His mum was sitting on a sofa, and it looked like she was doing a crossword. When we came in she turned, and looked surprised to see me. She rose, and questioned Ritchie with her eyes.

“This is Anna,” he said. His voice was level.

Ritchie’s mum – Wendy – made a big impression on me. It was hard to say why. To look at, she was nothing special. She was thin, blonde hair – dyed blonde, because you could see the roots. Face to face, she did look her age. Her complexion was sallow and there were lines on her forehead. She was wearing a V-necked sweater and the skin of her neck in the V-shape was red and rough. Her hipbones jutted out of the black leggings she was wearing. Scarlet-painted toenails peeped out from flowered mules. Like I said, on the surface she was like any of the women you’d see around Fairfield.

But there was something in her eyes.

“Hello, Anna,” she said, with the trace of a Scottish accent.

“Hi,” I said, uncomfortable about calling her Wendy yet.

She looked directly at me, summing me up. You could tell she was intelligent – you could see the way she was processing me. But when she’d done that, I saw what I thought was a tired, sad look in her eyes – even a dreamy look. You know, as if there was a big problem or something in her life. It made you want to ask her what was wrong. Because something was wrong, you could tell.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, determined to be polite and not knowing whether she was more shy than me. “Ritchie’s spoken about you a lot.”

“Has he, now? What has he told you?” Her voice wasn’t jokey. Instead I got the impression she was referring to one specific thing that Ritch should have mentioned.

So I said, “Nothing.” I glanced at Ritchie, who didn’t meet my eyes. Instead he mooched over to a table and picked up a Game Boy. He started playing with it. He clearly didn’t want to be part of this conversation.

“Has he told you why we’re here?” she asked me.

“I know you moved here a few months ago. I met Ritch— Craig at St Tom’s.”

“Yes – he told me that. Thank you for being his friend. We need all the friends we can get.”

In the background was a silly electronic tune from Ritchie’s Game Boy. Ritchie’s mum gestured to the sofa in an invitation to me to sit down. I did so, and she came to join me. I noticed then the faint white line of an ancient scar above her brow bone. I saw, too, that a muscle jumped in her cheek. Something about her scared me, and I’m not just saying this with hindsight.

“I’ll tell you from the beginning, so you understand properly,” Wendy said, pushing her hair back behind her ears. “I first met him eighteen years ago, when I was living in Greenock. That’s where I come from, where my family comes from. Right from the start, Anna, there was something about us. That night we met in the pub, I singled him out. He singled me out. There was no one else in the room that night. We only had eyes for each other.”

My mind was racing to make sense of this. Who was she talking about? Obviously not Ritchie. Ritchie’s father? Her first love? Probably – because she was spouting all those romantic clichés – love across a crowded room, and so on. But what I didn’t understand was why she was telling me all this. I mean, I’d only just met her. Was she all right in the head?

“We’d only been seeing each other for a fortnight when he asked me to live with him, but I knew, I knew it was going to happen from the off. These things are fated. Peter. Peter Duff. I call him Pete. He was a brickie. I gave up work because he was making so much that we didn’t need my money. I cooked and cleaned, and I was completely content. I spent hours making myself look beautiful for him. Anna, you should have seen me then. He’d come home at night, and we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”

I was getting more and more uncomfortable. And if I was uncomfortable, can you imagine how Ritchie was feeling? I glanced at him, but I couldn’t even tell if he heard what his mother was saying. He was locked in another world with his Game Boy. It was like he was cutting himself off. I was alone.

“That was all I ever wanted, Anna, and I’m sure you’ll agree it wasn’t a lot. I just wanted to look after the man of my dreams. It’s all any woman ever wants. But he was a weak man, Anna. He was led astray. He started to want to go out. At first, he told me it was just to drink with his mates. But I heard rumours that he’d been with other women. When I asked him about the rumours, he denied them, of course. It made him angry and he lost his temper. I was sore after that beating, I can tell you, aching in every bone. But we made up. It was better than ever.”

Wendy’s eyes were locked in the distance, and I felt as if she was reliving her past.

“You see, Anna, he really loved me. He never meant to hurt me. Sometimes I lost my temper with him, too. We knew how to fight – it was because we loved each other so much.”

Her face darkened now. She took my hand and gripped it hard.

“That was when we conceived Craig. The day I told him the news, he’d been drinking. He was in a temper and he shouted, he said Craig wasn’t his. He accused me of having other lovers. Anna. I’ve never slept with another man except for Craig’s father. You believe me, don’t you? And then Peter kicked me out. I ended up in a bed and breakfast. But I didn’t give up. I was determined to get my man back. Pete was my baby’s father. I called him every day. And then he moved. I followed him. And then … Craig? I forget what happened next.”

She looked over at Ritchie. Obviously he had been listening because he supplied the answer.

