Not My Daughter

‘Never mind,’ I say. ‘I’ll go over there.’

Jack looks both relieved and uncertain. ‘Are you on good terms with them, Anna? I mean—’

‘I know what you mean. And no, I’m not on any terms with them, not really. I had a drink with Milly about a month ago.’ I think of Matt’s refusal to let me see Alice. Yet am I really going to let that stop me? ‘Still, we surely can put aside our differences for Alice’s sake. They need support.’ And in the past, that has always been given by me. Why should things be any different now?

When I tell Will my plans, however, he seems reluctant. He hasn’t liked what he considers my obsession with Alice; too often when we’re meant to be watching something on TV, I am on my phone, searching out the latest medical research on Batten disease, hoping for some last-minute breakthrough. When we’re out and about, I’m distracted and distant; I try not to be, but whether I wanted it to or not, Alice’s condition has taken over my thoughts.

‘Do you really think this is a good idea, Anna?’ he asks as I stir the huge pot of soup I’m making to take over to their house. ‘You told me that Matt refused to let you see Alice.’

‘And I won’t see her.’ Although I am hoping to, even if just a glimpse. ‘They need help, Matt. Jack said they don’t have much support.’

‘And you want to be the one to give it?’ He sounds sceptical, and I can hardly blame him, considering everything that has happened.

‘I always have before.’

‘True, and that didn’t turn out so well. I’m thinking of you, Anna—’

‘And I’m thinking of them.’

He nods slowly. ‘Yes,

but things have changed since you helped them before—’

‘Exactly. Things have changed. Now is the time to step up.’ I look at him levelly, and he looks back, and then, after a long, tense moment, he shrugs.

‘I understand why you feel the way you do, I just don’t agree with it.’ He sighs. ‘But fine. Go.’

‘I wasn’t actually asking your permission,’ I say a bit sharply.

‘And I wasn’t giving it. I think this is a bad idea. I think this is only going to hurt you in the long run, and yes, it’s you I care about, not people I’ve never met, although I recognise that you care about them. But I really do honestly believe that you need to let go, Anna. Let go of Alice.’

‘I will have to soon enough,’ I remind him quietly. ‘Will, don’t you think this is the right thing to do? They need help.’

‘And they have people in their lives to help them, no matter what Jack says. What does he know? You told me he said he’s been in France for years.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Anna, what I’m afraid of, what worries me, is that you’re not doing this for Milly and Matt. You’re doing this for yourself, and it’s going to end badly.’

I stare down at the soup as I stir it, trying not to feel hurt by his words. ‘We already know it’s going to end badly. I just want to be there when it does.’

He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything more, and the next evening I drive to Milly and Matt’s house. It’s mid-February, the same time of year Milly came home and I walked out. Five years ago now, which feels like forever and yet no time at all.

I park the car in front of their house and gaze at it – the hanging basket by the front door, now empty, swinging a little in the breeze; the spill of warm light from the picture window out front, with the drapes drawn across. It’s half past six, early enough that Alice won’t have gone to bed. But have I really come over here just to see her, or did I mean what I said to both Jack and Will about offering support? Will they even accept it?

Slowly I get out of my car, taking the bag I’ve brought with a tray bake of brownies and the pot of home-made chicken soup. Paltry offerings, but I don’t know what else I have to give.

I feel sick with nerves, my stomach knotted with anxiety, as I press the doorbell and wait. I question whether I should have come, if Will is right and this is essentially a selfish act. I hear muted voices, the sound of someone coming down the stairs. Then the door opens, and Matt stands there, slack-jawed at the sight of me before his expression hardens.

‘Anna.’

‘Hi, Matt.’ It’s been strange, how hostile Matt has been to me, even more so than Milly, and so unlike the easy-going guy I used to joke around with. He stands in the doorway now, his body blocking my entrance, clearly not willing to move. ‘May I come in? Just for a few minutes…’

‘Matt,’ Milly calls from upstairs. ‘Who is it?’ I hear the sound of splashing and then a giggle, and I realise Alice must be in the bath. I picture her sitting in a froth of bubbles, hair piled on top of her head, a grin for her mummy as she pops the translucent bubbles one by one.

‘It’s Anna,’ Matt says flatly.

Silence from upstairs. Then, ‘I can’t leave Alice…’