Owen’s willpower breaks and he takes a handful of Nodge’s pork scratchings, feeling the tang of the salt, the chew of the fat on his tongue.

  ‘Remarkably well. Life and death is all the same to him, he always says. Or at least his mother used to say.’

  ‘His mother used to say a lot,’ says Nodge.

  ‘He saw in the end, especially after he was diagnosed, that he wouldn’t have made an ideal father,’ says Owen. ‘He even helped me to pack my stuff to come back to Nodge’s.’

  ‘Poor guy,’ says Nodge.

  ‘Well,’ says Frankie finally, as if to close the matter, shrugging his shoulders and glancing at the dead wasp on the floor. ‘Whaddya gonna do?’

  * * *

  ‘Goodbye, then, Dad.’

  China stands by the doorway to Frankie’s flat, her suitcase packed. The Hunger Games backpack has gone to the charity shop. Frankie bought some grown-up luggage for her online as a gift.

  The banisters are finally finished. They shine in the afternoon light.

  ‘Your room is still a mess.’

  ‘Yeh, I know. But it’s the last time.’

  Frankie stares at her mock-reproachfully. She raises her eyes to the heavens.

  ‘I’ll give it a quick clear up, then.’

  China actually puts her suitcase down and moves towards the stairs. Frankie blocks her way.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  She pauses, nods, then picks up the suitcase again.

  ‘You can’t wait to get rid of me, can you?’

  ‘I won’t miss your chaos. But I’ll miss you, China girl. I’ll miss you terribly.’

  China lifts the suitcase to check its weight. She seems to be leaving with a far less heavy load than she arrived with.

  ‘I’ll miss you too, Dad.’

  ‘I’m sure you won’t,’ Frankie says briskly. ‘Anyway, you’re only an hour away.’

  ‘Until September. Then I’ll be three hours away, in Newcastle.’

  ‘There’s always Zoom.’

  ‘Not the same, is it?’

  China opens the door of the flat with her free hand. She turns back to Frankie.

  ‘Thanks for not dying, Dad.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Thanks for sticking with me while I nearly did.’

  ‘I didn’t have much choice – did I?’

  China drops her suitcase, then she puts her arms around Frankie’s neck and feels herself hang there, as she once had as a child. Then she takes a step backwards, firmly, as if making the step unretractable.

  ‘See you, then – old man.’

  Frankie nods. China turns and closes the door softly behind her. Frankie stares at the closed door, hears her footsteps on the stair, waits for them to fade into nothing.

  * * *

  August 2020: Brighton

  In the bedroom she shares with Silas – an uneasy mix between Veronica’s fondness for shabby chic and Silas’s preference for clutter-free clean lines – Veronica finishes reading the email that has just arrived in her inbox. There are unnecessary vintage scatter cushions on the bed (Veronica) and a workstation in the corner (Silas). Veronica prefers to use this otherwise unwelcome surface when Mason is on the loose in the rest of the house and she is not in her office. She sits on an imitation of a Rennie Mackintosh chair and leans forward as if the physical movement could bring the emotional content of the email closer. It is one of thirty she has received that morning, but the sender’s name and the subject line that reads ‘Forgiveness’ sounds a klaxon in her mind. She opens it immediately, feelings of hope and anxiety jostling for position within her.

  Dear Veronica,

  I am belatedly writing to apologize for my behaviour at the end of last year when I stormed out of our last meeting. I was unacceptably rude if not positively insulting.

  During the lockdown period, I have done a lot of reflecting on my mental health and how you have helped me with my endeavours to build a healthy relationship between myself and other people. I think when I was seeing you I was actually in the throes of a breakdown, and I behaved in an irrational manner despite all your sincere attempts to make me see that I was heading for a fall.

  I realize now, having come out the other side of that breakdown, that the time I spent with you was profoundly useful. Or could have been if I had had more sense. I hope very much that you will consider taking me on as a client again, now that lockdown has finally ended and I seem to have recovered from this ‘episode’. I will understand if you choose not to, but I confess I think I will find it hard to find another therapist as sympathetic, understanding and wise as I have found you to be. But if you can forgive me at least, it would mean a lot.

