The Son-in-Law (28 page)

I recommend a pattern of increasing contact. As a guideline
I suggest visits of no less than two hours’ duration, rapidly
increasing to overnight visits. I see no pressing need for contact
to be supervised into the future.

It is in the best interests of all children for the adults in
their life to work together; therefore I hope that the parties
will now feel able to meet. It is important that they build
mutual trust and agreement regarding the way forward. I am
prepared to facilitate such a meeting.

‘Mutual trust!’ I exclaimed. ‘The man’s in la-la land. Trust a person who battered Zoe to death? He’s off his head—isn’t he, Freddie?’

Freddie sat deep in thought, his chin on his hand. He didn’t seem to hear me.

Jane glanced at him, then back at me. ‘If you want to keep the moral high ground—’ she began.

‘Stop.’ I waved her away. ‘Stop, Jane. I know exactly where you’re going. You’re about to advise us to negotiate in order to avoid being seen as intransigent.’

‘Mm. That just about sums it up.’

‘We don’t need the moral high ground, thanks. We need to be rid of Scott. Where is this pestering going to end? What will satisfy him—disrupting our lives once a month? Once a fortnight?’

Jane pursed her lips unhappily. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘You don’t think . . .’ I stared at her, feeling a shiver of fear. ‘Good God. You think he wants to take them away from us! Perhaps that’s been his agenda all along.’

‘There’s no residence application.’

‘
Yet!
’

‘There may never be.’

I sprang to my feet and began pacing the carpet. I was terrified. ‘This is insane. We could lose them altogether. For God’s sake,
do
something, Jane!’

‘If you really can’t bear the idea of more contact, we’ll have to bring the matter back to court.’

‘That isn’t going to work, is it? Not if we get the same judge.’

‘Look, wouldn’t you agree to a—’

‘No,’ I interrupted, before she’d finished the sentence. ‘I wouldn’t agree to a meeting.’ Terribly distressed, I reached for the comfort of Frederick’s hand. ‘We won’t talk to him, will we, Freddie?’

He looked down at our entwined fingers. ‘Talk, my darling? To whom?’

‘Freddie! Joseph Scott, of course.’

‘Talk to . . . ? Oh, no. No. I really don’t think we want to do that, do we?’ Freddie shook his head too many times before blinking sadly at Jane. ‘He killed Zoe, you know.’

For a second, shock tightened her features; but she was professional enough to control herself. ‘Quite,’ she murmured. ‘I understand.’

The heavens had opened by the time Jane walked us downstairs.

‘We’re going to get wet,’ fretted Freddie, looking out at the downpour. ‘I’ll run home and get the car, shall I?’

‘Or I could lend you our spare umbrella,’ suggested Jane. ‘It’s big enough for both of you. Hannah, come with me—it’s in the ladies’.’ She led me into a staffroom at the back of the building, where she handed me a large black umbrella.

‘What’s up with Freddie?’ she whispered anxiously.

‘Nothing’s up.’

‘You know very well there is.’

‘It’s the stress,’ I suggested. ‘He’s not sleeping.’

‘Has he seen anyone about his memory lapses?’

‘No. And he isn’t going to. Have you any idea how much strain this is putting on our household? Freddie will be absolutely fine as soon as we get rid of Joseph Scott.’

My dear friend. I stalked away, and she trailed after me to the street door. Freddie was waiting patiently, his figure a thin question mark against the muted light. I handed him the umbrella as we stepped outside. He opened it with a flourish, holding it gallantly over my head as I took his arm and we sallied forth into the wet city.

Jane stood at the door, letting the rain throw diagonal streaks across her linen dress. At the corner, I glanced back. She was still watching us. I had never seen her look so sad.

•

We arrived home at five o’clock, to chaos. Scarlet was meant to be babysitting but the only sign of her was tuneless music booming from the direction of her bedroom. I found Ben and Theo lying like two indolent piglets in front of the television, munching packets of crisps and Penguin bars while watching
The Simpsons.
They were surrounded by a mountain—wrappers, mugs, socks, K’Nex and about fifty other assorted toys. Sighing, I began to collect up the strewn debris. It all seemed futile. The mess would be back tomorrow, after all. It was beyond me. It was a rising tide. It would drown us all one day.

‘Where’s Scarlet?’ I asked wearily.

‘In her room.’ Theo didn’t take his eyes off the telly. ‘Gettin’ ready.’

‘Getting ready? For what?’

