Home Truths. Susan Lewis

the walls, a mirror with big globe lights around it, a little seating area of bean bags and coffee table for when she had visitors, and there was even an old-fashioned modesty screen that he’d bought at an antiques fair and restored for her. It was draped with various movie props and costumes that they’d tracked down on eBay; she even had a pair of dancing shoes that had been worn by one of the stars of a Broadway show. He’d made her fancy bed frame with a canopy overhead smothered in muslins and lace that cascaded all the way down to the floor.

      She no longer had the computer desk he’d refashioned from an old escritoire for her to work at; after she’d uploaded photos of it to Depop it had sold right away for fifty pounds. The small collection of perfume bottles that her mum had started her off with when she was six had sold for eighty-five pounds, and the vintage-style doll’s pram Granny Watts had given her when she was four had sold for thirty-two pounds. It was amazing what people would buy, for most of her jewellery had gone – not the silver christening bangle, or her nine-carat-gold watch or the tiny diamond chip set in a signet ring that was supposed to be a family heirloom, her mum would have had a meltdown if she tried to sell any of that. It was the ordinary stuff from Zara and Next and Topshop that had gone, along with at least half of her old dolls and teddies, most of her books, her play shop, her Micro Sprite scooter and the bike she’d long since outgrown but had been planning to keep along with the vintage pram, in case she had a little girl one day who might like them.

      Now, as she uploaded yet more photos of clothes that had hardly been worn and even still fitted, along with a well-thumbed set of Winnie the Pooh books Auntie Em had bought her one Christmas, she was thinking about the way her mum had winked at her earlier, and how much it had reminded her of her dad. She loved it when her mum did that, but at the same time it seemed to dig right down in her chest to remind her of how much she missed him. Sometimes, to get herself past the worst parts of it, she’d talk to him, inside her head, as if he was still there and able to answer. She asked him to tell her what to do to help Mum, or if he was upset that she’d sold the desk, or what she should upload next; she even asked if he knew where Liam was.

       Do you blame Liam, Dad? Can you see him now? What is he doing? Do you want us to find him?

      She didn’t always hear him as well as she’d like to, and even when she did she thought she might be making it up, but occasionally she found herself slipping back in time to one of the chats they’d had when she was small, some that she actually remembered, others that she didn’t, but they’d made him laugh so much when he’d told her about them later that she’d wanted to hear about them again and again, just because he seemed to love them – and her – so much.

       ‘Daddy?’ she said.

       ‘Mmm?’ he replied.

       She gave a small sigh to let him know that she required his full attention.

       Getting the message, he put down the screwdriver he was using to assemble her new wardrobe and turned to sit cross-legged on the floor facing her.

       ‘You know I’m five tomorrow?’ she said earnestly.

       ‘I do,’ he replied, matching her tone.

       ‘Well, when I have my party on Saturday, I hope you’re going to behave yourself. Only you don’t always, do you?’

       He crumpled in shame. ‘I promise I’ll do my best,’ he said.

       She frowned, not certain that was good enough. ‘I know,’ she declared, hitting on the answer. ‘I’ll ask Mummy to keep an eye on you.’

       His mouth twitched like he was going to laugh, but he sounded serious as he said, ‘I think that’s a very good idea.’

       She continued to sit where she was, hands folded together in her lap as she worked herself up to what else she needed to say. To her surprise he started to turn back to what he was doing. ‘I haven’t finished, Daddy,’ she told him bossily.

       ‘Oh, sorry. What else is it?’

       ‘Will Liam be coming to the party?’ she asked worriedly.

       The light in his eyes seemed to dull as he sighed and pushed a hand through his dusty hair. ‘I don’t know, sweetheart,’ he replied. ‘Do you want him to?’

       She didn’t want to say no, but she didn’t want to say yes either. ‘He might not be here,’ she said hopefully. ‘He goes out with his friends all the time.’

       Grimly, Steve said, ‘I wouldn’t call them friends, exactly, but you’re right, he does go out a lot.’

       ‘Where does he go?’

       With another sigh he gathered her on to his lap and wrapped his arms around her. ‘Things are a bit difficult for Liam at the moment,’ he said softly, ‘so we have to try and be patient and find ways to help him.’

       ‘Will it help him to come to my party?’

       Squeezing her, he said, ‘I’m not sure, honey. It’s hard to know what to do, but we’ll find a way to make everything all right, don’t you worry.’

      He wasn’t here to make things right any more, and it was horrible, so bad sometimes that she felt she was drowning in the need for him to pick her up in his strong arms and tell her it was all a bad dream. But he wasn’t going to do that, so she must try her best to help her mum the way she knew he’d want her to. The trouble was she would soon run out of things to sell online, so she needed to find another way to earn some money.

      Any ideas yet? she messaged to her best friend Lois, who was helping her to find out what kind of jobs were possible for girls of thirteen. She was already doing some of her fellow students’ homework for two pounds a time, but apart from the fact that she was helping them to cheat, it wasn’t nearly enough to make a difference for her mum.

      Lois’s reply came quickly. Still working on it, but will have info to share by tomorrow. #SAVINGGRACE.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      Angie was sitting in the driver’s seat of her van, hands clutching the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the frosty green across the street where, back when they were a normal family, the children had played cricket against the adults in summer and roasted chestnuts and marshmallows over bonfires in winter.

      She should start the engine, head off into the day, but she was having trouble making herself go through even the most familiar of motions this morning.

      Grace and Zac had already left for school; Emma had taken them, and she, Angie, needed to get to work. She had to clean a restaurant in town for one of her neighbours first – she must text to say that she needed the cash asap – and then she had a meeting with one of Bridging the Gap’s main sponsors. Later she was planning to carry out a job search for a couple of the residents – any success she achieved on their behalf always gave her a lift, so she was actually looking forward to that. Then she’d go to the office to answer emails and make phone calls. All this would happen as it should if she could make herself go any further from the house than this.

      It was the email she’d opened only minutes ago that was holding her in a paralysis of dread. It had been sent yesterday, but she hadn’t read it until after the children had left this morning, with Zac’s chirpy voice telling her he wanted a unicorn cake for his birthday.

       Came by the house earlier today. Your van was there, but reckon you slipped out while I was looking for you round the back.

       Mr Shalik wants to help you, Angie, so call me tomorrow.

      It was from Agi, the thug, goon, muscle, whatever anyone wanted to call him,