by S. J. Morgan
It was a knee-jerk reaction to tease her. Because, if I really thought about all these changes, it scared the pants off me. Scrape the surface, and it was as if nothing was enough for her anymore. She was filling gaps in her life, stuffing trinkets and mumbo-jumbo into the cracks of her existence. All this hoarding and gathering and communing: it was like she was trying to prop up her world with spirits and otherness because she’d suddenly realised her real world was threadbare.
‘Gina was with us,’ she said, putting a hand on my arm. ‘She was here.’
I looked back at her.
‘I think she’s been restless. Maybe it’s why I’ve been so restless too... Anyway, it felt wonderful to know that she’s watching over us.’
‘Right,’ I said, looking away. ‘And what does Dad say about all this?’
I sensed Mum watching me. ‘Why d’you ask?’ Her tone had changed. ‘What happened with you two last night? I knew something was up as soon as he came back from the pub. He barely opened his mouth.’
‘That’s nothing new.’
She pursed her lips then went over to the sink. ‘Seriously, love. What’s up?’
I shrugged. ‘I guess a few home truths were tossed around.’
‘What sort of home truths? I wish you wouldn’t drag up all your old complaints.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, there were things he didn’t need to drag up too.’
‘Such as?’
I looked down. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Mum came over to me, lowered her voice. ‘Don’t be too hard on him,’ she said. ‘Dad’s still finding his way.’
She went back to her tins and her mixtures, clattering trays, making herself busy. ‘I mean, if Dad could talk about…but he can’t. Never has. And now, I think…it’s probably too late.’ She swallowed, then looked up with a determined smile. ‘And that’s fine with me. It’s fine.’ She brushed away a loose hair and looked down at the bowls. ‘What d’you reckon, love? Chocolate or vanilla?’
I went over and put an arm around her: she looked like she could really use one. ‘Why don’t you pick what you like?’ I said. ‘Try putting yourself first for once.’
She chuckled at the strange notion and reached for the cocoa tin. ‘Your father’s favourite,’ she said. ‘I’ll make chocolate.’
Chapter 17
The atmosphere remained tense between me and Dad for the rest of the day, so rather than ask for a lift, I took the train to Daniella’s house. It involved two changes, a long wait and a twenty-minute walk from the station, but such was the price of making my point.
Their place looked even more imposing in the late evening sun than it had when I’d taken her home that first night. I looked beyond the manicured front lawn to the huge windows on the first floor: those rooms would have big-ass views, not only of the distant coastline but of the hills beyond. I imagined an antique brass telescope in the window and Daniella’s dad, all monocled and sailing-capped, keeping an eye on marine movements.
It struck me, as I wandered up the gravelled path, how gaping our differences were. This house was only one part of it, but in every aspect, we were at opposite ends of a vastly different spectrum. She had so much going for her. I had so little.
I licked my palms and quickly flattened my hair as I stood at the front porch.
‘Hey, you!’ Daniella said, as she threw open the door. She ran a hand over my black shirt as I walked into the hall. ‘Nice!’ she said. ‘Very Jean-Jacques Burnel.’
I certainly hadn’t picked her to be a Stranglers fan, but I took it as a compliment.
‘Come through,’ she said, leading me past a wide staircase. She whispered: ‘Let’s get the meeting-of-the-parents out the way first, shall we?’
There was a glance down at my empty hands and I realised they should’ve been filled with Mum’s baking. I could see the tin still sitting on the hall table. I started to explain but Daniella clearly had other things on her mind. She lowered her voice again. ‘Now, don’t mention anything about the flat and who you live with,’ she said. ‘The last thing they need to know is that you’re mixed up with a bunch of bikies.’
‘I’m hardly mixed up with them, they’re just –’
‘Just keep them out of the conversation,’ she hissed. ‘I’ll…explain later.’ She took a breath and reverted to her normal voice. ‘Anyway, come through,’ she said.
The house reminded me of one of those grand old seaside bed and breakfasts, with rooms every which way and far-into-the-distance hallways. We went through a glass panelled door at the very back of the house which opened to a kitchen the size of Manhattan. A fair-haired woman in black looked up from her pastry making: I wasn’t sure if this was the maid or the mother.
