The Girl in the Picture - Kerry Barrett

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enough, if you see what I mean.

      ‘So how’s Ben’s job going?’ Dad asked, as we settled down at our table.

      ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Really good.’

      ‘Dreadful commute,’ Dad said.

      ‘Awful,’ I agreed. ‘And that’s why we’ve made a decision.’

      Dad and Barb looked at me as I took a breath and explained what we were doing.

      ‘It’s a lovely house,’ I said. ‘And we’re just renting, though Ben says the landlord mentioned he’d be willing to sell if we like it.’

      Barb smiled at me.

      ‘It sounds wonderful,’ she said. ‘But won’t it mean you commuting instead?’

      There was a pause.

      ‘Well,’ I said. ‘Actually.’

      Dad took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose and I felt my confidence beginning to desert me.

      ‘Actually?’ he prompted.

      ‘Actually, I’ve handed in my notice,’ I said. I picked up my sparkling water and swigged it, wishing it was gin.

      Barb and Dad looked at each other.

      ‘That’s a big decision,’ Barb said carefully.

      ‘It is,’ I said. ‘But we’re confident it’s the right thing to do. Ben’s salary is good enough for us to live on, and I’ve got my writing.’

      Dad nodded as though he’d reached a decision. ‘You’d be best taking a sabbatical,’ he said. ‘What did they say when you asked about that? If they said no, you’ve probably got cause to get them to reconsider. I can speak to Pete at my old firm, if you like? He’s the expert on employment law …’

      ‘Dad,’ I said. ‘I didn’t ask about a sabbatical, because I don’t want to take a sabbatical. I’m leaving my job and I’m going to write full-time. It’s all planned.’

      Dad looked at me for a moment. ‘No, Ella,’ he said. ‘It’s too risky. What if Ben’s job doesn’t work out? Or the boys don’t settle? Have you checked out the school for Oscar? He’s a bright little lad and he needs proper stimulation. And don’t even think about selling your house in London. Once you leave London you can never go back, you know. Not with house prices the way they are.’

      ‘Dad,’ I said again. ‘It’s fine. We know what we’re doing.’

      ‘I’ll phone Pete, now,’ Dad said. ‘Now where did I put that blasted mobile phone?’

      ‘Dad,’ I said, sharply this time. ‘Stop it.’

      Dad winced. ‘Keep your voice down, Ella,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong?’

      I shook my head. ‘I knew this is how you’d act,’ I said. ‘I knew you wouldn’t want me to give up work, or for us to move house.’

      ‘I just worry,’ Dad said.

      I felt a glimmer of sympathy for him. Of course he worried. But I wasn’t his little girl any more and we didn’t have to cling to each other like we were drowning, like we’d done when I was growing up.

      ‘Don’t,’ I said, more harshly than I’d intended. ‘Don’t worry. I’m fine. Ben’s fine. The boys are fine.’

      Barb put her hand over Dad’s as though urging him to leave things there, but Dad being Dad didn’t get the message.

      ‘I think I should phone Pete,’ he said. ‘Just in case.’

      I pushed my chair back from the table and stood up. ‘Do not pick up your phone,’ I said. ‘Don’t you dare.’

      Dad and Barb both looked stunned, which wasn’t surprising. I’d never raised my voice to Dad before. I’d never even disagreed with his choice of takeaway on movie night.

      ‘Ella,’ Dad said. ‘I think you’re over-reacting a bit.’

      But that made me even more determined to put my point across.

      ‘I’m not over-reacting,’ I said. ‘I want you to understand what’s happening here. I’m leaving my job, and we are moving to Sussex. Which, by the way, means we will be nearer to you than we are now. I thought you’d be pleased about that.’

      My voice was getting shriller and I felt close to tears, but as Dad stared at me, shocked into silence, I continued. ‘I know it’s risky, but we have decided it’s a risk worth taking. Because, Dad, you know better than anyone that things can go wrong in the blink of an eye. You know that.’

      Dad nodded, still saying nothing.

      ‘So it’s happening. And I knew you wouldn’t approve. And I’m sorry if this makes me difficult. Or if me doing something that you don’t like means you don’t want me in your life any more. But it’s happening.’

      ‘Ella …’ Dad began. ‘Ella, I don’t understand.’

      ‘Oh you understand,’ I said, all my worries about the move and about telling him spilling over. My voice was laden with venom as I leaned over the table towards him. ‘You understand. I’ve always been a good girl and done what you wanted me to do, haven’t I?’

      Dad still looked bewildered and later – when I went over and over the conversation (if you could call it a conversation when it was really only me talking) in my head – I saw the genuine confusion in his face, the hurt in his eyes, and it broke my heart. But at the time, all I thought of was that I’d been proved right.

      ‘For the first time in my whole life, I’m doing what I want to do,’ I said. ‘And it’s not what you want me to do but I’m going to do it anyway.’ I picked up my bag. ‘And you can’t send me away this time – because I’m going.’

      Ignoring Dad’s shocked expression and Barb’s comforting hand on his arm, I threw my coat over my shoulder and marched out of the pub, and down the road to my car, where I sat for a while, sobbing quietly into my hands. I wasn’t sure what had just happened and I had a horrible feeling that I’d got everything wrong.

      I drove home from Kent in a bit of a daze, ignoring my phone as it lit up with missed calls from Dad. And I carried on screening our landline and my mobile – avoiding any calls from him and Barb – for the next few days while we packed up our house and said goodbye to our friends in London.

      ‘Phone him,’ Ben said as I was getting dressed ready for my last day in the office. I ignored him.

      ‘I won’t be late,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to stay for drinks or anything like that.’

      I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Hair neatly twisted up and out of the way, smart suit, sensible shoes.

      ‘I’m going to throw this outfit away,’ I said. ‘And I’m going to cut my hair.’

      ‘Good for you,’ Ben said. He was still in bed because he’d got the day off to finish packing, sitting up drinking a cup of tea and reading a biography of a footballer I’d never heard of. ‘Phone your dad from the hairdresser’s.’

      I scowled at him. ‘I’ll phone him when we’re settled,’ I said. ‘Invite him down for a weekend. It will be fine.’

      But I wasn’t sure it would be.

      As we pulled up outside the house on moving day, I felt my nerves bubbling away in my stomach. I knew what the house looked like, of course, but seeing it in real life, up close instead of peering at its roof from down on the beach, made it all seem – suddenly – like a very big decision for Ben to have made on my behalf. All of Dad’s warnings about the risk we were taking, and having

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