RAFE
I’m at my desk in my home office—the night sky is ink blue beyond the windows—when a soft knock on the door disturbs me.
The gentle tap, tap, tap could only be Lizzie.
She emailed me earlier asking for a meeting when we were both in the office, where she’s been interning since she finished school in the summer, but I didn’t have a free slot.
We haven’t caught up all day, other than when we spoke briefly on the phone at lunch, so I’ve been expecting her.
“Come in,” I say, and a moment later, my daughter is standing in my office, closing the door softly behind her.
“Hey, Dad,” she says, crossing the room and flopping into the chair opposite me.
“I hope that’s not how you return to your desk on the office floor,” I say, although I’m sure it’s not. Feedback on her performance during her internship has been excellent; she’s punctual, reliable, and efficient.
She blows a strand of hair out of her face. “Nope. I’m a true professional out there. You’d be proud.” She sits up straight and clasps her hands in her lap. “See?”
“Very good,” I say with a chuckle, in awe of the young woman opposite me. It blows my mind that I raised her; that I might have had some influence on the incredible young woman she’s turned out to be.
She’s taken to working life like a duck to water. I hope the experience has taught her the value of earning her own money, saving it and deploying it as she wishes for her trip abroad: a well-deserved six-month tour of South America before she takes up her place at Cambridge in early October.
Sure, I could have given her everything she needed.
I could have scheduled the jet and let her tour the world in luxury.
But what would that have achieved? What would she have learnt from having everything handed to her?
This way, she learns her own power. Lizzie was eager to do it the way her friends were doing it: economy flights, hiking boots, and an enormous backpack filled with everything she might need.
Her expression taking on a serious edge. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Go ahead.”
“You know my friend, Diana?”
I mentally scroll through her friends. There are so many, I can’t keep up. Diana isn’t a name I remember, but I don’t want it to seem like I don’t pay attention to her, so I nod, but Lizzie rolls her eyes, seeing through me immediately.
“The one I met at hot yoga last year? The book influencer? Had a ton of followers?”
I scrunch my eyes closed, admitting defeat. “Sorry. No.”
She waves a hand and moves on. “I invited her to come and stay.”
“At the Emblem?”
“Yes. With us. With me.”
I say nothing, absorbing the information.
Over the years, Lizzie has often had friends to stay for the weekend or parts of the school holidays.
But for some reason, this request feels different.
There’s a texture to it, a weight that I can’t quite fathom.
Given she’s leaving for her trip abroad in a couple of months, I’m not sure what to make of it.
“You can say no.” She presses her hands into prayer, wordlessly telling me that if I do, I’m going to break her heart. “But she’s had a really rough time recently. Her engagement fell apart, and her dad went crazy and threw her out. Practically disowned her.”
I frown and rub a hand over my jaw. “Why did he do that?”
Lizzie flaps her hands as if me asking for clarification is a terrible inconvenience and spits out some story about arranged marriages, Hawkston Hotels, Erica Lefroy, and God knows what else. It rings a bell, but not one that holds any particular significance for me.
“She never even wanted to marry Seb Hawkston,” Lizzie says. “Her father forced her into it for his own gain, and then completely lost it when she refused to do it.” She pauses as if her thoughts have taken an unexpected turn. “He’s very handsome though. Have you seen him?”
“Her father?”
“No!” She sticks her chin out. “Seb Hawkston. Anyway, Diana’s in a tight spot, and I want to help her.
She’s got no money, and she’s stuck in this pokey little attic flat with no heating.
You should have seen it, Dad. It stank of damp and frying onions.
” Lizzie wrinkles her nose as if she can still smell the place, looking almost like she’s going to cry.
Whoever this Diana girl is, Lizzie really cares about her. “Please, can she come and stay?”
“For how long?”
“Until Christmas?” she says, her voice pitching into a question.
“Christmas? After you’ve left? God, no.” Lizzie pouts, but I continue. “I’m not living with one of your friends while you’re not here. Absolutely not. She can stay until you leave for Argentina. She leaves when you leave.”
Lizzie picks at the hem of her skirt, keeping her focus on it as she talks.
“I don’t want her to be alone. I don’t want you to be alone, either.
” Her last sentence makes me grit my teeth.
This is the first year that Lizzie won’t be spending Christmas with me, and while I’m okay with it, mostly because I know exactly where she’ll be at every stage of her trip and she’s promised to keep in regular contact, the idea that she might be worrying about me doesn’t sit comfortably.
She shouldn’t have to do that, not for a second. “I won’t be back until summer.”
“Still no. Sorry.”
“But, Dad… Diana’s great. She wouldn’t bother you at all. She’s smart and quick and really, really nice. Let me bring her so you can meet her. Give her a trial. A couple of weeks, then I’ll kick her out if you hate her. Which you won’t, because she’s great.”
I roll my eyes, knowing I’m a massive pushover when it comes to my daughter. “She can stay until you leave. But only because I love you.”
She leaps up, jogs round to my side of the desk, and throws her arms around my neck.
“You’re the best.” She slaps a kiss on my cheek.
“Thank you.” She pauses, grabs a pen off my desk, tears a scrap of paper off a notepad, and scribbles a phone number on it.
“Keep this. It’s Diana’s new number. You might need it after she moves in. ”
I highly doubt I’ll ever need it, but I can hardly throw it away with Lizzie standing over me. To placate her, I open my desk drawer and shove the number in amongst my papers.