was trying to keep her quiet and he dumped her in the sea off Roker pier.’
‘Poor kid.’
‘Aye, well, after this much time had passed, there was really only going to be one outcome.’
‘Still can’t help feeling sorry for her.’
‘And her sister. Imagine having to live with that for the rest of your life.’
PART TWO
Chapter 6
‘Hurry up! We haven’t got all day,’ snapped Penny.
‘Sorry, Mum. I’m ready now.’ Tina ran down the stairs and grabbed her jacket off a peg in the hall as she flew out of the front door, slamming it shut behind her.
Her mum was already in the car, reversing out of the drive almost before Tina had the door shut. Penny was always angry these days. She rarely smiled and Tina couldn’t remember the last time she had heard her laugh. She prayed, though. Not that praying seemed to bring her much comfort.
It was Sunday afternoon and they drove in silence. Tina had been obliged to go to church that morning. Her mum went almost every day, but Tina got away with going just once a week. She didn’t want to go at all. It was no longer that she hated the stupid God who had taken so much from her in her short life, but that she had realised there was no such thing as God. The whole thing was a delusion and her mother was mentally ill. She had already decided she would stop going just as soon as she had her own place and could organise her own life, but for now it was easier just to do what her mum asked.
So Sunday mornings were spent in church, after which they went home for lunch, then in the afternoon they drove to the cemetery. Penny parked in the usual place and Tina hopped out of the car and opened the hatchback. She lifted out an armful of flowers and a bag of tools. Penny closed the back of the car and zapped it to lock it: you could never be too careful, even if they would be within sight of the vehicle at all times. She trusted no one, not even in the cemetery grounds.
They trudged together over the grass to the plot. Tina felt her throat constrict when she read the headstone. It never got any easier.
In memory of Derek Snowdon, aged 44 years. A loving and much-loved husband and father.
Also Annabelle Snowdon, aged 8 years.
“God saw your goodness shining true and made a home in Heaven for you.”
Tina and Penny didn’t speak, didn’t need to: they had done this so many times that their moves had a strange, choreographed grace. Tina gathered up the previous week’s flowers and put them in a bin bag, then weeded the plot while Penny emptied out the stale water in the stone vase and replaced it with fresh, then arranged the new flowers. Penny took out a disposable wipe and cleaned the gravestone while Tina used a similar cloth to clean the marble edging. Then the cloths went into the bin bag with the faded flowers, the weeds and any rubbish that had been on or around the grave, and Tina took the bag to the bin while Penny gathered up the tools they had used and put them back in the bag. By the time she had placed that in the back of the car, climbed into the driver’s seat and fired the engine, Tina had returned from her errand and hopped into the passenger seat, and they drove home, again in silence.
When they got in, Tina went into the kitchen to put the kettle on and Penny went into the lounge and turned on the television. As Tina put the tray down and began transferring the teapot, mugs and a plate of biscuits to the coffee table, Points of View was just ending. By the time the tea had been poured and the women were seated, each with a mug of tea and a jaffa cake, Songs of Praise was just beginning. The timing was perfect for Penny, but Tina’s heart sank. Sundays were an exercise in endurance from beginning to end.
At sixteen, Tina had still been trying to please her mother, still believed that she could somehow make things right. Consequently, in accordance with Penny’s wishes, she had stayed on at school to do her A-levels with the intention
‘Poor kid.’
‘Aye, well, after this much time had passed, there was really only going to be one outcome.’
‘Still can’t help feeling sorry for her.’
‘And her sister. Imagine having to live with that for the rest of your life.’
PART TWO
Chapter 6
‘Hurry up! We haven’t got all day,’ snapped Penny.
‘Sorry, Mum. I’m ready now.’ Tina ran down the stairs and grabbed her jacket off a peg in the hall as she flew out of the front door, slamming it shut behind her.
Her mum was already in the car, reversing out of the drive almost before Tina had the door shut. Penny was always angry these days. She rarely smiled and Tina couldn’t remember the last time she had heard her laugh. She prayed, though. Not that praying seemed to bring her much comfort.
It was Sunday afternoon and they drove in silence. Tina had been obliged to go to church that morning. Her mum went almost every day, but Tina got away with going just once a week. She didn’t want to go at all. It was no longer that she hated the stupid God who had taken so much from her in her short life, but that she had realised there was no such thing as God. The whole thing was a delusion and her mother was mentally ill. She had already decided she would stop going just as soon as she had her own place and could organise her own life, but for now it was easier just to do what her mum asked.
So Sunday mornings were spent in church, after which they went home for lunch, then in the afternoon they drove to the cemetery. Penny parked in the usual place and Tina hopped out of the car and opened the hatchback. She lifted out an armful of flowers and a bag of tools. Penny closed the back of the car and zapped it to lock it: you could never be too careful, even if they would be within sight of the vehicle at all times. She trusted no one, not even in the cemetery grounds.
They trudged together over the grass to the plot. Tina felt her throat constrict when she read the headstone. It never got any easier.
In memory of Derek Snowdon, aged 44 years. A loving and much-loved husband and father.
Also Annabelle Snowdon, aged 8 years.
“God saw your goodness shining true and made a home in Heaven for you.”
Tina and Penny didn’t speak, didn’t need to: they had done this so many times that their moves had a strange, choreographed grace. Tina gathered up the previous week’s flowers and put them in a bin bag, then weeded the plot while Penny emptied out the stale water in the stone vase and replaced it with fresh, then arranged the new flowers. Penny took out a disposable wipe and cleaned the gravestone while Tina used a similar cloth to clean the marble edging. Then the cloths went into the bin bag with the faded flowers, the weeds and any rubbish that had been on or around the grave, and Tina took the bag to the bin while Penny gathered up the tools they had used and put them back in the bag. By the time she had placed that in the back of the car, climbed into the driver’s seat and fired the engine, Tina had returned from her errand and hopped into the passenger seat, and they drove home, again in silence.
When they got in, Tina went into the kitchen to put the kettle on and Penny went into the lounge and turned on the television. As Tina put the tray down and began transferring the teapot, mugs and a plate of biscuits to the coffee table, Points of View was just ending. By the time the tea had been poured and the women were seated, each with a mug of tea and a jaffa cake, Songs of Praise was just beginning. The timing was perfect for Penny, but Tina’s heart sank. Sundays were an exercise in endurance from beginning to end.
At sixteen, Tina had still been trying to please her mother, still believed that she could somehow make things right. Consequently, in accordance with Penny’s wishes, she had stayed on at school to do her A-levels with the intention
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