Dancing in the Dark (47 page)

“Yes, George, it is.”

“I’m sorry, I must have got the wrong end of the stick.”

He became quite friendly and asked how I was getting on with the flat in William Square.

“It’s a long story, George. Perhaps I could tell it to you one day over lunch?” I’d only tell him the least important bits.

“Great idea, Millie. We’ll do that, eh?”

Diana was scowling at me through the glass partition. I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue, and reckoned there was no chance of having lunch with George once she got back to work on him. She seemed to be pursuing a private vendetta against me.

When I came out, June shouted, “There’s just been a phone call, Millie. Some woman particularly asked for you. She says her boss, a Mr Thomas, has a property to sell as soon as poss in Clement Street off Smithdown Road, number eighteen. It belonged to a relative. He wants a valuation. I looked in the diary and told her you’d be there at two o’clock.”

“I think I’ll go,” Diana stretched her arms. “I feel like some fresh air.”

“They asked for Millie,’June said pointedly.

“This is an estate agent’s, not a hairdresser’s,” Diana snapped. “It doesn’t matter who goes.”

Oliver said sweetly, “Yes, it does, Diana. It might be a former client who would prefer Millie rather than another member of staff.” He winked at me. “Will you be all right on your own? Take Darren, if you’d feel safer.”

“I doubt if I’ll come to any harm in Clement Street, it’s too built-up.” Female staff weren’t usually sent to deal with properties if a man on his own was involved.

It felt odd to drive past William Square and think of Flo’s flat, as familiar now as the back of my hand, waiting for my mother to move in on Friday. Yesterday, she’d astounded me by announcing that when the time came for Alison to leave Skelmersdale, she’d have her in William Square instead of going to Oxford.

“Is that wise, Mum?” I said worriedly. “You realise it’s a red-light area. That girl outside is a prostitute. And it can be very violent.”

“I don’t know what’s wise or not, luv. Our Alison’s always had plenty of care and attention, but she’s never had much love. The change is bound to upset her, whether she goes to Oxford or comes to me, so I’d like to give it a chance.” Kate’s eyes glistened. “We’ll sleep together in the same bed and I’ll hold her in me arms if she’ll let me. As to the prostitutes, they’re only working girls who’ve fallen on hard times. They won’t harm our Alison. The violence I’ll just have to take a chance on.

After all, I can always move, can’t I?”

I regarded her doubtfully. “I hope you’re not making a terrible mistake. What will you live on?”

“I’ll eke out the money Flo left so it lasts as long as possible. In a few years, I’ll be due for me pension. I might get a carer’s allowance for looking after Alison.

Don’t worry, luv,” she said serenely, “I’ll be all right. I haven’t felt so happy in ages.”

Perhaps the last time she’d been happy was with Hugh O’Mara. Even now, the next day, I found it difficult to grasp what Gran had told me.

I turned into Clement Street, found a place to park, took a photograph of number eighteen, then knocked at the door. The street was comprised of small terraced properties, the front doors opening on to the pavement.

The house in question had been relatively well maintained, though the downstairs window-sill could have done “with a fresh coat of paint. I noticed the step hadn’t been cleaned in a while.

The door opened, “Hello, Millie,” said Tom O’Mara.

Yesterday, I’d written to him, then fled back to Blundellsands when I came out of the solicitor’s with my mother, so there would have been no one in when he turned up at Flo’s last night. I’d thought long and hard about what to write. In the end, I’d merely stated the facts baldly, without embellishment or comment. I didn’t put “Dear Tom”, or who tilt” letter was from, just a few necessary words that explained everything. He would know who’d sent it. I’d posted it to the club because I didn’t know his address.

Tom turned and went down the narrow hallway into a room at the rear of the house. He was dressed in all black: leather jacket, jeans, T-shirt. I took a deep breath and followed, closing the door behind me. The room was furnished sixties style, with a lime green carpet, orange curtains, a melamine table, two grey plastic easy chairs, one each side of the elaborate tiled fireplace, which had little insets for knick-knacks. Everything was shabby and well used, and there were no ornaments, or other signs that the place was inhabited.

“This is where me gran used to live,” Tom said. His jacket creaked silkily as he sat in one of the chairs and stretched out his long legs. He wore expensive boots with a zip in the side, and looked out of place in the small dark room with its cheap furniture. I sat in the other chair. “I bought it years ago as an investment. I got tenants in when Nancy went to Southport. Now they’ve moved I thought I’d sell. They say the price of property has started to go up.”

