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by S. J. Morgan

  ‘And have you got a nice place to live?’ Mum asked her.

  I knew all too well where this was leading.

  ‘Yeah, not bad,’ Daniella said. ‘But the kitchen’s tiny. Barely space to boil an egg!’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure it’s nicer than Alec’s,’ Mum said, right on cue. ‘His place is absolutely filthy. I honestly don’t know what…ooh, that reminds me!’ She turned to face me, finally. ‘Someone from the flat phoned for you – about an hour ago.’

  ‘Really?’ I said. It was strange: I hadn’t mentioned my plans to any of the others. ‘Who was it? Stobes? Deep voice, London accent?’

  ‘Was it him?’ Mum said, pausing as she stood to clear the cups. ‘No, I’m sure it was the other one, Mintie. Daniella? Can I get you more tea?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’d better go see my parents.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have been Minto, Mum,’ I said. ‘It was probably Black. Thick valleys accent.’

  ‘No, it was Minto. He’s the nasty one, isn’t he? It was definitely him.’

  Something unpleasant shifted in my stomach. ‘But how could he have got your number?’

  ‘I don’t know, love, he didn’t say.’

  ‘I never told any of them I was coming,’ I said.

  Daniella and I slid our eyes to one another.

  ‘Well, anyway, he wouldn’t leave a message,’ Mum said, placing the cups in a stack. ‘Just said he’s really looking forward to seeing you when you get back.’ She reached across for the teaspoons. ‘So, that was nice of him, wasn’t it? Maybe he’s not so bad, after all.’

  The sun was already over the yardarm by the time Dad emerged from the garage later. I was at the kitchen table, reading the sports section and sucking on a beer. I’d invited Daniella over for dinner, but Mum had put the kibosh on that by making the shock announcement that she had people coming over.

  I watched the back of Dad’s head while he stood at the sink, trying to get the engine oil off his hands. ‘Trouble with the car?’ I said.

  ‘No. Just maintenance: that way, it won’t give us any trouble.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Not seeing that new girlfriend of yours?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, she’s picking me up in a while. We’re heading into town.’

  He nodded and I watched him pick up his bits and pieces from the windowsill. He always put items on in the same order: first the wedding band, then his gold signet ring and finally his watch. I wouldn’t have a clue what Dad’s favourite colour was, or how old he was when he started driving, yet something as personal as putting on his jewellery and I could pick him out in any line-up.

  ‘You’re not staying to help entertain these friends of Mum’s then?’ I said.

  ‘No. They’re from church. I don’t know them.’

  I almost choked on my bottle. ‘Since when has Mum been a God botherer?’

  Dad was about to reply when Mum appeared in the doorway, wearing a stiff-looking black dress and jacket. What with the scraped back hair and the severe expression, she looked more professional mourner than party host.

  ‘What are you two still doing here?’ she said.

  I nodded towards the clock. ‘Daniella’s not picking me up for another hour.’

  ‘Well you can’t stay here,’ she said, ‘I need you both out.’

  Dad and I exchanged a glance in a rare moment of shared inconvenience.

  ‘Can’t I just stay out the way?’ I said, getting up.

  ‘No, Alexander, you can’t!’ She put a French stick onto a bread board then went and filled a jug with water. ‘I told you I was having people over, so you’ll just have to make yourself scarce.’

  I looked over her shoulder at the food extravaganza. ‘Is that all you’re feeding them? Jeez, you’ll be all done by seven!’

  ‘Alexander! Just go, will you?’ she said, manhandling me from the room. She looked past me at Dad. ‘Jim, can you take him out with you? I want the pair of you out from under my feet. Now!’

  And with that, we were ousted from the family home and forced to drown our sorrows at the local pub.

  The number of times Dad and I had gone out for a pint together could be counted on one hand. And without Mum, almost never. So, the two of us in The Hollybush had us well out of our comfort zones. It felt like being on a first date.

  Once we’d got our drinks, Dad chose a corner booth, as far away from the jukebox and slot machines as possible. As we slid into the seat together, I already had my chosen topic for the evening up my sleeve.

