The Girl Who Wasn't There by Karen McCombie Read Free Book Online Page A

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Three months; that’s how long Dad had been seeing her before he decided he really, really liked her and should really, really tell us that she existed (and wasn’t a bloke called Don).
He thought we might flip out at him when he made his announcement, and was completely surprised and blown away when Clem and me started shrieking and clapping our hands together like overexcited seals.
She apparently has curly auburn hair, is very nice, and works in a doctor’s surgery as a medical receptionist.
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    â€œHey, don’t be late – you’ve got school tomorrow!” I joke at the last minute, but Dad doesn’t hear me – he’s in the car with the window up – and the radio on, I bet.
    Then – just before he drives off – he stops and rubs his face with both hands.
    That’s odd…
    â€œClem?” I say, going back into the house.
    â€œMmm?” she mumbles, sounding as uninterested as possible.
    â€œYou know that thing Dad does? When he’s stressing?”
    What I’ve just said makes her look up straightaway.
    â€œWhat – the manic face-washing thing?” she asks.
    â€œYeah. He was doing it just now, in the car. He didn’t know I was watching.”
    â€œWonder what that’s all about?” says Clem, leaning back in her chair and tucking her dark hair behind her ears.
    â€œCan’t be his job – he loves it,” I reply. It’s only Wednesday and he’s already saying it’s the best job he’s ever had, with the staff and the students being so friendly.
    â€œAnd it’s not this dump,” says Clem, wafting a hand around to indicate the cottage, “since he finds the place ‘charming’ for some unknown reason.”
    â€œWe were talking about meeting Donna just before he left…” I point out, wandering if it’s relevant.
    Clem now rattles the top of her pencil between her teeth, like it’ll help her think better.
    â€œHe knows I wouldn’t be rude to her, right?” she finally says.
    Wow. Is that almost an admission of guilt from my sister? I wasn’t sure she was even aware how rude she is on a daily basis to me and Dad…
    â€œHe knows,” I reassure her. “We wouldn’t be joking around with him if we felt weird about Donna, would we?”
    I suddenly realize how nice it feels to say “we”. There hasn’t been a lot of “we” about me and Clem for years, and I miss it. Our only “we” times happen when we join together to tease Dad about his love life.
    â€œYeah, you’re right,” Clem says with a nod. (Now that’s a phrase I don’t hear from her very often, or ever .)
    â€œMaybe he’s just a bit tired,” I suggest, pulling out a seat at the table and joining her, since it seems she’s not going to growl at me to get out of her space.
    â€œOr maybe things are rocky with him and Donna,” says Clem.
    â€œNo!” I yelp. “Don’t say that!”
    Clem bursts out laughing at my shock and outrage. “Why do you sound so upset, Maisie? We don’t even know the woman.”
    I blink for a second and try to figure out why I’m suddenly so disappointed at the idea of Dad and the mysterious Donna splitting up.
    I guess part of it is that I’ve been excited for ages about the idea of meeting this person who’s made Dad so happy (I’ve seen those smiles when her texts ping through).
    And part of it is because Mum would be very, very proud of me and Clem managing to Please stay open-minded if Dad meets someone new… (Written halfway through the notebook, with a smiley face drawn beside it.)
    â€œI just want Dad to be OK,” I say, feeling the telltale prickle of tears threaten. There’ve been plenty of times that my heart’s lurched at the thought of me and Clem leaving home for uni or whatever, and leaving him on his own. I can’t stand it, and