The Son-in-Law (4 page)

People say I look a lot like her. On my thirteenth birthday, I had all my hair chopped off. Gramps was horrified because he used to love brushing my hair. He and Hannah and the hairdresser all went on about how it was such a glorious colour, all the way to my waist, and it was a crime to cut it off. They made a monumental fuss, but Hannah had always promised I could have a haircut once I was thirteen, and I held her to it. I got a pixie cut like Mum’s, with a longer fringe and little triangles in front of my ears. It was much easier to keep tidy.

I’ve also got green eyes, and people say I’ve inherited Mum’s sharp chin, so in some ways I really do look like her. There’s one big problem: she was very,
very
slim. There wasn’t a bit of anything saggy about her. All her ribs showed. When she wore hipster jeans, her hipbones showed too. She didn’t look like other people’s mothers. Other mothers are mother-shaped. Some have massive bums, and most have stomachs that stick out no matter how much they wear Spanx or try to suck them in. My mum looked young and skinny enough to be their daughter. People used to tell her she needed feeding up, and that really pissed her off. ‘What right have they got?’ she complained. ‘It’s so rude. I don’t comment on their bloody great bingo wings.’

Anyway, I seem to have quite a different sort of body and no matter how little I eat, how much exercise I do, I just keep swelling and growing taller and taller, like Alice in Wonderland after she’s nibbled the mushroom. I’m not plump, but I’m a different shape from Mum. I’ve even got a bust. I hate it. I really do.

The week it snowed, Ben and Gramps made a snowlady in the garden and I was Puck at the Little Theatre. Our last performance was a Sunday matinee, and the family came to watch. Gramps and Hannah sent a mega bunch of flowers to the stage door. The creepy old guy who called himself ‘stage manager’ brought it in, leering in his pervy way.

‘Got an admirer,’ he said, and rolled his eyes as though I was sleeping with whoever had sent the flowers. I felt like kicking him in the goolies.

The play went brilliantly that afternoon. I’d spent all day thinking myself into the part and it paid off because I really felt like a mischievous, slightly cruel sprite who thinks human beings are fools. I don’t want to sound too smug, but I definitely got the most cheers and whoops at the end. I was still buzzing when I left the theatre. Gramps was waiting for me at the stage door, while Hannah took the boys to fetch the car. He stood tall among a crowd of parents, wearing his tweed overcoat and flat cap like something out of a spy film. He’s a celebrity at the Little Theatre, being a well-known director. I was proud to be met by him. He held both his hands out to me with the palms up, and I laid mine on his.

‘You brought the house down,’ he said. I saw tears welling in his eyes, but he wiped them and smiled. ‘And I’m a silly old twit.’

I guessed he was thinking about Mum, and hugged him. Hannah arrived in the car, honking, while Theo hung out of his window yelling to us to
hurry up, slowpokes!
because they were parked on a red line.

Hannah and Gramps took us to Antonio’s restaurant. Hannah was looking lovely. She’s still pretty, considering her age. She has blue eyes and a swishy bob haircut that makes her seem a lot younger than sixty-four; and she’s nuts about Gramps, absolutely nuts. He only has to stand near her and she looks happy. Her earrings were twinkling in the candlelight. Gramps gave them to her for her sixtieth birthday. They had emeralds to match her engagement ring, and she only wore them on the most special occasions.

Everyone was jolly until Ben had to go and say something stupid. What is it with four-year-olds? Personally, I think he didn’t like me being the centre of attention for once. Ben was a premature baby, and Mum wasn’t well after he was born. Now he’s cute and freckled with fluffy fair hair, and looks more like a two- or three-year-old than four. People always fuss over him. Gramps was talking to me about the costumes and I could tell Ben was getting more and more agitated. Then he thought of a way to get the spotlight back onto himself.

‘Hannah?’ he began, in his most annoying wheedly-whine.

Hannah was asking the waitress for more water. She didn’t hear him, so he started yelling, ‘Hannah, Hannah, Hannah!’

‘Mmm, poppet?’ She looked a bit hassled. ‘No need to shout.’

Ben had just taken a massive mouthful of pizza and he was spluttering bits of cheese as he talked. ‘Um, Hannah, um, are we allowed to talk to strangers?’

‘Shut up, Ben,’ hissed Theo. He’d gone pillar-box red.

And of course Hannah was all lovey-dovey because she doted on Ben. That wasn’t surprising, since she and Gramps brought him up from the age of one. They‘re like his parents. He’s
their
baby.