  ‘When did Mum start showing an interest in the church then?’ I asked, taking a sip from my pint.

  We were a family of fierce atheists as far as I was aware: growing up, there hadn’t been so much of a whiff of Sunday School for me, so I’d assumed our disbelief in higher powers was cast in stone – for all of us.

  ‘Oh gosh, well it was a few months ago she started going to services,’ Dad said, ‘but it didn’t last long. I mean, she doesn’t go any more.’

  ‘So, what about these church friends of hers?’

  ‘They’re some sort of breakaway group from what I can tell,’ he said. ‘I don’t think any of them goes to regular services now.’

  Dad didn’t say any more; just kept staring down at his drink like he had a secret tucked under his beer mat. Turned out he did, too.

  ‘It’s séances,’ he said.

  I gave him a double take.

  ‘That’s what they do, back at the house.’

  ‘No! You’re kidding!’

  ‘She says it’s…communing with the other side.’ He took a sip of beer. If he had an opinion about it, I didn’t sense it from his tone. He just announced it, matter of fact, like he’d just said she enjoyed watching tennis.

  ‘So, they’re into Ouija boards and spirits and stuff like that?’

  Dad sat back in his seat. He furrowed his brow and looked into the distance as if this was the first time he’d really thought about it. And perhaps it was. ‘She says it’s serious; not something they do for fun. It’s…’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what it is to be honest, but it’s obviously important to her.’

  ‘Christ!’ I said.

  It made me uneasy, thinking about what all these snippets might add up to. It was as if the old dependable mum was slipping away and was slowly being replaced by someone new. Someone weird.

  ‘Presumably the séances are about Gina again,’ I said.

  Dad visibly flinched at the G-word. It always made him prickly. He swept up his drink. ‘What do you mean ‘again’?’

  ‘Well, you know.’

  He looked me in the eye, like he was daring me to continue; defying me to venture down this no-through road. ‘No, Alexander, I don’t.’

  It was often like this with me and Dad: we didn’t go in for long discussions yet sometimes we’d get locked into these ridiculous back-and-forth battles where neither of us would give an inch. We used to get on fine when I was little, according to Mum, but she reckons I’ve grown up too much like him. Actually, nothing could be further from the truth – Dad and I are light-years apart – and possibly in different galaxies too.

  ‘C’mon, Dad,’ I said. ‘You know Mum’s never really got over Gina.’

  He shifted in his seat, smoothed down his trouser legs. I could almost hear the squeak of his discomfort.

  ‘Well, I s’pose we’ve all had problems dealing with it.’

  I let the comment go. ‘D’you ever go into Gina’s room?’ I said. ‘Have you set foot in there lately?’

  ‘The spare room.’

  ‘All right, the spare room. The one Gina was going to have. When was the last time you went in there?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Well, maybe you should take a look.’

  I watched him avoid eye-contact with me.

  ‘It’s probably time we painted over those pink unicorns, I know that much,’ he said, risking a brief smile.

  I looked away. ‘There are no unicorns, Dad.
We redecorated. Years ago.’

  He paused. ‘Oh. I hadn’t realised.’

  ‘No, well why would you?’ I took a swig from my pint.

  There was a silence – a kind of pivot in time where the conversation could have tipped either way.

  ‘Meaning?’ Dad said.

  ‘Meaning, you were away when we did it. As usual.’

  Amongst the amicable chatter of the pub, a swelling bubble of discontent had formed at our table. I could feel the throb of it, like a blister about to burst.

  ‘I had to be away. I was earning money,’ he said. ‘For the family.’

  I placed my glass on the table with more of a thump than intended. The conversation, together with the beer was giving me gut rot. The longer the silence stretched, the further I felt us getting from one another.

  I leaned forward. ‘Well, you’re not away now, are you? You’re supposed to be here for her. So, how come it’s still me that Mum has to turn to and not you?’

