Dancing in the Dark (14 page)

“I’ve got work to do—I’m just finishing off those notes on Woolton. It could affect my prospects of promotion.”

I
said nothing, but wondered where my priorities would lie in the same situation.

“Parents are a pain,” Diana said, in a hard voice. “When they grow old, it’s worse than having children.” She blew her nose, wiped her eyes, and began to cry again. “I don’t know what I’ll do if Daddy dies!”

“I think you should go to the hospital.”

Diana didn’t reply. She typed furiously for a while, then said, “No. I’m too busy. I wish that bloody neighbour hadn’t phoned. There comes a time when you’ve got to put yourself first.”

“If you say so.” I tried to ignore her as I finished off the adverts then faxed them through to the press, by which time it had gone six o’clock. I was meeting Declan in a pub in Water Street close to where I’d parked the car.

When I left Diana was still typing, her brow creased in concentration, her eyes still red. I stood for a moment, looking at her and wondering what to say. Eventually, all I could think of was, “Goodnight, Diana.”

“Night,” Diana replied, in a clipped voice.

Declan had thoroughly enjoyed the film. “Dad would be in his element in Las Vegas,” he said, chuckling, on the way to Blundellsands.

“Only if he had a few thousand pounds to play with,” I said drily, “and he’d probably lose that within a day.” I patted his knee. “Try to forget about him and enjoy yourself for a change. We can watch a video later, if you like.”

“That’d be the gear, Sis.” Declan sighed blissfully as I drove into the parking area at the side of my flat. “I feel dead honoured. I’ve only been here once before.” His voice rose an octave and became a squeak. “Jaysus, look at that car! It’s only a Maserati!”

A low-slung black sports car was parked against the boundary wall. It wasn’t possible to see through the dark-tinted windows who was inside it, but a terrible suspicion entered ray mind.

“I’d sell me soul for a car like that!” Declan murmured reverently. He leaped out of the Polo as soon as it stopped and went over to the black car with the deference of a pilgrim approaching the Pope. My suspicions were confirmed when the car door opened and James climbed out.

He frequently turned up in strange cars belonging to the garage.

“Millie?” His voice contained a great deal of anger and hurt. It even sounded slightly querulous. “Millie?” he said again.

I realised he thought that Declan was a boyfriend. He’d asked me out that night and I’d refused, saying I had work to do. Instead I was seeing someone else. I felt irritated.

Why shouldn’t I go out with another man if I wanted?

I was cross that James had turned up uninvited. Now I would have to introduce him to Declan, and I wanted the Camerons and the Athertons kept apart for as long as possible. For ever would be even better.

“This is my brother, Declan,” I said stiffly. “Declan, this is James.”

James’s broad shoulders sagged with relief. “Declan!” he said jovially, as he shook hands. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” He was being polite: he knew nothing about my brother other than that he existed.

“Is this your car?” Dedans jaw dropped in disbelief: he had a sister who had a boyfriend who drove a Maserati.

“No, I just borrowed it for tonight. My own car is an Aston Martin.”

“Jaysus! Can I look under the bonnet? Would you mind if I sat behind the wheel, only for a minute, like?”

James was happy to oblige. He got back into the car and pulled the lever to raise the bonnet. Seconds later the pair were bent over the engine and James was explaining how things worked. I trudged upstairs, dreading the evening ahead.

I put the kettle and the oven on, and began to prepare a salad. James would probably expect to stay to dinner and fortunately the pizza was a large one. I opened a bottle of wine and drank a glass to steady my nerves. By the time James and Declan arrived, almost half an hour later, I’d drunk half the bottle and had to open another to have with the meal. I blamed Flo. It wouldn’t have crossed my mind to drink alone if I hadn’t come face to face with all that sherry.

The two men were getting on famously. The conversation had turned to football. “There’s a match on TV later, Liverpool versus Newcastle.” James rubbed his hands. “You don’t mind if we watch it, do you, Millie?” I “Not at all.” By now, I was terrified Declan would say something, give the game away, and the whole respectable edifice I’d built around myself would come tumbling down.

It wasn’t until they had finished their meal that he revealed the smallest of my secrets. “That was great, Sis. I haven’t had such decent grub in ages.” He turned to James. “Our mam does her best, but everything comes with mashed spuds and cabbage.” He patted his stomach.

