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by S. J. Morgan

  Mum snapped her head up, her worry-antenna sparking into action.

  Dad followed me out into the kitchen.

  ‘Minto’s on the phone,’ I whispered. ‘If I don’t let him speak to Sindy, I’m afraid he might just...turn up.’

  ‘Maybe I should speak to him.’ Dad raised his chin like he was suddenly one of life’s movers and shakers.

  ‘No,’ I hissed. ‘You’ll only make it worse.’

  I heard the living room door open. ‘Alec?’ Sindy came out. ‘The football’s starting if you want to see it.’

  Minto would have heard it, of course. I imagined his barrel of a chest shaking with laughter as he listened.

  ‘Minto’s on the phone,’ I said, my voice now at normal volume. I pointed to my dramatic shake of the head as I looked at Sindy. ‘Do you want to speak to him?’

  She looked between me and Dad. ‘Yes, okay,’ she said. And she scooted past me and over to the phone. ‘Hey!’ I heard her say. ‘This is a surprise.’

  She didn’t look happy when she came back in the room a few minutes later. Her eyes had lost the spark that had only just started to seep back into them.

  ‘All okay?’ Mum said.

  Sindy sat beside me on the sofa. She managed a vague nod, then sighed. ‘My horoscope said there was a change coming.’

  ‘A change?’ Mum said.

  Sindy nodded but didn’t elaborate.

  ‘How did Minto even know you were here?’ I asked.

  She shrugged and still wouldn’t look at me. ‘Don’t know.’

  I kept my eyes on the TV but even the excitement of Cardiff sneaking one past the Cambridge goalie didn’t hold my attention. ‘So, what did he want?’

  Sindy sat with her body half-turned from me. The heating was on full pelt, but I could see she had goose bumps up her arm. ‘He wants me to go back,’ she said.

  Over on the TV, the crowd was going wild and the noise seemed at odds with the stilted quiet of our front room. Mum stood up and pressed the ‘off’ button. ‘What do you mean, go back?’

  Sindy looked up. ‘Minto said I have to.’

  ‘Not on my watch,’ Dad said.

  Mum went over and crouched in front of Sindy. ‘You don’t have to do anything, love,’ she said. ‘We’ll take care of it.’ She looked at me and smiled, as if she really thought we could.

  ‘I have to pack,’ Sindy said, getting up. ‘He’s not sure when he’s coming but he said to be ready any time.’

  Dad looked over to me. ‘You can’t let this happen, Alexander.’

  ‘What do you mean? What am I meant to do?’

  ‘Maybe we’ll talk about it afterwards,’ Mum said, looking between us.

  Sindy opened the door but stayed where she was, holding onto the handle. ‘I know you’re all trying to be kind,’ she said. ‘But there isn’t a choice. There’s nowhere else I can go. That’s all there is to it.’

  ‘It’s a pity the rest of your family lives so far away,’ Dad said.

  I shot him a look: since when did Dad know about Sindy’s far flung relatives?

  ‘She hasn’t seen them for so long though,’ Mum said to him. ‘They mightn’t even recognise her.’

  Clearly, Sindy had been doing a lot of blabbing to both of them about her Antipodean connections.

  ‘Let’s not worry about all that,’ Dad said, looking at Mum. ‘Sindy knows she’s safe with us here.’

  There was a silent ‘for now’ which seemed to hang in the air, but Sindy passed him a smile anyway, like she really believed it.

  Chapter 36

  A sense of despondency descended on the house and it made me realise how the last week had been strangely charged. It was as if we’d all been having an unexpected break from routine and there was a mad excitement to the not-knowing of it all. I wasn’t sure if it had felt like that to Sindy, of course: I certainly hadn’t expected her to sound so chipper when Minto phoned. I was disappointed: her reaction reminded me of one of those faithful mutts that goes back to its master, no matter how much it’s been kicked and mistreated. I’d hoped that experiencing a bit of kindness might have made her re-evaluate. But, no. She was still the same ditzy Sindy who assumed she deserved no better.

