by S. J. Morgan
‘It doesn’t seem right to me.’
‘Of course it’s not right. But Minto’s a crook, a villain. And frankly, with all the other shit we’ve got going on with him, the rent money is the least of our worries.’
Dad nodded before grabbing one of the many bin bags of belongings. ‘Come on then,’ he said. ‘Looks like Swansea really wants to be rid of you.’
Dad and I had already had a bite to eat by the time we heard the key in the door and the tell-tale rustle of bags. ‘You two home already?’ Mum shouted.
Dad folded up the paper. ‘There goes the peace,’ he said, getting to his feet.
I stayed where I was, in no hurry to pass on the latest accommodation news to Mum.
‘Well, look at you two!’ Dad said.
Mum, Dad, Sindy: they were all so comfortable with each other; such a natural fit.
‘Alexander!’ Mum shouted. ‘Come out here: I’ve got something to show you.’
She sounded like the overly cheerful parent of my school years and as I gritted my teeth, I realised I’d reverted to my adolescence. Back then, Mum only had to open her mouth to piss me off and I could feel that irritation rushing in again like shots through a syringe. ‘Yeah, in a minute,’ I shouted.
The living room door opened and Sindy walked in, Mum and Dad shadowing her with smiles on their faces.
‘What d’you think?’ Mum said.
Sindy hardly looked like the same girl. I could see it was her, of course, but she looked so breathtakingly altered that I couldn’t stop staring at her, as if she was some spot-the-difference cartoon.
‘Jeez, look at you!’ I said.
Sindy’s cheeks flushed, reminding me once again that this unfamiliar looking visitor was still just Sindy.
But instead of the lank mousey hair she’d left the house with that morning, she’d come back sporting a bouncy, auburn mane that seemed to light up her whole face. The centre-parting that had once revealed a pimply forehead was replaced with a flicked fringe.
‘Hm. I like it,’ I said, going full circle around her, and peering into her hair like I was carrying out a nit inspection.
Sindy gave one of her messy snorts: the sort that couldn’t be trimmed and tamed at any hairdresser’s. ‘I got my ears pierced too,’ she said, showing me a pair of tiny studs. ‘I’ve only ever had clip-on earrings before, and they hurt.’
‘Wow,’ I said, peering at her red lobes. ‘These look like they hurt too.’
‘And I got mine done too,’ Mum said, coming towards me with her head a-tilt. ‘See?’
‘My God!’ I heard Dad say, and I don’t think he meant it in a good way.
‘We had such a fantastic time,’ Sindy said. ‘We went shopping, had a huge three-course lunch in this really posh restaurant, got our ears pierced, had my hair done and I got my nails painted too.’ She wiggled a set of glossy pink fingernails at me as she smiled. ‘I think it’s probably been the best day of my life.’
As she registered the comment, Mum’s features took a kind of inward gasp. She put a hand on her chest and looked so choked up, I wondered if it had just become the best day of her life as well.
‘And I got some great clothes too,’ Sindy said, holding up bags from each of those decorated fingers.
I waited for Dad’s cash radar to start beeping as the cost of this best-of-days started to mount up. But no, he stayed there nodding, all indulgence and generosity.
‘Haven’t you got enough clothes in that spare room to give to Sindy?’ I said to Mum.
She waved away the idea: ‘Oh, they’re no good,’ she said. ‘If you’re going to have new outfits you might as well have outfits that are in fashion, that’s what I always say.’
I figured I must have missed her previous pronouncements about such things.
‘It’s good to see you both looking so happy,’ Dad said. ‘And I’m glad your appetite is coming back, Sindy. I was afraid you’d waste away.’
She looked down at her flat stomach and gave it a few sharp prods. ‘I don’t think so!’
She rummaged amongst the bags on the chair. ‘I can’t wait to try these on again,’ she said, turning around. All her movements were more considered now; the flick of that bouncy hair; a painted nail to a lip – she was in makeover heaven. ‘Hey, can I go and phone Daniella?’ she said. ‘She’ll want to hear all about this!’
‘Sure,’ said Mum, tossing a smile towards me.