  I watched as Dad continued to avoid me. He shifted his empty glass to sit more centrally on the beer mat. Everything had to be just-so with him. Of all the things he could’ve cared about, he always chose things that didn’t matter – the order you put on your rings; the space around a beer mat, the cleanliness of a barely used car. It was as if he’d got everything topsy-turvy: manners; neatness; order; routine, these were Dad’s rules. But unity, trust, family, loyalty – he didn’t seem to have the same need for them.

  ‘Look, Dad,’ I said. ‘I’m not trying to…I just want to be honest with you.’

  He still didn’t answer. We were a mirror image of each other: hunched over our drinks, heads down. Nothing new for me, but it wasn’t how Dad normally looked. It was like his internal frame had snapped along the way and now he seemed, suddenly, vulnerable.

  ‘Dad,’ I said, again. ‘I didn’t mean...it’s just that Mum really needs…’

  ‘Hey! Mr Johnston. Hi, Alec,’ Daniella bent down, aiming a cheery kiss at me. ‘Your mum said I’d find you here.’

  It was shocking to be pulled from the moment. She stood there, hovering above us as I tried to mentally retrace my steps and figure out what I was meant to be doing.

  ‘You ready?’ she said when I looked at her. ‘I’m parked on a loading zone so can we…’ Her eyes swept to my glass and she made a gesture for me to hurry up.

  Even with all her ‘shift your arse’ cues I couldn’t snap into action; it was like my brain had frozen over. Dad hadn’t moved either – he hadn’t looked at Daniella, let alone acknowledged her.

  ‘Alec?’ she said, again.

  I finally managed to stand up.

  Daniella hesitated, looking between Dad and I, perhaps waiting for him to lift his head to say goodbye. But he sat there, not moving.

  ‘See you later then…Mr Johnston,’ she said.

  I knew she’d get nothing, so I physically turned her around and guided her towards the door. I remembered to mutter a ‘See ya, Dad,’ as I walked away.

  Daniella turned to me as we headed towards the exit. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Let’s just go.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Hey, d’you want to try that new bar in…’

  ‘Daniella, I just need to go and see Dad a minute.’

  ‘But I’m parked on a loa...’

  ‘Yes, a loading zone! I know! So, move the car – or don’t – just do whatever you want. I need to go back and see Dad.’

  She blinked back at me, open-mouthed like she didn’t know who I was anymore. I watched a whole host of expressions flit across her face. It was another pivotal moment. I really didn’t know which way it was going to go.

  ‘You’ve got two minutes,’ she said, looking me in the eye. ‘Then I’m off.’ She spun on her heels without waiting for a response and disappeared outside.

  I had no idea what I was going to say to him – or if I was going to say anything at all – but as I headed back to the table, I felt this overwhelming sense of sadness.

  ‘Dad?’ I perched on the chair opposite him, addressing that now familiar spot on his head.

  ‘You should go, Alexander.’ It was hard to hear him over the loud chatter, but I could pick out enough in his tone to know he wasn’t annoyed.

  ‘Look, I get that it was hard for you too,’ I said. ‘I do. I understand.’

  I don’t know what I expected. Perhaps I’d watched too many soaps and was waiting for him to reach across and put his hand on my shoulder. But there was nothing. Just a continuation of the long-running silence.

  ‘Does that girlfriend of yours know?’ he said, finally, nodding towards the door.

  ‘Does she know what?’

  He slid his eyes to me. ‘About her predecessor. About Jill: what with all this new-found, heartfelt honesty of yours.’

  He might as well have just thumped me in the gut: the wind was sucked out of me.

  I stood up so fast the chair tipped behind me. ‘Christ, Dad!’ I said, spitting the words at him. ‘Christ! How could y…fuck you!’

  I gave him one final look, one chance to redeem himself. But there was nothing in his expression that gave me even a sliver of hope.

  Chapter 16

  ‘Alec, my man! How’s it hanging?’

  I was barely awake: it seemed only a few minutes since I’d come back from the night out in the city with Daniella – the one preceded by the disastrous date with Dad.

  Now I was in Mum’s hallway, holding the receiver to my ear, trying to make sense of the voice.

  ‘Minto?’ I said. ‘What do you want at this unearthly hour on a Saturday morning?’

  There was a gruff laugh. ‘It’s early, is it?’

