by Roberta Kray
‘Most of the time isn’t good enough.’
Janet’s eyebrows shifted up an inch. ‘So what would you suggest?’
‘Couldn’t she live with you?’
‘No, Mr Quinn, she couldn’t. I’ve got two small boys of my own, and that’s enough to deal with. She’s your family too. Perhaps you’d like to take her for a while?’
Tommy shuffled from one foot to the other and heaved out a breath. He could imagine Yvonne’s reaction if he turned up with Lynsey’s kid in tow – not to mention what his old man would say. ‘Well, it’s kind of—’
Janet gave a snort. ‘No, I didn’t think so. Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be getting on. Some of us have responsibilities to attend to. Goodbye, Mr Quinn.’ And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away.
‘Snotty cow,’ murmured Tommy under his breath. He could understand now why Lynsey had clashed so badly with the Becks. He watched as Janet got into the Escort and slammed the door with rather more force than was strictly necessary. As the car pulled away, he saw Helen’s face pressed up against the window. He forced a smile and gave her a wave. She didn’t smile back. She didn’t wave either. My, he was popular today.
Crossing the car park, Tommy kicked up the gravel with the toe of his shoe. Some women were just bloody impossible! However, it wasn’t only Janet’s attitude that was bugging him. He’d come here to tie up the loose ends, to close the final chapter, but things hadn’t quite panned out that way. Maybe the old woman wasn’t a danger to Helen, but she was still sixpence short of a shilling. She wasn’t a fit guardian and he knew it.
Tommy got into the Cortina, turned on the ignition and took off down the drive. At the gate he veered left and headed towards Chingford. He had to find a pub and fast. He’d come here to say goodbye to his sister and to reassure himself that everything was fine with Helen. But it wasn’t fine. And what was he doing about it? Absolutely sod all. He needed a stiff drink, maybe even two or three, to silence his conscience.
He’d travelled a couple of miles when that little voice inside his head started nagging him again. What if it was one of his own girls? How would he feel if they were orphaned and living with someone like Joan Beck? The thought made him shudder. None of this was right. Damn it! She was Lynsey’s kid. She had Quinn blood. He couldn’t just abandon her.
Tommy checked the road behind him. When he saw that it was clear, he slowed down and pulled up on the grass verge. For a while he sat there, the engine idling while he drummed his fingertips against the steering wheel. He ran through the options, always coming to the same conclusion – there was only one decent choice to be made. Before he could change his mind, he did a screeching U-turn and headed quickly back towards Farleigh Wood.
7
For Helen, the day had acquired an odd, almost bleary quality. Everything felt unreal, like in one of those dreams where you thought you might be awake but weren’t entirely sure if you were or not. She was still hoping to blink her eyes and find that her mum hadn’t been in that coffin at all, that she was alive, that she was coming back to see her soon. And now, perched on the edge of the bed, she found herself watching in a daze as her aunt neatly packed up underwear and skirts and jumpers into an old brown suitcase.
‘It’ll only be for a while,’ Janet said as she moved around the room, opening and closing drawers. ‘Your gran’s been a bit under the weather recently. She needs a break, a rest, so she’s coming to stay with me. You’ll be all right with your uncle Tommy.’
Helen thought about the stocky blond man who was waiting downstairs, the man who had smiled at her outside the church. She didn’t understand grown-ups. On the one hand they told you never to talk to strangers, then the next minute they were sending you away with one. ‘How long for?’
‘Just a week or two, until your gran’s feeling better.’ Janet looked down at the suitcase. ‘Now, is there anything else you’ll need?’
Helen got up from the bed and went over to the dressing table. She picked up the framed photo of her parents and the shell-covered box that her mum had given her for Christmas. Inside was her mother’s wedding ring, a silver christening bracelet – too small for her now – some loose beads, a couple of plastic bangles and the flattened piece of cherry blossom. She would be back soon, but she didn’t want to leave these things behind. They felt like the only connection to her mother she had left.
