When You Are Mine(108)

‘But Janet made tea.’

‘I have to go,’ I say, adding hollowly. ‘Next time.’

Henry doesn’t stand or try to follow me. I feel like a child being banished to my bedroom for bad behaviour and told to contemplate what I’ve done. Growing up, my punishments were like that. I would have preferred to go hungry, or be grounded, or surrender privileges, but my mother knew that coldness and silence were the greatest penance – the withholding of affection.

Moving in a daze, I retrace my steps through the house to the entrance hall. Reverend Bill turns the latch to open the door. He leans closer. I expect him to kiss me on the cheek, but he whispers in my ear.

‘You have to forgive Henry. His allegiances are torn.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Roxanne has threatened to fight for sole custody of Archie if Henry marries you.’

‘But that’s—’

‘She doesn’t want Archie exposed to … to …’ He doesn’t finish.

‘Me?’ I ask.

‘Or your family,’ he replies.





60


My mother’s voice is muffled behind the heavy painted door.

‘Philomena?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you alone?’

‘Yes.’

The key turns. The lock slides back. A security chain is unhooked. The door opens a crack and she peers at me anxiously. Brown curls. Brown eyes. Satisfied, she opens it wider and wraps me in her arms, her lips pressed against my cheek and her perfume filling my nostrils.

‘Why have you deadlocked the door?’

‘I thought maybe you were Tempe. She’s been calling. Texting. Last night she came at midnight.’

‘What did she want?’

‘You, of course. She thinks I’m hiding you.’

Pulling me into the parlour, she takes a moment to examine me, as though looking at a piece of second-hand furniture that needs restoration. Normally, she complains about my hair, or my skin, or that I dress ‘like a boy’. This from someone who looks like a 1950s housewife in frocks and housecoats.

‘There’s something wrong with that woman,’ she says. ‘She was bashing on the door, calling your name. When I threatened to call the police, she laughed and said the police had only just let her go. She called them the Gestapo and said they wouldn’t mess with her again.’

‘What did she mean?’ I ask.

‘I have no idea. Did she get you into trouble? I told you not to trust her.’

‘When?’

‘Right at the beginning when she was drawing all those sketches of you.’

I don’t remember that. I feel as though everybody has become an expert in hindsight: my friends, Dr Coyle, Elsa, Pearlie and Henry. It’s like when people see photographs of Ian Brady, or Myra Hindley, or Jeffrey Dahmer and say, ‘Don’t they look evil,’ as though their crimes are written on their foreheads and should be obvious to everybody. I haven’t been blind to Tempe’s odd behaviours and neediness, but she was also great company, and a brilliant organiser, and she made me laugh.

‘How is Henry?’ my mother asks. ‘Worried sick, I expect.’

‘He’s called off the wedding.’

Her eyes widen in surprise and narrow again.

‘I’ve embarrassed his family,’ I explain.

‘You or your father?’

‘You can’t blame this on him,’ I say, which might not be completely true. Right now, his money is the only thing standing between me and a prison cell. The irony isn’t lost on me. I’ve spent the past decade trying to distance myself from my father and now I’m staying in his house, taking advice from his barrister.

We move to the kitchen, where I finally get that cup of tea. She makes me tell her the story, but I reveal only those pieces that will make her feel reassured. We are both playing a game. She is pretending to be ignorant of how the legal system works and I’m editing the facts to present a more hopeful picture.

After an hour of talking, I make my excuses, saying that I have a meeting with the lawyers.

‘Where to?’ asks Tony when I get back to the car.

I give him the address of the Chestnut Grove Academy. I need to practise. I need to sweat. Maybe if I hit something hard enough the answers will shake loose.





61


Classes at the studio are normally mornings and evenings, which means it is empty in the middle of the day. I get changed into my Keikogi and wrap the black belt around my middle, crossing the ends, tucking the right over the left and pulling both strands tight before completing the knot.

I begin with movement exercises: hip drives, flat rolls and half-circle monkey hops. I move on to shadow sparring, which is like shadowboxing, studying my reflection. From there, I shift to the heavy bag, throwing actual kicks, punches and hand strikes with such force and speed that the bag swings back towards me and I pretend that I’m being attacked.

I have sweat dripping off my nose when I hear the door open and recognise Tempe’s silhouette.

‘I thought I might find you here,’ she says brightly.

‘That’s what all the stalkers say.’

I turn back to the mirrors, keeping her in sight.

‘I’ve missed you,’ she says, oblivious to my terseness.