The Other Ida by Amy Mason Read Free Book Online Page A

them and watched, letting her father roughly knead her knuckles in the way she’d hated as a child. Tom agreed with most things her father said, however controversial, and only occasionally muttered his disagreement, giving a delighted Bryan the false impression that they were having a lively debate.
    Alice sat in the far corner of the room and hardly spoke, while Ida tried to laugh and join in when she could. She was pleased to have the time to look at her father properly, to get over the shock of his sudden old age.
    From the waist upwards Bryan was dressed more or less as he always had been, in a pale pink shirt that had definitely cost more than all of Ida’s clothes put together. Over it he wore a yellow cardigan of fine, soft wool, and round his wrist hung his gold watch. He had always worn scarves, but now a loose piece of fabric hung pathetically round his scraggy neck. It was covered in orange stains which Ida guessed had come from his breakfast eggs. At the bottom of the blanket that covered his lap Ida was surprised to see he was wearing sheepskin moccasins and above them the elastic cuff of a pair of jogging bottoms.
    And his face! Bryan had been known for his pretty, small face, with its pointed girlish features and pale blue eyes. His eyes were greyer now, and the delicacy of his features was less obvious among the wrinkles and age spots that covered his skin. He had always looked like Alice, and Ida wondered whether her sister felt like she was looking, horribly, into her future. Ida realised for the first time that she would never see how her own likeness, their mother, would age.
    Ida remembered the last time she had seen her father. He’d come to London for work and taken her for dinner and Ida had been so hungover she couldn’t eat her salad and her fingers shook when she tried to drink her wine. Bryan, luckily, was unaware of her plight and rattled on about people he worked with who Ida couldn’t remember. As he had left her at Euston he had slipped fifty pounds into her pocket and winked at her and Ida had almost cried with gratitude. What had she spent it on, she wondered? All the fifty quids she must have spent in her life – almost thirty years’ worth. What a bloody waste.
    They ate at a bamboo table. The chairs were hard, with plastic seat covers and the quiche was full of eggshell, but nobody minded, and Tom ate four slices and two bits of arctic roll. In the corner was an electric waterfall lit by a flickering blue lamp and Tom managed to talk about it with Terri for a good fifteen minutes. Ida was genuinely impressed.
    â€œI’ve got a boyfriend, too,” said Ida to the table, not that anyone had asked.
    â€œReally? Lovely. What’s he called?” asked Terri.
    â€œYes, what is he called?” asked Alice, looking down at her plate.
    Ida couldn’t tell if she was making some subtle point.
    â€œElliot. He’s an artist and an art dealer. He lives in the East End. The East End’s not like it used to be, Da, before you say anything. It’s very up-and-coming now – there are loads of galleries and things. He’s collected some brilliant painters.”
    â€œWell he can’t make any money, not with you in that God-awful suit,” said Bryan.
    â€œI like this suit,” said Ida.
    â€œWell, it doesn’t seem to like you,” said Alice, looking up, and everyone, except Ida, laughed.
    Even Tom was laughing and he hardly knew Ida – perhaps he wasn’t as nice as she’d thought he was after all.
    â€œLook, have you got any port, or sherry or something, I’m really thirsty,” she said, cutting them off and rubbing her eyes.
    Terri half stood up from the table and looked to Bryan for approval.
    â€œGet it for her, Terri, what are you waiting for? I think we could all do with a drink,” he said.
    By the way she turned the wheel it was obvious that Alice was furious, and Tom knew better than to