Kitabı oku: «Home Truths», sayfa 3

Liam was turning nineteen today and she still had no idea where he was.

He could be dead.

This was her biggest fear, the one that kept her awake at nights, that tore at her conscience so savagely that she wanted to scream as though noise could somehow drown the pain and madness of it all. Even after everything that had happened, the mother in her continued to see past all the horror and heartache to the small boy who’d never even thought about harming anyone. He hadn’t had it in him before the gangs had got hold of him, and she’d asked herself many times why they’d picked on him, what – or who – had really been behind the grooming and corruption of her and Steve’s innocent boy.

Steve. Oh God, Steve.

She missed him more than she could ever have imagined possible, and it wasn’t getting any easier. If anything it was becoming worse.

‘Mum?’

Angie was still at the bathroom mirror rigidly trapped in the worst time of her life, but as her eyes moved to the other face reflected behind hers, a smaller, younger image of her own, and yet like her father too, she felt her limbs start to relax.

‘Grace,’ she said, and bringing up a smile she was aware of her anxiety retreating into a small, contained ball, as love for her thirteen-year-old daughter eclipsed it. ‘What are you doing up so early?’

Grace’s normally bright eyes were circled with shadows of worry, and grief – Angie must never forget that the children were suffering too. Two years had passed, and she wasn’t sure any of them were close to getting over what had happened to Steve. Grace and Zac had loved their father every bit as much as she had, and the last thing they needed was to feel afraid that she couldn’t cope. It was how she often felt, but she must never let it be true.

Except it was already true.

‘I could ask you the same question,’ Grace responded. ‘It’s Sunday. I thought we were having a lie-in.’

Relieved that Grace hadn’t come into the bathroom to find her mother filling the luxury shampoo bottle with the same colour washing-up liquid, a regular occurrence, Angie said, ‘And so we are. Come on, let’s go and snuggle up under the blankets.’

It was still only seven o’clock; the heating was due to kick in at eight – always later at weekends, even if they had to get up early for one reason or another. Every little saving helped, or it was supposed to anyway. She wasn’t sure that the smart meter she’d had installed was really onside, for it wasn’t making anything less expensive, it just kept going round and round like a horror ride at the fairground, showing her how much it was all costing.

She wouldn’t have minded a cup of tea, something warm to help soothe her gently into the day, but it took electricity to heat the kettle and they were going to need what was left on her key card for showers in a while. She just hoped the remaining credit would be enough to cover all bases, since the post office was closed on Sundays and so were the nearest PayPoints.

She should have sorted it out yesterday while everything was open, and she would have had she not needed to put petrol in Steve’s van, now hers – five pounds’ worth instead of ten, so there was enough left over to give Grace some spending money for bus fare and a coffee in town with her friends. The other twenty in her purse had gone to Lidl, so at least there was food in the cupboard – for now.

It was the roll-out of universal credit fourteen months ago that had tipped her from the precarious edge of just about managing into the terrifying downward spiral she was now caught in. Nine entire weeks had passed without any benefits at all, so she’d simply been unable to pay her bills. True, she’d still had her widow’s pension – something they hadn’t taken into the universal system for some reason – but thirty-four pounds a week was an impossible sum for a single person to live on, never mind a family. The only way she’d managed to survive was by running up her credit cards, going overdrawn at the bank and selling her car. Her rent, council tax and utility bills had gone into arrears and that was how they remained, with the outstanding amounts getting bigger all the time. She could no longer bear to open the envelopes when they dropped ominously through the letterbox like voices with only doom to deliver.

She was receiving her benefits again now, but she was two hundred crucial pounds a month worse off than before, over three hundred if she counted the loss of her widow’s pension. That was only paid for the first year following a death so it had run out eleven months ago, and she supposed she had to feel thankful that Steve had been forty-five by the time he died, any younger and she’d have got nothing.

Her head began hurting as she ran through everything she had to pay out this coming week. By the time she’d topped up her electricity key, retrieved Grace’s boots from the repairer’s, put a fiver aside for Zac’s upcoming birthday party, paid a token amount towards the water bill and covered their school lunches, there might be enough left over to pay a little bit more than the interest on her credit card.

