‘She told me … There’s no rush about the estate. Like I said, it’ll be months before it’s finalised. I’ll contact you nearer the time and you can see how you feel then.’
‘Fine, but I can tell you now I won’t change my mind. You can give it to the dogs’ home. Sure that’d please her.’
‘Well, we can sort that out in due course.’
Silence stretched out before them, like a dog asking to be petted.
Cunningham looked out of the window. ‘Minnie was a gem, eh? Good laugh, she was. Great sense of humour, eh?’
‘I don’t remember.’
The man frowned at Daniel then turned his attention to his soup.
‘So, was it cancer then?’ said Daniel, taking a deep breath.
Cunningham swallowed, nodding. ‘But she didn’t fight it, you know. She could have had chemotherapy; there were surgery options but she refused them all.’
‘Of course – she would have.’
‘She told me that she’d been unhappy. I know you had a falling-out a few years ago.’
‘She was unhappy long before that,’ said Daniel.
Cunningham’s spoon sounded against the bowl, as he scraped it clean. ‘You were one of her foster kids originally, weren’t you?’
Daniel nodded once. His shoulders and upper arms were suddenly tight and he shifted to release the tension.
‘You were special to her. She told me that. You were like her own,’ said Cunningham.
Daniel looked at him. He had a spot of soup on his moustache and his eyes were open and searching. Daniel felt a surprising anger towards the man. The café was suddenly too warm.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Cunningham, motioning for the bill, as if realising that he had crossed a line. ‘She gave me a box of things for you. They are trinkets and photographs mostly – nothing of any great value – but she wanted you to have them. Best you take them now. They’re in the car.’
Cunningham drained his cup. ‘I know this must be hard on you. I know you had your differences, but still … ’
Daniel shook his head, unsure what to say. The pain had returned to his throat again. He felt as he had in the crematorium, fighting back tears and angry with himself because of that.
‘Did you want to deal with the house yourself? As family, you’re entitled … ’
‘No, just get a firm in, there’s nothing … I really don’t have time for it.’ It felt better saying that. The words were like fresh air. He felt squared by them, braced.
‘Feel free to go and take any personal items from the property while you’re up, but like I said there are a few things she set aside.’
They stood up to leave; Cunningham paid the bill. Before he opened the door, Daniel asked, ‘She didn’t suffer, did she?’
They stepped out into the early autumn sun. The sharp clarity of it caused Daniel to squint.
‘She did suffer, but she knew that was unavoidable. I think she’d had enough really and she just wanted everything to end.’
They shook hands. Daniel felt Cunningham’s short, hard grip as conflicted, communicating the unsaid. It reminded him of handshakes he had given to clients after the judge had sent them down. Kindness delivered with quick violence.
Daniel was about to turn from him, excused, expelled, but then Cunningham threw up his hands.
‘Your box! Your box is in my car. One minute.’
Daniel waited while Cunningham retrieved the cardboard box from the boot. The smell of the fields and the farms did not calm him.
‘There you go,’ said Cunningham. ‘Not worth a lot, but she wanted you to have it.’
To avoid a second handshake, Cunningham saluted Daniel in the crematorium car park. Daniel was confused by the gesture, but nodded goodbye.
The box was light. He placed it in the boot of his car, without looking inside.
8
He slipped his feet into the too-big wellington boots. Through his socks they felt cold, like jelly gone hard. He scattered kitchen scraps for the chickens as she had asked. He tried not to touch the cold vegetables with his fingers but some corn got stuck on his nails. He flicked it off like snot. Minnie had told him she thought his nose was broken. He found it hard to breathe as he fed the chickens. He didn’t mind so much as he hated the ming of them: ammonia and rotting vegetable and damp feather.
It was Saturday and she was making bacon and eggs for him. He could see her at the kitchen window. She was always quiet in the mornings. He knew it was the other side of the gin. He was eleven years old and knew about hangovers of the drug and drink kind, although he had never had one. He had been drunk, though. He had taken two tins of lager to bed with him one night and drunk them watching Dallas on the portable black and white in his mother’s room. He had been sick all down his pyjamas.
He wore his mother’s necklace as he fed the scraps to the birds – didn’t care if it made him look like a girl. He wanted to know the necklace was safe. He wanted to know she was safe. He wondered what the social worker had told Minnie the night before. In the car on the way back, when Tricia told him that she didn’t know anything about his mother and the fire, he had felt there was something she was holding back.
Daniel sidestepped back into the house as Hector the goat watched him ruefully. His goat face reminded Daniel of his social worker. He slipped off his wellies in the hall. Blitz was lying right in front of the door. He lifted his head when Daniel entered but did not move and so he had to step over him. The kitchen smelled of fat and pork and onions.
Minnie served up. The sausages were so slick they slid over the plate. He took his fork and pierced their skin. That was what he liked best: piercing the skin and watching the juices ooze.
‘Are you feeling better this morning?’ she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders, looking at his food.
‘How’s your nose? Could you sleep OK?’
He nodded.
‘I need to talk to you.’
He looked up at her face; his fork paused on his plate. Her eyes were opened a little wider than they usually were. Daniel felt his appetite fade, felt the oil from the sausages greasy in his throat.
‘Sometimes when bad things happen to you it probably seems easier just to run away, but I want you to try not running, to face the things you don’t like instead. It seems harder but in the long run you’re better off. Trust me.’
‘I wasn’t running away.’
‘What were you doing then?’
‘I was going to visit me mam.’
Minnie sighed and pushed her plate away. He watched as she bit her lip and then leaned forward, reaching out for his hand. He pulled away from her slowly, but she stayed like that, with her hand stretched out towards him across the table.
‘We’re going to find out what happened to your mum. I want you to know that I am on the phone to them every day about it. I promise I’ll find out for you … ’
‘She’ll be all right. She’s always all right, like.’
‘I believe that too. I just want you to trust me. I’m on your side, love. You don’t need to do everything on your own any more.’
Promise. Trust. On your own. The words hammered inside his chest. It was as if he hadn’t heard her or as if the words were stones, hitting him. Love. Trust. Own. Daniel was not sure why they bruised.
‘Shut up about it.’
‘Danny, I know you want to see your mum. I understand it. I’m going to help you find out where she is and within reason we can talk to your social worker about visits. But you have to watch out, Danny. I can’t have you running off all the time. They’ll take you away from me, you know, and that is the last thing I want on this earth.’