Beneath the Skin(60)


‘OK, love,’ Norma carefully replies. ‘Fancy watching some TV first?’

‘Put that blessed thing away,’ Martha grumbles, glaring at Sami’s iPhone. ‘If you can’t sit still, do something useful, like helping your dad.’

Sami strolls outside to the cold drizzly garden and proffers a hot drink to his father before putting his hands in his pockets. ‘Just here for moral support, Dad.’ He points at his shoes with a grin. ‘Not got the gear for gardening.’

They chat idly about the cricket, Sami resting on a garden bench, his father digging, turning over the rose-bed soil methodically. He’s a man of few words, though more words for Sami than he has for ‘all those bloody women’ in his large home.

Sami feels the vibration from his iPhone and the immediate acceleration of his pulse. He waits patiently for his dad to finish a story about his Uncle Josiah’s farm in Antigua, one which he’s heard many times before. Then pulls it out of his pocket, turning away from his dad, a combination of anxiety and excitement in his chest. He looks at the screen. It’s an iMessage, but not from Sophie. Bloody Sophie. ‘Sod her then,’ he mutters, frustrated and angry.

‘What’s up, Samuel? Want to tell me about it?’

Sami looks at his dad, his lovely lopsided dad who deplores all the women in his life.

‘Nothing to tell, Dad. I’m going to get off now. I’ll catch you soon.’

His dad straightens slowly, lifts his maroon cricket hat to scratch his shiny head, then nods.

‘Fair enough. Come back soon, son. And next time, if any of your sisters knock at the door, don’t let them in!’

‘I shouted at Sami. Well, screamed,’ Sophie mumbles eventually from the sofa, her eyes fixed on the television. ‘And threw a glass at his head. I had a good reason, though.’

Norma knows she’s only been told half a tale, but it doesn’t matter, half a tale is better than none. Sophie has swung from a spirited agitation in the kitchen to a near silent malaise in the lounge. She nods, saying nothing, her eyes on the screen too. I’m wearing my nurse’s hat, she thinks. It’s easier than my mother’s hat and makes me a much nicer person.

‘Plus I’ve sort of fallen out with Antonia. I can’t be bothered explaining it all, but you know …’ Sophie trails off.

Norma nods again, seeing mouths moving, brows furrowing, teeth that need fixing on the television screen, but hearing nothing but the rush of her own thoughts. Sami, handsome, charming and selfish Sami. But Antonia, that’s a surprise. Loyal to a fault. Quiet, timid, too timid, she thinks. Norma was on the PTA and over the years there was gossip about the Farrell family, but nothing concrete, nothing to justify a call to Social Services. Yet still, if she’s honest, she always thought young Antonia’s impassive face masked something, something dark and unhealthy. She felt guilty when it happened. Barry did too. The child was a constant silent presence in their house and they hadn’t noticed anything amiss, not really amiss. ‘Do you know what really happened?’ they asked Sophie when it all came out, but Sophie shrugged, as teenagers do, and they were none the wiser.

‘David’s dead,’ Sophie now blurts. ‘He slit his wrists and bled to death in the bath. Which doesn’t help.’

Norma looks at Sophie then. Someone’s just walked over my grave, she thinks, as she shakes off a shiver. Sophie’s face is wet and her nose is streaming. This isn’t a joke.

‘I realise that’s terrible, obviously, I’m not a complete bitch. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling, God, I don’t know. Betrayed? And angry, really angry. Does that make any sense, Mum?’

Norma leans over, takes Sophie’s hand and squeezes. Her little girl, who only ever had eyes for her daddy. A daddy who barely bothered to hide his night-shift infidelity with men, as well as women, before leaving home for good. Betrayal and anger. To Norma Jeffries it makes perfect sense.

Sami comes off the motorway, but instead of taking a right off the Parkway towards Didsbury, he indicates left. He drives past the crematorium towards Beech Road, realising with a jolt that he’s not so far from Mike and Olivia’s house.

Fancy some company? his text said, a text sent impulsively from his dad’s garden.

Yes please! The flat above the craft shop, Jemima immediately replied. Can’t wait!

She’s an attractive girl, particularly her long wavy hair which looks incongruous in his poker-straight-hair offices, and they’ve been flirting for some time, but he’s never really thought of taking it any further. But this evening it makes sense. He couldn’t stand being suffocated at Martha’s a moment longer and Sophie hasn’t been in touch, so he’s not ready to go home.

Blanking out any thoughts of betrayal as usual, he focuses on what he knows is in store. Jemima wants him, he knows that. It evokes memories from the Boot Room.

‘There’s no bigger turn-on than someone wanting you. Begging for it! Come on, guys, you know what I mean,’ he would say when the Boot Room boys eye-rolled at the news of yet another conquest.

‘Masturbation, in short,’ Pete would drily reply.

‘Well, who can blame me,’ he would smile, a finger pointing to his own face.

He finds the craft shop and presses the intercom. Bounds up the stairs two by two. The flat door is already open and Jemima pulls him in, her fingers unbuttoning his shirt before he has the chance to put down his keys. Masturbation maybe, but the rush of exhilaration’s still there.

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