“You weren’t well. You were in hospital.”

“I was in hospital,” Wendy repeated. “Then I went to another hospital and had the baby and they wouldn’t let me have him at first. So I got myself better. And I worked at nights. I tried to make a new start and we moved to Sheffield. I met Bill in Sheffield. We lived with him for a while, but it didn’t work out. I’m the kind of woman, Anna, who only loves once – and for ever. But I wasn’t ill again. I can control myself, and I will control myself, for Craig’s sake. I hope I’ve been a good mother. But the lad needs a father. I’m sure that’s why he’s got in with the wrong crowd. I do my best for him, Anna. I look after his education. I buy him books.”

She pointed to a unit full of paperbacks. It was an incongruous detail in the otherwise bare room.

“Then at the end of last year I was on the bus and I saw a van, and on the side it said, Peter Duff, Builder. A white, modern van. Peter Duff, it said. And a telephone number. I memorised it, Anna. I learnt it off by heart. I went straight home and I rang the number. ‘Is that Peter Duff, the builder?’ I asked. A woman’s voice said it was. ‘Can you give me your full postal address?’ I asked. The fool did. It’s just five miles from here. That night I said to Craig, we’re moving here. I want to give it one last shot.”

I just nodded. There was nothing I could say. She was in the grip of an obsession.

“I made sure Craig got in to a good school. I care about him, Anna. He’s all I’ve got. I started work as a barmaid. I’ve pulled pints in more pubs than you’ve had hot dinners. Then after a few weeks, when I was ready, I took a trip to Pete’s yard. He’s done well for himself, bloody well. There was a BMW in the yard, it’s his. I saw him leave his office and get into it.” She squeezed my hand tight. “He looks older, Anna, but he hasn’t changed. He’s still my Pete. He has a new family now, and I’m not saying I want to spilt them up. I would never do that. There are children, you see. But I just want to talk to him one last time, Anna. He’s got to meet Craig. He has to admit that Craig is his son. Look.”

She got up from the sofa and was soon scrabbling around in a cupboard, then brought out a newspaper cutting. She thrust it at me. It was one of those pictures where a person is handing over one of those huge cheques to a charity. The person receiving it was a woman; the person handing it over was the dead spit of Ritchie. The caption identified him as Peter Duff, local builder and property developer.

“They do look alike,” I said.

“All I want him to do is acknowledge his son,” Wendy said. “Is that a lot to ask? I want them to meet. Craig is a clever lad. He’ll go far. He should go to university. He needs money. Peter’s never given us a penny in all these years. I’ve struggled alone. Not that I mind, I love my son more than life itself. I do, Anna. Which is why I’d do anything for him. There’s no escaping your destiny. I knew it the night I met Pete. It was in the pub. I was there with a friend—”

She’d reached the end and was about to start again at the beginning. I reckoned her drama with Ritchie’s dad replayed itself constantly.

Ritchie cut in at that point. “Do you want a cup of tea, Wendy?”

She started at the sound of his voice. “No, I’ve just had one. Sorry, Anna, I know I do go on. But these things eat away at you. Craig, put the kettle on for Anna.”

“It’s all right, Mrs Ritchie,” I said. “I’ve got to go home now. My mother’s expecting me.”

“I’ll take you home,” Ritchie said.

“That’s a good lad,” Wendy commented.

So it was relatively easy to get out. We all said our goodbyes and in a few moments Ritch and I were standing by the lift.

“She’s not well,” Ritchie muttered.

“She seems, like, a bit obsessed?” I hesitated. It’s hard, talking to someone about their mother.

“Yeah, well, it hasn’t been easy for her. He left her without a penny. It’s not fair. So sometimes she gets a bit …”

“Yeah,” I acknowledged.

“She just …” Ritchie’s voice trailed away again.

Have you ever had a conversation like that? When the words you say are rubbish, but actually you’re reading someone’s mind. Ritchie was trying to tell me that he was embarrassed by his mum, but also that he felt sorry for her. That he felt he should look after her, but also that he was out of his depth. I was honoured that he introduced us and trusted me to pick up the situation, and I wanted him to know I understood. Our silence conveyed all that, I think. Then I said to him, “It must be hard for you.”

“No,” he said. “I manage. Listen, Anna, forget about all this. Let’s go somewhere. We’ve got the motor. Let’s drive somewhere.”

“OK,” I said.

The lift came then, and within a few moments we were downstairs, outside, and back at the car. Next thing, we were flying along the road. There wasn’t too much traffic and we were doing about sixty. It was like we were leaving Wendy and the flat miles and miles behind. I sensed Ritchie’s relief. As for me, I was loving seeing the trees, hedges and houses whizz past, a blurred backdrop to us: me and Ritch. I wanted to forget about Wendy too. Ritchie steadied the car to a safer speed as the road narrowed and we got out into the country. The tape came to an end and he didn’t turn it over.

