up to bed,’ she added, stretching up to plant a kiss on his cold cheek. ‘We’ll be up once we’re all straight down here.’
As if they could ever be straight with her brother camping out in the front room. But Joey seemed happy enough, clearly too excited to clock the tension in her voice, and remembering to give Brian a grateful hug before he left them. Such a big lad now but still so much their baby. So loving – never afraid to hug his dad, even in public. God, the thought of that bastard Mo so much as sharing his airspace made her want to punch a wall.
She went into the kitchen, her legs leaden. It was Mo. She just knew it. How many men of his description could possibly exist in the world? But back in Bradford? For fuck’s sake, why? And after all this time? What could possibly be here for him? Well, apart from his kids – and there were a few of them knocking about; that much she knew for sure. And not one of which, as far as she knew, had ever had anything to do with him. He spawned them and discarded them. That was what he had always been best at. So why approach her Joey? Surely to God he wouldn’t want to know Joey now? Not after all that had happened. Surely to God that would be that very last thing he’d do?
She shivered as she put the kettle on, an action that was automatic. God, she wished her mam was still alive and doing it for her. Taking charge. Because she knew Mam would know what to do. Despite all her faults – and they’d been legion, no question – her mam had never been scared of anyone. Specially Mo. The man she’d loved. The man who had let her down so badly. The man who’d made such a calculated move on her own teenage daughter. On her. And she’d … God. It was no good. She couldn’t even bear to let the thought take shape. She grabbed the cigarettes again and lit another.
‘Look, love, I know what you’re thinking –’
Christine turned around. Under the strip light, Brian’s face was pinched and grey.
‘I bet you don’t,’ she said, keeping her voice as low as his was. ‘I’m thinking how much I’d like to plunge a knife into his gut. It’s him, Bri. I know it is. It must be.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Brian said. ‘Come on. He can’t have been the only Mo in Bradford.’
She stubbed out the cigarette. ‘A big black guy, called Mo? That would be one fucking massive coincidence.’
‘What about Paki Mo? Remember him?’
‘Mo, as in Mohammed. He said black, Brian, with dreadlocks. It’s him. It has to be. Trust me, I can feel it in my bones.’
Brian went to put his arms around her, but she shrugged him off. She felt like glass. All sharp edges. Too fragile to be touched. ‘What will we do, Bri? What the fuck does he want with us after all these years?’
She leaned heavily against the kitchen counter, feeling all the strength going from her legs. Brian took a step, pulled her towards him again, and this time she didn’t stop him.
‘I don’t think we should panic,’ he said eventually, speaking into her hair. ‘Even if it was Mo, we don’t know that he knows for definite who Joey is, do we? And even if he had an inkling, or someone told him, it could be that he was just curious. You know, to get a look at him or something.’
‘But who’d tell him? It’s not like anyone in their right mind would bring it up, is it? It’s not like he’s ever wanted anyone to know about it, is it?’
She knew that for a fact. It had been the exact opposite. If she remembered right – though there was so much she’d been at pains to forget – he’d denied it outright, with contempt. I don’t have a son. At least, not with you, girl. Who in their right mind would ever lay down with a fucking tramp like you?
‘So maybe no one has told him,’ Brian was saying. ‘Maybe he has no idea. And even if he’s worked it out, come on, love – he’s hardly Father of the Year, is he? What on earth has he to gain by suddenly claiming a grown-up son who he’s never paid fuck-all for all his life? Christ, Chris, he’s never even acknowledged his existence. Seriously, I know you’re upset, but let’s not go off on one about this. I think we should just see how all this pans out before worrying about things that might not even happen.’
Christine tried hard to pull the brake on her galloping thoughts. Brian was right. She was running away with herself. Panicking. Being paranoid. But how could she not, when she had so much to be paranoid about?
She stood up straight again, and reached for her cigarettes on the kitchen counter. The silky smooth wooden counter top Brian had made for her so lovingly. That got to her sometimes, the way he loved her. The way he cared for her. The way he loved her Joey as if he was his own. Christ, he was his own. And now this.
There was a noise then, of something banging heavily against furniture. No. Someone. Her brother staggered into the kitchen. ‘Wassup?’ he asked, looking from one to the other as he headed towards the sink. ‘Where’s our Joey? Don’t we need to get the drums in?’
He turned the tap on, too hard, and water fountained off a plate in the washing-up bowl.
‘For fuck’s sake, Nick!’ Christine hissed. ‘And will you fucking pipe down?’
‘What?’ Nicky whined. ‘Keep your hair on. You making tea?’
‘Make a brew, love,’ Brian suggested. ‘I think we could all use another one.’ Then he turned to Nick. ‘So did you see him?’
‘See who?’
‘Fucking Mo!’ Christine snapped. ‘Rasta Mo – hello? In The Sun?’
‘That was Rasta Mo?’ Christine could almost hear the cogs whirring in her brother’s head. ‘That’s who it was, was it? That our Joey was banging on about? Fuck me.’
‘So you didn’t?’ Brian asked.
Nicky shook his head. ‘Nah, by the time I got back it was just the last stragglers. The band and that. And just a couple of the usual alkies. So it was him spoke to Joey?’ He looked from one to the other. ‘So, what – you going to tell him, or what?’
Booze or no booze, Christine couldn’t believe her brother had even asked the question, let alone that Brian was now looking at her as if it was an entirely reasonable one to ask.
‘No, I’m fucking not!’ she said. ‘And you make sure you don’t say anything either. Not to Joey. Not to anyone.’ She pushed a finger into Nicky’s chest. ‘But I need you to help me. I want you to try and find out what he’s doing back here –’
‘Assuming it even is him,’ Brian pointed out.
‘Round the pubs and that,’ she went on, ignoring him. ‘What he’s up to. Why he’s here. I need to know what he’s come back for. And do it discreetly. He mustn’t know –’
‘As if he wouldn’t know,’ Nicky countered. ‘If it is him, that is. But if it is, then what about Joey? Shouldn’t he know who he is?’
Brian raised his hands. ‘Hold up,’ he said. ‘Stop running away with all this. He’s just turned up in a pub and bought the lad a pint, that’s all. That’s all,’ he said, grabbing Christine’s hand and squeezing it. ‘That’s all that’s happened. For all we know, Joey’s never going to see him again. We could be getting stirred up over nothing here. Seriously, love, this could all just be a coincidence. He’s in the pub, Joey’s playing … End of.’
‘And even if he does,’ Nicky said, accepting a mug of tea. ‘He might have seemed like Mister Smooth, but our Joey’s not daft. If he does show up again, Joey’ll soon find out who he is. He’ll hear the talk, about who he is, who he was – and what he was, more to the point – and even if he doesn’t, it won’t be two minutes before he makes his own mind up, will it? You’ve brought him up better than that, sis. He’s not daft, that kid. He’ll drop him like a bag of shit once he realises what a cunt