When she came into the kitchen at teatime, the first thing that struck Sarah was that Nigel was crying. Sarah had never seen Nigel cry before. It alarmed her. And even more alarming, a pair of policemen were sitting at the kitchen table with Mum, who was looking blank-faced as always. Dick wasn’t racing around like he usually did. Sandy sat and stared at the kitchen table.
‘What’s happening?’ she asked, but Mum only looked up, then back down again, saying nothing.
One of the two Old Bill said: ‘There’s been a very bad accident, your mum’s upset.’
Sarah looked at Edie. Mum didn’t look upset. She just looked the same as always: disinterested.
Nigel burst out through his tears: ‘Dad’s dead, Sar! He’s bloody dead.’
Sarah pulled up a chair as her legs were about to go. She fell into it, stunned, and looked at the policemen.
‘There was an accident,’ said the one who had spoken before. ‘On the railway. An engine crushed him. I’m so sorry.’
‘Was it . . . quick?’ asked Mum.
All the kids turned and looked at her. Mum hardly ever uttered a word these days; this was unusual.
‘Very quick, you can put your mind at rest on that.’
‘He didn’t suffer?’
‘No. He didn’t.’
Now Edie started crying too. ‘Ah God, poor Sam,’ she gasped.
Sarah sat there at the table and looked at Nigel snuffling into his handkerchief and Mum wailing away, and thought, Why can’t I cry?
She really ought to. It was expected. Even Dick and little Sandy were looking on the verge of tears. She thought of Dad, dead, and still the tears refused to come and she was irritated at herself for not caring as she should.
Didn’t she care at all that her dad was dead?
Deep in her heart she knew she didn’t.
The only thing she felt was relief.
Redmond Delaney phoned Celia Bailey later that same day.
‘It’s done,’ he said.
‘Good God.’
‘A terrible accident.’
‘Right.’
‘Tell your girl there.’
‘I will. And . . . thank you, Mr Delaney.’
‘It’s a pleasure,’ he said.