Cath Staincliffe: Ruthless

‘Mmm,’ said Janet.

‘But Miss said no, and that is so tight. Polly was bare good too.’

Bare, Janet knew, was the current slang for very.

‘And if you want tickets, I need the slip and money by Friday.’

‘Tomorrow!’ said Janet.

‘Duh,’ said Taisie.

‘Where’s the slip?’

‘I gave you it,’ Taisie said.

‘No,’ said Janet.

‘I did – I left it on here.’ She rapped her knuckles against the table.

‘Well, I didn’t see it.’

Taisie gave a huge sigh.

‘Look, can’t you just get the tickets if I give you the money?’ Janet said.

‘OK.’ Crisis averted as quickly as it had erupted. Taisie was all drama. ‘Go on,’ she said, nodding at the script.

‘ Your hand Leonato; we will go together ,’ Janet read the cue.

‘ Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato? ’ said Taisie.

They’d almost got through to the finale, Taisie word perfect, when Elise came in. ‘Did you talk to Dad?’ she asked Janet.

‘Shut up,’ Taisie yelled, ‘I’m doing my lines.’

‘This is important,’ Elise sneered.

‘What – a stupid party?’ Taisie said.

‘Just ’cos you’re too young to go,’ said Elise.

‘So are you, isn’t she, Mum? Tell her.’

‘Elise,’ Janet said, ‘let us finish this.’

With ill grace Elise leaned, arms folded, against the counter, a derisory look on her face, and Janet knew she was trying to unsettle Taisie. She suspected that Taisie was made of sterner stuff and was proven right as her younger daughter finished her part faultlessly.

‘Brilliant!’ Janet said. ‘Perfect!’

‘Finally,’ Elise complained.

Perhaps it was healthy, this antagonism between the sisters, an indication that they felt secure enough to bicker and spat. The solidarity, the drawing together there’d been when Ade had left, now easing with the reinstatement of the status quo. The girls no longer relying on each other while the grown-ups messed up. And if/when they got divorced, if the house was sold? Janet felt a shiver, a sour taste in her mouth.

Taisie rolled up her script and skipped off.

‘I haven’t spoken to your dad yet,’ Janet told Elise, ‘I’ve only just got in. Weren’t you supposed to be getting some more details?’

‘I have. It’s Matthew Planter’s party, it’s at his house and we’re invited because his brother is in our year and he’s allowed to invite people.’

‘Where do they live?’ Janet said.

‘Middleton Road and we can get a taxi home to Olivia’s and we have to be back for one o’clock.’

‘Come on,’ Janet said and they went through to the lounge.

‘This party,’ Janet said.

Ade paused his programme, something about the Pharaohs.

‘Tell him,’ Janet said.

Elise rattled off the facts she’d given Janet.

‘And who’s supervising?’ said Ade.

‘His parents. God! It’s like you don’t trust me.’

‘It’s not you we don’t trust,’ Janet said, ‘but we’ve been there, we know what can happen. People drink too much and take stupid risks or they do daft things and end up regretting it.’

‘Please?’ Elise said, her voice aching with frustration.

We should trust her, Janet thought. It’s the only way she’ll learn. She nodded at Ade, who gave a shrug of resignation.

‘All right then but a taxi back by one, promise?’ Janet said.

‘Yes!’ Elise began texting on her phone. ‘Thank you so much.’ Suddenly sounding far too young for what they had just agreed to.

Sean was hunched over his laptop, the sports channel on the box, men in shorts running around on grass on both screens and the smell of fried onions thick in the flat. Rachel lit up and, as an afterthought, opened the window.

‘Chill Factor,’ he said, ‘Saturday, or maybe Sunday. Could do WaterWorld an’ all maybe. Stay over somewhere.’

‘What?’ She’d had too many fags today, the first drag failed to deliver the kick she craved. Instead it just made her mouth feel rancid.

‘You, me and Haydn,’ he said, ‘skiing or snowboarding? He’s here this weekend.’

Oh, joy . Rachel had nothing against the kid, he was harmless enough. A mini Sean, interested in anything that involved balls or sticks. Or food. ‘No can do,’ she said. ‘We picked one up, man in that fire in Manorclough.’

‘That yours?’ he said.

‘Yeah.’

‘I’d better book for two then, unless you want to wait until another time.’

The thought that Sean was worried she might be disappointed at missing out on the trip was both touching and plain daft. ‘You go ahead,’ she said. Relieved that she had a rock-solid reason not to be around for more than a few hours’ kip over the weekend. Sean and Haydn could do their male bonding, father-son stuff and welcome to it. She didn’t want to intrude, or maybe she just felt ill-equipped.

Had her dad ever taken Dom anywhere? Doubtful. Not like her dad would be much use at entertaining the kids. Could barely feed and clothe them. It was Rachel who dragged Dom off to the cinema on the rare occasions when special vouchers meant they could afford it, Rachel who would cheer him on when he played football. Her mum gone by then, Dad taken up residence in the pub to all intents and purposes and her sister Alison working all hours as the sole breadwinner.

Her dad had gone now, as in dead. Ashes blowing in the wind. His liver finally packed up. It had been two weeks before the smell alerted his fellow residents at the doss house to his demise. And now her mum was back.

Which might or might not be a good thing. Rachel was still waiting to see. Sharon had been penitent at their reunion, an occasion engineered by Sean, who was keen to see the family reunited. Then she had been pissed at the wedding, made a right tit of herself, acting like a slapper. Sean said it was just nerves. A wedding wasn’t a wedding without someone having one over the odds, at least there hadn’t been a scrap. No one bared their fists. Quite an achievement considering.

It was Her Maj being there, seeing her mother, that had made Rachel so uneasy. Alison had hated it too. Alison wouldn’t entertain Sharon, was not at all interested. Made things a bit awkward between Rachel and Alison; they always seemed to be taking different sides with family stuff. Alison wouldn’t play nice with Sharon and yet she used to make time for their dad, trying to help him out when she could. And it was Alison who visited Dom in prison the first time round, even though Dom had always been closest to Rachel. Rachel hadn’t been able to stomach seeing him there. Not back then when the twat had been done for armed robbery and certainly not now when he was in for twenty-eight years. Twenty-eight years for murder. But Alison did.

She couldn’t think about it. She finished her fag and shut the window.

‘Get us a beer,’ Sean said, busy typing on the laptop.

Get your own fucking beer. She bit down on the thought. What was wrong with her? What did she want? Him to say please? Oh Christ, was she going to turn into one of those women who try to improve the manners of their loutish husbands?

She got his bottle, helped herself to wine, stared at the TV screen for a few minutes.

Sean kissed her on the cheek. ‘Happy?’

‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘course.’

Kevin, on the hunt for a surviving spouse, had traced and eliminated Ruth King, who had died in a car crash along with her husband, John Smith. He had been unable as yet to find Jennifer Keele, née Simpson, but Mrs Richard Kavanagh, née Judith Smith, was at an address in Rhyl.