She looks away. ‘We’re, um, taking it slow.’
I take a moment, then say, ‘You can’t get back with him, Clara.’
She swallows hard. ‘It’s complicated. Amanda doesn’t know the full story. It’s… there are… I’mmarried, Jem. And I can’t keep flip-flopping, running back and forth between the UK and America.’ She laughs shortly. ‘I can’t afford it, for one thing.’
‘I’m sure Mum could lend you some more money,’ I offer.
She nods, embarrassed. ‘Probably. Even though she must hate me.’
I grin. ‘I think I know how you could persuade her to forgive you.’
Clara gives me a toothy smile back. ‘Come to her wedding?’ She looks down. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t even want me there anymore, not after I ditched and ran like that.’
I give her an impatient sigh. ‘Ofcourseshe wants you there!’ I pause and then ask carefully, ‘Why do you think you do run away from things? Do you think it’s—’ I don’t finish because Clara is looking away. She knows what I’m going to say.
‘Dad?’ she offers quietly and I nod. ‘I guess so, maybe.’ She meets my eyes. ‘But how come I got the stupid, cowardly escape genes and you got the reliable, see-things-through ones?’
I shrug and half-laugh. ‘I think everyone is different – even twins. It’s like how some children of alcoholics becomealcoholics themselves, and others are disgusted by alcohol and never drink a day in their lives.’ I swallow, adding, ‘You know you started disappearing – running away – back when we were teenagers, just after Dad did.’
Clara regards me, smiling. ‘Well,youstarted disapproving just after Dad left.’
‘Fair enough,’ I laugh, then pause. ‘I actually had a feeling you’d left America because of a man. But I suspected it was Dad. I thought you’d tracked him down somehow, and he’d let you down again.’
Clara brightens. ‘Ooh, maybe weshouldtrack him down!’
I look at her hard. ‘Why?’
She shrugs. ‘I dunno! It might be cool to get to know him. Don’t you think? It’s been nearly fifteen years. Maybe he regrets how he left things…’
I hesitate, uncertain how to confront this. We’ve just made up, I don’t want to upset her again. I don’t want to send Clara running for the hills. God knows how far she’d flee this time. But I can’t understand how she can still see Dad as some goofball who, like, forgot to come home one night. ‘Um, you do understand that our dad’s an arsehole, don’t you, Clara? You get that he abandoned his wife and two children and literally never got in touch?’
Her body language is immediately resistant. She crosses her arms and shakes her head. ‘Yeah, but…’ She struggles for the words, looking away. ‘I can understand that impulse to run. Like I said, I have his coward genes. I can see how things might’ve got too scary. We must’ve been a lot to dealwith –I’ma lot to deal with.’ She swallows hard. ‘Maybe that’s why I’ve always defended him: I’m like him.’
I put a hand gently on her arm, and it’s enough to stop her speaking. ‘No,’ I say carefully. ‘Really no, Clara. I know you guys were close, but heleft. Can you imagine doing that to Mum and two young kids who need you?’ I swallow. ‘I know that you have this instinct to escape things, but that doesn’t make you anything like him.’ Clara frowns, then looks down at the table between us. I carry on. ‘I’m so sorry I said that in our fight. You’renotlike him, Clara, I was wrong or hurt or just – I don’t know – lashing out. You’re nothing like him. I know you think you are, but you’renot.’ I sigh, leaning back. ‘I’ve never told you this, but I did get in touch with him a few years ago.’
She gasps at this. ‘You did? What did he say?’
I nod slowly, feeling pulses of guilt for never telling her. But she was in America and we weren’t close. And the truth is, I knew it would hurt her, and – despite the physical and emotional distance – I didn’t want that.
‘Yep, it was surprisingly easy. He was just there, on Facebook. I sent him a message explaining who I was and asking if he would be interested in talking after all these years.’ Clara’s eyes are huge and expectant, and I feel awful as I continue. ‘He replied after a couple of weeks to say he had a new partner – a new life – and wasn’t interested in revisiting long-forgotten history. He didn’t even say sorry.’
Clara’s bottom lip trembles, but her arm cross gets tighter. ‘But maybe…’ she tries weakly and I shake my head.
‘No,’ I say softly, and after a few seconds she nods back.
‘OK,’ she acknowledges and then releases her arms. Her shoulders slump with something like exhaustion. ‘OK, he really is a piece of shit then.’ She looks up at me anxiously. ‘But you honestly don’t think I’m like him? Or at least, you think that I can be better than him?’
I grab her hand and hold it tightly. ‘You are a million miles better than him! You love people a lot and care about them. Can you imagineeversending a message like that to your own child? Or even to a stranger?’
She shakes her head vehemently. ‘God no!’ She takes a deep breath, letting it out in a low whistle. ‘I think I convinced myself Dad wasn’t so bad because I really thought I was like him. But I think I can be more like you and Mum if I try.’
I laugh shortly. ‘I’ve just decided to try being more likeyou! You’re fun and chilled out. I want to try to be less… I don’t know,rigidabout stuff. Less judgemental. I’m going to go with the flow.’
Clara machine-gun-laughs at this. ‘You’re going to go with the flow? You!’
‘Fuck off,’ I say mildly. ‘I can go with the flow!’ I sit up straighter. ‘And I’m going to live my life a bit bigger, I think.’ Clara’s eyes widen. ‘I actually loved that plane ride! Nosy seat mates aside, it was awesome. I want to do more of it. I can travel and try things and have adventures – outside of my books.’ I frown. ‘Though I’m definitely not sacrificing them. They can come with me. Or maybe I’ll finally give in and get a Kindle.’
Clara’s face is alight with happiness. ‘And I’m going to stop running away. I’m going to face reality, find a real life with real friends and a real job. I will do the washing up and I won’t impulse buy stupid gigantic items of bedroom furniture or paint antiques without permission.’