‘Oh, you must be Alec,’ she said, going over to the sink to wash her hands. She wiped them and stuck one out to me. ‘I’m Liz,’ she said. ‘Daniella’s mother. It’s lovely to meet you.’
‘Hi. Good to meet you too.’
She opened another door, off to the side. ‘Larry,’ she called. ‘Larry! Come in here and say hello.’
No monocle or sailing hat, after all: Daniella’s dad was dressed in a white polo shirt, dark trousers, neat deck shoes – tanned and toned and clearly making the most of his comfortable lifestyle.
‘Nice to meet you, Alec,’ he said, giving me the once-over. He did a good job of keeping the smile on his face, but I could almost taste his disapproval. I definitely wasn’t what he’d had in mind for his little girl.
‘I’ll just put this in the oven then we can go through to the lounge,’ Daniella’s mum said. ‘Can you sort out drinks, Larry?’
‘Will do. Come in and take your jacket off, Alec. What’s your tipple?’
They weren’t a bad bunch, but the set up felt too plastic wrapped for my liking. And I was clearly something of a novelty as far as they were concerned. I got the impression my predecessors were good college boys who did well at rowing and wore blazers for dinner. The more information I was asked for, the more I felt like Exhibit A in Son-in-Laws-To-Avoid.
It was into this slowly collapsing scene that Daniella’s brother Mike appeared.
‘Oh, there you are,’ his mum said, looking at her watch as he came through the door. ‘I was afraid you were going to miss dinner.’
I had to smile: they were such a six-on-the-dot sort of family.
‘Sorry, got held up,’ Mike said, shuffling off his coat. He made an impressively determined effort not to see me.
‘Mike – let me introduce Alec,’ Larry said, getting up. ‘Alec, this is our eldest, Mike.’
I went over with the obligatory outstretched hand.
‘Yeah, we met,’ Mike said, eyeballing me as we shook hands.
‘Oh well, there we are then,’ Larry said.
The parents headed off to the kitchen while Mike sprawled himself on the sofa. ‘Dad give you that message from Simon?’ he said to Daniella.
She immediately flushed so I assumed Mike’s tidbit was especially for my benefit.
‘Yes, thanks.’ Daniella smiled across at me. ‘Someone I was at school with.’
I nodded.
‘He’s going out with my friend, Lisa,’ she added.
A silence hovered.
‘So, I was talking about you earlier,’ Mike said, turning to me. He picked at the seam of the sofa arm, like he was deep in thought.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yes, Phil Harcourt was telling us where he knew your name from. Remember? The guy with the ponytail who spoke to you at the pub?’
‘Alec already said he didn’t remember,’ Daniella said.
‘Ah yeah but then we remembered why Alexander’s name was so familiar,’ Mike said. His eyes drilled into mine. ‘It’s because you were the one involved with Jill...Jill...now, what was her surname?’
‘Mitchell.’
‘Jill Mitchell, that’s right!’ he said, slapping his palm on the arm rest. He tilted his head to one side, like he was suddenly overcome with sympathy. ‘
Terrible about all that, eh?’
‘Yeah.’
Daniella looked from one to the other of us. ‘What was?’ she said, reeled right in just as intended. ‘What happened?’
Mike looked at me, then furrowed his brow like he was struggling to recall. ‘Didn’t she...’
‘I got you a lager,’ Larry said, opening the door and presenting Mike with a chilled glass and a bottle. ‘Hope that’s okay.’
‘Yes. Cheers, Dad.’
‘Right – I’ve been charged with getting you lot to the dinner table,’ Larry said, looking around at us. ‘Shall we go on through?’
I stood up and followed the rest of the family but just before we went through the door, Mike put a hand on my shoulder to stop me. ‘Xander,’ he said.
‘Mm?’
There was a pause as he waited for the others to disappear.
‘We both know you’re not being straight with my sister so let’s cut the bullshit, shall we?’
