Happy Families

by Janey Fraser

  So they drove across country to Essex, with Andy saying all the way that it was probably a waste of time and that the supermarket would have been knocked down or sold on years ago, only to find that it was still there. A bit smaller than he remembered but it was the same place all right. Bang on the corner next to a betting shop. His heart pounding, Andy went in. The counter had been moved to a different place. It was smarter now. More upmarket. At the till hovered a man who was probably around his age.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ he asked politely.

  Andy froze; he might even have chickened out but Pamela took over. ‘We’re trying to find out about a shopkeeper who used to be here twenty-five years ago.’

  The man nodded as though this was a perfectly reasonable request. ‘That would have been my father.’

  Andy groaned. This had been a mistake! Too late, he could see that. What on earth should he say now? Hi. My name used to be Barry. I watched your dad die.

  ‘You would like to speak to him? Yes?’

  Andy stared at him and then Pamela. ‘But he’s dead!’

  The man laughed. ‘My father, he is very much alive! I fetch him!’ Then he stopped. ‘Why you want to speak to him?’

  His mouth was dry. Alive! The man was still alive. It wasn’t possible. There had to be some mistake. ‘I, er, I need to explain something.’

  It seemed an age until there was the sound of shuffling from the back of the shop. Andy took Pamela’s hand (for reassurance, he was ashamed to admit) as an old man with a stick appeared.

  It was him. Those features had been etched in his mind for years – the slightly large nose, the high forehead – and they took him straight back to the night. The night when he had done something that he would be ashamed of for the rest of his life.

  ‘Yes?’ The old man squinted at Andy as though he couldn’t see him properly. ‘You want to talk to me?’

  ‘Go on,’ whispered Pamela reassuringly.

  ‘I … I thought you were dead!’

  The old man put his head to one side as though studying him in great detail. ‘And why would you think that?’

  ‘Because I saw you lying in a pool of blood!’

  Suddenly something cleared in the old man’s face. ‘You were one of those boys who gave me trouble? You? You were one of them? The gang that raided my shop and made me hit my head?’

  His son made to pick up the phone. ‘No.’ The older man raised his hand. ‘No, do not do that. I want to know: why are you here?’

  ‘I want to say sorry.’ How inadequate those words sounded. ‘Ever since it happened, I thought we’d killed you.’ A huge weight suddenly lifted from his chest. ‘I cannot tell you how relieved I am. For years, I have lived with the guilt of watching someone die without doing something. Then I realised that the only way forward was to come clean. That’s why I’m here with my wife.’

  ‘You hurt my father!’ The younger man looked stern. ‘He had concussion and had to go to hospital, you know. He could have died. There is no excuse for that. ’

  ‘Yes, son, there is.’ The older man shook his head. ‘These boys, they were from the home. The one that was closed down. It was not a good place. But I do not understand. Who said I was dead?’

  ‘The older ones! The ringleaders! They said that if Kieran – the other boy – and I said anything, they would kill us!’

  The desperation, combined with the embarrassment and the horror, made him need the loo. Urgently.

  ‘Did you read of my death in the paper?’ The old man sounded amused.

  ‘Well, no.’ Andy desperately tried to remember the sequence of events. ‘We didn’t get the papers and we weren’t allowed to watch television. But the older boys said you’d copped it. Those were their words. They also told us that if we talked about it, we’d get thrown straight into the nick.’

  The old man shook his head. ‘I think those boys were using you.’ He tutted, but not in a condemning way. ‘I was hurt, but not badly. Now I think you have been punished enough. Go home, my son.’ He patted Andy’s shoulder. ‘You have said your piece and I forgive you.’

  ‘But, Dad …!’

  ‘That is enough. I admire you for coming.’ The old man nodded in Pamela’s direction. ‘I am glad you have a good wife.’

  Andy stumbled out of the shop, not knowing which direction to go in. ‘They lied to us,’ he kept repeating. ‘The other boys. They lied to us!’

