The Other Family

‘About what’s on her mind. About what’s happened, since your dad died.’

Dil y said flatly, ‘You mean the piano.’

‘Yes.’

‘She hasn’t said much. But you can see.’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t get it,’ Dil y said. ‘I don’t get why he’d do a thing like that.’

‘I don’t think you should read too much into it.’

Dil y turned to look directly at her. Her skin, at these close quarters, Sue observed, was absolutely flawless, almost like a baby’s.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘What I mean,’ Sue said, ‘is that you shouldn’t let yourselves think that just because he left the piano to her he was in love with her al along.’

Dil y made a smal grimace.

‘You should see her—’

‘I did, briefly. At the funeral.’

‘Wel —’

‘No competition for your mum.’

‘But then he goes and leaves her the piano!’

Sue said careful y, ‘That may have nothing whatsoever to do with love.’

‘What then?’

‘Wel , it could be nostalgia. Or Northern solidarity. Or guilt. Or al three.’

Dil y leaned her elbows on the table and balanced her forehead in the palms of her hands.

‘None of that means anything to us.’

‘Wel , think about it. Think about it and try and see it as something other than just a bloody great rejection. And while you’re at it, stop behaving as if it’s al the fault of that poor cow in Newcastle. What did she do, except get left to bring a child up on her own? She’s never made trouble, never asked for anything. Has she? You’re al letting yourselves down if you blame her for what your father did. You hear me?’

Dil y’s phone began to play the theme tune from The Magic Roundabout. She pounced on it at once and peered at the screen. And then, without looking at Sue, she got up, saying, ‘Hi, big guy,’ happily into it, and walked away down the kitchen to the far window.

‘You’re a rude little cow,’ Sue said equably, to her back.

In the doorway, Chrissie said, ‘Do I look as grim as I feel?’

Sue turned.

‘No,’ she said, ‘you just look as if you’ve been crying because you’re extremely sad.’

‘And mad,’ Chrissie said.

Sue got up to find clean wine glasses.

‘Mad’s OK. Mad gives you energy. It’s hate you want to avoid.’

Chrissie said nothing. She glanced at Dil y, smiling into her phone at the far end of the kitchen. Then she sat down in the chair Dil y had vacated, and picked up an olive. Sue put a fresh glass of Prosecco down in front of her.

‘Drink up.’

‘Thing is,’ Chrissie said, staring at the olive in her hand, ‘thing is, Sue, that I do hate her. I’ve never met her, and I hate her. I know it wasn’t her that prevented Richie from marrying me but I can’t seem to leave her out of it. Maybe it’s easy to hate her. Maybe I’m just doing what’s easy. Al I know is that I hate her.’ She put the olive in her mouth. ‘I do.’

In her office in Front Street, Tynemouth, Margaret was alone. Useful and faithful though Glenda was, there was always a smal relief in Margaret when five o’clock came and she could say, ‘Now come on, Glenda, you’ve done al I’ve asked you and more, and Barry’s been on his own long enough, don’t you think?’ and Glenda would gather up her jacket and scarf and inevitable col ection of supermarket bags and, always with a look of regret at the comforting anonymity of the computer screen, say a complicated goodnight and disappear down the steep stairs to the street. When the outside door slammed behind her, Margaret would let out a breath and feel the office relax around her, as if it was taking its shoes off. Then, she would sit down in Glenda’s swivel chair, bought especial y to support her back, whose condition was an abiding consideration in their relationship, and go through everything, on screen and on paper, that Glenda had done that day.

On the top of Glenda’s in-tray lay the estimates she had obtained for the transport of Richie’s piano from North London to Newcastle. It was going to be a very expensive business, in view of the quality and the weight and the distance. Margaret looked at the top sheet, on which Glenda had pencil ed, ‘This firm specializes in the moving of concert pianos.’ It was the highest estimate, of course, but probably the one she would accept, and pay, in order that Scott could benefit from something that represented a joint parental concern after over twenty years of only having hers.

She had discovered, over the last week or so, that her initial euphoria at being left the piano had subsided into something both more manageable and more familiar to her, a state of quiet satisfaction and comfortable relief. It was a relief and satisfaction to know Richie had remembered her, and so meaningful