‘Come on, you must’ve thought she was a bit bonkers. Didn’t you?’
I glare at him. ‘I thought she was nice, actually. You know – positive and supportive, unlike—’
‘Okay,’ he cuts in, eyes flashing. ‘Say yes then, if you want to!’
I stare at him. So he’s giving me permission to go away to Suki’s cabin? Did Frank ask for my permission when he bought that food truck, with plans to spend the summer doing the festivals? ‘It can’t fail,’ he’d insisted – but he tried one event and made a loss. He hasn’t been able tosell the van either. It’s still rusting away like a giant version of one of my father’s tinned pies on the scrubby ground behind Dev’s garage.
Still simmering with irritation, I put off replying to Suki’s message for now. I don’t want to say yes simply because I’m mad at Frank. That would be no reason to go. Later that night, as the wind rattles our ancient sash window, I try to figure out what to do.
My alarm trills just before seven, but Frank is up already, getting ready for work. He never used to set off before me. These days he rushes out with only a hasty goodbye. No kiss.
A little later I set off for the library. Its ornately carved tower comes into sight, red sandstone against a clear blue sky. My phone rings and I pull it from my pocket, expecting it to be Suki, wondering if I’m planning to come. But it’s Dad.
‘Everything okay?’ I ask. He rarely calls me, and these days I know he enjoys a lie-in.
‘Well, it wasn’tbooksin your rucksack, was it?’ he starts.
My heart seems to clang. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘My pies!’ he announces.
‘What pies?’ Holy fuck.
‘Those steak and kidney pies. You know what I mean. In the cupboard. Where have they gone?’
‘Uh … Dad …’ I exhale, realising someone is waving from the bus stop across the street. Helen, the family tree researcher, one of our regulars at the library. I smile brightly and wave back. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve said something. I just thought I’d clear out some space—’
‘Clear out space? They weremypies, Carly! Where are they?’
In my wheelie bin, Father! ‘I, um … moved them,’ I mutter.
‘You mean you threw them away?’
I take in a deep inhalation as I stride onwards, as if that way I’ll feel strong and purposeful and unafraid of Dad. But it’s not working. Because now, instead of being a fully-grown adult woman heading to work, entrusted with library keys, I’m flung back to being ten years old, and frankly scared of the man who presided over our little family of three.
Yes, I’d deserved it. For some mad reason I’d stuffed a Caramac bar into my pocket in our local corner shop.
I didn’t mean to take it! I was going to pay! Having spotted my despicable act, the shop owner, Mr Blyden had cornered me and phoned my dad. The two men played golf together. I was sent home to face my father; he wasn’t a hitter but, God, he could shout. How I’d wished for brothers and sisters, not just to absorb some of his wrath but to huddle up with, when I’d been sent to my room. That’s why, once we had Eddie, I knew I wanted to have more children, if we possibly could. It’s why I loved Raj, Calum and all of the kids’ friends cramming around our table and filling our kitchen with laughter and noise.
A full nest. How I loved it.
And now, as Dad insists that those ancient pies are perfectly fine, I sort of phase out and let him rant.
Suki’s message. An invitation to a weekend away.
‘… No idea why you decided to do that. What on earth were you thinking? You know I hate waste …’
Someone who actually wants to spend time with me, even though I sat there sweating in the restaurant in a bobbly old sweater I bought off Vinted.
‘… And to not even say anything to me!’
A luxury cabin in the woods. It sounds like a fairy tale.
‘Carly?’ Dad barks.
‘I threw them out.’ I say it quickly, like ripping a plaster off. Better to get it over with.
‘Why?’