  ‘Children can be very cruel,’ said Pamela gently. ‘They obviously told a porky to make you do whatever they wanted.’ She shuddered. ‘But it’s fantastic news, isn’t it, darling? I mean I know it’s been a horrible sword of Damocles hanging over you but your man is alive! And he’s forgiven you! Rather sweet, really. So why are you crying?’

  Because of everything, he wanted to say. Because he’d lost his parents, or as good as. Because he’d had a shitty childhood. Because he’d carried that guilt over the old man for years; unnecessarily as it turned out. Because his family – his immediate family – weren’t what he thought they were.

  ‘Come here.’ Pamela was holding him as he let it all come out, hugging him like a child right there on the street while people walked past, staring. Telling him it was all right now. And that what he needed to do was leave it all behind and start afresh.

  ‘I want that too,’ she said briskly, walking him back to the car. ‘You’re not the only one with regrets. There are some things in my past that I’m deeply ashamed of.’ She jutted out her chin, defiantly. ‘Things that I don’t want to tell anyone about, not even you. But I’m going to move forward now.’

  He knew it! She was going to leave him! Not long ago, Andy might have left her himself. But now he’d got his head straight about Bobbie (well, almost) and was getting a bit more used to this new Pamela, he couldn’t imagine life without her. It wasn’t weakness, he told himself fiercely. It was because he loved her, despite everything. And because he wanted to keep his family together. ‘Please don’t go.’

  ‘Go? Whoever said anything about going?’ Pamela gave him a playful pinch. ‘I’ve decided to go back to work. I’m going to set up an agency for mature models. What do you think? Andy? Are you listening?’

  But he was staring at a newspaper placard. Unable to talk. Then her eye caught it too. ‘My God,’ she breathed. She clutched his arm. ‘I don’t believe it.’ He could feel her shake as she leaned into him. Felt the new Pamela draining away into the old.

  SOCIETY PHOTOGRAPHER ACCUSED OF TEENAGE RAPE – AFTER HIS DEATH.

  Andy picked up the top paper on the pile. There it was. A picture of a beautiful former model, Pamela’s age, who had decided to break her silence. Now he’s dead, I know he can’t hurt me any more, ran the caption.

  Below were similar quotes from other models. All young girls at the time, who had been too terrified to make a fuss because the photographer had been so powerful. So revered in the fashion world. ‘I worked with them all,’ whispered Pamela. ‘I didn’t realise it was happening to them too.’

  Andy pointed to the paragraph at the bottom. ‘There’s going to be an inquiry,’ he said gently. ‘They’re asking for anyone else who was molested to come forward.’ He held her close. ‘This could be your chance, Pamela. Your way of facing the truth. Of banishing the past for good.’

  She was shivering so much now that she could barely talk. ‘But what about Mel?’

  Andy thought of all the secrets, all the lies that had been told. Not just in their family but in others too, if the class had been anything to go by. ‘Maybe it’s time for us to tell her the truth. After all, we’ve got to do it sometime. Haven’t we?’

  FIVE THINGS THAT GRANDPARENTS SHOULD NEVER DO

  Have sex.

  Forget birthdays.

  Stop talking to their children.

  Pinch their children’s iPads.

  Buy Easter eggs for next-door’s children and not give their grandkids anything.

  Get divorced.

  Chapter 46

  AN
DY

  ‘YOU MEAN THOSE buggers made us think the old geezer was dead so they could boss us about?’ bellowed Kieran down the phone.

  ‘Possibly. You know what they were like.’

  ‘Bastards!’

  Andy could almost see Kieran spitting.

  ‘But I wasn’t much better either. Look, mate. I’m sorry. I did wrong by you, threatening you with blackmail and all that. It’s just that I saw what you had and I wanted a piece of it meself. But we’ve made up, haven’t we?’

  His old enemy sounded genuinely remorseful. ‘Yes. Forget it. Anyway, I’ve lost it all now.’ Andy gave a dry laugh. ‘I’m broke, Kieran. We’re selling up. Pamela’s organising a car boot sale as we speak.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ There was a short shocked silence. ‘Listen, mate, can we have a pact, like? Neither of us will mention the shop stuff to anyone else. Right?’

  ‘Sorry. Can’t do that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve told my wife. Just like you told yours.’