I blinked at him, my heart thumping. ‘I dunno what you’re –’
His voice was low, his speech fast: he wanted to have his say before anyone came looking for us. ‘Don’t even try it,’ he said. ‘You’ve got history. And, as I’m sure you’re well aware, the last thing our mother needs right now is the whiff of scandal.’
I wanted to put a hand up, ask what the hell he meant about his mother, but he kept powering on like a freaking army tank.
‘So, here’s the deal,’ he said. ‘You can either front up with Daniella or if you won’t, I’ll do it for you. Understood?’
‘Come on, you two!’ Larry shouted from the other room. ‘The football discussion can wait till later.’
‘Understood?’ Mike said again, holding me back.
‘I’ve got nothing to hide,’ I told him. ‘I’ll talk to Daniella. In my own good time.’
He paused, clearly sizing up what his response should be. How we’d got into this ridiculous mental arm-wrestle I had no idea. ‘Better make it soon,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’d rather her get your version of events than mine.’
‘What are you two doing?’ Daniella said, appearing in the doorway. ‘The food’s on the table.’
We followed her without speaking.
‘Everything all right?’ she whispered to me.
‘All fine,’ I said.
And I put the whole discussion away with no particular plans to ever get it out again.
By the time grapes and a cheeseboard appeared on the table, we’d exhausted all conversation. I knew everything there was to know about Larry’s orthodontic business, about liberal party politics (thanks, Liz), and why Mike was clearly destined to be something big in the city.
As soon as a silence descended, Mike leaned back in his seat and looked at me, a glass of port held close to his chest. I knew the little bastard had just been biding his time.
‘I’m still trying to get it all clear in my mind, Alec,’ he said. ‘Sorry if I’m being dense but where did you say you took your A’ levels: Westchurch or Bishops?’
‘Bishops.’
‘Right,’ he said, drawing out the word like it was far too complex to grasp in one go.
‘I came away with two Cs and a D,’ I added. ‘In case you need to get that clear too.’ The sharp edge to my tone got the Hursts shifting in their seats.
‘Not bad given you changed schools halfway through,’ Mike said. ‘Unusual step, swapping schools mid-course.’
‘Not really.’
‘Why did you change?’ Daniella said. I could tell she was using everything in her power to sound casual, non-confrontational – just to balance out Magic Mike’s more aggressive line of enquiry.
‘I didn’t like Westchurch, that’s all. It was full of...’ I glanced in Mike’s direction. ‘Well, you know the sort.’
‘And of course, you were friends with that girl, weren’t you?’ Mike said. He was like a dog with a freaking bone. ‘That would have made things quite tricky at Westchurch. I remember it was a big deal at the time.’
I held his gaze. ‘So, how’s the old place these days? You’re having to do retakes, I hear.’
‘He did wonderfully well with his A’ levels,’ Larry said. ‘But he knows he can do even better with another year’s study.’ He paused to take a sip of port. ‘Mike’ll get the grades he wants this year: I’ve no doubt about that.’
The blip that followed was just enough for me to get to my feet and tell them I had to be up early. Mike looked gutted to have not managed to pull the stuffing out of my story, but I had no doubt he’d come at me from another angle next time. It was all in the planning. I just needed to stay one step ahead of him.
Chapter 18
After the meal at her folks’ house, Daniella lent me her Marina to drive back to Swansea. The first term was still a week or so away, so she was in no hurry to return to Bristol, and she knew I was desperate to check the flat after Minto’s odd message.
I’d called into Mum and Dad’s to gather my things and it must have been the small hours when I finally turned into Oakdale Terrace. I could hear the thump-thump of Minto’s music system the minute I switched off the engine. In front of the house, all I could pick out were silhouettes: people leaning against walls; the tiny glow of a cigarette moving between hand and lips; leather-clad bikies standing around the cluster of motorcycles near our steps.
I hoped Minto would be inside rather than out: a welcoming party from him and his mob the minute I got out of the car was not what I needed. I’d parked a way down the street, but I had to make my approach eventually and the moment I got within shouting distance, I heard Sindy: ‘Alec! You’re back!’ She came running down the street like a kid in her mother’s cast-offs, barely able to run in the high heels.
