Free The Daughter by Jane Shemilt Page B

hollow as I walked through the echoing rooms. Despite their ordered perfection, we hardly used them. Ted always worked in his study, the children lived in their bedrooms or the kitchen. I went down the wooden stairs to the basement kitchen and the warmth rose to meet me. I held the sneakers closely against me, too closely because later I saw they had left an uneven muddy smear across my shirt.
    Ed was sitting in front of the computer in the living space that opened off the kitchen. As I walked over to see him a screen folded down into the corner and another came up, full of numbers. I was so pleased to see him I felt slightly dizzy. I sat down near him on the arm of the sofa. I wanted to kiss his cheek, which always smelled of warm toast, and rest my hand on his springy dark hair. He winced away as I approached. I had to learn new rules all the time.
    â€œHi, darling.” I spoke to his back. “You’re home early.”
    â€œMath coursework.” He didn’t look at me.
    â€œEd, I’m only saying . . .”
    â€œLessons canceled. There’s a talk about that rapist.”
    â€œYes?”
    He kept his eyes on the screen.
    â€œI gave it a miss. It’s for the girls. How to not walk home on your own, how not to talk to strangers. Tedious.”
    â€œWhat did they say about the rapist? Why today?” Something else to worry about. “He’s on the other side of Bristol, isn’t he?”
    â€œChrist, questions.” His fist was clenched on the table. “Some teacher thought they saw a random guy lurking about the girls’ boardinghouse.” He looked at me quickly, eyes screwed up, hiding something. “I need to get this done. I’m way past the deadline.”
    â€œHot chocolate?”
    â€œYeah, okay.”
    I made it quickly; as I put it in front of him, I let my hand rest on his shoulder for a second. Close up, I was surprised that he smelled stale. I hesitated, and he glanced up, frowning.
    â€œThought you were normally at work,” he muttered.
    â€œWell, I am. Normally.”
    â€œCutting?” The dark eyebrows lifted, his attention was snagged.
    I was startled. “’Course not. Are you?”
    â€œTold you, it’s just a talk for the girls. Once I’ve done this, I’m back on track.”
    â€œOkay. Good.”
    I wanted to tell him then that you can spin off track so easily, one mistake and you’ve lost your way.
    I let myself sit close to him for a few minutes, absorbing his aura, his tall frame slouched in the chair, large feet with crumpled socks, and the smooth back of his neck. He turned to look at me again. Checking, not used to my stillness.
    I started to explain. “Work things are a bit . . . I’m a bit stuck on something.”
    â€œYeah?” Shoulders hunched, eyes wary.
    â€œIt’s all right, though. I’m sorting it.”
    The broad shoulders relaxed. “Only, I need to finish . . .”
    â€œFine.” I picked up the sneakers again. “These are yours, darling, they’ll need a wash. And, Ed . . . don’t forget to chuck your clothes in the wash sometimes as well . . .”
    He took the shoes, gave a little grunt. His face moved close to the screen again. I patted his shoulder briefly and moved away.
    In the kitchen I made a cup of tea and looked at the garden through the curling steam. The trunks were fused in the darkening light. I phoned Ted and this time got through. He listened.
    â€œGod. That’s hard for you,” he said when I paused. “Sorry, Jen.”
    â€œDon’t be sorry for me, be sorry for Jade.”
    â€œI’ve done the same—­worse. Remember what happened with that young girl’s spine? Paralyzed. Terrible.”
    â€œYes, of course. That was terrible,” I agreed. That mistake had almost led to a court case; Ted’s guilt had deepened into depression. For a second I felt ashamed, I