“When did you decide to sell?”

“This morning, when I heard from you. It made a good excuse. I got a woman from the club to ring the place you work. I had to see you again.”

“Why?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged elegantly. “To see what it felt like, maybe, knowing you were me sister, knowing it was over.” He looked at me curiously. “Didn’t you want to see me?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Tom. I’ve no idea what to think.” I felt slightly uncomfortable, but not embarrassed or ashamed. I’d pooh-poohed Gran’s gruesome claim that the family was cursed, that the devil was involved, and the world was about to end because a half-sister and brother who’d known nothing about their relationship had slept with each other. “We didn’t know, Gran. It wasn’t our fault. If it hadn’t been for all the secrets . . . ’It was irritating to know that I was now accumulating secrets of my own, things I couldn’t tell my mother or Trudy or Declan. ‘Don’t repeat a word of this to your mam,’ Gran pleaded. ‘I’d be obliged if you wouldn’t mention to your dad that I told you,’ Mum had said the other night, about something or other I couldn’t remember right now.

“You can go back to that boyfriend of yours,” Tom remarked drily. “What’s his name?”

“James.”

He looked amused. “James and Millie. They go well together. What’s Millie short for, anyroad? I always meant to ask.”

“Millicent.”

There was silence. Then Tom said something that made my stomach lurch. “Will you come upstairs with me?” He nodded at the door. “There’s a bed.”

“No!” Despite my vehemently expressed horror, somewhere within the furthest reaches of my mind, I remembered what we’d been to each other and did my best not to imagine what it would be like now.

“I just wondered,” Tom said lightly. “It’s not that I want to, bloody hell, no. The whole idea makes me feel dead peculiar. I’m just trying to get things sorted in me head.”

“It’s all over, Tom.” I could hardly speak.

“Christ, Millie, I know that. I’m not suggesting otherwise.”

He smiled. Over the short time I’d known him, he’d rarely smiled. Whenever he did, I’d always thought him even more extraordinarily attractive than he already was, more desirable. I had that same feeling again, and it made me slightly nauseous. He went on, “I wish we’d found out we were related before we . . . ” he stopped, unwilling to say the words. “It would have been great, knowing I had a sister.”

“And knowing Flo was your gran.” And my gran, I realised with a shock.

“Aye.” He nodded. “That would have been great an” all.”

I refused to meet his eyes, worried about what I might see there. It seemed sensible to get away as quickly as possible. I took my notebook out of my bag and said briskly, “Is it really your intention to put the house on the market?”

“I’d like to get rid of it, yes.”

“Then I’d better take some details.” I stood, smoothed my skirt, conscious of Tom watching my every move. I didn’t look at him. “I’ll start upstairs.”

Quickly, I measured the rooms, made a note of the cupboards, the state of decoration, the small modern bathroom at the rear. Downstairs again, I took a quick look in the lounge, which was the same size as the front bedroom and had a black iron fireplace with a flower-painted tile surround, which could be sold for a bomb if it was taken out. There was an ugly brocade three-piece with brass pillars supporting the arms—I must tell Tom to get rid of the furniture.

In the hall, I paused for a moment. Tommy O’Mara had lived here, walked in and out of the same rooms, up and down the same stairs, sat in the same spot where I’d sat only a few minutes ago when I talked to his grandson.

One day, a long time ago, Martha Colquitt, my other gran, had probably come to this house bringing Flo’s baby with her, the baby who’d turned out to be my father. I stood very still, and in my mind’s eye, I could actually see the things happening like in an old, faded film, as if they were genuine memories, as if I’d lived through them, taken part. It was an eerie feeling, but not unpleasant.

When I went into the living room, Tom O’Mara had gone. He’d left the key to Flo’s flat on top of my handbag.

He must have slipped out of the back when I was upstairs, and I was glad that my main emotion was relief, mixed with all sorts of other feelings that I preferred not to delve into. A car started up some way down the street and I didn’t even consider looking through the net curtains to see if it was him. In one sense, I felt numb. In another, I felt entirely the opposite. I knew I would never make love with another man the way I had with Tommy O’Mara—Tom! The thing that had drawn us together was a crime, yet it would be impossible to forget.

When I returned to the office, Diana was cockahoop.

