‘Thank you, Padraig.’
Ridpath took a bite out of the limp sandwich, flicking across a few channels until he found something that wouldn’t tax his brain. He’d found staring at the box a great comfort in the days after Polly’s death. The noise, the chatter, the general brain-dead inanity of the programmes were exactly what he needed to stop the voices in his head.
‘It’s time to call her.’
He checked his watch. ‘I’ll do it in five minutes, after I’ve finished my sandwich.’
‘You have to eat better. A cheese and ham sandwich isn’t good enough.’
He could hear Polly’s voice but he couldn’t see her.
‘OK, OK, I’ll do it now.’
For an instant he remembered the first time he had met Eve after the lockdown restrictions had been eased. In many ways, he was glad of the lockdown. At least, it meant Eve hadn’t seen him at his worst and his lowest.
She only saw him when he was ready to return.
It was 4 July. Independence Day for him.
He had gone to a cafe in Longford Park and waited. The grandparents finally brought her to see him at three p.m. For a moment, they stood there looking at each other, then she ran the six yards to him, wrapping her arms around his thin waist and squealing with the delight that only an eleven-year-old can squeal.
It had been three months and nine days since they had last touched. Three months and nine days in which he had plunged deep into the lows of drunkenness, depression, self-doubt and self-hate.
He’d always remember that first touch until the day he died. It was the beginning of his rehabilitation, of his return to what passed for normality.
It was almost as if Eve gave him a reason to come back to the world.
To come back to her.
To come back for her.
He brought out his laptop and FaceTimed his daughter. Her image popped up immediately as if she had been waiting for his call.
‘Hi, Dad.’
‘Hi, Eve, how are you?’ He asked the same thing every time. He tried to work out a different question but the same one always popped into his head.
‘Good, Paw Paw and Ah Kung took me to Trafford Centre today. I was so glad to get out of the house. We went to Yang Sing and they had chickens’ feet. Yeuch! Paw Paw spat the little bones out on the saucer. Gross.’
‘I like chickens’ feet.’
‘You always were weird, Dad. How was your first day back?’
‘Good. The place hasn’t changed. Mrs Challinor sends her love.’
‘Say hi from me. She was great after mum…’ The voice trailed off.
Ridpath quickly sought a question to fill the silence. ‘How are your grandparents?’
Eve smiled. ‘They’re OK, but soooo traditional. You know Paw Paw wouldn’t let me go outside into the garden yesterday after I had washed my hair. Said I would catch a cold. I tried to explain to her the common cold is a virus, not something you get from washing your hair, but she wasn’t having it. My Chinese wasn’t good enough anyway.’
‘You have to be patient, Eve, there are a lot of Chinese traditions I never understood but it was easier just to accept.’
‘Like?’
Ridpath thought for a moment. ‘Like your mum not washing her hair for the first month after you were born. Apparently, you would be washing away good luck and the health of your child.’
‘That’s silly, Dad.’
‘But you have to remember it comes from a culture where many children died in their first month of life. All these traditions and beliefs were there to protect the baby and its mother.’
Ridpath remembered something Polly had told them after they first met. ‘I always love the Chinese character for “good”. It’s a combination of the characters for a “mother” and “child”.’
‘Still, it’s so annoy-ing.’ Eve had developed that teenage habit of lengthening and stressing words. ‘Maisie says her mum is worse with the superstitious stuff and she’s Irish.’
Ridpath’s mother had been from the same stock. As Irish and as Catholic as they came. In his case, the religion gene seemed to be totally absent. He wondered why that was.
‘Dad,’ Eve interrupted his thoughts, ‘when can I come back and live with you?’
So that was where this was all leading.
‘We’ve talked about this, Eve, it’s best for you to stay with your grandparents at the moment. I’m on my own here and it’s a service apartment, and what with me going back to work and everything, I’m not sure I could look after you too.’
‘I don’t need much looking after, Dad, I’m pretty independent.’
‘I know that…’
‘And besides, I miss your mash. If I have to eat another bowl of rice, I’ll…’ Eve searched for a response, ‘…I’ll die.’
There was a long moment of silence.
‘Sorry, Dad, didn’t mean that.’
It seemed like people, even his daughter, were treading on eggshells around him, avoiding using the word ‘death’. Pretty bloody difficult when you worked in a Coroner’s Office.
‘It’s all right, Eve. Your mum is dead and we have to come to terms with that.’
‘You have to come to terms with it, Dad.’
She was right. It was his problem, not hers. Had he accepted Polly was dead? The police psychiatrist thought he had, but he’d always been good at dissembling. For most coppers, it came with the territory. And why did he still see and hear her?
‘I know, dear. Give me time… please.’
‘I want us to be together again, to be a family even if it’s just you and me.’
‘I’m working on it, Eve, I promise.’
A muffled voice behind his daughter speaking in Cantonese. ‘I have to go now, Dad, time to eat more bloody rice.’
‘Don’t swear, Eve, it’s not very nice. See you tomorrow night, same time?’
‘Same time. I love you, Dad.’
‘I love you too, Eve…’
Chapter 10
He waited for his mother to fall asleep before he placed the underpants with their delightful Chip and Dale characters into the special drawer beneath his bed. His fingers