There would be nothing at all for the rent, or the council tax.

The breath was so tight in her chest that it felt like a solid mass of fear. She didn’t want to admit it, even to herself, but things were moving out of her reach so fast that she was terrified of where they were heading.

A cuddle with Grace might help to relieve some tension and even somehow set her up for the day.

Feeling her teenager’s slender body folding into hers, those smooth, gangly limbs and the sleepy morning smell of her opened Angie’s heart to how blessed she was to have her. She was a beautiful girl, full of life and fun, but thoughtful and patient with an understanding of situations and people that sometimes made her seem twice her age. She worked hard at school, was a favourite amongst the teachers and other students, and possessed not a mean bone in her body. She was, in fact, just like her father, always seeing the positive side of a situation; the first to help in a time of need, and able to summon a sense of humour when the rest of the world was losing theirs.

Angie guessed Grace didn’t find it so funny losing her beloved Lush cruelty-free cosmetics, Boux Avenue undies and weekly pop magazines – or the subs she had to pay to belong to the Fairweather Players. Her great passion was acting, and she was good at it. She’d been cast in many parts for the local am dram society since the age of eight and always received great reviews. She sang too, and danced, but for the time being she’d had to give up those lessons along with her Players membership – although her best friend Lois had bought her three months’ worth of dance classes for Christmas. What a blessing that had been, and how guilty it had made Angie feel knowing she was unable to do it herself.

‘It’s all right, Mum,’ Grace had whispered when she’d realized this. ‘I know things are difficult now, but it’ll all come good in the end. Promise.’

How like her father she’d sounded, and for one heady moment Angie had felt as though Steve was trying to communicate through their daughter. Whether he was or wasn’t hardly mattered now, for the debts were still piling up and only two weeks after Christmas she’d been forced to sell Steve’s beloved piano. She’d cried as hard that day as she had on the day they’d cremated him, for it had felt as though a special and intrinsic part of their marriage had been carried out of the door by strangers, who’d given her fifty quid less than she’d asked for it.

‘You and the children matter way more than a dumb old piano,’ she’d heard Steve telling her, and of course he was right, but it hadn’t made her feel any better. If only he were here now to tell her how to handle Roland Shalik, who’d taken over his father’s businesses when Hari died, and had, if the rumours were true, incorporated them into various far shadier dealings of his own. He liked to portray himself as a tough guy, someone of influence, not to be messed with, and on the whole he succeeded, though Steve had never really been taken in by his bluster. In fact Steve had mostly kept out of his way and for the most part they’d seen or heard little of him, probably because they’d never been short of money to pay the rent then, nor had they complained when Roland had increased it. He’d only done it once, and not by a huge amount, but since Steve had gone and Angie had fallen into arrears things had changed. Roland had none of his father’s softly spoken, courteous manner, nor, it turned out, did he feel any sense of loyalty or duty of care to the many tenants around Kesterly who’d been fortunate enough to have Hari for a landlord.

‘Mum, you’re squeezing too tight,’ Grace murmured in protest.

Realizing she was, Angie slackened her hold and stroked her daughter’s tangled red hair, careful not to catch any knots. She felt a glow of love, remembering how proud Steve had been of his precious girl.

Hearing a thud in the next room, followed by the hurried patter of feet and needless cry of ‘I’m awake,’ she felt rather than heard Grace laugh, and broke into a smile of her own. She wasn’t going to think any more this morning about what had gone before, or how desperately she still missed Steve, or how much she hated herself for throwing Liam out. She was going to give all her time and attention to the two children who’d never caused her a moment’s concern, apart from how to keep a roof over their heads, food in their mouths, clothes on their backs, vital gadgets in their pockets and ears … She could go on, and on, but her boisterous, fearless, head-first-into-the-bed six-year-old had just landed, and simply had to be tucked in tightly with them, or tickled.

It turned into a tickle, which she ran away from when they decided she was next. She loved them so much she could eat them, but they always won at tickling so she needed a refuge. Too bad the bolt inside the bathroom door was hanging off, she’d have got away if she’d remembered to fix it, but she wasn’t sure how to – and no sooner had she shut herself in than they were there with her, putting their arms around her, telling her not to be scared.

