When Lucy went home after a frustrating hour spent with her father, she wished she had someone there, waiting to hold her and tell her that things were going to be okay.
It had been six months now since Anthony had walked out on their marriage. It was such a cliché but she had come home from work one day and found his suitcase in the hallway. At first she thought he might be working away and had forgotten to tell her. But when he appeared behind the case, she knew. He stared down at the ground. “It isn’t working, Luce. We both know it isn’t.”
She hadn’t wanted to beg. When she looked back it seemed so feeble. But she had begged. She told him that she wanted him to stay, that he was the future father of her children. That whatever crap they’d been through in the past year was all behind them. They could move on. She knew she had neglected him when her mother died. Since they lost the baby.
But he shook his head. “There’s been too much sadness. I want to be happy. I want you to be happy. But we can’t be with all the history between us. We need to be apart so we don’t dwell on it. I have to go.”
Just last month, under the stark white light of the Co-op confectionary aisle, she had spied Anthony pushing a shopping trolley with another woman. She looked a bit like Lucy, with her bobbed hair and long neck.
Lucy followed them around the fruit juice aisle and into frozen desserts but then gave up. If Anthony saw her, then he’d think she was stalking him. He would introduce her to his new girlfriend and Lucy would have to smile and say that it was lovely to see him again but she had really just popped in for some fresh strawberries and now she had to dash. When she was out of earshot, Anthony would whisper and tell his new girlfriend, “That was my estranged wife. She lost our baby when she was fifteen weeks pregnant and she was never the same again. It was like a light went off or something. I had to get out.” And his girlfriend would nod sympathetically and squeeze Anthony’s hand to reassure him that she was massively fertile and if he wanted a family, then her body wouldn’t let things down.
Lucy held it together at the tills, but when she was in the trolley park she started to cry. She rammed her trolley over and over into the one in front to return it, but it wouldn’t fit. She walked away leaving her token, with a white Yorkshire rose on it, still in the trolley slot. A man with a neck the same thickness as his waist offered her a tissue and she blew her nose, went home and drank half a bottle of vodka.
After that she changed her surname back to Pepper. Lucy Pepper sounded so much better than Lucy Brannigan, anyway. She silently and swiftly swept the house of memories of Anthony and stuck all the leaflets for baby milk, nappy vouchers and breast pads in the recycling bin. Her old name made her feel stronger, more equipped to face life again.
And now she was standing in front of the house she grew up in, where her mum and dad had changed her own nappy thousands of times. A feeling of warmth flooded over her. She smiled and rang the doorbell. Through the daisy-patterned glass in the front door she could see her father’s coat hanging in the hallway. There was a pile of post on the doormat. Strange that he hadn’t picked it up yet.
She rang the bell again and gave the knocker a rap. Nothing.
Looking up, she saw that all the windows were shut. She walked through the passageway at the side of the house to the back garden, but there was no sign of him.
She narrowed her eyes against the glare of the sun. Perhaps, if she found him, she could persuade him to go to the garden center. It was a lovely day.
She’d finished work an hour early. It was the school sports day and really she should be there, putting plasters on knees or helping to serve orange squash. But as she had watched the kids stumbling along in the egg-and-spoon race, she felt a deep need to be with her dad. With Dan in Australia and Mum gone, he was her only close family left. She’d feigned a migraine and had driven away from the laughter and applause as the relay races started.
She stood on her tiptoes, cupped her hand around her eyes and peered in the back window. Frederica the fern looked a bit sorry for herself. Her leaves curled a little at the sides. Her dad had developed an obsession with that plant.
Then a terrible thought hit her. He could be dead. He might have fallen down the stairs or died in bed like Mum had. He might be sprawled on the bathroom floor unable to move. Oh, God. Panic began to bubble in her stomach. She moved to the front of the house again.
“Can I help you?”
A man shouted from the garden opposite. It was Dad’s neighbor who wore a bandanna. Lucy had seen him before. As he leaned on his lawn mower he seemed to be carrying a small brown upturned bowl.
“I’ve called around to see my dad. I can’t get a reply. I’m worried that he’s fallen or something. It’s Terry, isn’t it?” Lucy looked both ways and then crossed the road.
“That’s me. No need to worry. Your dad went out this morning with his suitcase.”
Lucy ran her hand through her hair. “A suitcase? Are you sure?”
“Uh-huh. I think he was going to that lady’s house. The one with the raspberry-colored hair.”
“Bernadette?” On one occasion Lucy called to see her father and found this lady sitting at the kitchen table in Mum’s place. She had made fresh sausage rolls. Lucy didn’t cook. She stuck things in the microwave or under the grill.
“I don’t know her name. They got into a car. A young man was driving. He had hair over one eye. I wondered if he could see the road properly.”
“Did my dad say where he was going?”
Terry shook his head. “No. Are you his daughter? You have the same eyes.”
“We do?”
“Uh-huh. He didn’t say where he was off to. Your dad doesn’t speak much, does he?”
“Not really.” Lucy narrowed her eyes. The small brown bowl in Terry’s hands moved. A head slid out and two eyes stared at her. “Er, are you carrying a tortoise?”
Terry nodded. “It escapes from next door. It likes my lawn, though I don’t know why. I like to keep it neatly trimmed. Not much food for this little guy. Each time he tries to escape I pick him up and give him back. He belongs to the two kids with red hair and bare feet. Do you know them?”
Lucy said she did not.
“Shall I tell your dad you were looking for him, if I see him?”
Lucy said that would be helpful and that she would phone him, too. She wondered why her dad would have a suitcase and where he could possibly be going. It was difficult enough to persuade him to go to the village to buy milk. “Maybe you should just let the tortoise wander around for a while. It might quench his thirst for adventure. Then he might be happy to stay in his pen, or whatever his home is.”
“I never thought about that.” Terry turned the tortoise to face him. “What do you think about that idea, then, buddy?”
“Thanks for your help,” Lucy shouted out absentmindedly over her shoulder as she crossed back over the road.
She made her way around to the back again and sat down on the edge of a large plant pot. She stabbed her dad’s number on her mobile. It rang around twenty times as it usually did as he tried to remember where he had put it, or which button to press. Finally he answered.
“Hello. This is Arthur Pepper speaking.”
“Dad. It’s Lucy,” she said, relieved to hear his voice.
“Oh, hello, love.”
“I’m at your house, but you’re not in.”
“I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I...just kind of wanted to see you. Your neighbor, the one who loves his lawn, said he’d seen you with a suitcase.”
“He’s right. I’ve decided to visit Graystock Manor. It’s the place where the tigers live, in Bath.”
“I’ve heard of it. But, Dad...”
“Bernadette and her son, Nathan, were headed that way and asked me to join them.”
“And you wanted to go...?”