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For a writer, the 1980s bear rich, dark fruit. The social and political turbulence of the decade provides the perfect landscape for Claire Lynch’s dual-timeline debut novel A Family Matter, which alternates between 1982 and the present day. On the surface, it is the story of a father-daughter relationship. Heron – an elderly man deeply fond of rules and routine – has recently received a terminal cancer diagnosis, but rather than share it with his grownup daughter, Maggie, who now has a family of her own, he chooses to bear the burden alone. As we learn that Heron raised Maggie by himself, it’s clear this urge to shield his only child from harm is a continuous theme. There is no mention of another parent, just that Heron was divorced many decades ago; it’s only when Lynch takes us back to 1982 that we discover the true story.
When Maggie was a toddler, her 23-year-old mother, Dawn, met another woman at a jumble sale. It was a chance encounter, and they clicked. Hazel, a newly qualified primary school teacher, had recently moved to the town, and Dawn was flustered by Hazel’s obvious life experience, feeling that “her mouth was full of all the things she would say if she wasn’t too embarrassed to put herself into words”. Hazel is equally smitten, and as the intensity between the two women grows, it isn’t long before their friendship develops into a romance. A secret romance to begin with, not just because Dawn is married to Heron and her life is dedicated to their beloved Maggie, but because 1980s provincial Britain was far more attached to the idea of a nuclear family than it was to the concept of true love. “You wanted to collect the set, the wedding, the house, the baby?” Hazel asks. “I didn’t know you were allowed not to,” Dawn replies.
Provincial secrets, however, have a habit of escaping, and inevitably Dawn must explain herself to Heron, because her sexuality was “something she had always known, as deep and bright as bone”. A product of his environment, Heron’s reaction is predictable. Tempers flare. Locks are changed. Solicitors are consulted. Both Dawn and Heron are swept along by a system clinging to the archaic belief that a child exposed to same-sex relationships will become damaged. In the custody court, Heron puts his trust in “the men wearing cufflinks”, while Dawn wonders “what combination of arms and eyes and mouth will keep her from looking ashamed”.
Present-day Maggie, now with her own (often less than perfect) nuclear family, has no knowledge of her parents’ ancient battle. She just knows that Dawn left, and Heron stayed. However, when terminally ill Heron’s attempts at Swedish death cleaning unearth long-forgotten court documents, Maggie must reframe being abandoned by her mother in the face of this newly found truth.
From Zadie Smith’s White Teeth to Douglas Stuart’s Shuggie Bain, literature is peppered with compelling tales of homophobia and prejudice in the 1980s. It is a decade slowly edging closer to being classed as historical fiction, a soothing balm perhaps. However, in this small and powerful story, Lynch forces us to stare bigotry in the eye. She does this not only with smart and often heartbreaking observations of human behaviour, but also by weaving in difficult truths. Her author’s note reveals that the brutal and savage words spoken during Maggie’s custody hearing are taken from real-life court transcripts. At the time, almost all lesbian mothers involved in divorce cases like Dawn’s lost legal custody of their children.
One of the most important roles of a writer is to give a platform to those less often noticed. Not only does Lynch’s novel lend a voice to the many thousands of people who were forced to remain silent, bound by the prejudice of “different times”, it shouts that injustice from its pages.
A Family Matter by Claire Lynch is published by Chatto & Windus (£16.99). To support the Guardian buy a copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
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