In one sense, it wasn’t easy bringing you two up myself, but in fact you both made it so easy. Of course you were both total pains at times, from toddlers to teenagers, but I wouldn’t swap a single second of it. Please know that you made my life worth living from beginning to end.
But it was my decision to raise you on my own. I always told you that your father left us when you were little, but that’s not exactly true.
Surtsey broke off reading to wipe tears from her eyes and take a breath. She heard some girls laughing outside on the prom and thought about what Louise wrote. She had never hidden from her and Iona who their dad was, a professor of climate science at the University of Canterbury in Christchurch called Andrew Ford. He left before Iona was born, Louise claiming it just wasn’t working out. These days he had his own family on the other side of the world, and Surtsey and her sister got birthday cards and nothing else. Surtsey realised she would have to tell him about Louise too. She sniffed and turned back to the letter.
Andrew and I did split up, that much is true. But it was because of me. I had an affair with a colleague. Andrew found out. It was pretty simple, really, I was pregnant, and Andrew and I hadn’t been intimate for a while. Even then, he was willing to try to make things work, but I was so guilty and ashamed, I couldn’t. I had the affair because I wasn’t in love with Andrew any more, and I couldn’t live a life pretending that I was. That’s the worst thing you can do, girls, live a lie.
The colleague was Tom Lawrie. He’s Iona’s father, not Andrew.
Surtsey’s hands were shaking as she gripped the edge of the paper. She tried to swallow but couldn’t seem to do it. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe, her exhale was shaky and erratic. She touched her face with her hand, her whole body trembling. Christ almighty. She opened her eyes and forced herself to read the rest of the letter.
I’m sorry I never told you, that was stupid and selfish of me. But Tom was with someone, is happily married to her now, and they have a family. I didn’t want to destroy that. Maybe now, now that so much dust has settled, Iona, you can have some kind of relationship with your dad, I don’t know. I hope so.
Surtsey checked the letter for a date. Nothing. Written before everything that had happened. Fuck.
I’m so sorry to tell you this, and I’m so ashamed that I kept this a secret. It has eaten away at me all these years, my one regret in life. But once the initial decision was made, it became harder and harder to tell you the truth. Secrets can kill you, girls, try to live your life without them, and you will be much happier.
I love you both so much more than I can put into words. I’m so sorry that I’m not with you any more, but please live with me in your hearts.
Love, love, love Louise xx
Surtsey stared at the last words through blurry eyes, her whole body shaking as if there was another quake. She thought about Louise, and Tom, and Iona, and ran to the kitchen sink and was sick into the basin, retching until there was nothing left, the burn in her throat, her eyes watering. She rinsed her mouth and spat, then stared at the ceiling.
She went back to the living room, picked up the letter, and dragged her weary legs upstairs. She stood looking outside Iona’s door, then let her head rest on it for a moment.
She knocked, and her heart sank when Iona replied.
‘Come in.’
She felt like she was in a nightmare, unable to control her own body, forced to move forwards into situations she couldn’t handle.
Iona was on the bed on her phone, the reek of tequila everywhere. She didn’t look up. Surtsey held up the letter.
‘You need to read this.’
Iona glanced up and pressed her mouth into a line.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s from Mum.’
Iona lowered her phone and something registered from seeing the look on Surtsey’s face. She took the letter and squinted at it, started reading, the tip of her tongue poking out the side of her mouth in concentration.
Surtsey stood still, watching. Iona just read. It seemed to take forever. She looked up once, shared a look with Surtsey, returned to the letter. She shook her head, mumbling ‘no, no, no’ under her breath like a mantra. She put a hand out on the bed, her fingers gripping the covers, her head still shaking, her eyes beginning to water up. Eventually she looked up.
‘Holy fuck.’
Surtsey gulped. ‘Yeah.’
‘Holy fucking fuck.’ She returned to the letter, read to the end, breathed deeply.
Silence for a long time.
Iona looked out the window, her chest rising and falling, staring at nothing. Some sparrows on a telephone line, a seagull scratching across a neighbour’s roof.
‘So,’ she said eventually. ‘My mum and dad have both died this week. Good times.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Surtsey said.
‘And you were…’ Iona raised her eyebrows at how ridiculous it all was.
‘I know.’
Iona laughed. ‘Old enough to be your father, right?’
‘Don’t.’
Iona picked up the tequila bottle from the floor and lifted it to her lips but it was empty. She dropped it and burst out crying, just sat there hunched over on her bed, her shoulders shaking, sobbing, her hands to her face.
Surtsey sat on the bed and put her arms around her, just shushed and rocked her, like when they were little and she’d grazed her knee on the prom or been stung by a jellyfish on the sand.
They sat like that for a long time in each other’s arms, not speaking. There was nothing to say.
32
The doorbell.
Surtsey came to with a start. She was lying