  ‘Fucking hell, mate! Well, make sure she doesn’t tell anyone. I’ve been thinking about a lot of stuff recently and I don’t want that shit coming up and hitting me in the face. I’ve got an example to set my kid. And my missus has got her job to think about. Get what I mean?’

  Andy knew exactly what he meant. But setting an example meant telling the truth, however painful and however overdue. ‘When do you think we should tell Mel?’ Pamela had asked later that evening when there was just the three of them at home. Nattie was still away on her first job (thank goodness the agency was limiting work to holidays and had encouraged her to stay on at school; they seemed more responsible than he had thought) and Mel was out with Weasel Face. Camilla showed no signs of wanting to go home just yet.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Andy felt a nerve in his cheek twitching, the way it used to in the office when he was under pressure. He’d seen Mel as his own child for so long that it didn’t seem possible she was really someone else’s. Besides, it was he who had brought her up, wasn’t it? He might not have been there as much as he should have been but he would always be her daddy.

  ‘Why not leave it for a bit?’ Camilla’s clear, confident voice cut in. ‘What you don’t know doesn’t hurt. After all, Pamela, your father never knew the truth about your real parentage and it didn’t kill him.’ Her eyes grew misty. ‘Wonderful man, Johnnie. But we were both married and in those days it was for life. Sorry, darling. I thought you’d guessed by now.’

  VANESSA

  ‘Mum. Can you hear me?’

  It was Brigid. At least it sounded like her but Vanessa was in that rather pleasant dreamy stage you find yourself in when coming round from an operation. She could remember the nurse telling her that she was in the recovery room but then she must have fallen asleep again because here she was, in a different place with jaunty floral curtains and her daughter sitting by her bed.

  ‘You’re going to be all right, Mum.’

  Going to be all right? It’s what she used to say to Brigid as a child when she fell over and grazed her knee or got a shiner on her forehead. But the truth was that no one knew if she was going to be all right now. Not till they’d analysed that lump.

  ‘Can you feel something warm over your chest?’ whispered her daughter.

  She could, actually. Rather like a two-bar electric fire: the type that she and Harry used to put money in the meter for.

  ‘It’s my hands,’ murmured Brigid.

  But she wasn’t touching her! That was amazing. Still, nothing would surprise Vanessa at the moment. Her mind wandered back to those days before the operation. Brigid had announced that she and Malik were going to rent their own place – with Sunshine obviously – but near enough for them all to see each other every day if they wanted. The pair of them were going to train as teachers, she told her. But they were going to take on part-time jobs too, to pay the rent. Would Vanessa mind looking after Sunshine after school? Perhaps she could go into the shop with her?

  Vanessa, who had been steeling herself for the horrible possibility that Brigid and Sunshine might move far away, had felt so relieved that she’d burst into tears. ‘Why are you crying, Van Van?’

  ‘Because I’m happy!’

  ‘Grown-ups are weird! My friend Daisy says so and she’s right.’

  Maybe she was. Maybe, too, it had been a mistake to ask Brigid outright if Mark (Audrey’s son) was Sunshine’s father. ‘It’s none of your business, Mum, although I will say you’re wrong.’ Brigid could be so sharp at times! ‘I don’t want to talk about it. OK?’

  Perhaps there were some things that a daughter had to keep from her mother, just as she, Vanessa, had done with hers.

  Then Brian had announced over a pint that he’d like her to move in with him. It was very sweet of him, as she explained, but he didn’t have to worry about her. She’d managed when she’d been ill before and she’d manage again now.

  ‘It’s not because you’re poorly, lass. It’s because I want to be with you.’

  But she’d got too used to her independence over the years. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready to give it up,’ she told him gently.

  Brian had been crestfallen. ‘If you won’t move in, will you consider being a partner in a different way?’ he’d asked.

  And that’s when he’d told her exactly how much his horse had won. She hadn’t realised the prize money was that big when you were an owner. Even a part-owner. ‘I know you’ve been worried about the lease running out on the shop,’ he added. ‘Why don’t you let me help you rent a bigger place?’