“I’m not halt glad I went to see Alison in Skem, else I wouldn’t have met our Millie.”

“I thought Alison lived in Kirkby with you,’James said, puzzled.

“Oh, no. Alison’s autistic. She’s in a home. Hasn’t Millie told you?”

“Who’d like coffee?” I said brightly. I went into the kitchen, bringing that line of conversation to an abrupt end. When I returned with the coffee, Declan had just rung home. “I forgot to tell Mam I’m supposed to be working late. I lost me job the other week,” he explained to James, “and I still haven’t got round to telling our mam and dad.”

James looked sympathetic. “What sort of work do you do?”

I gritted my teeth as Declan replied, “Only labouring. I was working on this demolition site, but it seemed to be me who got demolished more often than the building.”

“You’re wasted as a labourer. Why don’t you take a college course like Millie did?”

To my surprise, Declan’s face turned bright red. He blinked his long lashes rapidly and said, “It’s never entered me head.”

Fortunately, it was time for the match to start. I switched on the television, then the computer. I wanted to finish my report, but my brain was incapable of competing with the sound of the television and James and Declan’s bellows of support alternated with groans of despair whenever Newcastle went near the Liverpool goal. I tried to read a book, gave up, and went into the kitchen where I caught up with the ironing and prayed the match wouldn’t go into extra time. The minute it was over, I’d take Declan home. It was imperative that my brother and my boyfriend were separated before any more of the Camerons’ dirty linen was aired.

To my dismay, James had already offered Declan a lift. I thought of the burnt-out car abandoned opposite my parents’ house—hopefully James wouldn’t notice in the dark-of the lads who’d still be playing outside and might not feel too charitably towards the driver of a Maserati.

“Tara, Sis.” Declan punched me lightly on the shoulder. “It’s been a smashing evening.”

“We must do it again soon. Perhaps next time there’s a match, eh?’James kissed me on the lips. ‘I’ll call later.’

“Oh, no, you won’t,” I cried as soon as I’d closed the door. I took the phone off the hook, ran a bath, and finished off the wine while I soaked in the warm, scented water. The events of the day swirled through my mind: the Naughtons and that filthy house, Alison, Declan, Diana and her father, James.

James! What was Declan saying to him? It wasn’t that I cared about him loving me less, I only cared about him—anybody—knowing. And when it came down to it, it was nothing to do with the house in Kirkby, or being poor, or Mum letting herself go, or Alison. It was the terror of my childhood that I wanted to keep to myself: the beatings, the fear, the sheer indignity of it all. I’d felt as if my body didn’t belong to me, that it could be used by someone else whenever the whim took them. What I wanted more than anything was to put the past behind me so that the dreams would stop. I wanted to forget everything and become a person not a victim. But this would never happen while my family remained a haunting reminder, always there to ensure that the past was part of the present and, possibly, the future. The only solution would be to go far away, start a new life elsewhere—but although my mother set my teeth on edge, I loved her so much that it hurt. I could never desert her.

The water in the bath had gone cold. I climbed out, reached for a towel, and was almost dry when the doorbell rang.

“Blast!” I struggled into a bathrobe.

“I tried to call you on the car phone,’James said, as he came breezing in, ‘but you seemed to be incommunicado.’

He noticed the receiver was off the hook. “Is this deliberate or accidental?”

“Deliberate,” I said irritably. “I want some peace. I want to be left alone.” He tried to take me in his arms, but I pushed him away. “Please, James.”

He threw himself on to the settee with a sigh. “Why didn’t you tell me all that stuff before?”

My heart missed a beat. “What stuff?”

“You know what I mean. About Alison, and about Declan being gay.”

“Declan’s not gay!” I gasped.

“Of course he is, Millie. It’s obvious.”

“You’re talking utter rubbish,” I said halfheartedly, remembering how Declan had blushed when James paid him a compliment. Then I remembered all sorts of other things about my brother. He was girlish, no doubt about it, but gay?

“Darling, I guessed straight away.”

I shook my reeling head. It was too much, coming after such an eventful day. “What did you and Declan talk about on the way to Kirkby?”