  I have finally discovered for myself what you have so assiduously tried to teach me. That real life is in the mind and if you get that right, everything else follows.

  I have, of course, withdrawn my ill-considered and rash complaint to the BACP.

  Sincerely

  Vincent Canby

  Shakily, she begins her reply:

  Dear Vincent,

  Thank you so much for this, Vincent. You can’t imagine what a load it is off my mind. I must admit I was shaken by your…

  She pauses. Is real life in the mind? Did she try to teach him that?

  As she considers how to continue, she hears footsteps on the front path then the sound of the front door opening downstairs. She shuts the laptop. The guest is anything but unexpected. Veronica feels a surge of excitement pulse through her.

  Downstairs, China has entered the living room, suitcase in hand. China dreads Mason’s hyperactive fussing and Silas’s condescension. But she is excited to see her mother in person again.

  She looks around the room and becomes aware of the contrast with the barren space of Frankie’s flat. The old piano in the corner where Silas practised, the yin/yang poster, the ceiling rose with its vintage chandelier hanging. One of the walls papered with a shoal of fish in blue. An Indian embroidered footstool. Five floor-to-ceiling bookcases, all stacked.

  Was this her home? Did she have a home anymore? Even if she did, she was leaving it soon to go to university. She felt herself reeling at the immensity and jeopardy of the future while at the same time relieved to again be in this welcoming, shabby but warm space.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ China calls tentatively. She expects her mother to answer, but it is Mason who appears first, walking into the room from the kitchen where he has been making himself the same marmite and white bread sandwich he eats every day.

  He says nothing, just stands in the doorway of the kitchen holding the limp sandwich. He seems to China oddly nervous and reluctant. China smiles stiffly. Mason seems to be waiting for something. Unsure of herself, China nevertheless cautiously holds out her arms. Mason drops the sandwich on the living room table, runs towards her arms at full pelt and enfolds himself.

  China, in the grip of the embrace, sees Veronica appear on the stairs. Her hair is tied up and she is wearing the old men’s pyjamas that she favours when relaxing at home.

  ‘That’s a sight I never expected to see,’ Veronica says. Mason is still holding on to China’s waist fiercely. Veronica, laughing, makes her way down the stairs. Mason disentangles himself and Veronica takes up the space in the circle of China’s arms.

  ‘Good to have you back, China.’

  ‘I’m glad to be here, Mum. So glad.’

  ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ says Mason, looking at them both hopefully. Mason, it occurs to China, has never offered to make a cup of tea in all the time they had lived together previously.

  ‘Love one.’

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Mason disappears into the kitchen. China stares after him in astonishment, then turns to Veronica, who goes to sit on the sofa where she kicks off her slippers.

  ‘He calls you “Mum” now?’

  ‘Is that okay with you?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t it be? If it makes him feel safer.’

  ‘Good. Come and sit down with me.’

  China, dragging her suitcase behind her, makes her way to the sofa and sits next to her mother. Veronica grabs her hand and China holds on tight.

  ‘So. How did it go with your dad?’ says Veronica, her face shining.

  ‘Long story.’

  China, who had been anxious about arriving, now feels enveloped by a sense of belonging, of welcome. Of home.

  ‘Headlines?’

  ‘You’ve heard most of it. The Covid was pretty bad. I mean he wouldn’t go to the hospital. I would have done, left to myself. In the end he came out of it, but it was pretty much touch and go. He didn’t want me to tell you that he was ill at all. I had to do it without his permission in the end. He didn’t want to worry you.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like Frankie,’ says Veronica. She feels moisture on China’s palm and rubs her own palm against it as if the perspiration could be absorbed by her own pores.

  ‘Maybe Dad isn’t the person you think he is. He certainly isn’t the person I thought he was.’

  China weighs her words carefully.

  ‘He still loves you, Mum. I can tell. It’s obvious.’

  Mason walks back into the room holding two mugs of tea. China takes hers and ventures a sip. She makes a face at the bitter stewed flavour. Seeing her expression, instead of flaring up as China expects him to, Mason grins.

