens out. So: either she lives here and I go, or its the boarding school.
Or she lives here, and were a family I whispered.
Thats not a family, Angela, he said firmly. Ive made my position clear. Its your choice.
But how could I choose? My guilt for leaving Alice with Stephen waged war on my terror of losing our home, my little world, the promise of a baby with David. Friends were divided: some said insist, some said at sixteen Alice could look after herself. I never knew what to say if I did ring AliceCome, but my husband doesnt want you, Hang on, love, Ill work something out? She didnt call either.
Time passed in a fog of indecision. One day, Stephen texted: If shes not gone by Friday, Ill call social services and say youve abandoned her. Idle threats, I told myself, but with a grain of truth. I didnt know what to do with a sixteen-year-old girl, who stared out from her phone photo at me with those steady, serious eyes.
Three days before Friday, David and I finally erupted. That night, nerves stretched raw, we both lost our tempers for the first time.
Youre selfish, David! I shouted in the kitchen, too angry to care how shrill I sounded. You knew I had a child. You made out you accepted me, all of me. Now you show your true selfyouve never wanted me, only the version of me that fits neatly into your life.
Oh, Ive never wanted you? David sprang up from his chair, sending it clattering. Are you really going to destroy everythingfor a girl who barely spoke to you for four years, who was fine without you? And you have the nerve to call me selfish? You feel guilty for being a rubbish mum, so now I have to pay the price?
The price? I yelled back, sobbing openly now. This is a personmy daughter! I gave birth to her, raised her as best I could, left her because I thought it would be better for everyone, and now Im meant to turn my back on her again because you dont want a bit of inconvenience?
Oh, you left her?! He roared. You chose me, this new lifeand now its my fault youre racked with guilt? Sort your own mess out!
So, its the boarding school then? I raged at him, tears streaming, not caring anymore. Im supposed to send her away as if shes rubbish? As if she doesnt matter?
Shes already been abandoned! he bellowed. Her fathers dumped her, her mother left her, and if you think letting her stay here will fix that, youre wrong! Boarding school will do her goodshell have to stand on her own two feet!
Before I could reply, a small, strained noise came from the hall. I turned. There, behind the half-open door, was Alices backpack and her fair hair visible in the strip of light. My heart stopped.
I dashed to the door and pulled it wide. Alice was standing there, pale, pressed against the wall, her eyes bright with tears and fury. She had used the spare key Id given her long ago. She hadnt warned meperhaps she needed to talk, or just couldnt cope at Stephens any longer and thought Id welcome her.
Alice I reached for her, but she recoiled as if I were a stranger.
Dont touch me, she spat. I heard everything. The boarding school. That you dont want me. That you left me. All of it.
Alice, love, its not how it seems I began, hating the false ring in my own words. We just were arguing, looking for a way out
You mean, looking for a way to get rid of me. Alices tears fell, but she didnt wipe them, staring right at me. I get it. You dont want me. Dad doesnt want me. Neither of you knows what to do with me. Im like some broken suitcase you keep handing round.
Stop it, Alice David joined us, voice cold, schoolmasterly. No one is getting rid of you. This is an adult matter. If youd stop eavesdropping
Alice glared at him, pure loathing in her eyes.
Youve made up your mind. Boarding school? I come at weekends and pretend were a family? Dont bother. I wont be anyones inconvenience.
Nobody said the boarding schools final I started, but Alice was already opening the door.
Stay! I pleaded, grabbing her arm. Please, dont go. Well sort something. I wont send you away.
Really? Alice glanced at my hand, then at my face. And him? She nodded at David, stone-faced with his arms folded. Hes not changing his mind. He doesnt want someone elses child here. I heard it. All of it.
I looked desperately at David, begging for a crumb of softness, anything, to tell her she could stayjust for a while.
David held her stare with stony indifference. Alice, no one is throwing you out. But you are old enough to understand everyone deserves their own life. Were building a family. If you want to be part of it, you play by our rules. The boarding school is the best choice, really.
David! I cried, but too late.
Alice snatched her arm free. Dont look for me, she said, voice small. Ill find my own placesomewhere I dont get in the way.
I ran out into the corridor, but all I heard were fading footsteps. Down the stairs, into the nightthey echoed and died away. I rushed to the street. The cold, wet pavement glimmered under yellow lamplight, the playground empty, only the wind chasing round the autumn leaves.
Alice was gone.
Alice! I shouted, my voice frail and lost in the vast, blank estate. Come back!
No reply.
I scoured the block, checked the car parks, questioned the neighbours having a smoke at the entrance, but they only shrugged. I called Alice over and over, but her phone was off or dead.
When I finally slunk home, David was watching the news as if nothing had happened.
Youre just sitting here? I screamed at him, wringing my hands. Shes left! Shes run off! Dont you get it?
David grabbed my wrists, holding them tightly, unflappable. Calm yourself. Shes a teenagershes angry. Shell come back after she cools down. Kids run away, then come home when their pocket money runs out. Stop the theatrics.
Did you even hear what she said? Dont look for me! She could be anywhereon the streets, with strangers
He shrugged. What do you want me to do? Report her missing? The police dont get involved until 24 hours have passed. Thats the law. Sit tight and wait.
