by S. J. Morgan
‘What’s up, though?’ I said, as we reached the top of the stairs. ‘What did you need me so urgently for?’
‘We didn’t know what the safest option would be. But when we couldn’t get hold of you, we just had to take a chance and see what we could do.’
Only Mum could say so much while saying so very little.
‘Take a chance on what?’
She pursed her lips and let out a deep sigh, like I was being incredibly thick. ‘Come and see,’ she said. And with that, she let us into room number five.
The curtains were closed, and the bedside lights were on. Dad stood up as we came in, but I could already see there was someone in the bed.
‘What’s going on?’ I said.
Dad put a finger up to his lips. ‘Shh, she’s asleep.’
I took a few steps forward, craning my neck to see who was under the sheets. It was hard to recognise the face, but I knew that lank, blonde hair all too well.
I looked from Dad to Mum. ‘What’s she doing here?’
If they answered I didn’t hear. I was too busy peering down, working out why those familiar features looked so odd, so suddenly unfamiliar.
‘Jeez,’ I said to myself. Her skin was so puffy, the well-defined cheekbones had all but disappeared. I could only imagine the colour on all that swelling – fortunately there wasn’t enough light to see. She looked like only an approximation of herself. ‘How did you find her?’
Mum put a hand on my shoulder, and I heard her take in a breath. ‘Maybe we should go out for a bit: I can explain in private.’
As far as I could see, Sindy was out-for-the-count but she stirred when she heard Mum’s voice.
‘Anything we can get you, love?’ Mum said, perching on the edge of the bed.
‘No, ta,’ Sindy mumbled.
‘Alexander’s here.’
Sindy nodded but she seemed barely awake.
‘We might take him out for a bite to eat,’ Mum said to the back of Sindy’s head. ‘You could get some more rest.’
Sindy blinked open her eye and shook her head. ‘I don’t want to be on my own.’
The rest of us exchanged glances. Dad came over. ‘What if I was just in there?’ Dad said, nodding at the nearby door. ‘In our room. Would you be all right with that?’
The sleeping arrangements hadn’t occurred to me, but I guess it was obvious they wouldn’t be all cosied-up in a family room.
‘See – this is a connecting door,’ Dad told her.
Sindy’s eyes followed him. ‘Could you leave it open a bit?’
Dad gave her a smile. A warm, protective smile. ‘Certainly.’ He turned to Mum. ‘Why don’t you take the car?’ he said. ‘I’m not hungry anyway. I’ll sit in there and read the papers.’
‘That all right, love?’ Mum said.
Sindy ignored the question and looked at me. ‘You won’t be long, will you?’
‘Nah,’ I said. ‘You get some sleep. We’ll have a chat later.’
She wrestled out something close to a smile. ‘We can talk about what we’re going to do then, can’t we?’ she said.
And her eyes surged with such hope, such certainty I could fix everything, that I couldn’t wait to be out of there.
Chapter 32
Mum has always eased very gingerly into awkward conversations; like she’s putting on new shoes that she knows are going to pinch. I could taste her tension the moment the two of us got in the car.
‘It’s all such a to-do, isn’t it?’ she said, as we headed out of the car park. ‘I bet you didn’t imagine finding Sindy here with us, did you?’
‘Nope,’ I said. ‘How the hell did it all happen?’
‘I suppose we could’ve taken her back home with us really,’ Mum said, still on her own particular train of thought. ‘In some ways it’s been more difficult being here with her rather than at home. There’s always the risk of...oh, not here, love,’ she said as I was about to turn into CJ’s car park. ‘Sindy told us all the places to avoid: she said Minto often comes to these cafes. Isn’t there somewhere away from the main town we could go? Somewhere with a few less pubs?’
It made me wonder why they’d chosen a hideout right in the midst of Minto-land, but I figured I’d get the whole story soon enough.
I put the windscreen wipers on and cranked up the heater.
We ended up at some swanky restaurant in one of the bays: ‘Clinkers’ it was called, presumably on account of the occasional passing yacht. One look at the fussy menu and I knew we’d be safe from Minto.
