Attorney thing, of course.’
Guy started a Power of Attorney action in the courts years ago, to protect my interests once I was no longer a child. I was suspected of being unlikely ever to be able to look after myself properly, and to be psychologically unfit for the full range of adult responsibilities. Both Mrs Willoughby and Holly swore statements testifying to the contrary. Given her professional status, I think Mrs Willoughby’s carried the greatest weight, but I thought it was good of Hol to support me as well.
‘ What? ’ Hol says. ‘I thought that had been dropped!’
‘It was adjourned, but technically the issue is still open. It’s up to the local authority now. Mrs Willoughby says not to worry and they’re probably too snowed under with other stuff to think it worth proceeding with, and it’d probably go in my favour anyway, but you never know.’
‘Good old Mrs Willoughby.’
‘She said to say hello.’
‘Say hello back. Wish her well from me.’
‘She’s retiring in June but she says she’ll continue to take an interest and she’d willingly swear another statement and appear in court if required.’
‘This is bollocks, Kit. What was Guy thinking?’
‘He was thinking of my best interests. Everybody is, apparently.’
‘Yeah, so they all say.’
‘Also? I think the whole issue with my mother complicates matters.’
‘Shit. I bet it does,’ Hol says. We move forward again.
I feel slightly incompetent, not knowing who my mother is.
Not knowing who your father is is not so unusual; not knowing who your mother is is just plain weird. Guy always maintained he was my father and I’ve always looked like him about the face, especially when I was younger, plus we finally did a DNA test two years ago and he definitely is – but he has variously claimed that my mother is an emigrated-to-Australia ex-barmaid from a long-closed pub in Bewford; a married, middle-aged member of the aristocracy somewhere between one-hundred-and-fiftieth and two-hundredth in line to the throne; a disgraced Traveller girl now settled quietly in County Carlow (which is in Ireland); an American exchange student from the Midwest with hyper-strict parents, belonging to some bizarre religious cult; or possibly just some random girl/conquest he promptly forgot about even at the time, who literally abandoned me on his doorstep one evening. (He tells people he came back drunk from the pub that night and assumed the warm bundle inside the front porch was a takeaway meal delivery he’d forgotten ordering. He claims to have been quite peeved when he discovered it was actually a newborn baby.)
Also, this is why my first name is Kit; it’s short for Kitchener, as the kitchen was where Guy first clapped eyes on me.
He has also hinted that it’s possible Hol or Pris or Alison might be my mother. I know they each spent the year or so abroad immediately following graduation, which would sort of fit. He’s since claimed he was just kidding about this and sworn me to secrecy regarding ever even mentioning this to any of them, but the idea has been planted.
However, it’s not a topic I like to dwell on. I’m going to change the subject.
‘Haze asked to borrow money from me,’ I tell Hol, ‘just before we came out.’
‘Oh, good grief. Did you give him any?’
‘No. I lied. I told him I didn’t have any. Actually I didn’t quite lie outright, but it was as good as.’
‘He done this before?’
‘Once before. Last time he was here, a couple of years ago. Just a tenner, but it was all my pocket money.’
‘Twat. Did he pay you back?’
‘No.’
‘Yeah, well, you did the right thing. He’ll probably ask me next.’ She smiles at me. ‘Don’t give him any money.’
‘I wasn’t intending to.’
‘Also … I wouldn’t mention that you have opiates in the house, either. Just to be on the safe side.’
‘Okay.’ Guy has already said as much.
‘Haze has always been like this, Kit,’ Hol says.
Guy started a Power of Attorney action in the courts years ago, to protect my interests once I was no longer a child. I was suspected of being unlikely ever to be able to look after myself properly, and to be psychologically unfit for the full range of adult responsibilities. Both Mrs Willoughby and Holly swore statements testifying to the contrary. Given her professional status, I think Mrs Willoughby’s carried the greatest weight, but I thought it was good of Hol to support me as well.
‘ What? ’ Hol says. ‘I thought that had been dropped!’
‘It was adjourned, but technically the issue is still open. It’s up to the local authority now. Mrs Willoughby says not to worry and they’re probably too snowed under with other stuff to think it worth proceeding with, and it’d probably go in my favour anyway, but you never know.’
‘Good old Mrs Willoughby.’
‘She said to say hello.’
‘Say hello back. Wish her well from me.’
‘She’s retiring in June but she says she’ll continue to take an interest and she’d willingly swear another statement and appear in court if required.’
‘This is bollocks, Kit. What was Guy thinking?’
‘He was thinking of my best interests. Everybody is, apparently.’
‘Yeah, so they all say.’
‘Also? I think the whole issue with my mother complicates matters.’
‘Shit. I bet it does,’ Hol says. We move forward again.
I feel slightly incompetent, not knowing who my mother is.
Not knowing who your father is is not so unusual; not knowing who your mother is is just plain weird. Guy always maintained he was my father and I’ve always looked like him about the face, especially when I was younger, plus we finally did a DNA test two years ago and he definitely is – but he has variously claimed that my mother is an emigrated-to-Australia ex-barmaid from a long-closed pub in Bewford; a married, middle-aged member of the aristocracy somewhere between one-hundred-and-fiftieth and two-hundredth in line to the throne; a disgraced Traveller girl now settled quietly in County Carlow (which is in Ireland); an American exchange student from the Midwest with hyper-strict parents, belonging to some bizarre religious cult; or possibly just some random girl/conquest he promptly forgot about even at the time, who literally abandoned me on his doorstep one evening. (He tells people he came back drunk from the pub that night and assumed the warm bundle inside the front porch was a takeaway meal delivery he’d forgotten ordering. He claims to have been quite peeved when he discovered it was actually a newborn baby.)
Also, this is why my first name is Kit; it’s short for Kitchener, as the kitchen was where Guy first clapped eyes on me.
He has also hinted that it’s possible Hol or Pris or Alison might be my mother. I know they each spent the year or so abroad immediately following graduation, which would sort of fit. He’s since claimed he was just kidding about this and sworn me to secrecy regarding ever even mentioning this to any of them, but the idea has been planted.
However, it’s not a topic I like to dwell on. I’m going to change the subject.
‘Haze asked to borrow money from me,’ I tell Hol, ‘just before we came out.’
‘Oh, good grief. Did you give him any?’
‘No. I lied. I told him I didn’t have any. Actually I didn’t quite lie outright, but it was as good as.’
‘He done this before?’
‘Once before. Last time he was here, a couple of years ago. Just a tenner, but it was all my pocket money.’
‘Twat. Did he pay you back?’
‘No.’
‘Yeah, well, you did the right thing. He’ll probably ask me next.’ She smiles at me. ‘Don’t give him any money.’
‘I wasn’t intending to.’
‘Also … I wouldn’t mention that you have opiates in the house, either. Just to be on the safe side.’
‘Okay.’ Guy has already said as much.
‘Haze has always been like this, Kit,’ Hol says.
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