Page 1 of Between Us

Prologue

2003

Stockport Plaza Theatre

Wythenshawe’s No. 1 Psychic!proclaimed a poster on an easel on stage, for tonight’s show: a clairvoyant called Queenie Mook. The name was so peculiar, it couldn’t be made up.

‘You wonder who decides that?’ Roisin said. ‘It’s not like you can get … accredited.’

Aged twelve, she was proud ofaccredited.

Her mother looked at her with narrowing eyes, under Lancôme-blacked lashes, sensing sedition.

When Roisin had been permitted to join her girls’ night out, it came with a warning.

‘Don’t bother if you’re going to be a smart arse – it’s rude to Diana and Kim,’ her mum had said. ‘Di’s dad, Rodney, died of acute pancreatitis last November. She’s hoping he’ll come through.’

‘Oh, right,’ Roisin said, thinking that treating Queenie Mook as a switchboard for the Afterlife didn’t seem destinedfor success. Her promotional material showed she mainly worked cruise ships.

‘They’ve been at sixes and sevens since. Rod still ran the financial side of the drain-cleaning business.’ Lorraine made it sound as if Diana had a pressing but functional enquiry:where is the 2001 VAT return, or similar.

Roisin wanted to attend for two reasons: curiosity about mediums, and because this was a properly exciting jolly. Her mum was drenched in a forcefield of Guerlain Shalimar, a lion’s mane of salon-blown hair, satin dress stretched across her hips, sheer tights and patent heels.

It was fun to be in her mother’s orbit on such occasions, seeing the heads she turned. Like being PA to someone famous. There was a taxi from Webberley, Lorraine’s perfumed coven demanding that Lionel Richie’s ‘All Night Long’wasTURNEDUP, PLEASE.

Fifteen minutes to curtain up. Thanks to the carafes of pink wine they’d seen off during the pre-show brasserie dinner, there was a flurry of trips to the ladies.

Lorraine went first, then Di and Kim together.

‘Don’t you need a wee?’ said her mum, after a minute of concerted pouting into her make-up compact. Roisin vaguely wondered if Lorraine wanted her out of the way. For the purposes of a surreptitious phone call, perhaps? Her parents kept secrets. Roisin was always caught between wanting to know what they were, and not wanting to know what they were.

‘Nah.’

‘Hmmm, I think you should go. We’re in the middle of a row and those seats will fill up.’

Roisin’s conviction that her mother had an ulterior motive deepened. But she knew it was easier to comply, so she stood up and headed to the toilets. All the stall doors were closed. As she plonked down on the cold seat in her cubicle, she heard the acoustics of the other occupants exiting theirs.

Flush. Door bang. Tap gush. Flush. Door bang. Tap gush.

‘With the way Lorraine’s hitting the Pinot Blush, I assume she’s no longerwith child?’ said a disembodied Kim.

For a split second, Roisin thought they meant her.

‘Oh no. She got rid. A couple of weeks ago.’

‘She never told Glen?’

Glen. Roisin’s dad was called Kent. (A pub landlord called Kent. His name was a gift to customers he kicked out.)

‘God, no. As she says, what would be the point? He’d not want her to keep it, and two’s enough. Who’d go back to night feeds?’

‘What about Kent? Did he know?’

‘Doubt it, don’t you? Don’t ask, don’t tell.’

‘Mmmm. She wants to be more careful.’

‘Says she had a dodgy omelette at the Fox & Hounds, threw up her pill. Never thought.’

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