“When I get back,” he said, “Wendy’s going to ask me whether we’re going out together.”

That was the first time he’d mentioned anything like that. I felt stupidly happy.

“Are we?” I questioned him.

“It’s up to you,” he said.

That wasn’t good enough. “Do you want to go out with me?” I prodded.

“Yeah,” he said, sort of nonchalantly.

“I want to go out with you too.”

We drove on a little more, not saying anything. Then Ritchie pulled into a car park adjoining a pub, The Swan with Two Necks. We got out, walked to the wall at the end of the car park, and vaulted over it. We scrabbled our way down a grassy bank to a clump of trees. It was almost pitch black. It took my eyes time to get adjusted to the dark. We settled down on the ground, underneath a large tree. It was cold – we huddled up. I could hear the occasional car rush past and a faint buzz from some nearby electricity pylons. I knew what would happen next. He kissed me.

You’ll believe this because you know I’m not soft. It was the most amazing kiss ever. It seemed to travel all through me, getting to every bit of my body. When I’d pulled blokes before it was just for show, to prove I could do it. Kissing Ritchie was different. It was partly the physical thing of being so close to him, but also I was getting to know him. I could feel he was hesitant but turned on, it was like he was telling me secret things, but without language. All that from the way our mouths met and got all mixed up.

We didn’t do anything else except for kiss, not then. People looking over the wall could have seen us and, anyway, it was too cold. Ritch had his parka on and I was wearing a coat with a fur-lined hood. I remember the biting air and snuggling up to Ritchie, wanting his body’s warmth, wanting to give him mine.

I forget how long it was, but Ritchie broke away to light a cigarette. The flame of his lighter was a tiny beacon. I heard him inhale deeply to get the cigarette going.

“You’re my girl now,” he said.

I couldn’t let him get away with that. “And you’re my bloke.” We were equal, remember.

“In the beginning I didn’t fancy you,” Ritchie said, sort of thinking aloud. “Not in your school uniform. Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed you if you hadn’t come up to talk to me. But you did, and I appreciated that. I was gutted when it turned out to be you I tried to mug. Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t mention it.”

“I don’t know when I first started fancying you. Maybe when you nicked those shoes. I saw you in a different light then. You surprised me – you weren’t what I expected. You’re tough – you’re not like the other girls I know, they’re just slags. Well, they can’t help it, half of them. I never thought I’d have a girlfriend, not until after my mum sorted herself out. But I don’t reckon that’ll ever happen.”

There was something I wanted to know. “Is she going to confront your dad? It sounded like she was pretty serious.”

“Yeah. She’s got hold of his address. I don’t think he’ll agree to see her. She wants to take me there.”

“Isn’t that a bit risky?”

“What do you mean, risky?”

“I don’t know. He might call the police or something.”

“Whatever.”

“Do you want to go, Ritchie? Do you want to meet your dad?”

“No. He’s a bastard. I hate his guts. But Wendy wants me to see him, and it might shut her up. What I’m thinking is, if he admits he’s my dad, she’ll give the whole thing a rest. Either he’ll give us some money, or she’ll be so blazing angry she won’t want to see him again.”

I chuckled to myself. “My mum would call that ‘achieving closure’.”

“You what?”

“Like, giving the whole thing a proper ending. So you can move on. My mum’s into all that therapy stuff. She’s as crazy as your mum.” I said that to make Ritchie feel better, but as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. My mum felt sorry for herself sometimes, but she still had a grip on reality. Ritchie’s mum scared me.

Ritchie was silent for a bit. I thought to myself, whatever happens, I’d stand by him. I decided that he needed me, and I wasn’t going to let him down. I didn’t need words to tell him that. I pulled him to me and kissed him again.

We stayed there until the dampness in the ground seemed to travel up and through us. Reluctantly we got up and went back to the car park. Neither of us wanted to talk about Wendy and her plans. But we didn’t have to. We had other things to preoccupy us. We were taxers. We needed to plan what was going to happen at the dinner dance. Ritchie reckoned I’d be able to open a window somewhere and let one of the lads in – Tanner was small, he could squeeze in anywhere. And maybe there was a trophy lying around which could bring in a bit of cash. I said Ritch could come to see me, pretend to be my brother, and then I could pass him anything I’d lifted. Though it was hard to plan, not having ever been inside the clubhouse before. There was a risk attached, I knew. But I liked risks.

Ritchie took me all the way home. It must have been nearly one in the morning when we got back. It was hard to part. Once in bed, I thought through all the stuff Wendy had told me and wondered what Ritchie’s childhood must have been like. It was almost impossible to imagine. All I knew was, I felt sorry for him. I rolled my duvet up, and hugged it, wanting it to be Ritchie. And so I fell asleep.