Not My Daughter

An hour later, Alice is peacefully asleep and I am pacing the downstairs, mindlessly moving toys from one basket to the other in an attempt to feel busy, even though everything is already tidy. Matt is sitting on the sofa, frowning at his phone. Anna is due to arrive any minute.

When I think of what she might say, even in the most vague and nebulous terms, I feel as if I could be sick. My stomach churns and my skin prickles and I continue to pace our downstairs, needing to move, because otherwise I might leap out of my own skin. Then the doorbell rings.

Matt doesn’t move, so I go to open it, blinking in surprise at the sight of Anna. She looks… well, she looks terrible. Her hair is piled up messily and there are deep, violet shadows under her eyes. She looks old, as if she’s aged a decade since I’ve last seen her, and I can’t bear to think why.

‘Anna…’

‘I’m sorry to be so sudden with this.’

I step aside and she moves into the room, her arms wrapped around herself, her head bowed.

‘I’m so, so sorry.’ Her voice breaks and I stand there, frozen, because even though I’d been dreading this visit and what it might mean, I am still shocked by the depth of her sorrow.

Matt tosses his phone aside, looking unmoved by Anna’s agitation and regret. ‘Just what,’ he asks, ‘are you sorry for?’

‘Matt.’ Does he actually think this is about what happened five years ago? Because I know it isn’t.

‘For a lot of things,’ Anna says quietly. ‘But mostly for what I have to tell you now.’

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. My mind is blank and buzzing, my mouth terribly dry as my heart starts to thud. I don’t want to hear this. I know I don’t want to hear this.

Matt’s face is stony and he doesn’t say anything.

Anna looks at us both, strangely dignified in her misery. ‘Shall we sit down?’

Then, when we are all seated, when I want to prolong this moment forever and at the same time feel as if I can’t stand a second more, she speaks.

‘I visited my mother this afternoon. She told me something I had no idea about… no idea at all… but I am afraid it has some bearing on Alice, although I hope – I hope so much – that it doesn’t.’ Her voice has broken again and she dabs at her eyes.

‘Just say it, Anna,’ Matt says, his voice hard. He’s acting as if this is no more than histrionics – doesn’t he realise this is serious? That this matters?

‘I had a brother,’ she states woodenly. ‘An older brother. My parents never told me about him. I never even knew he existed until today.’

‘What…’ The word comes out in a breath, as I stare at her uncomprehendingly.

‘He had a hereditary condition. A neurological disorder that has symptoms that sound very similar to Alice’s.’ Her face crumples before she smooths her expression out, like a hand smoothing a sheet, and takes a hitching breath.

‘So you think Alice has this condition?’ Matt says, sounding sceptical. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’

‘I think it’s possible. Of course, this… this condition requires both parents, that is, genetic donors, to be carriers of the gene. So Jack would have to be tested, as well.’

‘We’ve already asked him, and he’s been tested. What is this, Anna?’

‘What?’ Anna stares at him uncomprehendingly. ‘What do you mean…’

Matt leans forward. ‘Is this some bid for attention? A way to get close to our daughter again? Is that what you’re after?’

‘Matt.’ Even I, in all my fearful paranoia, can see this is not some sneaky, manipulative move on Anna’s part. How could it be? She looks heartbroken.

Anna turns to look at him. ‘Do you think I’m making this up?’ He shrugs, and she leans forward, intent now, her eyes blazing. ‘This is the last thing I’d make up. The very last thing. I’m here because of Alice, Matt, because even if you don’t want me to, even if you can’t stand it, I care about her.’ She turns to me, fiercely. ‘I do. I’m sorry, but I do. And the truth is, I hope to God she doesn’t have this condition. I hope and pray with everything I have.’

‘Why?’ I whisper. I can’t absorb the rest of what she’s said, not yet. ‘What is this condition, Anna? What… what might it mean for Alice?’

Anna lowers her gaze. She doesn’t speak for a moment, but I already know. I think in some dark corner of my heart I’ve always known, or at least I’ve feared. But I need her to say it.

‘It’s called Batten disease. It’s a neurological condition that causes vision loss… loss of motor skills… childhood dementia…’ A soft cry escapes me. ‘Children diagnosed with it end up being completely bedridden and dependent… and they usually die by their early teens,’ she finishes, her voice so unbearably sad. ‘At the latest.’

For a second I can’t take it in. I won’t. I simply stare at her, and so does Matt, and then I lurch upright and race to the downstairs toilet, where I am violently sick, my insides wrung out. A few minutes later I walk into the kitchen; the world around me is going in and out of focus, my heart beating with hard, erratic thuds. Anna and Matt are both still seated in the living room, frozen as if they are part of a tableau. I pour myself a glass of water and drink it, my mind both numb and spinning.