yourself for all the ills of the world, Joseph Scott, and your sister ought to have more sense than to go scattering nasty accusations like confetti.’
Joseph picked up the knife and fork again, but he didn’t eat. ‘Marie and I both wanted to be pallbearers, and the undertaker put me at the front with her right behind me. It felt like a bloody long way from the chapel to the grave, I can tell you. She kept spitting insults out of the corner of her mouth as we sweated our way across the cemetery, followed by all those solemn mourners. My cousin Eric was opposite and he almost dropped his handle, he was laughing so much.’
‘Ah, poor Irene. Her last journey, and her kids bickering all the way.’
‘ I wasn’t bickering! I never said a word. Marie completely lost it over the tea and scones, started screaming at me, made a hell of a scene. Luckily my minders from the prison saw my predicament and galloped to the rescue. I was bloody pleased to get myself back behind bars.’
‘No screaming women in Armley?’
‘Well . . . no female ones.’
Abigail let out a throaty guffaw, while Digby ducked for cover.
Joseph was washing up at the sink when Abigail asked, ‘Will you be seeing those poor little ones?’
‘I hope so. I never got to comfort them, never got to tell them I was sorry, never even said goodbye. The Wildes don’t want me in their lives, so it looks like I’m going to have to go to court.’
‘You’re determined, are you?’
‘Just hanging on until the first court date.’
‘And then what?’
‘My solicitor’s hoping the judge will let me see them, maybe supervised by someone at first.’
‘Mm-hm. And then what?’
‘Then . . . well, I hope I get to see them a lot more.’
Abigail’s lips almost disappeared as she worked. Joseph kept casting covert glances at her. Finally, he couldn’t stand it. ‘What?’ he demanded.
‘Nothing.’
‘Abigail, I can tell you disapprove.’
She turned her back to let down the airer—wheels squeaking on the pulley—and began to fold clothes. ‘They’ve been through the mill, those kids.’
‘I know that.’
‘I trust you aren’t going to charge in there, kicking up trouble like a bull in a china shop.’
Joseph had washed the last plate, but he stood with his hands in the cooling water. ‘You think I’m irredeemable?’
‘That’s a long word.’
‘Am I, though? You’ve known me since I was a crawler. I care about what you think.’
Abigail shook out each garment with a cross little snap. ‘It isn’t for me to make judgements. All I know is that some kids lost their mother thanks to you, and some people lost their daughter.
And some kinds of damage aren’t easily mended.’
Joseph pulled out the plug, and watched the soapsuds as they were dragged down the vortex.
‘I can’t give them up,’ he said.
Ten
Scarlet
If you Google my dad’s name, you’ll come up with pages and pages of websites. There are newspaper articles and blogs and radio station sites and women’s right’s sites and sites for people who think sentences aren’t long enough. There are sites about bipolar and sites about domestic violence. Everyone has an opinion about my dad.
When Mum died, Gramps and Hannah took Theo and I out of our primary school in Tadcaster, where we lived, and moved us to a new one in York. I think the teachers had told the other kids who we were, and banned them from asking questions. It didn’t work, though. Theo and I were celebrities—and not in a good way. A group of boys bullied Theo about his dad being a ‘psycho’. Theo was only seven at the time. I found him in the bushes at the end of the playground, gasping for breath. That was his first ever asthma attack, and I bet it was the upset that caused it. We didn’t go to the teachers. We felt mortified, as though it was us who were the psychos.
The following week, I opened my lunchbox to find that someone had left a piece of paper in there. It was a news story,
Joseph picked up the knife and fork again, but he didn’t eat. ‘Marie and I both wanted to be pallbearers, and the undertaker put me at the front with her right behind me. It felt like a bloody long way from the chapel to the grave, I can tell you. She kept spitting insults out of the corner of her mouth as we sweated our way across the cemetery, followed by all those solemn mourners. My cousin Eric was opposite and he almost dropped his handle, he was laughing so much.’
‘Ah, poor Irene. Her last journey, and her kids bickering all the way.’
‘ I wasn’t bickering! I never said a word. Marie completely lost it over the tea and scones, started screaming at me, made a hell of a scene. Luckily my minders from the prison saw my predicament and galloped to the rescue. I was bloody pleased to get myself back behind bars.’
‘No screaming women in Armley?’
‘Well . . . no female ones.’
Abigail let out a throaty guffaw, while Digby ducked for cover.
Joseph was washing up at the sink when Abigail asked, ‘Will you be seeing those poor little ones?’
‘I hope so. I never got to comfort them, never got to tell them I was sorry, never even said goodbye. The Wildes don’t want me in their lives, so it looks like I’m going to have to go to court.’
‘You’re determined, are you?’
‘Just hanging on until the first court date.’
‘And then what?’
‘My solicitor’s hoping the judge will let me see them, maybe supervised by someone at first.’
‘Mm-hm. And then what?’
‘Then . . . well, I hope I get to see them a lot more.’
Abigail’s lips almost disappeared as she worked. Joseph kept casting covert glances at her. Finally, he couldn’t stand it. ‘What?’ he demanded.
‘Nothing.’
‘Abigail, I can tell you disapprove.’
She turned her back to let down the airer—wheels squeaking on the pulley—and began to fold clothes. ‘They’ve been through the mill, those kids.’
‘I know that.’
‘I trust you aren’t going to charge in there, kicking up trouble like a bull in a china shop.’
Joseph had washed the last plate, but he stood with his hands in the cooling water. ‘You think I’m irredeemable?’
‘That’s a long word.’
‘Am I, though? You’ve known me since I was a crawler. I care about what you think.’
Abigail shook out each garment with a cross little snap. ‘It isn’t for me to make judgements. All I know is that some kids lost their mother thanks to you, and some people lost their daughter.
And some kinds of damage aren’t easily mended.’
Joseph pulled out the plug, and watched the soapsuds as they were dragged down the vortex.
‘I can’t give them up,’ he said.
Ten
Scarlet
If you Google my dad’s name, you’ll come up with pages and pages of websites. There are newspaper articles and blogs and radio station sites and women’s right’s sites and sites for people who think sentences aren’t long enough. There are sites about bipolar and sites about domestic violence. Everyone has an opinion about my dad.
When Mum died, Gramps and Hannah took Theo and I out of our primary school in Tadcaster, where we lived, and moved us to a new one in York. I think the teachers had told the other kids who we were, and banned them from asking questions. It didn’t work, though. Theo and I were celebrities—and not in a good way. A group of boys bullied Theo about his dad being a ‘psycho’. Theo was only seven at the time. I found him in the bushes at the end of the playground, gasping for breath. That was his first ever asthma attack, and I bet it was the upset that caused it. We didn’t go to the teachers. We felt mortified, as though it was us who were the psychos.
The following week, I opened my lunchbox to find that someone had left a piece of paper in there. It was a news story,
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