Sweet Little Lies (Cat Kinsella #1)(72)

‘Very good, Noel’ I say, giving him a slow handclap. ‘That the sum of your Spanish? Not a lot of need for prolonged conversation where you work, I suppose.’

‘Oh, I get by,’ he says, smiling savagely. ‘How about Que te jodan? That means “Fuck you.”’

‘Noel!’ yelps Jacqui, looking at Finn.

‘That’s ENOUGH.’

It’s not Dad’s tone that shocks, it’s the fact he’s spoken at all. He hasn’t made a sound since we sat down other than to laugh half-heartedly at Finn’s cracker joke.

Noel plays the innocent. ‘Enough what? She said she didn’t want to talk about her job so I’m just telling her about mine.’

Finn asks to get down from the table. I wait until he’s out of earshot and safely goggle-eyed in front of Super Mario before I speak.

‘I’ll tell you something about my job, Noel. I’m going to Mulderrin on Monday. How’s about that?’ Dad puts his fork down, pushes his chair away from the table. For a second I think he’s going to walk out but he’s just lost his appetite. ‘I’m looking forward to it actually,’ I say, hitting my stride. ‘It’ll be nice to go back after all this time. Why did we never go back there, Dad?’

Dad tops up his wine-glass, avoiding my eyes. ‘On holiday, you mean? Wasn’t Florida good enough for you, sweetheart? Couldn’t the Maldives hold a candle to Mulderrin, no?’

Jacqui laughs, that shrill keep-the-peace laugh that’s become second nature.

I shrug. ‘Just always seemed a bit unfair to me. We saw Nan and Grandpa all the time. Why did you never take us back to see Gran again?’

He knows the subtext. He knows where this is heading but he’s not ready to draw weapons.

And so he tries humour.

‘Listen to her,’ he says, flicking his head towards me and smirking at Jacqui and Noel. ‘Always with the why, why, why. Same as when she was a kid, used to drive us all mad. “Why are flats called flats when they’re not flat, they’re high.”’

Jacqui laughs. ‘“Why do we have chins?”, “Why’s water wet?”’

I nudge the conversation back. It’s a sharp vicious nudge. ‘Auntie Carmel told me Mum wanted to be buried in Mulderrin but you wouldn’t have it. I doubt Hatfield Road Cemetery held a candle to Mum’s birthplace.’

‘Since when have you and Carmel been so pally?’ Dad sneers.

‘For years,’ I lie. ‘We’ve got similar interests. Similar likes and dislikes.’

We both like the act of disliking Dad.

He stiffens. ‘It’s none of Carmel’s business, anyway. I wanted your mum near me, Cat, not in another bloody country.’

Jacqui gives a small wistful mew, reaches across for Dad’s hand.

‘Shouldn’t it have been about Mum’s wishes though,’ I say, ‘not doing what suits you. I mean, when did you even last visit her grave?’

He meets my eyes for the first time. ‘Yesterday, actually. Tidying up the flowers I’d left earlier in the week. You?’

‘On her birthday.’

A tiny smile but there’s no satisfaction in it. ‘Right. So five months ago then.’

Jacqui cuts in, light and airy, wilfully ignoring the storm that’s brewing. ‘Lots of people don’t like the ritual, Dad. It’s a personal thing.’ She squeezes his hand tighter. ‘Although I’m with you, I like to visit Mum regularly. I think it’s a mark of respect. A mark of honour.’

Her cloying tone needles me. ‘I honoured Mum in life, Jacqs, I think that’s more important, don’t you?’ I tilt my head, mock inquisitive. ‘Dad, is that why you go to Mum’s grave so much? To make up for all the shit .?.?.’

His fist on the table is loud and final. A glass of wine topples and the dark ruby stain spreads ominously across the tablecloth. Jacqui jumps to attention, relieved to have something practical to focus on. Noel sits back and returns my slow handclap, barely concealed amusement dancing across his face.

Dad stands up, chin high, shoulders squared, and walks out of the kitchen.

Out of the flat.

*

Clearly I’m not proud of myself but I’d be lying if I said I felt shame. Finn didn’t notice and that’s the only thing that matters to me, really. While I’d never intentionally set out to hurt Jacqui, her mealy-mouthed insistence on sticking to this Dad-of-the-Year fantasy makes her collateral damage as far as I’m concerned and maybe it’d be for the best if I did push her away for good. She and Finn are the only ties that bind me to Dad, the physical ties anyway.

The emotional ties have the elasticity of spider silk. A tensile strength comparable with steel.

Much later, I see Dad in the kitchen, standing over the sink and staring out of the window into the semi-darkness. He’s smoking, taking long luxurious draws, every inhale as sacred and fulfilling as a silent prayer. He turns his head slightly when he hears me and there’s a sly twitch at the corner of his mouth that says he’s been expecting me. There’s no corrosive energy, just an air of sad inevitability. A sense that it was always heading here.

Just me, him and the sliver of the moon lighting the rooftops of north London.

I sit at the table.

‘Where’d you go?’