‘Oh, you know about that? Yes, well, we will have to be looking for alternative accommodation somewhere. Anywhere, I guess. He’s a bright boy – very bright – and, according to your sister, a talented dancer. He’s kept that under wraps. We’d no idea.’
‘I really don’t know about that, but if Robyn – and Sorrel – say so then I’ve no reason to disbelieve them.’
‘So, Jessica, it would just be until the summer, until Joel has sat his GCSEs. He’d be classed as “independent living”’ – Andy air quoted the words – ‘as opposed to being fostered. Obviously, if you agree to having him, we’d need to do all the usual background checks. I don’t want to get his hopes up if you’re not up to date with all of that.’
‘I had one of Robyn’s kids at St Mede’s here for a couple of nights last year,’ I said, feeling slightly affronted that I was now agreeing to have Joel to stay and yet the powers that be might decide, after all, that I wasn’t suitable.
‘I heard.’
‘Oh?’
‘You were checked out then, even though it was only for such a short period.’
‘Blimey, does nothing go unchecked these days?’
‘’Fraid not. We can’t just allow anyone to look after these kids. They’re vulnerable.’
So am I, I wanted to say, but realised that wasn’t going to look good in this man’s professional eyes.
‘And Joel is a totally different kettle of fish to Blane Higson.’
‘Oh, you know about Blane?’
‘Of course.’
‘You know then that I had something to do with his accident?’
‘You did?’ Andy stared.
‘I was parked on double yellow lines. If I’d not been there, Blane wouldn’t have landed on my windscreen.’
‘No, he’d have ended up in the road,’ Andy said. ‘Or possibly on the spikes of the school’s perimeter fence.’
I closed my eyes at the very thought of Blane being impaled, trying to rid myself of the utterly awful image.
‘Look, Jessica, can we get Joel in for a chat?’
I nodded. ‘If I pass all the red tape, then yes, I’m happy to have him. He can move in as soon as he’s able to collect his stuff…’
I broke off briefly as Pat Butterworth appeared in the kitchen, her already small eyes almost lost in a face left pale and puffy from her afternoon nap, her dress creased and rucked up to reveal a wrinkle in her tights.
‘Hmm, someone else here now?’ Pat eyed Andy. ‘Your new man, Jess? Now that you’ve decided to discard my son once more?’
‘Patricia’ – I decided to give the woman her full handle – ‘I have spent the last eleven years beingdiscardedby your son. Now, if you don’t mind, I am talking to Mr Somerville here on a business matter.’
Pat obviously wasn’t prepared to leave it at that. ‘Oh? Oh? So now you’ve thrown Dean out on to the street – although whyheshould be the one to go is beyond me. Beyond the pale actually. I mean, if you do intend on this divorce business, wouldn’t it be a kind thing to do to move yourself out? Let Dean have this place? I mean, it is his house. He’s paid the mortgage all these years…’
‘As have I…’ I began, but Pat was in full flow.
‘I’ll say my piece,’ she said. ‘Now that I’ve started. I’ve held back in the past from saying what I really think. I’m not one to interfere as you know…’
‘Not one to interfere?’ I actually laughed out loud at that.
‘I’ll say my piece and then I’ve said it,’ Pat repeated. ‘You could move next door now that mother of yours is doing a flit. Moving in’ – Pat’s mouth pursed – ‘after just a few months of being with that Sattar man. Well, at least she won’t go short of a few frozen pies…’
Pat’s monologue was interrupted by a now obviously embarrassed Andy Somerville, who was edging towards the door, indicating with a wave of his hand that he’d go and have a word with Joel.
‘So, yes, I reckon you could move into your mother’s place and let our Dean havehishouse. It ishisafter all. Once your mother swans off to be Lady of the Manor with that Asian chappie. He’ll have a bit of brass… She won’t be badly off, will she? Won’t need to sell her cottage…’