It was surprisingly busy given it was a Monday night and we were outside the main town, but when I saw the Hallowe’en decorations and the special deal on Bloody Marys, I realised the rest of the diners were just hiding from the Trick or Treaters.
‘I think I’ll have the whitebait,’ Mum told me. ‘And shall we order some wine?’
She picked something cheap from near the top of the list and it got me thinking how much this trip must have set them back. I hoped the B&B had an off-season deal.
‘So, what’s the story, Mum?’ I said, once we’d placed our order and got a drink in our hands.
‘It was a couple of days ago,’ she said. ‘And look at the state of Sindy, even now: this is after a bit of recovery. You can imagine what she looked like when we first saw her. I wanted to get her to a hospital, but she wouldn’t hear of it. So stubborn, she is.’
It was frustrating trying to keep Mum on track. She never said things chronologically or in a logical sequence. All the details were interspersed with a whole raft of other random thoughts. ‘Yes, but how did you find her?’
‘Well, she rang looking for you. She was so upset. She’d been to your new place and no one knew where you were or how to get hold of you. She rang us in desperation.’
‘So, this is Minto’s handiwork, the damage to her face?’
‘Yes. And he’s thrown her out as well.’
That piece of news came as a shock. ‘Really? You sure?’
‘She did tell me why, but I didn’t really understand,’ Mum said. ‘We tried everywhere we could think of to get hold of you.’
‘I was at Daniella’s.’
Mum topped up our glasses. ‘We thought you might be – but you’ve never told us her surname or where her parents live, or anything.’ Mum looked at me like I’d deliberately kept these things from her.
‘So, Minto threw her out,’ I said, trying to keep her focussed. ‘Then what?’
‘What d’you mean, ‘then what?’ She had no one to turn to and nowhere to live!’
‘But Sindy doesn’t live at the flat,’ I said. ‘She lives with her dad.’
Mum opened her mouth then shut it again. She leaned forward, then back as if the news had put her all out of kilter. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘She made it sound as though she had nowhere to go – literally nowhere. Surely, she wouldn’t have made us come all this way if she had a home to go to? It’s costing us a fortune to stay in that place.’
The arrival of our starters saved me from having to answer but as soon as Mum was tucking into her whitebait, she kept right on going. ‘The poor kid seems so frightened, that’s the thing. If she went to the police, they’d soon put a stop to him, but she won’t even consider it.’
‘Minto’s got a lot of friends,’ I said. ‘Going to the cops mightn’t be the smartest move.’
Mum shook her head. ‘I didn’t think this sort of thing went on.’ She picked up the salt cellar and showered some over the fish and quite a lot over the tablecloth. ‘Why would she turn to you instead of getting help from her own father?’ she said. ‘He must know this Minto’s a bad sort.’
‘Yeah, well it’s an odd situation,’ I said.
Mum leaned back in her chair. ‘To me, it all seems wrong. It’s not normal that she’s so young when he must be, what, in his mid-thirties?’
‘No, it’s not right.’
‘I was going to suggest a women’s refuge,’ Mum said, ‘but Sindy doe
sn’t seem old enough for that.’
‘She wouldn’t go in any case.’ I poured some of my wine into Mum’s glass. ‘You didn’t have to go to the flat to get her, did you?’
‘No, we told her to meet us at that cafe we all went to the first time. Remember?’
‘So, she just waited there?’
‘She’d managed to pack a few things, at least. She’s got one or two bits of clothing with her and some...’
‘She packed?’
‘Yes.’ Mum put down her fork and laughed as she thought about it. ‘She’s got this huge suitcase but there’s very little in it. A few comics, some underwear and a jumper from what I could see.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Yeah, that’d be Sindy.’
Even so, it seemed strange she’d had time to pack if this was such an emergency.
Mum polished off the last of her whitebait and pushed her plate away. She looked around and let out a chuckle. ‘It’s rather nice having a posh meal together like this, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It is.’