‘No. It’s not a good idea to talk to strangers, unless there’s somebody nearby who can protect you. They may be perfectly kind, and you shouldn’t be rude to them, but some people are not good people, I’m afraid. So no—don’t talk to a stranger, and especially never accept sweets or get into their car.’

It was a long answer to a short question, and Ben didn’t listen to a single word. His head was rocking backwards and forwards impatiently. I knew he was planning to cause trouble. I just
knew
it. ‘So that means we shouldn’t talk to strangers?’ he persisted.

‘Why do you ask?’

Theo dropped his fork and ducked under the table. Ben frowned and pretended to look worried. ‘Because Theo talked to a stranger today.’

‘Really?’ Hannah wasn’t anxious. Not yet.

‘Theo talked to a strange man in the park. I told him we’re not allowed. “We’re not allowed, Theo!” That’s what I said.’

The park is at the end of Faith Lane, where we live, close to the city wall. It has swings, a roundabout and a miniature football goal, and because it’s only a few yards away from our front door the boys are allowed to play there on their own.

Gramps and Hannah looked at each other, then at the chair Theo should have been sitting in, then back to Ben.

‘Tell me more,’ growled Gramps, making a pretend fierce face.

‘Well.’ Ben put on his goody-goody expression. ‘I was on the swings, but they were wet from the snow so it was yuk, and I asked Theo to wipe the seat with his scarf and he wouldn’t because he was too busy kicking his ball at the goal, and this man got out of a big . . .’ He paused for breath, and we all watched him. It takes Ben ages to tell a story. ‘Um, he got out of a big, um, big black car and sat on the wall.’ Another breath. Chewed-up pizza flying everywhere. ‘He was watching us for hours and hours.’

‘Liar! We weren’t even there for hours!’ came a muffled voice from under the table.

‘Maybe the poor fellow was minding his own business,’ suggested Gramps. ‘He could have been waiting for somebody.’

Ben scowled. ‘He might have been waiting for somebody, but he was watching
us.
When Theo dribbled the ball near the wall, he said hello to Theo and then,
then
. . .’

‘Shut up, Ben!’ yelped Theo.

‘Then Theo said hi back.’

‘I did not!’

Gramps lifted up the tablecloth and peered under the table. ‘It’s all right, Theo,’ he said. ‘It’s not a crime to say hi to someone.’

‘Yes, because it
is
a crime to say hi to a stranger.’ Ben was looking very pleased with himself. ‘Anyway, that wasn’t all. The man said, “That’s some pretty fancy footwork you’ve got there.” And Theo said . . .’

‘I’m going to kill you, Ben Scott!’

‘Theo said, “Thanks, I’ve been practising.” And he showed off some of his tricky moves. And then they both started going on and on about football. Which is
definitely
talking to a stranger! Then I went over there and I said . . .’ Ben puffed out his chest. ‘
I
said, we’re not allowed to talk to strangers, we’re not allowed at all, and
you
are a stranger, and if you don’t stop talking to us and go away right this minute I’m going to go home and get my grandma, she lives in that house there, and she will come running out here and tell you off, and she will call the police. Then the man looked a bit scared and he said, “Well we wouldn’t want that, would we?” And he drove away in the black car.’

‘Well done, Ben,’ said Hannah, mussing his curls. ‘You did the right thing.’

Ben hadn’t finished yet, though. ‘But I don’t know if the man
was
a stranger, really. Maybe he was a . . . a
not
stranger person.’

‘Why?’ asked Hannah. ‘Have you seen him before?’

‘No, but I think he’d seed us before.’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘Because he said, “Bye, Ben! Bye, Theo!” Then he got in his car. Then he started up the engine. And then he
still
didn’t go, he opened the window and leaned out, and
then
he said. . .’ Ben stopped for another breath. He had his audience spellbound. ‘Then he said, “How’s Scarlet?”’

‘Did he?’ I was rather chuffed. ‘I expect it was someone from the theatre, then.’

‘Theo asked him how he knew Scarlet, but he just smiled and drove away.’

‘Oh my God,’ whispered Hannah. She looked angry, but somehow I didn’t think she was angry. I’d seen that look before, when Theo didn’t come home from school one time. She almost called the police, but it turned out Theo had been invited to a friend’s house and had forgotten to tell her, so it’s lucky she didn’t.

‘Don’t worry, Hannah,’ I said, trying to cheer her up. ‘It was just someone from the theatre, or school, or . . . I dunno. Could have been lots of people.’

‘What did this man look like, Ben?’ she asked.

Ben couldn’t answer because his mouth was bulging with pizza.