‘Um . . .’ He dragged his attention away from Homer Simpson. ‘The social’s tonight. You know, when they all go kissy-kissy snoggy-snoggy with the boys from the choir school.’

Ben giggled luxuriously and made smacking lip noises before beginning to chant:

‘Zac and Scarlet sitting in a tree,
K-I-S-S-I-N-G!’

I was flummoxed as I watched both boys dissolve into hysterical laughter. ‘
Who
and Scarlet?’

‘Zac,’ gasped Theo, still chortling.

‘Whoever is Zac?’

‘He goes to the choir school and he fancies Scarlet.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘His sister told me. She’s in my class. She says tonight’s the night.’

This was yet one more thing to worry about. Should I be having some kind of a talk with Scarlet about the facts of life? Surely not. She’d be mortified.
I’d
be mortified.

Lethargically lobbing bits of plastic into the toy box, I came to a decision about Joseph Scott. In that, at least, I could be proactive. Lester thought the children shouldn’t be questioned directly about their views—but to hell with Lester! They weren’t his children. How was I supposed to know what they wanted unless I asked them?

When
The Simpsons
ended, I switched off the television—howls from Theo—and sat down in an armchair, facing the pair of them.

‘Listen,’ I said seriously. ‘I want to ask you something.’

Ben’s nose was deep in a crisp packet as he licked out the last few crumbs. Theo glowered suspiciously. ‘What?’

‘It’s about your father.’

He turned his back on me and buried his face in a beanbag. Meanwhile, Ben began blowing air into the empty packet, making it into a silver and blue balloon.

‘Theo,’ I said, ‘would you please take your head out of that beanbag and talk to me?’

‘No.’

I jumped as Ben smacked his hand into the crisp packet, shrieking ‘
Bang!
’ at the top of his voice. Salt sprayed across the carpet. Theo didn’t take his head out of the beanbag but he did manage to swing one leg across and kick Ben, who bellowed and kicked back. For the first time since I could remember, I felt like smacking the pair of them. My palm itched.

‘Come on, boys! Gramps and I have to make decisions. I need you to tell me the truth. Do you like seeing your father?’

Ben grabbed a model Tardis and flew it around the room, humming the
Dr Who
theme tune. I leaned down and pulled Theo upright by his shoulders.

‘That’s enough,’ I growled. ‘You’re making me cross.’

‘I don’t like seeing him,’ he said flatly. ‘It’s boring. But we have to go, so that’s that.’

‘Well, have you told Mr Hardy you don’t like going?’

‘Yeah. Sort of.’

‘Well “sort of” isn’t good enough. If you don’t want to go, you have to say so very clearly.’

He flushed. ‘Okay, okay.’

‘Mr Hardy is suggesting you go more often, maybe even stay overnight.’

I saw it then, though Theo tried to cover it with a yawn. Interest. Excitement. I felt a sickening jolt. ‘A sleepover?’ he asked. ‘In a caravan?’

‘You never do sleepovers.’

‘That’s ’cos he pees in the bed,’ crowed Ben.

Theo ignored him. ‘I don’t wanna go for sleepovers,’ he said. ‘But maybe, if the judge says I have to go, I’d better. ’Cos the judge says. Ow, Ben!’

The Tardis had crash-landed on his head. I confiscated it, then reached out and drew my smaller grandson onto my knee. ‘What about you, Benji? Do you want to see your father anymore, or should I try to make him go away?’

He looked away from me. ‘Can we have the telly back on?’

Neither of them had any intention of answering sensibly. I left them arguing over which channel to watch, and made my way up to Scarlet’s room. I winced at her music as I climbed the stairs: a female caterwauler, and Scarlet singing along. I knocked—quietly—before pushing open her door. There she was, sashaying around the room. I could smell nail polish.

She stopped dancing. She was wearing a short, floating dress with one of her mother’s brilliant green bands around her hair. The broad cloth looked stylish, and it matched her eyes. The effect was startling. ‘You might have knocked!’ she squawked accusingly.

She looked so sophisticated, that was what alarmed me. Her dress was almost non-existent; her legs were bare and long and I was pretty sure she’d shaved them. She’d done something to her eyes and her mouth; they seemed defined and . . . well, sexy. My granddaughter, barely in her teens, and she was going out looking sexy.

I had to shout over the music. ‘Are you wearing makeup?’

‘A bit.’

‘Too much, Scarlet.’

‘Nah! You should see Vienna when she goes out.’

‘That dress isn’t decent. You’ve grown since we bought it. I can almost see your knickers.’

