King Rich by Joe Bennett Page B

fibrous roots. He puts his shoulder to the door and the dog shoots instantly through the gap as, with a grunt of exertion, Richard heaves the pot over the transom to prop the door open.
    Richard supports himself on the door jamb, panting as the dog leaps about him in delight. He pats the dog, calms it. ‘I wouldn’t leave you,’ he says.
    Together they step out onto the roof of the world, the top storey of five, open to the skies, a raw concrete deck and a scatter of cars. From the parapet Richard has a view up High Street. At the far end a group of men and women in suits and skirts topped with hi-vis jackets and hard hats are moving towards the Square. They go slowly, like tourists in Rome, gawping at ruins. Then they disappear behind the BNZ. Beyond it Richard can see the top of the stump that was the cathedral spire.
    A bright blue Audi convertible, low-slung and costly, has been left with the roof down, its plush interior now grey with plaster dust and dotted with birdshit. Leaves and blown litter have lodged in the foot-wells. Richard tries the handle on the driver’s door. Instantly the alarm sounds, ringing over the city. Richard dives back to the door, the dog with him, and they head deep into the hotel to hide. The alarm stops. Why, Richard doesn’t know. Silence seeps back in. Richard’s ears are pricked for footfalls, for voices. Nothing.
    * * *
    â€˜What sort of person is your mum,’ said Vince, ‘if you don’t mind my asking?’
    Annie shrugged. ‘It’s hard to say with parents, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Is it? When you’re young, maybe, but I think I’ve got a pretty good idea now what sort of people my parents were.’
    Annie smiled. She took a swig of wine. ‘She lives in Blenheim now, with a man I’ve met a couple of times and who seems a reasonable bloke. She bullies him. I keep in touch and all that, but to be frank it’s a chore. I’d rather not. And I don’t blame Dad for what he did. These days, anyway.’
    â€˜What happened?’
    â€˜Guess. I don’t know how Mum found out he was having an affair but when she did all hell broke loose. I heard her screaming at him late that night when I’d gone to bed. I couldn’t make out much of what they were saying – or shouting – but it ended suddenly with the front door being slammed shut and then there was silence. That was all.’
    As she spoke Annie felt again exactly how it had been as she lay and listened and waited and heard her mother’s footsteps coming up to bed. And in the morning Dad hadn’t been there but her mother had said nothing and Annie had gone to school as usual.
    When she’d come home that afternoon her mother had been through the house for everything associated with him. There had been framed drawings of his lining the stairs and hall. They’d all gone.
    Her mother had hugged her and said that her father had betrayed them and it was just the two of them from then on and he wouldn’t be coming back and Annie had cried and gone upstairs to her room and expected her mother to follow but shedidn’t and Annie had lain face down on the bed crying. Later she’d stood by the window watching her mother carrying stuff out to the bonfire, carrying it out with utter determination till it was almost dark, his clothes, his shoes, his books even. She burned his books. ‘To be fair,’ continued Annie, ‘she did try to be a good mum after that, for a while at least. It didn’t come naturally to her, I realise now, but she did try. And she was forever buying me stuff. I think she must have struck a pretty good deal with Dad somehow, but at the time I just got on with things. And at nine you’re pretty resilient. I missed Dad but I got over it.’
    â€˜What did Rich do for a living?’
    â€˜I’ve thought about that. I don’t know exactly. Something to do with design, I’d guess. He