Dear Diary,
Today I felt the whole world tilt on its axis. It all began when a woman Id never met before stepped onto my doorstep, muttering about a lover who had apparently shown up two months ago. She slammed the door in my face after I asked, Is my father home? and I could hear a male voice from somewhere deeper in the flat: Mum, whos that?
Im Eleanor Finch, a shy, slimish twentysomething who has always found comfort in art classes, a bit of piano, and swimming laps at the local pool. My mum, Margaret, is a roundcheeked, steadyhanded woman who raised me alone after my father, James, left on a work assignment years ago. Shes always been my rock, running a small bakery out of our kitchen before eventually opening a modest shop on the high street.
When I told Mum I wanted to become a nursery assistant, she smiled, saying it was the perfect job for a girl like me. Well earn our own bread and butter, shed joke, and I thought wed manage just fine.
Then, the unthinkable happened. Mum fell ill with a serious disease and passed away. The doctor stared at me, puzzled, You didnt see she was unwell? I could only stammer that Mum had said she was just tired. I burst into tears, feeling the weight of the whole world crushing my chest.
My old friend Matthew Clarke, whos known me since primary school, tried to console me. Dont blame yourself, he said. Aunt Nancy would never want you to suffer in silence. Matthew and I were practically inseparable; the only other adult in my life was my father, who was rarely around, always buried in work. He was a quiet man, more interested in his computer than in parties.
I blamed myself for not noticing Mums decline sooner, for not urging her to get treatment. Then I learned that the bakery and the flat were legally mine. The administrator of the shop told me the paperwork, and I realised I had signed documents at Mums request without really understanding what they meant.
A letter from Mum, found among her things, revealed that she loved me deeply and didnt want to cause me pain. It also gave me Jamess address, urging me to find him. He lived on the other side of Manchester. I was about to set off with Matthew when his grandmother died, and he had to travel to Leeds for a week. He promised, Wait for me; well go together.
Instead, a young, strikingly beautiful woman named Lydia Hart opened the door for me. She asked, What do you want? and I blurted, Is James here? Im his daughter. She rolled her eyes, calling me a mistake and told me James was away on business. The male voice from the hallway repeated, Mum, whos there? I left the flat, tears streaming, unsure whether to wait outside for my father or give up.
The next day Lydia called herself and arranged a meeting. Your mother left your number, she said sweetly. Your fathers wife, Lydia, wanted to see you. When a handsome, welldressed man in jeans and a cosy sweater stepped forward, I was stunned. He introduced himself as Alex Turner, my fathers new partner. Youre a beauty, he said, his expression a mix of embarrassment and affection.
Lydia tried to smooth things over, Give her a moment to collect herself. For an hour, Alex and Lydia peppered me with questions about my life, Mums bakery, and my job. My fathers hand rested reassuringly on my head, and I finally let myself believe that I now had a family.
Running a business isnt for everyone, Lydia asked gently. Do you really manage it yourself? I shrugged, Theres an administrator who seems to handle things. Im clueless about the details. Alex frowned, Theyll try to swindle you, they always do. I felt frightened, but his tone softened, Dont worry, well look after you.
The very next day I signed a power of attorney, handing over the bakerys management to James. I waited anxiously for Matthews return, hoping to share the news that I wasnt alone anymore. I didnt tell him over the phone; I feared hed complain about being left out. When he finally walked through my flat, I poured out everything, gushing about how James had fired the administrator for stealing and how everything was finally falling into place.
But Alex never showed up. His phone stayed switched off, and Lydia stopped answering messages. When we went to his flat, the neighbour slammed the door in our faces, muttering about the usual troublemakers. I thought, Something must have happened to them; they couldnt just vanish. Matthew tried to calm me, Dont go crying again. Well find out.
For three days I tried in vain to call James and Lydia. Matthew eventually said, We have a meeting in an hour; we need to leave. He wouldnt tell me where or why, just that Id understand soon enough. To my surprise, we arrived at a modest house where a short, balding man opened the door. He glanced at us, Ah, youre the girl. Come in. We were led to a kitchen with an empty whisky bottle and some stale biscuits.
The man asked Matthew, Did you tell her everything? Matthew shook his head. No, I havent. The man sighed, Then tell her yourself, Im not in the mood. I learned then that Lydia was, in fact, Jamess second wife, married about five years ago. Alex was merely a nickname; his proper name was Alexander, but hed been using Alex for convenience. Hed been in the flat when I first knocked, probably setting up the façade about the bakery and the flat to keep me in the dark.
Matthew pressed, You never bothered to look up your father before? I could only shake my head. He added, That was their plan, to keep you clueless. James, finally, turned to me, Did the flat stay with you, girl? I managed a trembling Yes, Dad Alex said wed sell it and buy a house for all of us He warned that I might lose the flat too, suggesting something had gone wrong with the sale. They sold the bakery and ran off, he said.
In the end, James told me his son was a good man who had figured everything out and had come to see me. He suggested I should trust him, and I felt a flicker of hope. I didnt go to the police, despite Matthews urging, feeling it was my own fault. James turned out to be a decent, hardworking bloke, though hed had a drink that night because his wife had left him.
Following his advice, I started to look at the future more positively. Perhaps, soon, Ill even have a partner of my own. For now, Ill keep writing, holding onto the thought that despite the chaos, I finally have a family that cares.
Until tomorrow,
Eleanor.
