Chapter 3: The Woman by the Door
I couldn't stop thinking about her face.
The concert went on.
The children sang.
Parents smiled and filmed and whispered to each other.
Goldie performed with the others — I found her in the second row, her braid pinned up now, her chin lifted, her voice clear.
Her father sat three rows in front of me.
He didn't film.
He just watched her.
Both hands flat on his knees.
But I kept looking back at the woman by the door.
She had slipped inside once the hall opened, taken a seat near the aisle, and spent the entire first half staring at the back of Goldie's father's head.
Not at the stage.
At him.
She was around his age.
Well-dressed.
Her hands were in her lap and she wasn't moving them.
At the interval, I watched her stand up and move toward the exit.
She stopped once.
Looked back at him again.
Then she walked out.
My friend Diane was beside me.
She'd seen it too.
"Do you know who that is?" I asked.
"I think so," Diane said.
She kept her voice low.
"I think that's Carol.
Nadia's sister."
I didn't know who Nadia was.
I said so.
Diane looked at me.
"Goldie's mum."
The foyer was loud with children and parents.
I stood very still in the middle of it.
"Her sister was here tonight?"
"She lives on the other side of town.
Her and Goldie's dad — they don't speak.
Haven't since the funeral." Diane paused.
"Actually, since before the funeral."
"What happened?"
Diane shook her head slightly.
"I only know pieces.
But I know there was a falling out.
Something about the last few months — when Nadia was sick.
Something Carol did or didn't do.
He never forgave her."
I thought about the look on Carol's face.
The way she had gone white when Goldie spoke.
The way she hadn't moved.
"She came tonight knowing he'd be here," I said.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Diane didn't answer.
Because neither of us knew.
The second half began.
I found my seat.
Goldie's father was still in the same position — hands on his knees, eyes on the stage.
He had no idea Carol had been there.
Or maybe he did.
Because when the lights came up at the end and the parents began to clap, he turned — not toward the stage, but toward the back of the room.
He scanned the rows slowly.
His face didn't change when he didn't find what he was looking for.
But his jaw tightened.
Just once.
Just slightly.
He had known she was there.
After the concert, the children came out through the side door into the corridor.
Goldie ran straight to him.
He crouched down, checked her braid — one pin had come loose — and fixed it without being asked.
She was already talking about something else, some joke one of the other girls had made onstage, and he was listening, nodding, his hands steady now.
I was gathering my coat when I heard a voice behind me.
"Excuse me."
I turned.
It was Carol.
She had come back in.
She was looking at me with the careful expression of someone who has rehearsed what they're about to say and is no longer sure it's right.
"You were in the corridor earlier," she said.
"When Goldie spoke."
"Yes."
She glanced past me toward where Goldie and her father were standing.
"I need to ask you something," she said.
"And I need you to be honest with me."
Her voice was steady but her hands weren't.
"Does he ever talk about me?
To any of the parents?
Does he say anything about what happened?"
I looked at her.
"No," I said.
"He doesn't talk about himself at all."
Something moved across her face.
Relief, maybe.
Or the opposite of it.
"She looks like her," Carol said quietly.
Almost to herself.
"She looks exactly like her."
Then she pulled her coat tighter and walked back out through the main doors before I could say another word.
I stood there holding my coat.
Diane appeared at my elbow.
"What did she want?"
"I'm not sure," I said.
"But I think she came tonight because she needed to see something."
"Did she find it?"
I thought about the look on Carol's face when she said *she looks exactly like her.*
"I think she found something she wasn't ready for," I said.
We walked out into the car park.
Goldie and her father were ahead of us, her hand in his, her braid catching the light from the entrance lamps.
He said something to her.
She laughed — a real laugh, loud and unselfconscious.
He smiled.
It was the first time I had seen him smile all evening.
May you like
And in the car park, half-hidden behind a silver estate car, Carol was watching them.
She didn't move until they were gone.