‘You’re a greedy little pig, Ben,’ I said. His face fell, and I felt guilty. I don’t like to hurt his feelings even though he is a spoiled brat. We three have to stick together.

Gramps leaned under the table again. ‘Come on out, young man. It’s all right. You’re not in hot water.’ Once Theo was back in his chair, Gramps turned to face him. ‘Now tell me. Did you know this man?’

‘No,’ mumbled Theo. ‘I dunno. Anyway, shut up, Ben. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t get in his car or take any sweets. He said I had fancy footwork and it would have been rude not to say something back, wouldn’t it? You do want us to have good manners, don’t you, Gramps?’

Gramps blinked. ‘Er, we don’t want you to be rude. That’s quite right.’

‘What if he was a talent scout? ’Cos if he was, Bigmouth Ben ruined my big chance.’

‘You’re our champ,’ said Gramps, putting his arm around Theo’s shoulders. ‘But perhaps you could describe this talent scout for me?’

Theo looked even more shifty. ‘Oh, I dunno. I think I’ve seen him around somewhere. He looked a bit like, um, like that man over there, cooking the pizzas.’

We all looked. Antonio’s chef was slaving away by the big oven. He looked about as old as Hannah—sixty-something—and he was completely bald under a chef’s hat. He never stopped smiling, as though he loved playing with pizza dough. Actually, he looked as though he was made of pizza dough.

‘No, he didn’t! He wasn’t at all like that!’ scoffed Ben. ‘He was much much
much
thinner and
much
younger. That over there is an old fat man!’

‘Shush,’ I muttered. I could feel myself blushing.

‘He was
thinner
,’ screeched Ben. ‘And he had lots of black hair. And he had round glasses like Harry Potter.’

Hannah stared at Gramps. Gramps stared at Hannah. Then Gramps did something really strange. Without a word he got up out of his chair, made his way around the table with his old man’s walk and knelt on the floor beside Hannah. He took her hands in both of his and pressed them to his cheek.

‘I think we should call the police,’ whispered Hannah. I wasn’t supposed to hear, so I pretended I hadn’t.

‘Less aggressive to write to his solicitor,’ said Gramps. ‘Warn him off.’

‘I hardly think he’s in a position to accuse
us
of aggression.’

She added something about someone having to go back and finish their sentence. I wondered if she meant Ben, who’s always stopping halfway through his sentences, but that didn’t seem to fit the conversation.

Suddenly, Gramps leaned forward and wrapped his arms right around Hannah’s chest, which was seriously humiliating because a waitress arrived at that moment to take our plates. I hadn’t seen her before, but like all Antonio’s waitresses she was (a) very pretty and (b) totally dressed in black.

‘Gramps!’ I hissed. I was totally mortified, but the waitress didn’t seem bothered at all.

‘Gran and Grandad taking you out are they?’ she asked.

‘Birthday treat?’

‘Er, no,’ I said. ‘I was in a play and—’ Ben was fluttering his long eyelashes at her. ‘I’m four and a half,’ he squeaked. ‘Four years and a . . . half one!’

‘Four and a half!’ She pretended to be flabbergasted, the way adults always do, which is feeble because there’s nothing clever about it. We’ve all been four and a half. If Ben had been a hundred and four and a half,
that
would have been worth bragging about. ‘Wow, what a grown-up boy! You’ll be at school soon, then.’

‘In January,’ I said. ‘And I hope they teach him some manners.’

She took my plate. ‘Nice, though, your grandparents taking you kids out for dinner. Giving Mum and Dad a night off, are they?’

‘Mm,’ I said.

‘Yeah,’ agreed Theo, nodding furiously. ‘Night off.’

‘We don’t have a mum,’ declared Ben. ‘She’s in heaven. And my dad’s a very, very bad man. He’s been locked up for years and years because he killeded her.’

Theo and I were cringing. We never, ever tell the truth about our parents. People don’t want to know. They can’t handle it. Ben will learn that.

Sure enough, the waitress looked as though she wished the earth would swallow her up. ‘Oh dear,’ she gabbled. ‘That’s a shame isn’t it? Um. Well, lovely. Any desserts?’

That night, Theo wet his bed. He’d started doing it after Mum died, but it hadn’t happened for over a year. We truly thought he had grown out of it. Well, obviously not.

Five

Joseph

‘Mate, I told you it was a really dumb idea.’ Akash slapped a packet of cornflakes in front of his guest. ‘That’s the last time I lend you my wheels. You’ve only been out three days and it’s fuckin’ lucky you’ve not been locked up again already.’