  ‘Yeh, sorry. I haven’t quite got the hang of it yet. I’ll improve. What’s wrong with Mum?’

  He looks towards Veronica, who is completely ignoring the cup of tea Mason holds out to her.

  ‘She’s just had a bit of a shock. She’ll come out of it. Where’s your dad anyway?’

  Veronica takes the tea.

  ‘Oh, him? He’s out on a job. Should be back soon,’ says Mason.

  ‘How are you two getting on?’

  ‘Not bad, considering.’

  ‘Considering what?’

  ‘That he’s my dad?’

  China laughs. Bracing herself, she takes another sip of the tea.

  ‘Yeh, I get that. You know, this tea really isn’t that bad.’

  ‘Liar.’

  Mason glances at Veronica, who has put the tea on the coffee table in front of her, untouched.

  ‘I’ve got some homework to do, China. Sorry to disappear so soon. I’m glad you’re back.’

  With that, Mason makes his way upstairs. China settles herself into the sofa and turns back to Veronica.

  ‘Can you believe that Roxy could have been so thoughtless? Getting together with Frankie when she didn’t know if she was positive or not. She might have killed him.’

  ‘To be honest, I can’t believe he got together with Roxy in the first place,’ says Veronica.

  ‘Why shouldn’t they have? You weren’t friends anymore. They were both lonely.’

  China suddenly looks fierce, seasoned, even wise. Veronica seems to see a woman sitting next to her rather than a girl. It unnerves her, even saddens her, while making her feel both proud and slightly defensive.

  ‘When did you suddenly become so understanding?’

  ‘Perhaps I’m starting to grow up a bit. Perhaps you should do the same.’

  ‘Cheeky cow.’

  Veronica gives her a play kick on the ankle with the tips of her fluffy slippers.

  ‘I guess I’ve been patronizing Dad for long enough. Thought maybe it was time I gave you a turn. In some ways, you’re quite similar, you know.’

  Now Veronica goes from being playful to feeling oddly offended. She crumples her face and prods China in the ribs with a finger, still playful, but with an edge.

  ‘China, Frankie’s a liar. I would never behave like him. It’s different. We’re different.’

  ‘Are you all that different?’

  Now all trace of playfulness has departed Veronica. Her voice betrays an edge of anger.

  ‘Yes! He betrayed me. Betrayed us.’

  ‘And you’ve never betrayed him?’

  China holds Veronica steadily in her gaze.

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘Never?’

  Veronica is suddenly feeling less certain of her ground. China stares at her now directly in the eyes. Veronica’s eyes can’t hold hers and slide away.

  ‘Not in any major way.’

  China lets that sit there for a while. She nods slowly, as if her weighing of the evidence has been completed. She is about to speak again when the door opens. Silas walks in, wearing a pair of dirty jeans and a T-shirt under a thin Timberland canvas jacket. He breaks into a cautious smile as he makes his way towards mother and daughter on the sofa. China rises and gives him a hug.

  ‘How have you been, Silas?’

  ‘It is what it is. Pretty good on the whole, considering. You?’

  ‘Ups and downs – you know.’

  The conversation seems to dry almost immediately. China was intending to leave this for later, but to fill the awkward silence, she reaches into her bag and brings out a long object wrapped in brown paper.

  ‘Guess what this is… ’ says China.

  ‘An anti-tank weapon?’ says Silas. ‘An umbrella? A length of 4x2?’

  China slowly unwraps the parcel to reveal the Nerf Super Soaker Mark 4. Veronica covers her face with her hands. Silas doesn’t move.

  ‘Before you say anything,’ says China, ‘I’m showing it to you first so that I can get your approval before I give it to Mason. If you don’t want me to, that’s fine, I can take it back to the shop, no harm done. But I thought it would be a nice gesture.’

  Silas nods, but otherwise doesn’t give any sign of a response.

  ‘Right,’ says China, suddenly dejected. ‘I guess that’s the way things still are then.’

  Silas still says nothing. Desperate to fill the gap, China speaks as she slowly wraps up the Super Soaker again.

  ‘Mason seems to have changed.’

