Fifty - Three

Holding up a 1989 Postman Pat Christmas Annual, Jackie said, ‘You don’t want to keep this, do you?’

Nicky looked as if she’d had boiling water thrown in her face. ‘It’s a shame to get rid of it.’

Jackie’s lips tightened. ‘I thought we were supposed to be having a clear out.’

‘We are.’

‘All you’re doing is hanging on to all your old junk.’

Jackie was sitting on Nicky’s bed, surrounded by cardboard boxes and black bin liners filled with rubbish. Vanessa came past the door and thought she’d make her presence felt. She leaned against the wall and said, ‘Let her have it if she wants it. What difference can it make?’

‘Yes,’ added Nicky, glad her sister had decided to support her for a change. ‘Why can’t I keep my things if I want to?’

Jackie tapped the Postman Pat book with frustration. ‘But this is a toddler’s book, for heaven’s sake. You’re not a baby any more.’

Nicky suddenly screeched angrily: ‘Throw it away then! Go on! Throw it away!’

‘Well there’s no need to...’ Jackie began.

‘You don’t care about my memories. And I think Dad bought me that book.’

Jackie froze. The mere mention of his name was anathema to her since discovering the circumstances of his death. She put the book to one side and mumbled quietly: ‘Oh...well...keep it if you must.’

Nicky, who had been standing with her back to the window, suddenly lunged forward, stepping over a pile of boxes in the middle of the room. ‘I can’t handle this.’

Jackie raised her voice. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m going to meet a friend for a drink.’

‘You can’t do that. What about all this mess?’

Nicky went past Vanessa, who had rather an amused expression on her face as she watched her mother trying to cope with Nicky’s histrionics, and turned back in the doorway.

‘I’ve got to get out for a few hours.’

‘Just a minute!’ yelled Jackie. ‘It’s not my fault the house went on the market and got a cash buyer wanting a quick sale.’

‘Not my fault either,’ shouted Nicky, and stormed off.

Vanessa stared at her mother and shook her head irritatingly. ‘Great timing. A funeral and a house move the same week.’

Jackie clawed at the air with both her hands, her fingers forming talons of frustration. ‘If only your father hadn’t died when he did.’

‘Yes. It was very inconvenient. Two of the most stressful things in one week. Funeral and house move. You should have gone for a hat trick and got a divorce from Nigel.’

Jackie looked up, taking in Vanessa’s unsympathetic, almost cruel, smile. ‘How can you make jokes about these things?’

‘It’s the only way to keep sane, Mummy. The funeral should be a laugh, knowing what we know.’

‘It’ll be a quiet affair,’ said Jackie. ‘Just a few of his friends from East Peckham. The sort of people I think of as his cronies. Probably ghastly people. And they’ll all know the circumstances of his death. Oh, how could he?’

‘And we’ve yet to go through his house, through all his possessions and belongings, as we’re his next of kin. Who knows what we might find.’

Jackie shuddered. ‘You won’t catch me within five hundred miles of the place.’

Vanessa laughed. ‘Well, seeing as East Peckham’s less than twelve miles from here...’

Jackie bit her lip before speaking. ‘You know very well what I mean.’

‘D’you mean to say, you’re just going to let Nicky and me do all the donkey work, clearing out all his old clothes, and taking stuff to charity shops?’

‘Try to understand: in the circumstances, I can’t. I just can’t.’

Vanessa turned to go. ‘Oh, I understand all right. You really are a selfish bitch sometimes.’

‘Vanessa!’

But Vanessa had already left the room. Jackie leaned forward and put her face in her hands. If only Nigel were here, but he’d made it abundantly clear that he had an important meeting to attend with the directors of his telecommunications suppliers.

***

Mike got back to Maggie’s just after lunchtime. He found her lying out on a sun lounger on the patio, wearing dark glasses. Her face was ashen, and stood out like a mask against the tan of her body.

‘D’you want the bad news or the bad news?’ Mike announced.

She twitched slightly. ‘I didn’t hear you come in. You made me jump. I was asleep. I still feel terrible.’

‘So you’ve just been lying there recovering - sunning yourself - while I’ve been in the local nick.’

‘What?’

‘On the way back from dropping the kids at school, I was breathalysed and I was over the limit. My driving days are over for at least a year.’

She took her dark glasses off, and blinked in the sunlight. ‘Oh, Mike! ’m sorry. Christ! That was my fault. What the hell will you do - about work?’

He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘I think you might need another part time barman.’

***

On Saturday Dave finished his season at Blackpool. He thought about driving back home on the Saturday night, had second thoughts. At least Mary’s ex was now banged up out of harm’s way, and he hoped he would get a decent sentence once he was put on trial.

Arriving home late Sunday morning, Dave pushed open the front door awkwardly, burdened by the carrier bags and boxes of presents he had bought for Mary and the kids.

‘I’m home!’ he sang out.

The refrigerator hummed, and the house creaked and clicked. Apart from that, silence.

He sighed disappointedly as he kicked the door shut. Then he went into the living room and dumped the parcels on the sofa. He stood staring at them for a minute, feeling tired and hungry. What had kept him going during the long motorway drive was the imagined scene of his homecoming; Mary rushing into his arms, and the children’s excited glowing faces as they tore open the parcels.

Now he felt numb with disappointment. Where were they? Mary had known of his plans to drive back, leaving early in the morning, so where was she?

He made a disgruntled growling noise with the back of his throat, then went into the kitchen.

‘Oh! Thanks a bundle!’ he cried when he saw the dirty breakfast crockery on the table. She hadn’t even bothered to clear the table, let alone do the washing up!

A note had been left for him on the work surface, stained and greasy from a spilt pool of cooking oil. He snatched it up and read it.

‘We’ve gone to Mum’s for Sunday dinner. Hope you had a good journey. Why don’t you come over and join us? See you later. Love, Mary.’

Dave sighed, screwed the note into a ball and threw it into the sink.

‘Oh, that’s all I need - dinner with your mother!’