‘Scared!’ she cried. ‘Who’s scared?’ and putting on her most ferocious monster growl she ran after them.

Who needed heating when there were two children to play with?

OK, they did when the excitement was over and they finally settled down to breakfast, but a few minutes later the radiators clicked and rumbled into action and by the time the Lidl cornflakes had been devoured and Grace had finished her porridge the water was hot enough for showers. It might be Sunday, but they had a busy day ahead, and any minute now Angie would remember what they were supposed to be doing. For the moment her mind was filling up with figures that she couldn’t make add up anywhere close to where they needed to be.

Don’t stress. Just don’t. It’ll be all right. You’ll find a way out of this.

Her own breakfast was the mouthful of porridge Grace left. Never mind that she was hungry enough to down half an elephant, a cup of instant coffee should deal with the pangs, and to save on hot water she’d treat herself to a damned good wash instead of a shower. They’d be OK at the end of the month when her salary was due to be paid into the one bank account she had that wasn’t overdrawn. Well, not OK, exactly, but better than today, for her quick calculations were already warning her that by the end of tomorrow she’d have no more than sixteen pounds fifty in her account at Santander. The account at HSBC was already overdrawn by six hundred pounds with monstrous interest accruing by the day, so she couldn’t go there for anything at all.

What utter fools she and Steve had been not to take out life insurance. They’d meant to, had even sent for some forms, but they’d never quite got round to filling them in. Angie had found them days after the funeral, exactly where she’d put them when they’d arrived, in a tray on Steve’s desk with a prepaid and ready-addressed envelope attached. She’d stared at them, dumb with misery, rigid with the worst kind of understanding. She was holding a lifeline with nothing and no one attached to the other end, a limp rope in the water, an illusion of safety that would disappear in the cold light of day. She could do nothing to save herself or her family; these papers meant they were going to drown.

She’d told herself right away that she wouldn’t let it happen. As though using up fierce and determined last gasps of air, she’d silently promised herself that Grace and Zac would never, for a single moment, feel any less special than they had while their father was alive. She’d quickly let it be known amongst her friends and neighbours that she could fill in people’s shifts if they needed cover, whether cleaning, waitressing, delivering, babysitting: whatever was in her gift she would give it to make sure her children didn’t go without.

She’d been in no doubt then that she could make everything work, and right up until she’d been made to wait for universal credit, she’d somehow managed to keep their heads above water. Now, in spite of still taking on all the extra jobs she could, it was impossible to make ends meet.

Grace, because she was Grace, had lately begun challenging her mother and brother to find the best bargains online or in charity shops, and they’d had some stunning successes: a pair of brand-new Nikes at Oxfam for Zac, price tag still taped to the bottom and half a size too big so he could grow into them, how perfect was that? A last-season white Zara blazer for Grace that would have cost fifty quid in the shop, and was just two pounds at Blue Cross (only a button missing, which was easily fixed). They’d even found a padded winter coat for Angie and wrapped it up for her birthday – what a memorable moment it had been when she’d opened it – it fitted, and they’d told her it had only cost a tenner (five quid contributed by Auntie Em). They’d jumped up and down with triumph, thinking themselves the smartest (in every sense) people alive, and how stupid was everyone else to pay full price?

It had also been Grace’s idea to try and sell their old toys and clothes on eBay or Depop, while Angie began visiting a pawnshop in the old town, a place she hadn’t even known existed while Steve was alive. By now she’d forfeited the white-gold watch he’d given her for her thirtieth; an emerald-studded bracelet he’d once accepted from an old lady in lieu of payment for decorating her kitchen; a pair of binoculars that had belonged to his father; his paintbrushes, best toolkit and protective gear; the rocking horse he’d carved for Liam; his surfboards; just about everything she could raise a few pounds for, right down to the electric heaters for when it was especially cold. Each time she went she felt as though she was giving away more pieces of her heart. All she had left to pawn now was her wedding ring, and the nine-carat gold locket Steve’s mother had worn on her wedding day, and Angie had so proudly worn on hers.

