Page 74 of Fighting Mr. Knight

She’s still talking about the Knight family when I say, “Mum,stop. And how on earth can you think Jack is such a wonderful person when he fired Dad?”

She frowns, my question throwing her off-kilter. “There was a bit of drama, love, but that was a long time ago. Why are you asking about it now?”

“I want to know the facts,” I say lightly. “He went into a bit of a downward spiral after that. I’d like to understand all the details.”

“It’s nearly a decade ago, love. I’m not sure I remember everything. Maybe ask your father.”

“Just tell me what happened, Mum.”

She sighs but reluctantly starts to speak. “Your dad was always looking for ways to make more money. His wage wasn’t huge, and he was competing with younger tradesmen.”

I feel a stab of guilt. I couldn’t afford my university fees on my own, so Phil offered to cover them outright. Dad, however, wouldn’t have it and paid the rest of the fees himself. I was the reason he was looking for ways to earn more money.

“Sometimes he cut corners.”

I slow to a halt on the pavement. My scalp prickles. Perhaps I don’t want to know the details after all. But now I’ve started this train in motion.

She looks at me wearily. “He won’t like me telling you this.”

“Go on,” I say, sharper than I intended.

“Your dad and a few others were,” she pauses to find the words, “acting a bitdodgy. They figured they were owed a few extras, so they swiped some of the materials at the sites to sell on. It took the bosses at Lexington a while to notice because it wasn’t enough to draw attention.” Her lips curve slightly. “I think they saw themselves as East End Robin Hoods, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor.”

I suck in through my teeth. This is a different story from what Dad told.

“I don’t understand. Who did they give it to?”

“Themselves.” She snorts. “Over time it seemed like small beans, but it added up.”

The prickles on my scalp spread to my neck. “How much?”

She nibbles on her lips. “About half a million over a year.”

Holy fucking hell.

I gawk at her through the phone. “Say that again.”

“You heard me correctly. Half a million. Between the five of them.”

I feel mildly nauseous. Do I know my dad at all?

And Jack.

My cheeks heat as I think about what I said to Jack last night. Bloody hell. What were my exact words?You fired him for no reason. You didn’t pay his last two weeks’ wages.

My throat bobs. “Are you sure? Did Dad tell you this himself?”

“No, your Uncle Pat told me.” She smiles sadly. “I can’t say I was that surprised. Your dad took a lot of risks and they didn’t always pay off. I knew something had gone down, I just didn’t know what.”

All this time, I didn’t have the full facts.

I listened to Dad rant and rave about the injustice of being fired, the injustice of the good workers of the country not getting what they deserved, the injustice of the whole damn world.

Nothing was ever his fault.

I’m reminded of Christopher calling himself an entrepreneur when everything else he said made him sound delusional.

Why didn’t Jack correct me last night?

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