and he made it clear the first time he took me out for dinner that he liked me, too. I used to wonder what he saw in me, though. He was a banker, very driven in his career and I was certain he could have had his pick of women. I suppose I was flattered that he chose me.
He wasn’t perfect. He could be moody and selfish, and on those days, I’d decide that enough was enough. But then we’d have a day where we laughed from the moment we got up to the time we fell into bed, and on those days, I’d forgive him anything. It was a roller coaster with Harvey, but it was certainly never boring. And he had one shining asset in his favour that made me stick around, even when the going got tough: his wonderful daughter, Tavie, who was eleven when he first introduced me to her.
By the time I moved in with them, she’d turned twelve and I worried that she might resent me…that she might feel I was trying to take her mum’s place…or that she had to share her dad with me, after five years of it being just the two of them.
But she seemed pleased. And over the years, the bond between us deepened.
I felt angry at the careless way Vivian treated her daughter…often cancelling their one day together at the last minute, for some reason or other (usually to do with Danny or little Megan). But I never criticised Vivian in front of Tavie. I just mopped up the tears and baked her favourite chocolate cookies, and told her that her mum was very busy but that didn’t mean she didn’t love Tavie very much…
But then her dad died and everything seemed to change overnight.
Bereavement does terrible things to people. When I lost Harvey, I was at first completely numb with shock. Then disbelief set in. I kept expecting him to walk through the door in the evening, calling out that he was home. Next came the angry stage. And then the eventual acceptance and the living like a nun, knowing life was never going to be the same again.
The worst thing was having to tell Tavie that her dad had died. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, and at first, she wouldn’t accept it. She shut herself away in her room, refusing to eat, and throwing me off whenever I tried to put an arm around her to comfort her. My heart ached for her but I was powerless to help.
When, after a few days, she finally came out of her room, she was loud and accusing. It was my fault, she told me. I was there when he was carried into the ambulance, so why hadn’t I been able to save him? I mustn’t have tried hard enough.
Her reaction, when I said she couldn’t go to the funeral, was heart-breaking.
‘He was my dad!’ she screeched. ‘You weren’t even related to him but you’re allowed to go? How is that fair?’ Her eyes flashed with despair and it took every ounce of strength and resolve to stand my ground. ‘You want him all to yourself! That’s it, isn’t it? Well, I hate you for that, and I will never, ever forgive you.’
She tore out of the room and slammed the door with such ferocity, a picture fell off the wall.
I sat there, staring at the smashed glass. It was a photo of the three of us at the local fair, in happier times: Harvey and me laughing into the camera, twelve-year-old Tavie standing in front, smiling and leaning back against me, evidence of her chocolate ice-cream cone all round her mouth.
A feeling of fear and dread settled in my abdomen. Tavie’s words chilled me. They kept reverberating in my head. I had a very good reason for not wanting Tavie to go anywhere near that funeral. But she couldn’t know why, which meant I had to face her bitterness and anger head-on, with no way of explaining my actions. I knew with certainty that she never would forgive me, and I couldn’t blame her.
Her anguish seems as raw now as it was a year ago when Harvey died.
I’m haunted by the idea that she resents that I’m still around, while her darling dad has gone forever…
*****
At last, at a quarter past eleven, a text pings through. I grab my phone and sure enough, it’s from Tavie.
Sorry I’m a bit late. Allie had a