The Son-in-Law by Norman Charity

Author:Norman, Charity [Charity, Norman,]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: FIC000000, book
ISBN: 9781742697796
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2013-06-02T12:00:00+00:00

Twenty-two

Scarlet

The next time we met up with Dad, the sun was bright and piercing. We strolled through York, slip-sliding on frozen patches of pavement. Ben swung on Dad’s hand as though he’d known him for years—which he had, in a way. Mr Hardy tagged along behind.

I barely spoke. It was hard, really hard—but I did it. Poor Dad made a mammoth effort to chat about school, about my week, about the violin, but I gave him one-word answers. I could see he was puzzled, and I felt so sorry for him, but I was determined not to be disloyal to Mum again. She had to come first.

There was a fair on in the town centre. Ben pestered until Dad let him ride on the merry-go-round. My silly little brother sat grinning like a Cheshire cat on a big white horse, waving every time he came around and making us wave back at him. As soon as he got off, he chucked up all down his front. Dad bought him a new T-shirt and cleaned him up in the public toilets.

I went to the toilet at the same time, and when I came out Dad and Ben were waiting for me. Ben was holding Dad’s hand and twittering away.

‘You’re not in jail after all,’ he was saying.

Dad caught my eye, and smiled. He had a lovely smile. ‘Not anymore.’

‘Can we call you on the phone?’ Ben had only just learned to use a telephone, and he was obsessed. He wanted to do it all the time.

‘Um, I don’t think your granny would like that,’ said Dad nervously.

‘She wouldn’t mind.’

Dad was obviously trying to think up excuses. ‘I live on the moors, so my phone doesn’t work very well.’

‘Well . . . can we have your number anyway?’

Dad gave in. He reached into his pocket and scribbled a number on a serviette. ‘Scarlet can look after this,’ he said, handing it to me. ‘But you’d better not phone me. You could try sending a text, and I’ll get it in the end.’

I shoved the bit of paper into my pocket, hoping Ben would forget we had it.

We bought baked potatoes from a stall and ate them sitting on a bench, watching the world go by. The potatoes were steaming, and the smell of melted cheese mingled with the winter air. There were no leaves on the trees. When I looked up, I saw pale blue sky through a mass of twigs and branches. Pigeons flew down to share our lunch, strutting with straight legs like clowns on a catwalk, flaunting their tail feathers and making gentle cooing noises. I love pigeons.

That night, the singing man visited. He stood close to my bed, growling secrets into my ear. I couldn’t see him but I knew he was going to kill me. I wanted to scream but the only sound I could make was that little-bird squeak. I woke up gasping, staring around the dark room. The telephone rang, and I jumped up and ran down to the kitchen.

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