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‘Yeah, I’m fine, sort of,’ he replied, unconvincingly. ‘I will just tell you that I wanted to come to the funeral with Courtney but she’s back with Dingo Shaw again. Please, willyoutry and get it through her thick head that he has absolutely no redeeming features and never will have, because I’m done with her.’
Then he ended the call before Shay could even roll her eyes in despair.
Shay drove to a farm shop that afternoon to pick up something for tea because she had nothing in. She bought a pie – Morton was a pie sort of man – then she tidied up a bit because the surfaces hadn’t seen a cloth or a duster for overa week. The house, in fact, looked like her state of mind; disorderly, untidy, needing a strong fettle.
His ancient jeep drew up outside at six on the dot. Shay saw him get out and walk down the path and she was mortified, because he was carrying a bunch of flowers and wearing a suit; a dreadful suit with pin-stripes and 1970s flappy lapels that not even Harry Styles could have pulled off. Under the jacket, rather than a shirt, was a white polo neck. It was a perfect wardrobe fusion of submarine commander meets Worzel Gummidge. Shay hoped to high heaven that ‘come round and talk over a bit of tea’ had not somehow been translated as ‘this is a date night’.
She opened the door to Morton who smiled, but looked terrible. He had dark circles under his eyes and he’d lost so much weight that his cheeks were sunken in. In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen as much as a hint of one of his cheekbones before.
‘Hello, Shay love,’ he said and threw one arm around her by way of greeting; her nostrils were filled with a pungent whiff of mothballs mixed with an overpowering aftershave which might have smelled nice had it not been applied quite so liberally.
‘I brought you these,’ said Morton and pushed the bouquet into her hands. ‘I know birds like flowers, they’re a cheer-up aren’t they and fuck me, we both need cheering up at the moment.’
‘Thank you, Morton, you didn’t have to bring anything but that’s kind of you.’ They were from the supermarket, she could see by the sticker, but they were one of the pricier bunches with roses in. ‘Can I get you a beer or a glass of wine? Have a seat.’
‘Ta, I’ll have a beer. I’m driving so I won’t be gettingarseholed. I’ve been overdoing it a bit recently and it doesn’t help, does it? You just get bad dreams, wet the bed and wake up with a thumping headache.’
Shay flipped the top off one of the beers she’d bought in the farm shop. He didn’t want a glass; Morton said it tasted better from the lip.
‘I was sorry to hear about your mum, Shay. Mort told me you’d been having hassle with her neighbours over the building work and then… well… what came after. The building laws are a shambles at the moment; the lunatics have taken over the asylums.’
She had that thought again, the one that kept chasing into her brain and out of it. But this time she caught it and held it fast. Why hadn’t Bruce suggested she ask Morton about what Drew Balls was planning to build? He was their natural first port of call with his wealth of knowledge. She remembered Dave from next door popping round after Christmas for advice about a conservatory and Bruce had been straight on the blower to Morton. Not that it mattered any more now.
Shay turned the heat off underneath the pan of peas and then took the pie out of the oven and put it on the table.
‘Mort was very helpful.’
‘He’s a good kid. I’m glad I’ve got him. He’s a rock. Mind if I take my jacket off?’
‘Of course, make yourself comfortable.’
‘How are your kids doing?’
Shay cut a large slice of pie for Morton, put it on a plate and poured peas over it as she continued their conversation.
‘Sunny’s working for an insurance company in Leeds. Courtney’s… well, Courtney. She lives in a flat with her pal and has a boyfriend who thinks the world owes him a living.’
‘Our young Mort doesn’t like him, I know that,’ saidMorton, picking up a fork. ‘Says he’s a wanker, and he’s a good judge of character is my lad. He also says your lass could have a crack at making something of herself in the boxing world if she wanted to. Go pro.’
‘Oh, please no to go pro,’ replied Shay. ‘There’s enough violence in the world as it is.’
‘She’s good, I’ve watched her in the ring up at Tommy Tanner’s gym. I wouldn’t like to be on the other side of one of her uppercuts and she’s got a cracking right hook. Some proper brute strength in them fists of hers.’ Morton scooped up a slab of pie and shoved it into his mouth. ‘Tommy seems to think a ring is her natural arena.’
Shay didn’t doubt it, although she’d always hoped that a ballet school would be her daughter’s natural arena. Fat chance after she was barred for battering one of her fellow pupils with her pointe shoes.
‘It’ll channel her aggression and she’s got plenty to channel, by all accounts,’ chuckled Morton.
‘Great, that’s all we need. A professional killing machine instead of an amateur one,’ huffed Shay.
‘Our young Mort’s been in love with her for years, did you know?’ Morton said, spitting out some mince as he spoke, which he poked back into his mouth with his finger.
‘Yes, I think the only person who hasn’t guessed that is my daughter,’ replied Shay.
‘She could do a lot worse.’
‘Courtney couldn’t spot a decent boy if he turned up with a written recommendation from God himself,’ returned Shay.
‘They’re a worry, aren’t they – kids?’ said Morton. ‘But I’d still have had loads of them if I could. It just never happened for us.’