I meant it, too.
‘Pity your dad couldn’t come too though,’ she said. ‘It would have been nice to have us all here together.’
‘How’s he been? He looks a bit perkier.’
Mum stacked our empty plates and pushed them to the edge of the table. ‘Well, you know how he is, stuck at home not doing very much. But this has helped.’ There was a definite spark in her eye as she looked back at me. ‘It’s an enforced holiday, really. I think it’s doing him the world of good: a change of scenery, a different view out of the window, a bit of sea air. And Sindy’s a funny little thing.’
‘Yeah.’
The smile slipped from her face. ‘I suppose, if I think about, it’s good for me too.’ She was careful not to meet my eye as she made the admission. ‘Sometimes, those four walls...’
The waiter took away our plates and our mains arrived seconds later: a slab of gammon for me; a hefty steak and ale pie for Mum.
‘I thought you’d enjoy being at home more now Dad’s retired,’ I said. ‘All those years he wasn’t there and now you get him all to yourself, every day.’
‘Mm.’ She cut into her pie, all focus apparently on her meal.
‘Or is it more difficult having someone else around?’
‘I suppose it just takes some adjusting to,’ she said. ‘For both of us. His life has been full of order and routine and discipline...and now, well, there’s nothing he has to do. Nowhere he has to be. He’s a bit...at a loss. Nobody needs him. And as for me, well, I don’t know. I just feel lonelier than ever.’
I looked up from my meal as her voice waivered.
‘Pass me the salt, would you, love?’ she said, quickly.
I gave it to her and was about to return to our conversation, but she snuck in with something else. Something safe. ‘How’s that lovely girlfriend of yours?’ she said. ‘Have you seen much of her lately?’
‘She helped me shift from the flat last week,’ I said.
‘Yes, how is it? Are you settled in?’
‘I’ve hardly been there. We moved my stuff in and then went to Daniella’s for the week.’
Mum looked back at me, puzzled, but I wasn’t about to fill her in on Minto’s farewell fistfight which had sent us scuttling east. Just as well my bruises were well-hidden; Minto was probably expert in delivering carefully aimed wounds.
‘It’s nice to see you with a girlfriend again,’ Mum said.
I nodded, hoping she’d leave it.
But of course, Mum was never one to leave things.
‘It seems such a long time since...well, you know. You and Jill used to spend so much of your time at our place – and the...’
She put a hand onto mine, even though I was perfectly okay and holding a forkful of gammon. ‘It’s well overdue, that’s all I’m saying,’ she told me. ‘I was so pleased when you finally brought someone home. And Daniella’s just lovely.’
‘Glad you approve,’ I said.
I poured myself some water and shifted the discussion neatly from Daniella to dessert.
‘If you want to stay with us,’ Mum said as I helped her with her coat outside the restaurant, ‘I could sleep in Sindy’s room and you could share with Dad. It’d be no trouble: save you driving all the way home.’
‘I should get back,’ I said. ‘I haven’t been there all week: it’d be nice to finally sleep in my own bed. I’ll bring the car in the morning.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s just...’
‘What?’
She stopped us, halfway between the restaurant and the car park. ‘Would you mind staying at the bed and breakfast tonight, love?’ The wind blew the hood of her coat down as she stood waiting for me to say yes.
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, looking down.
‘But I’m only ten minutes away from you.’
‘I know, I know. But I don’t like the thought of you going back there. Sindy said Minto and you don’t get along these days and that flat is still so close to where he is. I just...’ She put her hand on my arm. ‘Please – to put my mind at rest?’
I shrugged. ‘Okay, I guess.’
‘Thanks, love.’
We hurried towards the car, bracing ourselves against the sharp wind slicing across the bay. Mum took hold of my arm. ‘You know the way back to the B&B, don’t you?’
‘‘Course.’
‘It’s not too bad there,’ she said. ‘It costs a bit but it’s clean and comfortable.’
I unlocked Mum’s door before I went around and slid into the driver’s seat. The car park was nearly empty and with the restaurant behind us, there was a sense of isolation as we sat facing the rocky outcrops and the sweep of the sea beyond.
