Chasing Daisy

breathless from walking so fast.
    ‘About ten months before, yes.’
    ‘Wow. So you didn’t leave him for long, then?’
    She shakes her head. Her expression is pained.
    ‘What is it?’
    In the light of the streetlamps I see her eyes have filled with tears. I stop suddenly, struck down with realisation. She stops, too, and turns around to face me.
    ‘He’s not my father, is he?’
    She doesn’t speak, she doesn’t nod or shake her head. Her eyes steadily meet mine as time seems to stand still.
    ‘I don’t know,’ is her reply.
    ‘You don’t know?’ My voice is wavering.
    ‘I don’t know,’ she confirms.
    ‘How can you not know?’ I’m starting to feel hysterical. ‘Who was he? Who did you screw?’ My last words sound bitter.
    ‘He was my childhood sweetheart.’
    ‘Argh!’ I shout, all too familiar with that term.
    She regards me warily, but my anger is not as strong as my need to know the truth. I breathe heavily as I wait for her to continue.
    ‘He was my boyfriend. We broke up before I went to England.
    He was angry I was leaving him and said he wouldn’t wait for me. We left a lot of things unfinished.’
    ‘So you went back home and slept with him, while you were still married to my father?’
    She doesn’t reply. ‘Go on,’ I prompt. ‘What happened next? Did you go running back to England?’
    She shakes his head. ‘He came looking for me.’
    ‘Who? My father?’
    ‘Yes. He wanted to make amends. He wanted me back.’
    ‘And what about poor old whatshisname?’
    She actually shrugs. ‘I was married. I felt it was my duty to go back to England with my husband.’
    ‘Fuck your duty!’ I shout. ‘Why didn’t you do what was in your heart?’ I’m so confused. I feel all over the place, sometimes with her, sometimes against her. I don’t know what to think.
    ‘My heart was torn, Daisy. And then when I realised I was pregnant again, I almost expected to miscarry. But I didn’t.’
    ‘No, you had me. And I bet ‘daddy’ was absolutely delighted with his little girl,’ I say sarcastically.
    ‘He was happy,’ she tells me.
    ‘But he still wanted a son.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And you never gave him one.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Does he know about the other guy?’ I ask unhappily.
    ‘His name was Andrea.’
    I suck in a sharp breath as I hear the name of the man who could be my father.
    ‘No,’ my mother replies. ‘I never told your father what happened.’
    ‘Does. . . Andrea know about me?’
    My mother shakes her head. ‘I don’t think so. But I can’t be sure.’
    ‘Maybe I could have a paternity test? Find out if he’s my real father? Perhaps I could get to know him?’
    ‘He’s dead.’
    Her words resonate through me.
    ‘He’s dead?’
    ‘Yes. I found out when I went back for your grandfather’s funeral.’
    I feel crushed. Suddenly I can’t walk anymore. ‘Do I look like him?’ I ask quietly.
    My mother studies my face and, finally, shakes her head. ‘No. You look like me,’ she says. We stare at each other as tears begin to streak down both our cheeks.
    ‘I don’t understand why you never left my father when he’s always been so hateful towards you.’
    ‘I thought I was doing the right thing. Doing the best thing for you.’
    I shake my head. ‘You weren’t doing the best thing for me.’
    ‘But we would have had nothing!’ Her face is anguished.
    ‘I have nothing, now,’ I say, angry all of a sudden. ‘I don’t want the money. It’s never been what I wanted. I just wanted to grow up in a happy household with a family who loved me.’
    ‘We do love you.’
    ‘Don’t make me laugh. You don’t have to lie to protect me. I’m sure you’ve done more than enough of that over the years and I haven’t appreciated it or respected you for it.’
    She says nothing.
    ‘Why don’t you leave him now?’ I ask eventually. ‘You could find love again, be happy. . .’
    She steadfastly shakes her head. ‘No. This is my life now. And I’m fine. I have everything I could ever want.’
    ‘What? The latest Gucci bag and Prada shoes?’ My tone is sarcastic.
    ‘It makes me happy, Daisy.’
    As I continue to stare at her, disappointment seeps up through my pores and suddenly I understand. She likes the money. She likes the wealth. She’s used to this life now.
    ‘I’m used to this life now.’ She uses the same words that have just passed through my mind. ‘I couldn’t go back. Not to Italy, not to the mountains. I like it here in New