Janet looked as though she was about to say something, but then changed her mind. She took the items from Helen’s hand and placed them carefully between the folds of a jumper. Then she closed the case and snapped shut the metal fasteners. ‘Now, you be a good girl for your uncle Tommy, won’t you?’
Helen gave a nod. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to leave her bedroom or the warm familiarity of the house. Although Gran might behave strangely at times, it was a strangeness she was used to. Suddenly everything was shifting in a way she had no control over.
‘Come on then,’ Janet said briskly. ‘We don’t want to keep everyone waiting.’
Helen followed her obediently downstairs and into the living room. They entered a space heavy with silence. Her grandmother was gazing blankly at the wall, her hands doing a restless dance on the lace-covered arms of the chair. Tommy Quinn was leaning forward with his palms on his thighs. He jumped up as soon as he saw them, clearly eager to get away. ‘Here, let me take that,’ he said, reaching out for the suitcase.
Janet gave Helen’s shoulder a nudge. ‘Say goodbye to your gran, then.’
‘Bye, Gran.’ Helen bent and kissed the dry, powdery cheek. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
There was no response from the old woman.
Now that it was real, now that she was actually leaving, Helen felt a flurry of panic in her chest. She bit down on her lip, feeling that lump growing in her throat again.
Janet, perhaps fearing tears, turned quickly and headed for the front door. ‘Now, you know my phone number, don’t you, Helen?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Well, if you need to get in touch about anything, you can always give me a call.’
A thin, drizzly rain was falling. They walked in single file to the end of the drive, where a white Cortina was parked beside the gate. Uncle Tommy put the case in the boot and then opened the door to the front passenger seat. ‘Hop in, then,’ he said.
Helen hesitated. She wasn’t scared of him, but she still didn’t want to go. She wanted to run back inside the house and lock the door.
‘Go on,’ urged Janet. ‘Before you get wet.’ She bent and gave Helen a brief, awkward hug. ‘Everything’s going to be fine. You’ll be home again before you know it.’
And because Helen had been raised to always do as she was told, she reluctantly got into the car. Inside, it smelled of tobacco. There were empty cigarette packets on the floor, along with crinkly strips of cellophane, crumbs and sweet wrappers. With the edge of her shoe, she gingerly nudged the rubbish aside, clearing a patch for her feet.
Uncle Tommy closed the door but remained standing by the car. She heard him say to Janet, ‘Er, about the ashes…’
‘I’ll let you know when they’re ready to be picked up. You can decide what to do with them.’
Helen caught her breath. Ashes. All that was left of her mother. Although no one had discussed the matter with her, she’d presumed that they would go in her father’s grave. Her uncle said something else that she couldn’t quite catch, before walking around the Cortina and getting in beside her.
‘Okay, love? You ready for the off?’
Hoping for a last-minute reprieve, Helen gazed pleadingly out of the window at her aunt.
Janet gave a breezy wave before starting to walk back into the house. Just as she turned away, Helen caught a glimpse of the expression on her face. She wasn’t sure, but she thought it might have been relief.
Uncle Tommy loosened his tie and undid the top button on his shirt. Then he wound down the window and lit a cigarette, before switching on the ignition a
nd sliding the car away from the kerb. ‘You okay, love? Been a bit of a day, huh? Let me know if you’re feeling cold.’
Helen huddled down in the seat, getting as close to the door as she could. She was feeling a lot of things, but cold wasn’t one of them. She gave one last glance over her shoulder as they left Camberley Road, her gaze drinking in the houses, the gardens and the row of cherry trees.
Her uncle drove in a casual, almost careless manner, his right elbow leaning on the ledge of the window. She watched him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye. He had the same colour hair as her mother, the same easy smile.
‘You ever been to Kellston before, Helen?’
She shook her head.
‘That’s where your mum and me grew up. It’s in the East End, not that far from here. We’ll be there before you know it. And you’ll have plenty of company, too. Did anyone tell you about your cousins?’ He paused, looked at her and carried on. ‘Me and Yvonne – that’s the missus, by the way – we’ve got two girls, Debra and Karen. Debs is a bit older than you, but Karen’s only just gone twelve.’
