Leaving the others in the cafe was difficult. Andrew couldn’t help but wonder what they would find out without him. But Mum, at home, was like a magnet pulling him closer. She was the most important thing, after all. He rushed along Marsh Road. At the flats, he let himself in and listened in the hallway. Was Mum in? Was she resting?
He could hear the low murmur of a radio from the living room. He hung up his coat and dropped his keys into the ceramic holder he’d made in Year Three. The others would be on their stakeouts, or reconstruction, or just generally having fun now. If he was with them, he’d be a spy, in a trench coat, with a trilby hat, standing under rain clouds. Or he’d be a sharp detective, ordering people about at the scene of the crime. Whatever he was, he wouldn’t be making sandwiches and worrying about whether Mum was well enough to catch the bus to her outpatient appointments.
Maybe he could still be involved? He never had asked Mum about the delivery driver. He hadn’t wanted to upset her. But maybe she was well enough to handle talking about it?
He wandered into the living room. Mum was lying on the sofa, a rug pulled over her legs. She was looking at a battered photo. Andrew recognised it.
He wouldn’t be asking Mum about the delivery driver today.
She was holding the only photo she had of Andrew’s dad.
‘Hi,’ he said softly.
‘Hello, love.’
‘What are you doing with that?’
Mum folded her hands over the image, protecting it. ‘Just reminding myself what he looked like, that’s all.’
‘We don’t need him,’ Andrew said. ‘We don’t need anyone.’ Andrew didn’t think about his dad often. He had never known him. He’d left when Andrew was a tiny baby and he hadn’t stayed in touch. But whenever he did think about his dad, Andrew felt a prickly, uncomfortable feeling in his chest. He sat down on the end of the sofa and tucked the rug in place around Mum’s knees. ‘You’ve got me,’ he said.
Mum smiled. ‘I know. I’m very lucky.’
‘What have you been up to today?’ Andrew asked.
Mum sighed and let the photo drop into her lap. ‘Nothing much.’
‘Have you been out?’
‘No.’
‘Have you been out since Monday?’ Andrew asked.
‘What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?’ Mum said with a laugh.
That meant no, she hadn’t. ‘Do you feel poorly? Does anything hurt?’
Mum shook her head. ‘I just haven’t got around to it, that’s all.’
‘Tilda needs you, you know. She’s in trouble in the shop.’
‘Tilda only took me on as a favour, to help me out. She doesn’t need me.’ Mum settled back on to the sofa with a sigh. Her eyelids drooped and her lashes looked blonde against the dark patches under her eyes.
Andrew let her rest. It was what she needed most, after all. Having him nagging her, or asking questions, or poking around in her emotions like rooting for a pair of socks in a drawer wasn’t going to do her any good.
What she needed was a great big dose of Andrewfication. ‘Your hair is shocking!’ he said.
The corner of her mouth twitched, but she didn’t open her eyes.
‘What you need is an immediate emergency hairbrush and updo.’
Mum giggled.
‘Don’t move. I’m going to call the fourth emergency service – Hairdresserboy!’
He launched himself up off the sofa and ran into Mum’s room. He grabbed a brush and comb from her dresser, a scrunchy, anything he thought might help to make her feel a bit better. He snapped some sparkly clips on to the edge of his jeans pocket. Then, back in the living room, he dropped to his knees behind her head and began to brush her hair. Long even strokes teased out knots and tugged gently at her scalp. He could sense her relaxing. As soon as her blonde hair was clear of tangles, he scooped it into a swirl. It felt dry and brittle, but as he brushed he worked a shine into it.
‘And what style would madam like today? At what event will madam be appearing?’ he asked.
‘The palace has requested my attendance at a ball later tonight,’ Mum said in her poshest voice. ‘Something to do with a prince and a lost slipper. An odd theme for a party, but what can you expect from royals?’
‘So, you require an updo suitable for a princess? No problem.’ Andrew looped a long section of hair around the crown of her head and used a diamanté clip to hold it in place. Then he added extra sections, plaiting in lengths as he went. His fingers worked deftly. Over the past year he had done Mum’s hair countless times. He had thought those days were over, but if he’d been wrong, well, he could live with it. Eventually Mum wore a circlet of woven gold hair. Andrew added a few more clips to hold it still.
By the time he stood up, Mum was grinning like a princess before a crowd. ‘You’re an angel,’ she said.
‘Hairdresserboy saves the day!’ he replied.
And while it would have been good to be with the gang, to be out investigating, it was good to see Mum smile. It was his job to make sure she was happy.