My father was in tears. I was a wreck. I thought of Sunny. I thought of the hundreds of calls and text messages he had ignored. I thought of his hard muscle and his soft skin. I thought of the tenderness of his kisses and the way we laughed constantly whenever we were together. I thought of the hurt I’d caused him. How he must be feeling now. And I thought perhaps, just this once, Uncle Ben might have been wrong. No good had come from Sunny and me ignoring all the warning signs and following our hearts. No good at all.
* * *
After the service, a smaller group of mourners got into a string of cars we’d booked to take us to the cemetery, which was right across London in East Ham. I was meant to jump in one with Mother, Father, and Jonty, but I couldn’t face it. I’d seen enough of their faces in the days since Uncle Ben had died. Our conversation had run out. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wilhelmina Post hailing a black cab. I trotted down the street towards her.
“Mind if I bum a lift with you, Willy?”
“My darling Ludo, I can’t think of anything I’d love more.”
Chapter59
Sunny
Mum threw open the door to my childhood bedroom, where I was propped up on the bed in just my pants, challenging the stamina of a laptop I had not used since I left university and listening to Lana Del Rey on repeat.
“Jesus Christ, Sunny, have you been wanking in here?”
“NO!” I protested. Obviously, I had been. But I wasn’t admitting that to me mum. We might be close, but there are limits.
“At least open a bloody window. It stinks of boy in here.” She crossed the room, throwing open the window and saving me the bother. She was wearing her faded pink PFLAG T-shirt from about ten Prides ago. It was a miracle it had survived the washing machine for so long.
“Have you asked Jazmyn about a job yet?”
“I can’t go back to theMercury, Mum, it’s embarrassing.”
Mum stood in front of me, hands on her hips, eyes all serious.
“Then what are you doing back here instead of being down in London where all the jobs are?”
She had a point. “Indulging in a little parental love and sympathy?”
“Right, well, get up and get dressed.” She grabbed my wrist and yoinked me off the bed.
“Oi!”
“You’ve been moping around up here for two weeks, Sunny. Wallowing in your own filth. If you’re not going back to theLeicesterMercury, then you’re coming down the food bank with me. You need a job.”
Mum started picking up dirty clothes from the floor.
“I’ll do that,” I said, remembering the sock I really didn’t want her to find. “I know how to do laundry.”
“Then get dressed!” A finger topped with bright-red Asda-brand false nails pointed towards the neatly folded clothes in the wardrobe. I picked out a pair of joggers and a hoodie. “No son of mine is sitting around wasting his life on benefits. I raised you better than that, Sunshine Augustus.”
“It’s not like I’ve signed on!” I climbed into the joggers.
“It’s the principle.”
I pulled on the hoodie. “In’t the food bank voluntary?”
“Course it is,” Mum said. “Then after the food bank we’re popping into Tesco, and you can ask Doug about night stacking.”
“No, Mum. Come on!” Mum stood bolt upright, eyes wild, the static electricity in the room making the strands of flaming hair she’d failed to snare in her tight ponytail stand on end. It felt vaguely threatening, like a sort of ginger Medusa.
“Tesco too good for you, is it?” she said. Uh-oh. I’d screwed up. “It were Tesco what fed you when you was a kid. It were my wages from Tesco what clothed you. What sent you to that fancy university.”
“In that case, why do I have tens of thousands of pounds of student debt that I’ll be paying off for the next twenty years?”
“Tesco was good enough for you then. It’s good enough for you now.”