We’d come to realise Sindy loved any excuse to use Mum and Dad’s phone; it was one of the new push-button ones and Sindy was obsessed with it. While she was in the hall, speaking to Daniella, Mum stood by the mirror, fiddling with her earring. I saw her gaze drift to my sports bag, still on the chair. ‘Everything okay in Swansea?’
Dad and I exchanged a glance.
‘Not really,’ I said.
Mum’s eyes met mine in the reflection and I gave her the bad tidings. I expected to see that pinched, worried look cross her face but she didn’t even seem surprised.
‘Something else will turn up,’ is all she said.
‘Yeah, I’ll have to have a think about what to do.’
‘There’s no hurry, is there?’ Dad said, getting out of his seat. ‘I reckon you’re better off staying here for now. It’ll be Christmas before we know it so you can find something in the new year.’ He headed for the door. ‘Right, I’m going to make us all a hot drink.’
‘Or a cold one,’ Mum said, turning away from the mirror at last. ‘It’s turned out to be such a nice day, I fancy celebrating.’
She beamed at me, and I couldn’t help feeling that my new-found homelessness had just become the cherry on her perfect day cake.
Chapter 38
I didn’t know what had woken me. I hadn’t heard anything but as I opened my eyes in the darkness, something felt different. I could hear Dad snoring away on the other side of the wall; the cistern above the bog drip-dripping like it always did; and somewhere in the distance I could hear the low hum of the motorway. It was the smell that reached me first. It wasn’t a burning or smoky smell but the almost-comforting smell of something being warmed.
I sat up in bed, taking in a deep breath and straining my ears for clues but I could hear nothing. I got out of bed to go for a pee. In the hall, Dad’s snoring sounded even louder, and I was surprised to see their bedroom door open. Dad’s always been a stickler for making sure doors are shut, lights off. The bathroom door was wide open too.
I went in, peed in the darkness and was about to go back to my room when something made me hesitate. I stood on the landing, listening; willing Dad to stop his snoring, just for a moment, so I could hear properly.
I tiptoed downstairs and flicked the switch by the telephone table to turn on the hall light. Nothing. But I could see the lamppost outside, bathing the porch in a yellow glow.
Now I could tune in to the sounds of the house. Or rather the lack of them. The usual hum of the fridge had been silenced, and it seemed to turn up the volume on the muffled roar from the motorway; the throaty grind of a lorry in low gear. I stood in the darkness, just listening. There was another sound, barely detectable; a very quiet hiss. For some reason the sound made me think of Minto; I imagined him the other side of the kitchen door, sucking hard on one of his rollies.
As I remained there, paralysed, I forced myself to drop my shoulders, pull myself together. This was home in Cardiff, not some spooky dive in a Stephen King novel.
I followed the noise through to the kitchen, making as little sound as I could. Every door was open as I went past – the living room, the dining room, even the one to the cupboard under the stairs.
There was a glow in the kitchen; I spotted it between the hinges as the door stood ajar. And warmth – I felt the heat before I’d even crossed the threshold. I peeped round the door, just a head and shoulder, ready to retreat as soon as I came face to face with whatever was there. I jerked back before I’d even registered what I’d seen. Back in the darkness I realised all the gas rings
were alight on the hob.
I took another breath and forced myself to straighten up, march into the kitchen like it was broad daylight and I had a job to do. All four gas rings were on and the oven door was open, gas on full blast. It meant it was hot in the room, even with the doors to the outside open. I strode through the kitchen and pulled the doors shut. I was about to lock them as well, but a thought stopped me: what if someone was still in the house? I turned off the gas rings and tugged the oven knob back to zero, plunging myself into total darkness again. I tried the kitchen light switch, already knowing it would do me no good.
I didn’t want to be quiet; I wanted to make as much noise as possible. I bound up the stairs, two at a time, even in the pitch black. I knew Dad would have battery torches in every room, but I had no idea where to find one. I knocked loudly on their open door and shook Dad by the shoulder. ‘Dad? Can you come downstairs?’ I whispered.
