only other flesh and blood, went on holiday to Australia soon after Carmen’s wedding and ending up marrying a guy in Sydney who had the money to buy his own house. Something like that, anyway – I’d glaze over when she got to the bit about Jimmy never really earning enough to buy a whole house in Bromley.
Carmen and Jimmy hadn’t changed at all since I’d last seen them quite a few years ago, and neither had anything in their lives. But I guess they must have been like that pretty much since they first got married and Jimmy started to work his bollocks off to keep Carmen up with the Australian Joneses. He still had the same nearly spotless fifteen-year-old Rover, and Carmen still kept the place as immaculate as a show-house. She still blamed me for her son’s murder, even though I hadn’t been there. We’d both been in the same line of work, and that was good enough for her. They were both still pissed off that Kev and Marsha had made Josh and me joint guardians of their kids in their will.
Kelly just sat there, not saying a word, staring out of the window at the busy streets. Josh was right about the mood-swings; right now she was so down I wasn’t sure she’d ever swing back, but then I remembered how far she’d come since I first found her. I wondered if it was something I’d said, or something she’d heard me saying to her grandparents. I’d always tried hard not to let her know what I really thought about them. This morning it was especially tough, because I’d overheard Jimmy agreeing with Carmen that Kelly’s problem was entirely my fault. Nothing to do with that nice man Josh: he’d taken her on out of the kindness of his heart, introduced her personally to God and given her lots of love and care. No, mark her words, none of this would have happened if I hadn’t insisted on looking after her myself in the beginning, and left her with that good Christian family instead. Well, tough shit. It had happened and, fuck it, they’d be dead soon, so they’d better get all their complaining in while they could. I caught a glimpse of myself grinning like an idiot in the rear-view mirror. Somehow Carmen and Jimmy really brought out the best in me.
We were just south of the Thames and passing a big McDonald’s. I felt a need to fill the silence. All I’d been getting for the last ten minutes was ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘maybe’, ‘whatever’. I pointed at the McDonald’s window posters, doing my best to keep the grin in place. ‘Hey, look, the McRib’s back. Shall we get some afterwards?’
‘Yeah, whatever.’
I stole a glance at her. What the fuck was going on inside that young head of hers? Probably much the same as went on in mine. I’d just learnt to hide it better.
The Moorings was a large townhouse in a leafy square overlooking central gardens that were fenced and gated so that only the residents could enjoy the trimly cut grass. Everything about the area and the building said that this was an institution that specialized in the disorders of the rich, which was unfortunate because I wasn’t.
I found a parking space for the cheapo-hire-deal Corsa, turned off the engine and looked at Kelly as I undid my seat-belt. ‘Looks as lovely as ever, doesn’t it?’
No response.
‘I always wonder why they call it the Moorings. I mean, we’re half a mile from the Thames – where are the boats?’
Still silent, Kelly unbuckled her belt as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. I got out and fed a few pound coins into the meter, and we walked together up the three stone steps, between the nicely painted wrought-iron railings and through the glass doors. The reception area was as plush as the head office of a private bank, had Victorian oil paintings on the walls and smelt of furniture polish. An immaculately dressed woman came out from behind the desk and ushered us towards the waiting room with an offer of drinks. Kelly was still in ‘whatever’ mode so I asked for a Coke, and
Carmen and Jimmy hadn’t changed at all since I’d last seen them quite a few years ago, and neither had anything in their lives. But I guess they must have been like that pretty much since they first got married and Jimmy started to work his bollocks off to keep Carmen up with the Australian Joneses. He still had the same nearly spotless fifteen-year-old Rover, and Carmen still kept the place as immaculate as a show-house. She still blamed me for her son’s murder, even though I hadn’t been there. We’d both been in the same line of work, and that was good enough for her. They were both still pissed off that Kev and Marsha had made Josh and me joint guardians of their kids in their will.
Kelly just sat there, not saying a word, staring out of the window at the busy streets. Josh was right about the mood-swings; right now she was so down I wasn’t sure she’d ever swing back, but then I remembered how far she’d come since I first found her. I wondered if it was something I’d said, or something she’d heard me saying to her grandparents. I’d always tried hard not to let her know what I really thought about them. This morning it was especially tough, because I’d overheard Jimmy agreeing with Carmen that Kelly’s problem was entirely my fault. Nothing to do with that nice man Josh: he’d taken her on out of the kindness of his heart, introduced her personally to God and given her lots of love and care. No, mark her words, none of this would have happened if I hadn’t insisted on looking after her myself in the beginning, and left her with that good Christian family instead. Well, tough shit. It had happened and, fuck it, they’d be dead soon, so they’d better get all their complaining in while they could. I caught a glimpse of myself grinning like an idiot in the rear-view mirror. Somehow Carmen and Jimmy really brought out the best in me.
We were just south of the Thames and passing a big McDonald’s. I felt a need to fill the silence. All I’d been getting for the last ten minutes was ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘maybe’, ‘whatever’. I pointed at the McDonald’s window posters, doing my best to keep the grin in place. ‘Hey, look, the McRib’s back. Shall we get some afterwards?’
‘Yeah, whatever.’
I stole a glance at her. What the fuck was going on inside that young head of hers? Probably much the same as went on in mine. I’d just learnt to hide it better.
The Moorings was a large townhouse in a leafy square overlooking central gardens that were fenced and gated so that only the residents could enjoy the trimly cut grass. Everything about the area and the building said that this was an institution that specialized in the disorders of the rich, which was unfortunate because I wasn’t.
I found a parking space for the cheapo-hire-deal Corsa, turned off the engine and looked at Kelly as I undid my seat-belt. ‘Looks as lovely as ever, doesn’t it?’
No response.
‘I always wonder why they call it the Moorings. I mean, we’re half a mile from the Thames – where are the boats?’
Still silent, Kelly unbuckled her belt as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. I got out and fed a few pound coins into the meter, and we walked together up the three stone steps, between the nicely painted wrought-iron railings and through the glass doors. The reception area was as plush as the head office of a private bank, had Victorian oil paintings on the walls and smelt of furniture polish. An immaculately dressed woman came out from behind the desk and ushered us towards the waiting room with an offer of drinks. Kelly was still in ‘whatever’ mode so I asked for a Coke, and
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