Wait? I cradled my head, furious and terrified. You want me to wait while my daughtersixteen years oldsleeps who knows where? Youre out of your mind.
And youre hysterical, he said calmly. If youd only been sensible, avoided dramatics, this wouldnt have happened. Your own fault.
I didnt recognise himthe man Id shared my bed and life with. He was a stranger, cold and foreign and terrifying in his indifference.
I threw my coat on over my house dress and plunged into the dark. I visited every block, searched the parks, checked the night buses, the late-night Tesco. No one had seen hera teenage girl with fair hair in a denim jacket and a rucksack. Nobody cared. London was enormous and indifferent.
By morning, I returned home exhausted, face swollen with weeping. David had already left for work. Hed left a note on the kitchen table in his familiar, neat handwriting: Ring the boarding school. The address is here. I stared at the paper, then felt a violent sickness surge. I barely made it to the bathroom before emptying my stomach, retching until nothing was left but a hollow, trembling ache.
Alice did not return, not a day later or the next.
Stephen and I reported her missing to the police the day after. The officers were disinterested: Run away, hasnt she? Sixteen? Happens all the time. Usually come back after a week. Best thing is for you to sort things out at home.
The missing persons report was filed, but without urgencyrunaway teenagers were just routine statistics, ending almost always with the child sheepishly turning up on a friends doorstep, out of cash, out of places to hide.
But Alice did not come home.
By the end of the week, I was a shell. I didnt sleep, barely ate, phoned all of her friends, trekked to the stations, plastered her photo everywhere, the one with her grinning, squinting into the sun, so full of life. At first, David was patient. Then he began to complainbecause I neglected housework, ignored my job, and left him with all the bills and cleaning.
How much longer is this going to go on? he grumbled ten days in, finding me slumped over my mobile, speed-dialling numbers Id already worn out. If she doesnt want to come back, she wont.
Doesnt want? She may not be able to come back My voice died mid-sentencemy worst fear too heavy to put into words.
He rolled his eyes. Look, love. Shes out with friends, shes got her phone and a few quid. Shes not talking to you, and honestly, who can blame her? Going mad with worry and tearing the house apart is exactly why
He never finishedmy look made him take a step back. Leave, I whispered. Just go. Please.
What? Youre kicking me out of my own flat?
Its not just yours, I replied. Its ours, but right now, I dont care. I dont want to see youhear youknow you exist. Go.
He wanted to protest but must have read my face, because he packed a bag and left within half an hour, silent as a ghost, and I didnt move from my chair.
I went to the police daily, handed in new photos, reminded them of every small detail, begged and threatened, but always got the same answer: Were on the case, love. Dont get in the way. I spent my savings on a private investigatormoney Id been putting aside for a holiday. The PI searched station platforms, hostels, poked about on social media, but, after two months: Angela, Ive checked everywhere. Shes either very clever or well, you know.
Three months later, the police rang. I thought I was going to collapse, but it was only about her thingsa rucksack, denim jacket, found in a derelict house where the rough sleepers gather. Of Alice there was no trace. No one remembered her, or pretended not to.
I took sedatives to get by. Forced myself to worksomeone had to pay the mortgagebut I was just an automaton: smile, check patients in, file paperwork. David tried to ring a few times, offered to start over, said hed welcome Alice if she ever came back, but I rejected his calls.
Every night, I dreamed of Alicesometimes little, a curly-haired girl running into my arms at nursery; sometimes the teenager in her jacket, with her rucksack, angry and hurt, saying, Dont look for me. Id wake up drenched in sweat.
Six months after she vanished, the police said she was now officially missing; a month after that, the case was suspended. There were no clues, no witnessesjust the final formality. I signed what they gave me with hollow compliance. The only thing that mattered had already been said: Missing.
Eight months later, in hospital because of persistent pain, the doctors told me theyd had to remove my womb. There would be no second chance for a child.
I lay in my hospital bed, staring at the white ceiling, and felt something inside me snap. The last thread holding me to any future had slipped quietly away. I kept thinkingI had a daughter. A real child. With her fair hair, those clear steady eyes. Id lost her. Because I betrayed her. Because I was too afraid to sacrifice comfort, the flat, even the dream of a child with David. I hadnt seen soon enough that my salvation was never in my marriage but in that girl, trembling in the hallway, being discussed like an inconvenient item, a problem, someone elses child.
And now I had nothingno daughter, no husband, no chance to ever be a mother again. Only her photograph remained on my bedside tableAlice, squinting into the sun, life ahead. The childish scrawl on the back: Love you, Mum.
Sometimes, drifting to sleep, I imagine footsteps in the hall, the door turning in the lock, Alices voiceMum, Im home. I leap to my feet, race to the door. Of course the hallway is empty. Only the streetlamp shines on the vacant coat hook.
I may never know what became of Alicewhether she found that place where she wouldnt be in anyones way, or simply faded out of the world. I live in a limbo worse than any truth, with neither hope nor peace, just an endless guilt throbbing with every heartbeat, that will never let me go.
David, a year on, found someone new. No children, no baggage. They made their tidy life together, and soon, they had a baby.
