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Penny shook her head.
‘Because you live in it.’
‘And Suzie. And Mummy,’ she said loyally.
Her father stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Of course. Them too. Now, are you going to help me open these roof lights? It’s going to be hot today.’
For twenty minutes or so she helped him with the windows and fed the little goldfish in the pond and put out some birdseed while he pottered in the veg patch checking on the peas and lettuces.
They heard the back door open. Her mother stood on the step. ‘Mike? Are you out there with Penny?’
‘Yes, my love.’ He smiled and waved to his wife. ‘We’ve just been doing the early jobs.’
‘Well, come in or she’ll be late for school.’
Penny couldn’t recall the next hour or so, although over the years she had tried. There must have been breakfast, getting ready for school, kissing her mother goodbye and hugging her baby sister. But try as she might there was a blank. Her memory jumped straight from her father holding her hand as they walked back across the lawn, to the interior of her father’s car. It was big and dark green and the leather seats were warm under her bare legs. When it was just the two of them her father let her sit in the front next to him. Sometimes he let her change gear, instructing her when and how to do it. This morning was one of those days.
‘And into third. Good girl. And up into fourth.’
It was a happy morning. Even the man on the radio reading the news sounded happy. When the news ended and some music came on, her father lit another cigarette and opened his window, leaning his right elbow out into the warm air and tapping the steering wheel with his fingers. She was looking out of her window at a little dog walking smartly on a lead with a pretty lady in a pink coat when they stopped at the traffic lights. The noise and impact of the car running into the back of them was like an earthquake.
There was silence and then she started to cry. Her father asked in a rasping voice, ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes,’ she said through shocked tears.
‘Thank God.’ Her father, ashen, and with a sheen of sweat on his forehead, was finding it hard to speak, gasping for every word. Penny was scared. ‘Daddy? What’s the matter?’
Her father’s lips were going blue and his eyes were starey.
A man watching from the pavement ran towards them and spoke through the open window.
‘You OK, sir? I saw it happen. Wasn’t your fault, it was the bloke behind.’
Her father didn’t answer him. He was still struggling for breath but was now clutching at his left arm.
‘Daddy!’ Penny was frightened. ‘Daddy, what’s the matter?’
The man called the gathering crowd for help. ‘Quick, someone call an ambulance. This bloke’s having a heart attack.’
The police were very kind to Penny and a young police lady took her to school. Years later, when she was an adult, Penny wondered why she’d been taken to school at all. Let alone by a policewoman. Had they phoned her mother and she’d suggested it? That would make sense as it meant her mother could then go straight to the hospital. But who had looked after Suzie? Either way, Penny’s next memory was of being called out of her reading class and being taken to the headmistress’s study.
‘Ah, Penny,’ she’d said, ‘do sit down. You’ve had quite an adventure this morning.’
Penny didn’t know how to answer this so she just nodded.
‘Your daddy has been taken ill but the doctors are looking after him. Hopefully he’ll be OK but you may have to prepare yourself to be a very brave girl.’ Mrs Tyler looked directly into Penny’s eyes. ‘You understand?’
Penny didn’t understand, but said, ‘Yes.’
‘Good girl. Now, off you pop and be good for Mummy when you get home tonight.’
Penny spent the rest of the day in fear.
Somebody must have taken her home from school. It certainly wasn’t her mother because she was already home when Penny returned.
Penny ran to her and hugged her with relief. ‘How’s Daddy?’
Margot unwrapped herself from Penny. ‘He’s been very silly. He’s been smoking too many cigarettes and drinking too much gin. I’m very cross with him and so are the doctors.’
‘I told him off this morning,’ Penny said without thinking.
‘Told him off? Why?’
Penny was afraid she’d got her father into trouble. ‘Because …’
‘Was he smoking in the garden?’
Penny said nothing.
Her mother strode in to the kitchen and wrenched the back door open. Penny ran after her but couldn’t stop her finding the two cigarette butts. ‘Was he smoking these?’ Margot held them up.
Penny nodded and moved instinctively to protect the large cardboard box containing the contraband gin. Margot reached past her and opened the box.
She pulled out the bottle. ‘Did you know this was here?’
Penny remained mute. Margot shouted. ‘Did you know this was here?’
‘Yes,’ Penny said, feeling like a traitor.
Her mother looked at Penny with poison. ‘So you are responsible. It’s your fault he’s in the hospital. If you had stopped him, we wouldn’t be in this mess but if he dies now we won’t have anything. No Daddy, no money. If we are thrown out of this house it will be your fault. I hope you remember that.’ Penny lived in fear for several days, expecting to hear that her father had died and that it was all her fault. But he came back to her. That time.
*
Penny’s hand shook as she took a mouthful of the brandy and lovage. ‘She hated me.’
‘Hate is a very strong word. I’m sure she didn’t hate you,’ said Simon, reasonably.
‘You never met her though, did you?’
