The Informant by Susan Wilkins Page A

the heebie-jeebies. Then when yer dad was took bad I pretty much had me hands full and I thought she’s a good girl, she’ll
understand.’
    Kaz stared in frank disbelief. What had brought about this transformation?
    Ellie rattled on as she steered her daughter into the house. Kaz got another shock when she saw how her childhood home had changed. The mismatched furniture was gone, so was the chaos and the
mess.
    Terry Phelps had owned two pitbulls, which it amused him to call Bill and Ben after some kids’ TV show. They were savage beasts and pretty much had the run of the place. For security,
Terry said. He didn’t intend to be surprised in his bed by some rival hoodlum. Kaz and Joey had been mortally afraid of the dogs; they had bitten Ellie on more than one occasion. But now the
formerly tiled and dog-shit-strewn hallway was covered in a deep-pile carpet. An ornately carved ottoman stood against one wall and on it a small tabby cat was curled up fast asleep. Kaz rapidly
concluded that Bill and Ben were history.
    The sitting room was in Kaz’s memory a cold, depressing place. As kids they’d spent most of their time curled up in one corner watching a big old Philips television. As she stepped
into the room now her eyes were assaulted by a riot of bright, warm colours. Heavy brocade curtains complete with pelmets and tassels covered the windows. Three enormous plush sofas were ranged
around a glass coffee table. Lamps, ornaments, silver-framed family photos were spread liberally around the room. But the biggest change of all sat in one corner.
    Terry Phelps’s hulking frame was crammed into a neat, mechanized wheelchair. His chin was sunk low resting on his barrel of a chest and a small drool of saliva snaked over the edge of his
slack lips down his chin and on to his cardigan. Kaz stood rooted to the spot. She stared into his black eyes. They were completely vacant. Ellie touched her daughter’s arm.
    ‘I know love, it’s quite a shock. He can’t move or talk or do nothing for himself really. It was a massive stroke. The doctors reckon it was a miracle he survived at all. But
we keep him nice and clean and warm.’
    As she spoke she went over and patted him, much as you would a dog. Joey strolled over to the drinks cupboard and poured himself and Ashley a Scotch.
    ‘Mum has two full-time nurses to do all the lifting and that. And of course she’s got Brian to help her out too.’ Joey indicated the dapper man in his early sixties sitting on
one of the sofas. ‘You must remember Uncle Brian.’
    Kaz turned to look at Brian, who was no sort of relative at all, but had been called that by Kaz and Joey as a sort of courtesy required of children to certain adults round their parents. Brian
Mason had in fact been part of the Phelps firm, at various times Terry’s driver, dogsbody and whipping boy.
    He stood up and held his hand out to Kaz. ‘Welcome home love. Must say, you’re looking pretty fit.’
    ‘So are you Brian.’
    ‘Y’know, mustn’t grumble.’
    At this point Ellie sidled over to him and slipped her arm coyly through his. ‘Brian’s been a great comfort to me. I’d never have got through without him. He’s my little
treasure.’
    Brian grinned and squeezed her hand.
    Kaz looked around her, it was all starting to make sense. The inmates had taken over the asylum. She glanced over at her father in his wheelchair. He hadn’t moved a muscle. You could
almost feel sorry for him. But Kaz didn’t. The vicious old bastard had got exactly what he deserved.

8
    Kaz and Joey sat on loungers in the garden. He had a cold beer, she had apple juice. It was a summer evening, a scene so easy and normal that Kaz was still finding it hard to
absorb. Brian was handling the barbecue, Ellie was fussing round him and giggling; they were playing house like a couple of newly-weds. Kaz watched them, she wasn’t certain if her
mother’s current happiness pleased her or whether she resented it. She