were
gonna have to get on with it all.
Without her.
At around ten pm, the
first of the day’s final two dramas occurred.
It started quietly: a
gentle knock at the door and the quiet tones of a female in
uniform. Della had answered the door.
‘ We just need
to speak to your father.’
‘ Dad, it’s the
police!’ Della called out and, watching from my position at the
bottom of the stairs, I have never seen Dad move so quickly. With
the bulk of a rhino and the speed of a cheetah, he took just
seconds to get himself from a chair in the back room to block the
frame of our front door.
‘ What business
have you got coming round here on a day like this! Leave me and my
family in peace!’
Everyone in the back
started to move immediately, quickly, but in a pattern, like they’d
rehearsed it. Or like a board game, everyone going round, taking
their turn, not jumping ahead, but calm, polite, with a purpose.
The back door was opened and Dad’s old mates left
swiftly.
‘ Looks like an
elephant has sat on it,’ Auntie Stella had said, looking at the
abandoned, crumpled room.
The small drama continued
at the other end of our house.
‘ Mr Buckley,
we really need to talk. I appreciate that it’s a-.’
Whatever the policewoman
had appreciated at that point was never heard, as Dad slammed the
door in her face.
‘ Mr
Buckley! Mr Buckley! Will you please open this door? We
need to you come with us.’ Her voice had got louder, then trailed
off at the end. Reckon she knew: knew it was wrong to be there, on
that day, whatever he knew, whatever he’d done.
Dad stayed where he was,
on the other side of the door. We looked at him and at where he in
turn was looking: at the white boxes stacked up in our front
room.
He nodded at us and we
knew what he wanted us all to do. Then he opened the front door,
and slipped out, shutting it instantly behind him.
‘ I’m coming,’
he said, his voice muffled, and minutes later we heard a car roll
away from out the front, Dad in it with a couple of
coppers.
It took us just fifteen
minutes to hide the boxes away – they weren’t heavy.
‘ Kettles and
toasters,’ Uncle Gary explained, helping out, as we put them in wardrobes and
under beds; as we’d done before.
Business as
usual. Only it wasn’t, was it? Not on that
day. It was in our faces: mine, Ian’s, Della’s. In Auntie Stella’s
pursed lips that were silently blaming Uncle Gary. You and your dodgy deals, her face
said, bringing the police round here on
the day of her funeral.
‘ How were we
to know?’ he pleaded, later, once the cover-up operation was
complete, embarrassed that she might just be right.
They were in the front
room, which was empty bar the usual stuff you’d expect to see: the
mustard carpet with the leafy pattern, the green sofa and chairs,
the stereo in the corner.
‘ The boxes
were here before it all happened. We just haven’t been able to
shift them. Tony’ll be alright, I’m sure.’
Auntie Stella
was looking through the curtains, as a car drew up. It wasn’t Dad.
She turned, glared at Uncle Gary, and saw that I was watching.
‘ Bed for you,
Scotty,’ she said, coming towards me, shooing me up the stairs.
‘You too,’ she called out to Della and Ian, who obeyed with sulky
huffs. ‘Your Uncle Gary’s in charge, whilst I go down the cop shop
and sort your father out.’
We didn’t go
straight to bed, despite Auntie Stella’s ruling. We didn’t
tell Uncle Gary
we were ignoring it, but he soon realised, when we all came back
down the minute she had gone.
‘You kids do
what you need to do,’ he said, flatly, acknowledging he had no
jurisdiction with us, despite Auntie Stella’s parting statement.
Mum was lost and
Dad had gone off with the police. Leaving-us-to-it was probably the
best approach.
Della and Ian
started cleaning up, and Uncle Gary soon joined in.
‘You helping, Squirt?’
Ian asked, but didn’t wait for my answer.
I just stayed
in the front room,
gonna have to get on with it all.
Without her.
At around ten pm, the
first of the day’s final two dramas occurred.
It started quietly: a
gentle knock at the door and the quiet tones of a female in
uniform. Della had answered the door.
‘ We just need
to speak to your father.’
‘ Dad, it’s the
police!’ Della called out and, watching from my position at the
bottom of the stairs, I have never seen Dad move so quickly. With
the bulk of a rhino and the speed of a cheetah, he took just
seconds to get himself from a chair in the back room to block the
frame of our front door.
‘ What business
have you got coming round here on a day like this! Leave me and my
family in peace!’
Everyone in the back
started to move immediately, quickly, but in a pattern, like they’d
rehearsed it. Or like a board game, everyone going round, taking
their turn, not jumping ahead, but calm, polite, with a purpose.
The back door was opened and Dad’s old mates left
swiftly.
‘ Looks like an
elephant has sat on it,’ Auntie Stella had said, looking at the
abandoned, crumpled room.
The small drama continued
at the other end of our house.
‘ Mr Buckley,
we really need to talk. I appreciate that it’s a-.’
Whatever the policewoman
had appreciated at that point was never heard, as Dad slammed the
door in her face.
‘ Mr
Buckley! Mr Buckley! Will you please open this door? We
need to you come with us.’ Her voice had got louder, then trailed
off at the end. Reckon she knew: knew it was wrong to be there, on
that day, whatever he knew, whatever he’d done.
Dad stayed where he was,
on the other side of the door. We looked at him and at where he in
turn was looking: at the white boxes stacked up in our front
room.
He nodded at us and we
knew what he wanted us all to do. Then he opened the front door,
and slipped out, shutting it instantly behind him.
‘ I’m coming,’
he said, his voice muffled, and minutes later we heard a car roll
away from out the front, Dad in it with a couple of
coppers.
It took us just fifteen
minutes to hide the boxes away – they weren’t heavy.
‘ Kettles and
toasters,’ Uncle Gary explained, helping out, as we put them in wardrobes and
under beds; as we’d done before.
Business as
usual. Only it wasn’t, was it? Not on that
day. It was in our faces: mine, Ian’s, Della’s. In Auntie Stella’s
pursed lips that were silently blaming Uncle Gary. You and your dodgy deals, her face
said, bringing the police round here on
the day of her funeral.
‘ How were we
to know?’ he pleaded, later, once the cover-up operation was
complete, embarrassed that she might just be right.
They were in the front
room, which was empty bar the usual stuff you’d expect to see: the
mustard carpet with the leafy pattern, the green sofa and chairs,
the stereo in the corner.
‘ The boxes
were here before it all happened. We just haven’t been able to
shift them. Tony’ll be alright, I’m sure.’
Auntie Stella
was looking through the curtains, as a car drew up. It wasn’t Dad.
She turned, glared at Uncle Gary, and saw that I was watching.
‘ Bed for you,
Scotty,’ she said, coming towards me, shooing me up the stairs.
‘You too,’ she called out to Della and Ian, who obeyed with sulky
huffs. ‘Your Uncle Gary’s in charge, whilst I go down the cop shop
and sort your father out.’
We didn’t go
straight to bed, despite Auntie Stella’s ruling. We didn’t
tell Uncle Gary
we were ignoring it, but he soon realised, when we all came back
down the minute she had gone.
‘You kids do
what you need to do,’ he said, flatly, acknowledging he had no
jurisdiction with us, despite Auntie Stella’s parting statement.
Mum was lost and
Dad had gone off with the police. Leaving-us-to-it was probably the
best approach.
Della and Ian
started cleaning up, and Uncle Gary soon joined in.
‘You helping, Squirt?’
Ian asked, but didn’t wait for my answer.
I just stayed
in the front room,
Similar Books
