with her for months, ever since New Year’s Eve, when she had noticed with wonder her mother’s face, at ten to midnight, from the corner of the party where she was hiding. She typed slowly. Autocorrect helped with her spelling.
She was not afraid that Parminder would check her computer history; her mother knew so little about her, and about what went on in this bedroom, that she would never suspect her lazy, stupid, sloppy daughter.
Sukhvinder pressed the mouse like a trigger.
XI
Krystal did not take Robbie to nursery on Tuesday morning, but dressed him for Nana Cath’s funeral instead. As she pulled up his least ripped trousers, which were a good two inches too short in the leg, she tried to explain to him who Nana Cath had been, but she might as well have saved her breath. Robbie had no memory of Nana Cath; he had no idea what Nana meant; no concept of any relative other than mother and sister. In spite of her shifting hints and stories, Krystal knew that Terri had no idea who his father was.
Krystal heard her mother’s footsteps on the stairs.
“Leave it,” she snapped at Robbie, who had reached for an empty beer can lying beneath Terri’s usual armchair. “C’m’ere.”
She pulled Robbie by the hand into the hall. Terri was still wearing the pajama bottoms and dirty T-shirt in which she had spent the night, and her feet were bare.
“Why intcha changed?” demanded Krystal.
“I ain’t goin’,” said Terri, pushing past her son and daughter into the kitchen. “Changed me mind.”
“Why?”
“I don’ wanna,” said Terri. She was lighting a cigarette off the ring of the cooker. “Don’ fuckin’ ’ave to.”
Krystal was still holding Robbie’s hand, as he tugged and swung.
“They’re all goin’,” said Krystal. “Cheryl an’ Shane an’ all.”
“So?” said Terri aggressively.
Krystal had been afraid that her mother would pull out at the last minute. The funeral would bring her face-to-face with Danielle, the sister who pretended that Terri did not exist, not to mention all the other relatives who had disowned them. Anne-Marie might be there. Krystal had been holding on to that hope, like a torch in the darkness, through the nights she had sobbed for Nana Cath and Mr. Fairbrother.
“You gotta go,” said Krystal.
“No, I ain’.”
“It’s Nana Cath, innit,” said Krystal.
“So?” said Terri, again.
“She done loads fer us,” said Krystal.
“No, she ain’,” snapped Terri.
“She did,” said Krystal, her face hot and her hand clutching Robbie’s.
“Fer you, maybe,” said Terri. “She done fuck-all for me. Go an’ fuckin’ bawl all over ’er fuckin’ grave if yeh want. I’m waitin’ in.”
“Wha’ for?” said Krystal.
“My bus’ness, innit.”
The old familiar shadow fell.
“Obbo’s comin’ round, is ’e?”
“My bus’ness,” repeated Terri, with pathetic dignity.
“Come to the funeral,” said Krystal loudly.
“You go.”
“Don’ go fuckin’ usin’,” said Krystal, her voice an octave higher.
“I ain’,” said Terri, but she turned away, looking out of the dirty back window over the patch of overgrown litter-strewn grass they called the back garden.
Robbie tugged his hand out of Krystal’s and disappeared into the sitting room. With her fists deep in her trackie pockets, shoulders squared, Krystal tried to decide what to do. She wanted to cry at the thought of not going to the funeral, but her distress was edged with relief that she would not have to face the battery of hostile eyes she had sometimes met at Nana Cath’s. She was angry with Terri, and yet felt strangely on her side. You don’t even know who the father is, do yeh, yer whore? She wanted to meet Anne-Marie, but was scared.
“All righ’, then, I’ll stay an’ all.”
“You don’ ’ave ter. Go, if yeh wan’. I don’ fuckin’ care.”
But Krystal, certain that Obbo would appear, stayed. Obbo had been away for more than a week, for some nefarious purpose of his own. Krystal wished that he had died, that he would never come back.
For something to do, she began to tidy the house, while smoking one of the roll-ups Fats Wall had given her. She didn’t like them, but she liked that he had given them to her. She had been keeping them in Nikki’s plastic jewelry box, along with Tessa’s watch.
She had thought that she might not see Fats anymore, after their shag in the cemetery, because he had been almost silent afterwards and left her with barely a good-bye, but they had since met up on the rec. She could tell that he had enjoyed this time more than the last; they had not been stoned, and he had lasted longer.