In My Fathers' House

Their place is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it. They have an amazing cooker, it’s called an AGA, and I’ve never seen one before. They have a piano and really nice furniture. The whole place is a little bit messy but this just adds to the appeal. My stomach is still churning with nerves. The wife is lovely. She is very pretty, really trendy, she has really nice clothes and shoes. But above all this I can tell immediately that she is a really good mother. The two girls, (my half sisters?) really love their mother and, I notice, their mother is always talking to them and cuddling and kissing them. Father is really handsome and funny. The two girls call him daddy and they clearly really adore him. He has a sports car, his own business, and a villa in Spain. Really, for the 15 year old girl I am he is my dream father. We all go to Petticoat Lane market. I am given chestnuts and latkas and pomegranates to eat on the street whilst we’re walking in the market. I have never even seen these things before, let alone tasted them. I find them delicious. We stay at their place for a couple of days. I feel like I’m in a whirlwind, everything is so exciting yet at the same time a little scary. I have not forgotten the initial doubtful telephone call to grandmothers; it is continually in my mind. But I do not want think about the possibility of this man not being my father. Everything is too perfect and I want to be part of it. They seem to have accepted me. I want to be perfect for them; I want them to really want me and to really love me.
I am very careful with my appearance, I mean my hair. I spend a lot of time making sure the bald patches are covered up. I don’t want them to find out what I have done and what I continue to do. They can’t find out that I pull my hair out; it has to remain a secret. They definitely wouldn’t want me if they knew.
All too soon the trip is over and my sister and I return to our home city and mother. Upon our return mother has taken to her bed with a mystery illness that has no symptoms except for the bad mood she is in. Mother refuses to see the gifts that father had brought for me and she does not want to hear anything about the visit. She does not voice her disapproval but makes it felt by her stony silence and the way she continually pulls the blankets up around her. Finally, as I turn to leave the room she speaks. Mother reminds me that I must never tell Daddy about any trips to London. When I ask her why not? Mother again replies “Just don’t, it would break his heart”. I don’t understand this but I do as I am told and keep this secret tucked away with my other secret.