Mel leans down and gives him a peck on his cheek, catching the scent of his sweet perfume, smiling inwardly as she remembers him once telling her that he’d not worn a man’s cologne in his entire life. And thankfully she can’t smell the cigarette smoke any more. ‘I’ll get some glasses,’ she says, knowing that Michael has keys to let himself back in. He insisted on a set just in case she ever needed help. If the worst ever happened.
She runs back up the stairs, wondering what she did to deserve a friend like Michael. ‘Kate, get yourself out here, my love, and see what I’ve got. Uncle Micky has come a-calling.’
Mel hears Kate’s bedroom door open. The mention of her favourite person in the whole world always gets her moving.
‘What is it, Mum?’ she says, appearing in the kitchen doorway, her eyes slightly bloodshot.
Mel hesitates, studying her daughter. ‘Look what Micky brought us,’ she says, pulling one of the wrapped-up fish and chip parcels from the bag, feeling the warmth through the paper.
‘Yay,’ Kate says with a brief punch to the air and the glimmer of a smile – as enthusiastic as she gets about anything these days. Then she turns on her heels and goes back to her room.
Sighing, Mel gets out a couple of glasses and the bottle opener, peeling the foil off the wine. She looks at the label, knowing Michael always chooses his wines carefully, even if it is just to accompany fish and chips. She cracks a smile as she recalls what he once said: I choose my wines like I choose my men, he’d told her. Full-bodied and fruity. And always very expensive.
Mel looks up. ‘Just in time,’ she says to Michael, pouring a glass of the white. ‘And thanks for taking the rubbish out.’
‘Most welcome,’ he says, slipping off his denim jacket. He drapes it over the back of one of two chairs at Mel’s small kitchen table. ‘I found this among the rubbish. I think you must have thrown it out by mistake. It looks important.’ He hands Mel an empty envelope along with some papers folded in half.
‘Oh that… no,’ she says, glancing up as she pours a second glass. ‘I went through all my mail earlier and chucked out the junk. I’m just left with the bills now,’ she says, ignoring the tight feeling in her chest as she eyes the stack of red reminders on the worktop. She’s determined to enjoy this evening.
‘But it’s from a solicitor, Mel. I think you need to see it.’
Mel knows where Michael’s concern is coming from – three years ago, when she’d appeared in court as a witness for the prosecution. He’d supported her all the way, dealing with much of the barrister’s correspondence on her behalf. After everything that had gone on with Billy, she’d found it too overwhelming to sort out alone.
Mel swaps Michael a glass for the letter and gives it a quick glance, remembering it from earlier. ‘No, it’s just some silly scam. Trying to get me to sign up to their wills service, by the looks of it. Making out I’ve got an inheritance or something, to get my attention. It’s the legal equivalent of “You’re a guaranteed winner”. Anyway, cheers!’ she says, holding up her glass.
Michael chinks it with his, then holds his glass up to the light before swirling the liquid around several times. He takes a deep breath over the rim before taking a sip. ‘Perfect accompaniment to cod and chips,’ he says as Mel knocks back a much-needed large mouthful. Then his face, shadowed by the day’s stubble, breaks into a full-blown grin. ‘Katie-my-best-matey!’ he sings out, standing up as Kate comes back into the kitchen. ‘Get over here now!’
She trots over to him, suppressing her own grin, allowing her hair to shield her face from view. ‘Hi, Uncle Micky. How are you?’
‘All the better for seeing you, that’s for sure, my darling,’ he says, hugging her close. ‘I brought the ultimate gourmet food. Get stuck in. There’s Coke for you, too, my dearest little urchin.’
Kate laughs as he unleashes her from his arms.
‘This one is yours,’ he says, pulling out a marked packet. ‘I got you a jumbo sausage as well as fish and mushy peas, plus extra chips with lashings of vinegar, just the way you like it.’
Mel watches on, the chill in her heart from Josette’s grilling dissipating as she sees how happy Kate looks with Michael fussing over her. Apart from herself, he’s the one solid rock in Kate’s life. And even then, Mel sometimes has doubts, knowing she’s made mistakes. Terrible mistakes. All she can do now is ensure that she never, ever repeats them. It’s her and Kate against the world. They don’t need anyone else.
‘Can I have it in front of the telly, Mum?’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Mel replies as Kate turns to go. ‘But wait, I’ve got something for you too.’ She ducks out into the hall and returns with the carrier bag from work. ‘Here,’ she says, handing it to Kate, who’s impatiently picking at her chips. ‘A present for you. For being so amazing.’
‘What?’ Kate says, bemused, placing her food on the kitchen table before peeking into the bag. She gives a little gasp, one hand reaching in and pulling out a trainer. Her mouth opens wide. ‘Adidas?’ she says breathily, looking at Mel again before pulling out the other trainer and allowing the bag to drop to the floor. ‘No way! Are these for me? They’re exactly my size. They look brand new. But Mum…?’ There’s a flash of concern on her face, the glimmer of a frown.
‘They most certainly are for you, my love,’ Mel replies. ‘And they’re not quite brand new, but they hardly look as though they’ve been worn, right?’
‘Oh, Mum,’ Kate says, running up to give her a hug. ‘I love them, thank you! You wait when I turn up at school in these.’
Mel smiles, knowing how much they mean to her daughter. ‘Go and eat your food before it goes cold, then you can try them on.’
Beaming, Kate tucks the trainers under her arm and grabs her parcel of fish and chips. She high-fives her mum and Michael as she heads for the living room, a huge grin on her face.
‘Best day ever,’ she sings out.
‘Someone’s happy,’ Michael says when he and Mel are sitting alone at the kitchen table, their chip papers spread out in front of them. He takes a sip of his Chablis, his eyes narrowing into appreciative slits.
‘A welcome change,’ Mel admits. ‘And hopefully a self-esteem boost. I mean, I know it’s not the way to solve—’
‘Mel,’ Michael says, reaching out and touching her wrist. ‘It’s OK. You don’t need to justify how you make your daughter happy.’
Mel pauses, half-rolling her eyes. ‘I know, but… but I just feel so guilty all the time. About all the dreadful stuff with her dad, all the moves we’ve had to make, the refuges, the uncertainty. I know for a fact she still adores him and hates that she doesn’t get to see him. But worse is that she doesn’t know why she can’t see him. When it happened, she was far too young for the truth, although she’d witnessed enough. I guess I didn’t think it through. Now she’s twelve, she deserves some kind of honesty. But then she’ll know I’ve been lying to her and—’
‘Second warning issued, Melanie Douglas. Eat, drink and don’t think about it. You made a little girl very happy just now. Oh, and while you’re at it,’ he adds, reaching for the solicitor’s letter, ‘for the love of God, read this. It looks important.’