shouting quite openly about her plans for his knuts. I slumped down next to Dave. He patted my shoulder. ‘You’re very good, taking care of your mum the way you do,’ he said. ‘You should be proud of yourself. She can be a right selfish shite at times.’
‘Don’t, Dave. I know you’re on my side but she’s not a bad mother. She’s just miserable and wrapped up in her own world. Can you imagine being someone’s mistress for seventeen years? Knowing he’ll never leave his wife? Knowing his wife detests you? I just wish she’d get rid of him.’
‘Did she ask you how you’re feeling about Michael’s return?’ he asked tentatively.
‘Nope.’ I tensed, afraid he’d say something horrid. In spite of everything, I couldn’t bear the thought of someone criticizing Mum. But Dave said nothing. He just nodded. ‘And how’s her drinking?’ he asked eventually.
‘Out of control,’ I said quietly. ‘I’ve said I’ll go down there tomorrow to see her. I’m going to try to talk to her about it.’
Dave winced. ‘That won’t be easy. Give me a bell if you need to, OK? And well done. You’re being a really good daughter.’
Leonie exploded from my bedroom with red cheeks and an unsettling dirty look in her eye. ‘You’d better not have been having phone sex in there,’ I told her.
She smoothed her hair, kissed me and Dave, then picked up her bag. ‘People, I have to go.’ She giggled. ‘There is a lot of rudeness to be had over at Knut’s hotel. Apologies.’ She hugged me as I let her out. ‘Good luck, darling. Stay calm at the airport and try not to be mental, OK?’ I watched fondly as she strode off across the yard, saluting Stefania’s shed.
Leonie and I had met in hospital shortly after she was born, when her mother had attended a class on how to bathe newborns led by Mum with me as her demonstration model. While the mums chatted afterwards in Kingston General, Leonie and I – me with a sort of wispy black Mohican and Leonie with a squashed little red face – were left in cots next to each other. According to Mum, Leonie had peered very seriously at me for a while, then stuck a tiny fist in my face. I had taken it on the chin.
We had been inseparable from that moment, living less than half a mile apart and going through playgroup, primary and secondary school together. We’d tried, half-heartedly, to stage a temporary separation by applying to different universities but in the end had admitted defeat and gone to Leeds together, where Leonie had set up what was effectively a knocking shop in her flat in Boddington Hall and I did slightly less well on the floor below.
We had emerged as two very different girls. While I became a career fiend, Leonie spent her days on the streets as a charity mugger, barely earning the minimum wage and living in a Stoke Newington bedsit smaller than my sitting room. A never-ending stream of men had flowed easily through her life; even under harsh interrogation I had failed to get her to admit that she wanted a real relationship.
But something was not quite right. The girl I had grown up with used to dream of being a poet withlong beads, a twenties haircut and a parrot, not to mention having a husband who was a member of the aristocracy. Her current lifestyle utterly baffled me.
As she disappeared through the tall wooden gates of my yard I resolved to help her find love. Love was good. I knew she’d like it.
Chapter Seven
January 2010
Sent : Thur, 07 Jan 2010 09.08:46 GMT
From : Customer Services [[email protected]]
To : Frances O’Callaghan [[email protected]]
Subject : DO NOT REPLY: Missing texts CALL REF O22965M4
Dear Miss O’Callaghan
Thank you for contacting Orange regarding missing text messages. I understand that you believe that you have been unable to receive incoming text messages, specifically from phone number 07009 704462. As discussed we have carried out a status check on the connection between this number and yours and
‘Don’t, Dave. I know you’re on my side but she’s not a bad mother. She’s just miserable and wrapped up in her own world. Can you imagine being someone’s mistress for seventeen years? Knowing he’ll never leave his wife? Knowing his wife detests you? I just wish she’d get rid of him.’
‘Did she ask you how you’re feeling about Michael’s return?’ he asked tentatively.
‘Nope.’ I tensed, afraid he’d say something horrid. In spite of everything, I couldn’t bear the thought of someone criticizing Mum. But Dave said nothing. He just nodded. ‘And how’s her drinking?’ he asked eventually.
‘Out of control,’ I said quietly. ‘I’ve said I’ll go down there tomorrow to see her. I’m going to try to talk to her about it.’
Dave winced. ‘That won’t be easy. Give me a bell if you need to, OK? And well done. You’re being a really good daughter.’
Leonie exploded from my bedroom with red cheeks and an unsettling dirty look in her eye. ‘You’d better not have been having phone sex in there,’ I told her.
She smoothed her hair, kissed me and Dave, then picked up her bag. ‘People, I have to go.’ She giggled. ‘There is a lot of rudeness to be had over at Knut’s hotel. Apologies.’ She hugged me as I let her out. ‘Good luck, darling. Stay calm at the airport and try not to be mental, OK?’ I watched fondly as she strode off across the yard, saluting Stefania’s shed.
Leonie and I had met in hospital shortly after she was born, when her mother had attended a class on how to bathe newborns led by Mum with me as her demonstration model. While the mums chatted afterwards in Kingston General, Leonie and I – me with a sort of wispy black Mohican and Leonie with a squashed little red face – were left in cots next to each other. According to Mum, Leonie had peered very seriously at me for a while, then stuck a tiny fist in my face. I had taken it on the chin.
We had been inseparable from that moment, living less than half a mile apart and going through playgroup, primary and secondary school together. We’d tried, half-heartedly, to stage a temporary separation by applying to different universities but in the end had admitted defeat and gone to Leeds together, where Leonie had set up what was effectively a knocking shop in her flat in Boddington Hall and I did slightly less well on the floor below.
We had emerged as two very different girls. While I became a career fiend, Leonie spent her days on the streets as a charity mugger, barely earning the minimum wage and living in a Stoke Newington bedsit smaller than my sitting room. A never-ending stream of men had flowed easily through her life; even under harsh interrogation I had failed to get her to admit that she wanted a real relationship.
But something was not quite right. The girl I had grown up with used to dream of being a poet withlong beads, a twenties haircut and a parrot, not to mention having a husband who was a member of the aristocracy. Her current lifestyle utterly baffled me.
As she disappeared through the tall wooden gates of my yard I resolved to help her find love. Love was good. I knew she’d like it.
Chapter Seven
January 2010
Sent : Thur, 07 Jan 2010 09.08:46 GMT
From : Customer Services [[email protected]]
To : Frances O’Callaghan [[email protected]]
Subject : DO NOT REPLY: Missing texts CALL REF O22965M4
Dear Miss O’Callaghan
Thank you for contacting Orange regarding missing text messages. I understand that you believe that you have been unable to receive incoming text messages, specifically from phone number 07009 704462. As discussed we have carried out a status check on the connection between this number and yours and
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