She’d just shown the Naughtons round a property in Childwall, and they were anxious to buy.

“How many places did you show them, Millie—ten, a dozen? I only took them once and they fell in love with it straight away,” she crowed.

“I’m sure they were more influenced by the house than the agent,” I said mildly. Right now, I couldn’t give a damn about the Naughtons, or Diana.

After my parents’ thirty brutal, wretched years of marriage, I expected there would be something equally brutal about its end: a fight, a huge scene, lots of screaming and yelling. I even visualised my father physically refusing to let Mum go. In other words, I was dreading Friday. Several times during the week, I asked Mum, “What time are you leaving?”

“For goodness sake, Millicent, I don’t know. It’s not high noon or anything. I’ll pack me suitcase during the day, and once I’ve had me tea I’ll tell him I’m off before he has time to brood over it.”

“It can’t possibly be that simple, Mum.”

“He can’t stop me, can he? He can’t guard over me for ever.” She bit her lip thoughtfully. “I’ll leave him a casserole in the fridge for the weekend.” She smiled at me radiantly. Over the last few days, the anxious lines around her eyes and mouth had smoothed away. I had never known her look so happy.

“I’ll come straight from work and give you a lift,” I offered.

“There’s no need, Millicent. I’ll catch the bus. I won’t have much to carry—a suitcase, that’s all.”

I didn’t argue, but on Friday, as soon as I finished work, I drove straight to Kirkby. Trudy had obviously had the same idea. When I drew up the Cortina was parked outside the house.

My mother was kneeling on the kitchen floor playing with Scotty, who was lying on his back, wriggling in ecstasy as his tummy was tickled. “I’ll really miss this little chap,” she said tearfully, when I went in. “I’d take him with me if there was a garden. But never mind, he’ll be company for your dad.”

“Where is he?” I asked.

“In the front room.”

“Does he know?”

“Yes. He’s taken it hard, I knew he would. He pleaded with me to stay. He promised to turn over a new leaf ‘Really!’ I said sarcastically.

Mum laughed. “Yes, really.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Not for a minute, luv. I don’t think he could, no matter how much he might want to.”

Trudy came into the room with a plastic bag. “You’d forgotten your toothbrush, Mum.” She grinned at me.

“Hi, Sis. She’s hardly taking a thing, just a few clothes, that’s all.”

“I don’t want to leave your dad with the house all bare.

It’ll be nice to start afresh with Flo’s stuff. I must say,”

Mum nodded at the ancient stove, “I’ll be glad to see the back of that ould thing.”

“Flo’s is even older,” I said.

“Yes, but she’s got a microwave, hasn’t she? I’ve always wanted a microwave. Now, Trudy,” she turned to my sister, “I want you to promise that you’ll bring Melanie and Jake to see their grandad from time to time. He loves them kids, and it would be cruel to deprive him of their company.”

Trudy rubbed the scar on her left eyebrow and muttered, “I’m not promising anything, Mum. We’ll just have to see.”

“Well,” Mum said cheerfully, “it’s time I was off.”

The moment had come. Trudy and I looked at each other, and I saw my own incredulous excitement reflected in her green eyes as we followed Mum into the hall, where she paused at the door of the lounge. The television was on, a travel programme showing an exotic location with palm trees, sun and sand. To my surprise, Declan was sitting on the settee reading a newspaper. My father—the man I’d always thought was my father—was smoking, apparently quite calm, but there was something tight about his shoulders, and he seemed to hold the smoke in for too long before he blew it out again.

“I’m going now, Norman,” Mum said. She spoke as casually as if she were going to the shops. I sensed a subtle shifting of power.

Her husband shrugged. “Please yerself,” he said.

“Your clean shirts are in the airing cupboard, and there’s a meat casserole in the fridge. It should last at least two days.”

Declan got up. “I’ll come out and say tara, Mam.”

“Heavens, lad! I’ll be seeing you tomorrer. You promised to come to dinner, didn’t you? There’s no need for taras.”

“Yes, there is, Mam. Today’s special.”

Trudy picked up the suitcase and we trooped outside.

Dry-eyed and slightly breathless, Mum paused under the orange street lights, looking back, her brow furrowed in bewilderment, at the house of silent screams and hidden tears, as if either that, or the future she was about to embark on, was nothing but a dream. Trudy put the case into the boot of the Cortina, Mum gave a queenly wave, and the car drove away.