  Minto had put the whole family on borrowed time. That chirpy optimism that had become part of the household had slunk out again and we were left with nothing but a looming threat. Mum’s shoulders had regained their slump and Dad’s footsteps lost their newly discovered jaunt. Only Sindy seemed unchanged, even though she was the one with the sharpest blade hanging over her.

  I found Mum in Gina’s room later, folding clean clothes for Sindy and putting them on her bed, as if the exciting interlude was over. It felt like the costumes being packed up after a stage production – and when I thought about it, it did seem as if the last few weeks had been more ‘performance’ than it had been ‘real life’.

  ‘You okay?’ I asked Mum.

  ‘Yes, just sorting out Sindy’s washing,’ she said. ‘And she might as well take some of those other clothes if she decides to go. They’re doing no good gathering dust in here.’

  ‘There’s no ‘if’, Mum. I think the decision’s been made for her.’

  Mum tidied up the already-neat pile of clothes. ‘Where is she, anyway?’

  ‘Helping Dad with the car,’ I said. ‘He’s teaching her about oil levels and tyre pressures. She actually seems to be enjoying it.’

  Mum swept her gaze around the room. She didn’t look like she’d taken in what I’d said. ‘I suppose we might as well get everything out of here now the walls are clear again. Redecorate with some bolder colours.’

  ‘Yes, good idea,’ I said. ‘So, you’re feeling...better now?’

  She didn’t look at me but busied herself with the clean laundry.

  ‘All this happened so quickly with Sindy,’ she said. ‘I didn’t have time for anything else.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She gazed around at the empty walls. ‘I don’t want to go back to how things were.’ She suddenly levelled her eyes at me. ‘Oh, love. Do you think she’ll be all right?’

  I knew what she wanted me to say but I’d already hesitated. ‘She’s survived up to now, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Barely.’

  ‘She’s tougher than we think. And really, we can only advise her: we can’t force her to steer clear of Minto. You heard how pleased she was to hear from him.’

  ‘I know. But have you told her – have you made sure she understands – that she’s welcome to stay here just as long as she likes? Indefinitely if she wants. I’ve told her and so’s your dad, but maybe she needs to hear it from you.’

  ‘If she wanted to stay, she would. That’s how she is.’

  ‘Even so, can you spell it out to her? Let her know this is her home for however long she wants it.’

  There was a neediness in her voice; an expectation. She didn’t so much want me to ask Sindy as to convince her.

  ‘I’ll make sure she knows,’ I said. ‘Promise.’

  When I went downstairs, Sindy was just coming through the back door. She had black fingers and an oily smudge on her cheek.

  ‘Have fun in the mechanics workshop?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, no – I was just in the garage with your dad,’ Sindy told me. ‘He was showing me how bits of the engine work.’

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘He said he could teach me to drive if I wanted.’

  I looked at her. ‘Did he?’

  Me – I’d had to make do with Red Rover Driving School. ‘You’d better check the rules,’ I said. ‘You have to be seventeen before you can start learning.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ she said. ‘Minto says I easily pass for eighteen when I make the effort.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter how old you look, you have to be able to prove it.’

  She blinked back at me, looking confused.

  ‘You won’t be around to have lessons anyway,’ I said. ‘Not if you’re going back to Swansea.’

/>   ‘I’m sure I’ll be here for a few days yet,’ she said. ‘I could learn then.’

  I shook my head. ‘It takes months, Sindy.’

  ‘So why did your dad say he’d teach me?’

  I sat on the kitchen stool, watching her fragile wrists as she scrubbed her hands at the sink. ‘I think what he meant was, he’d teach you if you decided to stick around,’ I said.

  ‘But I have to go with Minto, you know that.’

  ‘No. Actually, you don’t.’ I used my foot to push a stool out so she’d sit down. ‘Mum and Dad would both love you to stay. They like having you here – they’re happy to look after you. You wouldn’t need to have any more to do with Minto or any of the others. Not ever.’

  ‘But...there’s my dad, too.’

  ‘You might have a more comfortable life here,’ I said.

  She looked down, picking the skin around her nails. ‘Minto wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘You reckon he’d actually come and drag you back?’

  She looked up at me like I was stupid. ‘Yes.’

