Helen is stunning, but George always says thats her only asset. I adore him with every beat of my heart, and I see the world through his eyes.
George lectures political science to university students. Hes brilliant and comes from an educated family that never accepted Helen. I learn later how they met. While serving in a university workcamp, George drives a convoy of students to a remote farm in Lancashire to build animal pens. Helen is seventeen and works as a milkmaid. She has only an elementary education, barely eight years, and even after many years with George she still struggles to read fluentlyshe traces words with her fingers and whispers syllables. Still, she is extraordinarily beautiful: frail, with translucent skin, waistlong honeygolden hair, striking blueviolet eyes, and a perfectly chiseled profile. In their wedding photograph she looks like a fashionmagazine spread. George is tall, darkhaired, with a thick moustache and a very masculine bearing.
Helen becomes pregnant that summer, and George feels obliged to marry her. He may have loved her once, but his parents pressure him, accusing Helen of deceiving him. Around the university, young postgraduate women circulateperhaps not as pretty, but educated and witty enough to hold any conversation. Whenever George tries to take Helen to a dinner or a social gathering, she eats clumsily, cant use cutlery, and laughs so loudly that he feels embarrassed. He doesnt hide his criticism; Helen merely shakes her head with a sad smile, never daring to argue.
I refuse to become a copy of my mother. I want George to be proud of me. Before I even start school, I master the alphabet and read better than Helen ever could. I spend whole days practising arithmetic so that when George asks me another problem I can answer correctly and earn his praise. At the table I watch Georges manners closely and imitate himmouth closed, no licking the plate, using fork and knife instead of the way Helen does. Despite all this, George never really warms to me; he glances at me briefly and smooths my fluffy hair with an absent hand. On the rare days when we actually talk, his words become my cherished comfort, and I replay every phrase he says in my mind.
When Im in Year2, George leaves us. Helen hides the truth for a while, but I eventually learn he has a new partner. Hearing the dreaded word divorce makes me think of only one thing: If only Dad would take me with him. Of course I stay with Helen. We have to move out of the flat we rented from my grandparents; they are merely glad to be rid of us. For a short time George sends a modest monthly allowance, and my grandparents send small sums for birthdays and Christmas. But the collapse of the countrys economy hits hard, and George loses his job, so the transfers stop. Helen takes several lowpay cleaning jobs, scrubbing floors from dawn till dusk, often with delayed wages, and we live in poverty. Helens beauty fades with the years, and I can no longer see anything good in her. I silently blame her for Georges abandonment.
George, meanwhile, turns to entrepreneurship. One winter day he stops by our building with a new coat for me and a handful of cash. The memory of that day sticks with me: Ive just come home from school, shivering in my threadbare coat whose sleeves are too short. George stands at the entranceHelen is at work and no one opens the door for him, yet he stays waiting. My heart leaps; he hasnt forgotten me! I brew him tea with sugar, babbling endlessly about my school achievements, trying to look as clever as possible. He listens halfheartedly but doesnt leave, finishes his tea, unwraps the coat I adore, places the money on the table and says:
Its for Mum. Ill bring more next month.
Will you come to my birthday? I ask timidly.
He looks at me as if hed forgotten the date, then replies, Of course! What do you want?
A doll, I blurt out, a little embarrassedI’m old enough for anything else, but the word escapes me. Usually he buys me books for my birthday.
Alright, he nods, youll get a doll.
When Helen returns, I proudly tell her about Dads visit and his promise to bring a doll for my birthday.
On my birthday I race home at top speed, fearing George wont wait. I hope to see him at the doorstep, but he never appears. The night before, Helen had baked a cake and, in the morning, gifted me a new patterned jumper thats all the ragesomething Ive long wanted. I dont touch the cake; I wait for Dad. He never shows. Later, when Helen comes home from work, we share the cake together, but I feel no festive cheer; by the end Im in tears. Helen understands everything but says nothing about George.
The next morning Helen hands me a small parcel.
Here, she says, the post must have been delayed; it arrived yesterday. Its from Dad.
I open itinside is a brandnew doll in a pretty pink box. I squeal with joy and ask, Why didnt he come himself?
Probably off on a business trip, Helen answers, averting her gaze.
That doll becomes my most treasured possession. I take it to school, unafraid of classmates teasing. George never appears again, and my grandparents never send another monetary gift. Gradually I accept that only Helen remains in my life, yet every day I ache for my father, hoping someday hell return, see who Ive become, and feel proud of me.
After finishing my Alevels, I gain a place at a medical school. I decide I must tell George, so I resolve to find him at any cost. I remember roughly the address of his flat where I lived for eight years, and the house of my grandparents that I visited only on holidays. Without telling Helen, I set off.
At Georges old flat a woman answers the door, telling me no one by that name lives there; shes been resident for seven years. I try to pry about previous tenants, but she slams the door.
My grandparents house is empty. As Im about to leave, the next door opens and a thin, spectacled old lady asks, Can I help you?
Im looking for the Sergeys, I say, Im their granddaughter.
She studies me and replies, If youre their granddaughter, you should know theyve been dead for years.
I blush. I didnt know My parents divorced, and I
Right, right. Divorced So youre Emily, then?
Yes.
Did you want to see them?
Yes, and my father too, I exhale.
The old lady looks at me in a way that makes everything click.
Everyone there died togetherpoor debts. One day, all because of your father
The truth hits me so hard I can barely breathe.
Dont kill yourself over it, the woman insists. Youre young, lifes ahead of you. Your mothers still alive, right?
I nod.
Here, Ill give you the cemetery details. I have them written down. Go, talk to them; itll help.
She rummages through drawers, finds a little notebook, reads out the plot numbers and the name of the cemetery. I thank her and rush away, fear clutching my throat.
The graves are overgrown, neglected. I clear the weeds enough to read the inscriptions. They sit in a single row behind a low fence. The dates of death show that the tragedy occurred two days after my last meeting with George.
On the tram ride home, shivering, the thought strikes me: George could never have sent me that doll on my birthday. Ive kept the doll all these years, protecting it from every other gift Helen ever gave me. Suddenly I wonder if the doll was really from George at all. A flush rises to my cheeks, a lump forms in my throat, and shame floods me. My father turns out to be just another criminal who ruined his own parents. Thank heavens we never lived together; otherwise Helen and I would have been lying there side by side.
I keep the trip a secret from Helen, claiming I was out with friends. Later I hug her, tell her I love her, and lie once more:
Thank you for everything.
Helen looks up, her oncebright blue eyes now a little dimmed by time but still vivid.
I always knew that you gave me that doll, she whispers, thats why I loved it so much.
Large tears spill from her eyes. I feel no shame about my deceit any longer. I only feel ashamed for all the years I thought there was nothing good in her except fleeting beauty.