She wasn’t going to think any more about all that now, though. Instead, she was going to try to make herself believe that all would come good, maybe even by this time tomorrow. God only knew how, unless she caved in and took out one of those lethal payday loans … The fact that she was actually considering it made her feel sick inside, but what choice did she have when Roland Shalik had already begun the eviction process?

CHAPTER FIVE

An hour later, with Zac down at the beach flying kites with his friends, and Grace watching the Fairweather Players rehearsing at the community centre – there was no part for her this year, on account of being unable to pay her membership fees – Angie spent a moment imagining how wonderful it would be to waltz into the centre and slip Grace enough cash to rejoin the company. The thought of it felt so good that she was almost annoyed when her mobile jolted her back to reality with a text. It was Emma letting her know that there was an offer at the Seafront Café today, provided they got there before twelve. Two coffees for the price of one. Boys with their father this morning (he didn’t forget today) so how about it? I’ll drive.

Angie didn’t hesitate. She might have a ton of chores on her plate, but they’d still be waiting when she got back, so why not indulge in this little treat? Pick me up in fifteen, she messaged back.

Though Emma and her husband Ben had moved into one of Hari’s semis, just over the footbridge, around the same time as Angie and Steve had moved into 14 Willow Close, Ben had taken off just over five years ago. He’d found someone else, an older uglier version of Emma was how Steve had described the new woman, and he hadn’t been far wrong. Ben now had two other children with his second wife, and had been promoted to manager at a Tesco Express over in the old town, so he was reasonably reliable with the maintenance for his and Emma’s boys. Certainly the rent was always paid, and so far Roland Shalik hadn’t attempted to increase it.

Trying not to think about bacon, sausages and eggs – her usual breakfast at the Seafront when she was feeling flush – Angie fixated on a lovely creamy latte instead. Later she’d have a proper meal, as they always did on Sundays, when she and Emma took it in turns to cook a delicious roast for them all with a surprise pudding to follow. It was at her place this week, so she’d bought everything in Lidl yesterday, and had even added a tub of ice cream for a pound to go with the apple pie. The kids would like that, and so would she, although she and Emma would probably have preferred a bottle of Pinot Grigio to help it all down.

Wine was a luxury they really couldn’t afford these days.

Glancing at her mobile as it jingled with another text, she saw it was from Hamish at Hill Lodge with a photo attached showing a close-up of what looked like … She wasn’t sure what it was. Then she realized he must have tracked down some more original tiles to continue his restoration of the cracked Victorian flooring in the hallway of the Lodge.

She texted back right away: Genius. Going to end up on Grand Designs.

He sent her a happy smiley back with the words, Craig didn’t come home last night.

Since none of them knew where Craig spent the nights he didn’t return to the residence she replied, Let me know when he shows up.

He would show up, she felt sure of that because he always did, eventually, and if she rang him right now he’d probably answer his phone. She didn’t put it to the test because Emma had just tooted her car horn, and with the prospect of a latte at the Seafront Café pulling her like a magnet towards town, she pocketed her phone and all but ran out of the house.

‘You’re looking lovely,’ she told Emma as she got into the passenger seat. ‘Must be all that wonderful sex you’re not getting.’

‘I see it’s working wonders for you too,’ Emma quipped, checking the rear-view mirror as she pulled away from the kerb. She was wearing a purple wool coat they’d found at a new boutique in town before Christmas, very stylish, by a designer they’d never heard of, and a dusky pink scarf that Grace had knitted to go with it. In her black padded parka and equally black scarf Angie couldn’t help feeling drab next to those lovely colours, but that was OK, the brightness of her red hair kind of made up for it.

‘Who was that bloke rubbernecking the van?’ Emma asked, as they headed out of the cul-de-sac. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re selling it? You can’t. You’d never manage without it.’

The mere thought of letting Steve’s van go was enough to make Angie’s heart lurch with dread. Selling the piano had been bad enough, beyond terrible in fact, but there had been no practical justification for keeping it. The van was her only means of transport, and God knew how painful it had been having his business insignia removed from the sides and back doors.

‘No I’m not selling it, and I didn’t see anyone,’ Angie said, trying to hide her anxiety. It could have been a bailiff nosing around, carrying out a quick assessment for someone she owed money to. Emma didn’t know how bad things really were so she wouldn’t have guessed at that. ‘Are you sure it was my van he was looking at?’ she asked.