There was no gradual transitioning from deep sleep to wakefulness; no snaffling to consciousness. Instead, his eyes opened wide, like he was one of those ventriloquist puppets, and he sat up. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Are there any torches?’ I whispered. ‘There’s a power cut or something.’
He nodded and reached for a lantern torch from the table beside him. Plan A, as ever.
‘Sure it’s not just a fuse?’ he said, turning around to me as we headed down the stairs.
‘I dunno.’ I grabbed his arm to stop him going any further. ‘Dad. Someone was here – or might still be here. All the doors were open, and the gas rings and oven were on.’
His shadowed expressions turned this way and that as he took in the implications of what I was saying. But all he said was, ‘Okay,’ before going down the last few stairs.
He hurried through the hall and swept the torch beam around the kitchen.
‘Both back doors were wide open,’ I said. ‘Kitchen and conservatory.’
‘I see.’ He shone the torch out of the window into the garden. ‘I’d better go and check,’ he said.
‘The streetlights are on.’
‘Just us then.’ He opened the back door. ‘I’ll have a look at the fuse box.’
‘Dad – give me the torch: I think I should go,’ I said. ‘I know where the box is. You stay here – get on the phone if...you hear anything.’
He hesitated a second before handing over the torch. I could tell he was using all his willpower to not insist on going instead of me.
The fuse box was on the outside wall between the garage and the house, in its own little alleyway. The perfect spot for someone to get you by yourself, force you against the wall and overpower you.
I gave the area a thorough sweep with the torch before I went anywhere near: I checked behind me, in front of me; even above in case someone was lurking on the garage roof.
The metal door to the fuse box opened with a creak. The main switch was pointed to the ‘off’ position and none of the fuses tripped when I switched it back on. I was about to shut the door when I saw a piece of paper attached to the inside, held there by a blob of fresh chewing gum. ‘Alec,’ it said. ‘Called in to fetch Sindy but no one was ready. Will call again soon. Very soon.’
I slammed the door shut as if to convince myself I hadn’t seen it.
How the fuck had he got in? There were no windows open, thanks to Dad – and none broken as far as I’d been able to tell.
‘Anything?’ Dad said, hanging onto the back door.
‘Nah, I just put the main switch back on.’ I paused, weighing up how much to confess.
‘Has he gone?’
Dad and I both spun around as Sindy stood in the doorway. She looked so unlike herself in that clean and prim white dressing gown; her hair wavy and styled as if she hadn’t been to bed at all.
I looked at Dad then back at Sindy. ‘Has who gone?’
She swallowed, and her voice was back to being as timid as it used to be. ‘Minto,’ she said. ‘He was here.’
‘How d’you know?’
‘He came into my room and put his hand over my mouth. He said he’d come back for me.’ She was close to tears but, for once, she managed to force them down.
‘How the devil did he get in?’ Dad said. ‘I’ve checked all around and...’
‘He’s got a key,’ Sindy said, lowering her voice.
I took a step towards her. ‘What?’
‘That day he had the keys to Daniella’s car. You know, the ones on the horse keyring? He borrowed yours too. He gave the whole bunch to his friend, Tay. Tay gets keys cut for him all the time. Minto has a whole drawerful for other peoples’ cars and flats and things. And he’s always had the one to your room.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ I said.
‘All right,’ Dad hissed. ‘This isn’t Sindy’s fault. We can get the locks changed. I just don’t understand why...’ He scratched his head and looked around, gesturing at the stove. ‘Why would he leave all the gas rings on like that? Why light the oven? Why not make Sindy go with him now?’
I looked at Sindy and I could see she already knew.
‘It’s a threat,’ I said to Dad. ‘A calling card. Showing us what he could do if he wanted. This time, he lit the gas. Next time...’
Dad’s features faltered, and I saw his hand reach out to the kitchen worktop. ‘I’ll ring a locksmith as soon as they’re open,’ he said. He shook a warning finger at me and at Sindy. ‘Not a word about this to your mother, understand? I’ll talk to her.’
Sindy did a ‘cross my heart’ gesture then opened the kitchen door, Dad following close behind. He kept his finger on the light switch, waiting for me.
