With tears still streaming down her face, Vic shook her head. ‘No, it’s OK.’ She sniffed loudly, wanted to shout that nothing was OK, that she had HIV and her alcoholic mother was clearly becoming a danger to herself and she had no idea what to do about any of it. ‘It’s just a worry, all this, isn’t it?’
‘I’m on the last of a run of night shifts tonight, so if you did want a chat another time – well, you know where I am. Right, I’d better go. Happy Christmas, Vicki.’
Vic’s return ‘Happy Christmas’ was lost on the wind. Wondering what Joti’s job was, she made her way inside, propped her case up in the hallway and threw her coat on the stairs.
There was no sign anywhere of either her mother or Chandler. She was also sure that Albie should have been there by now, as he was only planning to stay that night and go back home to his girlfriend and her two kids in Reading for Christmas Day night.
Turning up the heating, Vic went through to the kitchen and, on opening the fridge was pleasantly surprised to see a small stuffed turkey in a baking tray, and some potatoes, parsnips and brussels sprouts sitting in water, ready to be cooked. On the side were her favourites: mince pies, a small Christmas cake, a bowl of satsumas and a tin of Quality Street. On top of the fridge, alongside a large pack of dry-roasted peanuts and some Pringles, were cans of beer and a few bottles of wine. All this unexpected order set Vic off again,tears spilling down her cheeks. Her plan had been to see what her mum had managed to buy and then head to the supermarket before everything had sold out, to pick up the slack. It was such a relief that her mum had had the clarity and wherewithal to go shopping herself. And also heartening that she had remembered a lot of the things that Vic and Albie enjoyed.
Putting the white wine in the fridge, Vic poured herself a glass of red, popped the tube of Pringles open and was just about to call her brother to see what time he was arriving when she heard a commotion at the front of the house. As she walked to the window to see what was going on, her mother came flying through the front door, swiftly followed by a shaking Chandler. The shouting continued outside.
‘Vic, your brother’s in trouble.’ Kath’s voice was shaking.
‘OK, Mum, stay in the kitchen with Chandler.’ Vic remained calm, but stern. She could hear the fear in Albie’s voice as she pushed open the front door.
‘I told you not to come here. I had to get my old dear to come to the cashpoint with me, as I didn’t have enough. Iwasgoing to meet you under the arches as planned. I’m late, but I’ve got it. Oi, get the fuck off me. Come on, mate. Not here. Please!’
Then Vic heard a smack, then somebody falling to the floor. She ran outside to see a man, his face hidden by a black hoodie, punching her brother in the head. As she switched the outside light on and screamed for the hoodie man to stop what he was doing, he sprang up, grabbed a handful of the notes that were now flying around the drive, and took off. As he turned, he crashed into Vic, knocking her right onto the concrete, causing her elbow to split and begin to bleed profusely. She could see the flash of blue lights turning into their road.
‘Get in!’ she hissed at Albie. ‘Get in, now! I’ll handle this.’
‘But, sis, I?—’
‘Go! Just check on Mum.’
Vic pulled off her scarf and wrapped it around her bleedingarm. As the police car drew into the drive, she casually walked towards it. A female officer got out. Another police officer was on his radio in the driver’s seat.
‘Are you all right? We’ve had reports of some kind of disturbance at this address.’
‘Yes, umm… er… It was a right to-do.’ In shock at what had happened, and with blood beginning to drip down her arm, Vic began to speak really fast. ‘The dog escaped, my brother ran to stop him going into the road. We both shouted and had a bit of a scuffle.’ She faked a smile. ‘It’s Christmas and… too much to drink and… you know what siblings are like. I tripped and fell – no biggy – and that was it. I cut my arm. Mother, brother and dog are inside. No harm done. I just need to get in and sort this.’ Vic pulled the scarf tightly around her arm.
‘And you expect me to believe that, do you?’ The police officer remained expressionless.
‘Yes… I do.’ Vic was now shaking with both cold and shock as the woman began to question her further.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Victoria Sharpe.’
‘Do you live here?’
‘No. I’m just here for Christmas with my mum.’
‘And your brother?’
‘What about him?’
‘Does he have a name?’
‘Albert Sharpe, but we all call him Albie. And… umm, he’s just visiting too.’
‘Before we go on, that arm looks nasty. Let me take a look – you might need stitches.’ The policewoman went to move the scarf from Vic’s arm.
‘No! No. Don’t touch it.’ Vic was surpised at her own agressiveness.
‘OK. OK.’ The policewoman put her hands up. ‘I’ve got first aid in the vehicle, that’s all. Let me just see if it might needstitches.’ She moved forward again to move the scarf, which was now soaked with blood.
Vic burst into tears. Her voice and face now full of desperation, she repeated, ‘I said, don’t fucking touch it.’ Her make-up was now streaked down her face. ‘Please.’
