Chapter 120: The Tin I

Denise got him on the half landing with a bin bag in each hand.

"Danny love."

"Denise. Give us one of them."

"You’re all right." She gave him one anyway. "She’s in. She’s been in since 2, she’s done Rye Lane this morning and she’s come back and she’s not put the telly on."

"Is that bad?"

"It’s not normal." Denise went down 2 steps and stopped. "She’s had that front room door shut. She’s got the light on in there and the telly off and she’s been in there since I come past at half 2."

"Right."

"I’m not being nosy."

"You are a bit, Denise."

"I am a bit," she agreed. "But she’s not right, and you’d rather I said it than didn’t."

He carried the bag down for her and came back up, and the light on the walkway had gone on for the evening even though it was only half 4.

His mother had the door open before he knocked.

"You’re early."

"I said 5."

"You said 5 and it’s 20 past 4, and I’ve not done anything about tea." She had the chain off and was going back down the hall. "Come in, you’re letting the cold up."

She had the front room light on and the telly off, and the curtains were still open on a car park with the sodium coming on.

And the brown chair by the window had been moved.

Not far. About a foot out from the wall, turned to face into the room instead of at the glass, and her cushion was off it and on the settee.

She saw him see it and did not say anything about it.

"Sit down, then."

He got the postcard out of his inside pocket and put it on the arm of the settee, face down, the way she had kept it.

"There."

His mother looked at it.

She did not pick it up. She sat down on the settee next to it and put her hands in her lap.

"Right."

"I’ve had it 12 days and I’m sorry."

"You said that Saturday. Don’t do it twice, it stops meaning anything." She still had not picked it up. "Have you read it again?"

"Twice."

"Course you have." She pushed it about an inch with one finger, still face down. "I’ve not. Not since the Tuesday."

"Do you want to?"

"No." She got up. "I’ll put the kettle on."

"Mum. Sit down a minute. I’ve got to tell you what I’ve come about and I’d rather do it before there’s tea in front of us."

And that stopped her, because he had never once in his life said anything like that to her in that room.

She sat back down.

"Go on then."

"I’m making a will."

His mother looked at him.

"A will."

"Yeah."

"You’re 28."

"I know how old I am."

"People make wills when they’ve got..." She stopped. "Well. All right. Why?"

"Because I’ve got a business and I’m about to have 2 people working for me, and my solicitor’s been on at me since October." He had his elbows on his knees. "And because she told me what happens if I don’t, and I’ve had it in my head since yesterday afternoon and I’ve not slept on it properly."

"What happens if you don’t?"

"It’s called intestacy. It means there’s no will so the law picks."

"And what does the law pick?"

"My parents," Danny said. "Both of them. Half each."

The pipe in the wall upstairs went knock, knock, which it has done his entire life.

His mother sat very still on the settee with a postcard face down 6 inches from her hand.

"Say that again."

"If I go under a bus tomorrow, half of everything I’ve got goes to him." He made himself say it plainly. "Half the café. Half the lease, half the machine, half whatever’s in the bank. And you’d have to deal with him to sell any of it."

"He’s in Australia."

"It doesn’t matter where he is."

"He left in 2014."

"It doesn’t matter." Danny watched her face. "She said it twice, Mum. It doesn’t care what anybody did. It’s a list and he’s on it."

And his mother did something he had not expected at all, which is that she went brisk.

She sat forward, and her hands came out of her lap, and she started doing the thing she does with the edge of a cushion.

"Right. So a will stops it."

"A will stops it."

"And you can put in it that he gets nothing."

"You can put in it that he gets nothing."

"And he can’t do anything about that?"

"She says he could try. She says a man who’s not seen you in 11 years and never paid a penny is not a man a court’s got much time for." He shrugged. "But she says do it properly and say why, so there’s something on the file."

"Then say why."

"Mum."

"No, I mean it." She had gone somewhere fast and level. "If you’re going to do it, do it so it sticks. Put in it about the 40,000. Put in it that he’s not seen you. Put the dates in, I’ve got the dates, I’ve got the letters from the..."

She stopped.

"Right," she said, in a different voice.

"What?"

"Nothing. I got ahead of myself."

And she sat back, and Danny watched her land, and he understood about 3 seconds after she did.

She’s pleased.

She’s been sat in this room since half 2 with the telly off and I’ve come in and told her I might die, and the first thing she’s felt is pleased, because it’s a piece of paper that puts him on it and takes him off it, and she’s never had one of those.

And she’s just worked that out about herself.

His mother put her hands back in her lap.

"That’s a horrible thing to be glad about," she said.

"It’s not."

"It is. You’ve sat there and told me what happens if you go under a bus and I’ve gone straight past it."

"Mum..."

"I went straight past it, Danny."

"You went straight past it because you’ve had 11 years of him being able to do things to you and nobody able to stop him," Danny said, "and I’ve just walked in and told you there’s a form."

She looked at the carpet for a bit.

"There’s not a form for everything," she said.

"No."

"There should be."

He made the tea, because she would have got up and he wanted her sat down.

When he came back she had turned the postcard over and was holding it, not reading it, with her thumb over the taped photograph.

"How much?" she said.

"What?"

"Half of what." She did not look up. "You said half of everything. I asked you Saturday at my own table and you gave me a sentence and I let you have it, and I’ve been sat in here since half 2 thinking about the fact that I let you have it."

Danny stood in the doorway with 2 mugs.

Right.

She’s asked you 3 times now. Saturday over a pie, and at that window in November, and now.

And there’s no version of this where you say it and it’s fine.

And there is no version where you don’t say it and she ever asks you anything again.

He put the mugs down and sat.

"One million, two hundred and sixteen thousand, four hundred and twelve pounds," he said. "And 87 pence."