I dart through the throng along my side of the street, weaving through bodies as fast as I can to find a pedestrian crossing where mum and this man--my father--won't see me out in the open.
When I get across and back around to their seats outside the cafe, I sidle as close as I can to their table near the little iron fence, my mother's back to me, and take out my mobile to fiddle with it just to give myself some reason not to move. Their voices are barely audible above the street noises around me, and for once I wish I were some sort of spy with hidden microphones, some sort of superhuman with heightened hearing when I zone it in. But I narrow my eyes, pretending to really concentrate on something I'm reading on my phone, and use what resources I've got.
The only thought in my head is, Don't notice me, don't notice me.
I sing it like a mantra, like a protective spell.
"Really, Caroline. I'm telling you. Things have changed."
"I find that incredibly hard to believe. It's been that way since it was first built, and I don't see two years' worth of law-changing stopping what they already believe. You couldn't pay me to go back."
What the hell are they talking about? I think back to the conversation I overheard last week, when he mentioned a king. I'd forgotten it in the rush of anger and confusion. But now it distracted me from the things I really wanted to know.
I mean, we've not had a king since Georgie back in the Second World War. Did she leave him because he's crazy?
Selwyn is furrow-browed and sincere-looking, and in the angled early-evening light his pale skin appears orange-cast, though his hair is still that gentle wave of black so dark it glints iridescent, like raven feathers, at the edges. His mouth is narrow and thin-lipped, his nose and cheekbones cut at sharp angles. "Well I can't stay up here, you know that."
My mother's posture stiffens, her hair slicked back and severe. "Who says you're staying?"
"I just--I've missed you. Eighteen years, Caroline. There's been no one else in eighteen years." He clasps his hands together before him, elbows like anchor points on the white tablecloth. He looks away.
"I. Don't. Care." She does not admit to marrying Neil's dad David, nor the way she smiled with her eyes in the few hidden photographs of them she still keeps at the top of her wardrobe.
"At least can I see--her?" I can guess he's talking about me from the way he stumbles over the pronoun, and my chest tightens.
Do I even want to meet him? What did he do to drive my mother away?
"I've answered that question."
"I wanted our child as much as you did, Caroline. I'm her father. I have been since the moment you told me you were pregnant."
I squeeze my phone so hard I am sure it will crack. It's hard to believe he's some sort of psycho-abuser to make Mum leave when his voice sounds like that, all low and strained. Doesn't mean it's still not true, though.
"Yes but you and I both know that if she ever gets treated the way I did by your people, I will do whatever necessary to make up for that. D'you understand me?" Mum's tone shifts from icy to glacial. I shiver.
It's a weird way to refer to his family, but it explains why she might have left, even if he was a decent partner.
"But--"
"I think we're done here, Selwyn. I'm sorry, really I am. But leave us both alone. Swear to me."
"Caroline--"
YOU ARE READING
The Nightmares of Under-London
FantasyEighteen-year-old Eden discovers her mother has lied to her for as long as she's been alive: her father is not dead. He's alive, and somewhere in London. The main problem? Not only is her father not dead, he's also not human.