‘I would have liked to.’
‘She’d have hated you too.’
‘Well, we’ll never know.’ Simon had a fresh thought. ‘I still can’t understand why Suzie hasn’t phoned you.’
Penny drained her glass. ‘Why would she?’
‘She’s your sister when all is said and done.’
‘We burnt our bridges the last time we saw each other.’
‘Please tell me what happened.’
‘No.’
‘It might help. After all, it must be five years ago now.’
‘It doesn’t matter now my mother’s dead.’ Penny swallowed the remains of her drink and hugged Jenna tightly. ‘I don’t want to think about it. And it really, really doesn’t matter now.’
Simon sat down next to her. ‘Exactly, Penny, love, she can’t hurt you any more.’
When he and Penny had decided to get married, Penny had refused point-blank to invite them to the wedding.
‘But this is a chance to rebuild the relationship,’ Simon had told her. ‘To forgive.’
Penny had been adamant. ‘I don’t want them infecting my life again. I don’t want them to tell you things about me that will stop you loving me.’
‘You don’t know that – and anyway, I could never stop loving you.’
‘Believe me, they would try.’
Simon had attempted to bring the conversation up a handful of times since, but each time Penny had become tearful and finally he dropped the subject.
Penny took his hand and held it against her chest. ‘I’m so lucky to have you.’
‘And me you.’ He dropped a kiss on to the top of her head and she released him. ‘When is the funeral?’
She looked surprised. ‘Oh God! I forgot to ask.’
‘Will you go?’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘It may help. The ending resolved and all that stuff.’
Penny gave a small bark of laughter. ‘I don’t think so.’
Penny’s head dropped as she rubbed her face into Jenna’s soft hair. Simon could tell she was crying. ‘Darling Penny – was it really that bad?’
Penny nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak.
Simon persisted gently. ‘But you have a sister. Jenna has an aunt. Wouldn’t you like to have your family reunited again?’
Penny lifted her face to him. In that moment wishing she could tell him the truth but she was unable to confront the pain it caused her. ‘I have my family. You and Jenna and Helen – you are my family.’
4 (#ulink_bf0d56cf-0d33-51f1-a6e3-08c1ae9a8d3f)
ELLA
It was a Sunday and it was raining in Clapham. The branches of the cherry trees in Mandalay Road were bare, their leaves long ago dropped damply onto the windscreens of the cars parked on either side of the street. Rain bounced off the slate roofs like heavy artillery fire and swilled down drainpipes, startling flat-eared cats who skittered off to their catflaps. At intervals, passing cars shooshed through the deep puddles ploughing up sheets of water to drench already bedraggled pedestrians. It was a road of good neighbours and occasional street parties. The Queen’s Jubilee and the Royal Wedding were still fresh in the residents’ memories. Now, Christmas trees were already appearing in bay windows, their lights flashing and twinkling brightly.
No 47, Mandalay Road was identical in design to all the others in the terrace: an early Edwardian, two-up two-down with a small front garden. Its front door and window frames were painted in a delicate lilac, complementing the pale blues, pinks and yellows of its neighbours.
Inside, Ella was lolling on a sofa that was strewn with shawls to hide the decades of wear and tear. There was little spring left in its base but it had been Ella’s grandmother’s and was therefore treasured. She looked contentedly at the Christmas tree she had put up that afternoon.
A pot of tea, now stewed, and a half-empty mug sat on a tray by her side. On the television Julie Andrews was yodelling. All was well with the world.
She heard the creak of the floorboards above and the tread on the stairs before the door to the sitting room opened. Her brother came in, rubbing his stubbly chin and yawning.
‘What you watching?’ he said. ‘Shift yourself.’
She moved her legs and he sat in the space she’d created. She said, ‘What do you think of the tree?’
He looked at it. ‘Oh yeah. Nice.’
‘One of Granny’s baubles had broken.’
‘Inevitable after all these years.’
‘I know, but it upsets me. Each year a little more of our history gone.’
‘What’s made you so cheerful?’ he asked, prodding her with his elbow.
‘Christmas is a time for reflection,’ she said primly.
He grunted and watched as Julie Andrews and the von Trapp children worked the little puppets. ‘So, you hungry?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘I’ve got fish fingers and waffles in the freezer.’
‘I fancy an Indian.’
‘Have we got enough money?’
‘Bollocks to that. I’ll put it on my credit card.’
‘Are you going to eat that bhaji?’ Henry reached with his fork to spear it but Ella got there first. ‘Mine! I’m starving.’
Henry mopped up the last of his tarka dahl with his peshwari naan and sat back, contentedly munching. ‘God, that was good.’
‘Don’t speak with your mouth full; you’re spitting desiccated coconut on the rug.’
He grinned at her. ‘Don’t care. Want a beer?’
‘We’ve only got one can left.’
‘Share?’
She nodded and he got up to get it from the fridge.
