‘Who is this?’
‘Please.’ It was a woman’s voice, ‘Where is he? You didn’t tell me where. I’ve got to see him. Please…please…’ she cried. Mrs Hobbs.
Relief released my body. I trembled and sat on the chair. ‘Mrs Hobbs, I don’t know exactly where Martin is and he doesn’t want to see you.’
‘You said he was in Cheadle. He’s my son, you said he was, he’s my son, you said, you said…’ She was freaking out and I’d no idea how to handle it.
‘He doesn’t want to see you after all he’s been through and…’
‘Don’t lie to me.’ Fury spat the words. ‘He’s my son.’
‘I don’t know where he is.’
‘You found him, my baby, my baby…’ she repeated her song of grief. I waited. What the fuck could I say? She fell quiet. I could hear her breath, rapid, shallow. When she spoke again she sounded bright, practical. ‘I’ll write to him, yes. Just give me the address, I’ll write. Yes, yes.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t have Martin’s address.’
‘Liar,’ she screeched. ‘Liar.’
I lost my temper, shouted back. ‘I don’t know, for Christ’s sake! All I know is it’s Old Hall Lane, I followed the bloody car, Aston Martin. I didn’t get the address.’
‘I’ll go there…Old Hall Lane. You said Cheadle. Aston Martin and Martin Hobbs. Two Martins. Martin Hobbs. That’s his name now.’
‘Don’t go, listen.’ She wasn’t in a fit state to go to the post-box, let alone try tracking down Martin. ‘I’ll take the letter. Write and send it to me. I’ll try and find the house. I’ll give the letter to Martin.’
‘Will you?’
‘Yes, I promise.’
‘He’s my son.’
‘Yes.’
She rang off.
Maddie was sitting at the end of the hall, clasping her doll.
‘Why did you shout?’
‘Oh,’ I sighed and went to reassure her. ‘Someone wasn’t listening to me. I got cross, that’s all. It’s alright now.’ I hugged her, craving one for myself. She squirmed away. The phone rang.
‘Oh, no.’ I couldn’t face any more. Mrs Hobbs’ distress had disturbed me, awakening memories of my own pain in the months after the stabbing.
Maddie moved towards the phone.
‘No, I’ll get it.’
‘Aww.’
‘Hello?’
‘Sal? Harry.’
Phew.
‘How you doing?’
‘Fine.’
‘Do you want to come over? Bev’s gone off with the car but the rest of us are here.’
‘Yeah, we’d love to. I’ve just got Maddie today.’
‘Okay. See you soon.’
It was a relief to get out of the house and away from the phone. I cycled over to Harry and Bev’s terraced house in Levenshulme. Their two boys were playing some version of goodies and baddies in the street, when we arrived. Maddie begged for my bicycle pump and ran to join them. The front door was open and I found Harry in the yard out at the back. He and Bev had transformed the small brick box into a riot of greenery, with climbers in pots, hanging baskets, even a tiny pergola complete with vine.
