Holden shook her head. ‘That’s not what I meant. What I meant was, it’s important that you are properly looked after when you get home.’
‘Don’t worry. That’s all arranged. Doris came in earlier, and she is going to take charge of me and organize a rota.’
Holden bowed her head in submission. Of course, the redoubtable Doris Williams would have been in to see her. And of course within minutes they would between them have organized a complete recovery programme. And no doubt after that they would have prayed for every other poor soul in the ward.
‘So all you need to do is get me home tomorrow, and make sure there’s some fresh milk in the fridge. Do you think you can manage that?’
Holden felt her hackles rise. What was it about her mother that even in these circumstances, she had the capacity to drive her nuts. ‘Of course I can, Mother.’
Her mother smiled and settled back into her chair. ‘Well, that’s settled then.’
‘And I am going to find out who killed Nanette Wright. You can be damn sure of that.’
‘Good!’ There was another beatific smile. ‘That’s my girl.’
CHAPTER 8
I told them at the end of Sunday lunch. I had just eaten my pudding – apple crumble with custard – and I was licking my spoon clean like I always do. But it wasn’t just food in my stomach. Have you seen the film Alien, where a thing bursts out of the chest of one of the spacemen? Well I felt like that would happen to me too if I didn’t tell them, if I didn’t bring it out into the open.
So I said, ‘I’ve got something to tell you, Mum.’
‘Yes, David,’ she said. But she wasn’t looking at me. It was like she was humouring me.
‘I bet you’ll be cross,’ I said. I wanted to get her attention.
‘I bet I won’t,’ she said.
‘It depends what you tell us,’ Dad said.
I didn’t look at him. I try not to look at him. I looked across the table at Vickie. She was making a face at me. Not a silly face, a serious one. I think she knew what I was going to say, and she didn’t want me to. But I’m grown up now, and I can say what I want.
‘I’ve met my mother,’ I said.
‘What do you mean?’ This time, Mum did look at me.
‘I mean what I said.’ It felt good. I was telling them. ‘The other day I met my real mother, the one who gave birth to me.’
‘Don’t be so bloody daft,’ Dad said. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘You shouldn’t swear,’ I said. It was one of the rules in Mum’s house. No swearing.
‘It’s my fucking house, so I’ll do what I want in it.’ He glared at me. His face was red, and so were his stupid sticky-out ears.
‘Shut up, Jim,’ Mum shouted. She hardly ever shouted, so I knew she was upset. Then she turned towards me and smiled her comforting smile.
‘David, how do you know she’s your real mother?’ she said.
‘She told me.’
‘Did she?’ Mum smiled again. ‘David, darling, are you sure? You know how it is – people sometimes make fun of you and fib and—’
‘She’s my mother. She gave birth to me.’ I was shouting now. Why do people never believe me? ‘She wouldn’t lie. She’s lovely.’
‘Lovely?’ Dad bellowed. He suddenly stood up at the end of the table and slammed his fist down on it. ‘Lovely? The woman who gave birth to you wasn’t lovely. She was a crack head. Why do you think you were adopted? Not because she was a lovely mother!’
‘I don’t believe you,’ I shouted.
‘Well, it’s true. I can tell you a lot more.’ And he did. More lies came pouring out of his mouth, while Mum burst into tears and shouted at him to stop.