What Came Before He Shot Her

brought me some to see?”

            Joel let the breath go. He felt uneasy with the remark about his father, but he brushed it off. “Forgot,” he said. “But we brought you these.” He handed over the WH Smith bag.

            “I love Harper’s,” Carole said. “And what’s this? Oh, are there sweets inside? How lovely. Thank you, Joel.”

            “I’ll open ’em for you.” Joel took the tin and removed its plastic covering. This he tossed into a swing bin, where it became caught up in someone’s shorn, damp hair. He prised open the lid and handed the boiled sweets back to his mother.

            She said mischievously, “Let’s each have one, shall we?”

            “They’re meant to be only f’r you,” Joel told her. He knew to be cautious with sweets around Toby. Offer him one and he’d likely eat the lot.

            “C’n I have one?” Toby asked on cue.

            Carole said, “For me alone? Oh, darling, I can’t eat them all. Have one, do. No? No one wants . . . ? Not even you, Serena?”

            “Mum . . . ,” Toby said.

            “Well, right then. We’ll set them aside for another time. Do you like my hearts?” She nodded at the card to which the nail jewellery was fi xed. “They’re silly, I know, but as we’re to have a little Valentine party. . . I wanted something festive. It’s a dreary time of year anyway— February. One wonders if the sun is gone forever. Although April can be worse except it’s the rain then and not this infernal eternal fog.”

            “Mum, I want a sweet. Why can’t I have one? Joel . . .”

            “Anything that serves to cheer us up at this time of year is something I want to participate in,” Carole went on. “I always wonder, though, why February seems so long. It’s actually the shortest month of the year, even during leap year. But it just seems to go on and on, doesn’t it? Or perhaps the truth is I want it to be long. I want all the months that precede it to go on and on as well. I don’t want the anniversary to come round. Your dad’s death, you see. I don’t want to look that anniversary in the eyes another time.”

            “Joel!” Toby’s voice rose. He grabbed Joel’s arm. “Why won’t Mum let me have one of dem sweets?”

            Joel said, “Shh. I get you one later. They got a machine somewheres round here, and I get you some chocolate.”

            “But Joel, she won’t—”

            “Jus’ hang on, Tobe.”

            “But Joel, I want—”

            “Hang on.” Joel loosened Toby’s grip. “Whyn’t you take your skateboard outside? You c’n use it in the car park a bit.”

            “It’s cold  in the car park.”

            “We’ll have a hot chocolate after you practise round here and when Mum’s done wiv her nails, you c’n show her how good you ride it, okay?”

            “But I want—”

            Joel turned Toby by the shoulders and propelled him towards the caravan door. He was in a terror that something might set their mother off, and to him Toby was looking more and more like a human detonator.

He opened the door and took his brother down the steps. He looked around and saw a vacant patch of car park where Toby would be safe with his skateboard. He made sure his brother’s anorak was zipped, and he pulled his knitted cap tightly over his hair. He said, “You stay here, Tobe, and I’ll get you some sweets af ’er. Hot chocolate as well. I got the money. You know Mum’s not right up here.” He pointed to his head. “I meant the sweets for her and she pro’lly misunnerstood when I said I di’n’t want one. She pro’lly thought you di’n’t want one either.”

            “But I kept saying . . .” Toby looked as bleak as the day and bleaker than the car park, which was bumpy and no place to practise with his board. He sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his anorak.

            He said, “I don’t want to ride the skateboard. It’s stupid, innit.”

            Joel put his arm around his brother. “You want to show Mum, don’t you? You want her to see how good you are on it. Soon’s she gets her hands done, she going to want to see you, so you got to be ready. It won’t take long.”

            Toby looked from Joel to the caravan to Joel. “Promise?” he said.

            “I ain’t never lied to you, mon.”

            That was enough. Toby trudged off in the direction of the open space, his skateboard dangling from his hand. Joel watched until he dropped the board to the lumpy tarmac and scooted a few yards forward, one foot on the board and the other on the ground. That was as well as he rode it anywhere, so it didn’t matter much what kind of surface was beneath its wheels.

Joel returned to their mother. She was in the midst of examining the false nails that Serena had so far managed to glue to her fi ngers. They were overlong and pointed, and the manicurist was trying to explain that they needed to be shortened considerably in order to stay put for even a day. But Carole wasn’t having any of this. She wanted them long, painted red, and decorated with gold hearts. Anything less would not be acceptable. Even Joel, lacking all knowledge of plastic nails, glue, and fingernail jewellery, understood that Carole had a bad idea. You couldn’t glue something to nothing and hope to make it stick.

            He said, “Mum, maybe S’rena’s right. If you shortened ’em a bit—”

            Carole looked at him. “You’re being intrusive,” she said. He felt slapped. “Sorry.”

            “Thank you. Go ahead, Serena. Do the rest of them.”

            Serena pursed her lips and went back to business. The truth was that it was no skin off her if some nuthouse woman insisted on having nails glued to wherever she said she wanted them glued. The end product was just the same: money in Serena’s pocket.

            Carole watched and nodded in approval as the second set of useless nails went on. She gave her attention to Joel and indicated a small padded stool that sat nearby. “Come and sit,” she said. “Tell me everything that’s happened since the last time I saw you. Why’ve you stayed away so long? Oh I’m so happy  to see you. And thank you so much for the gifts.”

            “They’re from all ’f us, Mum,” Joel told her.

            “But you  bought them, didn’t you? You chose them, Joel.”

            “Yeah, but—”

            “I knew  it. Your name was written all over everything. Your sensitivity. You. It was very thoughtful, and I wanted to say . . . Well, this is a bit more difficult, I’m afraid.”

            “What?” he asked.

            She looked left and right. She smiled slyly. “Joel, thank you so much for not bringing that grubby little boy with you this time. You know the one I mean. Your little friend with the runny nose. I don’t mean to be cruel, but I’m glad not to see him. He was beginning to get on my nerves.”

            “You mean Tobe?” Joel asked. “Mum, tha’ was Toby.”

            “Is that what he’s called?” Carole Campbell asked with a smile.

            “Well, whatever, darling. I’m just thrilled to bits you came alone today.”

            Chapter

      25 What Joel had not considered in his careful planning was that he and his siblings had ceased to be part of London’s anonymous mass of children and adolescents who daily go about their lives: in and out of school, taking part in sports, doing homework, flirting, gossiping, shopping, hanging about, mobile phones pressed to their ears or gazed upon raptly as text messages appear, blasting music into their heads via various intriguing electronic devices . . . In an ordinary London world, Joel would have been a fellow among them. But he did not live in an ordinary London world. So when he took the decision to travel out to see his mother, he was not able to do it