Chapter 24 #2
‘Hmph. I thought it was your sister,’ were the first words my father said to me in four months.
Dad’s close-cropped hair was completely white.
He was short and wiry, and his face was peppered with pockmarks.
The deep creases around his twinkly blue eyes were caused by constantly squinting because he refused to wear glasses.
He wore the same saggy old jeans and flannel shirt he’d lived in when I left home seventeen years ago.
I’d never seen my dad without a pack of cigarettes in his top pocket, grease-stains on his fingers or a sneer lurking behind his ‘cheeky-chappy’ smile.
‘Lacey told you?’
‘No. A social worker called me.’
‘Whatever she said, it’s claptrap.’
I thought about sitting down, but the two armchairs were laden with toys, children’s clothes and other mess.
I could understand why Trudy Barnes was concerned.
There were empty food cartons and wrappers all over the coffee table and filthy carpet.
The sideboard and shelving units were thick with dust and dried on spillages.
The room was dingy due to the window being covered in a lopsided blind.
The walls and ceiling were a sickly shade of nicotine.
Piles of junk left barely enough floor space for Mum’s oxygen tank and other equipment.
It wasn’t Mum’s fault she was ill. Well – only partly her fault. The ashtray on the arm of the sofa was overflowing. However, Dad and Lacey had no excuses. This felt more like a death chamber than a living room. There was nowhere for the children to sit, let alone play.
‘She said if Lacey gets found guilty, you two won’t look after the kids.’
‘Trudy Barnes is a lying, interfering, snotty-nosed cow,’ Mum said. ‘She’s no right telling you Lacey’s personal business.’
If she had shared more of Lacey’s business, I might know what to do now.
My parents, who clearly knew what was going on, appeared to be doing nothing.
‘She was asking whether I could foster the children, so they don’t have to be split up or go to a residential home.’
‘Nobody is fostering anyone,’ Dad snapped. ‘They’re staying with their mother where they belong.’
‘Really? How does that work if their mother is in prison?’
‘She’s not going to prison.’ Dad was turning red. He jabbed a finger at me and it was everything I could do to remind myself I was Alex Nixon, fully grown adult, and no longer Alexis, vulnerable child.
‘And you’re sure of that, are you? Banking on like father like daughter?’
Dad had done his fair share of community service, even had an ankle tag, but avoided a custodial sentence every time he’d appeared in court charged with a crime. If he had anything to do with whatever trouble Lacey had got herself into, I’d take the children and never look back.
‘Watch your mouth,’ Mum snarled, licking chocolate off her finger. ‘You might try to pretend otherwise, but he’s your father too. Show some respect.’
‘They said they might remove the kids even if Lacey doesn’t go to prison.’ I hated how my voice quivered. ‘I was shocked until I saw the state of this place.’
‘Ralf.’ Mum waved frantically at her husband, beckoning him to help her sit up.
Dad squeezed past a crate of plastic trucks and grabbed her hand, bracing her shoulder with his other arm as she rocked and grunted to a sitting position, facing forwards on the sofa.
‘If you’re here to fix us, then newsflash: you’ve been fired. No one wants your swanky-pants opinion any more. Find someone else to nag.’
‘I’m not here to nag. I’m going to talk to Lacey and see how I can help.’
‘Oh, finally give a toss about us now the professionals are involved? Worried about your reputation? Because it’s a bit late for that.’
I wanted to scream that I didn’t give a toss about her or my useless dad.
I cared as much about them as they did for me.
Then Mum’s bitter laughter broke into a fit of coughing, her body shaking violently.
The wheezing sound as she struggled to inhale sent me straight back to those times I stood in this same spot, overwhelmed with helpless dread as I watched my mother suffer.
Dad quickly unwound the oxygen mask connected to the tank and handed it to her, both of us waiting in taut silence as she sucked and rasped on the literal lifeline until the hacking gradually eased.
Knowing that anything I said now would only cause more upset, I went into the kitchen – as cluttered as the living room – and scoured the sink before filling it, adding a squirt of washing-up liquid from the bottle I had brought with me. There was hot water, which was something.
I washed every dirty item I could find in the kitchen, dried them with a tea towel, also from home, wiped out the relevant cupboards with disinfectant spray and put everything away. I then dumped several carrier bags full of stinking rubbish into the wheelie bins in the front yard.
After scrubbing every surface, including the caked-on hob, I was about to brave a look in the fridge when the front door opened, accompanied by a flurry of chatter and bustle.
Spinning around, I was engulfed in hugs and cries of ‘Auntie Alex!’
‘Hey, shoes, bags and coats,’ Bronte called from the doorway, before squeezing past her brothers and sister to reach me, her embrace no less fierce than theirs. ‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ she said, sniffling.
‘Looks like I wasn’t a moment too soon.’
‘Yeah.’ She glanced around as if seeing the kitchen for the first time. ‘Things have got a bit out of control.’
‘Did you pick the kids up?’
She shrugged. ‘Lennon collects the little ones, I meet them on the corner.’
I pulled back, incredulous. ‘Where’s your mum?’
Bronte shrugged. ‘In bed, probably.’
I pushed past the children filling the hallway, pounding up the stairs and furiously throwing open my old bedroom door.
Lacey was buried under the covers of a single bed. The bunkbeds pushed against the other wall were where Bronte and Kaylynn slept. In between was a dressing table crammed with all of Bronte’s manicure equipment, the bottles of nail varnish arranged in rainbow order.
‘Lacey.’ I shook her shoulder, too overwrought to consider whether there was a good reason my sister was asleep in the middle of the afternoon. ‘Lacey!’
She made an irritated groan before emerging from the duvet to squint at me through a mess of auburn hair.
‘Hello.’
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she croaked.
‘How about we start with what the hell are you doing letting Lennon pick up his brother and sister?’
Harley was in his first year of school, Kaylynn in the attached nursery. I was astounded the teachers allowed it.
She tugged the duvet back over her head, but I immediately flipped it off again.
‘What?’ she snapped.
I said nothing. She knew what.
‘Ugh. Fine. It’s not every day, just if I’ve had a bad night. He only walks them down the road, then they have to wait for Bronte.’
I sank onto the bottom bunk. ‘Seriously?’ My initial outburst had deflated to an appalled whisper.
She twisted onto her back, crossing her arms. ‘I did the same for Blake at that age.’
‘You were thirteen when Blake started nursery.’
‘Two years, big deal.’
‘There was only one of him, I was with you and you weren’t Lennon. You’re constantly telling me how his additional needs mean he can’t handle things most kids his age can. Now he’s responsible enough to walk two small children down a road jammed with school-run traffic?’
Emotions rippled beneath my sister’s skin as I spoke. Unsurprisingly, she settled on defiant.
Reminding myself about why I was here, knowing that beneath the belligerence she would be beside herself with terror, I squashed onto the bed and took hold of her hand. ‘How often are these bad nights happening?’
Lacey scrunched her eyes closed, shrugging.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’
She let out a long, slow sigh, eyes still shut. ‘Can I have a coffee first?’