45
E ssie runs to the Seagate cottages first thing the next morning. Dwight is there already and they fly into each other’s arms.
‘What did the police say?’
‘I told them about the money,’ says Dwight. ‘And they wrote that down. But they don’t know about the houses.’
His phone beeps. He pulls it out. She is clinging to him, she finds, and she tries to pull away, but he casually grabs her and pulls her in tight with one hand, opening the phone with the other. She finds this incredibly sexy for some reason.
He whistles, and touches his hat with his phone.
‘What? What?’
He shows her.
It is the confirmation from the Land Registry that they have received the withdrawal notification.
‘Oh, that they can email,’ says Essie.
The door opens and Essie and Dwight leap apart instantly, which is probably just as well, as it’s Shelby. She grimaces.
‘Hey, sis,’ says Dwight.
‘Okay, everyone wants to know what they can do to help,’ says Shelby, looking around the place. ‘Get it finished, if you can.’
Word has obviously spread quickly. For once Essie doesn’t mind.
‘I’ve got the timeline,’ she says.
‘I don’t need to talk to you,’ says Shelby. ‘The one who made my brother give up everything.’
‘I didn’t make him do anything,’ says Essie. ‘Although I’m sorry I introduced him to those guys. I didn’t know they were crooks.’
‘You’re sleeping with one of them.’
‘Have you never slept with a crook?’
Shelby thinks about this for a moment. ‘I think I’ve only slept with crooks.’
‘Lay off, Shelbs,’ says Dwight, but she ignores him.
Essie steps forward. ‘Shelby – why . . . why were you always so mean to me?’
‘ Me ?’ says Shelby, turning back, her face completely astonished. ‘Me, mean to you ?’
Essie blinks, slightly taken aback. ‘Yes. You know, at school.’
Shelby looks at her, astounded. ‘What are you even talking about? You marched around the whole time talking about how Carso sucked, how you couldn’t wait to get out .
. . and always boohooing in the toilets about your parents fighting, when you still had a dad, two parents, a home.
You knew where your dad was. You know we had to leave our council house?
Move into a bedsit? Because Kenny threatened my mum? ’
Essie goes quiet. She had not quite realised this. She knew they had had a divorce too; that was all she’d thought. And she’d thought that Shelby hadn’t given a toss.
‘You treated us all like idiots. Then and now.’
Essie’s hand flies to her mouth. I mean, everyone joked about the tiny town, didn’t they? It was hardly a town at all, really, just a village that happened to have a Scot Nor minimarket which gave it ideas above its station.
‘I didn’t mean to.’
‘So you keep saying,’ says Shelby.
‘I’m sorry,’ says Essie. ‘You were always so pretty and so popular.’
‘Is that what you think?’ says Shelby. ‘That I had it easy?’
Essie remembers the way people whispered about Dwight and Shelby’s family, bad things, half heard, half remembered. Bad stuff. A bad lot. She shakes her head.
‘I got . . . I think I got a lot of things wrong.’
There is quite a long pause, and a draught is getting in the house.
‘Well, it’s good of you to say it.’ Shelby draws herself up to her full height, bosoms on full point, checked shirt tied at the waist, eyelashes to put Dolly Parton to shame. ‘But if you ever, ever, ever think you are slumming it with my brother . . . you’ll have me to answer to.’
‘Understood,’ says Essie, watching her turn around and head up the little close – an indomitable woman, she realises, from a bloodline, a tradition, an entire musical culture of indomitable women to whom men have done wrong. And she does understand.
Dwight looks at her, grinning.
‘What?’ she says.
‘You think my sister’s tough, wait till you meet my ma.’