Part 7 (1/2)

Then she fell forward, right on top of me.

*s.h.i.+t, sorry. I really shouldn't do this.'

*Yeah, it should be totally illegal for you to dance, Lolly,' yelled the short one of the trio.

*Thanks Grace, I appreciate the support.'

A buzzer blared from the speakers installed in the courtyard and the crowd dispersed, eager to get to cla.s.s.

Lolly caught her breath, observing me carefully.

*I like that cardigan, did you make it?'

My tight navy woolen jumper had been made by Mum, circa 1989. How I still managed to squeeze into it was a miracle, but it made a cute combination with my kilt skirt and long white tee.

*My mum did, when I was about ten.'

*And it still fits?'

*I don't think I've grown since then.'

She groaned, indicating her legs and her waist-length hair. *I can't seem to stop.'

Then I did something completely un-English. I asked Lolly if she wanted to get a drink after college that night.

And Lolly, t.i.ttering happily, put an arm around me and said, *You know, I'd really like that.'

The next morning, the phone rang early.

Mum.

*h.e.l.lo love, it's Mum.'

*Mum, I've been meaning to call.'

*I know, dear.'

She didn't mean to imply that it should be me returning her many calls, but the guilt weighed heavily on me anyway.

What with Cecily 2 about to arrive; my job at the supermarket under threat because of the time I'd taken off for Thanksgiving; Carson taking every opportunity to live the life of a bachelor; and Hammertro popping in every two minutes to discover when *our part of the deal' would materialize, I was finding it difficult to remember to shower, let alone call home.

I needed to be of sound mind in order to talk to Mum, because I needed to keep up the pretence.

You see, Mum thought that Carson was a lawyer.

And she thought we lived somewhere wonderful, with views of Central Park and a spare bedroom.

And that I worked as a fas.h.i.+on designer with Lolly.

I know, I know. Why lie to my own mother? Simple. Having lost a daughter to America, the last thing my parents needed to hear was that I was struggling and on the breadline, and related, by marriage, to a bunch of crazies living in a trailer park.

*How's Dad?' I was eager to deflect from my personal situation; to move the conversation to safe ground, because my hangover needed tending to as soon as I could respectfully end the call.

Mum's voice caught. *That's why I'm calling. Your father is in the hospital.'

*What?' Now I really felt as if I'd been stomach-punched.

When she didn't answer I pressed her, *Why?'

*His heart. It doesn't look good.'

There was a pause, and I knew Mum was waiting, expecting, me to say that I would immediately jump on a plane and rush to see Dad.

As far as she was concerned, I could well afford it, couldn't I?

And I would be heading to the airport too, if there was some way to get the money to buy a plane ticket.

Racing through the possibilities, there was no way I could raise the required amount. We were overdrawn, our credit cards were maxed out, we were late on the rent and Jessie and J had school excursions that needed paying for.

Even the Teesons' recent proceeds of crime wouldn't cover it a not that I dared to ask. Not after the sofa debacle.

*Scarlet, are you there?' Mum's voice sounded small and worried.

What the h.e.l.l could I say to her that wouldn't sound completely trite?

*Mum, Jessie is, um, ill too a something the doctors are checking out. That's why I haven't called.'

G.o.d would strike me dead, I was sure of it. How could I casually lie about my own daughter's health like that? What else could I do, traumatize the poor woman even more by admitting my life was a complete sham?

*Jessie's sick?'

*Might be nothing, just some tummy thing, but the doctors don't know. And Carson is next to useless. I am so sorry, I really don't know what to do.'

*Don't you worry about it, dear. Of course you need to stay for Jessica.'

Mum's voice was strained and I sensed it was difficult for her not to cry.

*Can Aunty Buck help?' Mum's sister Beatrice (known as Buck since she was thrown off a horse at twelve), was a no-nonsense woman who you'd imagine would be good in a crisis.

*Yes, no doubt she can.' The unspoken part of that sentence was that Aunty Buck was a stiff upper lip personified. Even the death of her own husband fifteen years ago had failed to raise a tear, although Dad insisted he'd seen some moisture in her left eye.

*Tell Dad I'm thinking of him, and I'll come as soon as I can.'

*I am sure that won't be necessary. You know your Dad, Scarlet. He's always said he'll go on forever, hasn't he?'

*Yes, but . . .'

I didn't finish the sentence. Despite how I felt about some of things Dad had done, I still loved him.

Hanging up, I got the distinct feeling that if there was reincarnation, I would definitely be coming back as a c.o.c.kroach.