“I can be if it’s important. But what’s it all about?” Grace could hear panic in her voice, even with a lorry rumbling past. “I thought you were settled with Maureen and Frank.”
Grace didn’t answer. She banged back the receiver, hoping it would sound as if the money had run out.
She had been to the social services office before but only after some crisis, to hang around while Miss. Thorne tried to find another foster family to take her in. She had to look up the address in the phone book. It was a tall house in a tree-lined terraced street, close to the park. All the houses had been turned into offices. Grace passed solicitors, insurance agents and two firms of dentists on her way.
On previous occasions she sat by Miss. Thorne’s desk in the large open plan office on the top floor, but today she was taken into one of the interview rooms. It had a low coffee table and three easy chairs covered in orange vinyl. A no smoking sign was prominently displayed on the wall but Grace could see cigarette burns on the nylon carpet.
Miss. Thorne was nervous. Despite being a social worker, Grace had come to the conclusion that she didn’t like the unexpected. And if Grace had fallen out with Frank and Maureen she’d probably come to the end of the line where foster parents were concerned.
“Well, Grace?” she said. “Why the mystery?”
“It’s about my father.”
“Yes?”
“I do have a right to know him, don’t I?” She had learnt a lot by listening to other foster children.
Miss. Thorne hesitated. “Where appropriate,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“It’s in the guidelines. Foster children should keep in touch with their natural parents, where appropriate.”
“Why isn’t it appropriate for me?”
Miss. Thorne seemed thrown by the question. Perhaps she thought Grace hadn’t heard the word before, wouldn’t understand it.
“Miss. Thorne?”
“Look.” Her voice was persuasive and Grace was immediately suspicious.
She looked at the woman, sitting beside her on the orange vinyl chair.
Her legs were folded at the knee like a man’s. She was wearing the same sort of clothes knee-length skirts and shapeless cardigans as when Grace first met her. She reached out and patted Grace’s hand. Grace made an effort not to flinch.
“Look, we’ve known each other a long time and I’m not your teacher.
Isn’t it about time you called me Antonia?” Grace continued staring. She knew she was being fobbed off with this chumminess, but she was intrigued by the exotic name. “Antonia? Is that really what you’re called?”
The woman nodded encouragingly, but Grace was determined not to be distracted again. She raised her voice and said firmly, “Tell me about my father.”
Quite suddenly the social worker gave up her resistance. She caved in.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything. From the beginning. Why wasn’t he at home when my mother died?”
“Because he’d already left your mother to live with another woman.”
It seemed to Grace that she took a spiteful pleasure in the words, that she was really saying. So, you really want to know, do you? Let’s see if you can handle it.
“Is that why she killed herself?”
Miss. Thorne nodded. “She left a note saying she couldn’t live without him.”
Grace thought of the man who’d sat opposite her in the shadowy restaurant drinking coffee. She felt proud that her father could be the cause of such romantic passion. It didn’t surprise her that she hadn’t been enough to keep her mother alive.
“You mustn’t blame him,” Miss. Thorne said, in such a way that Grace knew that secretly she hoped Grace would. But blame was the last thing on Grace’s mind. She was after facts, information.
“Is he still living with the woman?”
“No. They separated soon after your mother’s death.”
“Why have you never let me see him?”
“It was never a matter of that. Of not letting!”
“What then? Not appropriate, you said. What did that mean?”
“For a long time we didn’t know where he was. Your mother’s death upset him. He travelled.”
“Where?”
“He worked as a diver for oil companies. I understand he was in Central America and the Middle East. We learnt that much from his family. They didn’t know any more.”
“Family?”
This was a potent word and Grace was jerked back to the present. She’d been imagining her father swimming through a clear blue ocean. Foster children were always talking about families. Even Maureen’s bad boys had brothers in the nick or aunties who came occasionally to take them to Mcdonald’s. Grace had always been left out.
“Your father’s brother and his mother, your grandmother. They live in a village in the country.”
“Langholme?” She had remembered all the facts passed on to her during that meeting in the restaurant. “I guessed from something Nan said.”
Grace picked some of Charlie’s hairs from her pleated school skirt.
“Why didn’t you tell me my family lived in Holme Park? You could have told me that.”
“We didn’t want to raise expectations which couldn’t be met.” Grace wasn’t sure what that meant but ignored it. She had a more important question.
“Why didn’t I ever see them, my gran and uncle? You took me to meet Nan.”
“They didn’t want to see you. Nan did.” As soon as the words were spoken Miss. Thorne seemed to regret them. Perhaps even for her, even provoked by this stubborn and demanding child, they were too hurtful.
But Grace considered the idea seriously.
“They didn’t know me,” she said at last.
“They felt you were your father’s responsibility,” Miss. Thorne said more gently. “They never found it easy to get on with your father.” Grace understood. “Oh,” she said. “They didn’t want to be lumbered.”
They looked at each other and shared a rare smile of understanding.
“Is my father still abroad?” She turned away as she asked the question, casually. Of course she knew he wasn’t abroad, but it would be a betrayal to let on to Miss. Thorne. Besides, it was a sort of test, to see whether or not she was lying.
“No. He came back a while ago.”
“Where does he live? With his family?”
“Different sorts of places. With friends. In hostels. He moves around a lot. He’s found it hard to settle.”
“Why?”
“Perhaps because he’s an unsettled sort of person.”
“Like me.”
“In a way.”
Grace rubbed her finger and thumb together, releasing dog hairs which floated to the floor.
“I want to see him.”
“That might be possible. But he has problems.”
“Problem’ was a euphemism much used by Maureen and Frank. Gary was a glue sniffer. Matthew took smack. Both had problems.
“Does he take drugs?”
“Not in the sense you mean.”
“What sense?”
“He’s probably an alcoholic. Do you understand that?”
“Of course.” Gary’s mam was an alcoholic and Grace added, “It doesn’t stop Gary seeing his mam.” “I’ve said it might be possible.”
“When?”
“When I’ve talked to him again. And to Maureen and Frank.”
“Again?” “I have been trying to arrange it,” Miss. Thorne said defensively. “Your father isn’t always an easy person to deal with. He has his own way of doing things. I didn’t want to build up your hopes only to have him disappear again!
“I understand,” Grace said. “Thanks.” And she did feel grateful.
She’d never expected Miss. Thorne to make any effort on her part.
“And you mustn’t expect too much,” Miss. Thorne went on. “He wouldn’t, for example, be able to have you to live with him.”
“That’s all right.”
She was perfectly happy with Maureen and Frank.
And Charlie would miss her. She didn’t want a change in her circumstances, just to know her father, to see him occasionally. To find out more about her family.