  She’d been thinking about that already. But rents were so expensive! On the other hand, did she really want to accept Brian’s financial offer and give up the independence she’d worked so hard to get?

  And then Brigid had dropped her bombshell.

  BOBBIE

  ‘Please tell me you’re joking, mum!’ Bobbie felt one of the babies leap in protest. ‘Dr Know has invited us to appear on The Worst Family in Britain show?’

  Her mother sounded mortified at the other end of the line. ‘Of course I said no. And to the programme too.’

  ‘Good … hang on. What did you say?’

  ‘I told Herbert I couldn’t marry him.’ Her mother’s voice bore only the slightest twinge of regret. ‘I think I knew it from the beginning but when we came to lunch with you, I realised it would never work. You come first in my life, Bobbie. You and the children, no matter how appallingly they behave. You always will. I couldn’t sit by and hear Herbert criticise you like that – either in or out of your hearing.’

  ‘But, Mum …!’ Bobbie was in tears now. Tears of relief, it had to be said. The thought of that man in the family was unbearable. ‘I don’t want you to sacrifice your life for us.’

  ‘I’ll find someone else.’ Her mother sounded a bit brighter now. ‘In fact, your friend Vanessa – I’m so glad you introduced us at Easter – has emailed me details of the site where she found her Brian.’

  Whoever said the older generation moved slowly?

  ‘What about you, dear? I don’t want to pry but I’ve been worried about you. Have you and Rob sorted out your differences?’

  Bobbie thought of the long talks that she and Rob had had, deep into the night. Talks that they should have had earlier. Frank, honest talks about work and sex and children and boundaries. Discussions that would, they’d promised each other, lead to changes and compromises. On both sides.

  ‘Actually,’ said Bobbie nervously, ‘I’ve got some news for you! Remember I said Rob had an interview in the north? Well he’s got it and—’

  ‘MUM! WHEN WE GO AND LIVE NEAR GRANNY, CAN WE HAVE A PONY?’

  Shhh, Bobbie tried to say to Jack as he swung into the room. Not yet. Not until she’d broken the news.

  Too late! Mum had heard. ‘You’re going to come up here?’

  Was she shocked or excited? It was hard to tell. ‘Is that all right, Mum? We won’t get in your way but it might be nice if w
e were nearby. JACK, GET OFF YOUR SKATEBOARD!’

  ‘I can’t believe it.’

  Stunned maybe. But in a good or not-so-good way?

  ‘Jack and Daisy every day.’ Her mother let out a nervous laugh. ‘Running in and out of my house. I can’t … I mean, I can’t wait!’

  VANESSA

  Vanessa hadn’t wanted to come but Brigid had persuaded her. Told her that she had to. That she’d regret it if she didn’t. Pointed out that, rather like her, Harry hadn’t been so lucky with his health.

  Now Vanessa could hardly believe her eyes. Was this really him? She stared at the horribly thin man with the round shoulders and bald patch talking earnestly to her daughter in the restaurant. She would never have recognised her ‘husband’. Might have walked past him in the street, even! What a terrible thing, not to recognise the father of your child.

  For one awful moment, Vanessa thought he was going to kiss her on the cheek. She didn’t want that. It would have seemed unfaithful to Brian. Stunned, she watched him pull out her chair before the waiter could do so. The old Harry – the dancing-eyed, dark-haired, self-centred Irish charmer – wouldn’t have done that. He’d have been tossing back the bed covers instead. Now he needed a stick to return to his own seat.

  ‘Did you really used to be married?’ asked Sunshine, looking from one to the other with a puzzled expression.

  Vanessa nodded.

  ‘We certainly did,’ said Harry. His voice was gruff. Husky from the cigarettes. She’d warned him when they were younger. Told him they’d kill him one day.

  ‘So why don’t you have the same surname then?’

  Harry laughed. That was better! The laugh hadn’t changed. Deeper maybe but with the same joy. That Irish joy that had flipped her mind at twenty, kicking out any common sense. ‘Your grandmother went back to her old name. Thomas. And she changed your mum’s name too.’ He gave her a disappointed look. ‘But she’s really a Screws. Like me. And you.’