Emma shrugged. ‘Hard to say for certain. Sorry, didn’t mean to worry you.’ She glanced at Angie and said, ‘It’s his birthday today.’

Angie’s heart twisted as she nodded.

‘I know you haven’t heard anything, because you’d have told me. That wasn’t him, by the way, who I saw scoping the van.’

‘No, I guessed not.’

After a while Emma said, ‘Does it make you feel afraid, when you think he might be around?’

Angie swallowed the concern that tightened her throat. Emma had never asked that before, so was it her way of saying that she was afraid? It hurt Angie deeply to think of her sister being fearful of her son, but she couldn’t deny that on some levels she was too. Or she was scared of the people he could still be hanging out with. She pushed a hand through her hair and caught a whiff of the soap she’d used under her arms. It wasn’t good enough because it didn’t manage to cover the faint trace of body odour she’d been trying to wash away. Why was that? She was clean, for heaven’s sake, so it didn’t seem right that she couldn’t make herself smell good, or at least have no smell at all.

She’d never smelled bad in her entire life.

‘Angie?’ Emma said gently, her tone questioning and concerned.

‘There’s something about me that smells,’ Angie stated loudly. ‘I’m obviously using the wrong deodorant.’

Emma looked at her sideways. ‘What sort of an answer is that?’ she demanded.

Angie started to smile. ‘It’s my way of saying I’d rather think about that than Liam, or birthdays or …’ She could have said how fast I seem to be going under, but instead she said, ‘or anything else that might come between us and our lattes.’

Half an hour later they were seated at a corner table in their favourite café, close to the window and next to a rowdy group of teens apparently just back from a ski trip. As the youngsters relived seemingly every minute of their amazing time away they kept exploding with hilarity, and their laughter was so infectious it was making Angie and Emma laugh too. Others were becoming tetchy and disapproving, but the skiers seemed not to notice; they were in a world full of nothing but black runs, snowboards and vin chaud, and why not when it was clearly a great place to be?

‘I don’t suppose they live on the Temple Fields estate,’ Emma remarked drily as the group finally piled out of the door, leaving a very generous twenty-quid tip on the table.

‘They probably don’t even know where it is,’ Angie smiled, hardly able to tear her eyes from the cash or her thoughts from what she could do with it. ‘I’ve seen one of the girls before. She used to be in Grace’s class in primary, but she went on to private school somewhere in Somerset.’

‘You must let me help to send Grace to private school,’ Hari had said a year before he died. ‘After your experiences with Liam, I think it would be wise to find her somewhere safer, even out of the area.’

Angie and Steve had discussed it, and decided they were in favour of it even if it meant she’d have to board during the week. Steve had foreseen a great future for their daughter among the kind of people he and Angie only worked for and occasionally mixed with. He’d made Angie laugh so much putting on a posh accent – the same accent he affected, without quite realizing it, when he took her to openings of hotels or restaurants he’d decorated – that she’d ended up hitting him to make him stop.

He wouldn’t. ‘Oh dahling, can’t you imagine how proud one will be to see our girl doing so well?’

‘Let’s talk some more with Hari first, find out exactly how much help he’s comfortable giving. We can’t expect him to pay for it all.’

Before they’d had a chance to do that Hari’s illness had taken hold, and the subject was quietly forgotten.

‘What’s that look about?’ Emma asked curiously.

Realizing she’d drifted, Angie said, ‘Sorry, where were we?’

Emma grimaced. ‘Actually, I’m just getting to the point where I have a favour to ask. Is there any chance you could lend me twenty quid until the end of the week?’

Angie groaned in dismay. ‘I’m really sorry. You know I would if I could.’

Emma sighed sadly, because of course she knew that. She didn’t wonder aloud how she and Angie had got to this place in their lives where they were almost always broke, because they knew only too well how it had happened. They’d never been high earners, even before they’d turned into single mothers through no fault of their own, nor would they ever be. At least in her case she got something from her ex; for Angie there was no Child Maintenance Service to help squeeze blood out of a slippery stone.

‘Actually,’ Emma said, suddenly brightening, ‘I’ve had a brilliant idea that should get us both sorted out.’