“Cars, mainly, football a bit. Why?”

“I just wondered.”

“After I dropped him off, I gave some kids a ride around the block. They were very impressed with the Maserati.”

“That was nice of you.”

I made him a coffee, then insisted he went home.

Before going to bed, I took three aspirins. Even so, unlike last night at Flo’s, it was several hours before I eventually fell asleep, a restless, jerky sleep, full of unwelcome, unpleasant dreams.

Diana’s father was kept in hospital overnight. The fall had nothing to do with his illness; he had had a dizzy spell.

Next morning she said that a neighbour had offered to bring him home. “I suppose you think I’m awful, not going myself,” she went on.

“Why should I?”

“Well, I think I’m awful. Daddy’s being incredibly brave. At times, I wish he’d have a good old moan and I’d really have something to complain about. I’d feel less of a louse.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m all mixed up.”

“Who isn’t?” I snorted.

James had been told bluntly that I needed time to myself, time to think. If he turned up uninvited again, I would be very cross. He agreed meekly that we wouldn’t meet again until Saturday. “Will you be very cross if I call you?” he asked, in a little-boy voice.

“Of course not, but it I’m not around I don’t want anguished messages left on my answering-machine.”

“No, ma’am. Thank you very much, ma’am.”

I kissed his nose, because he was so patient and understanding.

I couldn’t imagine allowing a man to mess me about as much as I did him. Nor could I understand why he put up with it from someone like me.

Throughout the week, I did my utmost to get to the flat in William Square, but the estate-agency business, while not exactly booming, was picking up. On Wednesday and Thursday I was still hard at work in the office until well past seven o’clock.

On Friday night, I finished off the report and stapled together the eight pages. I decided to read through it again and give it to George on Monday: he’d begun negotiations for the empty shop, which he hoped to have open by Christmas. Even if Diana got her “notes” in first, it would show that I was equally keen.

Afterwards, I phoned home, which I’d been meaning to do all week, and was relieved when Declan answered.

“Where’s Mum?” I asked.

“Out. Dad went to the pub, so I gave her five quid of that twenty I got off you on condition she ‘went to bingo.’ He chuckled. ‘She was dead chuffed.’

“Declan?”

“Yes, luv?”

“That suggestion James made, about you going to college, why don’t you do it? You could learn car mechanics or something, get a job in a garage.” Unlike me, he had left school with two reasonable O levels.

“Oh, I dunno, Millie. Me dad would blow his top.”

“You’re twenty, Declan. It’s nothing to do with him what you do with your life.”

“That’s easy for you to say. It’s not you who’d face the consequences when he finds out I’ve given up work for college.” He sounded peevish, as if he thought I’d forgotten the way my father’s powerful presence still dominated the house in Kirkby.

“You’ve already given up work, Declan—or, rather, work’s given up on you.” He was too soft, too unselfish, not like me and Trudy, who couldn’t wait to get away.

He was also weak. In a strange way, the horror had made my sister and me stronger, but our father had beaten all of the stuffing out of his only son. Declan’s sole ambition seemed to be to exist from day to day with as little effort as possible.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to make a few enquiries,” he said grudgingly. “What I’ve always fancied is learning about fashion—y’know, designing dresses or material, that sort of thing.”

“In that case, go for it, Dec,” I urged, and tried to imagine what our father would say when told his son was training to be a dress designer. Even worse, how would he react if James was right and he, too, realised that Declan was gay? I would have liked to discuss it with Declan there and then, but it was up to him to out himself. Until he did, I would never breathe a word to a soul.

I had expected James to claim he’d missed me dreadfully, but when he picked me up on Saturday night he said “I’ve had a great week. I’ve joined the SWF.”

“The what?” I felt a trifle put out, particularly when he didn’t even notice my new outfit, a short black satin shift, nor that I’d parted my hair in the middle and smoothed it back behind my ears for a change.

“The Socialist Workers’ Party.”

“Good heavens, James!” I gasped. “Isn’t that a bit over the top? What’s wrong with the Labour Party?”

“Everything!” he said crisply. “This chap, Ed, said that they’re all a shower of wankers. This morning I helped collect money for those dockers I told you about. I nearly brought my placard into Stock Masterton to show you.”