to know very much because I was permanently in the bleeding dark.’ She laughs at this and rolls her eyes with mock frustration as if she were talking about something really silly and trivial as opposed to turning a blind eye to her husband’s criminal activity.
She gets up to fetch her biscuit tin and frowns for a second as, upon opening it, she discovers how depleted her supplies are. Still, she must be equally as engrossed in what she’s saying because she just takes a biscuit without saying anything.
‘Of course, I’d know when he had a really big job on because before he’d leave he’d tell me where I could find cash if I needed it. Give me the name of someone I could go to if I needed help and that. I used to hate it when he got like that though. I wouldn’t sleep a wink, wondering whether he was ever coming back, but he always did, and he’d always have a nice present for me and something for you girls.’
I must give her a disapproving look because she suddenly looks quite shame-faced. ‘I know I know, but like I said, I was young and by this point I was bringing up two little girls and besides, he was my man Marianne. It wasn’t my place to question. I mean, I should have done, I know that now, but at the time it just wasn’t the way people like us operated. Anyway, when you were four and Hayley must have been six, there came a night when things didn’t go to plan. Your dad had something big on. I knew it was big because he was all jittery for weeks and I couldn’t say anything right. I remember that night so clearly. Before he left I told him I had a bad feeling but he wouldn’t talk to me or tell me anything. You know how I’m a bit psychic don’t you?’
I frown. I don’t. She’s not.
‘Anyway, this time your dad didn’t come home for a week. Longest week of my life that was and when he did come back he was a changed man. He told me he was wanted by the police and that things had gone seriously wrong.’
Mum looks away, as if the end of the story is going to tell itself.
‘Go on,’ I say frustratedly.
She stares mournfully into her coffee. ‘He’d been paid to arson a warehouse by someone so that they could claim on the insurance. Though normally he wouldn’t have done a job like that himself, or at least that’s what he told me after, but he owed a bloke a favour you see and he was the sort of bloke you didn’t muck about, so … Anyway, it all went wrong. Ray thought the security guard had left the building to patrol the grounds, but he hadn’t. He’d gone back in, though to this day no one knows why. Maybe he’d heard the phone ringing? Or needed the loo? Or fancied taking his thermos flask with him? Something like that.’
I experience a wave of sympathy for Mum. I can tell she’s been wondering these things for years.
‘That poor, poor man died in the blaze,’ she says sadly. ‘So suddenly your dad was on the run for murder. But they got him in the end of course.’
‘He’s back.’
‘What do you mean?’ she says, looking up sharply and I feel bad for blurting it out but know it’s the only way I’m ever going to get the words out.
‘He’s back,’ I repeat.
‘Back where?’
This could go on.
‘I saw him, Mum.’
‘Where? Where did you see him? In the street?’
I hesitate. Judging by her appalled face it might be better to lie at this juncture. ‘Yeah … in the street.’
‘Did he see you?’
‘Er … yeah.’
‘What did he say? You didn’t tell him where you lived did you?’
‘Um no. He er … he got out … years ago.’
‘I know,’ says Mum, still looking deeply agitated about the fact I’ve seen him.
‘He’s ill Mum.’
‘Good,’ she says.
‘That’s not very nice,’ I retort. ‘He hasn’t got a cold you know. He’s really ill.’
‘I said good!’ she shouts, and her voice wobbles dangerously. ‘As far as I’m concerned he’s dead to me and I don’t want you having anything to do with him Marianne, do you hear me?’
I hear her all right but I can’t believe what she’s saying. She can’t tell me how to deal with this. I need to work out for myself what I’m going to do. As a grown woman. I can understand her not wanting to see him, but she can’t decide what’s right for me any more. In fact her reaction now is merely pushing me towards seeing him again. First though, Hayley needs to know what’s going on. I know that now. It will stress her out more if she finds out at a later date that I’ve seen him and didn’t tell her. It should be up to her to decide whether she wants to talk to him, even if it’s just to have a go at him or to ask him things she wants to know. After all, she’s carrying his grandchild and there’s a chance Ray might still be around when it’s born. I get to my feet.
‘Where are you going?’ Mum asks nervously.
‘Nowhere, just out for a bit.’
‘But we need to talk. I need to know you’re not going to do anything stupid, Marianne. If your dad bumped into you that wouldn’t have been a coincidence. You need to be careful and you have to promise me you won’t see him. I don’t want Martin worrying about this.’
‘I can’t promise I won’t see him Mum, but you don’t need to worry about Martin. I won’t say anything,’ I say, picking up the car keys from the hook where we keep them.
‘Tell me where you’re going. Why are you taking Tina?’
‘I’m popping to the shops,’ I lie.
This seems to appease her. ‘Right, well I’ll see you later then. Are you here for your tea?’
I nod.
‘Great, we’ll all eat it together,’ she says slightly manically, as if our previous conversation never even happened. She stands up, brushing crumbs from her biscuit off her and taking her mug to the sink. ‘Chicken Kievs I’m doing with jacket spuds. Then we can talk about what song Hayley should do for Sing for Britain. I know she blew up the other day but once she’s had a chance to cool off I’m sure she’ll come round. Besides, doing the show preggy would make a really interesting story for the viewer. It would be different anyway, wouldn’t it?’
I do a double take. Is she serious? I think she is. Do you see what I mean now? Actually insane.
Hayley and Gary live at the end of a cul-de-sac, a few miles from us in Chingford. The entire house is decorated in various shades of white and when we were all invited round after it was finished Hayley got really cross with us for not being able to tell the difference between the apple white she’d painted the hall and the hessian white she’d painted the lounge. It just all looks white but, according to her, the difference should be as obvious as if she’d painted one room blue and one orange. Her carpet is also an off-white and her curtains are a pale shade of something anaemic too. As a result it’s one of the least comfortable houses to be in because you’re terrified to touch anything in case you sully it somehow. Even her sofa, a new purchase as of the Boxing Day sales, is white. Martin’s terribly jealous of her white leather suite because he hadn’t spotted it for himself. His obsession with boring shops is seasonal, you see. During the summer months it’s all about Homebase, but come winter and the Boxing Day sales, the second DFS and Land of Leather have flung open their doors, he’s there. In fact, this moment is probably the most meaningful and spiritual part of Christmas for Martin. Consequently, as a family, we’re always first in the queue at one or other of these places, no matter what the weather. No one except me ever questioning the fact we’re standing