!â
âIâm not asking you; Iâm telling you.â Mum indicated right into Flissâs road.
âBut you donât even want him.â
She didnât deny it. âHeâs family.â
â Family ! God, Mum, you sound like someone from EastEnders .â
âAnd you, miss, are going to have to start being nicer to him.â The âmissâ meant she was seriously pissed off.
âIt just spoils everything.â I thought she was being nice, giving me a lift to Flissâs in the rain, but it was only a chance to capture me and talk about him .
âItâs much harder for him, you know.â
âHow?â I knew how, really. It was like there was Nice Me â normal me, that is â and then there was Nasty Me. And I knew it was Nasty Me saying âhow?â like that. I just didnât know how to shut her up.
âOh, come on, Vic. His mumâs in hospital; he doesnâtreally know us; youâre treating him like a leper. Do you not feel even a bit sorry for him?â
âNope.â I yanked off my seatbelt. We were nearly at Flissâs and I wasnât going to hang around and listen to this for a second longer than I had to. âAnyway,â I said, âI donât think he cares about his mum. Heâs too ââ I tried to think of a word. â Hard . Like the other day, you were talking about his mum and he just kept on watching TV. He was just like, whatever .â
âPeople can feel things without showing it. I remember when my dad died.â
Oh no, I thought, please donât!
âIt was so sudden. Just like Gran. I cried for days. I cried till my face was raw.â She stopped the car and gave a sort of artificial little laugh.
âAnd?â Images of Mum or Dad dying crowded into my mind. Horrific. I tried to push them away. Mum was only thirteen when her dad died.
âAnd Gerard didnât. Not a tear. You should have seen him, Vicky. He handed round tea at the wake, talked to people. He even did a reading at the funeral. And all Mum and I could do was cry. But then a week later Theresa and I sneaked out to the shed â Dadâs shed, we always called it â for Theresa to get a smoke and there he was, in the middle of all the junk and dadâs tools and stuff crying his eyes out.â She sounded so sad â I didnât know if it was thinking about her dad or about Gerard, who died in a car crash when he was twenty two and Declan was a baby. And in a minute she might start talking about Gran dying. Declan had cried enough at Granâs funeral but that had probably been guilt. I had a sudden memory of it, my only time in a Catholic church, watching Declan, Mum, Theresa â everyone but me â say all theprayers and stand up and kneel and everything all at the right time, and me feeling totally out of it. Even though sheâd been my gran too.
Anyway. âCan I get out now?â
She wouldnât let up. âIâm serious. For a start, you can take him with you to the yard. Otherwiseâ â as I opened my mouth to argue â âI wonât take you near the place.â
âBut Camâs giving me a lesson on Wednesday. Mum, that is so unfair!â
âI didnât say I wouldnât take you. But Declanâs going too. I think heâs taken to Flight.â
That was another thing I didnât want to think about. The way he looked at Flight yesterday. Like he wanted him. Then I remembered how heâd helped me â and Iâd hardly even thanked him. I knew I couldnât win. âWell, I suppose. Can I go now?â
âYes. But remember â well, just remember. And back for tea. I want you to come with us tonight.â
Then she let me go, finally.
* * *
I sat in the back of the car, plugged into my iPod and ignoring Mum and Declan in the front, though it was clear I wasnât exactly missing much.
Mum parked the
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