Sweet Sorrow(99)

‘And how is it going with … Jonathan?’

Mum glanced at me with narrowed eyes, then back to the road. ‘It is what it is, Charlie. It is what it is.’

We turned into Thackeray Crescent and parked a short distance away so that he wouldn’t hear the car, but I could see the house lights on. ‘Does Dad know?’

Mum exhaled. ‘So. Apparently some girl phoned asking for you, and she was worried and so he was worried because apparently you said you were staying at Harper’s.’

‘And …?’

‘So he phoned me – that’s how desperate he was – and I told him.’

‘Everything?’

‘Yes, because he’s your father.’

‘Mum!’

‘Well, what was I meant to say?’

‘You could have just said I’d fallen off my bike.’

‘And landed on a nearby pile of champagne glasses? Come on, Charlie, he’s bound to find out.’

‘Oh, God.’

‘D’you want me to come in with you?’

‘Yeah, because that will make it better.’

‘No. Maybe not.’

‘I should go,’ I said, but neither of us moved.

‘Who’s the girl? New girlfriend?’ Until then, she’d only ever said the word with a mocking leer, but not this time.

‘I think so. She was. Before I stood her up.’

‘Is she in the play?’ I looked at Mum. She knew. ‘Dad told me that you’d fallen in love with Shakespeare.’

‘She’s in the play.’

‘Who is she?’

‘Juliet.’

‘No, in real life, silly.’

‘Why do you need to know her name?’

‘It’s not an unusual question …’

‘It’s Fran. You saw her at the pub.’

‘Fran.’ She weighed the name. ‘Hm. And is she any good?’

‘In real life or—?’

‘As Juliet.’

‘She’s amazing.’

‘Are you good?’

‘No.’

‘Do I have to come and see it?’

I laughed to myself. ‘That’s what Dad said.’

‘No, I’d like to.’

‘No, you’re excused.’ And now it really was time to go.

‘Call me. If you need to, if he takes it badly.’

‘No, I think he’ll be pleased.’

‘And call me Monday morning too.’ Monday was the exam results day.

‘What for?’

‘Well, because I’m your mother. Maybe you’ll get a surpri—’

‘I know I’ve failed.’

She closed her eyes and exhaled. ‘Okay, let’s not have this argument as well. Let’s stick to one row at a time, shall we?’

I opened the car door and hesitated as if we were still speeding along the dual carriageway. Mum smiled stiffly and I twisted out of the car, wincing as the dressings tugged at the broken skin, and without turning around walked towards home.





Shame


He was standing with his back to me, one arm bracing the stereo shelf as if holding it up. Perhaps it was holding him up. Big band music played, a great clattering blare like something falling downstairs. Buddy Rich, I thought, from the sound of the drums. A cigarette was pinched between his knuckles, the remains of others piled high in the ashtray next to the whisky bottle. I could see, as he raised the glass to his mouth, that his hand was shaking.

‘Hi, Dad.’

He swayed as he twisted to glance over his shoulder. ‘How much?’

I sighed. ‘You mean how much did I steal?’ The best defence, I’d decided, was attack. If he thought I was a thug, I’d be a thug.

‘Yes, how much money did you steal?’

‘Not “Hey Charlie, how are you feeling? How’s your back?”’

He turned quickly, stumbling, a moment of vertigo. ‘Mum told me you were fine, don’t give me that.’

‘Try “I was worried about you, Charlie.”’

‘Oh, you think I don’t worry about you?’

‘Can we turn the music down?’

‘You think I don’t lie awake and worry about you?’

‘Well maybe if you didn’t spend the whole day sleeping on the sofa, you’d sleep better at night.’

‘You don’t know how I spend my days, you’re never here.’

‘Why, what am I missing?’

‘Don’t change the subject. How much did you—?’

‘I don’t know. Couple of hundred.’

‘But you had a job!’

‘Yeah, three quid an hour.’

‘Well, if you need more money you work more hours, that’s what work is!’

I laughed, and saw my father bridle.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I just don’t know if you’re in a position to lecture me about my work ethic. Or money.’

‘What?’

‘Well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?’

‘You know why I can’t work!’