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‘Uncle Teddy, I can’t believe my own mother could be so flipping evil.’
‘I think evil is pushing it a bit, Flick,’ even though he thought evil might be precisely the right word, but he didn’t want Flick’s relationship with her mother damaged any more than it was. This was a big blow to an already fractured connection.
‘I thought some really horrible things about Sabrina. I hated her and I was that far from telling her what I felt about her. I would never have been able to take back the words,’ said Flick, pressing her fingertips into the corners of her eyes to stop any tears in their tracks.
‘But you didn’t,’ said Teddy.
‘I really like her,’ said Flick, her voice now taken over by sobs. ‘I think that’s why I was so mad. She proper listened to me; she didn’t just humour me. I loved talking to her and hearing about what she’d do with this place.’
Teddy reached over for a paper serviette and handed it to his young cousin before she dissolved herself in salt water.
‘Go and see her,’ he insisted.
Sabrina hadn’t left Teddy’s mind since they brought her home yesterday. He had replayed him holding her so many times that had it been an old cassette tape, it would have snapped hours ago. She’d been in his world for only a fewweeks but he couldn’t remember how they’d coped without her in the restaurant, and he couldn’t put his finger on what she brought with her that changed the atmosphere. It was as if, when she was in here, someone had tweaked up the brightness levels. And he felt that effect inside himself too. She wasn’t like the usual sort of women he went for who wrote all over his life with a shouty pen; she was a gentle murmur, not recognised until it stopped and then missed in its absence. And he couldn’t work out why her partner wasn’t moving every rock and stone to find her because that’s exactly what he would have done – and he wouldn’t have stopped until he had.
Marielle was just washing up the cake plates when Flick arrived at her door.
‘Can I see Sabrina? I won’t keep her long, Auntie Marielle.’
She’d been crying, that was clear.
‘Go on through, love,’ said Marielle, taking herself off downstairs so they could speak alone.
‘Hello, Flick,’ Sabrina said and smiled. She was sitting in the armchair in her waffle dressing gown. She looked pale, but drained of more than colour.And I’ve done that to her, was all she could think. Her practised, measured apology disintegrated in her mouth. Flick lowered her head, ashamed to look at her. When she felt Sabrina’s arms come around her, she pushed her face into the woman’s neck and let herself be comforted.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Flick over and over.
‘Darling, it’s not your fault, it really isn’t.’
‘Don’t be nice to me, it’s making me feel worse.’ Flick sobbed.
‘You have nothing to feel bad about, Flick.’
Sabrina had prayed to God to bring it on, to give her the truth, answers, shine light on all the mysteries, and now he had; boy, had he.
‘Come and sit down.’ Sabrina pulled her onto the sofa and snapped a clutch of tissues out of the box on the coffee table for Flick.
‘I’ve missed talking to you,’ said Flick eventually. ‘I really love our chats. I’ve been so upset. Please say you’re coming back to work.’
Flick was holding her hands. She was disgusted that it had been her mother who started all this. She’d almost smashed up a precious friendship believing her because, despite the age difference, Flick really felt that Sabrina was her friend. ‘Please don’t leave because of this.’
‘I think it’s time that I find out where I belong,’ said Sabrina. There might be some less than ideal things to deal with but there could be nothing worse than what she’d already found behind the door in her head.
‘Do that and then come back,’ said Flick. ‘You belong with us.’
Sabrina stroked her hair. She did belong here, with these people. But she belonged somewhere else as well and she couldn’t just pretend she didn’t. It would all be so much simpler if she had dropped out of a spaceship and her present place in the world was the only option she had.
TheDaily Trumpetwould like to point out an unfortunate error that appeared recently in our ‘Healthy Eating’ weekend supplement, in which food specialist Don Attercliffe advised people to always wash their vag before it is eaten no matter how clean it looks. We did of course mean ‘veg’.
Chapter 41
Chris was having a birthday tea out at the pub with his sister, brother-in-law, son and daughter. He really thought Polly would have sent him a card; he would have put money on her using the occasion to ask if she could come over and either get her stuff or worm her way back into his life. He’d been gobsmacked to get only a letter addressed to her in the post, a bank statement and some junk mail asking him if he’d thought about a cheap cremation, which made him feel great. He opened up Polly’s letter, read it and stuck it behind the clock on the mantelpiece with the other one that had come for her a couple of days ago.
Chris hated living by himself. He hated coming home from work and there being no presence in the house, warming it up in a way that central heating alone couldn’t – and no smell of his tea cooking. The bed was too big and it had taken him the best part of half an hour to put on the duvet cover last week. Nor did it smell of fabric conditioner, but of damp because he’d taken it out of the washer and dumped it on a worksurface for days to dry. He was ready for letting Polly back in. He’d had a fling, well, one that she knewabout, and she’d had one that he knew about, so that made it even-stevens. No one had the moral high ground any more, so that would make it easier to shove under the carpet.
As if his daughter had picked up his thoughts, she asked him, ‘Have you heard from you know who?’
‘Oh for goodness sake, do we have to talk about her?’ asked Camay. ‘You do know how to bring the mood down, Shauna.’