  ‘He threw you out though, didn’t he?’ I said. ‘If you kept refusing, wouldn’t he just wash his hands of you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  She looked down. ‘All kinds of things would happen if they didn’t look after me.’

  ‘Sindy,’ I said, leaning forward, ‘you know things won’t get better if you go back there. This is your chance to leave all that behind. Maybe your only chance.’

  She was quiet. ‘Minto knows I’m here now,’ she said with a sigh. ‘So, there’s nothing I can do. Where else am I supposed to go?’

  Her tone was one of defeat yet the look she gave me, when I met her eye, was full of hope – or perhaps something stronger. Expectation? Yes, that was it: it was as if she had ultimate confidence that I not only could but would find a way.

  Chapter 37

  My announcement, that I needed to return to my new digs in Swansea, seemed to catch everyone off-guard. I had no idea why: where did they imagine my dole cheques were being sent? How long did they think I could remain wearing the same couple of T-shirts? It appeared that neither Sindy, nor my folks, could cope with the idea of an Alec-free household, even on a short-term basis.

  ‘Couldn’t you do everything in a day then come back here?’ Mum said.

  ‘I could but what’s the big deal? I’ll still be close-by. Swansea’s not that far away: you could practically hear me fart.’

  She winced. ‘All the more reason to do it in a day then. What do you need? We can get you some clothes if that’s all you’re going back for.’

  ‘Mum! I moved in there three weeks ago and I haven’t even unpacked yet. I need to check my mail, pay in my last Giro, sign on for the next one, pay my rent – you can’t just put your feet up when you’re on the dole, y’know.’

  ‘Well, go on your signing-on day, then you can do everything else. Dad’ll take you up, won’t you, Jim?’

  Dad nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good,’ Mum said. ‘I’d feel happier knowing Dad was with you.’

  It wasn’t quite the break from home I’d wanted, but if supervised day release was the only alternative to total incarceration, I figured I’d better take it.

  We left early to get ahead of any commuters. I guessed that, if I pulled my finger out, I could have us home by three. The main thing was to sign on at the dole office – after that, we could take our time.

  Dad handed me the car keys as we closed the front door and he sat with his arms folded for the first half-hour, drifting in and out of sleep. Every so often, his head would tilt then hit the side window and he’d snap back into consciousness.

  I glanced at Dad’s outfit while he was mid-snooze. He was hardly dressed for the downpours that were forecast: under his gold-buttoned blazer, he was wearing his white short-sleeved shirt. On the bottom half, dark trousers with a crease sharp enough to cut glass. He always put the creases in himself, not Mum. Old Navy habit, he said.

  His hands were rested together in his lap, fingers intertwined, the gold of his wedding band and his signet ring just visible – the only two adornments he ever wore. For someone who’d joined up as a teenager, he hadn’t fallen into any of the Naval clichés – he was a non-smoker, he never fell victim to too much grog and his skin was free of naked lady tattoos. He didn’t even have so much as a Saint Christopher around his neck. I wondered what his ship mates must have made of him.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ he said in that tone he always had. He stretched himself out and yawned.

  ‘Just admiring your creases,’ I said. ‘You could have an eye out with those.’

  His eyes slid across to my jeans. ‘You’ve got a lot more creases in yours,’ he said.

  ‘Touché, Dad.’

  He looked pleased. One nil to the old man.

  ‘What’s the point in ironing creases anyway?’ I said. ‘It’s not going to help you in battle, is it?’

  ‘It’s about the discipline; being the best you can be,’ he said.

  ‘It just seems pointless. Shining up your buttons, cleaning shoes, ironing creases – none of it matters.’

  ‘You do it because it’s the routine. Part of the order of things. A way of showing your loyalty and your respect for the rules.’

  Loyalty. It made me think of Minto and his leather uniform; his clubhouse rules; those big meaty hands of his with the word pummelled into the skin.

  ‘But if they’re pointless rules...’ I said.

  ‘Obedience isn’t pointless. It’s its own reward. In the Forces, you can’t have people acting irresponsibly, playing about with weapons, endangerin…’

  ‘Weapons?’ I said. ‘You were in the Navy. I thought you played with rafts, not rifles.’