  ‘Oh, he has,’ says Silas. ‘Unquestionably.’

  He lowers himself into one of the armchairs and puts his feet up on the footstool.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘You left. He was very upset about it. He thought you going was his fault.’

  China pauses in her wrapping.

  ‘I thought he was glad to be rid of me.’

  ‘Not at all. He cares about you, China. You’re the closest thing he has to a sister. That’s why he fought with you so much.’

  Silas kicks off his shoes, revealing thick brown knitted socks with a hole in one toe. China stares at the revealed inch of flesh and toenail.

  ‘Don’t tell me he’s transformed just because he missed me a bit.’

  ‘No,’ says Silas, throwing his head back to rest on the back of the chair. ‘He’s also been taking Ritalin. It’s made a remarkable difference. He’s calmed down, matured, become more thoughtful. How much is the drugs, how much is you leaving, how much is just growing up a bit I don’t know. But the change is obvious. His schoolwork has improved. He even makes cups of tea.’

  China glances at her and Veronica’s undrunk mugs on the table.

  ‘Bad ones,’ says China.

  Silas follows her gaze and gives one of his tight little grins.

  ‘Very bad ones. But he’s working on it.’

  Silas’s eyes go back to the Super Soaker. The smile widens and eases. He turns to China.

  ‘Thanks for the gift, China. I’m sure he’ll love it.’

  ‘Love what?’ says Mason, appearing at the top of the stairs and making his way down, his feet hammering on the carpet.

  Silas nods towards the still only partially wrapped Super Soaker that China is holding.

  ‘Look what China got for you,’ says Silas.

  China tears off what’s left of the paper and holds it out to Mason. Mason stares at the lurid plastic toy, his face a blank.

  ‘Uh, thanks,’ he says, slowly taking it from China.

  ‘You don’t seem too thrilled,’ says Silas, sitting forward on his chair.

  ‘Well, I’m grateful,’ says Mason, taking the water gun and holding it limply. ‘But… ’

  He stops as if trying to understand his own lack of enthusiasm, then continues. His smile, once vaguely malevolent, is sheepish and even apologetic.

  ‘I guess I’ve outgrown water pistols a bit is all.’

  Kardashian wanders into the room. She glances at China indifferently, curls up on the sofa and falls asleep.

  * * *

  The end of the lockdown means the end of the woman’s free, government-sponsored room. It is temporary hostels and shelters from now on, or park benches or shop doorways. Once she wouldn’t have cared, but the long stretch in this room of her own and the regular ingestion of her medications – and the lack of availability of her drugs of choice, which were pretty much any drugs at all – seem to have shifted some ancient blockage in her brain.

  It isn’t an entirely pleasant shift. Somehow, as memory seeps back, it brings with it pain, a dark wrenching in her heart and chest, a glowing red-hot lining of guilt. Yet somehow this new – or perhaps old – suffering feels healthier to her than the endless scrambling and puzzling of her mind that had paralyzed her for so long.

  She sits now, on the steps of this shopping centre, with her begging cup in front of her. She isn’t getting much success. She wonders if it is because she is clean now and her clothes are decent. She simply isn’t wretched enough anymore to elicit pity.

  It is a warm day and she becomes aware of a sensation she hasn’t felt in a long time rising like a dawn across the black starless skies of her long waking night. Not happiness – that was a distant memory, so distant that it was barely a memory at all, more an unconfirmed rumour. This was more like a low-key suggestion of an intimation of peace. The strange voices no longer drummed so loudly in her ears, no wild birds flew, dipping, swooping and colliding endlessly inside her head. Her restlessness had alleviated, if not ceased. She wasn’t afraid 24/7. Her thoughts were stringing themselves together in a sort of rough order, although they still faltered and started and backed up into themselves.

  She knew what her name was now. Her name was Sarah Hilyard. She had grown up in Kemp Town, Brighton. Bad things happened to her when she was a child. Her father had done them. And her grandfather. She had tried to hide these things away from herself, tried to hide them from other people, tried to be normal. Succeeded for a while. But the wreckage always drifted to the surface sooner or later.