And now suddenly Helen had even more to worry about. She’d heard about the East End from her gran – a wild, godless place full of thieves and drunkards and murderers. Did Janet know that she was being taken there? And as if that wasn’t bad enough, she also had to deal with the prospect of sharing a house with other children. Some of her school friends had brothers and sisters, older ones who teased and bullied them, or younger ones who followed them around and messed with their stuff.
‘It must get lonely on your own,’ her uncle said.
Helen gave a small shrug of her shoulders. ‘It’s okay.’
‘Now your mum, she couldn’t spend two minutes by herself. She was always gabbing with her mates. Jeez, she could talk for Britain. Once she got started, you could never shut her up. She—’ He stopped abruptly, as if it had just occurred to him that Lynsey Quinn would never speak again. He chucked his cigarette end out of the window and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand.
Helen, avoiding his eyes, studied the silky blond hairs on his wrist and the gold signet ring on his little finger. Uncle Tommy, she realised, probably knew more about her mother than anybody else. There was a question on her lips, but she didn’t yet have the courage to ask it. Instead she turned her face away and stared out of the window.
They went through Chingford Mount, passing the entrance to the cemetery. She thought of her father lying buried with his father beneath the white marble headstone. When had she last been here? Three weeks ago, or four? She tried to trace back time, counting off the Sundays. She could visualise the day. A slight breeze, a pale sun sliding between the drooping branches of the willow trees. She had put blue hyacinths on the grave. She remembered the smell of them, heady and sweet.
The rain was coming down harder now, lashing against the windscreen. Uncle Tommy wound up the window. The wipers swished back and forth, a rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound. Soon they were passing through unfamiliar places, the streets flashing by, leaving a trail of hazy imprints in her head: a cinema, a red dress in a shop window, a woman struggling with an umbrella. And all the time they were getting closer and closer to their destination.
Eventually, afraid that she might not get another opportunity, she took a deep breath and spoke. ‘Uncle Tommy?’
‘Why don’t you just call me Tommy, hun. Less of a mouthful, yeah?’
‘Oh, okay.’
‘So what’s the question?’
She almost had second thoughts, but then blurted it out. ‘Do you know what happened?’
He glanced at her. ‘Happened?’
‘To Mum. I know there was a fire at the flat, Janet told me that, but… but do you know why?’ She swallowed hard, the words thick on her tongue. ‘I mean, do you know how it started?’
He hesitated before replying. ‘It was an accident, love. Could have been faulty electrics, something like that. Or maybe a fag that was left burning. They haven’t finished the investigation yet.’ He cleared his throat, staring straight ahead. ‘But she wouldn’t have felt anything. She wouldn’t have known about it. She was asleep, you see. It was the middle of the night. The smoke would have… Well, the smoke would have overcome her before she had the chance to wake up.’
But Helen didn’t see how he could know this for sure. What if she had woken up? What if she’d been scared? What if she’d struggled to get out of bed and… Her hands clenched instinctively. She could feel the dampness of her own palms. Quickly she tried to block the thought, to think about something else. Her mother’s flat had been in Kilburn. Last week, when no one was looking, she had taken her grandfather’s well-worn A to Z from the bookcase and checked the index to find out where it was. North-west London, that was where she’d been living. Her mum had never stayed in one place for long: a few months, sometimes only a week or two. Helen had found the road, Samuel Street, and pressed her thumb down on it.
‘You okay?’ Tommy asked.
She gave a nod. ‘Janet says that Mum’s in heaven now.’
He grinned back at her. ‘Sure. Why not? Probably causing mayhem already. Those angels won’t know what’s hit them.’
For a long while after, there was silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. It was getting on for five thirty when Helen saw the signpost for Kellston. By now, the roads they were driving along were busier, greyer and dirtier than the ones in Farleigh Wood. Three tall concrete towers dominated the horizon. As they got closer, she gazed up at the top storeys of the high-rise flats, wondering what it was like to live so close to the sky. There were flashes of colour fluttering on the balconies: shirts and towels hung out to dry by optimistic residents.
