The Last Winter of Dani Lancing: A Novel (23 page)

“She loved tap. Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire. Whenever there were one o’ them films on we’d watch it. She ’ad the shoes. I got ’em for ’er—sixth birthday, I think. She ’ad tap every Saturday morning. I loved to watch ’er … that were a special time.”

Patty nods. She keeps nodding as the woman talks about her daughter, unfolds her box of memories. The mother talks for an hour.

“I ’ave to go to church now. I go every day. Will youse come too?”

They leave the council flat and walk down the stairs and across the courtyard, both silent. In the air are the sounds of a baby crying, and from somewhere far-off, a dog howling. The estate is only about twenty years old, but it already looks shabby and unloved. They walk through the courtyard and into a small alleyway, which Patty knows she would not walk down alone after dark. The alleyway leads into an identical courtyard, which leads to another scary alleyway. Through that they come to a small modern church, built as part of the estate.

Inside, the church is Spartan. There are pews that look more
like the kind of stackable chairs you’d find in a school. No stained glass; in fact, there are only three small windows—mounted quite high so very little light can enter. The only decorations are tapestries that look machine woven, depicting the twelve stages of the cross. One is particularly harrowing—Jesus being stabbed by a centurion. It’s in front of that image the two women stop. Patty stands, uncomfortable, while the grieving mother bows and crosses herself. Then she kneels and prays for her seventeen-year-old Lamb of God, slaughtered by Peter William Sutcliffe. Patty sits next to her, feeling like a fraud in the house of prayer.

They sit in silence for twenty minutes and then it’s time to leave. Patty follows the mother out. While they were inside the light died; it’s turned dark and bitterly cold.

“Thank you,” the mother says, throwing her arms around Patty, pulling her close, making Patty feel very claustrophobic. She lays her head on Patty’s shoulder and a great sob convulses her.

“I am sorry for your—” Patty pauses. “For your daughter. I’m sorry.”

The mother smiles a watery half smile before wearily heading back toward her flat. Patty stands outside the church for a while. She lights a cigarette, smokes it greedily all the way to the butt, and then heads back to her car for the long drive.

It’s after midnight when she finally arrives home. Soon, after she left Bradford, she had felt a great pull, a real need to get back to Jim and Dani. Especially Dani. She realizes with shame that she never did call her today, she really had meant to, but …

The house is quiet and dark. Once inside, she goes directly to Dani’s room and pushes the door open. There her daughter lies, asleep on her side. Not dead, not lost, but at home with them. As soon as she sees her, Patty realizes she has been nervous all the way home—scared she would not be there when she got back. She watches Dani sleep for a long time before she can tear herself away.

In the dark of their bedroom she puts her pajamas on. Jim lies on her side of the bed but as she pulls back the covers he rolls over into the cold half, leaving her to snuggle into the warmth he’d just left.

“Did you speak to her?” he asks, his voice a little slurry from sleep.

“No, just a glimpse. She had three thugs. Spoke to the mother of one of the girls, though. Poor fucking woman. Heartbreaking.”

“I’m sure.” He rolls over to face her, blinking some of the sleepiness away.

“What about here, how’d it go?” Patty asks.

“I cooked a big lunch.”

“Love-struck pup come?”

“Of course Tom came. Good too, he does the dishes.”

“You don’t think he seems a bit too interested?” She pauses. “You know what I mean.”

“They’re just friends.”

“He’s here an awful lot.”

“I don’t think he likes to go home. He likes Dani.”

“That’s the problem.”

“Why’s that a problem?”

Patty doesn’t answer, not sure she can explain what she means. She worries that Dani has no sense of proportion. She’s got a dad
who puts her on a pedestal, and some love-struck kid who would do anything for her.

“Just that she might be a bit big-headed.”

“Well, you keep her grounded,” he says, and Patty can’t tell if that’s barbed or not.

“So did she like it?” Patty asks.

“Oh, yes, she was really happy with it. After school we took it over to the lane and tried it out.”

“Did you have cake?”

“She said she was too old for cake. We had fish and chips and a semi-frozen cheesecake from over the road. I put a candle on her cod. Thirteen wouldn’t fit.”

“Rubbish portions over there. Was it just you two?”

“And Izzy. We missed you.”

“Yeah, well. Now she’s a teen she’s meant to hate me.”

“Do something nice for her in the morning.”

She shakes her head. “I need to be in the office at the crack of dawn if I’m gonna get anywhere with the story.”

“Okay,” he says without a hint of reproach. He kisses her softly on the forehead. He means it as a loving gesture but Patty finds it annoying. Within seconds he is asleep. Patty lies there wide awake. She can’t smoke in bed anymore, not since setting fire to the duvet, but she feels desperate for some nicotine goodness. For a long time her mind whirrs, thinking about Sonia and the grieving mother, about how both their lives have just been turned upside down. Then her thoughts drift back thirteen years, to when she is in hospital cradling her newborn daughter. At the time, the world seemed to offer everything, nothing scared her. Dani could grow up to be anything she wanted—and she would be safe and protected. Patty would never let any harm come to her—she would keep men like
her own father from hurting Dani. And she would have the kind of relationship with her own daughter that had been impossible with her mother. Where had that gone wrong? How were they drifting apart as Dani got older?

“Where do we go from here?” Patty asks the night.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Patty tries to open her eyes but they’re glued together. Panic starts to rise. She can hear something, some snatches of speech, but none of it makes sense. She’s cold, naked from the waist down. Panic spikes, out of control.

“Christ, w-w-w-where …”

Her throat is so dry, she tries to claw at it. She pulls at her arm but it doesn’t respond. Panic surges. She pulls and twists. There’s something holding her. Her arm hurts, a scratch and tug as she struggles.

“Oh, Christ, he’s got me.” A scream builds in her chest, billows up her body. She doesn’t want to die. She doesn’t want to die now.

Hands hit her shoulders, push her back.

“No! Help!” She can feel his hands slide around her throat. “Jim, help me!”

“Quiet, sweetheart.” A lilting voice, insistent but not threatening, envelops her. The hands are firm. They push her back down. “Careful now, darling, that there tube’s for your own good. You need that for water and nutrients. I’ll get someone to put it back.”

The hands push Patty back down onto the bed, her head sinking into the pillow. Then the sound of soft footsteps. Patty shakes, every muscle in her body burns. Her eyes feel stitched shut. She forces them apart—they crack and tear. Light flickers in, like flame
scorching. A faint shape. She can’t focus, all just a charcoal smudge. More footsteps, different this time, heavier. Someone is moving her arm, pinching her really hard and there’s a burning.

“You gave us quite a scare you know. There we go …”

The burning stops. The voice is a woman’s, older than the first.

“I’m going to call a doctor. Tell them you’re awake.”

She leaves, heels clicking on the hard floor. Patty feels her stomach tighten. A doctor? Where the hell is she? She tries to sit up but everything swims and black bleeds in.

“Hello there. I’m Dr. Frobisher.”

There is a light, white hot. Just for a second, but it burns itself into Patty’s sight and floats there like a storm cloud. Water pours from her eyes. There is some spray, a cloth.

“Your eyes have been weeping and are swollen shut. This should make you feel better and the swelling should calm. Try to open them very slowly.” With the cloth he wipes under her eyes and around her mouth. She can feel her lips are cracked. She tries to suck on the cloth. With a “tut” he pulls it away.