The Love of Her Life by Harriet Evans

a hand over her forehead, the other resting on her daughter’s head. Kate thought how tired she looked, for a second.
    ‘Sshh, darling,’ said Lisa, looking at Daniel, who ignored his youngest daughter.
    ‘Lisa.’ Her husband’s voice was quiet but firm. ‘Why don’t you put Dani to bed, and Kate and I can catch up.’
    ‘See you in a minute, Kate,’ said Lisa, ushering Dani out of the room.
    ‘Bysie bye, pink pyjamas,’ cried Dani as she skipped out of the room, utterly unconcerned with the familial havoc she, the only person in the room related to everyone present, had wrought.
    ‘She didn’t mean it,’ Kate’s father said. ‘She’s got a lot on her plate at the moment.’
    ‘Dani?’ Kate said, smiling gently.
    ‘Hah,’ said Daniel. ‘Lisa. I’m not easy at the moment. She’s very … organized.’
    She saw him now, in these new surroundings, and watched him as his hand scraped, pathetically, over the surface of the coffee table, as if searching for something to cling onto. The thought that this was the best thing you could find to say about your wife, for whom you had almost had to throwyour daughter out, for whom you had worked yourself into the ground, moved houses, made new friends, gone on flashy, expensive holidays to ‘network’ with flashy, expensive people that you didn’t really like that much, for whom you had essentially reinvented yourself, struck Kate as singularly depressing. But she said,
    ‘I know. Yeah. She must be great to have around at a time like this.’
    ‘Oh sure,’ said her dad, and they both fell silent, the two of them sitting awkwardly in the pristine sitting room. Kate shifted on the sofa.
    The letter from Charly was in her bag. She could feel it in there; humming with intent. She hadn’t opened it, she didn’t want to open it, knew she couldn’t. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thrown it away. But she hadn’t. Now, silent next to her father, she slid her hand into her bag again, to touch it for the umpteenth time since she had left the house.
    The envelope was stiff; there was something inside it, more than just a piece of paper. What could it be? What was it? The postmark had said Mount Pleasant, the main London sorting office: that proved nothing at all.
    ‘What’s that?’ said her father curiously, his voice resonant in the stillness of the vast room.
    ‘Nothing.’ Kate thrust the envelope hurriedly into the darkest recesses of her bag, way out of sight. ‘Just something that was waiting for me. Post.’
    ‘You must have a lot to deal with,’ her father said. He shunted himself up slightly on the sofa, grimacing as he did so. ‘Sorting out the flat, and everything.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Kate.
    Daniel looked up at the ceiling, then at the floor. ‘Um – while I think of it,’ he said, casually, ‘are you going to get a new tenant while you’re here? Approve them yourself?’
    Before she left for New York, her father had bought halfthe flat, and as such he was entitled to half the rent. Kate skimmed her foot along the carpet. ‘Not sure yet,’ she said. ‘I might wait till I go back, get the letting agents to do it again. I need to think about it. I mean, Gemma leaving and me coming back – it was all quite sudden.’
    ‘Right,’ said Daniel. ‘Still.’ He coughed, Kate thought rather awkwardly. ‘We don’t want to lose rent on it, do we? You don’t, I mean.’ He cleared his throat extensively.
    ‘Two weeks, I’ll be here, Dad,’ Kate said gently. ‘You won’t lose that much rent, I promise. I’m sorry –’ she didn’t know what to say. ‘I’ll get onto it,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, wondering what else to say. A germ of an idea formed in her head; she rejected it, surely not. ‘Anyway, Dad, you mustn’t worry about that at the moment. It’s not important.’
    ‘Easy for you to say,’ her father said, quickly, loudly. ‘Eh? Isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Kate, realizing she had to appease him,