Dont think Im your dad! Lucy shouted, her face twisted with fury. Get out of here! Well manage without you. Shed been fuming at her stepfather for weeks, and I had no idea why the household was a battlefield. Why couldnt they just get along?
Lucy had a halfsister, Emma, the daughter she shared with her stepdad. From the outside it seemed Tom treated both girls equally, but that was my viewpoint. In truth, Lucy never rushed home after school. She timed her departure to avoid her biggest enemy the loathsome stepdad. When her calculations went wrong and Tom was still in the house, Lucy would sail past the shore and whisper to me, Stay in my room, Molly. Then she would lock herself in the bathroom, waiting for Tom to bolt the front door. The moment he did, she emerged from her selfimposed exile, sighing with relief, Finally! Molly, youre lucky to have a proper dad. Me? Im stuck here. Its a sad state of affairs, she said, a heavy sigh escaping her. Come on, lets have lunch in the kitchen.
Lucys mother, Helen, was a crackeyed housewife. In their home food was practically a religion. Breakfast, tea, a snack, dinner all served on the clock, counted in calories and vitamins. Whenever I visited Lucys flat, there was always a steaming hot meal on the table, pots and pans draped with tea towels, as if waiting for the next greedy mouths.
I also remembered that Lucy despised Emma, who was ten years her junior. She teased her, knocked her about, and argued constantly. Years later the two would become inseparable, though at the time the rivalry seemed endless.
Lucy eventually married, had a daughter, and, apart from Tom, the whole family settled permanently in Australia. Twelve years later Lucy gave birth to another girl. Emma remained single, but she helped raise Lucys children with gusto. Across the continent their clan grew tighter. Lucy kept up a lively correspondence with her biological father right up until his death; he had remarried and had another family, and Lucy was his only child from that first marriage.
Even though I grew up with both my own mother and father, all my schoolfriends were fatherless. As a child I hadnt grasped why they harboured such resentment toward stepparents. It turned out their lives were far from rosy.
Iras mother and stepdad were wellknown drinkers. Ira was ashamed of them and never invited anyone over, knowing her stepdad would snap and her mother would back him up with a heavyhanded slap. When she turned fifteen, though, she could stand up to anyone, and the abusive pair finally left her alone. Molly, Im throwing a birthday party, Ira announced cheerfully. I was taken aback. At your house? Im a bit nervous, Ira. Will your stepdad kick us out? Let him try! His grip on me is finished. Mum gave me my real dads address hes my shield now. He lives just down the road. Come over, Molly. Mums already bustling about, she said, confidence shining like never before.
The day of Iras sixteenth birthday arrived. I brought a small present and rang the doorbell. Ira, dressed up, opened the door. Hey, love! Come in, have a seat. Her mother and stepdad were standing by the table. I greeted them quietly; they nodded in unison.
On the wornout tablecloth sat a large bowl of pilau rice, a slab of sliced bread, and a jug of lemonade in crystal glasses, each topped with a crisp pastry. That was the entire spread, but Ira seemed proud of her feast. I thought of my own birthday, when my mum would spend the whole day at the stove, whipping up salads, roast, fish, pies, cake, juice, and compote. Every home has its own kitchen orchestra.
I ate the pilau with a piece of bread and washed it down with lemonade, leaving the pastry untouched for fear it would crumble and stain the tablecloth. Iras mum and stepdad remained motionless, watching us. In the corner of the room stood a bed on which Iras grandmother lay. Zoe, dont have another drink, or youll forget about me and not feed us, she whispered. Ira blushed. Grandma, dont worry, Mum doesnt drink. Its just lemonade, no alcohol. The old woman turned her face to the wall and muttered a grateful thanks for the food. I got up, and Ira and I hurried away we had too many youthful adventures ahead to linger with the elderly.
Within a year Ira would lose her mother, stepdad, and grandmother. At twentyfive she would be alone, never marrying, never having children. Suitors would come and go, even my exhusband would appear among them, but nothing would stick her temperament just wasnt suited to lasting relationships.
I also kept a friendship with Tanya. We were both fourteen. Tanya lived with her older sister, Anne, who had turned eighteen and seemed a stern, adultlike figure. Their mother visited weekly, bringing groceries and cooking, while she split her time between her first husband Annes father and a second husband, the father of Tanya. After a couple of years she returned to her first husband, leaving Tanya to fend for herself. I envied Tanyas freedom; her mother seemed forever trying to balance guilt between two families, while Annes herd of suitors kept her busy. Tanya was essentially on her own.
Tanya later married and had a daughter. Her husband was eventually sent off to prison for a long stretch, and Tanya turned to drink. At fortytwo, her sister Anne discovered Tanya dead in her flat.
Nikki would be the new girl in our Year10 class. I hit it off with her immediately she was pretty, lithe, and sang like a nightingale. The boys swooned, but she already had a boyfriend, Kostas, who would pick her up in his car after school and whisk her away to whoknowswhere. Nikkis father died before she turned ten. She wasnt great at school, but she had a wonderful voice. She and Kostas formed a duo, performing at school discos.
When Kostas was called up for National Service, Nikki walked him to the station, tears in her eyes, but she didnt wait for his return. She eventually gave birth to a son, the fathers identity a mystery, and lived with her mother. Kostas came back from the army, begged forgiveness, and asked her to join him, but she rebuffed him: Youll spend your whole life blaming me for our son. Id rather be alone.
When her son grew up, Nikki planned to marry a farmer and move to the countryside.
All these friends existed in my world at the same time, yet they never got along with each other. In fact, they could barely stand each others presence.
Now I keep in occasional touch with Lucy, that faraway yet close childhood mate. She writes that she will protect her family at any cost: I dont want my daughters to endure what I suffered, living under a stepdads roof. If there are conflicts, they should be with their real father, not some stranger. Blood ties will always matter. My stepdad is the wound that will never fully heal.
Every now and then Lucy and I reminisce about school mischief and share a laugh. The traces of Ira and Nikki have faded into oblivion.
