‘And it was South-East London,’ I blabber on. ‘It took me over an hour to get here. Someone was taken ill at Maze Hill, see, and then London Bridge was overcrowded and . . . Jesus, why am I even explaining myself? What’s happened? Where’s Dad?’
She’s on her feet, disappearing into a gargantuan green tote bag. Good Vibes Only! it states, which suits head-in-the-sand Jacqui to a tee.
‘Car keys, car keys,’ she mutters, then almost as an afterthought, ‘He’s broken his arm. And there’s some bruising, too. He’s through those double doors. I needed a break so I came out for a bit. It’s pretty grim in there.’ No gesture to signal where ‘there’ might be. ‘Anyway, you can take over now. Me and Finn have been here for hours. Ash’s working away so there was no one to pick up Finn, which meant I had to take him out of school early and the poor guy’s missed his Sports Day. He’d been practising all week for the hula-hoop challenge. He’s gutted.’
‘Hula hoops! A broken arm!’ I keep my voice down in the name of common decency but my anger could power the whole hospital. ‘I’ve been imagining all sorts, Jacqs. Car accidents. Heart attacks.’
A gunshot wound, courtesy of his ‘boss’ Frank Hickey’s enemies.
She stops rummaging, amused. ‘A heart attack? As if! Dad’s fitter than most men half his age.’
Of course he is. On Jacqui’s rosy-glow plane of existence, Dad’s the fittest man, the kindest man, the shrewdest man. The Man.
‘So where’s Finn?’ I say, looking around. The thought of seeing my barrel-of-joy nephew momentarily cools my jets.
‘He’s getting a Wonder Green smoothie from the kiosk.’
This detail is pure Jacqui. God forbid I think she’s letting him drink Coke, or beer, or battery acid.
‘So let me get this straight before Finn gets back. . . .’ I try to stay calm, visualising a great big red STOP sign – a therapist’s tip for keeping it together when you’re about to lose your shit. ‘You didn’t think it would be nice to text, There’s no need to panic but Dad’s in hospital with a broken arm instead of, Dad’s in hospital, you need to get here ASAP?’
She doesn’t answer. Too busy emptying her tote onto the seat, the contents piling up like landfill waste; wet wipes, Haribo, make-up bags, sunscreen, flip-flops, phone chargers, and if I’m not very much mistaken, pepper spray, although I’m going to choose my battles and let that one go.
‘Jesus, let me, would you?’ I nudge her out the way, taking over the excavation. ‘You’re useless at looking for things. You’d be no use at a crime scene.’ I unzip one compartment, then another. Ten seconds later, job done. ‘Here.’
She snatches them off me, then gathers up her stuff. ‘Family’s never been your priority, Cat. Are you honestly telling me you’d have come if I’d said there was no need to panic?’
‘Hold on, you’re saying you were deliberately vague?’ I could cheerfully slap her, put her in the bed next to Dad. ‘That’s cruel, Jacqs. That’s not fair.’
She leans in for a kiss, or rather a lazy sweep of her cheek against mine. ‘Look, I have to go, but I’d quit with the tone, baby sis. Manipulating you into visiting your own dad in hospital – I think that says more about you than it does about me.’
‘Auntie Caaaaaat!’ Finn’s voice behind me, bouncy and breathless, saves me from having to admit she’s probably right.
I spin around. He’s had a haircut since I last saw him. He has kind of a ‘do’ now, something styled and complicated and glistening with gel.
‘Hey, Finn-bo.’ He gives me more of a headbutt than a kiss. ‘How’s my favourite nephew doing?’
‘Er, you’ve only got one nephew, duh.’ He unscrews the cap of the smoothie, slurps half in one go.
‘Who knows?’ I say to Jacqui, quietly. ‘Only one that I’m aware of. I doubt safe sex has ever been high on Noel’s priority list.’
Jacqui’s face sours and I almost laugh. The fact she finds the idea of our brother having a sex life more unpalatable than the fact he’s currently languishing in a Spanish prison on drugs charges sums up everything that’s wrong with our family.
Finn tugs my arm. ‘Hey, guess what, Auntie Cat? Two things, two things.’
‘Um . . . you’re having McDonald’s for dinner?’
‘Yeah, right, when does Mum ever let me eat anything I like?’
I try another guess. ‘You’re getting a dog?’
‘No. Even better. Uncle Frank gave me fifty pounds. Fifty!’
‘You just missed him,’ Jacqui says, as though this is a great shame. ‘He said to say hi.’
‘You said two things,’ I remind Finn, instantly blocking any talk of Frank Hickey. ‘What’s the second?’
‘Oh yeah!’ He lets out a loud screech. ‘Grandad’s got a girlfriend.’
He’s doubled over. This is clearly the funniest thing that Finn’s ever heard. It’s the most heartbreaking thing from my side, because despite the fact that Dad’s rarely been without female action since Mum died – and let’s be honest, for the most part when she was alive – they’ve always been abstract. He’s always kept them private. If Finn knows about this one, it means this one could be serious. This could be the one that finally usurps Mum.
Not for us, obviously, but in Finn’s life. Finn has no memories of Mum; he was only one when she died. And with Ash’s mum dead before Ash even reached his teens, Finn’s never had a grandma. Although knowing Dad, this ‘Grandma’ could still be paying off her student loan.
‘Jacqs?’ It’s all I can manage.
‘Don’t start, Cat – she called Ange and she’s nice.’
‘I wasn’t planning on starting anything.’ On the contrary, I want this conversation over as quickly as possible.
‘You missed her as well, actually.’ She hoiks her bag onto her shoulder, ushering Finn towards the exit. ‘She brought Dad in – insisted on it, thank God. She left about an hour ago to check on the pub.’
So it is serious.
‘Wow.’
‘Yeah, wow. A lot can happen in six months. Maybe if you visited him more often . . .’
I ruminate on the name. Ange. Angela. I didn’t go to school with any Angelas so I’ll take a punt she’s older than me.
‘So how did he break his arm?’ I shout at Jacqui’s departing back.
Parting the seas? Healing the sick? Rescuing a kitten from an old lady’s tree?
She stops in front of the reception desk, where an old guy with an eye-patch is crying because there’s no one to take him home. I want to cry too. I want to flash my warrant card, call Parnell, get this far worthier cause than Dad the help he so blatantly needs.
But blood is inconveniently thicker than water.
‘Something to do with a beer barrel,’ Jacqui says, making a circular shape with both hands. ‘I said to him, “It’s ridiculous. You pay people to do that stuff nowadays.” But you know what he’s like.’
Yeah, I do, Jacqs. And it’s a far cry from all the World’s Best Dad! merchandise you bombard him with.