Tracy picked at her chicken and chips in a basket, and Banks tucked into his giant Yorkshire pudding stuffed with roast beef and smothered in onion gravy. He had slept on his living room couch at the rented flat the previous night and let Tracy have the bed, but he hadn’t slept well. The jet lag was still with him, and he kept experiencing waves of tiredness and dizziness at the oddest of times. But he could live with that. It wasn’t so much different from when he’d had to work shifts.
“It’s a while since I’ve been here, too,” said Banks between mouthfuls. He sipped his Black Sheep bitter. The Queen’s Arms wasn’t overly busy for the time of day, and their table by the window was a little island unto itself. Sunshine filtered through the red and blue diamonds of stained glass. A couple of young lads were playing the noisy machines in the passage to the gents’, and the usual oldies played on the radio, or whatever it was Cyril had rigged up as his source of music instead of the old jukebox. “Substitute” by The Who, was playing at the moment. “I understand you called yourself Francesca,” Banks said.
Tracy blushed and stared down at her plate. “That was silly. I’m sorry.”
“We never gave you a middle name. I’m sorry for that.” Banks smiled. “We couldn’t afford one for you at the time.”
Tracy laughed, and he saw an image of the daughter he knew and loved behind the attitude and the new look. Not that he cared how she did her hair or dressed, as long as she was happy. But she hadn’t been happy; that was becoming apparent enough. “I don’t have one, either,” he went on. “When I was young I called myself Davy, after Davy Crockett. I must have seen The Alamo a hundred times.”
“You didn’t!”
“I did. You know,” Banks went on, glancing at her sideways as he cut off some more beef and Yorkshire pudding, “it doesn’t really matter about your exams. I mean, I know you’re disappointed, and I can’t do anything about that, but you don’t have to feel you let me or your mother down. You worked so hard. We’re proud of you. I honestly didn’t know you were beating yourself up so much about the results.”
“But you expected so much more,” Tracy said. “Me, too. And I do feel as if I’ve let everybody down. I mean, look at me now, telling people where they can find the latest Katie Price or Dan Brown, while Brian is playing to sell-out crowds in Nagasaki or wherever. He’s the big success in the family.”
“I love both of you. It’s not a competition. I tried not to favor either of you.”
“But you did, didn’t you? I mean, I’m not blaming you. It’s only human nature. Parents can’t help it. People can’t help it.”
“If I did, it was always you I favored.”
“Until Brian made it big.”
“That’s not true,” Banks said. “I spent half my time trying to keep Brian in university. I wanted him to finish his degree, get a real job. If anything, I discouraged him from making music a career. If he succeeded, it’s despite me, not because of me.”
“But you had so much in common. You bought him his first guitar.”
“You can’t blame a man for loving music. With you I…I tried. I just couldn’t communicate so easily with you. I didn’t know how to reach you. How to talk to you about boyfriends and girly stuff. Even the thought of you with a boy made my blood boil. And the music…I mean, you liked Take That and the Spice Girls, while Brian was into Led Zeppelin and Bob Dylan. I’m sorry, but it was no contest musically.”
Tracy stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then she burst out laughing. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dad. You do say the strangest things. Anyway, I like the Unthanks, Smoke Fairies, Regina Spektor and Noah and the Whale these days. And the Kings of Leon.”
“That’s an improvement. Anyway, I felt awkward with you when you were growing up, not Daddy’s little girl anymore. Not having your mother around didn’t help, either.”
“But that was years ago. Maybe you just didn’t try hard enough?”
“Maybe I didn’t.” Banks scratched his scar. “I’d be the first to admit that I put my job first too much of the time. And I suppose I had a few personal problems of my own, too.”
“Have you got a girlfriend at the moment?”
“No,” Banks said. “No one.” He thought about Teresa, but she wasn’t his girlfriend. He probably wouldn’t even see her again. And he certainly wasn’t going to tell his daughter about a one-night stand in San Francisco. He thought of the e-mail with the attached JPEG he had received from Teresa that morning: the two of them standing in Burritt Street looking at the plaque that read, ON APPROXIMATELY THIS SPOT MILES ARCHER, PARTNER OF SAM SPADE, WAS DONE IN BY BRIGID O’SHAUGHNESSY.
“What about Annie?”
“Annie? It’s…complicated.”
“Why? She’s in love with you.”
“Stop it. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not as easy as that.”
“She is. A woman can tell these things.”
“But you’re just a girl.”
“Really? I’m twenty-four. And still waiting for my latest birthday card, by the way. Anyway, let’s just put it all behind us, shall we? Start afresh.”
“That’s okay with me,” said Banks. “But we do need to talk.”
“I know. I know. And I’ve been dreading it. I’ve had enough of that.” She pushed her basket aside.
“You used to like it.”
“When I was ‘just a girl,’” Tracy sipped her white wine. “Around the same time I used to like McDonald’s and Take That.”
It was true, Banks realized. His daughter was a young woman now, and it was about time he accepted that and learned how to deal with it. “Do you want to tell me what happened? From the start.”
Tracy rested her elbows on the table. “I knew this was coming,” she said. “I’ve been dreading it.” She wasn’t wearing any makeup today, and Banks thought she looked quite beautiful. Even the piercings beside her eyebrow and below her lip couldn’t detract from it. Her skin was naturally pale, her pink lips well defined and shapely, and she had her mother’s eyes. The short hairstyle suited her, too. But then he was biased.
“Take a deep breath and plunge right in.”
“Okay,” Tracy said, and inhaled. “But you already know most of it.”
“Humor me. How did you meet Jaff?”
“Through Erin. They met at that restaurant she worked in, down The Calls. I didn’t know him well at all, but he sort of hung out with us sometimes at the clubs and whatever.”
“And you found him attractive?”
“Hard to believe, isn’t it? But at one time I suppose I did.”
“Oh, it’s not so hard to believe. He was handsome, and I’m sure he was charming enough,” said Banks. “And he was a bad boy. It’s quite a heady combination.”
“That’s Erin’s thing, not mine. He was her boyfriend.”
“Did you know he was a criminal, a drug dealer?”
“No way!” said Tracy. “If I’d known any of that I would have stayed well away. Like I said, it was just a superficial relationship at first. We danced sometimes, chatted about music and stuff. It was just fun…you know…a laugh.”
Banks sensed that Tracy might be avoiding the whole issue of drugs, and he didn’t want to push her on it. He didn’t imagine for a moment that she was a total saint. He assumed that, like a lot of kids who go clubbing, she probably took E now and then, the way people smoked pot or dropped acid in his day. Maybe she did that, too. He just hoped she was careful about what she did, and didn’t use anything harder, like coke or heroin. But there was no gain in opening that route right now. “What changed things?” he asked.
“One night he kissed me on the dance floor. I know it sounds like a cue for a tacky old song, ‘And Then He Kissed Me’ or something, but it’s true. And it was a bit romantic.” Tracy blushed. “Pity the romance didn’t last,” she said.