‘This is the high street,’ Tommy said. ‘And there’s a market three times a week. The girls usually go there on Saturdays.’
Helen, not wanting to appear rude, pretended to be interested. They passed a cinema, Woolworths and a café with a group of lads loitering outside. The youths looked rough and hard-faced, their hands stuck deep in their pockets as they lounged against the wall. Recalling her grandmother’s warnings about the dangers of the East End, she felt a spurt of anxiety. But she didn’t have to worry, she told herself. She was in the car. She was safe. Nothing could happen to her. But her heart continued to beat a little faster.
Tommy flicked on the indicator and turned left at a set of traffic lights. The first thing Helen noticed was the railway station. Men and women were streaming from the exit, an almost liquid crowd that flowed out on to the pavement. She was still watching this when her uncle swung right across the line of traffic and entered the car park of a pub called the Fox.
‘Here we are,’ he said, pulling the Cortina into a space by a stack of empty beer barrels. ‘Home sweet home.’
Helen’s eyes widened. She had never even been inside a public house before, never mind lived in one. As she got out of the car, she stared anxiously up at the Fox. It was a large but slightly shabby building, three storeys high, with the paint peeling from the windows. Tommy took her suitcase out of the boot and they sloshed through the puddles to the back door. Inside, there was a dimly lit corridor leading into the pub rooms – she could hear the murmur of voices, the chink of glasses – and a staircase going up to the first floor.
Her knees started to shake as she followed him up the stairs. Her eyes, downcast, took in the threadbare carpet, the scuff marks on the skirting boards and the battered lower part of the banisters. On reaching the first floor, Tommy swung around to the right, walked a short way along the landing and went through an open door that lay directly ahead. It led into a living room that overlooked the street. Two big green sofas, their arms worn thin with use, dominated the space. There was a patterned easy chair, a television, an electric fire – currently turned off – and a modern-looking record player. A pale blue Trimphone sat on a low table by one of the sofas. The room was clean but untidy, with newspapers and magazines strewn around.
A fema
le voice came from the room beyond. ‘Tommy? Is that you?’
‘Yeah.’
A second later, a woman flounced in from the kitchen beyond. She was slim and blonde and attractive. Or at least she would have been attractive if her face hadn’t been contorted in an angry scowl. ‘Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea what the bloody time is?’ She stopped dead in her tracks as she saw Helen. ‘Who’s this?’
‘This is Helen,’ he said. ‘Lynsey’s kid. She’s come to stay with for us for a bit.’ He put the case down and gave Helen’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘This is the missus, love. And don’t worry, it’s me she wants to kill, not you. I should have been back hours ago.’
Yvonne put her hands on her hips and stared at Helen. ‘Stay?’ she repeated stiffly. Her gaze flicked back up to her husband. ‘What are you talking about?’
Helen shuffled awkwardly from one foot to the other. Her cheeks were beginning to burn and she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. She hadn’t asked to come here, hadn’t wanted to come. If it had been up to her, she’d have turned straight around and gone back to Farleigh Wood.
‘Don’t start,’ Tommy said. ‘It’s an emergency. Her grandma’s sick.’
‘And you didn’t think to call, to let me know?’
‘There wasn’t time. Jesus, it’s only one more. What’s all the fuss about? You’ll hardly notice she’s here.’
Yvonne, however, didn’t seem convinced. ‘Oh, and you’ll be looking after her, will you? Cooking her meals, washing her clothes?’ It was clearly only the presence of Helen that prevented her from really letting rip. Instead, she said through gritted teeth, ‘We’ll talk about this later, Tommy Quinn.’
Tommy grinned, backtracked to the door and shouted up the stairs. ‘Girls? Come on down and meet your cousin.’
There was the soft thud of footsteps on the stairs, followed shortly by the appearance of two extremely pretty blonde girls. Apart from their height, they were almost identical, with long fair hair flowing down their backs, heart-shaped faces and wide brown eyes. They looked, Helen realised with a start, more like her mother than she did.