“My darling! My sweetie!”
Her father’s unmistakable voice piped up, weak but still full of humor. Dumbfounded, she opened her eyes.
“Honey, why are you in such a state? It’s only a blasted tumble! Can you imagine, falling from your own bed? Bloody hell! Arthur’s got a face like a month of wet Sundays! And his daughters, just as bad, a couple of twits!”
Clarissa couldn’t help laughing through her tears. She couldn’t get over it. He was incredible! Sitting next to the bed, she clenched her father’s long, wrinkled hand. She admitted her apprehension, and how his devastated features had shocked her.
Her father chortled.
“Well, my hour has not yet come. I’m all bashed up, but I’m still here! And I’m so happy to see you. Come closer so I can look at your pretty face. Oh! You’re looking under the weather! What’s with those little eyes? You’ve lost weight, my dearest. You’ve got me fretted now.”
A topsy-turvy world! Her injured father, worrying about her.
“I’m okay, Dad. Don’t worry. How long are you here for?”
“Speak a little louder, my love; the chip in my ear is kicking up.”
Clarissa repeated her question.
“No idea! In this damned hospital, robots look after patients. Robots never make mistakes with their diagnosis, do they? They’re the kings of the world, right? What’s left for us poor humans?”
“Emotions?” quipped Clarissa.
“Spot-on. But what about you, my sweet? How’s your book coming along? Are you happy with it?”
“No. I’m not happy, Dad. I can’t work properly in my apartment.”
“Now, that’s the last straw!” said her father. “You and houses! Ever since you were small, they’ve had a hold on you. So what’s wrong with the flat?”
Clarissa prepared herself to reveal the entire C.A.S.A. inside story to him, to go into detail, to see how he would react. She was looking forward to sharing with her father what she was going through.
The door slid open and she saw Jordan standing on the threshold. Her daughter moaned when she discovered her grandfather’s discolored face. Then Arthur rushed in as well, with his daughters. Her father was surrounded by his loving family. In spite of his contusions, he glowed with happiness. He was thrilled to have them all there; it was Christmas in June! Only Andy was missing. A nurse barged in to tell them they were making too much noise. And a maximum of two people could remain at the bedside.
Clarissa ended up with her daughter and her father. They all decided to favor those who had come from afar. And those who’d endured those endless lines to get into this bloody country, grumbled Jordan, while her father roared with laughter. Clarissa noticed (how could she not notice?) that Jordan had installed an infinitesimal distance between them. Jordan glanced at her, smiled, but the detachment was well and truly there, growing by the minute, and she felt upset. She’d very rarely perceived a cold shoulder coming from her daughter. She could not understand what was going on. In her mind, she went back to all the conversations she’d recently had with her. She couldn’t pick out anything in particular. What about Andy? Her instinct told her that must be it. Perhaps Jordan was cross with Clarissa because of Andy. She could hardly believe it. Was Jordan irritated because of the closeness she and Andy shared? Clarissa was aware Andy was most probably difficult with her mother, like any teenager. She knew she shared an exceptional relationship with her granddaughter.
The nurse interrupted them to say it was time to tend to the patient. They were asked to leave the room. Clarissa said good-bye to her father lovingly. Arthur and his daughters were waiting outside. Arthur had received the medical dossier. Their father was going to be spending the week at the hospital, but the report was reassuring. The old chap wasn’t doing too badly, said Arthur, impressed. He asked Clarissa and Jordan if they both wanted to stay at his place for the night. Jane would be very happy to see them. Jordan thanked him; she had a coworker to catch up with, near Islington. She’d no doubt stop over at her place. Clarissa said she didn’t know yet what she was doing. Arthur asked her to let him know what her plans were; he’d be delighted to put her up. It seemed her brother was trying to make amends. Wasn’t he overdoing it?
“What about a cup of tea?”
Yes, that was Jordan talking to her, Clarissa. A tremor of delight ran through her. She smiled and nodded. They strolled down Broadway Market, their nostrils full of the spicy aromas of street food from all over the world, looking for a place to sit down. Since Clarissa’s youth, Hackney had changed. Hidden behind stylish boutiques, trendy eateries, and fashionably dressed pedestrians, its working-class legacy was hard to see. When she was a teenager, saying you lived in Hackney was like admitting a genetic defect. She used to meet her friends in Camden or Portobello, even if she had to spend hours on the Tube.
“Look, there!” said Jordan.
A deliciously outmoded tearoom beckoned them. There were a few customers sitting on chairs covered with pastel cushions. On Fridays and Saturdays, the area was packed with Londoners and sightseers, and it was hard to amble along, Clarissa knew. They ordered tea and scones. Clarissa observed her daughter’s beautiful, sensitive face. In her eyes, that tiny cold draft, still. She decided to wait. If Jordan had something to say, she’d do it. It shouldn’t be up to her to bring up the subject. But Jordan remained silent, absentmindedly nibbling at her scone, as if she was expecting her mother to speak up first.
As time ticked by, Clarissa felt the silence becoming heavy. So she broke it, hoping her voice sounded natural.
“How’s Andy?”
Jordan looked at
