In a House of Discord, No One Finds Joy

I loathe him! He isnt my father! Let him go. Well manage without him, Lucy snarled at her stepdad, her voice raw with fury. I never grasped the depth of that household clash. Why couldnt they just live in peace? I had no clue what passions boiled beneath the surface.

Lucy had a younger halfsister, Ada, born of her mother and stepdad. It seemed to me that the stepdad treated Ada and his stepdaughter Lucy alike. That was an outsiders view. In truth, Lucy never rushed home after school. She timed her escape for the moment her greatest enemy the detestable stepdad left for work. But, God forbid, her calculations often went wrong and he would still be in the house, and Lucy would walk the plank.

She whispered to me, Lock the door, Molly, and stay in my room. Then she would bolt into the bathroom and wait for him to shut the front door behind him. As soon as he turned the lock, Lucy would slip out of her selfimposed confinement, letting out a breath of relief.
Finally hes gone! Youre lucky, Molly, you have a proper dad at home. Me? Im stuck here. Its all so bleak, she sighed heavily. Come on, lets head to the kitchen for lunch.

Lucys mother, Margaret, ran the household like a welloiled machine. In that house food was a religion. Breakfast, lunch, tea, supper all by the clock, by the calorie, by the vitamin. Whenever I visited Lucy, a steaming meal would be waiting on the table, pots and pans draped in kitchen towels, ready for the hungry.

I also recall Lucys cruelty toward Ada, who was ten years her junior. She teased her, bullied her, even fought with her. Years later the two would become as close as sisters could be.

Lucy eventually married, had a daughter, and, apart from her stepdad, the whole family settled permanently in Australia. Twelve years later she gave birth to another girl. Ada remained unmarried, but devoted herself to helping Lucy raise her children. In that faroff land their family grew tighter than ever. Lucy kept up a correspondence with her biological father right up to his death; he had a second wife, and Lucy was his only child.

I grew up with both my real parents, yet all my girlfriends were fatherless. As a child Id never understood their grievances with stepparents. In hindsight their lives were far from easy.

Ivys mother and stepdad were chronic drinkers. Ivy was ashamed of them and never invited anyone over. She knew her stepdad would scold her and her mother would back him up, even with a harsh slap. But after she turned fifteen she could stand up for herself, and both stepdad and mother left her alone.

Im inviting you to my birthday, Molly, Ivy announced brightly.

I was taken aback.
Your house? Im a bit nervous, Ivy. Wont your stepdad throw me out?

Let him try! Ive had enough of his tyranny. Mum gave me my real dads address hes my shield now. He lives nearby, so come over, Molly. Mums busy prepping, Ivy said, confidence radiating from her like never before.

The day of Ivys sixteenth birthday arrived. I brought a little gift and rang the doorbell.

At the threshold stood a festively dressed Ivy.
Hey, come in! Have a seat, she chirped.

Her mother and stepdad stood by the table. I greeted them quietly; they nodded in unison.

The birthday spread, laid out on a threadbare oilcloth, consisted of a large bowl of pilau rice, a slab of sliced loaf, and lemonade poured into crystal glasses, each topped with a flaky pastry. That was it. Ivy seemed proud of those modest celebration dishes.

I wondered what the family ate on ordinary days. My own birthday came to mind my mum spent the whole day at the stove, boiling, frying, baking. Salads, roast beef, fish, pies, cake, juice, compote Every household has its own comforts.

I ate the pilau with a piece of bread, washed it down with a glass of lemonade, and set the pastry aside, fearing it would crumble onto the oilcloth.

Ivys mother and stepdad remained rooted at the table, watching us. In the corner of the room, where we were celebrating, a bed stood against the wall, and on it lay Ivys grandmother.

Emma, dont drink! Youll forget about me and stop feeding us, the old woman warned.

Ivy blushed.
Grandma, dont worry, Mum isnt drinking. Its just lemonade, no spirits.

The grandmother, calming herself, turned her face to the wall and muttered a grateful thankyou for the food. I rose from the table.

We hurried away with Ivy we were still young, with a world of pleasures ahead. We had no desire to linger with the elderly.

Within a year Ivy lost her mother, stepdad, and grandmother. At twentyfive she was alone, never married, childless. Suitors had come and gone; none stuck. Among them would be my exhusband, who later drifted into Ivys life. Ivy would take him in for a spell, but it would amount to nothing her temperament was not suited to compromise.

I also kept close with Tara. We were both fourteen. Tara lived with her older sister, Anne. Anne, eighteen, struck me as a mature, unattainable woman strict, serious, sensible. Their mother visited weekly, bringing groceries and cooking. She lived with her first husband; Anne was born to that marriage, Tara to the second. After a couple of years with her second husband, during which Tara was born, the mother returned to her first husband. I envied Taras freedom. Her mother seemed forever trying to balance guilt toward her first husband while juggling a herd of suitors for Anne. Tara was left to fend for herself.

Tara would later marry, have a daughter, and then see her husband imprisoned for a long stretch. She turned to drink. Her lifeless body was discovered by Anne when she was fortytwo.

Nikki joined our Year10 class. I befriended her immediately beautiful, slender, with a melodic voice. The boys swooned over her, but she had a boyfriend, Kevin. He would arrive at the end of lessons in his car, whisk his goddess away, and disappear to whoknowswhere.

Nikkis father died before she turned ten. She wasnt a strong student, but she sang wonderfully. She and Kevin formed a band and performed at school discos. When Kevin was called up for national service, Nikki saw him off at the station, tears spilling, but she didnt wait for his return. She gave birth to a son of unknown paternity and lived with her mother.

Kevin came back from the army, asked forgiveness from his goddess, and invited her to join him. Nikki refused:
Youll spend your whole life blaming me for my son. Id rather be alone.

When her son grows up, Nikki will marry a country farmer and move to a village.

All these friends occupied my life at once, yet they never got along with each other. In fact, they could not stand the sight of one another.

Now I occasionally write to Lucy, my childhood confidante, who swears she will protect her family at any cost:
I dont want my daughters to endure what I endured, living under a stepdads roof. If theres to be any conflict, it should be with my real father, not some strangers uncle. Blood ties will always grind everything down. The stepdad is a scar that will stay with me forever.

Sometimes Lucy and I reminisce about our school mischief and laugh. The traces of Ivy and Nikki have faded into oblivion.