The Girl Below(56)

“Rowan represented New Zealand at dressage,” he said, stroking a shiny flank rather timidly, then backing off when the animal bristled. “But she missed out on going to the Olympics. She was sabotaged. By one of her teammates.”

“ ‘Sabotaged’?” The word was so Agatha Christie. “How?”

“She came down with food poisoning the night before the trials. She was the only one who got sick.”

“It wasn’t just bad luck?”

“She was the best rider by a mile. The rest of the team was jealous. Poor thing. It was a real blow. She gave up riding for a while. Went to England. Married me. Now she just rides for fun.”

“Went to England. Married you,” I repeated. “Just like that.”

“In a roundabout way, yes.” My father cleared his throat. “How’s your mother? I noticed that you didn’t mention her last night.”

We had come to the end of a row of stables, and the cat, Flea, was reclining on a bale of hay in the sun. My hand shook on her fur, and sensing tension, she sprang up and ran away. For a moment my fingers hovered above where the cat had been and I felt my throat constrict. I hadn’t answered Ludo’s question yet, and didn’t know if I could. I walked to the window, and watched a handful of chickens pecking at something that had been thrown on the ground. Still with my back to him, I said, “She had cancer.”

He didn’t say anything, and after a while, I turned round and glanced briefly at his face. He was processing what I’d said, noting my odd choice of words. His look was confused but still cheerful. I looked out the window again. The chickens had gone from the yard, leaving behind a square of mud. Why wasn’t my father saying anything? I opened my mouth to say one more sentence, one string of words that I had to get out, but gearing up to speak, a gulp of air caught in my windpipe. “She died,” I said, swallowing the words, so I had to repeat them. “She died and the funeral was a week ago.”

I heard what sounded like a sharp intake of breath and the word, “Christ.” When I turned around, Ludo was gazing in the direction of one of the horses but was transfixed by another scene, one that was playing inside his mind. His throat muscles were going crazy, gulping down an invisible drink. His eyes had filled with water, and he blinked to cover it. But he didn’t look at me, or move my way.

I left the stables and walked quickly into the house. I would have kept walking all the way to Auckland if I had known in what direction to go, but instead I went into the kitchen and packed up my things and waited for a lift.

Ten minutes later, Ludo drove me into Hamilton, back in control behind the wheel of his executive sedan. “I’m sorry about losing it earlier,” he said. “It was a terrible shock. I was once very much in love with your mother. She was so attractive.”

I wasn’t prepared for the anger that hit me like whiplash. “Is that why you loved her?” I spat out. “Because she was attractive?”

Behind the steering wheel, my father stiffened. “That was one reason,” he said. “But of course there were others.”

“Such as?”

“She was a great cook.”

“What?”

“And a great mum to you.”

“Was she?” I said. “She didn’t even tell me she was dying.” I didn’t know what I was saying—a lunatic ventriloquist was moving my mouth up and down.

“Perhaps she didn’t want to frighten you.” He surprised me then by laughing—as though he had just remembered something funny from long ago. “And to think she was always so worried that something would happen to you.”

Why did he think nothing had? And just like that, my anger turned to self-pity and free-flowing tears. I scratched at the threads in my jeans then stared out the window, trying to stop them. We had left the country behind, and were driving past car yards and lurid fast-food joints that were big enough to drive a truck through. I missed London, the compact scale of its streets and corner shops, all of it so much less vulgar.

Ludo was still smiling to himself, and when he noticed I was watching him, he looked guilty.

“What is it?”

He reddened. “I was just wondering if your mother, you know . . . if there was anyone else after me.”

I was appalled. “Are you asking if Mum had a boyfriend before she died?”

“It’s none of my business, I know.”

“You’ve got that straight.”

We were back at the bus station, where the winos were enjoying a breakfast of meth and glue. Ludo circled the car park and found a spot as far away from them as possible. He stood with me at the bus stop. My backpack looked funny next to his business suit. “I’m sorry about all that stuff with Rowan,” he said. “She doesn’t like to be reminded of the past.”