She smiled. It was patronising, as though I was the child. Perhaps I was, in some ways.

‘It’s fine, Hannah. Other girls wear much sluttier stuff.’

‘
Please
will you do something about that racket?’

She shook her head in despair at my lack of taste, but turned the music down.

‘We have to talk about your father,’ I said, sitting on the bed. ‘He’s got the thin end of the wedge through the crack, and we have to decide whether to take a stand. So I need to know what you want.’

She turned her back, staring critically into the long mirror. I could see her face in the reflection. She looked serious now: an artist observing her model. ‘Does this headband work? It was Mum’s.’

‘Definitely. Look, Scarlet, what about this thing with your father?’

‘Not my choice.’ She began to fossick through a drawer. ‘Where’s that pesky bracelet?’

‘But it
is
your choice,’ I persisted. ‘I’m asking you because I need to decide. Wouldn’t you be frightened to go and stay with him?’

‘Yes. I
would
be frightened.’

‘The boys would be terribly unsettled.’

‘Mm, it would be a big thing for the boys.’

‘All right.’ I felt a surge of relief. ‘I’ll tell them we refuse.’

‘We can’t just refuse.’

‘Of course we can.’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘Why? I should have thought it was very simple.’

She slammed the drawer shut. Then she sat on the bed beside me. ‘Hannah, could we please not talk about this?’

The years dissipated. I was there with Zoe again, in that room, sitting on that same bed. I touched the vivid cloth on her head, and remembered Zoe wearing it. I’d been so proud.

‘This looks lovely,’ I told her truthfully. ‘Are you meeting anyone, er, special at the school social?’

‘Just Vienna. Some other girls.’ The answer came much too quickly.

‘Is Zac going to be there?’

She was all wide-eyed innocence. ‘Who?’

‘He’ll be knocked off his feet,’ I said meaningfully. ‘Just make sure you stay on yours.’

Twenty-five

Scarlet

I thought Hannah was going to have a hernia when she caught me getting dolled up for the school social. I was just layering on some super-lash-lengthening mascara when she walked in. Bad timing. She stood there looking as though she’d just had her lip pierced. I found this extremely hypocritical, because she’s always happy enough to slap on the warpaint herself—especially red lippy—but when it comes to me it’s a different matter. If it was up to her I’d be wearing pigtails and a pink gingham dress down to my ankles.

She’d heard about Zac. Walls have ears, obviously. And little brothers have big mouths.

Luckily her mind was on my father and his application, so she didn’t want a fight with me. In the end, she even got into the spirit of the thing. She gave me two little gold safety pins, to attach my dress to my bra straps, and she managed to smile as she waved me off.

Gramps drove me to the party. He opened the car door like a chauffeur, bowing and murmuring ‘milady,’ as he handed me in. When he dropped me off at school, he called out: ‘Dance with all those lucky young men, but only kiss one.’

That was good advice. I danced with a lot of blokes but in the end I didn’t even kiss the one. Zac had been too full of himself since he was on the radio on Christmas Day, singing the solo in ‘Once in Royal David’s City’
.
He turned up at the social like a strutting cockerel, and he’d used a ton of hair gel which is a real turn-off. Once he realised I wasn’t going to get it on with him, he started chasing Vienna. Proves how much he cares about me.

The next day was a Saturday. Gramps always collected me after my drama lesson on a Saturday morning, and we’d do the weekly trip to the supermarket. This particular day, Hannah had taken the boys out with some colleague of hers whose children were similar ages. Gramps and I decided to go for lunch in York after our supermarket shop.

Sainsbury’s was hyper-crowded that day. I pushed the trolley while Gramps and I walked along. He carried the list Hannah had given us.

‘Pitta bread, crumpets . . . check!’ he muttered, as we found everything. ‘So how was the party last night?’

‘Great.’

‘Did you dance all night?’

‘Yep. Taught everyone my new moves.’ I demonstrated a couple of them in the supermarket aisle.

‘Dancing’s come a long way since I was a callow youth. What kind of washing powder should we get? Hannah thinks Theo might be allergic to the usual stuff.’

We filled the trolley, queued and paid, and got everything stashed in the car. I was shivering because I’d left my coat in the passenger seat. The sky looked like cotton wool after you’ve used it to take off your makeup, and it was leaking drops of dirty cotton-wool rain. Even the air felt soggy, but as we drove back into York I felt cheered by thousands of daffodils covering the banks of the city walls. They made me think of Mum and Dad’s wedding. I wondered when their anniversary was.