I started the engine and cranked up the fan and the heater. We sat with the windscreen wipers on full blast and waiting for the windows to demist.
‘Mum?’ I said. ‘What did you mean back there? About feeling lonelier than ever?’
‘Oh, take no notice,’ she said, with a wave of the hand. ‘Just ‘silly old woman’ talk.’
I’d had a sinking feeling in my stomach ever since she’d said it. I knew it could be a long time before we’d get another moment like this one.
‘Is that what all the shopping and the séances and the clippings are about?’
I could see her instinct was to dismiss the idea, but she stopped and allowed herself to think about it. It took a good few pulses of the wipers before she spoke.
‘I always thought the loss would fade away,’ she said. ‘Of Gina, I mean. And I suppose for a little while it did – on a day to day basis, at least.’ She swallowed loudly and her breath sounded ragged. She picked at imaginary marks on her fingernails. ‘But now it’s worse than ever. Now it’s so close, I feel it with me all the time. I think it’s...I see these lovely young girls – on the edge of becoming young women. And I just miss her all over again. I think: ‘our Gina would look like that,’ and then I imagine her doing her exams and going off to college. Of getting a boyfriend, of settling down and looking forward to a family of her own. We’d have grandchildren...’
That was the word that finally tripped her up. She put a hand up to her face and her body crumpled.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, as I pulled her against me. ‘I know it’s ridiculous after all this time. I’m a grown woman. And it’s not like you won’t ever have a family and I know I should be over it and be getting on with my life but...I don’t know. Perhaps I’m being punished for something,’ she said, sniffing. ‘Perhaps it was my fault we lost Gina in the first place.’
‘No, Mum,’ I whispered. But, jeez, as she cried against my chest, I could even feel myself starting to get choked up.
‘I never expected it to get worse rather than better,’ she said. ‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s the change and everything, but Gina seems to be on my mind all the time now...and I can’t stop myself noticing those important landmarks.
’ She sucked in some air. ‘I haven’t done it deliberately, but I keep track of when she’d be taking O’ levels, her A’ levels, applying for college, going to her first formal. It’s as if I’ve had this...mental running commentary of her life. And all that’s missing from it is her. She’s missed out on so much, Alexander. There was so much more life she should have had.’
Her grief had whipped up to a frenzy and I could only hold her as her body bumped and trembled against me.
I’d had no idea: no fucking idea for all those years, that any of it had been going on.
And I figured Dad didn’t either.
Reckoned it might have been one of the few things we’d ever had in common.
Chapter 33
The place had twin beds rather than doubles and I was surely thankful for that. Sharing a room with Dad was one thing but sleeping under the same duvet would’ve stretched the bounds of any father-son relations way beyond my comfort zone.
The prospect of an overnighter with the old man didn’t bother me nearly as much as I would’ve expected. I didn’t know if it was to do with him being away from his own turf or if he was enjoying the novelty of being needed, but that evening after Mum and I got back, he’d been almost sociable. Perhaps it was my imagination, but he didn’t seem so stiff and uptight as he did at home. Everything about him was more fluid, looser; even his facial expressions. He didn’t seem to grind from one scowl to another – an odd calm had come over him.
That’s not to say we’d turned into an updated version of the Brady Bunch, but Dad at least looked up from his paper occasionally, and once I’d got into bed, he asked if I wanted a loan of the sports section.
After I settled down, Dad put out the light and I heard the swish and rustle of him undressing. I could see it all in my head: the sharp slice as he took the hanger from the wardrobe and slid his shirt onto it. The sound of change clattering on the floor from his pockets as he held the turn-ups of his trousers under his chin, ready to fold along the creases and place on a hanger. How did I even know this stuff? I’d spent so long telling myself he was never there that I’d almost forgotten all the things I did remember about him being in the house; all the funny ways he had of doing things, the set routines, the specific order he carried out certain tasks. It was endearing and infuriating all at the same time.