up is not in my vocabulary.’
‘Thank goodness,’ I say. ‘Or you’d have given up on us a long time ago.’
Nick grins at me. ‘Never.’
‘Okay.’ Liberty stands. ‘I’m going upstairs to work on my music before I vomit all over the pair of you.’ She disappears up the second staircase – the one that leads to her mezzanine landing, bedroom and ensuite. The mezzanine is a yoga space that Liberty and I both used to use, but these days she’s more into indoor climbing at my local gym. Chaperoned, of course.
When Liberty disappears, I burst into tears.
‘Hey.’ Nick jumps to his feet and puts his arms around me. ‘Hey, it’s all right. It’s fine. She’ll take her exams. She’s just testing you.’
‘It’s not her exams I’m worried about.’
‘So what are you worried about? That she’ll go running off to see her dad?’
I nod.
‘It’s normal that she’d want to, isn’t it? I get that you and he didn’t get along, but maybe there’s a way—’
‘No. There’s no way she can see him.’ I look away from Nick’s penetrating stare. ‘He can’t be part of our life in any way.’
‘But clearly Liberty wants to see him. Lorna—’
‘It’s fine, Nick.’ I start doing clap press-ups against the breakfast bar. ‘We’ve been through all this when Liberty was younger. The “I want to see my real dad” phase. It’ll pass like it did back then.’
Nick scratches his head in thought. He’s the only person I know who literally scratches his head when he’s thinking. ‘So … you’re just going to basically ignore what she wants?’
‘Not ignore. Just not give any fuel to it. And like I said, wait until it passes.’
‘You never talk about Liberty’s father.’
‘There’s nothing I want to talk about. Liberty’s never met him and that’s how it’s going to stay. Everything is near-perfect here. You have no idea how perfect. Liberty’s father would ruin everything.’
We hear the beautiful ebb and flow of acoustic guitar drift over our open-plan living area, floating past the panoramic windows and out into woodland, joining the birds fluttering from tree to tree.
Liberty is musically talented. No doubt about that. I wish she weren’t. There would be fewer questions.
I look at the staircase. ‘I’ll go talk to her. Make sure she’s okay.’
‘Have a good honest talk with her, Lorna. Get everything out in the open.’
A shiver runs through me.
If I were totally honest with Liberty, I’d lose her forever. I’d lose Nick too. He really has no idea.
‘Lorna?’ Nick’s watching me, and I realize my fists are balled.
‘I’m okay. Honestly. It’s just … Liberty and I have been through a lot. I’ll talk to her and smooth things over.’
Nick pulls me into another big, strong hug. ‘Just remember, she’s a kid who’s dealing with a lot. Sixteen is a tough age. I wouldn’t want some weird guy moving into my house, sharing my mum’s bedroom.’
‘Don’t forget your hair in the bathroom.’
We both manage something like a laugh.
‘Listen,’ says Nick. ‘Maybe you’ve got good reasons for keeping her away from her dad. But let the girl go out with her friends of an evening, at least. If she had more freedom, I think it would help a lot. With everything.’
‘You don’t understand teenagers,’ I say. ‘Freedom is the last thing she needs.’
Liberty’s is a musician’s bedroom. No doubt about that. Most teenagers spend their allowance on clothes. Liberty buys electric guitars, tribal drums, electric drum kits and keyboards.
Liberty sort of knows music. Picks up instruments and understands how they work. I’ve never taught her – she taught herself. She has GarageBand on her laptop, surround-sound speakers and a very cool 1960s orange Dansette record player with a cube of vinyl beside it. Van Halen, Suzi Quatro, Joan Jett and Kiss are arranged alphabetically.
‘Liberty?’ I knock on the bedroom door even though it’s already open.
Liberty sits on a rice-filled bean bag, holding one of her acoustic guitars: the red one she bought at a school jumble sale without telling me. She’s changed out of her school uniform into tight black jeans and a Runaways T-shirt. Skywalker lays beside her, head on her thigh.
It’s still light outside, and the room twinkles with sunshine.
Liberty looks up. ‘What?’
‘Hey. Sorry. Okay?’
‘You always say that,’ says Liberty. ‘But nothing changes.’ She puts the guitar to one side. ‘It’s ridiculous. I’m sixteen years old and you won’t let me go out in the evenings. All my friends go out. And you won’t tell me anything about my real father.’
‘You don’t get it. It’s a big, bad world out there. You have no idea how bad.’
‘Look, I know you had a hard time with my father—’
‘A hard time?’ I put a hand to my forehead. ‘Oh my goodness, Liberty. You have no idea.’
‘Is he something to do with you getting cancer when you were young? Like … bad associations or something?’
‘No. I had cancer before your father came along. I was only fifteen when …’ I shake my head. ‘Never mind. Anyway. I don’t want to talk about cancer. Focus on what you want more of, right? Not the bad stuff.’
‘Were you scared?’
‘What?’
‘When you got cancer. You must have been really scared.’
‘I don’t want to talk about that. It’s nothing to do with your father, anyway. I was in remission when we met. I thought he was my happy ending.’ I give a hollow laugh. ‘Now I know you have to make your own happy endings in life. No one can give them to you.’
‘I want to meet him, Mum. I know you had a bad relationship. But I don’t believe my real father would hurt me. I just don’t.’
I squeeze her hand. ‘Honey, you don’t know him. And if you did, you wouldn’t say that. All teenagers think they’re invincible. Until they learn otherwise.’
‘I