  ‘It’s still dark, man!’

  ‘Is it?’ he said, laughing again. ‘I haven’t been to bed yet. But if it’s pre-dawn, it would explain why Sindy’s flaked out buck-naked in my room.’

  I faltered at the image, struggling to take up the reins of the conversation again. ‘So, is something wrong?’

  ‘Well, Alec,’ he said, suddenly more serious. ‘I didn’t want to worry your very helpful mother with this, but there was no rent money for Mr Patel from you. It was odd: Stobes had left his, as had Black, but there was sweet F.A. from Mr Alec Johnston. And our poor Mr Patel has six unhealthy mouths to feed.’

  I rubbed my eyes, trying to wake up and shift my brain into gear. ‘I left it though,’ I told him. ‘I put it in the envelope with everyone else’s before I left. Thirteen quid.’

  ‘What can I say, mate? It wasn’t there. But don’t worry: I put it in for you again. So that’s twenty-six you owe me.’

  ‘What? It wasn’t there last week?’

  ‘Nah. Remember I told you?’

  He was lying through his fucking teeth, but I knew I couldn’t say it.

  ‘We’d better talk about it when I get back,’ I said.

  ‘Yep. Can’t afford to slip behind, Alec. Especially with the rent on the up from next week.’

  ‘Eh? The rent’s going up as well?’

  ‘Cost of living, I guess. Profit margins. Perhaps Mr Patel has got himself a seventh mouth to feed.’ There was a pause. ‘So, when are you coming back?’

  ‘Later.’

  ‘I know that, Einstein, but when, exactly?’

  ‘I dunno. Why?’

  ‘Just wondering,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a bit of a gathering. Saturday night an’ all that. People might spill out to the hall, the kitchen, that kind of thing. Just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be using your room – wouldn’t want the noise to disturb you.’

  There was a basic padlock on my door but given half the door was a temporary plywood screen, I didn’t fancy my chances on the security front.

  ‘I guess I’m likely to be there later,’ I said, changing tack. I could hear in the pause he knew I was bullshitting. ‘Don’t worry about the noise, though,’ I added. ‘I’m fine with that.’

  ‘That’s the way, Alec,’ he said. ‘Live and let live.’

&nbs
p; There was a click as he hung up the phone and I was left there, grasping in the dark, to work out the real purpose of the call.

  The early-morning discussion meant my whole day was thrown out of whack. By the time I stumbled out of bed, Dad was already at the shops, and Mum was in the kitchen, splattered with flour and surrounded by baking tins.

  ‘Good morning!’ she said. ‘Or, should I say: good afternoon?’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘I was going to make something for you to take to Daniella’s tonight,’ she said. ‘What time are you off?’

  ‘I dunno.’ I stretched and yawned. ‘Hopefully not late – I want to head back to Swansea as soon as I can.’

  ‘Why’s that, love?’

  ‘Just stuff to do.’

  I wasn’t about to tell Mum about the early morning call, even though it had been eating away at me. The rent was one thing, but why was Minto so interested in whether I’d be back for his party? He’d never alerted me to gatherings before and it definitely had nothing to do with him being neighbourly. If it hadn’t been for the meal at Daniella’s, I’d’ve dashed back to Swansea before any shenanigans got started.

  I leaned over and dipped a finger into one of Mum’s mixing bowls. ‘So, how did your church friends enjoy their evening?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, thank you. It was very nice.’

  I did another taste test, just to be sure. ‘And what do you lot talk about? The state of the chapel roof? What the bishop’s hiding under his cassocks?’

  ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know,’ she said, pouring mixture into the tins. ‘Your dad told me that you talked about it.’

  I put up my hands in surrender. ‘Yeah, we did.’ I continued poking and prodding in the mixing bowls. ‘So, wouldn’t seances be seen as the devil’s work?’ I said. ‘All that chanting and hand-holding.’

  ‘No, Alexander.’ She wiped her hands on her apron. ‘And if you’re just going to mock, I’d rather not discuss it. It’s not a board game with dice and plastic counters. It’s serious. And very moving, actually.’