Angie was all ears.

Emma said, ‘We’re two intelligent, attractive women …’

‘In our forties, with more bags under our eyes …’

‘Listen to what I’m saying. We’re good people. We do the right thing, we’ve never been in trouble with the law – don’t let’s include Liam in this – we’re terrific mothers …’

‘Do you want to come to the point?’

‘What I’m saying is …’ She broke off as Fliss, the café’s owner, came to collect their mugs.

‘Two more, ladies?’ she offered.

As Angie’s longing flared up, Emma said, ‘We’ve already used our voucher, Fliss, but thanks anyway.’

Fliss looked surprised. ‘Oh, I think we forgot to put it through,’ she declared, ‘so we’ll treat the next ones as though they’re your first.’

Angie could have kissed her, although realizing that Fliss had guessed at their straitened circumstances made her feel she was paying with a small piece of her pride.

With a wink Fliss scooped up the twenty-pound note the youngsters had left, and instructed a baffled-looking server to clean the table ready for a couple of newcomers to sit down.

‘Bugger, I was going to pocket that,’ Emma muttered.

‘Not if I’d beaten you to it,’ Angie retorted, knowing that neither of them were serious. Or not very, anyway. Stealing from Fliss, a good friend for many years, would never be an option, no matter how desperate they were. ‘So,’ she said wryly, ‘I’m guessing your brilliant idea is to do away with good reputations, such as they are, and rob a bank?’

Emma’s jaw dropped in amazement. ‘Oh my God, you read my mind. So, do you think we could do it?’

‘No. So what’s next?’

Emma broke into one of her more mischievous grins. ‘You are so going to love it,’ she announced. ‘I’ve thought it all through and I reckon we can pull it off, no problem at all.’

Angie said, ‘Are we still talking about the bank?’

‘No, no. I’m talking about finding ourselves a couple of rich blokes whose lives would be complete with someone like us. Don’t get me wrong, I think we should carry on working, it’s important what we do, but you’ve got to admit we’re never going to meet anyone with more than a couple of halfpennies to scratch their bits with the way we’re going now. So, we’ve got to get with the dating programme. As you know, it all happens on the Internet these days. People twice our age are going on dates. They’re even having sex – OK, don’t go there – but they’re finding new lives, even getting married again, so if they can do it, why can’t we?’

Knowing she was nowhere near to wanting a relationship with anyone who wasn’t Steve, Angie said, ‘Don’t you have to pay to be a member of those websites?’

Emma grimaced. ‘Probably, if you find someone you want to meet, but initially you can just go on and have a look, see if there’s anyone suitable. Of course they’re all going to say they’re rich, and half of them are probably psychos, but what do we have to lose?’

Angie’s expression was one of pure irony.

Emma laughed. ‘OK, I get that it could all go horribly wrong, but there’s a chance it won’t …’

‘What if you end up with some creep who pretends to like kids, but doesn’t?’ Angie interrupted. ‘Or does, but in the wrong way? No, I’m sorry, you’re on your own with this one. I’ll come along as back-up if you go on a date … What is it?’ she asked, following Emma’s gaze to the window.

‘Not what, who?’ Emma responded curiously. ‘Isn’t that Craig over there? Your Craig, from Hill Lodge?’

Spotting him on the opposite corner, holding tightly to his guitar as a couple of youths in hoodies and combat gear crowded him up against a wall, Angie’s heart sank. ‘Yes, that’s him. Oh God, please don’t let them be trying to recruit him. I’m going over there,’ she declared, getting to her feet.

Emma’s hand shot out to stop her. ‘Don’t mess with them, Angie. You of all people know what they’re capable of, and you have two kids to think about.’

Angie desperately wanted to argue, but knowing her sister was right, she watched with growing dismay as Craig took something from the hoodies, put it into an inside pocket and walked away – with his guitar.

The best she could hope for was that he was delivering, not selling or using. Whatever, he needed to be much more careful than this, because the last thing he’d want was to find himself back in prison after the hellish experience he’d had there before. The other inmates had bullied and abused him so badly that the poor lad lived in mortal terror of the police and his probation officer now, certain their only purpose in life was to send him back inside.