‘I’ll be right up,’ I said.
He hesitated but finally backed out the door.
I knew I wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t relax a single muscle, till I’d made certain, one last time, that Minto was nowhere in the house.
Chapter 39
Given I no longer had a flat in Swansea, I had no choice but to sign on for my dole money in Cardiff. It wasn’t a decision I took lightly. As I walked into the job centre in Westgate Street, I had the sensation I’d taken fifty steps back with my life. Yes, I explained to the prim woman on the counter, I had been a student; I had had a grant and I had jacked in the course. It was a shame, wasn’t it? And yes, I was now living in the family home again. Temporarily, absolutely. She spun a form around to me and pointed to where I had to sign. And that was that – the death knell had sounded. My official residence was confirmed as ‘at home with parents.’
My new status was underlined the moment I walked in the house later. I was about to escape, unseen, up the stairs when the lounge door opened.
‘Alexander? Can you come in here a minute?’ Mum said.
I paused, holding onto the banister. ‘Can’t it wait? I’ve just got in.’
‘Quick,’ she said, ‘while Sindy’s in the bath.’
I turned around and followed Mum into the room. Dad was already in there, papers and documents scattered at his feet.
‘What’s going on?’
‘We want to talk to you,’ Mum said.
I knew something was up because the telly wasn’t on and Dad’s briefcase was on the chair: the leather one they’d always told me was kept on top of the wardrobe ‘for when the time comes’.
Mum looked at Dad as if waiting for her cue. ‘Your father and I have been talking,’ she said. ‘About Sindy.’ She left an overly dramatic pause. ‘I can’t bear to think of her going back to that...life she had. She’s not safe.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘We’ve been through this a hundred times. But it has to be her deci –’
‘She’s got family in Australia,’ Dad said. ‘Did you realise that?’
The swerve in conversation took me by surprise. ‘Yeah, ‘course. Why?’
They exchanged a conspiratorial look. ‘We were wondering if you could persuade her to go out there and see them,’ Dad said. ‘She’d be much safer: away from Minto plus she’d be with her fa
mily.’
‘But she might not want to. I don’t suppose she’s ever met them: they’d be complete strangers. And they might not be interested in meeting her, let alone welcoming her into the fold.’
‘You could ask Sindy though. Find out a bit more.’
‘And she’s got no money,’ I said.
‘We could pay,’ Mum said. And again, she looked across at Dad who picked up a bank book and waved it in my direction.
‘It’s not much, given all the years I spent in the Navy,’ he said, ‘but I did get a lump sum. Plus, your mum and I had a few shares which we cashed in last year and put into a high interest account.’
‘So, it’d be no problem financially. We could pay for you both,’ Mum said, clutching her skirt as she leaned forward. ‘You and Sindy.’
There was a pause, like all the air had left the room.
‘Me?’
Mum nodded. ‘I don’t think she’d manage alone, do you?’
‘And it’s not like there’s much going for you here,’ Dad added. ‘This could be the making of you.’
‘Jeez,’ I said. ‘You’ve got this all worked out, haven’t you?’ And I sat back in my seat, watching them both. It sounded so far-fetched, melodramatic even.
‘What do you think, love?’ Mum said.
‘I don’t know. I’m still...taking it all in.’
The prospect of a free trip to Australia certainly sounded appealing, but only when I imagined me and Daniella in the picture, not me and Sindy. I didn’t want to leave Daniella behind: we mightn’t have seen so much of each other lately with her back at uni, but just knowing she was there, on the end of the phone, with her sensible head and her teasing laugh – that had kept me sane. Did I really want to risk her finding someone else while I swanned off with Sindy looking for some far-flung relatives who might not even want to see her? ‘A sorry bloody excuse for a mother’ – isn’t that how Sindy had described her? But then, all she had in Wales was the even sorrier excuse for a father.
‘Well don’t take too long thinking about it,’ Dad said, banging papers into piles. He was clearly director of operations in all this and was enjoying his new-found sense of purpose. ‘You might have a very small window of opportunity; barely a chink of light if that boyfriend of hers is coming back.’