‘Hey, Sindy. How you doin’?’ I kept my voice low in the hope she’d follow suit.
‘Minto!’ She gave an exuberant wave and shouted to the group in the front yard. ‘He did come after all! Look!’ She wrapped her arms around me, like I’d been away for years.
‘Well, well, well, Mr Johnston,’ Minto said, coming slowly down the steps to meet me. He held out a hand. ‘Glad you changed your mind.’
We smiled at one another while we shook hands, as if the conversation had no subtext.
‘Got a new set of wheels, have you?’
I followed his gaze. ‘Just a loan.’
‘Shame,’ he said. ‘Thought you’d come into money. Hoped you were about to clear your debts.’ He rubbed the stubble on his chin, sizing up my reaction.
‘We’ll go over that later, shall we?’ I said, nodding at my rucksack. ‘I just want to go up and dump my stuff for now.’
He inhaled deeply and shook his head. ‘I’m not worried, Alec,’ he said. ‘I know you’re good for the money.’ And he slapped a hand on my back like an over-zealous uncle. ‘Get your gear sorted then join in the fun, eh? There’s plenty of home-brew in the kitchen.’
Getting to the kitchen meant negotiating an assault course of heavy-petters on the stairs and tanked up smokers on the landing. I decided to bypass the home-brew and head straight to my room. The door was wide open, my tinpot padlock bent and broken on the floor. I took a breath, certain I’d be faced with at least one copulating couple on my bed. But when I strode in, loudly clearing my throat as I went, I realised it was empty. The immediate relief was overtaken by something else; something more unnerving. The bed hadn’t been touched; in fact, nothing looked like it’d been touched. I turned around in the middle of the room, trying to work out if anything at all looked different. The only thing I spotted was my clock radio – its digits flashing red like they always did after a power cut.
‘Hey, Alec! All right, mate?’ Stobes poked his head around the door.
‘Stobes!’ I said. ‘You don’t know how my lock got busted, do you?’
He looked between the door and the padlock on the floor. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said. ‘It was shut last time I went past.’ He glanced behind him and into the hall. ‘Could be a
nyone though – I’m not sure even Minto knows half the bunch that are here. It’s fucking bedlam.’
On cue, there was a crash in the kitchen, followed by laughter.
‘Yeah!’ I said. ‘I see what you mean.’
There was no chance of any shut-eye, what with the noise and the fact I couldn’t lock my door, so I followed Stobes out to the kitchen and sampled the home-brew. It tasted every bit as bad as it smelled, but I kept hold of my glass just to seem sociable.
Thankfully, people started heading off once the sun came up. Motorbikes fired up and roared off into the distance and the thudding bassline from Minto’s room fell silent. Once I’d secured my door, I clambered into bed still dressed, and closed my eyes, only the sound of Sindy’s bright chatter through the wall to disturb my peace.
If I’d had any doubts about the need to get shot of that flat, the scene I woke up to halfway through Sunday laid them all to rest. I’d had to wedge my door shut using a pile of magazines that I’d rescued from the back yard, but it was outside my room the real horrors began. As well as the sea of beer bottles and crushed fag butts, there was the unwelcome addition of condom packets, needles, used tissues and a few discarded pieces of underwear. There were stains along the wall that I didn’t dare get anywhere near and parts of the carpet were so wet that you could see the brown liquid ooze when you trod on it. To top it off, I was greeted in the kitchen by a cowpat of vomit, its edges uneven where someone had apparently trodden in it and spread it towards the bathroom. The place stank of beer, piss and sick and it was like the whole house had morphed into the men’s bog at Cardiff Central.
‘Fucking hell,’ said Black, stumbling into the room in his jocks. ‘Look at the state of this place.’ He sniffed the air and dry-retched. ‘Got any air-freshener? It’s absolutely honkin’ in here.’
‘I know. I was going to fix myself something to eat but I think I’ll go out and grab a burger.’
‘There’s half a sausage on the floor outside my room if you’re interested,’ Black said in his cheery Welsh way. He paused a moment. ‘At least I fuckin’ hope it’s a sausage.’