  Dad looked at me sternly; he really was a pleasure to wind-up.

  ‘We all have weapons training,’ he said. ‘I thought the term ‘armed forces’ might’ve spelled it out for you, but…’

  Ding-ding. Another point to the old man.

  ‘The crux of it is,’ he said, ‘you learn not to question rules. You obey orders. That’s it: that’s how you’re trained. There’s no other way it can work.’

  Everyone blindly following orders: it had certainly worked for Minto.

  I looked in my mirror as I indicated towards Swansea. ‘You’re a better man than me, Dad,’ I said. ‘No way could I do that.’

  ‘Might do you good.’

  I glanced across at him. Why I instinctively wanted to pick a fight with him whenever he gave me advice, I had no idea – but it might have had something to do with those trouser-creases. ‘Guess I must be a disappointment to you,’ I said. ‘Couple of mediocre A’ levels, dropped out of college, no job or any clue where I’m going with my life.’

  He shrugged. ‘I left school with nothing,’ he said. ‘But for me, the Navy was a safety net. I didn’t know what else to do, so I did that. I was too afraid, I suppose. Too...’ He looked away, like he was searching for the right word, ‘too fearful to just drift along, hoping life would throw something at me.’

  ‘Fearful?’

  ‘I look at you sometimes,’ he said, ‘and I can’t believe we’re from the same stock. You just don’t worry. You go here, you go there; you try this, you try that. I’m not saying I like it or that I approve – but I suppose I do...envy it.’

  Envy was never a word I’d heard Dad mention in the same sentence as me. Was he paying me a compliment in that awkward, half-arsed way of his?

  ‘Trust,’ he said, after a few moments. ‘That’s what you have. Trust that disasters won’t befall you.’

  ‘Actually, I don’t,’ I said. ‘I have hope, that’s all. Hope that something will come along.’

  He smiled to himself – not in a snide way either – but like he actually understood. ‘For you, it usually does,’ he said.

  And perhaps he didn’t mind that, after all.

  Once I’d signed on, we drove to the new flat for me to grab
some gear from my room. Everyone else was at work by the looks of it and the kitchen was awash with evidence of hurried breakfasts. Over on the worktop was a scattering of unopened envelopes, most belonging to me. I gathered them up and Dad followed as I hurried on through to my room.

  I stopped the minute I reached the hall. In the lobby, beside my door, were bin bags and boxes. On top of the pile, an A4 sheet had ‘Alec’ scribbled on it.

  ‘What the...’ I picked up the sheet in case there was a note written on the back, but there was nothing. Even as I tried my key in the lock, I could see the metal was shiny and brand new. When the key wouldn’t fit, I hammered on the door.

  ‘Steady on, now,’ I heard Dad say behind me. ‘I’m sure there’s an explanation.’

  ‘I’ve been turfed out of my own room,’ I said to him, slapping a hand down on the bin bag. ‘I think it calls for some sort of reaction, don’t you?’

  ‘Was there anything in that pile of mail?’ he said. ‘A letter from the landlord, or something?’

  I took out the bundle from my pocket and unfolded the envelopes. There was a Giro, a bank statement, a letter from Swansea City Council and one that had my name handwritten on the front. No stamp, no address. I tore it open. I recognised the landlord’s details at the top.

  ‘Dear Mr Johnston,’ it began. ‘It is with regret I must inform you that due to a number of financial irregularities, I am obliged to terminate your tenancy at 50 Ashton Crescent, Uplands with immediate effect. Despite repeated attempts to contact you, I have been unable to notify you in person of the current situation.

  We have been made aware of rent arrears at your previous address and therefore our rental agreement is now...’

  I didn’t bother to read on; just handed the letter to Dad without speaking. There was no point in arguing the toss.

  ‘How come you’ve got rent arrears in the last place?’ Dad said.

  ‘I didn’t...I don’t. The money I left for rent went missing,’ I said, drawing quotation marks in the air. ‘Just another of Minto’s rackets.’

  ‘Well, we should try and get it –’

  ‘Don’t even bother, Dad,’ I said. ‘The last thing I’m going to do is turn up at Minto’s and ask for my rent money back. I value my kneecaps.’