Brian Junior’s mobile rang.
It was Ho.
Brian Junior said, ‘Yes?’ into the phone.
Where do I go to collect government money?’ asked Ho.
Brian Junior was momentarily confused. ‘I’m not with you. Explain.’
Ho said, ‘I have no money left for food. And I am hungry. I have phoned Poppy, but she does not answer. So, do you know the location of the government money office in Leeds?’
Brian Junior explained, ‘It won’t be open today. And they won’t give you any when they do open – you’re a full-time student.’
Ho asked again, ‘Where will I get money?’
Brian Junior said, ‘Ho, I can’t help you. I haven’t got room in my head for somebody else’s problems.’
‘If I go to one of your churches, and ask one of the priests for money, will they give me some?’
‘Probably not.’
‘But if I tell them I am very hungry, and have not eaten for two days and two nights?’
Brian Junior squirmed and said, ‘Please, this is making me feel ill.’
‘But I am like your Jesus in the desert. Sometimes he had no food.’
Brian Junior passed the phone to Brianne, who had been listening closely.
Brianne said angrily to Ho, ‘Now you’ve made three of us miserable.’
Ho said, ‘The phone is telling me that I have low credit power.’
Brianne said, ‘This is what you do. You put on your coat and your red scarf, and you go to the Sikh temple. It’s on the main road at the rear of our building There are orange flags flying outside. They will give you food. I know, because a boy in my seminar group blew his loan on a second-hand motorbike and a drum kit in the first week of term, and the Sikhs had to feed him for a month. Now, repeat back the instructions I have just given to you,’ she said, sternly. She listened for a moment, then said, ‘Right – coat, scarf, keys. Go now,’ and switched the phone off.
Alexander murmured, ‘Another Nazi in the house.’
Eva said, ‘Why is the poor boy in such a state?’
Brianne said, ‘He gave Poppy most of his money.
Stanley observed, ‘All roads lead to Poppy. What’s to be done with her?’
Brianne said, ‘I would happily see her walking away from our house, barefoot and dying in the snow.’
Eva held her head in her hands and said, ‘Brianne, please don’t talk like that. It makes you sound so callous.’
Brianne shouted, ‘You know nothing about her or the damage she’s caused! Why do you allow her to stay in our house? You know that me and Bri hate her guts!’
Ruby said, ‘Well, I for one feel sorry for the poor kid. Her main and dad have just died! I had a long talk with her yesterday. They’re bringing the bodies back to Leicester, and I told her to use the Co-op funeral service. They did a lovely job for your granddad. It wasn’t their fault they went to the wrong house to pick the body up. Fair-tree Avenue does sound like Fir Tree Avenue.’
Brianne knelt at the side of the soup chair and said, very slowly and deliberately, looking into her grandmother’s face, ‘Gran, why would the Dundee authorities bring her parents’ bodies back to Leicester? When, according to Poppy, they lived in a house in Hampstead, surrounded by their rich relations and celebrity friends. Hugh Grant was her next-door neighbour.’
Ruby said, impatiently, ‘I know that! Poppy told me that they used to give him rides in their plane. He took over the controls once, when Poppy’s dad fell ill at the wheel. He had to make an emergency landing on Hampstead Heath. A policeman was slightly hurt.’
Brianne shouted, ‘You stupid old woman! Everything she’s told you has been a complete lie!’
Ruby’s face crumpled. ‘I’m surprised at you, Brianne. Talking to your elders in such a way. You used to be such a nice quiet girl. You’ve changed since you went to that university.’
Brianne leapt up. ‘There are no bodies coming back to the Co-op! Her parents are alive and living in Maidenhead! Her mother was on Facebook this morning, telling her “friends” that she’d had an electric blanket for Christmas!’
Eva said, ‘How can you possibly know that?’
Brianne and Brian Junior exchanged a look, and Brian Junior said, ‘We’re good with computers.’
Brianne put her arm around Brian Junior’s shoulder and said, ‘She isn’t Poppy Roberts. Her name is Paula Gibb. Her parents live in a council house. They don’t own a private plane. They don’t even have a car or central heating.’
Alexander said, ‘At least they’ve got an electric blanket.’ He looked around the group.
Nobody but Eva was laughing.
Stanley asked, ‘How long have you known?’
Brianne said, ‘A couple of days. We saved it. There’s never anything to do on Boxing Day, is there?’
Yvonne remarked, ‘I think it’s disgusting personally, myself. The two of your big brains against that little grieving girl.’
Brianne said, calmly, ‘Bri, time to fetch the Poppy files.’
Brian Junior got up, stretching his arms in an attempt to relax his rigid muscles, as if imploring Brianne to show him more respect. Heaving a deep sigh, he went into his bedroom.
When he returned with a large green box file, Brianne said, ‘Hand the papers round.’
‘What, like, at random?’
She nodded.
He dispersed the official-looking papers, some stapled, all printouts.
There was silence for a few moments, as people read the opening paragraphs of the documents they had been handed.
Ruby said, ‘Well, I’ve read this first bit of mine twice and I still don’t understand it.’
Yvonne asked, ‘Are we to be tested by the Big Brains?’
Brianne said, ‘You’ve got the birth certificate, Yvonne. Read it to us.’
‘Stop talking to me as if I’m a dog, a mongrel dog. When I was a girl -’
Brianne interrupted, ‘Yeah, when you were a girl, you were writing on a slate with a piece of chalk.’
Eva ordered her daughter, ‘Apologise to Granny.’
Brianne muttered ungraciously, ‘Soz.’
‘Well, it says here, this is the birth certificate of a child called Paula Gibb, born on the 31st of July 1993, her dad was Dean Arthur Gibb, car park attendant, and her mum was Claire Theresa Maria Gibb, bowling alley assistant.’
Brian Junior laughed out loud and said in a bad American accent, ‘Fuck it, dude, let’s go bowling.’
His family had never heard Brian Junior swear before. Eva was pleased at this proof that Brian Junior could be a normal foul-mouthed teenager.
Brianne turned to her brother. ‘Bri, no Lebowski, please. This is serious business.’
Alexander said, ‘I’ve got a social worker’s report here. When she was three and a half, Paula was temporarily taken into care and fostered.’
A stillness settled over the room.
Eva looked up from her printouts. ‘I’ve got an admission report for University Hospital, on the 11th of June 1995, and a six-month review written by her social worker, Delfina Ladzinski.’ Eva scanned the papers. Where do I start?’ She cleared her throat and read out what she thought were the most important details, as though she were reading the shipping forecast.
‘Medical assessment on being taken into care: cigarette burns on the backs of her hands and forearms, head lice, infected fleabites, impetigo. She was malnourished, unable to speak. Afraid to use the toilet. It’s hardly Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, is it?’
Yvonne got up. ‘Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve had enough of this. It’s Boxing Day. I want some turkey sandwiches and a game of Mr Potato Head, not all this wallowing in the gutter.’
Ruby said, ‘Sit down, Yvonne! There are some things that have to be faced full on. I’ve got a report here from Thames Valley Police, about an arson attack on a children’s home in Reading. Paula Gibb was questioned but said she’d only been trying to light a cigarette using a Zip firelighter. She’d panicked and thrown the firelighter into the Activities Room, where it landed in the middle of the pool table -’